University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

Order could not readily be introduced into my
thoughts. The voice still rung in my ears. Every
accent that was uttered by Carwin was fresh in my
remembrance. His unwelcome approach, the recognition
of his person, his hasty departure, pros
duced a complex impression on my mind which no
words can delineate. I strove to give a slower motion
to my thoughts, and to regulate a confusion
which became painful; but my efforts were nugatory.
I covered my eyes with my hand, and sat,
I know not how long, without power to arrange or
utter my conceptions.

I had remained for hours, as I believed, in absolute
solitude. No thought of personal danger
had molested my tranquillity. I had made no preparation
for defence. What was it that suggested
the design of perusing my father's manuscript? If,
instead of this, I had retired to bed, and to sleep,
to what fate might I not have been reserved? The
ruffian, who must almost have suppressed his breathings
to screen himself from discovery, would have
noticed this signal, and I should have awakened
only to perish with affright, and to abhor myself.
Could I have remained unconscious of my danger?
Could I have tranquilly slept in the midst of so
deadly a snare?

And who was he that threatened to destroy me?
By what means could he hide himself in this closet?
Surely he is gifted with supernatural power. Such
is the enemy of whose attempts I was forewarned.
Daily I had seen him and conversed with him. Nothing

could be discerned through the impenetrable
veil of his duplicity. When busied in conjectures,
as to the author of the evil that was threatened, my
mind did not light, for a moment, upon his image.
Yet has he not avowed himself my enemy? Why
should he be here if he had not meditated evil?

He confesses that this has been his second attempt.
What was the scene of his former conspiracy?
Was it not he whose whispers betrayed
him? Am I deceived; or was there not a faint resemblance
between the voice of this man and that
which talked of grasping my throat, and extinguishing
my life in a moment? Then he had a colleague
in his crime; now he is alone. Then death was
the scope of his thoughts; now an injury unspeakably
more dreadful. How thankful should I be to
the power that has interposed to save me!

That power is invisible. It is subject to the cognizance
of one of my senses. What are the means
that will inform me of what nature it is? He has
set himself to counterwork the machinations of this
man, who had menaced destruction to all that is
dear to me, and whose cunning had surmounted
every human impediment. There was none to
rescue me from his grasp. My rashness even hastened
the completion of his scheme, and precluded
him from the benefits of deliberation. I had robbed
him of the power to repent and forbear. Had I
been apprized of the danger, I should have regarded
my conduct as the means of rendering my escape
from it impossible. Such, likewise, seem to have
been the fears of my invisible protector. Else why
that startling intreaty to refrain from opening the
closet? By what inexplicable insatuation was I
compelled to proceed?

Yet my conduct was wise. Carwin, unable to
comprehend my folly, ascribed my behaviour to my
knowledge. He conceived himself previously detected,
and such detection being possible to flow
only from my heavenly friend, and his enemy, his
fears acquired additional strength.

He is apprized of the nature and intentions of this
being. Perhaps he is a human agent. Yet, on
that supposition his atchievements are incredible.
Why should I be selected as the object of his care;
or, if a mere mortal, should I not recognize some one,
whom, benefits imparted and received had prompted
to love me? What were the limits and duration
of his guardianship? Was the genius of my birth
entrusted by divine benignity with this province?
Are human faculties adequate to receive stronger
proofs of the existence of unsettered and beneficent
intelligences than I have received?

But who was this man's coadjutor? The voice
that acknowledged an alliance in treachery with
Carwin warned me to avoid the summer-house.
He assured me that there only my safety was endangered.
His assurance, as it now appears, was sallacious.
Was there not deceit in his admonition?
Was his compact really annulled? Some purpose
was, perhaps, to be accomplished by preventing my
future visits to that spot. Why was I enjoined
silence to others, on the subject of this admonition,
unless it were for some unauthorized and guilty
purpose?

No one but myself was accustomed to visit it.
Backward, it was hidden from distant view by the
rock, and in front, it was screened from all examination,
by creeping plants, and the branches of cedars.
What recess could be more propitious to secrecy?

The spirit which haunted it formerly was pure and
rapturous. It was a sane sacred to the memory of
infantile days, and to blissful imaginations of the
future! What a gloomy reverse had succeeded
since the ominous arrival of this stranger! Now,
perhaps, it is the scene of his meditations. Purposes
fraught with horror, that shun the light, and
contemplate the pollution of innocence, are here
engendered, and fostered, and reared to maturity.

Such were the ideas that, during the night, were
tumultuously revolved by me. I reviewed every
conversation in which Carwin had borne a part.
I studied to discover the true inferences deducible
from his deportment and words with regard to his
former adventures and actual views. I pondered
on the comments which he made on the relation
which I had given of the closet dialogue. No new
ideas suggested themselves in the course of this review.
My expectation had, from the first, been
disappointed on the small degree of surprize which
this narrative excited in him. He never explicitly
declared his opinion as to the nature of those voices,
or decided whether they were real or visionary.
He recommended no measures of caution or prevention.

But what measures were now to be taken? Was
the danger which threatened me at an end? Had
I nothing more to fear? I was lonely, and without
means of defence. I could not calculate the motives
and regulate the footsteps of this person. What
certainty was there, that he would not re-assume
his purposes, and swiftly return to the execution of
them?

This idea covered me once more with dismay.
How deeply did I regret the solitude in which I was
placed, and how ardently did I desire the return of

day! But neither of these inconveniencies were
susceptible of remedy. At first, it occurred to me
to summon my servant, and make her spend the
night in my chamber; but the inefficacy of this expedient
to enhance my safety was easily seen. Once
I resolved to leave the house, and retire to my brother's,
but was deterred by reflecting on the unseasonableness
of the hour, on the alarm which my
arrival, and the account which I should be obliged
to give, might occasion, and on the danger to which
I might expose myself in the way thither. I began,
likewise, to consider Carwin's return to molest me
as exceedingly improbable. He had relinquished,
of his own accord, his design, and departed without
compulsion.

“Surely,” said I, “there is omnipotence in the
cause that changed the views of a man like Carwin.
The divinity that shielded me from his attempts will
take suitable care of my future safety. Thus to yield
to my fears is to deserve that they should be real.”

Scarcely had I uttered these words, when my
attention was startled by the sound of footsteps.
They denoted some one stepping into the piazza in
front of my house. My new-born confidence was
extinguished in a moment. Carwin, I thought,
had repented his departure, and was hastily returning.
The possibility that his return was prompted
by intentions consistent with my safety, found no
place in my mind. Images of violation and murder
assailed me anew, and the terrors which succeeded
almost incapacitated me from taking any
measures for my defence. It was an impulse of
which I was scarcely conscious, that made me fasten
the lock and draw the bolts of my chamber door.
Having done this, I threw myself on a seat; for I
trembled to a degree which disabled me from standing,

and my soul was so perfectly absorbed in the
act of listening, that almost the vital motions were
stopped.

The door below creaked on its hinges. It was
not again thrust to, but appeared to remain open.
Footsteps entered, traversed the entry, and began
to mount the stairs. How I detested the folly of
not pursuing the man when he withdrew, and bolting
after him the outer door! Might he not conceive
this omission to be a proof that my angel had
deserted me, and be thereby fortified in guilt?

Every step on the stairs, which brought him
nearer to my chamber, added vigor to my desperation.
The evil with which I was menaced was to
be at any rate eluded. How little did I preconceive
the conduct which, in an exigence like this, I
should be prone to adopt. You will suppose that
deliberation and despair would have suggested the
same course of action, and that I should have, unhesitatingly,
resorted to the best means of personal
defence within my power. A penknife lay open
upon my table. I remembered that it was there,
and seized it. For what purpose you will scarcely
inquire. It will be immediately supposed that I
meant it for my last refuge, and that if all other
means should fail, I should plunge it into the heart
of my ravisher.

I have lost all faith in the stedfastness of human
resolves. It was thus that in periods of calm I had
determined to act. No cowardice had been held by
me in greater abhorrence than that which prompted
an injured female to destroy, not her injurer ere
the injury was perpetrated, but herself when it was
without remedy. Yet now this penknife appeared
to me of no other use than to baffle my assailant,
and prevent the crime by destroying myself. To

deliberate at such a time was impossible; but among
the tumultuous suggestions of the moment, I do
not recollect that it once occurred to me to use it
as an instrument of direct defence.

The steps had now reached the second floor.
Every footfall accelerated the completion, without
augmenting, the certainty of evil. The consciousness
that the door was fast, now that nothing but
that was interposed between me and danger, was a
source of some consolation. I cast my eye towards
the window. This, likewise, was a new suggestion.
If the door should give way, it was my
sudden resolution to throw myself from the window.
Its height from the ground, which was covered
beneath by a brick pavement, would insure
my destruction; but I thought not of that.

When opposite to my door the footsteps ceased.
Was he listening whether my fears were allayed,
and my caution were asleep? Did he hope to take
me by surprize? Yet, if so, why did he allow so
many noisy signals to betray his approach? Presently
the steps were again heard to approach the
door. An hand was laid upon the lock, and the
latch pulled back. Did he imagine it possible that
I should fail to secure the door? A slight effort
was made to push it open, as if all bolts being withdrawn,
a slight effort only was required.

I no sooner perceived this, than I moved swiftly
towards the window. Carwin's frame might be
said to be all muscle. His strength and activity
had appeared, in various instances, to be prodigious.
A slight exertion of his force would demolish the
door. Would not that exertion be made? Too
surely it would; but, at the same moment that this
obstacle should yield, and he should enter the apartment,
my determination was formed to leap from

the window. My senses were still bound to this
object. I gazed at the door in momentary expectation
that the assault would be made. The pause
continued. The person without was irresolute and
motionless.

Suddenly, it occurred to me that Carwin might
conceive me to have fled. That I had not betaken
myself to flight was, indeed, the least probable of all
conclusions. In this persuasion he must have been
confirmed on finding the lower door unfastened,
and the chamber door locked. Was it not wise
to foster this persuasion? Should I maintain deep
silence, this, in addition to other circumstances,
might encourage the belief, and he would once
more depart. Every new reflection added plausibility
to this reasoning. It was presently more
strongly enforced, when I noticed footsteps withdrawing
from the door. The blood once more
flowed back to my heart, and a dawn of exultation
began to rise: but my joy was short lived. Instead
of descending the stairs, he passed to the door
of the opposite chamber, opened it, and having entered,
shut it after him with a violence that shook
the house.

How was I to interpret this circumstance? For
what end could he have entered this chamber? Did
the violence with which he closed the door testify
the depth of his vexation? This room was usually
occupied by Pleyel. Was Carwin aware of his
absence on this night? Could he be suspected of
a design so sordid as pillage? If this were his view
there were no means in my power to frustrate it. It
behoved me to seize the first opportunity to escape;
but if my escape were supposed by my enemy to
have been already effected, no asylum was more
secure than the present. How could my passage

from the house be accomplished without noises that
might incite him to pursue me?

Utterly at a loss to account for his going into
Pleyel's chamber, I waited in instant expectation
of hearing him come forth. All, however, was profoundly
still. I liftened in vain for a considerable
period, to catch the found of the door when it
should again be opened. There was no other
avenue by which he could escape, but a door which
led into the girl's chamber. Would any evil from
this quarter befall the girl?

Hence arose a new train of apprehensions. They
merely added to the turbulence and agony of
my reflections. Whatever evil impended over her,
I had no power to avert it. Seclusion and silence
were the only means of saving myself from the
perils of this fatal night. What solemn vows did
I put up, that if I should once more behold the
light of day, I would never trust myself again
within the threshold of this dwelling!

Minute lingered after minute, but no token was
given that Carwin had returned to the passage.
What, I again asked, could detain him in this
room? Was it possible that he had returned, and
glided, unperceived, away? I was speedily aware
of the difficulty that attended an enterprize like
this; and yet, as if by that means I were capable
of gaining any information on that head, I cast
anxious looks from the window.

The object that first attracted my attention was
an human figure standing on the edge of the bank.
Perhaps my penetration was assisted by my hopes.
Be that as it will, the figure of Carwin was clearly
distinguishable. From the obscurity of my station,
it was impossible that I should be discerned by him,
and yet he scarcely sussered me to catch a glimpse

of him. He turned and went down the steep,
which, in this part, was not difficult to be scaled.

My conjecture then had been right. Carwin
has softly opened the door, descended the stairs, and
issued forth. That I should not have overheard
his steps, was only less incredible than that my eyes
had deceived me. But what was now to be done?
The house was at length delivered from this detested
inmate. By one avenue might he again re-enter.
Was it not wife to bar the lower door? Perhaps
he had gone out by the kitchen door. For this
end, he must have passed through Judith's chamber.
These entrances being closed and bolted, as
great security was gained as was compatible with my
lonely condition.

The propriety of these measures was too manifest
not to make me struggle successfully with my
fears. Yet I opened my own door with the utmost
caution, and descended as if I were affraid that
Carwin had been still immured in Pleyel's chamber.
The outer door was a-jar. I shut, with
trembling eagerness, and drew every bolt that appended
to it. I then passed with light and less cautious
steps through the parlour, but was surprized
to discover that the kitchen door was secure. I
was compelled to acquiesce in the first conjecture
that Carwin had escaped through the entry.

My heart was now somewhat eased of the load
of apprehension. I returned once more to my
chamber, the door of which I was careful to lock.
It was no time to think of repose. The moon-light
began already to fade before the light of the
day. The approach of morning was betokened
by the usual signals. I mused upon the events of
this night, and determined to take up my abode
henceforth at my brother's. Whether I should inform

him of what had happened was a question
which seemed to demand some consideration. My
safety unquestionably required that I should abandon
my present habitation.

As my thoughts began to flow with fewer impediments,
the image of Pleyel, and the dubiousness
of his condition, again recurred to me. I
again ran over the possible causes of his absence
on the preceding day. My mind was attuned to
melancholy. I dwelt, with an obstinacy for which
I could not account, on the idea of his death. I
painted to myself his struggles with the billows,
and his last appearance. I imagined myself a midnight
wanderer on the shore, and to have stumbled
on his corpse, which the tide had cast up. These
dreary images affected me even to tears. I endeavoured
not to restrain them. They imparted a relief
which I had not anticipated. The more copiously
they flowed, the more did my general sensations
appear to subside into calm, and a certain
restlessness give way to repose.

Perhaps, relieved by this effusion, the slumber
so much wanted might have stolen on my senses,
had there been no new cause of alarm.