"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed--tear up the planks! here! here! it is the beating of his hideous heart!" THE UNCLE H. G. BELL I had an uncle once--a man Of threescore years and three, And when my reason's dawn began, He'd take me on his knee, And often talk, whole winter nights, Things that seemed strange to me. He was a man of gloomy mood, And few his converse sought; But, it was said, in solitude His conscience with him wrought; And then, before his mental eye, Some hideous vision brought. There was not one in all the house Who did not fear his frown, Save I, a little, careless child, Who gamboled up and down, And often peeped into his room, And plucked him by his gown. I was an orphan and alone-- My father was his brother, And all their lives I knew that they Had fondly loved each other; And in my uncle's room there hung The picture of my mother. There was a curtain over it-- 'Twas in a darkened place, And few or none had ever looked Upon my mother's face; Or seen her pale, expressive smile Of melancholy grace. One night--I do remember well, The wind was howling high, And through the ancient corridors It sounded drearily; I sat and read in that old hall; My uncle sat close by. I read--but little understood The words upon the book, For with a sidelong glance I marked My uncle's fearful look, And saw how all his quivering frame In strong convulsions shook. A silent terror o'er me stole, A strange, unusual dread; His lips were white as bone--his eyes Sunk far down in his head; He gazed on me, but 'twas the gaze Of the unconscious dead. Then suddenly he turned him round, And drew aside the veil That hung before my mother's face; Perchance my eyes might fail, But ne'er before that face to me Had seemed so ghastly pale. "Come hither, boy!" my uncle said-- I started at the sound; 'Twas choked and stifled, in his throat, And hardly utterance found; "Come hither, boy!" then fearfully He cast his eyes around. "That lady was thy mother once-- Thou wert her only child; O God! I've seen her when she held Thee in her arms and smiled-- She smiled upon thy father, boy, 'Twas that which drove me wild! "He was my brother, but his form Was fairer far than mine; I grudged not that;--he was the prop Of our ancestral line, And manly beauty was of him A token and a sign.