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

  Chapter III.

  The ensuing day was spent partly in sleep, and partly in languor anddisquietude. I incessantly ruminated on the incidents of the last night.The scheme that I had formed was defeated. Was it likely that thisunknown person would repeat his midnight visits to the elm? If he did,and could again be discovered, should I resolve to undertake a newpursuit, which might terminate abortively, or in some signal disaster?But what proof had I that the same route would be taken, and that hewould again inter himself alive in the same spot? Or, if he did, sincehis reappearance would sufficiently prove that the cavern was notdangerous, and that he who should adventure in might hope to come outagain in safety, why not enter it after him? What could be theinducements of this person to betake himself to subterranean retreats?The basis of all this region is _limestone_; a substance thateminently abounds in rifts and cavities. These, by the gradual decay oftheir cementing parts, frequently make their appearance in spots wherethey might have been least expected. My attention has often been excitedby the hollow sound which was produced by my casual footsteps, and whichshowed me that I trod upon the roof of caverns. A mountain-cave and therumbling of an unseen torrent are appendages of this scene, dear to myyouthful imagination. Many of romantic structure were found within theprecincts of Norwalk.

  These I had industriously sought out; but this had hitherto escaped myobservation, and I formed the resolution of some time exploring it. Atpresent I determined to revisit the elm, and dig in the spot where thisperson had been employed in a similar way. It might be that somethingwas here deposited which might exhibit this transaction in a new light.At the suitable hour, on the ensuing night, I took my former stand. Theperson again appeared. My intention to dig was to be carried into effecton condition of his absence, and was, consequently, frustrated.

  Instead of rushing on him, and breaking at once the spell by which hissenses were bound, I concluded, contrary to my first design, to wait hisdeparture, and allow myself to be conducted whithersoever he pleased.The track into which he now led me was different from the former one. Itwas a maze, oblique, circuitous, upward and downward, in a degree whichonly could take place in a region so remarkably irregular in surface, soabounding with hillocks and steeps and pits and brooks, as_Solesbury_. It seemed to be the sole end of his labours tobewilder or fatigue his pursuer, to pierce into the deepest thickets, toplunge into the darkest cavities, to ascend the most difficult heights,and approach the slippery and tremulous verge of the dizziestprecipices.

  I disdained to be outstripped in this career. All dangers wereoverlooked, and all difficulties defied. I plunged into obscurities, andclambered over obstacles, from which, in a different state of mind, andwith a different object of pursuit, I should have recoiled withinvincible timidity. When the scene had passed, I could not review theperils I had undergone without shuddering.

  At length my conductor struck into a path which, compared with theruggedness of that which we had lately trodden, was easy and smooth.This track led us to the skirt of the wilderness, and at no long time wereached an open field, when a dwelling appeared, at a small distance,which I speedily recognised to be that belonging to Inglefield. I nowanticipated the fulfilment of my predictions. My conductor directed hissteps towards the barn, into which he entered by a small door.

  How were my doubts removed! This was no other than Clithero Edny. Therewas nothing in his appearance incompatible with this conclusion. He andhis fellow-servant occupied an apartment in the barn as a lodging-room.This arduous purpose was accomplished, and I retired to the shelter of aneighbouring shed, not so much to repose myself after the fatigues of myextraordinary journey, as to devise further expedients.

  Nothing now remained but to take Clithero to task; to repeat to him theobservations of the two last nights; to unfold to him my conjectures andsuspicions; to convince him of the rectitude of my intentions; and toextort from him a disclosure of all the circumstances connected with thedeath of Waldegrave which it was in his power to communicate.

  In order to obtain a conference, I resolved to invite him to my uncle'sto perform a certain piece of work for me under my own eyes. He would,of course, spend the night with us, and in the evening I would take anopportunity of entering into conversation with him.

  A period of the deepest deliberation was necessary to qualify myself forperforming suitably my part in this projected interview. I attended tothe feelings that were suggested in this new state of my knowledge. Ifound reason to confide in my newly-acquired equanimity. "Remorse," saidI, "is an ample and proper expiation for all offences. What doesvengeance desire but to inflict misery? If misery come, its desires areaccomplished. It is only the obdurate and exulting criminal that isworthy of our indignation. It is common for pity to succeed thebitterest suggestions of resentment. If the vengeful mind be delightedwith the spectacle of woes of its own contriving, at least its caninehunger is appeased, and thenceforth its hands are inactive."

  On the evening of the next day, I paid a visit to Inglefield. I wishedto impart to him the discoveries that I had made, and to listen to hisreflections on the subject. I likewise desired to obtain all possibleinformation from the family respecting the conduct of Clithero.

  My friend received me with his usual kindness. Thou art no stranger tohis character; thou knowest with what paternal affection I have everbeen regarded by this old man; with what solicitude the wanderings of myreason and my freaks of passion have been noted and corrected by him.Thou knowest his activity to save the life of thy brother, and the hoursthat have been spent by him in aiding my conjectures as to the cause ofhis death, and inculcating the lessons of penitence and duty.

  The topics which could not but occur at such a meeting were quicklydiscussed, and I hastily proceeded to that subject which was nearest myheart. I related the adventures of the two preceding nights, andmentioned the inference to which they irresistibly led.

  He said that this inference coincided with suspicions he had formed,since our last interview, in consequence of certain communications fromhis housekeeper. It seems the character of Clithero had, from the first,exercised the inquisitiveness of this old lady. She had carefully markedhis musing and melancholy deportment. She had tried innumerableexpedients for obtaining a knowledge of his past life, and particularlyof his motives for coming to America. These expedients, however profoundand addressful, had failed. He took no pains to elude them. He contentedhimself with turning a deaf ear to all indirect allusions and hints,and, when more explicitly questioned, with simply declaring that he hadnothing to communicate worthy of her notice.

  During the day he was a sober and diligent workman. His evenings hespent in incommunicative silence. On Sundays, he always rambled away, noone knew whither, and without a companion. I have already observed thathe and his fellow-servant occupied the same apartment in the barn. Thiscircumstance was not unattended to by Miss Inglefield. The name ofClithero's companion was Ambrose. This man was copiously interrogated byhis mistress, and she found him by no means so refractory as the other.

  Ambrose, in his tedious and confused way, related that, soon afterClithero and he had become bedfellows, the former was considerablydisturbed by restlessness and talking in his sleep. His discourse wasincoherent. It was generally in the tone of expostulation, and appearedto be entreating to be saved from some great injury. Such phrases asthese,--"have pity;" "have mercy," were frequently intermingled withgroans, and accompanied with weeping. Sometimes he seemed to be holdingconferences with some one who was making him considerable offers oncondition of his performing some dangerous service. What he said in hisown person, and in answer to his imaginary tempter, testified the utmostreluctance.

  Ambrose had no curiosity on the subject. As this interruption preventedhim at first from sleeping, it was his custom to put an end to thedialogue, by awakening his companion, who betrayed tokens of great alarmand dejection on discovering how he had been employed. He wouldsolicitously inquire what were the words that he had uttered; butAmbrose's report was seldom satis
factory, because he had attended tothem but little, and because he grudged every moment in which he wasdeprived of his accustomed repose.

  Whether Clithero had ceased from this practice, or habit had reconciledhis companion to the sounds, they no longer occasioned any interruptionto his slumber.

  No one appeared more shocked than he at the death of Waldegrave. Afterthis event his dejection suddenly increased. This symptom was observedby the family, but none but the housekeeper took the trouble to noticeit to him, or build conjectures on the incident. During nights, however,Ambrose experienced a renewal of his ancient disturbances. He remarkedthat Clithero, one night, had disappeared from his side. Ambrose's rangeof reflection was extremely narrow. Quickly falling asleep, and findinghis companion beside him when he awoke, he dismissed it from his mind.

  On several ensuing nights he awakened in like manner, and always foundhis companion's place empty. The repetition of so strange an incident atlength incited him to mention it to Clithero. The latter was confoundedat this intelligence. He questioned Ambrose with great anxiety as to theparticulars of this event, but he could gain no satisfaction from thestupid inattention of the other. From this time there was a visibleaugmentation of his sadness. His fits of taciturnity became moreobstinate, and a deeper gloom sat upon his brow.

  There was one other circumstance, of particular importance, mentioned bythe housekeeper. One evening some one on horseback stopped at this gate.He rattled at the gate, with an air of authority, in token of his desirethat some one would come from the house. Miss Inglefield was employed inthe kitchen, from a window of which she perceived who it was that madethe signal. Clithero happened, at the same moment, to be employed nearher. She, therefore, desired him to go and see whom the stranger wanted.He laid aside his work and went. The conference lasted above fiveminutes. The length of it excited in her a faint degree of surprise,inducing her to leave her employment and pay an unintermitted attentionto the scene. There was nothing, however, but its duration that renderedit remarkable.

  Clithero at length entered, and the traveller proceeded. The countenanceof the former betrayed a degree of perturbation which she had neverwitnessed before. The muscles of his face were distorted and tremulous.He immediately sat down to his work, but he seemed, for some time, tohave lost all power over his limbs. He struggled to avoid the sight ofthe lady, and his gestures, irresolute or misdirected, betokened thedeepest dismay. After some time, he recovered, in some degree, hisself-possession; but, while the object was viewed through a new medium,and the change existed only in the imagination of the observer, a changewas certainly discovered.

  These circumstances were related to me by Inglefield and corroborated byhis housekeeper. One consequence inevitably flowed from them. Thesleep-walker, he who had led me through so devious a tract, was no otherthan Clithero. There was, likewise, a strong relation between this personand him who stopped at the gate. What was the subject of discourse betweenthem? In answer to Miss Inglefield's interrogatories, he merely saidthat the traveller inquired whither the road led which, at a smalldistance forward, struck out of the principal one. Considering thelength of the interview, it was not likely that this was the only topic.

  My determination to confer with him in private acquired new force fromthese reflections. Inglefield assented to my proposal. His own affairswould permit the absence of his servant for one day. I saw no necessityfor delay, and immediately made my request to Clithero. I was fashioningan implement, I told him, with respect to which I could not whollydepend upon my own skill. I was acquainted with the dexterity of hiscontrivances, and the neatness of his workmanship. He readily consentedto assist me on this occasion. Next day he came. Contrary to myexpectation, he prepared to return home in the evening. I urged him tospend the night with us: but no; it was equally convenient, and moreagreeable to him, to return.

  I was not aware of this resolution. I might, indeed, have foreseen that,being conscious of his infirmity, he would desire to avoid the scrutinyof strangers. I was painfully disconcerted; but it occurred to me, thatthe best that could be done was to bear him company, and seize someopportunity, during this interval, of effecting my purpose. I told him,that, since he would not remain, I cared not if, for the sake ofrecreation, and of a much more momentous purpose, I went along with him.He tacitly, and without apparent reluctance, consented to my scheme,and, accordingly, we set off together. This was an awful crisis. Thetime had now come that was to dissipate my uncertainty. By what meansshould I introduce a topic so momentous and singular? I had beenqualified by no experience for rightly conducting myself on so criticalan emergency. My companion preserved a mournful and inviolable silence.He afforded me no opening by which I might reach the point in view. Hisdemeanour was sedate, while I was almost disabled, by the confusion ofmy thoughts, to utter a word.

  It was a dreadful charge that I was about to insinuate. I was to accusemy companion of nothing less than murder. I was to call upon him for anavowal of his guilt. I was to state the ground of my suspicions, anddesire him to confute or confirm them. In doing this, I was principallystimulated by an ungovernable curiosity; yet, if I intended not theconferring of a benefit, I did not, at least, purpose the infliction ofevil. I persuaded myself that I was able to exclude from my bosom allsanguinary or vengeful impulses; and that, whatever should be the issueof this conversation, my equanimity would be unsubdued.

  I revolved various modes of introducing the topic by which my mind wasengaged. I passed rapidly from one to another. None of them weresufficiently free from objection to allow me to adopt it. My perplexitybecame, every moment, more painful, and my ability to extricate myself,less.

  In this state of uncertainty, so much time elapsed, that the elm atlength appeared in sight. This object had somewhat of a mechanicalinfluence upon me. I stopped short, and seized the arm of my companion.Till this moment, he appeared to have been engrossed by his ownreflections, and not to have heeded those emotions which must have beensufficiently conspicuous in my looks.

  This action recalled him from his reverie. The first idea that occurredto him, when he had noticed my behaviour, was, that I was assailed bysome sudden indisposition.

  "What is the matter?" said he, in a tone of anxiety: "are you not well?"

  "Yes," replied I,--"perfectly well. But stop a moment; I have somethingto say to you."

  "To me?" answered he, with surprise.

  "Yes," said I. "Let us turn down this path," (pointing, at the sametime, to that along which I had followed him the preceding night.)

  He now partook, in some degree, of my embarrassment.

  "Is there any thing particular?" said he, in a doubting accent. There hestopped.

  "Something," I answered, "of the highest moment. Go with me down thispath. We shall be in less danger of interruption."

  He was irresolute and silent, but, seeing me remove the bars and passthrough them, he followed me. Nothing more was said till we entered thewood. I trusted to the suggestions of the moment. I had now gone too farto recede, and the necessity that pressed upon me supplied me withwords. I continued:--

  "This is a remarkable spot. You may wonder why I have led you to it. Iought not to keep you in suspense. There is a tale connected with it,which I am desirous of telling you. For this purpose I have brought youhither. Listen to me."

  I then recapitulated the adventures of the two preceding nights. I addednothing, nor retrenched any thing. He listened in the deepest silence.From every incident, he gathered new cause of alarm. Repeatedly he wipedhis face with his handkerchief, and sighed deeply. I took no verbalnotice of these symptoms. I deemed it incumbent on me to repressnothing. When I came to the concluding circumstance, by which his personwas identified, he heard me without any new surprise. To this narrativeI subjoined the inquiries that I had made at Inglefield's, and theresult of those inquiries. I then continued in these words:--

  "You may ask why I subjected myself to all this trouble. Themysteriousness of these transactions would have naturally suggestedcurios
ity in any one. A transient passenger would probably have acted asI have done. But I had motives peculiar to myself. Need I remind you ofa late disaster? That it happened beneath the shade of this tree? Am Inot justified in drawing certain inferences from your behaviour? Whatthey are, I leave you to judge. Be it your task to confute or confirmthem. For this end I have conducted you hither.

  "My suspicions are vehement. How can they be otherwise? I call upon youto say whether they be just."

  The spot where we stood was illuminated by the moon, that had now risen,though all around was dark. Hence his features and person were easilydistinguished. His hands hung at his side. His eyes were downcast, andhe was motionless as a statue. My last words seemed scarcely to havemade any impression on his sense. I had no need to provide against thepossible suggestions of revenge. I felt nothing but the tenderness ofcompassion. I continued, for some time, to observe him in silence, andcould discover no tokens of a change of mood. I could not forbear, atlast, to express my uneasiness at the fixedness of his features andattitude.

  "Recollect yourself. I mean not to urge you too closely. This topic issolemn, but it need not divest you of the fortitude becoming a man."

  The sound of my voice startled him. He broke from me, looked up, andfixed his eyes upon me with an expression of affright. He shuddered andrecoiled as from a spectre. I began to repent of my experiment. I couldsay nothing suitable to this occasion. I was obliged to stand a silentand powerless spectator, and to suffer this paroxysm to subside ofitself. When its violence appeared to be somewhat abated, I resumed:--

  "I can feel for you. I act not thus in compliance with a temper thatdelights in the misery of others. The explanation that I have solicitedis no less necessary for your sake than for mine. You are no stranger tothe light in which I viewed this man. You have witnessed the grief whichhis fate occasioned, and the efforts that I made to discover and drag topunishment his murderer. You heard the execrations that I heaped uponhim, and my vows of eternal revenge. You expect that, having detectedthe offender, I will hunt him to infamy and death. You are mistaken. Iconsider the deed as sufficiently expiated.

  "I am no stranger to your gnawing cares; to the deep and incurabledespair that haunts you, to which your waking thoughts are a prey, andfrom which sleep cannot secure you. I know the enormity of your crime,but I know not your inducements. Whatever they were, I see theconsequences with regard to yourself. I see proofs of that remorse whichmust ever be attendant on guilt.

  "This is enough. Why should the effects of our misdeeds beinexhaustible? Why should we be debarred from a comforter? Anopportunity of repairing our errors may, at least, be demanded from therulers of our destiny.

  "I once imagined that he who killed Waldegrave inflicted the greatestpossible injury on me. That was an error, which reflection has cured.Were futurity laid open to my view, and events, with their consequences,unfolded, I might see reason to embrace the assassin as my best friend.Be comforted."

  He was still incapable of speaking; but tears came to his relief.Without attending to my remonstrances, he betrayed a disposition toreturn. I had, hitherto, hoped for some disclosure, but now feared thatit was designed to be withheld. He stopped not till we reachedInglefield's piazza. He then spoke, for the first time, but in a hollowand tremulous voice:--

  "You demand of me a confession of crimes. You shall have it. Some timeyou shall have it. When it will be, I cannot tell. Something must bedone, and shortly."

  He hurried from me into the house, and, after a pause, I turned mysteps home wards. My reflections, as I proceeded, perpetually revolvedround a single point. These were scarcely more than a repetition, withslight variations, of a single idea.

  When I awoke in the morning, I hied, in fancy, to the wilderness. I sawnothing but the figure of the wanderer before me. I traced his footstepsanew, retold my narrative, and pondered on his gestures and words. Mycondition was not destitute of enjoyment. My stormy passions hadsubsided into a calm, portentous and awful. My soul was big withexpectation. I seemed as if I were on the eve of being ushered into aworld whose scenes were tremendous but sublime. The suggestions ofsorrow and malice had, for a time, taken their flight, and yielded placeto a generous sympathy, which filled my eyes with tears, but had more init of pleasure than of pain. That Clithero was instrumental to the deathof Waldegrave, that he could furnish the clue explanatory of everybloody and mysterious event that had hitherto occurred, there was nolonger the possibility of doubting. "He, indeed," said I, "is themurderer of excellence; and yet it shall be my province to emulate afather's clemency, and restore this unhappy man to purity and to peace."

  Day after day passed, without hearing any thing of Clithero. I began togrow uneasy and impatient. I had gained so much, and by means sounexpected, that I could more easily endure uncertainty with respect towhat remained to be known. But my patience had its limits. I should,doubtless, have made use of new means to accelerate this discovery, hadnot his timely appearance made them superfluous.

  Sunday being at length arrived, I resolved to go to Inglefield's, seekan interview with his servant, and urge him, by new importunities, toconfide to me the secret. On my way thither, Clithero appeared in sight.His visage was pale and wan, and his form emaciated and shrunk. I wasastonished at the alteration which the lapse of a week had made in hisappearance. At a small distance I mistook him for a stranger. As soon asI perceived who it was, I greeted him with the utmost friendliness. Mycivilities made little impression on him, and he hastened to inform me,that he was coming to my uncle's, for the purpose of meeting and talkingwith me. If I thought proper, we would go into the wood together, andfind some spot where we might discourse at our leisure and be exemptfrom interruption.

  You will easily conceive with what alacrity I accepted his invitation.We returned from the road into the first path, and proceeded in silence,till the wildness of the surrounding scenery informed us that we were inthe heart of Norwalk. We lighted on a recess, to which my companionappeared to be familiar, and which had all the advantages of solitude,and was suitable to rest. Here we stopped. Hitherto my companion haddisplayed a certain degree of composure. Now his countenance betokened aviolent internal struggle. It was a considerable time before he couldcommand his speech. When he had so far effected the conquest of hisfeelings, he began.