Chapter VII.
Clarice, meanwhile, was absent. Her friend seemed, at the end of amonth, to be little less distant from the grave than at first. Myimpatience would not allow me to wait till her death. I visited her, butwas once more obliged to return alone. I arrived late in the city, and,being greatly fatigued, I retired almost immediately to my chamber.
On hearing of my arrival, Sarsefield hastened to see me. He came to mybedside, and such, in his opinion, was the importance of the tidingswhich he had to communicate, that he did not scruple to rouse me from adeep sleep----
At this period of his narrative, Clithero stopped. His complexion variedfrom one degree of paleness to another. His brain appeared to suffersome severe constriction. He desired to be excused, for a few minutes,from proceeding. In a short time he was relieved from this paroxysm, andresumed his tale with an accent tremulous at first, but acquiringstability and force as he went on:--
On waking, as I have said, I found my friend seated at my bedside. Hiscountenance exhibited various tokens of alarm. As soon as I perceivedwho it was, I started, exclaiming, "What is the matter?"
He sighed. "Pardon," said he, "this unseasonable intrusion. A lightmatter would not have occasioned it. I have waited, for two days past,in an agony of impatience, for your return. Happily you are, at last,come. I stand in the utmost need of your counsel and aid."
"Heaven defend!" cried I. "This is a terrible prelude. You may, ofcourse, rely upon my assistance and advice. What is it that you have topropose?"
"Tuesday evening," he answered, "I spent here. It was late before Ireturned to my lodgings. I was in the act of lifting my hand to thebell, when my eye was caught by a person standing close to the wall, atthe distance of ten paces. His attitude was that of one employed inwatching my motions. His face was turned towards me, and happened, atthat moment, to be fully illuminated by the rays of a globe-lamp thathung over the door. I instantly recognised his features. I waspetrified. I had no power to execute my design, or even to move, butstood, for some seconds, gazing upon him. He was, in no degree,disconcerted by the eagerness of my scrutiny. He seemed perfectlyindifferent to the consequences of being known. At length he slowlyturned his eyes to another quarter, but without changing his posture, orthe sternness of his looks. I cannot describe to you the shock whichthis encounter produced in me. At last I went into the house, and haveever since been excessively uneasy."
"I do not see any ground for uneasiness."
"You do not then suspect who this person is?"
"No."
"It is Arthur Wiatte."
"Good heaven! It is impossible. What! my lady's brother?"
"The same."
"It cannot be. Were we not assured of his death? That he perished in amutiny on board the vessel in which he was embarked for transportation?"
"Such was rumour, which is easily mistaken. My eyes cannot be deceivedin this case. I should as easily fail to recognise his sister, when Ifirst met her, as him. This is the man; whether once dead or not, he isat present alive, and in this city."
"But has any thing since happened to confirm you in this opinion?"
"Yes, there has. As soon as I had recovered from my first surprise, Ibegan to reflect upon the measures proper to be taken. This was theidentical Arthur Wiatte. You know his character. No time was likely tochange the principles of such a man, but his appearance sufficientlybetrayed the incurableness of his habits. The same sullen and atrociouspassions were written in his visage. You recollect the vengeance whichWiatte denounced against his sister. There is every thing to dread fromhis malignity. How to obviate the danger, I know not. I thought,however, of one expedient. It might serve a present purpose, andsomething better might suggest itself on your return.
"I came hither early the next day. Old Gowan, the porter, is wellacquainted with Wiatte's story. I mentioned to him that I had reason tothink that he had returned. I charged him to have a watchful eye uponevery one that knocked at the gate, and that, if this person shouldcome, by no means to admit him. The old man promised faithfully to abideby my directions. His terrors, indeed, were greater than mine, and heknew the importance of excluding Wiatte from these walls."
"Did you not inform my lady of this?"
"No. In what way could I tell it to her? What end could it answer? Whyshould I make her miserable? But I have not done. Yesterday morningGowan took me aside, and informed me that Wiatte had made hisappearance, the day before, at the gate. He knew him, he said, in amoment. He demanded to see the lady, but the old man told him she wasengaged, and could not be seen. He assumed peremptory and haughty airs,and asserted that his business was of such importance as not to endure amoment's delay. Gowan persisted in his first refusal. He retired withgreat reluctance, but said he should return to-morrow, when he shouldinsist upon admission to the presence of the lady. I have inquired, andfind that he has not repeated his visit. What is to be done?"
I was equally at a loss with my friend. This incident was sounlooked-for. What might not be dreaded from the monstrous depravity ofWiatte? His menaces of vengeance against his sister still rung in my ears.Some means of eluding them were indispensable. Could law be resorted to?Against an evil like this, no legal provision had been made. Nine yearshad elapsed since his transportation. Seven years was the period of hisexile. In returning, therefore, he had committed no crime. His personcould not be lawfully molested. We were justified merely in repelling anattack. But suppose we should appeal to law: could this be done withoutthe knowledge and concurrence of the lady? She would never permit it.Her heart was incapable of fear from this quarter. She would spurn atthe mention of precautions against the hatred of her brother. Herinquietude would merely be awakened on his own account.
I was overwhelmed with perplexity. Perhaps if he were sought out, andsome judgment formed of the kind of danger to be dreaded from him, by aknowledge of his situation and views, some expedient might be thencesuggested.
But how should his haunts be discovered? This was easy. He had intimatedthe design of applying again for admission to his sister. Let a personbe stationed near at hand, who, being furnished with an adequatedescription of his person and dress, shall mark him when he comes, andfollow him when he retires, and shall forthwith impart to us theinformation on that head which he shall be able to collect.
My friend concurred in this scheme. No better could, for the present, besuggested. Here ended our conference.
I was thus supplied with a new subject of reflection. It was calculatedto fill my mind with dreary forebodings. The future was no longer ascene of security and pleasure. It would be hard for those to partake ofour fears who did not partake of our experience. The existence of Wiattewas the canker that had blasted the felicity of my patroness. In hisreappearance on the stage there was something portentous. It seemed toinclude in it consequences of the utmost moment, without my being ableto discover what these consequences were.
That Sarsefield should be so quickly followed by his arch-foe; that theystarted anew into existence, without any previous intimation, in amanner wholly unexpected, and at the same period,--it seemed as if therelurked, under those appearances, a tremendous significance, which humansagacity could not uncover. My heart sunk within me when I reflectedthat this was the father of my Clarice. He by whose cruelty her motherwas torn from the enjoyment of untarnished honour, and consigned toinfamy and an untimely grave. He by whom herself was abandoned in thehelplessness of infancy, and left to be the prey of obdurate avarice,and the victim of wretches who traffic in virgin innocence. Who had doneall that in him lay to devote her youth to guilt and misery. What werethe limits of his power? How may he exert the parental prerogatives?
To sleep, while these images were haunting me, was impossible. I passedthe night in continual motion. I strode, without ceasing, across thefloor of my apartment. My mind was wrought to a higher pitch than I hadever before experienced. The occasion, accurately considered, was farfrom justifying the ominous inquietudes which I then felt. How, then,should I a
ccount for them?
Sarsefield probably enjoyed his usual slumber. His repose might not beperfectly serene, but when he ruminated on impending or possiblecalamities his tongue did not cleave to his mouth, his throat was notparched with unquenchable thirst, he was not incessantly stimulated toemploy his superfluous fertility of thought in motion. If I trembled forthe safety of her whom I loved, and whose safety was endangered by beingthe daughter of this miscreant, had he not equal reason to fear for herwhom he also loved, and who, as the sister of this ruffian, wasencompassed by the most alarming perils? Yet he probably was calm whileI was harassed by anxieties.
Alas! The difference was easily explained. Such was the beginning of aseries ordained to hurry me to swift destruction. Such were the primarytokens of the presence of that power by whose accursed machinations Iwas destined to fall. You are startled at this declaration. It is one towhich you have been little accustomed. Perhaps you regard it merely asan effusion of frenzy. I know what I am saying. I do not build uponconjectures and surmises. I care not, indeed, for your doubts. Yourconclusion may be fashioned at your pleasure. Would to Heaven that mybelief were groundless, and that I had no reason to believe myintellects to have been perverted by diabolical instigations!
I could procure no sleep that night. After Sarsefield's departure I didnot even lie down. It seemed to me that I could not obtain the benefitsof repose otherwise than by placing my lady beyond the possibility ofdanger.
I met Sarsefield the next day. In pursuance of the scheme which had beenadopted by us on the preceding evening, a person was selected andcommissioned to watch the appearance of Wiatte. The day passed as usualwith respect to the lady. In the evening she was surrounded by a fewfriends. Into this number I was now admitted. Sarsefield and myself madea part of this company. Various topics were discussed with ease andsprightliness. Her societies were composed of both sexes, and seemed tohave monopolized all the ingenuity and wit that existed in themetropolis.
After a slight repast the company dispersed. This separation took placeearlier than usual, on account of a slight indisposition in Mrs._Lorimer_. Sarsefield and I went out together. We took thatopportunity of examining our agent, and, receiving no satisfaction fromhim, we dismissed him for that night, enjoining him to hold himself inreadiness for repeating the experiment to-morrow. My friend directed hissteps homeward, and I proceeded to execute a commission with which I hadcharged myself.
A few days before, a large sum had been deposited in the hands of abanker, for the use of my lady. It was the amount of a debt which hadlately been recovered. It was lodged here for the purpose of being paidon demand of her or her agents. It was my present business to receivethis money. I had deferred the performance of this engagement to thislate hour, on account of certain preliminaries which were necessary tobe adjusted.
Having received this money, I prepared to return home. The inquietudewhich had been occasioned by Sarsefield's intelligence had notincapacitated me from performing my usual daily occupations. It was atheme to which, at every interval of leisure from business or discourse,I did not fail to return. At those times I employed myself in examiningthe subject on all sides; in supposing particular emergencies, anddelineating the conduct that was proper to be observed on each. My dailythoughts were, by no means, so fear-inspiring as the meditations of thenight had been.
As soon as I left the banker's door, my meditations fell into thischannel. I again reviewed the recent occurrences, and imagined theconsequences likely to flow from them. My deductions were not, on thisoccasion, peculiarly distressful. The return of darkness had addednothing to my apprehensions. I regarded Wiatte merely as one againstwhose malice it was wise to employ the most vigilant precautions. Inrevolving these precautions nothing occurred that was new. The dangerappeared without unusual aggravations, and the expedients that offeredthemselves to my choice were viewed with a temper not more sanguine ordespondent than before.
In this state of mind I began and continued my walk. The distance wasconsiderable between my own habitation and that which I had left. My waylay chiefly through populous and well-frequented streets. In one part ofthe way, however, it was at the option of the passenger either to keepalong the large streets, or considerably to shorten the journey byturning into a dark, crooked, and narrow lane. Being familiar with everypart of this metropolis, and deeming it advisable to take the shortestand obscurest road, I turned into the alley. I proceeded withoutinterruption to the next turning. One night-officer, distinguished byhis usual ensigns, was the only person who passed me. I had gone threesteps beyond when I perceived a man by my side. I had scarcely time tonotice this circumstance, when a hoarse voice exclaimed, "Damn ye,villain, ye're a dead man!"
At the same moment a pistol flashed at my ear, and a report followed.This, however, produced no other effect than, for a short space, tooverpower my senses. I staggered back, but did not fall.
The ball, as I afterwards discovered, had grazed my forehead, butwithout making any dangerous impression. The assassin, perceiving thathis pistol had been ineffectual, muttered, in an enraged tone, "Thisshall do your business!" At the same time, he drew a knife forth fromhis bosom.
I was able to distinguish this action by the rays of a distant lamp,which glistened on the blade. All this passed in an instant. The attackwas so abrupt that my thoughts could not be suddenly recalled from theconfusion into which they were thrown. My exertions were mechanical. Mywill might be said to be passive, and it was only by retrospect and acontemplation of consequences that I became fully informed of the natureof the scene.
If my assailant had disappeared as soon as he had discharged the pistol,my state of extreme surprise might have slowly given place to resolutionand activity. As it was, my sense was no sooner struck by the reflectionfrom the blade, than my hand, as if by spontaneous energy, was thrustinto my pocket. I drew forth a pistol.
He lifted up his weapon to strike, but it dropped from his powerlessfingers. He fell, and his groans informed me that I had managed my armswith more skill than my adversary. The noise of this encounter soonattracted spectators. Lights were brought, and my antagonist discoveredbleeding at my feet. I explained, as briefly as I was able, the scenewhich they witnessed. The prostrate person was raised by two men, andcarried into a public house nigh at hand.
I had not lost my presence of mind. I at once perceived the propriety ofadministering assistance to the wounded man. I despatched, therefore,one of the bystanders for a surgeon of considerable eminence, who livedat a small distance, and to whom I was well known. The man was carriedinto an inner apartment and laid upon the floor. It was not till nowthat I had a suitable opportunity of ascertaining who it was with whom Ihad been engaged. I now looked upon his face. The paleness of deathcould not conceal his well-known features. It was Wiatte himself who wasbreathing his last groans at my feet!
The surgeon, whom I had summoned, attended; but immediately perceivedthe condition of his patient to be hopeless. In a quarter of an hour heexpired. During this interval, he was insensible to all around him. Iwas known to the surgeon, the landlord, and some of the witnesses. Thecase needed little explanation. The accident reflected no guilt upon me.The landlord was charged with the care of the corpse till the morning,and I was allowed to return home, without further impediment.
Edgar Huntly; or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker Page 7
