By the breadth of a hair had I escaped death from
your hand. The same fortune had not befriended you. After my tedious
search, I had lighted on you, forlorn, bewildered, perishing with cold
and hunger. Instead of recognising and affording you relief, I compelled
you to leap into the river, from a perilous height, and had desisted
from my persecution only when I had bereaved you of life and plunged you
to the bottom of the gulf. "My motives in coming to America were numerous and mixed. Among these
was the parental affection with which you had inspired me. I came with
fortune, and a better gift than fortune, in my hand. I intended to
bestow both upon you, not only to give you competence, but one who would
endear to you that competence, who would enhance, by participating,
every gratification. "My schemes were now at an end. You were gone, beyond the reach of my
benevolence and justice. I had robbed your two sisters of a friend and
guardian. It was some consolation to think that it was in my power to
stand, with regard to them, in your place; that I could snatch them from
the poverty, dependence, and humiliation, to which your death and that
of your uncle had reduced them. "I was now doubly weary of the enterprise in which I was engaged, and
returned with speed to this rendezvous. My companions have gone to know
the state of the family who resided under this roof, and left me to
beguile the tedious moments in whatever manner I pleased. "I have omitted mentioning one incident that happened between the
detection of your flight and our expedition to Chetasco. Having formed a
plausible conjecture as to him who walked in the long room, it was
obvious to conclude that he who purloined your manuscript, and the
walker, was the same personage. It was likewise easily inferred that the
letters were secreted in the cedar chest or in some other part of the
room. Instances similar to this have heretofore occurred. Men have
employed anxious months in search of that which, in a freak of
noctambulation, was hidden by their own hands. "A search was immediately commenced, and your letters were found,
carefully concealed between the rafters and shingles of the roof, in a
spot where, if suspicion had not been previously excited, they would
have remained till the vernal rains and the summer heats had insensibly
destroyed them. This packet I carried with me, knowing the value which
you set upon it, and there being no receptacle equally safe but your own
cabinet, which was locked. "Having, as I said, reached this house, and being left alone, I
bethought me of the treasure I possessed. I was unacquainted with the
reasons for which these papers were so precious. They probably had some
momentous and intimate connection with your own history. As such, they
could not be of little value to me, and this moment of inoccupation and
regrets was as suitable as any other to the task of perusing them. I
drew them forth, therefore, and laid them on the table in this chamber. "The rest is known to you. During a momentary absence you entered. Surely no interview of ancient friends ever took place in so unexpected
and abrupt a manner. You were dead. I mourned for you, as one whom I
loved, and whom fate had snatched forever from my sight. Now, in a
blissful hour, you had risen, and my happiness in thus embracing you is
tenfold greater than would have been experienced if no uncertainties and
perils had protracted our meeting." Chapter XXVI. Here ended the tale of Sarsefield. Humiliation and joy were mingled in
my heart. The events that preceded my awakening in the cave were now
luminous and plain. What explication was more obvious? What but this
solution ought to have been suggested by the conduct I had witnessed in
Clithero? Clithero? Was not this the man whom Clithero had robbed of his friend? Was not this the lover of Mrs. Lorimer, the object of the persecutions
of Wiatte? Was it not now given me to investigate the truth of that
stupendous tale? To dissipate the doubts which obstinately clung to my
imagination respecting it? But soft! Had not Sarsefield said that he was married? Was Mrs. Lorimer
so speedily forgotten by him, or was the narrative of Clithero the web
of imposture or the raving of insanity? These new ideas banished all personal considerations from my mind. I
looked eagerly into the face of my friend, and exclaimed, in a dubious
accent, "How say you? Married? When? To whom?" "Yes, Huntly, I am wedded to the most excellent of women. To her am I
indebted for happiness, and wealth, and dignity, and honour. To her do I
owe the power of being the benefactor and protector of you and your
sisters. She longs to embrace you as a son. To become truly her son will
depend upon your own choice, and that of one who was the companion of
our voyage." "Heavens!" cried I, in a transport of exultation and astonishment. "Of
whom do you speak? Of the mother of Clarice? The sister of Wiatte? The
sister of the ruffian who laid snares for her life? Who pursued you and
the unhappy Clithero with the bitterest animosity?" My friend started at these sounds as if the earth had yawned at his
feet. His countenance was equally significant of terror and rage. As
soon as he regained the power of utterance, he spoke:--"Clithero! Curses
light upon thy lips for having uttered that detested name! Thousands of
miles have I flown to shun the hearing of it. Is the madman here? Have
you set eyes upon him? Does he yet crawl upon the face of the earth? Unhappy? Unparalleled, unheard-of, thankless miscreant! Has he told his
execrable falsehoods here? Has he dared to utter names so sacred as
those of Euphemia Lorimer and Clarice?" "He has; he has told a tale that had all the appearances of truth----"

"Out upon the villain! The truth! Truth would prove him to be unnatural,
devilish; a thing for which no language has yet provided a name! He has
called himself unhappy? No doubt, a victim to injustice! Overtaken by
unmerited calamity. Say! Has he fooled thee with such tales?" "No. His tale was a catalogue of crimes and miseries of which he was the
author and sufferer. You know not his motives, his horrors------"

"His deeds were monstrous and infernal. His motives were sordid and
flagitious. To display all their ugliness and infamy was not his
province. No; he did not tell you that he stole at midnight to the
chamber of his mistress; a woman who astonished the world by her
loftiness and magnanimity, by indefatigable beneficence and unswerving
equity; who had lavished on this wretch, whom she snatched from the
dirt, all the goods of fortune, all the benefits of education; all the
treasures of love; every provocation to gratitude; every stimulant to
justice. "He did not tell you that, in recompense for every benefit, he stole
upon her sleep and aimed a dagger at her breast. There was no room for
flight, or ambiguity, or prevarication. She whom he meant to murder
stood near, saw the lifted weapon, and heard him confess and glory in
his purposes.