The House of the Whispering Pines

I entreat you then / From one that so imperfectly conjects, / You'd take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble / Out of his scattering and unsure observance: / It were not for your quiet, nor your good, / Nor for my manhood, honesty or wisdom, / To let you know my thoughts. / "Othello"

I slept, though a question of no small importance was agitating my mind, demanding instant consideration and a definite answer before I again saw this friend and adviser. I woke to ask if the suggestion which had come to me in our brief conversation about the bottles taken from the wine-vault, was the promising one it had then appeared, or only a fool's trick bound to end in disaster. I weighed the matter in every conceivable way, and ended by trusting to the instinct which impelled me to have resource to the one and only means by which the scent might be diverted from its original course, confusion be sown in the minds of the police, and Carmel, as well as myself, be saved from the pit gaping to receive us.