"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? 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 parlour 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 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 aukward 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, 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 surprize
at the curiosity which was manifested by me 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, and 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 conversant. 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 dependance; but I do not, on
that account, believe them to have a supernatural origin. 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 the infliction, and no joy but in the
spectacle of woes, is an obvious process. As to an alliance with evil
geniuses, the power and the malice of daemons have been 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.
"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 an 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 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 tongue-tied? 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."
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 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
endeavoured 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 beside 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 contend 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 endeavoured 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 impart to
you."
Those were the last words which Pleyel uttered. He left the room, and
my new emotions enabled me to witness 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.