Edgar Huntly; or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker Read online

  I will now relate the particulars which I yesterday promised to sendyou. You heard through your niece of my arrival at Inglefield's, inSolesbury: my inquiries, you may readily suppose, would turn upon thefate of my friend's servant Clithero, whose last disappearance was sostrange and abrupt, and of whom, since that time, I had heard nothing.You are indifferent to his fate, and are anxious only that his existenceand misfortunes may be speedily forgotten. I confess that it is somewhatotherwise with me. I pity him; I wish to relieve him, and cannot admitthe belief that his misery is without a cure. I want to find him out. Iwant to know his condition, and, if possible, to afford him comfort andinspire him with courage and hope.

  Inglefield replied to my questions:--"Oh yes! He has appeared. Thestrange being is again upon the stage. Shortly after he left hissick-bed, I heard from Philip Beddington, of Chetasco, that Deb's hut hadfound a new tenant. At first I imagined that the Scotsman who built ithad returned; but, making closer inquiries, I found that the new tenantwas my servant. I had no inclination to visit him myself, but frequentlyinquired respecting him of those who lived or passed that way, and findthat he still lives there."

  "But how!" said I: "what is his mode of subsistence? The winter has beenno time for cultivation; and he found, I presume, nothing in theground."

  "Deb's hut," replied my friend, "is his lodging and his place ofretirement, but food and clothing he procures by labouring on aneighbouring farm. This farm is next to that of Beddington, whoconsequently knows something of his present situation. I find little orno difference in his present deportment and those appearances which heassumed while living with me, except that he retires every night to hishut, and holds as little intercourse as possible with the rest ofmankind. He dines at his employer's table; but his supper, which isnothing but rye-bread, he carries home with him, and, at all those timeswhen disengaged from employment, he secludes himself in his hut, orwanders nobody knows whither."

  This was the substance of Inglefield's intelligence. I gleaned from itsome satisfaction. It proved the condition of Clithero to be lessdeplorable and desperate than I had previously imagined. His fatal andgloomy thoughts seemed to have somewhat yielded to tranquillity.

  In the course of my reflections, however, I could not but perceive thathis condition, though eligible when compared with what it once was, waslikewise disastrous and humiliating, compared with his youthful hopesand his actual merits. For such a one to mope away his life in thisunsocial and savage state was deeply to be deplored. It was my duty, ifpossible, to prevail on him to relinquish his scheme. And what would berequisite, for that end, but to inform him of the truth?

  The source of his dejection was the groundless belief that he hadoccasioned the death of his benefactress. It was this alone that couldjustly produce remorse or grief. It was a distempered imagination bothin him and in me that had given birth to this opinion, since the termsof his narrative, impartially considered, were far from implying thatcatastrophe. To him, however, the evidence which he possessed wasincontestable. No deductions from probability could overthrow hisbelief. This could only be effected by similar and counter evidence. Toapprize him that she was now alive, in possession of some degree ofhappiness, the wife of Sarsefield, and an actual resident on this shore,would dissipate the sanguinary apparition that haunted him, cure hisdiseased intellects, and restore him to those vocations for which histalents, and that rank in society for which his education, had qualifiedhim. Influenced by these thoughts, I determined to visit his retreat.Being obliged to leave Solesbury the next day, I resolved to set out thesame afternoon, and, stopping in Chetasco for the night, seek hishabitation at the hour when he had probably retired to it.

  This was done. I arrived at Beddington's at nightfall. My inquiriesrespecting Clithero obtained for me the same intelligence from him whichI had received from Inglefield. Deb's hut was three miles from thishabitation, and thither, when the evening had somewhat advanced, Irepaired. This was the spot which had witnessed so many perils duringthe last year; and my emotions, on approaching it, were awful. Withpalpitating heart and quick steps I traversed the road, skirted on eachside by thickets, and the area before the house. The dwelling was by nomeans in so ruinous a state as when I last visited it. The cranniesbetween the logs had been filled up, and the light within wasperceivable only at a crevice in the door.

  Looking through this crevice, I perceived a fire in the chimney, but theobject of my visit was nowhere to be seen. I knocked and requestedadmission, but no answer was made. At length I lifted the latch andentered. Nobody was there.

  It was obvious to suppose that Clithero had gone abroad for a shorttime, and would speedily return; or perhaps some engagement had detainedhim at his labour later than usual. I therefore seated myself on somestraw near the fire, which, with a woollen rug, appeared to constitutehis only bed. The rude bedstead which I formerly met was gone. Theslender furniture, likewise, which had then engaged my attention, haddisappeared. There was nothing capable of human use but a heap of fagotsin the corner, which seemed intended for fuel. How slender is theaccommodation which nature has provided for man, and how scanty is theportion which our physical necessities require!

  While ruminating upon this scene, and comparing past events with theobjects before me, the dull whistling of the gale without gave place tothe sound of footsteps. Presently the door opened, and Clithero enteredthe apartment. His aspect and guise were not essentially different fromthose which he wore when an inhabitant of Solesbury.

  To find his hearth occupied by another appeared to create the deepestsurprise. He looked at me without any tokens of remembrance. Hisfeatures assumed a more austere expression, and, after scowling on myperson for a moment, he withdrew his eyes, and, placing in a corner abundle which he bore in his hand, he turned and seemed preparing towithdraw.

  I was anxiously attentive to his demeanour, and, as soon as I perceivedhis purpose to depart, leaped on my feet to prevent it. I took his hand,and, affectionately pressing it, said, "Do you not know me? Have you sosoon forgotten me, who is truly your friend?"

  He looked at me with some attention, but again withdrew his eyes, andplaced himself in silence on the seat which I had left. I seated myselfnear him, and a pause of mutual silence ensued.

  My mind was full of the purpose that brought me hither, but I knew notin what manner to communicate my purpose. Several times I opened my lipsto speak, but my perplexity continued, and suitable words refused tosuggest themselves. At length I said, in a confused tone,--

  "I came hither with a view to benefit a man with whose misfortunes hisown lips have made me acquainted, and who has awakened in my breast thedeepest sympathy. I know the cause and extent of his dejection. I knowthe event which has given birth to horror and remorse in his heart. Hebelieves that, by his means, his patroness and benefactress has found anuntimely death."

  These words produced a visible shock in my companion, which evinced thatI had at least engaged his attention. I proceeded:--

  "This unhappy lady was cursed with a wicked and unnatural brother. Sheconceived a disproportionate affection for this brother, and erroneouslyimagined that her fate was blended with his, that their lives wouldnecessarily terminate at the same period, and that, therefore, whoeverwas the contriver of his death was likewise, by a fatal and invinciblenecessity, the author of her own.

  "Clithero was her servant, but was raised by her bounty to the stationof her son and the rank of her friend. Clithero, in self-defence, tookaway the life of that unnatural brother, and, in that deed, falsely butcogently believed that he had perpetrated the destruction of hisbenefactress.

  "To ascertain the truth, he sought her presence. She was found, thetidings of her brother's death were communicated, and she sankbreathless at his feet."

  At these words Clithero started from the ground, and cast upon me looksof furious indignation. "And come you hither," he muttered, "for thisend?--to recount my offences and drive me again to despair?"

  "No," answered I, with quickness; "
I come to outroot a fatal butpowerful illusion. I come to assure you that the woman with whosedestruction you charge yourself is _not dead_."

  These words, uttered with the most emphatical solemnity, merely producedlooks in which contempt was mingled with anger. He continued silent.

  "I perceive," resumed I, "that my words are disregarded. Would to HeavenI were able to conquer your incredulity, could show you not only thetruth but the probability of my tale! Can you not confide in me? thatEuphemia Lorimer is now alive, is happy, is the wife of Sarsefield? thather brother is forgotten and his murderer regarded without enmity orvengeance?"

  He looked at me with a strange expression of contempt. "Come," said he,at length; "make out thy assertion to be true. Fall on thy knees, andinvoke the thunder of Heaven to light on thy head if thy words be false.Swear that Euphemia Lorimer is alive; happy; forgetful of Wiatte andcompassionate of me. Swear that thou hast seen her; talked with her;received from her own lips the confession of her pity for him who aimeda dagger at her bosom. Swear that she is Sarsefield's wife."

  I put my hands together, and, lifting my eyes to heaven, exclaimed, "Icomply with your conditions. I call the omniscient God to witness thatEuphemia Lorimer is alive; that I have seen her with these eyes; havetalked with her; have inhabited the same house for months."

  These asseverations were listened to with shuddering. He laid not aside,however, an air of incredulity and contempt. "Perhaps," said he, "thoucanst point out the place of her abode?--canst guide me to the city, thestreet, the very door of her habitation?"

  "I can. She resides at this moment in the city of New York; in Broadway;in a house contiguous to the--."

  "'Tis well!" exclaimed my companion, in a tone loud, abrupt, and in theutmost degree vehement. "'Tis well! Rash and infatuated youth, thou hastratified, beyond appeal or forgiveness, thy own doom. Thou hast oncemore let loose my steps, and sent me on a fearful journey. Thou hastfurnished the means of detecting thy imposture. I will fly to the spotwhich thou describest. I will ascertain thy falsehood with my own eyes.If she be alive, then am I reserved for the performance of a new crime.My evil destiny will have it so. If she be dead, I shall make theeexpiate."

  So saying, he darted through the door, and was gone in a moment beyondmy sight and my reach. I ran to the road, looked on every side, andcalled; but my calls were repeated in vain. He had fled with theswiftness of a deer.

  My own embarrassment, confusion, and terror were inexpressible. His lastwords were incoherent. They denoted the tumult and vehemence of frenzy.They intimated his resolution to seek the presence of your wife. I hadfurnished a clue which could not fail to conduct him to her presence.What might not be dreaded from the interview? Clithero is a maniac. Thistruth cannot be concealed. Your wife can with difficulty preserve hertranquillity when his image occurs to her remembrance. What must it bewhen he starts up before her in his neglected and ferocious guise, andarmed with purposes perhaps as terrible as those which had formerly ledhim to her secret chamber and her bedside?

  His meaning was obscurely conveyed. He talked of a deed for theperformance of which his malignant fate had reserved him, which was toensue their meeting, and which was to afford disastrous testimony of theinfatuation which had led me hither.

  Heaven grant that some means may suggest themselves to you ofintercepting his approach! Yet I know not what means can be conceived.Some miraculous chance may befriend you; yet this is scarcely to behoped. It is a visionary and fantastic base on which to rest oursecurity.

  I cannot forget that my unfortunate temerity has created this evil. Yetwho could foresee this consequence of my intelligence? I imagined thatClithero was merely a victim of erroneous gratitude, a slave of theerrors of his education and the prejudices of his rank; that hisunderstanding was deluded by phantoms in the mask of virtue and duty,and not, as you have strenuously maintained, utterly subverted.

  I shall not escape your censure, but I shall, likewise, gain yourcompassion. I have erred, not through sinister or malignant intentions,but from the impulse of misguided, indeed, but powerful, benevolence.

  Letter III.

  _To Edgar Huntly_.