University of Virginia Library

2. EDGAR HUNTLY.
CHAPTER II.

I had food enough for the
longest contemplation. My steps partook,
as usual, of the vehemence of
my thoughts, and I reached my uncle's
gate before I believed myself to have
lost sight of the Elm. I looked up and
discovered the well-known habitation. I
could not endure that my reflections
should so speedily be interrupted. I,
therefore, passed the gate, and stopped
not till I had reached a neighbouring
summit, crowned with chesnut-oaks and
poplars.

Here I more deliberately reviewed
the incidents that had just occurred. The
inference was just, that the man, half-clothed
and digging, was a sleeper: But
what was the cause of this morbid activity?
What was the mournful vision that
dissolved him in tears, and extorted from
him tokens of inconsolable distress?
What did he seek, or what endeavour
to conceal in this fatal spot? The incapacity
of sound sleep denotes a mind
sorely wounded. It is thus that atrocious
criminals denote the possession of some
dreadful secret. The thoughts, which
considerations of safety enables them to
suppress or disguise during wakefulness,
operate without impediment, and exhibit
their genuine effects, when the notices
of sense are partly excluded, and they
are shut out from a knowledge of their
intire condition.

This is the perpetrator of some nefareous
deed. What but the murder of
Waldegrave could direct his steps hither?
His employment was part of some fantastic
drama in which his mind was busy.
To comprehend it, demands penetration
into the recesses of his soul. But one
thing is sure; an incoherent conception
of his concern in that transaction,
bewitches him hither. This it is that
deluges his heart with bitterness and
supplies him with ever-flowing tears.

But whence comes he? He does not
start from the bosom of the earth, or
hide himself in airy distance. He must
have a name and a terrestrial habitation.
It cannot be at an immeasurable distance
from the haunted Elm. Inglefield's
house is the nearest. This may be one
of its inhabitants. I did not recognize
his features, but this was owing to the
dusky atmosphere and to the singularity

of his garb. Inglefield has two servants,
one of whom was a native of this district,
simple, guileless and incapable of
any act of violence. He was, moreover
devoutly attached to his sect. He could
not be the criminal.

The other was a person of a very different
cast. He was an emigrant from
Ireland, and had been six months in the
family of my friend. He was a pattern
of sobriety and gentleness. His mind
was superior to his situation. His natural
endowments were strong, and had
enjoyed all the advantage of cultivation.
His demeanour was grave, and thoughtful,
and compassionate. He appeared
not untinctured with religion, but his
devotion, though unostentatious, was of
a melancholy tenor.

There was nothing in the first view
of his character calculated to engender
suspicion. The neighbourhood was

populous. But as I conned over the
catalogue, I perceived that the only
foreigner among us was Clithero. Our
scheme was, for the most part, a patriarchal
one. Each farmer was surrounded
by his sons and kinsmen. This was an
exception to the rule. Clithero was a
stranger, whose adventures and character,
previously to his coming hither, were
unknown to us. The Elm was surrounded
by his master's domains. An actor
there must be, and no one was equally
questionable.

The more I revolved the pensive and
reserved deportment of this man, the
ignorance in which we were placed respecting
his former situation, his possible
motives for abandoning his country
and chusing a station so much below the
standard of his intellectual attainments,
the stronger my suspicions became. Formerly,
when occupied with conjectures

relative to the same topic, the image of
this man did not fail to occur; but the
seeming harmlessness of his ordinary
conduct, had raised him to a level with
others, and placed him equally beyond
the reach of suspicion. I did not, till
now, advert to the recentness of his
appearance among us, and to the obscurity
that hung over his origin and past
life. But now these considerations appeared
so highly momentous, as almost
to decide the question of his guilt.

But how were these doubts to be
changed into absolute certainty. Henceforth
this man was to become the subject
of my scrutiny. I was to gain all the
knowledge, respecting him, which those
with whom he lived, and were the perpetual
witnesses of his actions, could
impart. For this end I was to make
minute inquiries, and to put seasonable

interrogatories. From this conduct I
promised myself an ultimate solution of
my doubts.

I acquiesced in this view of things
with considerable satisfaction. It seemed
as if the maze was no longer inscrutable.
It would be quickly discovered who were
the agents and instigators of the murder
of my friend.

But it suddenly occurred to me For
what purpose shall I prosecute this
search? What benefit am I to reap from
this discovery? How shall I demean myself
when the criminal is detected? I
was not insensible, at that moment, of
the impulses of vengeance, but they
were transient. I detested the sanguinary
resolutions that I had once
formed. Yet I was fearful of the effects
of my hasty rage, and dreaded an encounter,
in consequence of which, I

might rush into evils which no time
could repair, nor penitence expiate.

But why, said I, should it be impossible
to arm myself with firmness? If
forbearance be the dictate of wisdom,
cannot it be so deeply engraven on my
mind as to defy all temptation, and be
proof against the most abrupt surprise.
My late experience has been of use to
me. It has shewn me my weakness and
my strength. Having found my ancient
fortifications insufficient to withstand the
enemy, what should I learn from thence
but that it becomes me to strengthen and
enlarge them.

No caution indeed can hinder the
experiment from being hazardous. Is it
wise to undertake experiments by which
nothing can be gained, and much may
be lost? Curiosity is vicious, if undisciplined
by reason, and inconducive to
benefit.

I was not, however, to be diverted
from my purpose. Curiosity, like virtue,
is its own reward. Knowledge is
of value for its own sake, and pleasure
is annexed to the acquisition, without
regard to any thing beyond. It is precious
even when disconnected with moral
inducements and heart-felt sympathies,
but the knowledge which I sought by its
union with these was calculated to excite
the most complex and fiery sentiment in
my bosom.

Hours were employed in revolving
these thoughts. At length I began to be
sensible of fatigue, and returning home,
explored the way to my chamber without
molesting the repose of the family.
You know that our doors are always
unfastened, and are accessible at all
hours of the night.

My slumbers were imperfect, and I
rejoiced when the morning light permitted

me to resume my meditations.
The day glided away, I scarcely know
how, and as I had rejoiced at the return
of morning, I now hailed, with pleasure,
the approach of night.

My uncle and sisters having retired,
I betook myself, instead of following
their example, to the Chesnut-hill. Concealed
among its rocks, or gazing at the
prospect, which stretched so far and so
wide around it, my fancy has always
been accustomed to derive its highest
enjoyment from this spot. I found myself
again at leisure to recall the scene
which I had witnessed during the last
night, to imagine its connection with the
fate of Waldegrave, and to plan the
means of discovering the secret that was
hidden under these appearances.

Shortly, I began to feel insupportable
disquiet at the thoughts of postponing

this discovery. Wiles and stratagems
were practicable, but they were tedious
and of dubious success. Why should I
proceed like a plotter? Do I intend the
injury of this person? A generous purpose
will surely excuse me from descending
to artifices? There are two modes
of drawing forth the secrets of another,
by open and direct means and by circuitous
and indirect. Why scruple to adopt
the former mode? Why not demand a
conference, and state my doubts, and
demand a solution of them, in a manner
worthy of a beneficent purpose? Why
not hasten to the spot? He may be, at
this moment, mysteriously occupied under
this shade. I may note his behaviour;
I may ascertain his person, if not
by the features that belong to him, yet
by tracing his footsteps when he departs,
and pursuing him to his retreats.

I embraced the scheme, which was
thus suggested, with eagerness. I threw
myself, with headlong speed, down the
hill and pursued my way to the Elm.
As I approached the tree, my palpitations
increased, though my pace slackened.
I looked forward with an anxious
glance. The trunk of the tree was
hidden in the deepest shade. I advanced
close up to it. No one was visible,
but I was not discouraged. The hour
of his coming was, perhaps, not arrived.
I took my station at a small distance, beside
a fence, on the right hand.

An hour elapsed before my eyes
lighted on the object of which they were
in search. My previous observation had
been roving from one quarter to another.
At last, it dwelt upon the tree. The person
whom I before described was seated
on the ground. I had not perceived him
before, and the means by which he placed

himself in this situation had escaped my
notice. He seemed like one, whom an
effort of will, without the exercise of
locomotion, had transported hither, or
made visible. His state of disarray, and
the darkness that shrouded him, prevented
me, as before, from distinguishing
any peculiarities in his figure or countenance.

I continued watchful and mute. The
appearances already described took place,
on this occasion, except the circumstance
of digging in the earth. He sat musing
for a while, then burst into sighs and
lamentations.

These being exhausted, he rose to
depart. He stalked away with a solemn
and deliberate pace. I resolved to tread,
as closely as possible, in his footsteps,
and not to lose sight of him till the termination
of his career.

Contrary to my expectation, he went
in a direction opposite to that which led
to Inglefield's. Presently, he stopped at
bars, which he cautiously removed, and,
when he had passed through them, as
deliberately replaced. He then proceeded
along an obscure path, which led
across stubble fields, to a wood. The
path continued through the wood, but
he quickly struck out of it, and made his
way, seemingly at random, through a
most perplexing undergrowth of bushes
and briars.

I was, at first, fearful that the noise,
which I made behind him, in trampling
down the thicket, would alarm him; but
he regarded it not. The way that he
had selected, was always difficult; sometimes
considerable force was requisite to
beat down obstacles; sometimes, it led
into a deep glen, the sides of which
were so steep as scarcely to afford a footing;

sometimes, into fens, from which
some exertions were necessary to extricate
the feet, and sometimes, through
rivulets, of which the water rose to the
middle.

For some time I felt no abatement
of my speed or my resolution. I thought
I might proceed, without fear, through
breaks and dells, which my guide was
able to penetrate. He was perpetually
changing his direction. I could form
no just opinion as to my situation or distance
from the place at which we had
set out.

I began at length to be weary. A
suspicion, likewise, suggested itself to
my mind, whether my guide did not
perceive that he was followed, and thus
prolonged his journey in order to fatigue
or elude his pursuer. I was determined,
however, to baffle his design. Though
the air was frosty, my limbs were bedewed

with sweat and my joints were
relaxed with toil, but I was obstinately
bent upon proceeding.

At length a new idea occurred to me.
On finding me indefatigable in pursuit,
this person might resort to more atrocious
methods of concealment. But what
had I to fear? It was sufficient to be upon
my guard. Man to man, I needed not
to dread his encounter.

We, at last, arrived at the verge of
a considerable precipice. He kept along
the edge. From this height, a dreary
vale was discoverable, embarrassed with
the leafless stocks of bushes, and encumbered
with rugged and pointed rocks.
This scene reminded me of my situation.
The desert tract called Nor-walk, which
I have often mentioned to you, my curiosity
had formerly induced me to traverse
in various directions. It was in the
highest degree, rugged, picturesque and

wild. This vale, though I had never
before viewed it by the glimpses of the
moon, suggested the belief that I had
visited it before. Such an one I knew
belonged to this uncultivated region. If
this opinion were true, we were at no
inconsiderable distance from Inglefield's
habitation. Where, said I, is this singular
career to terminate?

Though occupied with these reflections,
I did not slacken my pursuit. The
stranger kept along the verge of the
cliff, which gradually declined till it terminated
in the valley. He then plunged
into its deepest thickets. In a quarter
of an hour he stopped under a projecture
of the rock which formed the opposite
side of the vale. He then proceeded to
remove the stalks, which, as I immediately
perceived, concealed the mouth of
a cavern. He plunged into the darkness,

and in a few moments, his steps were
heard no more!

Hitherto my courage had supported
me, but here it failed. Was this person
an assassin, who was acquainted with
the windings of the grotto, and who
would take advantage of the dark, to
execute his vengeance upon me, who
had dared to pursue him to these forlorn
retreats; or was he maniac, or walker in
his sleep? Whichever supposition were
true, it would be rash in me to follow
him. Besides, he could not long remain
in these darksome recesses, unless some
fatal accident should overtake him.

I seated myself at the mouth of the
cave, determined patinetly to wait till he
should think proper to emerge. This
opportunity of rest was exceedingly acceptable
after so toilsome a pilgrimage.
My pulse began to beat more slowly, and

the moisture that incommoded me ceased
to flow. The coolness which, for a little
time, was delicious, presently increased
to shivering, and I found it necessary to
change my posture, in order to preserve
my blood from congealing.

After I had formed a path before
the cavern's mouth, by the removal of
obstructions, I employed myself in
walking to and fro. In this situation I
saw the moon gradually decline to the
horizon, and, at length, disappear. I
marked the deepenings of the shade,
and the mutations which every object
successively underwent. The vale was
narrow, and hemmed in on all sides by
lofty and precipitous cliffs. The gloom
deepened as the moon declined, and the
faintness of star-light was all that preserved
my senses from being useless to
my own guidance.

I drew nearer the cleft at which this
mysterious personage had entered. I
stretched my hands before it, determined
that he should not emerge from his den
without my notice. His steps would,
necessarily, communicate the tidings of
his approach. They could not move
without a noise which would be echoed
to, on all sides, by the abruptnesses by
which this valley was surrounded. Here,
then, I continued till the day began to
dawn, in momentary expectation of the
stranger's reappearance.

My attention was at length excited
by a sound that seemed to issue from
the cave. I imagined that the sleeper
was returning, and prepared therefore to
seize him. I blamed myself for neglecting
the opportunities that had already
been afforded, and was determined that
another should not escape. My eyes
were fixed upon the entrance. The

rustling increased, and presently an animal
leapt forth, of what kind I was unable
to discover. Heart-struck by this
disappointment, but not discouraged, I
continued to watch, but in vain. The day
was advancing apace. At length the
sun arose, and its beams glistened on the
edges of the cliffs above, whose sapless
stalks and rugged masses were covered
with hoar-frost. I began to despair of
success, but was unwilling to depart,
until it was no longer possible to hope
for the return of this extraordinary personage.
Whether he had been swallowed
up by some of the abysses of this
grotto, or lurked near the entrance, waiting
my departure, or had made his exit
at another and distant aperture, was
unknown to me.

Exhausted and discouraged, I prepared,
at length, to return. It was easy
to find my way out of this wilderness by

going forward in one direction, regardless
of impediments and cross-paths. My
absence I believed to have occasioned no
alarm to my family, since they knew not
of my intention to spend the night
abroad. Thus unsatisfactorily terminated
this night's adventures.