Edgar Huntly | Page 8

and precipitous cliffs. The gloom
deepened as the moon declined, and the faintness of starlight was all
that preserved my senses from being useless to my own guidance.
I drew nearer the cleft at which this mysterious personage had entered.
I stretched my hands before it, determined that he should not emerge
from his den without my notice. His steps would, necessarily,

communicate the tidings of his approach. He could not move without a
noise which would be echoed to, on all sides, by the abruptness by
which this valley was surrounded. Here, then, I continued till the day
began to dawn, in momentary expectation of the stranger's
reappearance.
My attention was at length excited by a sound that seemed to issue
from the cave. I imagined that the sleeper was returning, and prepared
therefore to seize him. I blamed myself for neglecting the opportunities
that had already been afforded, and was determined that another should
not escape. My eyes were fixed upon the entrance. The rustling
increased, and presently an animal leaped forth, of what kind I was
unable to discover. Heart-struck by this disappointment, but not
discouraged, I continued to watch, but in vain. The day was advancing
apace. At length the sun arose, and its beams glistened on the edges of
the cliffs above, whose sapless stalks and rugged masses were covered
with hoarfrost. I began to despair of success, but was unwilling to
depart until it was no longer possible to hope for the return of this
extraordinary personage. Whether he had been swallowed up by some
of the abysses of this grotto, or lurked near the entrance, waiting my
departure, or had made his exit at another and distant aperture, was
unknown to me.
Exhausted and discouraged, I prepared, at length, to return. It was easy
to find my way out of this wilderness by going forward in one direction,
regardless of impediments and cross-paths. My absence I believed to
have occasioned no alarm to my family, since they knew not of my
intention to spend the night abroad. Thus unsatisfactorily terminated
this night's adventures.

Chapter III.
The ensuing day was spent partly in sleep, and partly in languor and
disquietude. I incessantly ruminated on the incidents of the last night.
The scheme that I had formed was defeated. Was it likely that this
unknown person would repeat his midnight visits to the elm? If he did,

and could again be discovered, should I resolve to undertake a new
pursuit, which might terminate abortively, or in some signal disaster?
But what proof had I that the same route would be taken, and that he
would again inter himself alive in the same spot? Or, if he did, since his
reappearance would sufficiently prove that the cavern was not
dangerous, and that he who should adventure in might hope to come
out again in safety, why not enter it after him? What could be the
inducements of this person to betake himself to subterranean retreats?
The basis of all this region is _limestone_; a substance that eminently
abounds in rifts and cavities. These, by the gradual decay of their
cementing parts, frequently make their appearance in spots where they
might have been least expected. My attention has often been excited by
the hollow sound which was produced by my casual footsteps, and
which showed me that I trod upon the roof of caverns. A
mountain-cave and the rumbling of an unseen torrent are appendages of
this scene, dear to my youthful imagination. Many of romantic
structure were found within the precincts of Norwalk.
These I had industriously sought out; but this had hitherto escaped my
observation, and I formed the resolution of some time exploring it. At
present I determined to revisit the elm, and dig in the spot where this
person had been employed in a similar way. It might be that something
was here deposited which might exhibit this transaction in a new light.
At the suitable hour, on the ensuing night, I took my former stand. The
person again appeared. My intention to dig was to be carried into effect
on condition of his absence, and was, consequently, frustrated.
Instead of rushing on him, and breaking at once the spell by which his
senses were bound, I concluded, contrary to my first design, to wait his
departure, and allow myself to be conducted whithersoever he pleased.
The track into which he now led me was different from the former one.
It was a maze, oblique, circuitous, upward and downward, in a degree
which only could take place in a region so remarkably irregular in
surface, so abounding with hillocks and steeps and pits and brooks, as
Solesbury. It seemed to be the sole end of his labours to bewilder or
fatigue his pursuer, to