University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

At parting with you, my purpose was to reach the
abode of the Hadwins as speedily as possible. I travelled
therefore with diligence. Setting out so early,
I expected, though on foot, to reach the end of my
journey before noon. The activity of muscles is no
obstacle to thought. So far from being inconsistent
with intense musing, it is, in my own case, propitious
to that state of mind.

Probably no one had stronger motives for ardent meditation
than I. My second journey to the city was
prompted by reasons, and attended by incidents, that
seemed to have a present existence. To think upon
them, was to view, more deliberately and thoroughly,
objects and persons that still hovered in my sight. Instead
of their attributes being already seen, and their
consequences at an end, it seemed as if a series of numerous
years and unintermitted contemplation were requisite
to comprehend them fully, and bring into existence
their most momentous effects.

If men be chiefly distinguished from each other by
the modes in which attention is employed, either on
external and sensible objects, or merely on abstract
ideas and the creatures of reflection, I may justly claim
to be enrolled in the second class. My existence is a

series of thoughts rather than of motions. Ratiocination
and deduction leave my senses unemployed. The
fulness of my fancy renders my eye vacant and inactive.
Sensations do not precede and suggest, but follow
and are secondary to the acts of my mind.

There was one motive, however, which made me less
inattentive to the scene that was continually shifting
before and without me than I am wont to be. The
loveliest form which I had hitherto seen, was that of
Clemenza Lodi. I recalled her condition as I had witnessed
it, as Welbeck had described, and as you had
painted it. The past was without remedy; but the
future was, in some degree, within our power to create
and to fashion. Her state was probably dangerous.
She might already be forlorn, beset with temptation
or with auguish; or danger might only be approaching
her, and the worst evils be impending ones.

I was ignorant of her state. Could I not remove
this ignorance? Would not some benefit redound to
her from beneficent and seasonable interposition?

You had mentioned that her abode had lately been
with Mrs. Villars, and that this lady still resided in
the country. The residence had been sufficiently described,
and I perceived that I was now approaching it.
In a short time I spied its painted roof and five chimnies
through an avenue of catalpas.

When opposite the gate which led into this avenue, I
paused. It seemed as if this moment were to decide
upon the liberty and innocence of this being. In a
moment I might place myself before her, ascertain her
true condition, and point out to her the path of honor
and safety. This opportunity might be the last. Longer
delay might render interposition fruitless.

But how was I to interpose? I was a stranger to
her language, and she was unacquainted with mine.
To obtain access to her, it was necessary only to demand
it. But how should I explain my views and state
my wishes when an interview was gained? And what
expedient was it in my power to propose?

Now, said I, I perceive the value of that wealth
which I have been accustomed to despise. The power
of eating and drinking, the nature and limits of existence
and physical enjoyment, are not changed or enlarged
by the increase of wealth. Our corporeal and
intellectual wants are supplied at little expence; but
our own wants are the wants of others, and that which
remains, after our own necessities are obviated, it is
always easy and just to employ in relieving the necessities
of others.

There are no superfluities in my store. It is not in
my power to supply this unfortunate girl with decent
rayment and honest bread. I have no house to which
to conduct her. I have no means of securing her from
famine and cold.

Yet, though indigent and feeble, I am not destitute
of friends and of home. Cannot she be admitted to
the same asylum to which I am now going? This
thought was sudden and new. The more it was revolyed,
the more plausible it seemed. This was not
merely the sole expedient, but the best that could have
been suggested.

The Hadwins were friendly, hospitable, unsuspicious.
Their board, though simple and uncouth, was
wholesome and plenteous. Their residence was sequestered
and obscure, and not obnoxious to impertinent
enquiries and malignant animadversion. Their frank
and ingenuous temper would make them easy of persuasion,
and their sympathies were prompt and overflowing.

I am nearly certain, continued I, that they will instantly
afford protection to this desolate girl. Why
shall I not anticipate their consent, and present myself
to their embraces and their welcomes in her company?

Slight reflection showed me, that this precipitation
was improper. Whether Wallace had ever arrived at
Maiverton? Whether Mr. Hadwin had escaped infection?
whether his house were the abode of security
and quiet, or a scene of desolation? were questions yet
to be determined. The obvious and best proceeding

was to hasten forward, to afford the Hadwins, if in
distress, the feeble consolations of my friendship; or,
if their state were happy, to procure their concurrence
to my scheme respecting Clemenza.

Actuated by these considerations, I resumed my
journey. Looking forward, I perceived a chaise and
horse standing by the left hand fence, at the distance
of some hundred yards. This object was not uncommon
or strange, and, therefore, it was scarcely noticed.
When I came near, however, methought I recognized
in this carriage the same in which my importunities had
procured a seat for the languishing Wallace, in the
manner which I have formerly related.

It was a crazy vehicle and old fashioned. When
once seen it could scarcely be mistaken or forgotten.
The horse was held by his bridle to a post, but the seat
was empty. My solicitude with regard to Wallace's
destiny, of which he to whom the carriage belonged
might possibly afford me some knowledge, made me
stop and reflect on what measures it was proper to pursue.

The rider could not be at a great distance from this
spot. His absence would probably be short. By lingering
a few minutes an interview might be gained, and
the uncertainty and suspence of some hours be thereby
precluded. I therefore waited, and the same person
whom I had formerly encountered made his appearance,
in a short time, from under a copse that skirted the
road.

He recognized me with more difficulty than attended
my recognition of him. The circumstances, however,
of our first meeting were easily recalled to his remembrance.
I eagerly enquired when and where he had
parted with the youth who had been, on that occasion,
entrusted to his care.

He answered, that, on leaving the city and inhaling
the purer air of the fields and woods, Wallace had been,
in a wonderful degree, invigorated and refreshed. An
instantaneous and total change appeared to have been

wrought in him. He no longer languished with fatigue
or fear, but became full of gaiety and talk.

The suddenness of this transition; the levity with
which he related and commented on his recent dangers
and evils, excited the astonishment of his companion,
to whom he not only communicated the history of his
disease, but imparted many anecdotes of a humorous
kind. Some of these my companion repeated. I heard
them with regret and dissatisfaction. They betokened
a mind vitiated by intercourse with the thoughtless and
depraved of both sexes, and particularly with infamous
and profligate women.

My companion proceeded to mention, that Wallace's
exhiliration lasted but for a short time, and disappeared
as suddenly as it had appeared. He was seized with
deadly sickness, and insisted upon leaving the carriage,
whose movements shocked his stomach and head to an
insupportable degree. His companion was not void of
apprehensions on his own account, but was unwilling
to desert him, and endeavored to encourage him. His
efforts were vain. Though the nearest house was at
the distance of some hundred yards, and though it was
probable that the inhabitants of this house would refuse
to accommodate one in his condition, yet Wallace
could not be prevailed on to proceed; and, in spite
of persuasion and remonstrance, left the carriage and
threw himself on the grassy bank beside the road.

This person was not unmindful of the hazard which
he incurred by contact with a sick man. He conceived
himself to have performed all that was consistent with
duty to himself and to his family; and Wallace, persisting
in affirming that, by attempting to ride farther,
he should merely hasten his death, was at length left
to his own guidance.

These were unexpected and mournful tidings. I
had fondly imagined, that his safety was put beyond
the reach of untoward accidents. Now, however, there
was reason to suppose him to have perished by a lingering
and painful disease, rendered fatal by the selfishness

of mankind, by the want of seasonable remedies, and
exposure to inclement airs. Some uncertainty, however,
rested on his fate. It was my duty to remove it,
and to carry to the Hadwins no mangled and defective
tale. Where, I asked, had Wallace and his companion
parted?

It was about three miles further onward. The spot
and the house within view from the spot, were accurately
described. In this house it was possible that Wallace
had sought an asylum, and some intelligence respecting
him might be gained from its inhabitants. My informant
was journeying to the city, so that we were
obliged to separate.

In consequence of this man's description of Wallace's
deportment, and the proofs of a dissolute and
thoughtless temper which he had given, I began to
regard his death as an event less deplorable. Such an
one was unworthy of a being so devoutly pure, so ardent
in fidelity and tenderness as Susan Hadwin. If
he loved, it was probable that in defiance of his vows,
he would seek a different companion. If he adhered to
his first engagements, his motives would be sordid, and
the disclosure of his latent defects might produce more
exquisite misery to his wife, than his premature death or
treacherous desertion.

The preservation of this man, was my sole motive
for entering the infected city, and subjecting my own
life to the hazards, from which my escape may almost
be esteemed miraculous. Was not the end disproportioned
to the means? Was there arrogance in believing
my life a price too great to be given for his?

I was not, indeed, sorry for the past. My purpose
was just, and the means which I selected, were the best
my limited knowledge applied. My happiness should
be drawn from reflection on the equity of my intentions.
That these intentions were frustrated by the ignorance
of others, or my own, was the consequence of human
frailty. Honest purposes, though they may not bestow
happiness on others, will, at least, secure it to him who
fosters them.

By these reflections my regrets were dissipated, and
I prepared to rejoice alike, whether Wallace should be
found to have escaped or to have perished. The house
to which I had been directed was speedily brought into
view. I enquired for the master or mistress of the
mansion, and was conducted to a lady of a plain and
housewifely appearance.

My curiosity was fully gratified. Wallace, whom
my description easily identified, had made his appearance
at her door on the evening of the day on which he
left the city. Thedread of the fever was descanted on
with copious and rude eloquence. I supposed her eloquence
on this theme to be designed to apologize to me
for her refusing entrance to the sick man. The peroration,
however, was different. Wallace was admitted,
and suitable attention paid to his wants.

Happily, the guest had nothing to struggle with
but extreme weakness. Repose, nourishing diet, and
salubrious airs restored him in a short time to health.
He lingered under this roof for three weeks, and then,
without any professions of gratitude, or offers of pecuniary
remuneration, or information of the course which
he determined to take, he left them.

These facts, added to that which I had previously
known, threw no advantageous light upon the character
of Wallace. It was obvious to conclude, that he had
gone to Malverton, and thither there was nothing to
hinder me from following him.

Perhaps, one of my grossest defects is a precipitate
temper. I chuse my path suddenly, and pursue it
with impetuous expedition. In the present instance,
my resolution was conceived with unhesitating zeal,
and I walked the faster that I might the sooner execute
it. Miss Hadwin deserved to be happy. Love was
in her heart the all-absorbing sentiment. A disappointment
there was a supreme calamity. Depravity
and folly must assume the guise of virtue before it
can claim her affection. This disguise might be maintained
for a time, but its detection must inevitably
come, and the sooner this detection takes place the
more beneficial it must prove.

I resolved to unbosom myself, with equal and unbounded
confidence, to Wallace and his mistress. I
would chuse for this end not the moment when they
were separate, but that in which they were together.
My knowledge, and the sources of my knowledge, relative
to Wallace, should be unfolded to the lady with
simplicity and truth. The lover should be present, to
confute, to extenuate, or to verify the charges.

During the rest of the day these images occupied the
chief place in my thoughts. The road was miry and
dark, and my journey proved to be more tedious and
fatiguing than I expected. At length, just as the evening
closed, the well-known habitation appeared in view.
Since my departure, winter had visited the world, and
the aspect of nature was desolate and dreary. All
around this house was vacant, negligent, forlorn. The
contrast between these appearances and those which I
had noticed on my first approach to it, when the ground
and the trees were decked with the luxuriance and vivacity
of summer, was mournful, and seemed to foretoken
ill. My spirits drooped as I noticed the general
inactivity and silence.

I entered, without warning, the door that led into
the parlour. No face was to be seen or voice heard.
The chimney was ornamented, as in summer, with evergreen
shrubs. Though it was now the second month
of frost and snow, fire did not appear to have been
lately kindled on this hearth.

This was a circumstance from which nothing good
could be deduced. Had there been those to share its
comforts, who had shared them on former years, this
was the place and hour at which they commonly assembled.
A door on one side led, through a narrow entry,
into the kitchen. I opened this door, and passed
towards the kitchen.

No one was there but an old man, squatted in the
chimney-corner. His face, though wrinkled, denoted
undecayed health and an unbending spirit. An homespun
coat, leathern breeches wrinkled with age, and
blue yarn hose, were well suited to his lean and shrivelled

form. On his right knee was a wooden bowl,
which he had just replenished from a pipkin of hasty-pudding
still smoaking on the coals; and in his left
hand a spoon, which he had, at that moment, plunged
into a bottle of molasses that stood beside him.

This action was suspended by my entrance. He
looked up and exclaimed, hey day! who's this that
comes into other people's houses without so much as
saying “by your leave?” What's thee business?
Who's thee want?

I had never seen this personage before. I supposed
it to be some new domestic, and enquired for Mr. Hadwin.

Ah! replied he with a sigh, William Hadwin. Is
it him thee wants? Poor man! He is gone to rest
many days since.

My heart sunk within me at these tidings. Dead,
said I, do you mean that he is dead?—This exclamation
was uttered in a tone of some vehemence. It attracted
the attention of some one who was standing
without, who immediately entered the kitchen. It was
Eliza Hadwin. The moment she beheld me she shrieked
aloud, and, rushing into my arms, fainted away.

The old man dropped his bowl; and, starting from
his seat, stared alternately at me and at the breathless
girl. My emotion, made up of joy, and sorrow, and
surprize, rendered me for a moment powerless as she.
At length, he said, I understand this. I know who
thee is, and will tell her thee's come. So saying he
hastily left the room.