Her usual obstinacy and
infatuation induced her to remain in her ancient dwelling and prepare to
meet the consequences. This disclosure awakened anew all the regrets and anguish which flowed
from that disaster. It has been productive, however, of some benefit. Suspicions and doubts, by which my soul was harassed, and which were
injurious to the innocent, are now at an end. It is likewise some
imperfect consolation to reflect that the assassin has himself been
killed, and probably by my own hand. The shedder of blood no longer
lives to pursue his vocation, and justice is satisfied. Thus have I fulfilled my promise to compose a minute relation of my
sufferings. I remembered my duty to thee, and, as soon as I was able to
hold a pen, employed it to inform thee of my welfare. I could not at
that time enter into particulars, but reserved a more copious narrative
till a period of more health and leisure. On looking back, I am surprised at the length to which my story has run. I thought that a few days would suffice to complete it; but one page has
insensibly been added to another, till I have consumed weeks and filled
volumes. Here I will draw to a close; I will send you what I have
written, and discuss with you in conversation my other immediate
concerns, and my schemes for the future. As soon as I have seen
Sarsefield, I will visit you. FAREWELL. E. H.

SOLESBURY, November 10. Letter I. _To Mr. Sarsefield._



PHILADELPHIA. I came hither but ten minutes ago, and write this letter in the bar of
the stage-house. I wish not to lose a moment in informing you of what
has happened. I cannot do justice to my own feelings when I reflect upon
the rashness of which I have been guilty. I will give you the particulars to-morrow. At present, I shall only say
that Clithero is alive, is apprized of your wife's arrival and abode in
New York, and has set out with mysterious intentions to visit her. May Heaven avert the consequences of such a design! May you be enabled,
by some means, to prevent their meeting! If you cannot prevent it--but I
must not reason on such an event, nor lengthen out this letter. E. H.




Letter II. _To the Same._



I will now relate the particulars which I yesterday promised to send
you. You heard through your niece of my arrival at Inglefield's, in
Solesbury: my inquiries, you may readily suppose, would turn upon the
fate of my friend's servant Clithero, whose last disappearance was so
strange and abrupt, and of whom, since that time, I had heard nothing. You are indifferent to his fate, and are anxious only that his existence
and misfortunes may be speedily forgotten. I confess that it is somewhat
otherwise with me. I pity him; I wish to relieve him, and cannot admit
the belief that his misery is without a cure. I want to find him out. I
want to know his condition, and, if possible, to afford him comfort and
inspire him with courage and hope. Inglefield replied to my questions:--"Oh yes! He has appeared. The
strange being is again upon the stage. Shortly after he left his
sick-bed, I heard from Philip Beddington, of Chetasco, that Deb's hut had
found a new tenant. At first I imagined that the Scotsman who built it
had returned; but, making closer inquiries, I found that the new tenant
was my servant. I had no inclination to visit him myself, but frequently
inquired respecting him of those who lived or passed that way, and find
that he still lives there." "But how!" said I: "what is his mode of subsistence? The winter has been
no time for cultivation; and he found, I presume, nothing in the
ground." "Deb's hut," replied my friend, "is his lodging and his place of
retirement, but food and clothing he procures by labouring on a
neighbouring farm. This farm is next to that of Beddington, who
consequently knows something of his present situation. I find little or
no difference in his present deportment and those appearances which he
assumed while living with me, except that he retires every night to his
hut, and holds as little intercourse as possible with the rest of
mankind. He dines at his employer's table; but his supper, which is
nothing but rye-bread, he carries home with him, and, at all those times
when disengaged from employment, he secludes himself in his hut, or
wanders nobody knows whither." This was the substance of Inglefield's intelligence. I gleaned from it
some satisfaction. It proved the condition of Clithero to be less
deplorable and desperate than I had previously imagined. His fatal and
gloomy thoughts seemed to have somewhat yielded to tranquillity. In the course of my reflections, however, I could not but perceive that
his condition, though eligible when compared with what it once was, was
likewise disastrous and humiliating, compared with his youthful hopes
and his actual merits. For such a one to mope away his life in this
unsocial and savage state was deeply to be deplored. It was my duty, if
possible, to prevail on him to relinquish his scheme. And what would be
requisite, for that end, but to inform him of the truth? The source of his dejection was the groundless belief that he had
occasioned the death of his benefactress. It was this alone that could
justly produce remorse or grief. It was a distempered imagination both
in him and in me that had given birth to this opinion, since the terms
of his narrative, impartially considered, were far from implying that
catastrophe. To him, however, the evidence which he possessed was
incontestable. No deductions from probability could overthrow his
belief. This could only be effected by similar and counter evidence. To
apprize him that she was now alive, in possession of some degree of
happiness, the wife of Sarsefield, and an actual resident on this shore,
would dissipate the sanguinary apparition that haunted him, cure his
diseased intellects, and restore him to those vocations for which his
talents, and that rank in society for which his education, had qualified
him. Influenced by these thoughts, I determined to visit his retreat. Being obliged to leave Solesbury the next day, I resolved to set out the
same afternoon, and, stopping in Chetasco for the night, seek his
habitation at the hour when he had probably retired to it. This was done. I arrived at Beddington's at nightfall. My inquiries
respecting Clithero obtained for me the same intelligence from him which
I had received from Inglefield. Deb's hut was three miles from this
habitation, and thither, when the evening had somewhat advanced, I
repaired. This was the spot which had witnessed so many perils during
the last year; and my emotions, on approaching it, were awful. With
palpitating heart and quick steps I traversed the road, skirted on each
side by thickets, and the area before the house. The dwelling was by no
means in so ruinous a state as when I last visited it. The crannies
between the logs had been filled up, and the light within was
perceivable only at a crevice in the door.