“Three days have elapsed since this occurrence. I
have been haunted by perpetual inquietude. To bring
myself to regard Carwin without terror, and to acquiesce in
the belief of your safety, was impossible. Yet to put an
end to my doubts, seemed to be impracticable. If some
light could be reflected on the actual situation of this man,
a direct path would present itself. If he were, contrary to
the tenor of his conversation, cunning and malignant, to
apprize you of this, would be to place you in security. If he
were merely unfortunate and innocent, most readily would
I espouse his cause; and if his intentions were upright with
regard to you, most eagerly would I sanctify your choice
by my approbation.

“It would be vain to call upon Carwin for an avowal of
his deeds. It was better to know nothing, than to be deceived
by an artful tale. What he was unwilling to communicate,
and this unwillingness had been repeatedly manifested,
could never be extorted from him. Importunity
might be appeased, or imposture effected by fallacious representations.
To the rest of the world he was unknown.
I had often made him the subject of discourse; but a
glimpse of his figure in the street was the sum of their
knowledge who knew most. None had ever seen him before,
and received as new, the information which my intercourse
with him in Valencia, and my present intercourse,
enabled me to give.

“Wieland was your brother. If he had really made you
the object of his courtship, was not a brother authorized to
interfere and demand from him the confession of his views?

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

Yet what were the grounds on which I had reared this supposition?
Would they justify a measure like this? Surely
not.

“In the course of my restless meditations, it occurred to
me, at length, that my duty required me to speak to you,
to confess the indecorum of which I had been guilty, and
to state the reflections to which it had led me. I was
prompted by no mean or selfish views. The heart within
my breast was not more precious than your safety; most
cheerfully would I have interposed my life between you and
danger. Would you cherish resentment at my conduct?
When acquainted with the motive which produced it, it
would not only exempt me from censure, but entitle me to
gratitude.

“Yesterday had been selected for the rehearsal of the
newly imported tragedy. I promised to be present. The
state of my thoughts but little qualified me for a performer
or auditor in such a scene; but I reflected that, after it was
finished, I should return home with you, and should
then enjoy an opportunity of discoursing with you fully on
this topic. My resolution was not formed without a remnant
of doubt, as to its propriety. When I left this house
to perform the visit I had promised, my mind was full of
apprehension and despondency. The dubiousness of the
event of our conversation, fear that my interference was
too late to secure your peace, and the uncertainty to which
hope gave birth, whether I had not erred in believing you
devoted to this man, or, at least, in imagining that he had
obtained your consent to midnight conferences, distracted
me with contradictory opinions, and repugnant emotions.

“I can assign no reason for calling at Mrs. Baynton's. I
had seen her in the morning, and knew her to be well.
The concerted hour had nearly arrived, and yet I turned up
the street which leads to her house, and dismounted at her
door. I entered the parlor and threw myself in a chair. I
saw and inquired for no one. My whole frame was overpowered
by dreary and comfortless sensations. One idea
possessed me wholly; the inexpressible importance of unveiling
the designs and character of Carwin, and the utter
improbability that this ever would be effected. Some

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instinct induced me to lay my hand upon a newspaper. I had
perused all the general intelligence it contained in the
morning, and at the same spot. The act was rather mechanical
than voluntary.

“I threw a languid glance at the first column that presented
itself. The first words which I read, began with
the offer of a reward of three hundred guineas for the apprehension
of a convict under sentence of death, who had
escaped from Newgate prison in Dublin. Good heaven!
how every fibre of my frame tingled when I proceeded to
read that the name of the criminal was Francis Carwin!

“The descriptions of his person and address were minute.
His stature, hair, complexion, the extraordinary position
and arrangement of his features, his awkward and
disproportionate form, his gesture and gait, corresponded
perfectly with those of our mysterious visitant. He had
been found guilty in two indictments. One for the murder
of the Lady Jane Conway, and the other for a robbery
committed on the person of the honorable Mr. Ludloe.

“I repeatedly perused this passage. The ideas which
flowed in upon my mind, affected me like an instant transition
from death to life. The purpose dearest to my heart
was thus effected, at a time and by means the least of all
others within the scope of my foresight. But what purpose?
Carwin was detected. Acts of the blackest and
most sordid guilt had been committed by him. Here was
evidence which imparted to my understanding the most luminous
certainty. The name, visage, and deportment,
were the same. Between the time of his escape, and his
appearance among us, there was a sufficient agreement.
Such was the man with whom I suspected you to maintain
a clandestine correspondence. Should I not haste to snatch
you from the talons of this vulture? Should I see you
rushing to the verge of a dizzy precipice, and not stretch
forth a hand to pull you back? I had no need to deliberate.
I thrust the paper in my pocket, and resolved to obtain
an immediate conference with you. For a time, no
other image made its way to my understanding. At length,
it occurred to me, that though the information I possessed
was, in one sense, sufficient, yet if more could be obtained,

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more was desirable. This passage was copied from a British
paper; part of it only, perhaps, was transcribed. The
printer was in possession of the original.

“Towards his house I immediately turned my horse's
head. He produced the paper, but I found nothing more
than had already been seen. While busy in perusing it, the
printer stood by my side. He noticed the object of which
I was in search. “Aye,” said he, “that is a strange affair.
I should never have met with it had not Mr. Hallet sent
to me the paper, with a particular request to republish that
advertisement.”

“Mr. Hallet! What reasons could he have for making
this request? Had the paper sent to him been accompanied
by any information respecting the convict? Had he
personal or extraordinary reasons for desiring its republication?
This was to be known only in one way. I speeded
to his house. In answer to my interrogations, he told me
that Ludloe had formerly been in America, and that during
his residence in this city, considerable intercourse had taken
place between them. Hence a confidence arose, which
has since been kept alive by occasional letters. He had
lately received a letter from him, enclosing the newspaper
from which this extract had been made. He put it into my
hands, and pointed out the passages which related to Carwin.

“Ludloe confirms the facts of his conviction and escape;
and adds, that he had reason to believe him to have embarked
for America. He describes him in general terms,
as the most incomprehensible and formidable among men;
as engaged in schemes, reasonably suspected to be, in the
highest degree, criminal, but such as no human intelligence is
able to unravel; that his ends are pursued by means which
leave it in doubt whether he be not in league with some infernal
spirit; that his crimes have hitherto been perpetrated
with the aid of some unknown but desperate accomplices;
that he wages a perpetual war against the happiness of mankind,
and sets his engines of destruction at work against
every object that presents itself.

“This is the substance of the letter. Hallet expressed
some surprise at the curiosity which was manifested by me

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

on this occasion. I was too much absorbed by the ideas
suggested by this letter, to pay attention to his remarks. I
shuddered with the apprehension of the evil to which our
indiscreet familiarity with this man had probably exposed
us. I burnt with impatience to see you, and to do what in
me lay to avert the calamity which threatened us. It was
already five o'clock. Night was hastening, aad there was
no time to be lost. On leaving Mr. Hallet's house, who
should meet me in the street, but Bertrand, the servant
whom I left in Germany. His appearance and accoutrements
bespoke him to have just alighted from a toilsome and
long journey. I was not wholly without expectation of seeing
him about this time, but no one was then more distant
from my thoughts. You know what reasons I have for
anxiety respecting scenes with which this man was converversant.
Carwin was for a moment forgotten. In answer
to my vehement inquiries, Bertrand produced a copious
packet. I shall not at present mention its contents, nor the
measures which they obliged me to adopt. I bestowed a
brief perusal on these papers, and having given some directions
to Bertrand, resumed my purpose with regard to you.
My horse I was obliged to resign to my servant, he being
charged with a commission that required speed. The clock
had struck ten, and Mettingen was five miles distant. I
was to journey thither on foot. These circumstances only
added to my expedition.

“As I passed swiftly along, I reviewed all the incidents
accompanying the appearance and deportment of that man
among us. Late events have been inexplicable and mysterious
beyond any of which I have either read or heard.
These events were coeval with Carwin's introduction. I
am unable to explain their origin and mutual dependence;
but I do not, on that account, believe them to have a supernatural
original. Is not this man the agent? Some of them
seem to be propitious; but what should I think of those
threats of assassination with which you were lately alarmed?
Bloodshed is the trade, and horror is the element of this
man. The process by which the sympathies of nature are
extinguished in our hearts, by which evil is made our good,
and by which we are made susceptible of no activity but in

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

the infliction, and no joy but in the spectacle of woes, is
an obvious process. As to alliance with evil geniis, the
power and the malice of demons have heen a thousand times
exemplified in human beings. There are no devils but
those which are begotten upon selfishness, and reared by
cunning.

“Now, indeed, the scene was changed. It was not his
secret poniard that I dreaded. It was only the success of
his efforts to make you a confederate in your own destruction,
to make your will the instrument by which he might
bereave you of liberty and honor.

“I took, as usual, the path through your brother's ground.
I ranged with celerity and silence along the bank. I approached
the fence, which divides Wieland's estate from
yours. The recess in the bank being near this line, it
being necessary for me to pass near it, my mind being
tainted with inveterate suspicions concerning you; suspicions
which were indebted for their strength to incidents connected
with this spot; what wonder that it seized upon my
thoughts!

“I leaped on the fence; but before I descended on the
opposite side, I paused to survey the scene. Leaves dropping
with dew, and glistening in the moon's rays, with no
moving object to molest the deep repose, filled me with security
and hope. I left the station at length, and tended forward.
You were probably at rest. How should I communicate
without alarming you, the intelligence of my arrival?
An immediate interview was to be procured. I could
not bear to think that a minute should be lost by remissness
or hesitation? Should I knock at the door? or should I stand
under your chamber windows, which I perceived to be open,
and awaken you by my calls?

“These reflections employed me, as I passed opposite to
the summer house. I had scarcely gone by, when my ear
caught a sound unusual at this time and place. It was almost
too faint and too transient to allow me a distinct perception
of it. I stopped to listen; presently it was heard
again, and now it was somewhat in a louder key. It was
laughter; and unquestionably produced by a female voice.
That voice was familiar to my senses. It was yours.

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

“Whence it came, I was at first at a loss to conjecture;
but this uncertainty vanished when it was heard the third
time. I threw back my eyes towards the recess. Every
other organ and limb was useless to me. I did not reason
on the subject. I did not, in a direct manner, draw my
conclusions from the hour, the place, the hilarity which this
sound betokened, and the circumstance of having a companion,
which it no less incontestably proved In an instant,
as it were, my heart was invaded with cold, and the pulses
of life at a stand.

“Why should I go further? Why should I return?
Should I not hurry to a distance from a sound, which,
though formerly so sweet and delectable, was now more
hideous than the shrieks of owls?

“I had no time to yield to this impulse. The thought of
approaching and listening occurred to me. I had no doubt
of which I was conscious. Yet my certainty was capable of
increase. I was likewise stimulated by a sentiment that partook
of rage. I was governed by a half-formed and tempestuous
resolution to break in upon your interview, and
strike you dead with my upbraiding.

“I approached with the utmost caution. When I reached
the edge of the bank immediately above the summer
house, I thought I heard voices from below, as busy in conversation.
The steps in the rock are clear of bushy impediments.
They allowed me to descend into a cavity beside
the building without being detected. Thus to lie in
wait could only be justified by the momentousness of the
occasion.”

Here Pleyel paused in his narrative, and fixed his eyes
upon me. Situated as I was, my horror and astonishment
at this tale gave way to compassion for the anguish which
the countenance of my friend betrayed. I reflected on
his force of understanding. I reflected on the powers of
my enemy. I could easily divine the substance of the conversation
that was overheard. Carwin had constructed his
plot in a manner suited to the characters of those whom he
had selected for his victims. I saw that the convictions of
Pleyel were immutable. I forbore to struggle against the
storm, because I saw that all struggles would be fruitless. I

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was calm; but my calmness was the torpor of despair, and
not the tranquillity of fortitude. It was calmness invincible
by any thing that his grief and his fury could suggest to
Pleyel. He resumed—

“Woman! wilt thou hear me further? Shall I go on to
repeat the conversation? Is it shame that makes thee tonguetied?
Shall I go on? or art thou satisfied with what has been
already said?”

I bowed my head. “Go on,” said I. “I make not
this request in the hope of undeceiving you. I shall no
longer contend with my own weakness. The storm is let
loose, and I shall peaceably submit to be driven by its fury.
But go on. This conference will end only with affording
me a clearer foresight of my destiny; but that will be some
satisfaction, and I will not part without it.”

Why, on hearing these words, did Pleyel hesitate? Did
some unlooked for doubt insinuate itself into his mind?
Was his belief suddenly shaken by my looks, or my words,
or by some newly recollected circumstance? Whencesoever
it arose, it could not endure the test of deliberation. In a
few minutes the flame of resentment was again lighted up in
his bosom. He proceeded with his accustomed vehemence:

“I hate myself for this folly. I can find no apology for
this tale. Yet I am irresistibly impelled to relate it. She
that hears me is apprized of every particular. I have only
to repeat to her her own words. She will listen with a
tranquil air, and the spectacle of her obduracy will drive me
to some desperate act. Why then should I persist! yet
persist I must it.”

Again he paused. “No,” said he, “it is impossible to
repeat your avowals of love, your appeals to former confessions
of your tenderness, to former deeds of dishonor, to the
circumstances of the first interview that took place between
you. It was on that night when I traced you to this recess.
Thither had he enticed you, and there had you ratified an
unhallowed compact by admitting him—

“Great God! Thou witnessedst the agonies that tore my
bosom at that moment! Thou witnessedst my efforts to repel
the testimony of my ears! It was in vain that you dwelt
upon the confusion which my unlooked for summons

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excited in you; the tardiness with which a suitable excuse occurred
to you; your resentment that my impertinent intrusion
had put an end to that charming interview; a disappointment
for which you endeavored to compensate yourself, by the
frequency and duration of subsequent meetings.

“In vain you dwelt upon incidents of which you only
could be conscious; incidents that occurred on occasions on
which none besides your own family were witnesses. In
vain was your discourse characterized by peculiarities inimitable
of sentiment and language. My conviction was effected
only by an accumulation of the same tokens. I yielded
not but to evidence which took away the power to withhold
my faith.

“My sight was of no use to me. Beneath so thick an
umbrage, the darkness was intense. Hearing was the only
avenue to information, which the circumstances allowed to
be open. I was couched within three feet of you. Why
should I approach nearer? I could not content with your
betrayer. What could be the purpose of a contest? You
stood in no need of a protector. What could I do, but retire
from the spot overwhelmed with confusion and dismay?
I sought my chamber, and endeavored to regain my composure.
The door of the house, which I found open, your
subsequent entrance, closing, and fastening it, and going into
your chamber, which had been thus long deserted, were
only confirmations of the truth.

“Why should I paint the tempestuous fluctuation of my
thoughts between grief and revenge, between rage and despair?
Why should I repeat my vows of eternal implacability
and persecution, and the speedy recantation of these
vows?

“I have said enough. You have dismissed me from a
place in your esteem. What I think, and what I feel, is of
no importance in your eyes. May the duty which I owe
myself enable me to forget your existence. In a few
minutes I go hence. Be the maker of your fortune, and
may adversity instruct you in that wisdom, which education
was unable to impact to you.”

Those were the last words which Pleyel uttered. He
left the room, and my new emotions enabled me to witness

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his departure without any apparent loss of composure. As
I sat alone, I ruminated on these incidents. Nothing was
more evident than that I had taken an eternal leave of happiness.
Life was a worthless thing, separate from that
good which had now been wrested from me; yet the sentiment
that now possessed me had no tendency to palsy my
exertions, and overbear my strength. I noticed that the
light was declining, and perceived the propriety of leaving
this house. I placed myself again in the chaise, and returned
slowly towards the city.