I exclaimed, with sparkling eyes and a rapturous accent,
"you are not profligate; are a stranger to the manners of this house,
and a detester of these manners? Be not a deceiver, I entreat you. I
depend only on your looks and professions, and these may be dissembled." These questions, which indeed argued a childish simplicity, excited her
surprise. She looked at me, uncertain whether I was in earnest or in
jest. At length she said, "Your language is so singular, that I am at a
loss how to answer it. I shall take no pains to find out its meaning,
but leave you to form conjectures at leisure. Who is this woman, and how
can I serve her?" After a pause, she continued:--"I cannot afford her
any immediate assistance, and shall not stay a moment longer in this
house. There" (putting a card in my hand) "is my name and place of
abode. If you shall have any proposals to make, respecting this woman, I
shall be ready to receive them in my own house." So saying, she
withdrew. I looked wistfully after her, but could not but assent to her assertion,
that her presence here would be more injurious to her than beneficial to
Clemenza. She had scarcely gone, when the elder woman entered. There was
rage, sullenness, and disappointment in her aspect. These, however, were
suspended by the situation in which she discovered the mother and child. It was plain that all the sentiments of woman were not extinguished in
her heart. She summoned the servants and seemed preparing to take such
measures as the occasion prescribed. I now saw the folly of supposing
that these measures would be neglected, and that my presence could not
essentially contribute to the benefit of the sufferer. Still, however, I
lingered in the room, till the infant was covered with a cloth, and the
still senseless parent was conveyed into an adjoining chamber. The woman
then, as if she had not seen me before, fixed scowling eyes upon me, and
exclaimed, "Thief! villain! why do you stay here?" "I mean to go," said I, "but not till I express my gratitude and
pleasure at the sight of your attention to this sufferer. You deem me
insolent and perverse, but I am not such; and hope that the day will
come when I shall convince you of my good intentions." "Begone!" interrupted she, in a more angry tone. "Begone this moment, or
I will treat you as a thief." She now drew forth her hand from under her
gown, and showed a pistol. "You shall see," she continued, "that I will
not be insulted with impunity. If you do not vanish, I will shoot you as
a robber." This woman was far from wanting a force and intrepidity worthy of a
different sex. Her gestures and tones were full of energy. They denoted
a haughty and indignant spirit. It was plain that she conceived herself
deeply injured by my conduct; and was it absolutely certain that her
anger was without reason? I had loaded her house with atrocious
imputations, and these imputations might be false. I had conceived them
upon such evidence as chance had provided; but this evidence, intricate
and dubious as human actions and motives are, might be void of truth. "Perhaps," said I, in a sedate tone, "I have injured you; I have
mistaken your character. You shall not find me less ready to repair,
than to perpetrate, this injury. My error was without malice, and----"

I had not time to finish the sentence, when this rash and enraged woman
thrust the pistol close to my head and fired it. I was wholly unaware
that her fury would lead her to this excess. It was a sort of mechanical
impulse that made me raise my hand and attempt to turn aside the
weapon. I did this deliberately and tranquilly, and without conceiving
that any thing more was intended by her movement than to intimidate me. To this precaution, however, I was indebted for life. The bullet was
diverted from my forehead to my left ear, and made a slight wound upon
the surface, from which the blood gushed in a stream. The loudness of this explosion, and the shock which the ball produced in
my brain, sunk me into a momentary stupor. I reeled backward, and should
have fallen, had not I supported myself against the wall. The sight of
my blood instantly restored her reason. Her rage disappeared, and was
succeeded by terror and remorse. She clasped her hands, and exclaimed,
"Oh! what! what have I done? My frantic passion has destroyed me." I needed no long time to show me the full extent of the injury which I
had suffered and the conduct which it became me to adopt. For a moment I
was bewildered and alarmed, but presently perceived that this was an
incident more productive of good than of evil. It would teach me caution
in contending with the passions of another, and showed me that there is
a limit which the impetuosities of anger will sometimes overstep. Instead of reviling my companion, I addressed myself to her thus:--

"Be not frighted. You have done me no injury, and, I hope, will derive
instruction from this event. Your rashness had like to have sacrificed
the life of one who is your friend, and to have exposed yourself to
infamy and death, or, at least, to the pangs of eternal remorse. Learn
from hence to curb your passions, and especially to keep at a distance
from every murderous weapon, on occasions when rage is likely to take
place of reason. "I repeat that my motives in entering this house were connected with
your happiness as well as that of Clemenza Lodi. If I have erred in
supposing you the member of a vile and pernicious trade, that error was
worthy of being rectified, but violence and invective tend only to
confirm it. I am incapable of any purpose that is not beneficent; but,
in the means that I use and in the evidence on which I proceed, I am
liable to a thousand mistakes. Point out to me the road by which I can
do you good, and I will cheerfully pursue it." Finding that her fears had been groundless as to the consequences of her
rashness, she renewed, though with less vehemence than before, her
imprecations on my intermeddling and audacious folly. I listened till
the storm was nearly exhausted, and then, declaring my intention to
revisit the house if the interest of Clemenza should require it, I
resumed my way to the city. CHAPTER XXXVI. "Why," said I, as I hasted forward, "is my fortune so abundant in
unforeseen occurrences? Is every man who leaves his cottage and the
impressions of his infancy behind him ushered into such a world of
revolutions and perils as have trammelled my steps? or is my scene
indebted for variety and change to my propensity to look into other
people's concerns, and to make their sorrows and their joys mine? "To indulge an adventurous spirit, I left the precincts of the
barn-door, enlisted in the service of a stranger, and encountered a
thousand dangers to my virtue under the disastrous influence of Welbeck. Afterwards my life was set at hazard in the cause of Wallace, and now am
I loaded with the province of protecting the helpless Eliza Hadwin and
the unfortunate Clemenza.