The works of Edgar Allan Poe; newly collected and edited, with a memoir, critical introductions, and notes, by Edmund Clarence Stedman and George Edward Woodberry; the illustrations by Albert Edward Sterner.

THE TELL-TALE HEART

grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder
every instant. The old man's terror must have been
extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment!-do you mark me well? I have told you that
I am nervous; so I am. And now at the dead hour
of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old
house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder,
louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now
a new anxiety seized me - the sound would be heard
by a neighbor! The old man's hour had come!
With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped
into the room. He shrieked once -once only. In
an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the
heavy bed over him. I then smiled gayly, to find the
deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart
beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did
not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall.
At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I
removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he
was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the
heart and held it there many minutes. There was
no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would
trouble me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no
longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for
the concealment of the body. The night waned, and
I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the
arms and the legs.
I then took up three planks from the flooring of the
chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I
then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly,
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