University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

I had imperfectly recovered my strength, when
I was informed of the arrival of my mother's brother,
Thomas Cambridge. Ten years since, he
went to Europe, and was a surgeon in the British
forces in Germany, during the whole of the late
war. After its conclusion, some connection that
he had formed with an Irish officer, made him retire
into Ireland. Intercourse had been punctually
maintained by letters with his sister's children, and
hopes were given that he would shortly return to
his native country, and pass his old age in our society.
He was now in an evil hour arrived.

I desired an interview with him for numerous
and urgent reasons. With the first returns of my
understanding I had anxiously sought information
of the fate of my brother. During the course of
my disease I had never seen him; and vague and
unsatisfactory answers were returned to all my inquiries.
I had vehemently interrogated Mrs. Hallet
and her husband, and solicited an interview with
this unfortunate man; but they mysteriously insinuated
that his reason was still unsettled, and that
his circumstances rendered an interview impossible.
Their reserve on the particulars of this destruction,
and the author of it, was equally invincible.

For some time, finding all my efforts fruitless, I
had desisted from direct inquiries and solicitations,
determined, as soon as my strength was sussiciently
renewed, to pursue other means of dispelling my uncertainty.

In this state of things my uncle's arrival
and intention to visit me were announced. I
almost shuddered to behold the face of this man.
When I reflected on the disasters that had befallen
us, I was half unwilling to witness that dejection
and grief which would be disclosed in his countenance.
But I believed that all transactions had
been thoroughly disclosed to him, and confided in
my importunity to extort from him the knowledge
that I sought.

I had no doubt as to the person of our enemy;
but the motives that urged him to perpetrate these
horrors, the means that he used, and his present
condition, were totally unknown. It was reasonable
to expect some information on this head, from
my uncle. I therefore waited his coming with
impatience. At length, in the dusk of the evening,
and in my solitary chamber, this meeting took
place.

This man was our nearest relation, and had ever
treated us with the affection of a parent. Our
meeting, therefore, could not be without overflowing
tenderness and gloomy joy. He rather encouraged
than restrained the tears that I poured out
in his arms, and took upon himself the task of
comforter. Allusions to recent disasters could not
be long omitted. One topic facilitated the admission
of another. At length, I mentioned and deplored
the ignorance in which I had been kept respecting
my brother's destiny, and the circumstances
of our misfortunes. I entreated him to tell
me what was Wieland's condition, and what progress
had been made in detecting or punishing the
author of this unheard-of devastation.

“The author!” said he; “Do you know the
author?”

“Alas!” I answered, “I am too well acquainted
with him. The story of the grounds of my suspicions
would be painful and too long. I am not
apprized of the extent of your present knowledge.
There are none but Wieland, Pleyel, and myself,
who are able to relate certain facts.”

“Spare yourself the pain,” said he. “All that
Wieland and Pleyel can communicate, I know
already. If any thing of moment has fallen within
your own exclusive knowledge, and the relation be
not too arduous for your present strength, I confess I
am desirous of hearing it. Perhaps you allude to
one by the name of Carwin. I will anticipate your
curiosity by saying, that since these disasters, no
one has seen or heard of him. His agency is,
therefore, a mystery still unsolved.”

I readily complied with his request, and related
as distinctly as I could, though in general terms,
the events transacted in the summer-house and my
chamber. He listened without apparent surprize
to the tale of Pleyel's errors and susp cions, and with
augmented seriousness, to my narrative of the warnings
and inexplicable vision, and the letter found
up on the table. I waited for his comments.

“You gather from this,” said he, “that Carwin
is the author of all this misery.”

“Is it not,” answered I, “an unavoidable inference?
But what know you respecting it? Was
it possible to execute this mischief without witness
or coadjutor? I beseech you to relate to me,
when and why Mr. Hallet was summoned to the
scene, and by whom this disaster was first suspected
or discovered. Surely, suspicion must have fallen
upon some one, and pursuit was made.”

My uncle rose from his seat, and traversed the
floor with hasty steps. His eyes were fixed upon

the ground, and he seemed buried in perplexity.
At length he paused, and said with an emphatic
tone, “It is true; the instrument is known. Carwin
may have plotted, but the execution was another's.
That other is found, and his deed is ascertained.”

“Good heaven!” I exclaimed, “what say you?
Was not Carwin the assassin? Could any hand but
his have carried into act this dreadful purpose?”

“Have I not said,” returned he, “that the performance
was another's? Carwin, perhaps, or
heaven, or insanity, prompted the murderer; but
Carwin is unknown. The actual performer has,
long since, been called to judgment and convicted,
and is, at this moment, at the bottom of a dungeon
loaded with chains.”

I lifted my hands and eyes. “Who then is
this assassin? By what means, and whither was
he traced? What is the testimony of his guilt?”

“His own, corroborated with that of a ſervant-maid
who spied the murder of the children from a
closet where she was concealed. The magistiate returned
from your dwelling to your brother's. He
was employed in hearing and recording the testimony
of the only witness, when the criminal himself,
unexpected, unsolicited, unsought, entered the
hall, acknowledged his guilt, and rendered himself
up to justice.

“He has since been summoned to the bar. The
audience was composed of thousands whom rumours
of this wonderful event had attracted from
the greatest distance. A long and impartial examination
was made, and the prisoner was called
upon for his defence. In compliance with this
call he delivered an ample relation of his motives
and actions.” There he stopped.

I besought him to say who this criminal was, and
what the instigations that compelled him. My
uncle was silent. I urged this inquiry with new
force. I reverted to my own knowledge, and
sought in this some basis to conjecture. I ran over
the scanty catalogue of the men whom I knew; I
lighted on no one who was qualified for ministering
to malice like this. Again I resorted to importunity.
Had I ever seen the criminal? Was
it sheer cruelty, or diabolical revenge that produced
this overthrow?

He surveyed me, for a considerable time, and
listened to my interrogations in silence. At length
he spoke: “Clara, I have known thee by report,
and in some degree by observation. Thou art a
being of no vulgar sort. Thy friends have hitherto
treated thee as a child. They meant well, but,
perhaps, they were unacquainted with thy strength.
I assure myself that nothing will surpass thy fortitude.

“Thou art anxious to know the destroyer of
thy family, his actions, and his motives. Shall I
call him to thy presence, and permit him to confess
before thee? Shall I make him the narrator of his
own tale?”

I started on my feet, and looked round me with
fearful glances, as if the murderer was close at
hand. “What do you mean?” said I; “put an
end, I beseech you, to this suspence.”

“Be not alarmed; you will never more behold
the face of this criminal, unless he be gifted with
supernatural strength, and sever like threads the
constraint of links and bolts. I have said that the
assassin was arraigned at the bar, and that the trial
ended with a summons from the judge to confess or
to vindicate his actions. A reply was immediately

made with significance of gesture, and a tranquil
majesty, which denoted less of humanity than godhead.
Judges, advocates and auditors were panic-ſtruck
and breathless with attention. One of the
hearers faithfully recorded the speech. There it
is,” continued he, putting a roll of papers in my
hand, “you may read it at your leisure.”

With these words my uncle left me alone. My
curiosity refused me a moment's delay. I opened
the papers, and read as follows.