There ended his narrative. He started from the spot
where he stood, and, without affording me any opportunity
of replying or commenting, disappeared amidst the thickest
of the wood. I had no time to exert myself for his detention.
I could have used no arguments for this end, to which it is
probable he would have listened. The story I had heard was
too extraordinary, too completely the reverse of all my expectations,
to allow me to attend to the intimations of self
murder which he dropped.

The secret, which I imagined was about to be disclosed,
was as inscrutable as ever. Not a circumstance, from the
moment when Clithero's character became the subject of my
meditations, till the conclusion of his tale, but served to confirm
my suspicion. Was this error to be imputed to credulity?
Would not any one, from similar appearances, have
drawn similar conclusions? Or is there a criterion by which
truth can always be distinguished. Was it owing to my imperfect
education that the inquietudes of this man were not
traced to a deed performed at the distance of a thousand
leagues, to the murder of his patroness and friend?

I had heard a tale which apparently related to scenes and
persons far distant, but though my suspicions have appeared
to have been misplaced, what should hinder but that the
death of my friend was, in like manner, an act of momentary
insanity and originated in a like spirit of mistaken benevolence?

But I did not consider this tale merely in relation to
myself. My life had been limited and uniform. I had
communed with romancers and historians, but the impression
made upon me by this incident was unexampled in my experience.
My reading had furnished me with no instance,

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

in any degree, parallel to this, and I found that to be a distant
and second hand spectator of events was widely different
from witnessing them myself, and partaking in their consequences.
My judgment was, for a time, sunk into imbecility
and confusion. My mind was full of the images unavoidably
suggested by this tale, but they existed in a kind of chaos,
and not otherwise, than gradually, was I able to reduce them
to distinct particulars, and subject them to a deliberate and
methodical inspection.

How was I to consider this act of Clithero? What a
deplorable infatuation! Yet it was the necessary result of a
series of ideas mutually linked and connected. His conduct
was dictated by a motive allied to virtue. It was the
fruit of an ardent and grateful spirit.

The death of Wiatte could not be censured. The life
of Clithero was unspeakably more valuable than that of his
antagonist. It was the instinct of self-preservation that swayed
him. He knew not his adversary in time enough, to
govern himself by that knowledge. Had the assailant been
an unknown ruffian, his death would have been followed by
no remorse. The spectacle of his dying agonies would
have dwelt upon the memory of his assassin like any other
mournful sight, in the production of which he bore no part.

It must at least be said that his will was not concerned in
this transaction. He acted in obedience to an impulse which
he could not control, nor resist. Shall we impute guilt
where there is no design? Shall a man extract food for
self-reproach from an action to which it is not enough to say
that he was actuated by no culpable intention, but that he
was swayed by no intention whatever? If consequences
arise that cannot be foreseen, shall we find no refuge in the
persuasion of our rectitude and of human frailty? Shall
we deem ourselves criminal because we do not enjoy the
attributes of Deity? Because our power and our knowledge
are confined by impassable boundaries?

But whence arose the subsequent intention? It was the
fruit of a dreadful mistake. His intents were noble and
compassionate. But this is of no avail to free him from the
imputation of guilt. No remembrance of past beneficence
can compensate for this crime. The scale, loaded with the

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

recriminations of his conscience, is immovable by any counter-weight.

But what are the conclusions to be drawn by dispassionate
observers? Is it possible to regard this person with disdain
or with enmity? The crime originated in those limitations
which nature has imposed upon human faculties.
Proofs of a just intention are all that are requisite to exempt
us from blame; he is thus, in consequence of a double
mistake. The light in which he views this event is erroneous.
He judges wrong and is therefore miserable.

How imperfect are the grounds of all our decisions?
Was it of no use to superintend his childhood, to select his
instructers and examples, to mark the operations of his
principles, to see him emerging into youth, to follow him
through various scenes and trying vicissitudes, and mark the
uniformity of his integrity? Who would have predicted
his future conduct? Who would not have affirmed the impossibility
of an action like this?

How mysterious was the connexion between the fate of
Wiatte and his sister! By such circuitous, and yet infallible
means, were the prediction of the lady and the vengeance
of the brother accomplished! In how many cases
may it be said, as in this, that the prediction was the cause
of its own fulfilment? That the very act, which considerate
observers, and even himself, for a time, imagined to have
utterly precluded the execution of Wiatte's menaces, should
be that inevitably leading to it. That the execution should
be assigned to him, who, abounding in abhorrence, and in
the act of self-defence, was the slayer of the menacer.

As the obstructor of his designs, Wiatte waylaid and
assaulted Clithero. He perished in the attempt. Were
his designs frustrated?—No. It was thus that he secured
the gratification of his vengeance. His sister was cut off in
the bloom of life and prosperity. By a refinement of good
fortune, the voluntary minister of his malice had entailed upon
himself exile without reprieve and misery without end.

But what chiefly excited my wonder was the connexion
of this tale with the destiny of Sarsefield. This was he
whom I have frequently mentioned to you as my preceptor.
About four years previous to this ear, he appeared in this
district without fortune or friend. He desired, one evening,

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

to be accommodated at my uncle's house. The conversation
turning on the objects of his journey, and his present
situation, he professed himself in search of lucrative employment.
My uncle proposed to him to become a teacher,
there being a sufficient number of young people in this neighborhood
to afford him occupation and subsistence. He
found it his interest to embrace this proposal.

I, of course, became his pupil, and demeaned myself in
such a manner as speedily to grow into a favorite. He
communicated to us no part of his early history, but informed
us sufficiently of his adventures in Asia and Italy, to
make it plain that this was the same person alluded to by
Clithero. During his abode among us his conduct was
irreproachable. When he left us, he manifested the most
poignant regret, but this originated chiefly in his regard to
me. He promised to maintain with me an epistolary intercourse.
Since his departure, however, I had heard nothing
respecting him. It was with unspeakable regret that I now
heard of the disappointment of his hopes, and was inquisitive
respecting the measures which he would adopt in his
new situation. Perhaps he would once more return to
America, and I should again be admitted to the enjoyment
of his society. This event I anticipated with the highest
satisfaction.

At present, the fate of the unhappy Clithero was the subject
of abundant anxiety. On his suddenly leaving me, at
the conclusion of his tale, I supposed that he had gone upon
one of his usual rambles, and that it would terminate only
with the day. Next morning a message was received from
Inglefield inquiring if any one knew what had become of his
servant. I could not listen to this message with tranquillity.
I recollected the hints that he had given of some design upon
his life, and admitted the most dreary forebodings. I speeded
to Inglefield's. Clithero had not returned, they told me,
the preceding evening. He had not apprised them of any
intention to change his abode. His boxes, and all that composed
his slender property, were found in their ordinary
state. He had expressed no dissatisfaction with his present
condition.

Several days passed, and no tidings could be procured of

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

him. His absence was a topic of general speculation, but
was a source of particular anxiety to no one but myself.
My apprehensions were surely built upon sufficient grounds.
From the moment that we parted, no one had seen or heard
of him. What mode of suicide he had selected, he had
disabled us from discovering, by the impenetrable secrecy
in which he had involved it.

In the midst of my reflections upon this subject, the idea
of the wilderness occurred. Could he have executed his
design in the deepest of its recesses? These were unvisited
by human footsteps, and his bones might lie for ages in
this solitude without attracting observation. To seek them
where they lay, to gather them together and provide for
them a grave, was a duty which appeared incumbent on me,
and of which the performance was connected with a thousand
habitual sentiments and mixed pleasures.

Thou knowest my devotion to the spirit that breathes its
inspiration in the gloom of forests and on the verge of
streams. I love to immerse myself in shades and dells,
and hold converse with the solemnities and secrecies of
nature in the rude retreats of Norwalk. The disappearance
of Clithero had furnished new incitements to ascend its
cliffs and pervade its thickets, as I cherished the hope of
meeting in my rambles, with some traces of this man. But
might he not still live? His words had imparted the belief
that he intended to destroy himself. This catastrophe,
however, was far from certain. Was it not in my power to
avert it? Could I not restore a mind thus vigorous, to
tranquil and wholesome existence? Could I not subdue
his perverse disdain and immeasurable abhorrence of himself.
His upbraiding and his scorn were unmerited and
misplaced. Perhaps they argued phrenzy rather than prejudice;
but phrenzy, like prejudice, was curable. Reason
was no less an antidote to the illusions of insanity like his,
than to the illusions of error.

I did not immediately recollect that to subsist in this
desert was impossible. Nuts were the only fruits it produced,
and these were inadequate to sustain human life.
If it were haunted by Clithero, he must occasionally pass
its limits and beg or purloin victuals. This deportment was
too humiliating and flagitious to be imputed to him. There

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

was reason to suppose him smitten with the charms of solitude,
of a lonely abode in the midst of mountainous and
rugged nature; but this could not be uninterruptedly enjoyed.
Life could be supported only by occasionally visiting
the haunts of men, in the guise of a thief or a mendicant.
Hence, since Clithero was not known to have reappeared,
at any farm-house in the neighborhood, I was compelled to
conclude, either that he had retired far from this district, or
that he was dead.

Though I designed that my leisure should chiefly be consumed
in the bosom of Norwalk; I almost dismissed the
hope of meeting with the fugitive. There were indeed two
sources of my hopelessness on this occasion. Not only it
was probable that Clithero had fled far away, but, should he
have concealed himself in some nook or cavern, within these
precincts, his concealment was not to be traced. This arose
from the nature of that sterile region.

It would not be easy to describe the face of this district,
in a few words. Half of Solebury, thou knowest, admits
neither of plough nor spade. The cultivable space lies
along the river, and the desert, lying on the north, has gained,
by some means, the appellation of Norwalk. Canst
thou imagine a space, somewhat circular, about six miles
in diameter, and exhibiting a perpetual and intricate variety
of craggy eminences and deep dells.

The hollows are single, and walled around by cliffs, ever
varying in shape and height, and have seldom any perceptible
communication with each other. These hollows are of
all dimensions, from the narrowness and depth of a well, to
the amplitude of one hundred yards. Winter's snow is
frequently found in these cavities at mid-summer. The
streams that burst forth from every crevice, are thrown, by
the irregularities of the surface, into numberless cascades,
often disappear in mists or in chasms, and emerge from subterranean
channels, and, finally, either subside into lakes, or
quietly meander through the lower and more level grounds.

Wherever nature left a flat it is made rugged and scarcely
passable by enormous and fallen trunks, accumulated by the
storms of ages, and forming, by their slow decay, a mosscovered
soil, the haunt of rabbits and lizards. These spots
are obscured by the melancholy umbrage of pines, whose

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

eternal murmurs are in unison with vacancy and solitude,
with the reverberations of the torrents and the whistling of
the blasts. Hiccory and poplar, which abound in the lowlands,
find here no fostering elements.

A sort of continued vale, winding and abrupt, leads into
the midst of this region and through it. This vale serves
the purpose of a road. It is a tedious maze, and perpetual
declivity, and requires, from the passenger, a cautious and
sure foot. Openings and ascents occasionally present themselves
on each side, which seem to promise you access to
the interior region, but always terminate, sooner or later, in
insuperable difficulties, at the verge of a precipice, or the
bottom of a steep.

Perhaps no one was more acquainted with this wilderness
than I, but my knowledge was extremely imperfect. I had
traversed parts of it, at an early age, in pursuit of berries
and nuts, or led by a roaming disposition. Afterwards the
sphere of my rambles was enlarged and their purpose
changed. When Sarsefield came among us, I became his
favorite scholar and the companion of all his pedestrian excursions.
He was fond of penetrating into these recesses,
partly from the love of picturesque scenes, partly to investigate
its botanical and mineral productions, and partly to
carry on more effectually that species of instruction which
he had adopted with regard to me, and which chiefly consisted
in moralizing narratives or synthetical reasonings.
These excursions had familiarized me with its outlines and
most accessible parts; but there was much which, perhaps,
could never be reached without wings, and much the only
paths to which I might forever overlook.

Every new excursion indeed added somewhat to my
knowledge. New tracks were pursued, new prospects detected,
and new summits were gained. My rambles were
productive of incessant novelty, though they always terminated
in the prospect of limits that could not be overleaped.
But none of these had led me wider from my customary
paths than that which had taken place when in pursuit of
Clithero. I had faint remembrance of the valley, into which
I had descended after him, but till then I had viewed it at
a distance, and supposed it impossible to reach the bottom
but by leaping from a precipice some hundred feet in height.

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

The opposite steep seemed no less inaccessible, and the
cavern at the bottom was impervious to any views which my
former positions had enabled me to take of it.

My intention to reexamine this cave and ascertain whither
it led, had, for a time, been suspended by different
considerations. It was now revived with more energy than
ever. I reflected that this had formerly been haunted by
Clithero, and might possibly have been the scene of the
desperate act which he had meditated. It might at least
conceal some token of his past existence. It might lead
into spaces hitherto unvisited, and to summits from which
wider landscapes might be seen.

One morning I set out to explore this scene. The road
which Clithero had taken was laboriously circuitous. On
my return from the first pursuit of him, I ascended the cliff
in my former footsteps, but soon lighted on the beaten track
which I have already described. This enabled me to shun
a thousand obstacles, which had lately risen before me, and
opened an easy passage to the cavern.

I once more traversed this way. The brow of the hill
was gained. The ledges of which it consisted, afforded
sufficient footing, when the attempt was made, though
viewed at a distance they seemed to be too narrow for that
purpose. As I descended the rugged stair, I could not but
wonder at the temerity and precipitation with which this
descent had formerly been made. It seemed as if the noonday
light and the tardiest circumspection would scarcely
enable me to accomplish it, yet then it had been done with
headlong speed, and with no guidance but the moon's uncertain
rays.

I reached the mouth of the cave. Till now I had forgotten
that a lamp or a torch might be necessary to direct
my subterranean footsteps. I was unwilling to defer the
attempt. Light might possibly be requisite, if the cave
had no other outlet. Somewhat might present itself within
to the eyes, which might forever elude the hands, but I
was more inclined to consider it merely as an avenue, terminating
in an opening on the summit of the steep, or on the
opposite side of the ridge. Caution might supply the place of
light, or, having explored the cave as far as possible at present,
I might hereafter return, better furnished for the scrutiny.

CHAPTER X.

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

With these determinations, I proceeded. The entrance
was low, and compelled me to resort to hands as well as
feet. At a few yards from the mouth the light disappeared,
and I found myself immersed in the dunnest obscurity.
Had I not been persuaded that another had gone before
me, I should have relinquished the attempt. I proceeded
with the utmost caution, always ascertaining, by out-stretched
arms, the height and breadth of the cavity before me. In
a short time the dimensions expanded on all sides, and permitted
me to resume my feet.

I walked upon a smooth and gentle declivity. Presently
the wall, on one side, and the ceiling receded beyond my
reach. I began to fear that I should be involved in a maze,
and should be disabled from returning. To obviate this
danger it was requisite to adhere to the nearest wall, and
conform to the direction which it should take, without straying
through the palpable obscurity. Whether the ceiling
was lofty or low, whether the opposite wall of the passage
was distant or near, this, I deemed no proper opportunity to
investigate.

In a short time, my progress was stopped by an abrupt
descent. I set down the advancing foot with caution, being
aware that I might at the next step encounter a bottomless
pit. To the brink of such a one I seemed now to have
arrived. I stooped, and stretched my hand forward and
downward, but all was vacuity.

Here it was needful to pause. I had reached the brink
of a cavity whose depth it was impossible to ascertain. It
might be a few inches beyond my reach, or hundreds of
feet. By leaping down I might incur no injury, or might
plunge into a lake or dash myself to pieces on the points of
rocks.

I now saw with new force the propriety of being furnished
with a light. The first suggestion was to return upon
my footsteps, and resume my undertaking on the morrow.
Yet, having advanced thus far, I felt reluctance to recede
without accomplishing my purposes. I reflected likewise

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

that Clithero had boldly entered this recess, and had certainly
come forth at a different avenue from that at which
he entered.

At length it occurred to me, that though I could not go
forward, yet I might proceed along the edge of this cavity.
This edge would be as safe a guidance, and would serve as
well for a clue by which I might return, as the wall which
it was now necessary to forsake.

Intense dark is always the parent of fears. Impending
injuries cannot in this state be descried, nor shunned, nor
repelled. I began to feel some faltering of my courage and
seated myself, for a few minutes, on a stony mass which
arose before me. My situation was new. The caverns I
had hitherto met with in this desert, were chiefly formed of
low browed rocks. They were chambers, more or less
spacious, into which twilight was at least admitted; but here
it seemed as if I were surrounded by barriers that would forever
cut off my return to air and to light.

Presently I resumed my courage and proceeded. My
road appeared now to ascend. On one side I seemed still
upon the verge of a precipice, and, on the other, all was
empty and waste. I had gone no inconsiderable distance,
and persuaded myself that my career would speedily terminate.
In a short time, the space on the left hand was
again occupied, and I cautiously proceeded between the
edge of the gulf and a rugged wall. As the space between
them widened I adhered to the wall.

I was not insensible that my path became more intricate
and more difficult to retread in proportion as I advanced. I
endeavored to preserve a vivid conception of the way which
I had already passed, and to keep the images of the left, and
right-hand wall, and the gulf, in due succession in my
memory.

The path which had hitherto been considerably smooth,
now became rugged and steep. Chilling damps, the secret
trepidation which attended me, the length and difficulties of
my way, enhanced by the ceaseless caution and the numberous
expedients which the utter darkness obliged me to
employ, began to overpower my strength. I was frequently
compelled to stop and recruit myself by rest. These respites
from toil were of use, but they could not enable me to

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

prosecute an endless journey, and to return was scarcely a
less arduous task than to proceed.

I looked anxiously forward in the hope of being comforted
by some dim ray, which might assure me that my
labors were approaching an end. At last this propitious token
appeared, and I issued forth into a kind of chamber, one
side of which was open to the air and allowed me to catch
a portion of the chequered sky. This spectacle never
before excited such exquisite sensations in my bosom. The
air, likewise, breathed into the cavern, was unspeakably
delicious.

I now found myself on the projecture of a rock. Above
and below the hillside was nearly perpendicular. Opposite,
and at the distance of fifteen or twenty yards, was a similar
ascent. At the bottom was a glen, cold, narrow and obscure.
The projecture, which served as a kind of vestibule to the
cave, was connected with a ledge, by which, though not
without peril and toil, I was conducted to the summit.

This summit was higher than any of those which were interposed
between itself and the river. A large part of this
chaos of rocks and precipices was subjected, at one view, to
the eye. The fertile lawns and vales which lay beyond this,
the winding course of the river, and the slopes which rose
on its farther side, were parts of this extensive scene. These
objects were at any time fitted to inspire rapture. Now my
delight was enhanced by the contrast which this lightsome
and serene element bore to the glooms from which I had
lately emerged. My station, also, was higher, and the limits
of my view, consequently more ample than any which I had
hitherto enjoyed.

I advanced to the outer verge of the hill, which I found
to overlook a steep, no less inaccessible, and a glen equally
profound. I changed frequently my station in order to diversify
the scenery. At length it became necessary to
inquire by what means I should return. I traversed the
edge of the hill, but on every side it was equally steep and
always too lofty to permit me to leap from it. As I kept
along the verge, I perceived that it tended in a circular direction,
and brought me back, at last, to the spot from which
I had set out. From this inspection, it seemed as if return

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

was impossible by any other way than that through the
cavern.

I now turned my attention to the interior space. If you
imagine a cylindrical mass, with a cavity dug in the centre,
whose edge conforms to the exterior edge; and, if you
place in this cavity another cylinder, higher than that which
surrounds it, but so small as to leave between its sides and
those of the cavity, a hollow space, you will gain as distinct
an image of this hill as words can convey. The summit of
the inner rock was rugged and covered with trees of unequal
growth. To reach this summit would not render my return
easier; but its greater elevation would extend my view, and
perhaps furnish a spot from which the whole horizon was
conspicuous.

As I had traversed the outer, I now explored the inner
edge of this hill. At length I reached a spot where the chasm,
separating the two rocks, was narrower than at any other
part. At first view, it seemed as if it were possible to leap
over it, but a nearer examination shewed me that the passage
was impracticable. So far as my eye could estimate it,
the breadth was thirty or forty feet. I could scarcely venture
to look beneath. The height was dizzy, and the walls,
which approached each other at top, receded at the bottom,
so as to form the resemblance of an immense hall, lighted
from a rift, which some convulsion of nature had made in
the roof. Where I stood there ascended a perpetual mist,
occasioned by a torrent that dashed along the rugged pavement
below.

From these objects I willingly turned my eye upon those
before and above me, on the opposite ascent. A stream,
rushing from above, fell into a cavity, which its own force
seemed gradually to have made. The noise and the motion
equally attracted my attention. There was a desolate and
solitary grandeur in the scene, enhanced by the circumstances
in which it was beheld, and by the perils through
which I had recently passed, that had never before been
witnessed by me.

A sort of sanctity and awe environed it, owing to the consciousness
of absolute and utter loneliness. It was probable
that human feet had never before gained this recess, that

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

human eyes had never been fixed upon these gushing waters.
The aboriginal inhabitants had no motives to lead them into
caves like this, and ponder on the verge of such a precipice.
Their successors were still less likely to have wandered
hither. Since the birth of this continent, I was probably
the first who had deviated thus remotely from the customary
paths of men.

While musing upon these ideas, my eye was fixed upon
the foaming current. At length, I looked upon the rocks
which confined and embarrassed its course. I admired
their fantastic shapes, and endless irregularities. Passing
from one to the other of these, my attention lighted, at
length, as if by some magical transition, on—a human countenance!

My surprise was so abrupt, and my sensations so tumultuous
that I forgot for a moment the perilous nature of my
situation. I loosened my hold of a pine branch, which had
been hitherto one of my supports, and almost started from
my seat. Had my station been in a slight degree nearer
the brink than it was, I should have fallen headlong into the
abyss.

To meet a human creature, even on that side of the
chasm which I occupied, would have been wholly adverse
to my expectation. My station was accessible by no other
road than that through which I had passed, and no motives
were imaginable by which others could be prompted to explore
this road. But he whom I now beheld, was seated
where it seemed impossible for human efforts to have placed
him.

But this affected me but little in comparison with other
incidents. Not only the countenance was human, but in
spite of shaggy and tangled locks, and an air of melancholy
wildness, I speedily recognized the features of the fugitive
Clithero!

One glance was not sufficient to make me acquainted
with this scene. I had come hither partly in pursuit of this
man, but some casual appendage of his person, something
which should indicate his past rather than his present existence,
was all that I hoped to find. That he should be found
alive in this desert; that he should have gained this summit,

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

access to which was apparently impossible, were scarcely
within the boundaries of belief.

His scanty and coarse garb, had been nearly rent away
by brambles and thorns; his arms, bosom and cheek were
overgrown and half-concealed by hair. There was somewhat
in his attitude and looks denoting more than anarchy
of thoughts and passions. His rueful, ghastly, and immoveable
eyes, testified not only that his mind was ravaged
by despair, but that he was pinched with famine.

These proofs of his misery thrilled to my inmost heart.
Horror and shuddering invaded me as I stood gazing upon
him, and, for a time, I was without the power of deliberating
on the measures which it was my duty to adopt for
his relief. The first suggestion was, by calling, to inform
him of my presence. I knew not what counsel or comfort
to offer. By what words to bespeak his attention, or by
what topics to mollify his direful passions I knew not.
Though so near, the gulf by which we were separated was
impassable. All that I could do was to speak.

My surprise and my horror were still strong enough to
give a shrill and piercing tone to my voice. The chasm
and the rocks loudened and reverberated my accents while
I exclaimed—Man! Clithero!

My summons was effectual. He shook off his trance in
a moment. He had been stretched upon his back, with his
eyes fixed upon a craggy projecture above, as if he were
in momentary expectation of its fall, and crushing him to
atoms. Now he started on his feet. He was conscious of
the voice, but not of the quarter whence it came. He was
looking anxiously around when I again spoke—Look hither.
It is I who called.

He looked. Astonishment was now mingled with every
other dreadful meaning in his visage. He clasped his hands
together and bent forward, as if to satisfy himself that his
summoner was real. At the next moment he drew back,
placed his hands upon his breast, and fixed his eyes on the
ground.

This pause was not likely to be broken but by me. I
was preparing again to speak. To be more distinctly heard,
I advanced closer to the brink. During this action, my eye

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

was necessarily withdrawn from him. Having gained a
somewhat nearer station. I looked again, but—he was gone!

The seat which he so lately occupied was empty. I was
not forewarned of his disappearance, or directed to the
course of his flight by any rustling among leaves. These
indeed would have been overpowered by the noise of the
cataract. The place where he sat was the bottom of a
cavity, one side of which terminated in the verge of the
abyss, but the other sides were perpendicular or overhanging.
Surely he had not leaped into this gulf, and yet that
he had so speedily scaled the steep was impossible.

I looked into the gulf, but the depth and the gloom allowed
me to see nothing with distinctness. His cries or
groans could not be overheard amidst the uproar of the
waters. His fall must have instantly destroyed him, and
that he had fallen was the only conclusion I could draw.

My sensations on this incident cannot be easily described.
The image of this man's despair, and of the sudden catastrophe
to which my inauspicious interference had led, filled
me with compunction and terror. Some of my fears were
relieved by the new conjecture, that, behind the rock on
which he had lain, there might be some aperture or pit into
which he had descended, or in which he might be concealed.

I derived consolation from this conjecture. Not only the
evil which I dreaded might not have happened, but some
alleviation of his misery was possible. Could I arrest his
footsteps and win his attention, I might be able to insinuate
the lessons of fortitude; but if words were impotent, and
arguments were nugatory, yet to sit by him in silence, to
moisten his hand with tears, to sigh in unison, to offer him
the spectacle of sympathy, the solace of believing that his
demerits were not estimated by so rigid a standard by others
as by himself, that one at least among his fellow-men regarded
him with love and pity, could not fail to be of benign
influence.

These thoughts inspired me with new zeal. To effect
my purpose it was requisite to reach the opposite steep. I
was now convinced that this was not an impracticable undertaking,
since Clithero had already performed it. I once

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

more made the circuit of the hill. Every side was steep
and of enormous height, and the gulf was no where so narrow
as at this spot. I therefore returned hither, and once
mere pondered on the means of passing this tremendous
chasm in safety.

Casting my eyes upward, I noted the tree at the root of
which I was standing. I compared the breadth of the gulf
with the length of the trunk of this tree, and it appeared
very suitable for a bridge. Happily it grew obliquely, and
if felled by an axe, would probably fall of itself, in such a
manner as to be suspended across the chasm. The stock
was thick enough to afford me footing, and would enable
me to reach the opposite declivity without danger or delay.

A more careful examination of the spot, the scite of the
tree, its dimensions, and the direction of its growth, convinced
me fully of the practicability of this expedient, and
I determined to carry it into immediate execution. For
this end I must hasten home, procure an axe, and return
with all expedition hither. I took my former way, once more
entered the subterranean avenue, and slowly re-emerged
into day. Before I reached home, the evening was at
hand, and my tired limbs and jaded spirits obliged me to
defer my undertaking till the morrow.

Though my limbs were at rest, my thoughts were active
through the night. I carefully reviewed the situation of this
hill, and was unable to conjecture by what means Clithero
could place himself upon it. Unless he occasionally returned
to the habitable grounds, it was impossible for him
to escape perishing by famine. He might intend to destroy
himself by this means, and my first efforts were to be employed
to overcome this fatal resolution. To persuade him
to leave his desolate haunts might be a laborious and tedious
task, meanwhile all my benevolent intentions would be frustrated
by his want of sustenance. It was proper, therefore,
to carry bread with me, and to place it before him. The
sight of food, the urgencies of hunger, and my vehement
entreaties might prevail on him to eat, though no expostulations
might suffice to make him seek food at a distance.

CHAPTER XI.

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

Next morning I stored a small bag with meat and bread,
and throwing an axe on my shoulder, set out, without informing
any one of my intentions, for the hill. My passage
was rendered more difficult by these incumbrances, but my
perseverance surmounted every impediment, and I gained,
in a few hours, the foot of the tree, whose trunk was to serve
me for a bridge. In this journey I saw no traces of the
fugitive.

A new survey of the tree confirmed my former conclusions,
and I began my work with diligence. My strokes
were repeated by a thousand echoes, and I paused at first
somewhat startled by reverberations, which made it appear
as if not one, but a score of axes, were employed at the
same time on both sides of the gulf.

Quickly the tree fell, and exactly in the manner which I
expected and desired. The wide spread limbs occupied
and choked up the channel of the torrent, and compelled it
to seek a new outlet and multiplied its murmurs. I dared
not trust myself to cross it in an upright posture, but clung,
with hands and feet, to its rugged bark. Having reached
the opposite cliff I proceeded to examine the spot where
Clithero had disappeared. My fondest hopes were realized,
for a considerable cavity appeared, which, on a former day,
had been concealed from my distant view by the rock.

It was obvious to conclude that this was his present habitation,
or that an avenue, conducting hither and terminating
in the unexplored sides of this pit, was that by which he had
come hither, and by which he had retired. I could not
hesitate long to slide into the pit. I found an entrance
through which I fearlessly penetrated. I was prepared to
encounter obstacles and perils similar to those which I have
already described, but was rescued from them by ascending,
in a few minutes, into a kind of passage, open above, but
walled by a continued rock on both sides. The sides of this
passage conformed with the utmost exactness to each other.
Nature, at some former period, had occasioned the solid
mass to dispart at this place, and had thus afforded access

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

to the summit of the hill. Loose stones and ragged points
formed the flooring of this passage, which rapidly and circuitously
ascended.

I was now within a few yards of the surface of the rock.
The passage opened into a kind of chamber or pit, the sides
of which were not difficult to climb. I rejoiced at the
prospect of this termination of my journey. Here I paused,
and throwing my weary limbs on the ground, began to examine
the objects around me, and to meditate on the steps
that were next to be taken.

My first glance lighted on the very being of whom I was
in search. Stretched upon a bed of moss, at the distance
of a few feet from my station, I beheld Clithero. He had
not been roused by my approach, though my foot-steps were
perpetually stumbling and sliding. This reflection gave
birth to the fear that he was dead. A nearer inspection
dispelled my apprehensions, and shewed me that he was
merely buried in profound slumber. Those vigils must indeed
have been long which were at last succeeded by a sleep
so oblivious.

This meeting was, in the highest degree, propitious. It
not only assured me of his existence, but proved that his
miseries were capable of being suspended. His slumber enabled
me to pause, to ruminate on the manner by which his
understanding might be most successfully addressed; to collect
and arrange the topics fitted to rectify his gloomy and
disastrous perceptions.

Thou knowest that I am qualified for such tasks neither
by my education nor my genius. The headlong and ferocious
energies of this man could not be repelled or diverted
into better paths by efforts so undisciplined as mine. A
despair so stormy and impetuous would drown my feeble
accents. How should I attempt to reason with him? How
should I outroot prepossessions so inveterate; the fruits of
his earliest education, fostered and matured by the observation
and experience of his whole life. How should I convince
him that since the death of Wiatte was not intended,
the deed was without crime; that, if it had been deliberately
concerted, it was still a virtue, since his own life could, by no
other means, be preserved; that when he pointed a dagger
at the bosom of his mistress he was actuated, not by avarice,

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

or ambition, or revenge, or malice. He desired to confer
on her the highest and the only benefit of which he believed
her capable. He sought to rescue her from tormenting regrets
and lingering agonies.

These positions were sufficiently just to my own view, but
I was not called upon to reduce them to practice. I had
not to struggle with the consciousness of having been rescued
by some miraculous contingency, from imbruing my hands
in the blood of her whom I adored; of having drawn upon
myself suspicions of ingratitude and murder too deep to be
ever effaced; of having bereft myself of love, and honor,
and friends, and spotless reputation; of having doomed myself
to infamy and detestation, to hopeless exile, penury,
and servile toil. These were the evils which his malignant
destiny had made the unalterable portion of Clithero, and
how should my imperfect eloquence annihilate these evils?
Every man, not himself the victim of irretrievable disasters,
perceives the folly of ruminating on the past, and of fostering
a grief which cannot reverse or recall the decrees of an
immutable necessity; but every man who suffers is unavoidably
shackled by the errors which he censures in his neighbor,
and his efforts to relieve himself are as fruitless as
those with which he attempted the relief of others.

No topic, therefore, could be properly employed by me
on the present occasion. All that I could do was to offer
him food, and, by pathetic supplications, to prevail on him
to eat. Famine, however obstinate, would scarcely refrain
when bread was placed within sight and reach. When
made to swerve from his resolution in one instance, it
would be less difficult to conquer it a second time. The
magic of sympathy, the perseverance of benevolence, though
silent, might work a gradual and secret revolution, and better
thoughts might insensibly displace those desperate suggestions
which now governed him.

Having revolved these ideas, I placed the food which I
had brought at his right hand, and, seating myself at his feet,
attentively surveyed his countenance. The emotions, which
were visible during wakefulness, had vanished during this
cessation of remembrance and remorse, or were faintly discernible.
They served to dignify and solemnize his features,
and to embellish those immutable lines which

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

betokened the spirit of his better days. Lineaments were now
observed which could never co-exist with folly, or associate
with obdurate guilt.

I had no inclination to awaken him. This respite was
too sweet to be needlessly abridged. I determined to await
the operation of nature, and to prolong, by silence and by
keeping interruption at a distance, this salutary period of forgetfulness.
This interval permitted new ideas to succeed
in my mind.

Clithero believed his solitude to be unapproachable.
What new expedients to escape inquiry and intrusion might
not my presence suggest! Might he not vanish, as he had
done on the former day, and afford me no time to assail his
constancy and tempt his hunger? If, however, I withdrew
during his sleep, he would awake without disturbance, and
be, unconscious for a time, that his secrecy had been violated.
He would quickly perceive the victuals and would need
no foreign inducements to eat. A provision, so unexpected
and extraordinary, might suggest new thoughts, and
be construed into a kind of heavenly condemnation of his
purpose. He would not readily suspect the motives or
person of his visitant, would take no precaution against the
repetition of my visit, and, at the same time, our interview
would not be attended with so much surprise. The more I
revolved these reflections, the greater force they acquired.
At length, I determined to withdraw, and, leaving the food
where it could scarcely fail of attracting his notice, I returned
by the way that I had come. I had scarcely reached
home, when a messenger from Inglefield arrived, requesting
me to spend the succeeding night at his house, as some engagement
had occurred to draw him to the city.

I readily complied with this request. It was not necessary,
however, to be early in my visit. I deferred going till the
evening was far advanced. My way led under the branches
of the elm which recent events had rendered so memorable.
Hence my reflections reverted to the circumstances
which had lately occurred in connexion with this tree.

I paused, for some time, under its shade. I marked the
spot where Clithero had been discovered digging. It shewed
marks of being unsettled, but the sod which had formerly
covered it and which had lately been removed, was now

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

carefully replaced. This had not been done by him on
that occasion in which I was a witness of his behaviour.
The earth was then hastily removed and as hastily thrown
again into the hole from which it had been taken.

Some curiosity was naturally excited by this appearance.
Either some other person, or Clithero, on a subsequent
occasion, had been here. I was now likewise led to reflect
on the possible motives that prompted the maniac to turn
up this earth. There is always some significance in the
actions of a sleeper. Somewhat was, perhaps, buried in
this spot, connected with the history of Mrs. Lorimer or of
Clarice. Was it not possible to ascertain the truth in this
respect?

There was but one method. By carefully uncovering
this hole, and digging as deep as Clithero had already dug,
it would quickly appear whether any thing was hidden. To
do this publicly by daylight was evidently indiscreet. Besides,
a moment's delay was superfluous. The night had
now fallen, and before it was past this new undertaking
might be finished. An interview was, if possible, to be
gained with Clithero on the morrow, and for this interview
the discoveries made on this spot might eminently qualify
me. Influenced by these considerations, I resolved to dig.
I was first, however, to converse an hour with the housekeeper,
and then to withdraw to my chamber. When the
family were all retired, and there was no fear of observation
or interruption, I proposed to rise and hasten, with a proper
implement, hither.

One chamber, in Inglefield's house, was usually reserved
for visitants. In this chamber thy unfortunate brother died,
and here it was that I was to sleep. The image of its last
inhabitant could not fail of being called up, and of banishing
repose; but the scheme which I had meditated was an
additional incitement to watchfulness. Hither I repaired,
at the due season, having previously furnished myself with
candles, since I knew not what might occur to make a light
necessary.

I did not go to bed, but either sat musing by a table or
walked across the room. The bed before me was that on
which my friend breathed his last. To rest my head upon
the same pillow, to lie on that pallet which sustained his

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

cold and motionless limbs, were provocations to remembrance
and grief that I desired to shun. I endeavored to
fill my mind with more recent incidents, with the disasters
of Clithero, my subterranean adventures, and the probable
issue of the schemes which I now contemplated.

I recalled the conversation which had just ended with
the housekeeper. Clithero had been our theme, but she
had dealt chiefly in repetitions of what had formerly been
related by her or by Inglefield. I inquired what this man
had left behind, and found that it consisted of a square box,
put together by himself with uncommon strength, but of
rugged workmanship. She proceeded to mention that she
had advised her brother, Mr. Inglefield, to break open this
box and ascertain its contents, but this he did not think
himself justified in doing. Clithero was guilty of no known
crime, was responsible to no one for his actions, and might
sometime return to claim his property. This box contained
nothing with which others had a right to meddle. Somewhat
might be found in it, throwing light upon his past or present
situation, but curiosity was not to be gratified by these
means. What Clithero thought proper to conceal, it was
criminal for us to extort from him.

The housekeeper was by no means convinced by these
arguments, and at length, obtained her brother's permission
to try whether any of her own keys would unlock this chest.
The keys were produced, but no lock nor key-hole were
discoverable. The lid was fast, but by what means it was
fastened, the most accurate inspection could not detect.
Hence she was compelled to lay aside her project. This
chest had always stood in the chamber which I now occupied.

These incidents were now remembered, and I felt disposed
to profit by this opportunity of examining this box.
It stood in a corner, and was easily distinguished by its
form. I lifted it and found its weight by no means extraordinary.
Its structure was remarkable. It consisted of
six sides, square and of similar dimensions. These were
joined, not by mortice and tennon; not by nails, not by
hinges, but the junction was accurate. The means by
which they were made to cohere were invisible.

Appearances on every side were uniform, nor were there

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

any marks by which the lid was distinguishable from its other
surfaces.

During his residence with Inglefield, many specimens of
mechanical ingenuity were given by his servant. This was
the workmanship of his own hands. I looked at it, for some
time, till the desire insensibly arose of opening and examining
its contents.

I had no more right to do this than the Inglefields, perhaps
indeed this curiosity was more absurd, and the gratification
more culpable in me than in them. I was acquainted
with the history of Clithero's past life, and with his present
condition. Respecting these, I had no new intelligence to
gain, and no doubts to solve. What excuse could I make
to the proprietor, should he ever reappear to claim his own,
or to Inglefield for breaking open a receptacle, which all the
maxims of society combine to render sacred.

But could not my end be gained without violence. The
means of opening might present themselves on a patient
scrutiny. The lid might be raised and shut down again
without any tokens of my act; its contents might be examined,
and all things restored to their former condition in a
few minutes.

I intended not a theft. I intended to benefit myself without
inflicting injury on others. Nay, might not the discoveries
I should make, throw light upon the conduct of this extraordinary
man, which his own narrative had withheld?
Was there reason to confide implicitly on the tale which I
had heard.

In spite of the testimony of my own feelings, the miseries
of Clithero appeared in some degree, phantastic and groundless.
A thousand conceivable motives might induce him to
pervert or conceal the truth. If he were thoroughly known,
his character might assume a new appearance, and what is
now so difficult to reconcile to common maxims, might prove
perfectly consistent with them. I desire to restore him to
peace, but a thorough knowledge of his actions is necessary,
both to shew that he is worthy of compassion, and to suggest
the best means of extirpating his errors. It was possible
that this box contained the means of this knowledge.

There were likewise other motives which, as they possessed
some influence, however small, deserve to be

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

mentioned. Thou knowest that I also am a mechanist. I had
constructed a writing desk and cabinet, in which I had endeavored
to combine the properties of secrecy, security, and
strength, in the highest possible degree. I looked upon
this therefore with the eye of an artist, and was solicitous to
know the principles on which it was formed. I determined
to examine, and if possible to open it.