Every man, not himself the victim of irretrievable disasters, perceives
the folly of ruminating on the past, and of fostering a grief which
cannot reverse or recall the decrees of an immutable necessity; but
every man who suffers is unavoidably shackled by the errors which he
censures in his neighbour, and his efforts to relieve himself are as
fruitless as those with which he attempted the relief of others. No topic, therefore, could be properly employed by me on the present
occasion. All that I could do was to offer him food, and, by pathetic
supplications, to prevail on him to eat. Famine, however obstinate,
would scarcely refrain when bread was placed within sight and reach. When made to swerve from his resolution in one instance, it would be
less difficult to conquer it a second time. The magic of sympathy, the
perseverance of benevolence, though silent, might work a gradual and
secret revolution, and better thoughts might insensibly displace those
desperate suggestions which now governed him. Having revolved these ideas, I placed the food which I had brought at
his right hand, and, seating myself at his feet, attentively surveyed
his countenance. The emotions which were visible during wakefulness had
vanished during this cessation of remembrance and remorse, or were
faintly discernible. They served to dignify and solemnize his features,
and to embellish those immutable lines which betokened the spirit of his
better days. Lineaments were now observed which could never coexist with
folly or associate with obdurate guilt. I had no inclination to awaken him. This respite was too sweet to be
needlessly abridged. I determined to await the operation of nature, and
to prolong, by silence and by keeping interruption at a distance, this
salutary period of forgetfulness. This interval permitted new ideas to
succeed in my mind. Clithero believed his solitude to be unapproachable. What new expedients
to escape inquiry and intrusion might not my presence suggest! Might he
not vanish, as he had done on the former day, and afford me no time to
assail his constancy and tempt his hunger? If, however, I withdrew
during his sleep, he would awake without disturbance, and be
unconscious, for a time, that his secrecy had been violated. He would
quickly perceive the victuals, and would need no foreign inducements to
eat. A provision so unexpected and extraordinary might suggest new
thoughts, and be construed into a kind of heavenly condemnation of his
purpose. He would not readily suspect the motives or person of his
visitant, would take no precaution against the repetition of my visit,
and, at the same time, our interview would not be attended with so much
surprise. The more I revolved these reflections, the greater force they
acquired. At length, I determined to withdraw, and, leaving the food
where it could scarcely fail of attracting his notice, I returned by the
way that I had come. I had scarcely reached home, when a messenger from
Inglefield arrived, requesting me to spend the succeeding night at his
house, as some engagement had occurred to draw him to the city. I readily complied with this request. It was not necessary, however, to
be early in my visit. I deferred going till the evening was far
advanced. My way led under the branches of the elm which recent events
had rendered so memorable. Hence my reflections reverted to the
circumstances which had lately occurred in connection with this tree. I paused, for some time, under its shade. I marked the spot where
Clithero had been discovered digging. It showed marks of being
unsettled; but the sod which had formerly covered it, and which had
lately been removed, was now carefully replaced. This had not been done
by him on that occasion in which I was a witness of his behaviour. The
earth was then hastily removed, and as hastily thrown again into the
hole from which it had been taken. Some curiosity was naturally excited by this appearance. Either some
other person, or Clithero, on a subsequent occasion, had been here. I
was now likewise led to reflect on the possible motives that prompted
the maniac to turn up this earth. There is always some significance in
the actions of a sleeper. Somewhat was, perhaps, buried in this spot,
connected with the history of Mrs. Lorimer or of Clarice. Was it not
possible to ascertain the truth in this respect? There was but one method. By carefully uncovering this hole, and digging
as deep as Clithero had already dug, it would quickly appear whether any
thing was hidden. To do this publicly by daylight was evidently
indiscreet. Besides, a moment's delay was superfluous. The night had now
fallen, and before it was past this new undertaking might be finished. An interview was, if possible, to be gained with Clithero on the morrow,
and for this interview the discoveries made on this spot might eminently
qualify me. Influenced by these considerations, I resolved to dig. I was
first, however, to converse an hour with the housekeeper, and then to
withdraw to my chamber. When the family were all retired, and there was
no fear of observation or interruption, I proposed to rise and hasten,
with a proper implement, hither. One chamber in Inglefield's house was usually reserved for visitants. In
this chamber thy unfortunate brother died, and here it was that I was to
sleep. The image of its last inhabitant could not fail of being called
up, and of banishing repose; but the scheme which I had meditated was an
additional incitement to watchfulness. Hither I repaired at the due
season, having previously furnished myself with candles, since I knew
not what might occur to make a light necessary. I did not go to bed, but either sat musing by a table or walked across
the room. The bed before me was that on which my friend breathed his
last. To rest my head upon the same pillow, to lie on that pallet which
sustained his cold and motionless limbs, were provocations to
remembrance and grief that I desired to shun. I endeavoured to fill my
mind with more recent incidents, with the disasters of Clithero, my
subterranean adventures, and the probable issue of the schemes which I
now contemplated. I recalled the conversation which had just ended with the housekeeper. Clithero had been our theme, but she had dealt chiefly in repetitions of
what had formerly been related by her or by Inglefield. I inquired what
this man had left behind, and found that it consisted of a square box,
put together by himself with uncommon strength, but of rugged
workmanship. She proceeded to mention that she had advised her brother,
Mr. Inglefield, to break open this box and ascertain its contents; but
this he did not think himself justified in doing. Clithero was guilty of
no known crime, was responsible to no one for his actions, and might
some time return to claim his property. This box contained nothing with
which others had a right to meddle.