I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire
I felt nothing but disgust watching the old man rest, with that VILE eye resting to torture me tomorrow.
I then suffocated him to death with the pillow, so quick within a blink of the eye he died.
 I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search --search well.
Sir we heard a domestic disturbance
I smiled, --for what had I to fear?
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!"
Suddenly, I grew pale, it was the beating of the old man's heart, it tortured me endlessly as I sat there waiting for the officers to leave. I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! Louder!