Edgar Huntly | Page 9

pierce into the deepest thickets, to plunge into
the darkest cavities, to ascend the most difficult heights, and approach

the slippery and tremulous verge of the dizziest precipices.
I disdained to be outstripped in this career. All dangers were
overlooked, and all difficulties defied. I plunged into obscurities, and
clambered over obstacles, from which, in a different state of mind, and
with a different object of pursuit, I should have recoiled with invincible
timidity. When the scene had passed, I could not review the perils I had
undergone without shuddering.
At length my conductor struck into a path which, compared with the
ruggedness of that which we had lately trodden, was easy and smooth.
This track led us to the skirt of the wilderness, and at no long time we
reached an open field, when a dwelling appeared, at a small distance,
which I speedily recognised to be that belonging to Inglefield. I now
anticipated the fulfilment of my predictions. My conductor directed his
steps towards the barn, into which he entered by a small door.
How were my doubts removed! This was no other than Clithero Edny.
There was nothing in his appearance incompatible with this conclusion.
He and his fellow-servant occupied an apartment in the barn as a
lodging-room. This arduous purpose was accomplished, and I retired to
the shelter of a neighbouring shed, not so much to repose myself after
the fatigues of my extraordinary journey, as to devise further
expedients.
Nothing now remained but to take Clithero to task; to repeat to him the
observations of the two last nights; to unfold to him my conjectures and
suspicions; to convince him of the rectitude of my intentions; and to
extort from him a disclosure of all the circumstances connected with
the death of Waldegrave which it was in his power to communicate.
In order to obtain a conference, I resolved to invite him to my uncle's to
perform a certain piece of work for me under my own eyes. He would,
of course, spend the night with us, and in the evening I would take an
opportunity of entering into conversation with him.
A period of the deepest deliberation was necessary to qualify myself for
performing suitably my part in this projected interview. I attended to

the feelings that were suggested in this new state of my knowledge. I
found reason to confide in my newly-acquired equanimity. "Remorse,"
said I, "is an ample and proper expiation for all offences. What does
vengeance desire but to inflict misery? If misery come, its desires are
accomplished. It is only the obdurate and exulting criminal that is
worthy of our indignation. It is common for pity to succeed the bitterest
suggestions of resentment. If the vengeful mind be delighted with the
spectacle of woes of its own contriving, at least its canine hunger is
appeased, and thenceforth its hands are inactive."
On the evening of the next day, I paid a visit to Inglefield. I wished to
impart to him the discoveries that I had made, and to listen to his
reflections on the subject. I likewise desired to obtain all possible
information from the family respecting the conduct of Clithero.
My friend received me with his usual kindness. Thou art no stranger to
his character; thou knowest with what paternal affection I have ever
been regarded by this old man; with what solicitude the wanderings of
my reason and my freaks of passion have been noted and corrected by
him. Thou knowest his activity to save the life of thy brother, and the
hours that have been spent by him in aiding my conjectures as to the
cause of his death, and inculcating the lessons of penitence and duty.
The topics which could not but occur at such a meeting were quickly
discussed, and I hastily proceeded to that subject which was nearest my
heart. I related the adventures of the two preceding nights, and
mentioned the inference to which they irresistibly led.
He said that this inference coincided with suspicions he had formed,
since our last interview, in consequence of certain communications
from his housekeeper. It seems the character of Clithero had, from the
first, exercised the inquisitiveness of this old lady. She had carefully
marked his musing and melancholy deportment. She had tried
innumerable expedients for obtaining a knowledge of his past life, and
particularly of his motives for coming to America. These expedients,
however profound and addressful, had failed. He took no pains to elude
them. He contented himself with turning a deaf ear to all indirect
allusions and hints, and, when more explicitly questioned, with simply

declaring that he had nothing to communicate worthy of her notice.
During the day he was a sober and diligent workman. His evenings he
spent in incommunicative silence. On Sundays, he