He pursued his way steadily and rapidly, scarcely breathing from
intensity of suspense; he, however, was troubled by no renewal of the
dreaded footsteps, and was beginning to feel a return of confidence,
as, more than three-fourths of the way being accomplished with impunity,
he approached the long line of twinkling oil lamps which indicated the
frequented streets. This feeling of self-congratulation was, however,
but momentary. The report of a musket at some two hundred yards behind
him, and the whistle of a bullet close to his head, disagreeably and
startlingly dispelled it. His first impulse was to retrace his steps in
pursuit of the assassin; but the road on either side was, as we have
said, embarrassed by the foundations of a street, beyond which extended
waste fields, full of rubbish and neglected lime and brick kilns, and
all now as utterly silent as though no sound had ever disturbed their
dark and unsightly solitude. The futility of attempting, single-handed,
under such circumstances, a search for the murderer, was apparent,
especially as no further sound whatever was audible to direct his
pursuit. With the tumultuous sensations of one whose life had just been exposed
to a murderous attempt, and whose escape has been the narrowest
possible, Captain Barton turned, and without, however, quickening his
pace actually to a run, hurriedly pursued his way. He had turned, as we
have said, after a pause of a few seconds, and had just commenced his
rapid retreat, when on a sudden he met the well-remembered little man in
the fur cap. The encounter was but momentary. The figure was walking at
the same exaggerated pace, and with the same strange air of menace as
before; and as it passed him, he thought he heard it say, in a furious
whisper, "Still alive, still alive!" The state of Mr. Barton's spirits began now to work a corresponding
alteration in his health and looks, and to such a degree that it was
impossible that the change should escape general remark. For some
reasons, known but to himself, he took no step whatsoever to bring the
attempt upon his life, which he had so narrowly escaped, under the
notice of the authorities; on the contrary, he kept it jealously to
himself; and it was not for many weeks after the occurrence that he
mentioned it, and then in strict confidence to a gentleman, the torments
of his mind at last compelled him to consult a friend. Spite of his blue devils, however, poor Barton, having no satisfactory
reason to render to the public for any undue remissness in the
attentions which his relation to Miss Montague required, was obliged
to exert himself, and present to the world a confident and cheerful
bearing. The true source of his sufferings, and every circumstance
connected with them, he guarded with a reserve so jealous, that it
seemed dictated by at least a suspicion that the origin of his strange
persecution was known to himself, and that it was of a nature which,
upon his own account, he could not or dare not disclose. The mind thus turned in upon itself, and constantly occupied with a
haunting anxiety which it dared not reveal, or confide to any human
breast, became daily more excited; and, of course, more vividly
impressible, by a system of attack which operated through the nervous
system; and in this state he was destined to sustain, with increasing
frequency, the stealthy visitations of that apparition, which from the
first had seemed to possess so unearthly and terrible a hold upon his
imagination. *       *       *       *       *

It was about this time that Captain Barton called upon the then
celebrated preacher, Doctor Macklin, with whom he had a slight
acquaintance; and an extraordinary conversation ensued. The divine was
seated in his chambers in college, surrounded with works upon his
favourite pursuit and deep in theology, when Barton was announced. There
was something at once embarrassed and excited in his manner, which,
along with his wan and haggard countenance, impressed the student with
the unpleasant consciousness that his visitor must have recently
suffered terribly indeed to account for an alteration so striking, so
shocking. After the usual interchange of polite greeting, and a few commonplace
remarks, Captain Barton, who obviously perceived the surprise which his
visit had excited, and which Doctor Macklin was unable wholly to
conceal, interrupted a brief pause by remarking,--

"This is a strange call, Doctor Macklin, perhaps scarcely warranted by
an acquaintance so slight as mine with you. I should not, under ordinary
circumstances, have ventured to disturb you, but my visit is neither an
idle nor impertinent intrusion. I am sure you will not so account it,
when--"

Doctor Macklin interrupted him with assurances, such as good breeding
suggested, and Barton resumed,--

"I am come to task your patience by asking your advice. When I say your
patience, I might, indeed, say more; I might have said your humanity,
your compassion; for I have been, and am a great sufferer." "My dear sir," replied the churchman, "it will, indeed, afford me
infinite gratification if I can give you comfort in any distress of
mind, but--but--"

"I know what you would say," resumed Barton, quickly. "I am an
unbeliever, and, therefore, incapable of deriving help from religion,
but don't take that for granted. At least you must not assume that,
however unsettled my convictions may be, I do not feel a deep, a very
deep, interest in the subject. Circumstances have lately forced it upon
my attention in such a way as to compel me to review the whole question
in a more candid and teachable spirit, I believe, than I ever studied it
in before." "Your difficulties, I take it for granted, refer to the evidences of
revelation," suggested the clergyman. "Why--no--yes; in fact I am ashamed to say I have not considered even my
objections sufficiently to state them connectedly; but--but there is one
subject on which I feel a peculiar interest." He paused again, and Doctor Macklin pressed him to proceed. "The fact is," said Barton, "whatever may be my uncertainty as to the
authenticity of what we are taught to call revelation, of one fact I am
deeply and horribly convinced: that there does exist beyond this a
spiritual world--a system whose workings are generally in mercy hidden
from us--a system which may be, and which is sometimes, partially and
terribly revealed. I am sure, I know," continued Barton, with increasing
excitement, "there is a God--a dreadful God--and that retribution
follows guilt. In ways, the most mysterious and stupendous; by agencies,
the most inexplicable and terrific; there is a spiritual system--great
Heavens, how frightfully I have been convinced!--a system malignant, and
inexorable, and omnipotent, under whose persecutions I am, and have
been, suffering the torments of the damned!--yes, sir--yes--the fires
and frenzy of hell!" As Barton continued, his agitation became so vehement that the divine
was shocked and even alarmed.