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

  Chapter VIII.

  Till now my mind had been swayed by the urgencies of this occasion.These reflections were excluded, which rushed tumultuously upon me themoment I was at leisure to receive them. Without foresight of a previousmoment, an entire change had been wrought in my condition.

  I had been oppressed with a sense of the danger that flowed from theexistence of this man. By what means the peril could be annihilated, andwe be placed in security from his attempts, no efforts of mind couldsuggest. To devise these means, and employ them with success, demanded,as I conceived, the most powerful sagacity and the firmest courage. Nowthe danger was no more. The intelligence in which plans of mischiefmight be generated was extinguished or flown. Lifeless were the handsready to execute the dictates of that intelligence. The contriver ofenormous evil was, in one moment, bereft of the power and the will toinjure. Our past tranquillity had been owing to the belief of his death.Fear and dismay had resumed their dominion when the mistake wasdiscovered. But now we might regain possession of our wonted confidence.I had beheld with my own eyes the lifeless corpse of our implacableadversary. Thus, in a moment, had terminated his long and flagitiouscareer. His restless indignation, his malignant projects, that had solong occupied the stage and been so fertile of calamity, were now at anend!

  In the course of my meditations, the idea of the death of this man hadoccurred, and it bore the appearance of a desirable event. Yet it waslittle qualified to tranquillize my fears. In the long catalogue ofcontingencies, this, indeed, was to be found; but it was as littlelikely to happen as any other. It could not happen without a series ofanterior events paving the way for it. If his death came from us, itmust be the theme of design. It must spring from laborious circumventionand deep-laid stratagems.

  No. He was dead. I had killed him. What had I done? I had meditatednothing. I was impelled by an unconscious necessity. Had the assailantbeen my father, the consequence would have been the same. Myunderstanding had been neutral. Could it be? In a space so short, was itpossible that so tremendous a deed had been executed? Was I not deceivedby some portentous vision? I had witnessed the convulsions and lastagonies of Wiatte. He was no more, and I was his destroyer!

  Such was the state of my mind for some time after this dreadful event.Previously to it I was calm, considerate, and self-collected. I markedthe way that I was going. Passing objects were observed. If I advertedto the series of my own reflections, my attention was not seized andfastened by them. I could disengage myself at pleasure, and could pass,without difficulty, from attention to the world within, to thecontemplation of that without.

  Now my liberty, in this respect, was at an end. I was fettered,confounded, smitten with excess of thought, and laid prostrate withwonder! I no longer attended to my steps. When I emerged from my stupor,I found that I had trodden back the way which I had lately come, and hadarrived within sight of the banker's door. I checked myself, and oncemore turned my steps homeward.

  This seemed to be a hint for entering into new reflections. "The deed,"said I, "is irretrievable. I have killed the brother of my patroness,the father of my love."

  This suggestion was new. It instantly involved me in terror andperplexity. How shall I communicate the tidings? What effect will theyproduce? My lady's sagacity is obscured by the benevolence of hertemper. Her brother was sordidly wicked,--a hoary ruffian, to whom thelanguage of pity was as unintelligible as the gabble of monkeys. Hisheart was fortified against compunction, by the atrocious habits offorty years; he lived only to interrupt her peace, to confute thepromises of virtue, and convert to rancour and reproach the fair dame offidelity.

  He was her brother still. As a human being, his depravity was neverbeyond the health-restoring power of repentance. His heart, so long asit beat, was accessible to remorse. The singularity of his birth hadmade her regard this being as more intimately her brother, than wouldhave happened in different circumstances. It was her obstinatepersuasion that their fates were blended. The rumour of his death shehad never credited. It was a topic of congratulation to her friends, butof mourning and distress to her. That he would one day reappear upon thestage, and assume the dignity of virtue, was a source of consolationwith which she would never consent to part.

  Her character was now known. When the doom of exile was pronounced uponhim, she deemed it incumbent on her to vindicate herself from aspersionsfounded on misconceptions of her motives in refusing her interference.The manuscript, though unpublished, was widely circulated. None couldresist her simple and touching eloquence, nor rise from the perusalwithout resigning his heart to the most impetuous impulses ofadmiration, and enlisting himself among the eulogists of her justice andher fortitude. This was the only monument, in a written form, of hergenius. As such it was engraven on my memory. The picture that itdescribed was the perpetual companion of my thoughts.

  Alas! It had, perhaps, been well for me if it had been buried in eternaloblivion. I read in it the condemnation of my deed, the agonies she waspreparing to suffer, and the indignation that would overflow upon theauthor of so signal a calamity.

  I had rescued my life by the sacrifice of his. Whereas I should havedied. Wretched and precipitate coward! What had become of my boastedgratitude? Such was the zeal that I had vowed to her. Such the serviceswhich it was the business of my life to perform. I had snatched herbrother from existence. I had torn from her the hope which she soardently and indefatigably cherished. From a contemptible and dastardlyregard to my own safety I had failed in the moment of trial and whencalled upon by Heaven to evince the sincerity of my professions.

  She had treated my professions lightly. My vows of eternal devotion shehad rejected with lofty disinterestedness. She had arraigned myimpatience of obligation as criminal, and condemned every scheme I hadprojected for freeing myself from the burden which her beneficence hadlaid upon me. The impassioned and vehement anxiety with which, in formerdays, she had deprecated the vengeance of her lover against Wiatte, rungin my ears. My senses were shocked anew by the dreadful sounds, "Touchnot my brother. Wherever you meet with him, of whatever outrage he beguilty, suffer him to pass in safety. Despise me; abandon me; kill me.All this I can bear even from you; but spare, I implore you, my unhappybrother. The stroke that deprives him of life will not only have thesame effect upon me, but will set my portion in everlasting misery."

  To these supplications I had been deaf. It is true I had not rushed uponhim unarmed, intending no injury nor expecting any. Of that degree ofwickedness I was, perhaps, incapable. Alas! I have immersed myselfsufficiently deep in crimes. I have trampled under foot every motivedear to the heart of honour. I have shown myself unworthy the society ofmen.

  Such were the turbulent suggestions of that moment. My pace slackened. Istopped, and was obliged to support myself against a wall. The sicknessthat had seized my heart penetrated every part of my frame. There wasbut one thing wanting to complete my distraction.--"My lady," said I,"believed her fate to be blended with that of Wiatte. Who shall affirmthat the persuasion is a groundless one? She had lived and prospered,notwithstanding the general belief that her brother was dead. She wouldnot hearken to the rumour. Why? Because nothing less than indubitableevidence would suffice to convince her? Because the counter-intimationflowed from an infallible source? How can the latter supposition beconfuted? Has she not predicted the event?

  "The period of terrible fulfilment has arrived. The same blow thatbereaved _him_ of life has likewise ratified her doom.

  "She has been deceived. It is nothing more, perhaps, than a fondimagination. It matters not. Who knows not the cogency of faith? Thatthe pulses of life are at the command of the will? The bearer of thesetidings will be the messenger of death. A fatal sympathy will seize her.She will shrink, and swoon, and perish, at the news!

  "Fond and short-sighted wretch! This is the price thou hast given forsecurity. In the rashness of thy thought, thou saidst, 'Nothing iswanting but his death to restore us to confidence and safety.' Lo! thepurchase is made. Havoc and despair, that
were restrained during hislife, were let loose by his last sigh. Now only is destruction madesure. Thy lady, thy Clarice, thy friend, and thyself, are, by this act,involved in irretrievable and common ruin!"

  I started from my attitude. I was scarcely conscious of any transition.The interval was fraught with stupor, and amazement. It seemed as if mysenses had been hushed in sleep, while the powers of locomotion wereunconsciously exerted to bear me to my chamber. By whatever means thechange was effected, there I was.

  I have been able to proceed thus far. I can scarcely believe thetestimony of my memory that assures me of this. My task is almostexecuted; but whence shall I obtain strength enough to finish it? What Ihave told is light as gossamer, compared with the insupportable andcrushing horrors of that which is to come. Heaven, in token of itsvengeance, will enable me to proceed. It is fitting that my scene shouldthus close.

  My fancy began to be infected with the errors of my understanding. Themood into which my mind was plunged was incapable of any propitiousintermission. All within me was tempestuous and dark. My ears wereaccessible to no sounds but those of shrieks and lamentations. It wasdeepest midnight, and all the noises of a great metropolis were hushed.Yet I listened as if to catch some strain of the dirge that was begun.Sable robes, sobs, and a dreary solemnity encompassed me on all sides, Iwas haunted to despair by images of death, imaginary clamours, and thetrain of funeral pageantry. I seemed to have passed forward to a distantera of my life. The effects which were come were already realized. Theforesight of misery created it, and set me in the midst of that hellwhich I feared.

  From a paroxysm like this the worst might reasonably be dreaded, yet thenext step to destruction was not suddenly taken. I paused on the brinkof the precipice, as if to survey the depth of that frenzy that invadedme; was able to ponder on the scene, and deliberate, in a state thatpartook of calm, on the circumstances of my situation. My mind washarassed by the repetition of one idea. Conjecture deepened intocertainty. I could place the object in no light which did notcorroborate the persuasion that, in the act committed, I had insured thedestruction of my lady. At length my mind, somewhat relieved from thetempest of my fears, began to trace and analyze the consequences which Idreaded.

  The fate of Wiatte would inevitably draw along with it that of hissister. In what way would this effect be produced? Were they linkedtogether by a sympathy whose influence was independent of sensiblecommunication? Could she arrive at a knowledge of his miserable and byother than verbal means? I had heard of such extraordinarycopartnerships in being and modes of instantaneous intercourse amongbeings locally distant. Was this a new instance of the subtlety of mind?Had she already endured his agonies, and like him already ceased tobreathe?

  Every hair bristled at this horrible suggestion. But the force ofsympathy might be chimerical. Buried in sleep, or engaged in carelessmeditation, the instrument by which her destiny might be accomplishedwas the steel of an assassin. A series of events, equally beyond thereach of foresight with those which had just happened, might introduce,with equal abruptness, a similar disaster. What, at that moment, was hercondition? Reposing in safety in her chamber, as her family imagined.But were they not deceived? Was she not a mangled corpse? Whatever wereher situation, it could not be ascertained, except by extraordinarymeans, till the morning. Was it wise to defer the scrutiny till then?Why not instantly investigate the truth?

  These ideas passed rapidly through my mind. A considerable portion oftime and amplification of phrase are necessary to exhibit, verbally,ideas contemplated in a space of incalculable brevity. With the samerapidity I conceived the resolution of determining the truth of mysuspicions. All the family, but myself, were at rest. Winding passageswould conduct me, without danger of disturbing them, to the hall, fromwhich double staircases ascended. One of these led to a saloon above, onthe east side of which was a door that communicated with a suite ofrooms occupied by the lady of the mansion. The first was an antechamber,in which a female servant usually lay. The second was the lady's ownbedchamber. This was a sacred recess, with whose situation, relative tothe other apartments of the building, I was well acquainted, but ofwhich I knew nothing from my own examination, having never been admittedinto it.

  Thither I was now resolved to repair. I was not deterred by the sanctityof the place and hour. I was insensible to all consequences but theremoval of my doubts. Not that my hopes were balanced by my fears. Thatthe same tragedy had been performed in her chamber and in the street,nothing hindered me from believing with as much cogency as if my owneyes had witnessed it, but the reluctance with which we admit adetestable truth.

  To terminate a state of intolerable suspense, I resolved to proceedforthwith to her chamber. I took the light and paced, with nointerruption, along the galleries. I used no precaution. If I had met aservant or robber, I am not sure that I should have noticed him. Myattention was too perfectly engrossed to allow me to spare any to acasual object. I cannot affirm that no one observed me. This, however,was probable from the distribution of the dwelling. It consisted of acentral edifice and two wings, one of which was appropriated todomestics and the other, at the extremity of which my apartment wasplaced, comprehended a library, and rooms for formal and social andliterary conferences. These, therefore, were deserted at night, and myway lay along these. Hence it was not likely that my steps would beobserved.

  I proceeded to the hall. The principal parlour was beneath her chamber.In the confusion of my thoughts, I mistook one for the other. Irectified, as soon as I detected, my mistake. I ascended, with a beatingheart, the staircase. The door of the antechamber was unfastened. Ientered, totally regardless of disturbing the girl who slept within. Thebed which she occupied was concealed by curtains. Whether she werethere, I did not stop to examine. I cannot recollect that any tokenswere given of wakefulness or alarm. It was not till I reached the doorof her own apartment that my heart began to falter.

  It was now that the momentousness of the question I was about to deciderushed with its genuine force upon my apprehension. Appalled and aghast,I had scarcely power to move the bolt. If the imagination of her deathwas not to be supported, how should I bear the spectacle of wounds andblood? Yet this was reserved for me. A few paces would set me in themidst of a scene of which I was the abhorred contriver. Was it right toproceed? There were still the remnants of doubt. My forebodings mightpossibly be groundless. All within might be safety and serenity. Arespite might be gained from the execution of an irrevocable sentence.What could I do? Was not any thing easy to endure in comparison with theagonies of suspense? If I could not obviate the evil I must bear it, butthe torments of suspense were susceptible of remedy.

  I drew back the bolt, and entered with the reluctance of fear, ratherthan the cautiousness of guilt. I could not lift my eyes from theground. I advanced to the middle of the room. Not a sound like that ofthe dying saluted my-ear. At length, shaking off the fetters ofhopelessness, I looked up.

  I saw nothing calculated to confirm my fears. Everywhere there reignedquiet and order. My heart leaped with exultation. "Can it be," said I,"that I have been betrayed with shadows?--But this is not sufficient."

  Within an alcove was the bed that belonged to her. If her safety wereinviolate, it was here that she reposed. What remained to converttormenting doubt into ravishing certainty? I was insensible to theperils of my present situation. If she, indeed, were there, would not myintrusion awaken her? She would start and perceive me, at this hour,standing at her bedside. How should I account for an intrusion sounexampled and audacious? I could not communicate my fears. I could nottell her that the blood with which my hands were stained had flowed fromthe wounds of her brother.

  My mind was inaccessible to such considerations. They did not evenmodify my predominant idea. Obstacles like these, had they existed,would have been trampled under foot.

  Leaving the lamp, that I bore, on the table, I approached the bed. Islowly drew aside the curtain, and beheld her tranquilly slumbering. Ilistened, but so profound was her sleep, t
hat not even her breathingscould be overheard. I dropped the curtain and retired.

  How blissful and mild were the illuminations of my bosom at thisdiscovery! A joy that surpassed all utterance succeeded the fiercenessof desperation. I stood, for some moments, wrapped in delightfulcontemplation. Alas! it was a luminous but transient interval. Themadness to whose black suggestions it bore so strong a contrast begannow to make sensible approaches on my understanding.

  "True," said I, "she lives. Her slumber is serene and happy. She isblind to her approaching destiny. Some hours will at least be rescuedfrom anguish and death. When she wakes, the phantom that soothed herwill vanish. The tidings cannot be withheld from her. The murderer ofthy brother cannot hope to enjoy thy smiles. Those ravishing accents,with which thou hast used to greet me, will be changed. Scowling andreproaches, the invectives of thy anger and the maledictions of thyjustice, will rest upon my head,

  "What is the blessing which I made the theme of my boastful arrogance?This interval of being and repose is momentary. She will awake, but onlyto perish at the spectacle of my ingratitude. She will awake only to theconsciousness of instantly-impending death. When she again sleeps shewill wake no more. I, her son,--I, whom the law of my birth doomed topoverty and hardship, but whom her unsolicited beneficence snatched fromthose evils, and endowed with the highest good known to intelligentbeings, the consolations of science and the blandishments ofaffluence,--to whom the darling of her life, the offspring in whom arefaithfully preserved the lineaments of its angelic mother, she has notdenied! What is the recompense that I have made? How have I dischargedthe measureless debt of gratitude to which she is entitled? Thus!--

  "Cannot my guilt be extenuated? Is there not a good that I can do thee?Must I perpetrate unmingled evil? Is the province assigned me that of aninfernal emissary, whose efforts are concentred in a single purpose, andthat purpose a malignant one? I am the author of thy calamities.Whatever misery is reserved for thee, I am the source whence it flows.Can I not set bounds to the stream? Cannot I prevent thee from returningto a consciousness which, till it ceases to exist, will not cease to berent and mangled?

  "Yes. It is in my power to screen thee from the coming storm; toaccelerate thy journey to rest. I will do it."

  The impulse was not to be resisted. I moved with the suddenness oflightning. Armed with a pointed implement that lay----it was a dagger.As I set down the lamp, I struck the edge. Yet I saw it not, or noticedit not till I needed its assistance. By what accident it came hither, towhat deed of darkness it had already been subservient, I had no power toinquire. I stepped to the table and seized it.

  The time which this action required was insufficient to save me. My doomwas ratified by powers which no human energies can counterwork.--Need Igo further? Did you entertain any imagination of so frightful acatastrophe? I am overwhelmed by turns with dismay and with wonder. I amprompted by turns to tear my heart from my breast and deny faith to theverdict of my senses.

  Was it I that hurried to the deed? No. It was the demon that possessedme. My limbs were guided to the bloody office by a power foreign andsuperior to mine. I had been defrauded, for a moment, of the empire ofmy muscles. A little moment for that sufficed. If my destruction hadnot been decreed, why was the image of Clarice so long excluded? Yet whydo I say long? The fatal resolution was conceived, and I hastened to theexecution, in a period too brief for more than itself to be viewed bythe intellect.

  What then? Were my hands imbrued in this precious blood? Was it to thisextremity of horror that my evil genius was determined to urge me? Toosurely this was his purpose; too surely I was qualified to be itsminister.

  I lifted the weapon. Its point was aimed at the bosom of the sleeper.The impulse was given.

  At the instant a piercing shriek was uttered behind me, and astretched-out hand, grasping the blade, made it swerve widely from itsaim. It descended, but without inflicting a wound. Its force was spentupon the bed.

  Oh for words to paint that stormy transition! I loosed my hold of thedagger. I started back, and fixed eyes of frantic curiosity on theauthor of my rescue. He that interposed to arrest my deed, that startedinto being and activity at a moment so pregnant with fate, withouttokens of his purpose or his coming being previously imparted, couldnot, methought, be less than divinity.

  The first glance that I darted on this being corroborated my conjecture.It was the figure and lineaments of Mrs. Lorimer. Negligently habited inflowing and brilliant white, with features bursting with terror andwonder, the likeness of that being who was stretched upon the bed nowstood before me.

  All that I am able to conceive of angel was comprised in the moralconstitution of this woman. That her genius had overleaped all bounds,and interposed to save her, was no audacious imagination. In the statein which my mind then was, no other belief than this could occupy thefirst place.

  My tongue was tied. I gazed by turns upon her who stood before me, andher who lay upon the bed, and who, awakened by the shriek that had beenuttered, now opened her eyes. She started from her pillow, and, byassuming a new and more distinct attitude, permitted me to recognise_Clarice herself_!

  Three days before, I had left her, beside the bed of a dying friend, ata solitary mansion in the mountains of Donegal. Here it had been herresolution to remain till her friend should breathe her last. Fraughtwith this persuasion, knowing this to be the place and hour of repose ofmy lady, hurried forward by the impetuosity of my own conceptions,deceived by the faint gleam which penetrated through the curtain andimperfectly-irradiated features which bore, at all times, a powerfulresemblance to those of Mrs. Lorimer, I had rushed to the brink of thisterrible precipice!

  Why did I linger on the verge? Why, thus perilously situated, did I notthrow myself headlong? The steel was yet in my hand. A single blow wouldhave pierced my heart, and shut out from my remembrance and foresightthe past and the future.

  The moment of insanity had gone by, and I was once more myself. Insteadof regarding the act which I had meditated as the dictate of compassionor of justice, it only added to the sum of my ingratitude, and gavewings to the whirlwind that was sent to bear me to perdition.

  Perhaps I was influenced by a sentiment which I had not leisure todistribute into parts. My understanding was, no doubt, bewildered in themaze of consequences which would spring from my act. How should Iexplain my coming hither in this murderous guise, my arm lifted todestroy the idol of my soul and the darling child of my patroness? Inwhat words should I unfold the tale of Wiatte, and enumerate the motivesthat terminated in the present scene? What penalty had not myinfatuation and cruelty deserved? What could I less than turn thedagger's point against my own bosom?

  A second time, the blow was thwarted and diverted. Once more thisbeneficent interposer held my arm from the perpetration of a newiniquity. Once more frustrated the instigations of that demon, of whosemalice a mysterious destiny had consigned me to be the sport and theprey.

  Every new moment added to the sum of my inexpiable guilt. Murder wassucceeded, in an instant, by the more detestable enormity of suicide.She to whom my ingratitude was flagrant in proportion to the benefits ofwhich she was the author, had now added to her former acts that ofrescuing me from the last of mischiefs.

  I threw the weapon on the floor. The zeal which prompted her to seize myarm, this action occasioned to subside, and to yield place to thoseemotions which this spectacle was calculated to excite. She watched mein silence, and with an air of ineffable solicitude. Clarice, governedby the instinct of modesty, wrapped her bosom and face in thebedclothes, and testified her horror by vehement but scarcely-articulateexclamations.

  I moved forward, but my steps were random and tottering. My thoughtswere fettered by reverie, and my gesticulations destitute of meaning. Mytongue faltered without speaking, and I felt as if life and death werestruggling within me for the mastery.

  My will, indeed, was far from being neutral in this contest. To such asI, annihilation is the supreme good. To shake off the ills that fastenon
us by shaking off existence, is a lot which the system of nature hasdenied to man. By escaping from life, I should be delivered from thisscene, but should only rush into a world of retribution, and be immersedin new agonies.

  I was yet to live. No instrument of my deliverance was within reach. Iwas powerless. To rush from the presence of these women to hide meforever from their scrutiny and their upbraiding, to snatch from theirminds all traces of the existence of Clithero, was the scope ofunutterable longings.

  Urged to flight by every motive of which my nature was susceptible, Iwas yet rooted to the spot. Had the pause been only to be interrupted byme, it would have lasted forever.

  At length, the lady, clasping her hands and lifting them, exclaimed, ina tone melting into pity and grief,--

  "Clithero! what is this? How came you hither, and why?"

  I struggled for utterance:--"I came to murder you. Your brother hasperished by my hands. Fresh from the commission of this deed, I havehastened hither to perpetrate the same crime upon you."

  "My brother!" replied the lady, with new vehemence. "Oh, say not so! Ihave just heard of his return, from Sarsefield, and that he lives."

  "He is dead," repeated I, with fierceness; "I know it. It was I thatkilled him."

  "Dead!" she faintly articulated. "And by thee, Clithero? Oh! cursedchance that hindered thee from killing me also! Dead! Then is the omenfulfilled! Then am I undone! Lost forever!"

  Her eyes now wandered from me, and her countenance sunk into a wild andrueful expression. Hope was utterly extinguished in her heart, and lifeforsook her at the same moment. She sunk upon the floor pallid andbreathless.

  How she came into possession of this knowledge I know not. It ispossible that Sarsefield had repented of concealment, and, in theinterval that passed between our separation and my encounter withWiatte, had returned, and informed her of the reappearance of thismiscreant.

  Thus, then, was my fate consummated. I was rescued from destroying herby a dagger, only to behold her perish by the tidings which I brought.Thus was every omen of mischief and misery fulfilled. Thus was theenmity of Wiatte rendered efficacious, and the instrument of hisdestruction changed into the executioner of his revenge.

  Such is the tale of my crimes. It is not for me to hope that the curtainof oblivion will ever shut out the dismal spectacle. It will haunt meforever. The torments that grow out of it can terminate only with thethread of my existence, but that, I know full well, will never end.Death is but a shifting of the scene; and the endless progress ofeternity, which to the good is merely the perfection of felicity, is tothe wicked an accumulation of woe. The self-destroyer is his own enemy:this has ever been my opinion. Hitherto it has influenced my actions.Now, though the belief continues, its influence on my conduct isannihilated. I am no stranger to the depth of that abyss into which Ishall plunge. No matter. Change is precious for its own sake.

  Well, I was still to live. My abode must be somewhere fixed. My conductwas henceforth the result of a perverse and rebellious principle. Ibanished myself forever from my native soil. I vowed never more tobehold the face of my Clarice, to abandon my friends, my books, all mywonted labours and accustomed recreations.

  I was neither ashamed nor afraid. I considered not in what way thejustice of the country would affect me. It merely made no part of mycontemplations. I was not embarrassed by the choice of expedients fortrammelling up the visible consequences and for eluding suspicion. Theidea of abjuring my country and flying forever from the hateful scenepartook, to my apprehension, of the vast, the boundless, and strange; ofplunging from the height of fortune to obscurity and indigence,corresponded with my present state of mind. It was of a piece with thetremendous and wonderful events that had just happened.

  These were the images that haunted me, while I stood speechlessly gazingat the ruin before me. I heard a noise from without, or imagined that Iheard it. My reverie was broken, and my muscular power restored. Idescended into the street, through doors of which I possessed one set ofkeys, and hurried by the shortest way beyond the precincts of the city.I had laid no plan. My conceptions with regard to the future wereshapeless and confused. Successive incidents supplied me with a clue,and suggested, as they rose, the next step to be taken. I threw off thegarb of affluence, and assumed a beggar's attire. That I had money aboutme for the accomplishment of my purposes was wholly accidental. Itravelled along the coast, and, when I arrived at one town, knew not whyI should go farther; but my restlessness was unabated, and change wassome relief. I it length arrived at Belfast. A vessel was preparing forAmerica. I embraced eagerly the opportunity of passing into a new world.I arrived at Philadelphia. As soon as I landed I wandered hither, andwas content to wear out my few remaining days in the service ofInglefield.

  I have no friends. Why should I trust my story to mother? I have nosolicitude about concealment; but who is there who will derive pleasureor benefit from my rehearsal? And why should I expatiate on so hateful ascheme? Yet now have I consented to this. I have confided in you thehistory of my disasters. I am not fearful of the use that you may bedisposed to make of it. I shall quickly set myself beyond the reach ofhuman tribunals. I shall relieve the ministers of law from the troubleof punishing. The recent events which induced you to summon me to thisconference have likewise determined me to make this disclosure.

  I was not aware, for some time, of my perturbed sleep. No wonder thatsleep cannot soothe miseries like mine; that I am alike infested bymemory in wakefulness and slumber. Yet I was anew distressed by thediscovery that my thoughts found their way to my lips, without my beingconscious of it, and that my steps wandered forth unknowingly andwithout the guidance of my will.

  The story you have told is not incredible. The disaster to which youallude did not fail to excite my regret. I can still weep over theuntimely fall of youth and worth. I can no otherwise account for myfrequenting his shade than by the distant resemblance which the death ofthis man bore to that of which I was the perpetrator. This resemblanceoccurred to me at first. If he were able to weaken the impression whichwas produced by my crime, this similitude was adapted to revive andenforce them.

  The wilderness, and the cave to which you followed me, were familiar tomy Sunday rambles. Often have I indulged in audible griefs on the cliffsof that valley. Often have I brooded over my sorrows in the recesses ofthat cavern. This scene is adapted to my temper. Its mountainousasperities supply me with images of desolation and seclusion, and itsheadlong streams lull me into temporary forgetfulness of mankind.

  I comprehend you. You suspect me of concern in the death of Waldegrave.You could not do otherwise. The conduct that you have witnessed was thatof a murderer. I will not upbraid you for your suspicions, though I havebought exemption from them at a high price.