The furniture and room was in that state which
denoted it to have been lately filled with drinkers and smokers; yet
neither voice, nor visage, nor motion, were anywhere observable. I
listened; but neither above nor below, within nor without, could any
tokens of a human being be perceived. This vacancy and silence must have been lately preceded by noise, and
concourse, and bustle. The contrast was mysterious and ambiguous. No
adequate cause of so quick and absolute a transition occurred to me. Having gained some warmth and lingered some ten or twenty minutes in
this uncertainty, I determined to explore the other apartments of the
building. I knew not what might betide in my absence, or what I might
encounter in my search to justify precaution, and, therefore, kept the
gun in my hand. I snatched a candle from the table and proceeded into
two other apartments on the first floor and the kitchen. Neither was
inhabited, though chairs and tables were arranged in their usual order,
and no traces of violence or hurry were apparent. Having gained the foot of the staircase, I knocked, but my knocking was
wholly disregarded. A light had appeared in an upper chamber. It was
not, indeed, in one of those apartments which the family permanently
occupied, but in that which, according to rural custom, was reserved for
guests; but it indubitably betokened the presence of some being by whom
my doubts might be solved. These doubts were too tormenting to allow of
scruples and delay. I mounted the stairs. At each chamber-door I knocked, but I knocked in vain. I tried to open,
but found them to be locked. I at length reached the entrance of that in
which a light had been discovered. Here it was certain that some one
would be found; but here, as well as elsewhere, my knocking was
unnoticed. To enter this chamber was audacious, but no other expedient was afforded
me to determine whether the house had any inhabitants. I therefore
entered, though with caution and reluctance. No one was within, but
there were sufficient traces of some person who had lately been here. On
the table stood a travelling-escritoire, open, with pens and inkstand. A
chair was placed before it, and a candle on the right hand. This
apparatus was rarely seen in this country. Some traveller, it seemed,
occupied this room, though the rest of the mansion was deserted. The
pilgrim, as these appearances testified, was of no vulgar order, and
belonged not to the class of periodical and every-day guests. It now occurred to me that the occupant of this apartment could not be
far off, and that some danger and embarrassment could not fail to accrue
from being found, thus accoutred and garbed, in a place sacred to the
study and repose of another. It was proper, therefore, to withdraw, and
either to resume my journey, or wait for the stranger's return, whom
perhaps some temporary engagement had called away, in the lower and
public room. The former now appeared to be the best expedient, as the
return of this unknown person was uncertain, as well as his power to
communicate the information which I wanted. Had paper, as well as the implements of writing, lain upon the desk,
perhaps my lawless curiosity would not have scrupled to have pried into
it. On the first glance nothing of that kind appeared; but now, as I
turned towards the door, somewhat, lying beside the desk, on the side
opposite the candle, caught my attention. The impulse was instantaneous
and mechanical that made me leap to the spot and lay my hand upon it. Till I felt it between my fingers, till I brought it near my eyes and
read frequently the inscriptions that appeared upon it, I was doubtful
whether my senses had deceived me. Few, perhaps, among mankind, have undergone vicissitudes of peril and
wonder equal to mine. The miracles of poetry, the transitions of
enchantment, are beggarly and mean compared with those which I had
experienced. Passage into new forms, overleaping the bars of time and
space, reversal of the laws of inanimate and intelligent existence, had
been mine to perform and to witness. No event had been more fertile of sorrow and perplexity than the loss of
thy brother's letters. They went by means invisible, and disappeared at
a moment when foresight would have least predicted their disappearance. They now placed themselves before me, in a manner equally abrupt, in a
place and by means no less contrary to expectation. The papers which I
now seized were those letters. The parchment cover, the string that tied
and the wax that sealed them, appeared not to have been opened or
violated. The power that removed them, from my cabinet, and dropped them in this
house,--a house which I rarely visited, which I had not entered during
the last year, with whose inhabitants I maintained no cordial
intercourse, and to whom my occupations and amusements, my joys and my
sorrows, were unknown,--was no object even of conjecture. But they were
not possessed by any of the family. Some stranger was here, by whom they
had been stolen, or into whose possession they had, by some
incomprehensible chance, fallen. That stranger was near. He had left this apartment for a moment. He
would speedily return. To go hence might possibly occasion me to miss
him. Here, then, I would wait, till he should grant me an interview. The
papers were mine, and were recovered. I would never part with them. But
to know by whose force or by whose stratagems I had been bereaved of
them thus long, was now the supreme passion of my soul. I seated myself
near a table and anxiously waited for an interview, on which I was
irresistibly persuaded to believe that much of my happiness depended. Meanwhile, I could not but connect this incident with the destruction of
my family. The loss of these papers had excited transports of grief; and
yet to have lost them thus was perhaps the sole expedient by which their
final preservation could be rendered possible. Had they, remained in my
cabinet, they could not have escaped the destiny which overtook the
house and its furniture. Savages are not accustomed to leave their
exterminating work unfinished. The house which they have plundered they
are careful to level with the ground. This not only their revenge, but
their caution, prescribes. Fire may originate by accident as well as by
design, and the traces of pillage and murder are totally obliterated by
the flames. These thoughts were interrupted by the shutting of a door below, and by
footsteps ascending the stairs. My heart throbbed at the sound. My seat
became uneasy and I started on my feet. I even advanced half-way to the
entrance of the room. My eyes were intensely fixed upon the door. My
impatience would have made me guess at the person of this visitant by
measuring his shadow, if his shadow were first seen; but this was
precluded by the position of the light. It was only when the figure
entered, and the whole person was seen, that my curiosity was gratified.