She to whom my ingratitude was flagrant in proportion to the benefits of
which she was the author, had now added to her former acts that of
rescuing me from the last of mischiefs. I threw the weapon on the floor. The zeal which prompted her to seize my
arm, this action occasioned to subside, and to yield place to those
emotions which this spectacle was calculated to excite. She watched me
in silence, and with an air of ineffable solicitude. Clarice, governed
by the instinct of modesty, wrapped her bosom and face in the
bedclothes, and testified her horror by vehement but scarcely-articulate
exclamations. I moved forward, but my steps were random and tottering. My thoughts
were fettered by reverie, and my gesticulations destitute of meaning. My
tongue faltered without speaking, and I felt as if life and death were
struggling within me for the mastery. My will, indeed, was far from being neutral in this contest. To such as
I, annihilation is the supreme good. To shake off the ills that fasten
on us by shaking off existence, is a lot which the system of nature has
denied to man. By escaping from life, I should be delivered from this
scene, but should only rush into a world of retribution, and be immersed
in new agonies. I was yet to live. No instrument of my deliverance was within reach. I
was powerless. To rush from the presence of these women to hide me
forever from their scrutiny and their upbraiding, to snatch from their
minds all traces of the existence of Clithero, was the scope of
unutterable longings. Urged to flight by every motive of which my nature was susceptible, I
was yet rooted to the spot. Had the pause been only to be interrupted by
me, it would have lasted forever. At length, the lady, clasping her hands and lifting them, exclaimed, in
a tone melting into pity and grief,--

"Clithero! what is this? How came you hither, and why?" I struggled for utterance:--"I came to murder you. Your brother has
perished by my hands. Fresh from the commission of this deed, I have
hastened hither to perpetrate the same crime upon you." "My brother!" replied the lady, with new vehemence. "Oh, say not so! I
have just heard of his return, from Sarsefield, and that he lives." "He is dead," repeated I, with fierceness; "I know it. It was I that
killed him." "Dead!" she faintly articulated. "And by thee, Clithero? Oh! cursed
chance that hindered thee from killing me also! Dead! Then is the omen
fulfilled! Then am I undone! Lost forever!" Her eyes now wandered from me, and her countenance sunk into a wild and
rueful expression. Hope was utterly extinguished in her heart, and life
forsook her at the same moment. She sunk upon the floor pallid and
breathless. How she came into possession of this knowledge I know not. It is
possible that Sarsefield had repented of concealment, and, in the
interval that passed between our separation and my encounter with
Wiatte, had returned, and informed her of the reappearance of this
miscreant. Thus, then, was my fate consummated. I was rescued from destroying her
by a dagger, only to behold her perish by the tidings which I brought. Thus was every omen of mischief and misery fulfilled. Thus was the
enmity of Wiatte rendered efficacious, and the instrument of his
destruction changed into the executioner of his revenge. Such is the tale of my crimes. It is not for me to hope that the curtain
of oblivion will ever shut out the dismal spectacle. It will haunt me
forever. The torments that grow out of it can terminate only with the
thread of my existence, but that, I know full well, will never end. Death is but a shifting of the scene; and the endless progress of
eternity, which to the good is merely the perfection of felicity, is to
the wicked an accumulation of woe. The self-destroyer is his own enemy:
this has ever been my opinion. Hitherto it has influenced my actions. Now, though the belief continues, its influence on my conduct is
annihilated. I am no stranger to the depth of that abyss into which I
shall plunge. No matter. Change is precious for its own sake. Well, I was still to live. My abode must be somewhere fixed. My conduct
was henceforth the result of a perverse and rebellious principle. I
banished myself forever from my native soil. I vowed never more to
behold the face of my Clarice, to abandon my friends, my books, all my
wonted labours and accustomed recreations. I was neither ashamed nor afraid. I considered not in what way the
justice of the country would affect me. It merely made no part of my
contemplations. I was not embarrassed by the choice of expedients for
trammelling up the visible consequences and for eluding suspicion. The
idea of abjuring my country and flying forever from the hateful scene
partook, to my apprehension, of the vast, the boundless, and strange; of
plunging from the height of fortune to obscurity and indigence,
corresponded with my present state of mind. It was of a piece with the
tremendous and wonderful events that had just happened. These were the images that haunted me, while I stood speechlessly gazing
at the ruin before me. I heard a noise from without, or imagined that I
heard it. My reverie was broken, and my muscular power restored. I
descended into the street, through doors of which I possessed one set of
keys, and hurried by the shortest way beyond the precincts of the city. I had laid no plan. My conceptions with regard to the future were
shapeless and confused. Successive incidents supplied me with a clue,
and suggested, as they rose, the next step to be taken. I threw off the
garb of affluence, and assumed a beggar's attire. That I had money about
me for the accomplishment of my purposes was wholly accidental. I
travelled along the coast, and, when I arrived at one town, knew not why
I should go farther; but my restlessness was unabated, and change was
some relief. I it length arrived at Belfast. A vessel was preparing for
America. I embraced eagerly the opportunity of passing into a new world. I arrived at Philadelphia. As soon as I landed I wandered hither, and
was content to wear out my few remaining days in the service of
Inglefield. I have no friends. Why should I trust my story to mother? I have no
solicitude about concealment; but who is there who will derive pleasure
or benefit from my rehearsal? And why should I expatiate on so hateful a
scheme? Yet now have I consented to this. I have confided in you the
history of my disasters. I am not fearful of the use that you may be
disposed to make of it. I shall quickly set myself beyond the reach of
human tribunals. I shall relieve the ministers of law from the trouble
of punishing. The recent events which induced you to summon me to this
conference have likewise determined me to make this disclosure. I was not aware, for some time, of my perturbed sleep. No wonder that
sleep cannot soothe miseries like mine; that I am alike infested by
memory in wakefulness and slumber.