This action recalled him from his reverie. The first idea that occurred
to him, when he had noticed my behaviour, was, that I was assailed by
some sudden indisposition. "What is the matter?" said he, in a tone of anxiety: "are you not well?" "Yes," replied I,--"perfectly well. But stop a moment; I have something
to say to you." "To me?" answered he, with surprise. "Yes," said I. "Let us turn down this path," (pointing, at the same
time, to that along which I had followed him the preceding night.) He now partook, in some degree, of my embarrassment. "Is there any thing particular?" said he, in a doubting accent. There he
stopped. "Something," I answered, "of the highest moment. Go with me down this
path. We shall be in less danger of interruption." He was irresolute and silent, but, seeing me remove the bars and pass
through them, he followed me. Nothing more was said till we entered the
wood. I trusted to the suggestions of the moment. I had now gone too far
to recede, and the necessity that pressed upon me supplied me with
words. I continued:--

"This is a remarkable spot. You may wonder why I have led you to it. I
ought not to keep you in suspense. There is a tale connected with it,
which I am desirous of telling you. For this purpose I have brought you
hither. Listen to me." I then recapitulated the adventures of the two preceding nights. I added
nothing, nor retrenched any thing. He listened in the deepest silence. From every incident, he gathered new cause of alarm. Repeatedly he wiped
his face with his handkerchief, and sighed deeply. I took no verbal
notice of these symptoms. I deemed it incumbent on me to repress
nothing. When I came to the concluding circumstance, by which his person
was identified, he heard me without any new surprise. To this narrative
I subjoined the inquiries that I had made at Inglefield's, and the
result of those inquiries. I then continued in these words:--

"You may ask why I subjected myself to all this trouble. The
mysteriousness of these transactions would have naturally suggested
curiosity in any one. A transient passenger would probably have acted as
I have done. But I had motives peculiar to myself. Need I remind you of
a late disaster? That it happened beneath the shade of this tree? Am I
not justified in drawing certain inferences from your behaviour? What
they are, I leave you to judge. Be it your task to confute or confirm
them. For this end I have conducted you hither. "My suspicions are vehement. How can they be otherwise? I call upon you
to say whether they be just." The spot where we stood was illuminated by the moon, that had now risen,
though all around was dark. Hence his features and person were easily
distinguished. His hands hung at his side. His eyes were downcast, and
he was motionless as a statue. My last words seemed scarcely to have
made any impression on his sense. I had no need to provide against the
possible suggestions of revenge. I felt nothing but the tenderness of
compassion. I continued, for some time, to observe him in silence, and
could discover no tokens of a change of mood. I could not forbear, at
last, to express my uneasiness at the fixedness of his features and
attitude. "Recollect yourself. I mean not to urge you too closely. This topic is
solemn, but it need not divest you of the fortitude becoming a man." The sound of my voice startled him. He broke from me, looked up, and
fixed his eyes upon me with an expression of affright. He shuddered and
recoiled as from a spectre. I began to repent of my experiment. I could
say nothing suitable to this occasion. I was obliged to stand a silent
and powerless spectator, and to suffer this paroxysm to subside of
itself. When its violence appeared to be somewhat abated, I resumed:--

"I can feel for you. I act not thus in compliance with a temper that
delights in the misery of others. The explanation that I have solicited
is no less necessary for your sake than for mine. You are no stranger to
the light in which I viewed this man. You have witnessed the grief which
his fate occasioned, and the efforts that I made to discover and drag to
punishment his murderer. You heard the execrations that I heaped upon
him, and my vows of eternal revenge. You expect that, having detected
the offender, I will hunt him to infamy and death. You are mistaken. I
consider the deed as sufficiently expiated. "I am no stranger to your gnawing cares; to the deep and incurable
despair that haunts you, to which your waking thoughts are a prey, and
from which sleep cannot secure you. I know the enormity of your crime,
but I know not your inducements. Whatever they were, I see the
consequences with regard to yourself. I see proofs of that remorse which
must ever be attendant on guilt. "This is enough. Why should the effects of our misdeeds be
inexhaustible? Why should we be debarred from a comforter? An
opportunity of repairing our errors may, at least, be demanded from the
rulers of our destiny. "I once imagined that he who killed Waldegrave inflicted the greatest
possible injury on me. That was an error, which reflection has cured. Were futurity laid open to my view, and events, with their consequences,
unfolded, I might see reason to embrace the assassin as my best friend. Be comforted." He was still incapable of speaking; but tears came to his relief. Without attending to my remonstrances, he betrayed a disposition to
return. I had, hitherto, hoped for some disclosure, but now feared that
it was designed to be withheld. He stopped not till we reached
Inglefield's piazza. He then spoke, for the first time, but in a hollow
and tremulous voice:--

"You demand of me a confession of crimes. You shall have it. Some time
you shall have it. When it will be, I cannot tell. Something must be
done, and shortly." He hurried from me into the house, and, after a pause, I turned my
steps home wards. My reflections, as I proceeded, perpetually revolved
round a single point. These were scarcely more than a repetition, with
slight variations, of a single idea. When I awoke in the morning, I hied, in fancy, to the wilderness. I saw
nothing but the figure of the wanderer before me. I traced his footsteps
anew, retold my narrative, and pondered on his gestures and words. My
condition was not destitute of enjoyment. My stormy passions had
subsided into a calm, portentous and awful. My soul was big with
expectation. I seemed as if I were on the eve of being ushered into a
world whose scenes were tremendous but sublime. The suggestions of
sorrow and malice had, for a time, taken their flight, and yielded place
to a generous sympathy, which filled my eyes with tears, but had more in
it of pleasure than of pain. That Clithero was instrumental to the death
of Waldegrave, that he could furnish the clue explanatory of every
bloody and mysterious event that had hitherto occurred, there was no
longer the possibility of doubting.