University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Before I reached the city it was dusk. It was
my purpose to spend the night at Mettingen. I
was not solicitous, as long as I was attended by a
faithful servant, to be there at an early hour. My
exhausted strength required me to take some refreshment.
With this view, and in order to pay respect
to one whose affection for me was truly maternal,
I stopped at Mrs. Baynton's. She was absent from
home; but I had scarcely entered the house when
one of her domestics presented me a letter. I opened
and read as follows:

“To Clara Wieland,

“What shall I say to extenuate the misconduct
of last night? It is my duty to repair it to the
utmost of my power, but the only way in which
it can be repaired, you will not, I fear, be prevailed
on to adopt. It is by granting me an interview, at
your own house, at eleven o'clock this night. I
have no means of removing any fears that you may
entertain of my designs, but my simple and solemn
declarations. These, after what has passed between
us, you may deem unworthy of confidence. I
cannot help it. My folly and rashness has left me
no other resource. I will be at your door by that
hour. If you chuse to admit me to a conference,
provided that conference has no witnesses, I will diſclose
to you particulars, the knowledge of which
is of the utmost importance to your happiness.
Farewell.

CAR WIN.”

What a letter was this! A man known to be
an assassin and robber; one capable of plotting
against my life and my fame; detected lurking in my
chamber, and avowing designs the most flagitious
and dreadful, now solicits me to grant him a midnight
interview! To admit him alone into my presence!
Could he make this request with the expectation
of my compliance? What had he seen
in me, that could justify him in admitting so wild a
belief? Yet this request is preferred with the utmost
gravity. It is not accompanied by an appearance
of uncommon earnestness. Had the misconduct
to which he alludes been a slight incivility, and
the interview requested to take place in the midst
of my friends, there would have been no extravagance
in the tenor of this letter; but, as it was, the
writer had surely been berest of his reason.

I perused this epistle frequently. The request it
contained might be called audacious or stupid, if it
had been made by a different person; but from
Carwin, who could not be unaware of the effect
which it must naturally produce, and of the manner
in which it would unavoidably be treated, it was
perfectly inexplicable. He must have counted on
the success of some plot, in order to extort my
assent. None of those motives by which I am
usually governed would ever have persuaded me
to meet any one of his sex, at the time and place
which he had prescribed. Much less would I consent
to a meeting with a man, tainted with the most
detestable crimes, and by whose arts my own safety
had been so imminently endangered, and my happiness
irretrievably destroyed. I shuddered at the
idea that such a meeting was possible. I felt some
reluctance to approach a spot which he still visited
and haunted.

Such were the ideas which first suggested themselves
on the perusal of the letter. Meanwhile, I
resumed my journey. My thoughts still dwelt upon
the same topic. Gradually from ruminating on
this epistle, I reverted to my interview with Pleyel.
I recalled the particulars of the dialogue to which
he had been an auditor. My heart sunk anew on
viewing the inextricable complexity of this deception,
and the inauspicious concurrence of events,
which tended to confirm him in his error. When
he approached my chamber door, my terror kept
me mute. He put his ear, perhaps, to the crevice,
but it caught the sound of nothing human. Had I
called, or made any token that denoted some one to
be within, words would have ensued; and as omnipresence
was impossible, this discovery, and the artless
narrative of what had just passed, would have
saved me from his murderous invectives. He went
into his chamber, and after some interval, I stole
across the entry and down the stairs, with inaudible
steps. Having secured the outer doors, I returned
with less circumspection. He heard me not when I
descended; but my returning steps were easily distinguished.
Now he thought was the guilty interview
at an end. In what other way was it possible
for him to construe these signals?

How fallacious and precipitate was my decision!
Carwin's plot owed its success to a coincidence of
events scarcely credible. The balance was swayed
from its equipoise by a hair. Had I even begun
the conversation with an account of what besel me
in my chamber, my previous interview with Wieland
would have taught him to suspect me of imposture;
yet, if I were discoursing with this ruffian,
when Pleyel touched the lock of my chamber door,
and when he shut his own door with so much violence,

how, he might ask, should I be able to relate
these incidents? Perhaps he had withheld the
knowledge of these circumstances from my brother,
from whom, therefore, I could not obtain it, so that
my innocence would have thus been irresistibly demonstrated.

The first impulse which flowed from these ideas
was to return upon my steps, and demand once
more an interview; but he was gone: his parting
declarations were remembered.

Pleyel, I exclaimed, thou art gone for ever! Are
thy mistakes beyond the reach of detection? Am
I helpless in the midst of this snare? The plotter
is at hand. He even speaks in the style of penitence.
He solicits an interview which he promises
shall end in the disclosure of something momentous
to my happiness. What can he say which will
avail to turn aside this evil? But why should his
remorse be feigned? I have done him no injury.
His wickedness is fertile only of despair; and the
billows of remorse will some time overbear him.
Why may not this event have already taken place?
Why should I refuse to see him?

This idea was present, as it were, for a moment.
I suddenly recoiled from it, consounded at that
frenzy which could give even momentary harbour
to such a scheme; yet presently it returned. A
length I even conceived it to deserve deliberation.
I questioned whether it was not proper to admit, at
a lonely spot, in a sacred hour, this man of tremendous
and inscrutable attributes, this performer of
horrid deeds, and whose presence was predicted to
call down unheard-of and unutterable horrors.

What was it that swayed me? I selt myself divested
of the power to will contrary to the motives
that determined me to seek his presence. My mind

seemed to be split into separate parts, and these parts
to have entered into surious and implacable contention.
These tumults gradually subsided. The
reasons why I should conside in that interposition
which had hitherto defended me; in those
tokens of compunction which this letter contained;
in the efficacy of this interview to restore its spotlessness
to my character, and banish all illusions
from the mind of my friend, continually acquired
new evidence and new strength.

What should I fear in his presence? This was
unlike an artifice intended to betray me into his
hands. If it were an artifice, what purpose would
it serve? The freedom of my mind was untouched,
and that freedom would desy the assaults of
blandishments or magic. Force was I not able
to repel. On the former occasion my courage,
it is true, had failed at the imminent approach of
danger; but then I had not enjoyed opportunities of
deliberation; I had foreseen nothing; I was sunk
into imbecility by my previous thoughts; I had
been the victim of recent disappointments and anticipated
ills: Witness my insatuation in opening
the closet in opposition to divine injunctions.

Now, perhaps, my courage was the offspring
of a no less erring principle. Pleyel was for ever
lost to me. I strove in vain to assume his person,
and suppress my resentment; I strove in vain to believe
in the assuaging influence of time, to look
forward to the birth-day of new hopes, and the reexaltration
of that luminary, of whose effulgencies
I had so long and so liberally partaken.

What had I to suffer worse than was already
inflicted?

Was not Carwin my soe? I owed my untimely
sate to his treasou. Instead of flying from his presence,

ought I not to devote all my faculties to the
gaining of an interview, and compel him to repair
the ills of which he has been the author? Why
should I suppose him impregnable to argument?
Have I not reason on my side, and the power of
imparting conviction? Cannot he be made to see
the justice of unravelling the maze in which Pleyel
is bewildered?

He may, at least, be accessible to fear. Has he
nothing to fear from the rage of an injured woman?
But suppose him inaccessible to such inducements;
suppose him to persist in all his flagitious purposes;
are not the means of defence and resistance
in my power?

In the progress of such thoughts, was the resolution
at last formed. I hoped that the interview was
sought by him for a laudable end; but, be that as
it would, I trusted that, by energy of reasoning or
of action, I should render it auspicious, or, at least,
harmless.

Such a determination must unavoidably fluctuate.
The poet's chaos was no unapt emblem of the state
of my mind. A torment was awakened in my
bosom, which I foresaw would end only when this
interview was past, and its consequences fully experienced.
Hence my impatience for the arrival
of the hour which had been prescribed by Carwin.

Meanwhile, my meditations were tumultuously
active. New impediments to the execution of the
scheme were speedily suggested. I had apprized
Catharine of my intention to spend this and many
future nights with her. Her husband was informed
of this arrangement, and had zealously approved
it. Eleven o'clock exceeded their hour of retiring.
What excuse should I form for changing my plan?
Should I shew this letter to Wieland, and submit

myself to his direction? But I knew in what way
he would decide. He would servently dissuade me
from going. Nay, would he not do more? He
was apprized of the offences of Carwin, and of
the reward offered for his apprehension. Would
he not seize this opportunity of executing justice
on a criminal?

This idea was new. I was plunged once more
into doubt. Did not equity enjoin me thus to facilitate
his arrest? No. I disdained the office of
betrayer. Carwin was unapprized of his danger,
and his intentions were possibly beneficent. Should
I station guards about the house, and make an act,
intended perhaps for my benefit, instrumental to
his own destruction? Wieland might be justified
in thus employing the knowledge which I should
impart, but I, by imparting it, should pollute myself
with more hateful crimes than those undeservedly
imputed to me. This scheme, therefore, I unhesitatingly
rejected. The views with which I should
return to my own house, it would therefore be necessary
to conceal. Yet some pretext must be invented.
I had never been initiated into the trade
of lying. Yet what but falshood was a deliberate
suppression of the truth? To deceive by silence or
by words is the same.

Yet what would a lie avail me? What pretext
would justify this change in my plan? Would it
not tend to confirm the imputations of Pleyel?
That I should voluntarily return to an house in
which honor and life had so lately been endangered,
could be explained in no way favorable to my
integrity.

These reflections, if they did not change, at least
suspended my decision. In this state of uncertainty
I alighted at the hut. We gave this name to the

house tenanted by the farmer and his servants, and
which was situated on the verge of my brother's
ground, and at a considerable distance from the mansion.
The path to the mansion was planted by a
double row of walnuts. Along this path I proceeded
alone. I entered the parlour, in which was
a light just expiring in the socket. There was no
one in the room. I perceived by the clock that
stood against the wall, that it was near eleven. The
lateness of the hour startled me. What had become
of the family? They were usually retired
an hour before this; but the unextinguished taper,
and the unbarred door were indications that they
had not retired. I again returned to the hall, and
passed from one room to another, but still encountered
not a human being.

I imagined that, perhaps, the lapse of a few minutes
would explain these appearances. Meanwhile
I reflected that the preconcerted hour had
arrived. Carwin was perhaps waiting my approach.
Should I immediately retire to my own house, no
one would be apprized of my proceeding. Nay,
the interview might pass, and I be enabled to return
in half an hour. Hence no necessity would arise
for dissimulation.

I was so far influenced by these views that I rose
to execute this design; but again the unusual condition
of the house occurred to me, and some vague
solicitude as to the condition of the family. I was
nearly certain that my brother had not retired; but
by what motives he could be induced to desert his
house thus unseasonably, I could by no means
divine. Louisa Conway, at least, was at home, and
had, probably, retired to her chamber; perhaps she
was able to impart the information I wanted.

I went to her chamber, and found her asleep.

She was delighted and surprized at my arrival, and
told me with how much impatience and anxiety
my brother and his wife had waited my coming.
They were fearful that some mishap had befallen
me, and had remained up longer than the usual
period. Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour,
Catharine would not resign the hope of seeing me.
Louisa said she had left them both in the parlour,
and she knew of no cause for their absence.

As yet I was not without solicitude on account
of their personal safety. I was far from being perfectly
at ease on that head, but entertained no distinct
conception of the danger that impended over
them. Perhaps to beguile the moments of my long
protracted stay, they had gone to walk upon the
bank. The atmosphere, though illuminated only
by the star-light, was remarkably serene. Meanwhile
the desireableness of an interview with Carwin
again returned, and I finally resolved to seek
it.

I passed with doubting and hasty steps along the
path. My dwelling, seen at a distance, was gloomy
and desolate. It had no inhabitant, for my servant,
in consequence of my new arrangement, had gone
to Mettingen. The temerity of this attempt began
to shew itself in more vivid colours to my understanding.
Whoever has pointed steel is not without
arms; yet what must have been the state of my
mind when I could meditate, without shuddering,
on the use of a murderous weapon, and believe myself
secure merely because I was capable of being
made so by the death of another? Yet this was
not my state. I felt as if I was rushing into deadly
toils, without the power of pausing or receding.