University of Virginia Library

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 neighboring
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, halfclothed
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 endeavor
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
enable 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 entire condition.

This is the perpetrator of some nefarious 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 recognise 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 demeanor 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 neighborhood 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 choosing 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 heartfelt
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 connexion 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 behavior; 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 this 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, be
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 Norwalk, 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 a 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? Which ever 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
patiently 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. He could not move without a noise
which would be echoed to, on all sides, by the abruptness
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 leaped 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.