Order could not readily be introduced into my thoughts. The voice still
rung in my ears. Every accent that was uttered by Carwin was fresh in my
remembrance. His unwelcome approach, the recognition of his person, his
hasty departure, produced a complex impression on my mind which no words
can delineate. I strove to give a slower motion to my thoughts, and to
regulate a confusion which became painful; but my efforts were nugatory.
I covered my eyes with my hand, and sat, I know not how long, without
power to arrange or utter my conceptions.
I had remained for hours, as I believed, in absolute solitude. No
thought of personal danger had molested my tranquillity. I had made
no preparation for defence. What was it that suggested the design of
perusing my father's manuscript? If, instead of this, I had retired
to bed, and to sleep, to what fate might I not have been reserved? The
ruffian, who must almost have suppressed his breathing to screen himself
from discovery, would have noticed this signal, and I should have
awakened only to perish with affright, and to abhor myself. Could I have
remained unconscious of my danger? Could I have tranquilly slept in the
midst of so deadly a snare?
And who was he that threatened to destroy me? By what means could he
hide himself in this closet? Surely he is gifted with supernatural
power. Such is the enemy of whose attempts I was forewarned. Daily I had
seen him and conversed with him. Nothing could be discerned through the
impenetrable veil of his duplicity. When busied in conjectures, as to
the author of the evil that was threatened, my mind did not light, for
a moment, upon his image. Yet has he not avowed himself my enemy? Why
should he be here if he had not meditated evil?
He confesses that this has been his second attempt. What was the scene
of his former conspiracy? Was it not he whose whispers betrayed him? Am
I deceived; or was there not a faint resemblance between the voice of
this man and that which talked of grasping my throat, and extinguishing
my life in a moment? Then he had a colleague in his crime; now he
is alone. Then death was the scope of his thoughts; now an injury
unspeakably more dreadful. How thankful should I be to the power that
has interposed to save me!
That power is invisible. It is subject to the cognizance of one of my
senses. What are the means that will inform me of what nature it is?
He has set himself to counterwork the machinations of this man, who had
menaced destruction to all that is dear to me, and whose cunning had
surmounted every human impediment. There was none to rescue me from
his grasp. My rashness even hastened the completion of his scheme, and
precluded him from the benefits of deliberation. I had robbed him of the
power to repent and forbear. Had I been apprized of the danger, I should
have regarded my conduct as the means of rendering my escape from it
impossible. Such, likewise, seem to have been the fears of my invisible
protector. Else why that startling intreaty to refrain from opening the
closet? By what inexplicable infatuation was I compelled to proceed?
Yet my conduct was wise. Carwin, unable to comprehend my folly, ascribed
my behaviour to my knowledge. He conceived himself previously detected,
and such detection being possible to flow only from _my_ heavenly
friend, and _his_ enemy, his fears acquired additional strength.
He is apprized of the nature and intentions of this being. Perhaps he
is a human agent. Yet, on that supposition his atchievements are
incredible. Why should I be selected as the object of his care; or, if
a mere mortal, should I not recognize some one, whom, benefits imparted
and received had prompted to love me? What were the limits and duration
of his guardianship? Was the genius of my birth entrusted by divine
benignity with this province? Are human faculties adequate to
receive stronger proofs of the existence of unfettered and beneficent
intelligences than I have received?
But who was this man's coadjutor? The voice that acknowledged an
alliance in treachery with Carwin warned me to avoid the summer-house.
He assured me that there only my safety was endangered. His assurance,
as it now appears, was fallacious. Was there not deceit in his
admonition? Was his compact really annulled? Some purpose was, perhaps,
to be accomplished by preventing my future visits to that spot. Why was
I enjoined silence to others, on the subject of this admonition, unless
it were for some unauthorized and guilty purpose?
No one but myself was accustomed to visit it. Backward, it was hidden
from distant view by the rock, and in front, it was screened from all
examination, by creeping plants, and the branches of cedars. What
recess could be more propitious to secrecy? The spirit which haunted it
formerly was pure and rapturous. It was a fane sacred to the memory
of infantile days, and to blissful imaginations of the future! What a
gloomy reverse had succeeded since the ominous arrival of this stranger!
Now, perhaps, it is the scene of his meditations. Purposes fraught with
horror, that shun the light, and contemplate the pollution of innocence,
are here engendered, and fostered, and reared to maturity.
Such were the ideas that, during the night, were tumultuously revolved
by me. I reviewed every conversation in which Carwin had borne a part.
I studied to discover the true inferences deducible from his deportment
and words with regard to his former adventures and actual views. I
pondered on the comments which he made on the relation which I had given
of the closet dialogue. No new ideas suggested themselves in the course
of this review. My expectation had, from the first, been disappointed
on the small degree of surprize which this narrative excited in him. He
never explicitly declared his opinion as to the nature of those voices,
or decided whether they were real or visionary. He recommended no
measures of caution or prevention.
But what measures were now to be taken? Was the danger which threatened
me at an end? Had I nothing more to fear? I was lonely, and without
means of defence. I could not calculate the motives and regulate the
footsteps of this person. What certainty was there, that he would not
re-assume his purposes, and swiftly return to the execution of them?
This idea covered me once more with dismay. How deeply did I regret the
solitude in which I was placed, and how ardently did I desire the return
of day! But neither of these inconveniencies were susceptible of remedy.
At first, it occurred to me to summon my servant, and make her spend the
night in my chamber; but the inefficacy of this expedient to enhance my
safety was easily seen. Once I resolved to leave the house, and retire
to my brother's, but was deterred by reflecting on the unseasonableness
of the hour, on the alarm which my arrival, and the account which I
should be obliged to give, might occasion, and on the danger to which I
might expose myself in the way thither. I began, likewise, to consider
Carwin's return to molest me as exceedingly improbable. He had
relinquished, of his own accord, his design, and departed without
compulsion. "Surely," said I, "there is omnipotence in the cause that
changed the views of a man like Carwin. The divinity that shielded me
from his attempts will take suitable care of my future safety. Thus to
yield to my fears is to deserve that they should be real."
Scarcely had I uttered these words, when my attention was startled by
the sound of footsteps. They denoted some one stepping into the piazza
in front of my house. My new-born confidence was extinguished in a
moment. Carwin, I thought, had repented his departure, and was hastily
returning. The possibility that his return was prompted by intentions
consistent with my safety, found no place in my mind. Images of
violation and murder assailed me anew, and the terrors which succeeded
almost incapacitated me from taking any measures for my defence. It was
an impulse of which I was scarcely conscious, that made me fasten the
lock and draw the bolts of my chamber door. Having done this, I threw
myself on a seat; for I trembled to a degree which disabled me from
standing, and my soul was so perfectly absorbed in the act of listening,
that almost the vital motions were stopped.
The door below creaked on its hinges. It was not again thrust to, but
appeared to remain open. Footsteps entered, traversed the entry, and
began to mount the stairs. How I detested the folly of not pursuing the
man when he withdrew, and bolting after him the outer door! Might he not
conceive this omission to be a proof that my angel had deserted me, and
be thereby fortified in guilt?
Every step on the stairs, which brought him nearer to my chamber, added
vigor to my desperation. The evil with which I was menaced was to be at
any rate eluded. How little did I preconceive the conduct which, in an
exigence like this, I should be prone to adopt. You will suppose that
deliberation and despair would have suggested the same course of action,
and that I should have, unhesitatingly, resorted to the best means of
personal defence within my power. A penknife lay open upon my table. I
remembered that it was there, and seized it. For what purpose you will
scarcely inquire. It will be immediately supposed that I meant it for my
last refuge, and that if all other means should fail, I should plunge it
into the heart of my ravisher.
I have lost all faith in the stedfastness of human resolves. It was thus
that in periods of calm I had determined to act. No cowardice had been
held by me in greater abhorrence than that which prompted an injured
female to destroy, not her injurer ere the injury was perpetrated, but
herself when it was without remedy. Yet now this penknife appeared to
me of no other use than to baffle my assailant, and prevent the crime
by destroying myself. To deliberate at such a time was impossible; but
among the tumultuous suggestions of the moment, I do not recollect that
it once occurred to me to use it as an instrument of direct defence. The
steps had now reached the second floor. Every footfall accelerated the
completion, without augmenting, the certainty of evil. The consciousness
that the door was fast, now that nothing but that was interposed between
me and danger, was a source of some consolation. I cast my eye towards
the window. This, likewise, was a new suggestion. If the door should
give way, it was my sudden resolution to throw myself from the window.
Its height from the ground, which was covered beneath by a brick
pavement, would insure my destruction; but I thought not of that.
When opposite to my door the footsteps ceased. Was he listening whether
my fears were allayed, and my caution were asleep? Did he hope to take
me by surprize? Yet, if so, why did he allow so many noisy signals to
betray his approach? Presently the steps were again heard to approach
the door. An hand was laid upon the lock, and the latch pulled back. Did
he imagine it possible that I should fail to secure the door? A slight
effort was made to push it open, as if all bolts being withdrawn, a
slight effort only was required.
I no sooner perceived this, than I moved swiftly towards the window.
Carwin's frame might be said to be all muscle. His strength and activity
had appeared, in various instances, to be prodigious. A slight exertion
of his force would demolish the door. Would not that exertion be made?
Too surely it would; but, at the same moment that this obstacle should
yield, and he should enter the apartment, my determination was formed to
leap from the window. My senses were still bound to this object. I gazed
at the door in momentary expectation that the assault would be made. The
pause continued. The person without was irresolute and motionless.
Suddenly, it occurred to me that Carwin might conceive me to have fled.
That I had not betaken myself to flight was, indeed, the least probable
of all conclusions. In this persuasion he must have been confirmed on
finding the lower door unfastened, and the chamber door locked. Was
it not wise to foster this persuasion? Should I maintain deep silence,
this, in addition to other circumstances, might encourage the belief,
and he would once more depart. Every new reflection added plausibility
to this reasoning. It was presently more strongly enforced, when I
noticed footsteps withdrawing from the door. The blood once more flowed
back to my heart, and a dawn of exultation began to rise: but my joy was
short lived. Instead of descending the stairs, he passed to the door of
the opposite chamber, opened it, and having entered, shut it after him
with a violence that shook the house.
How was I to interpret this circumstance? For what end could he have
entered this chamber? Did the violence with which he closed the door
testify the depth of his vexation? This room was usually occupied by
Pleyel. Was Carwin aware of his absence on this night? Could he be
suspected of a design so sordid as pillage? If this were his view there
were no means in my power to frustrate it. It behoved me to seize the
first opportunity to escape; but if my escape were supposed by my
enemy to have been already effected, no asylum was more secure than the
present. How could my passage from the house be accomplished without
noises that might incite him to pursue me?
Utterly at a loss to account for his going into Pleyel's chamber, I
waited in instant expectation of hearing him come forth. All, however,
was profoundly still. I listened in vain for a considerable period, to
catch the sound of the door when it should again be opened. There was
no other avenue by which he could escape, but a door which led into the
girl's chamber. Would any evil from this quarter befall the girl?
Hence arose a new train of apprehensions. They merely added to the
turbulence and agony of my reflections. Whatever evil impended over her,
I had no power to avert it. Seclusion and silence were the only means of
saving myself from the perils of this fatal night. What solemn vows did
I put up, that if I should once more behold the light of day, I would
never trust myself again within the threshold of this dwelling!
Minute lingered after minute, but no token was given that Carwin had
returned to the passage. What, I again asked, could detain him in this
room? Was it possible that he had returned, and glided, unperceived,
away? I was speedily aware of the difficulty that attended an enterprize
like this; and yet, as if by that means I were capable of gaining any
information on that head, I cast anxious looks from the window.
The object that first attracted my attention was an human figure
standing on the edge of the bank. Perhaps my penetration was assisted
by my hopes. Be that as it will, the figure of Carwin was clearly
distinguishable. From the obscurity of my station, it was impossible
that I should be discerned by him, and yet he scarcely suffered me to
catch a glimpse of him. He turned and went down the steep, which, in
this part, was not difficult to be scaled.
My conjecture then had been right. Carwin has softly opened the door,
descended the stairs, and issued forth. That I should not have overheard
his steps, was only less incredible than that my eyes had deceived me.
But what was now to be done? The house was at length delivered from this
detested inmate. By one avenue might he again re-enter. Was it not wise
to bar the lower door? Perhaps he had gone out by the kitchen door. For
this end, he must have passed through Judith's chamber. These entrances
being closed and bolted, as great security was gained as was compatible
with my lonely condition.
The propriety of these measures was too manifest not to make me struggle
successfully with my fears. Yet I opened my own door with the utmost
caution, and descended as if I were afraid that Carwin had been still
immured in Pleyel's chamber. The outer door was a-jar. I shut, with
trembling eagerness, and drew every bolt that appended to it. I then
passed with light and less cautious steps through the parlour, but was
surprized to discover that the kitchen door was secure. I was compelled
to acquiesce in the first conjecture that Carwin had escaped through the
entry.
My heart was now somewhat eased of the load of apprehension. I returned
once more to my chamber, the door of which I was careful to lock. It was
no time to think of repose. The moon-light began already to fade before
the light of the day. The approach of morning was betokened by the usual
signals. I mused upon the events of this night, and determined to take
up my abode henceforth at my brother's. Whether I should inform him
of what had happened was a question which seemed to demand some
consideration. My safety unquestionably required that I should abandon
my present habitation.
As my thoughts began to flow with fewer impediments, the image of
Pleyel, and the dubiousness of his condition, again recurred to me. I
again ran over the possible causes of his absence on the preceding day.
My mind was attuned to melancholy. I dwelt, with an obstinacy for which
I could not account, on the idea of his death. I painted to myself his
struggles with the billows, and his last appearance. I imagined myself
a midnight wanderer on the shore, and to have stumbled on his corpse,
which the tide had cast up. These dreary images affected me even to
tears. I endeavoured not to restrain them. They imparted a relief which
I had not anticipated. The more copiously they flowed, the more did
my general sensations appear to subside into calm, and a certain
restlessness give way to repose.
Perhaps, relieved by this effusion, the slumber so much wanted might
have stolen on my senses, had there been no new cause of alarm.