Edgar Huntly | Page 4

and strange, and half naked, to be thus employed, at
this hour and place, was calculated to rouse up my whole soul. His
occupation was mysterious and obscure. Was it a grave that he was
digging? Was his purpose to explore or to hide? Was it proper to watch
him at a distance, unobserved and in silence, or to rush upon him and
extort from him, by violence or menaces, an explanation of the scene?
Before my resolution was formed, he ceased to dig. He cast aside his
spade and sat down in the pit that he had dug. He seemed wrapped in
meditation; but the pause was short, and succeeded by sobs, at first low
and at wide intervals, but presently louder and more vehement. Sorely
charged was indeed that heart whence flowed these tokens of sorrow.
Never did I witness a scene of such mighty anguish, such heart-bursting
grief.
What should I think? I was suspended in astonishment. Every
sentiment, at length, yielded to my sympathy. Every new accent of the
mourner struck upon my heart with additional force, and tears found
their way spontaneously to my eyes. I left the spot where I stood, and
advanced within the verge of the shade. My caution had forsaken me,
and, instead of one whom it was duty to persecute, I beheld, in this man,
nothing but an object of compassion.
My pace was checked by his suddenly ceasing to lament. He snatched
the spade, and, rising on his feet, began to cover up the pit with the
utmost diligence. He seemed aware of my presence, and desirous of
hiding something from my inspection. I was prompted to advance
nearer and hold his hand, but my uncertainty as to his character and
views, the abruptness with which I had been ushered into this scene,
made me still hesitate; but, though I hesitated to advance, there was

nothing to hinder me from calling.
"What, ho!" said I. "Who is there? What are you doing?"
He stopped: the spade fell from his hand; he looked up and bent
forward his face towards the spot where I stood. An interview and
explanation were now, methought, unavoidable. I mustered up my
courage to confront and interrogate this being.
He continued for a minute in his gazing and listening attitude. Where I
stood I could not fail of being seen, and yet he acted as if he saw
nothing. Again he betook himself to his spade, and proceeded with new
diligence to fill up the pit. This demeanour confounded and bewildered
me. I had no power but to stand and silently gaze upon his motions.
The pit being filled, he once more sat upon the ground, and resigned
himself to weeping and sighs with more vehemence than before. In a
short time the fit seemed to have passed. He rose, seized the spade, and
advanced to the spot where I stood.
Again I made preparation as for an interview which could not but take
place. He passed me, however, without appearing to notice my
existence. He came so near as almost to brush my arm, yet turned not
his head to either side. My nearer view of him made his brawny arms
and lofty stature more conspicuous; but his imperfect dress, the
dimness of the light, and the confusion of my own thoughts, hindered
me from discerning his features. He proceeded with a few quick steps
along the road, but presently darted to one side and disappeared among
the rocks and bushes.
My eye followed him as long as he was visible, but my feet were
rooted to the spot. My musing was rapid and incongruous. It could not
fail to terminate in one conjecture, that this person was asleep. Such
instances were not unknown to me, through the medium of
conversation and books. Never, indeed, had it fallen under my own
observation till now, and now it was conspicuous, and environed with
all that could give edge to suspicion and vigour to inquiry. To stand
here was no longer of use, and I turned my steps towards my uncle's

habitation.

Chapter II.
I had food enough for the longest contemplation. My steps partook, as
usual, of the vehemence of my thoughts, and I reached my uncle's gate
before I believed myself to have lost sight of the elm. I looked up and
discovered the well-known habitation. I could not endure that my
reflections should so speedily be interrupted. I therefore passed the gate,
and stopped not till I had reached a neighbouring summit, crowned
with chestnut-oaks and poplars.
Here I more deliberately reviewed the incidents that had just occurred.
The inference was just, that the man, half clothed and digging, was a
sleeper; but what was the cause of this morbid activity? What was the