Looking through this crevice, I perceived a fire in the chimney, but the
object of my visit was nowhere to be seen. I knocked and requested
admission, but no answer was made. At length I lifted the latch and
entered. Nobody was there. It was obvious to suppose that Clithero had gone abroad for a short
time, and would speedily return; or perhaps some engagement had detained
him at his labour later than usual. I therefore seated myself on some
straw near the fire, which, with a woollen rug, appeared to constitute
his only bed. The rude bedstead which I formerly met was gone. The
slender furniture, likewise, which had then engaged my attention, had
disappeared. There was nothing capable of human use but a heap of fagots
in the corner, which seemed intended for fuel. How slender is the
accommodation which nature has provided for man, and how scanty is the
portion which our physical necessities require! While ruminating upon this scene, and comparing past events with the
objects before me, the dull whistling of the gale without gave place to
the sound of footsteps. Presently the door opened, and Clithero entered
the apartment. His aspect and guise were not essentially different from
those which he wore when an inhabitant of Solesbury. To find his hearth occupied by another appeared to create the deepest
surprise. He looked at me without any tokens of remembrance. His
features assumed a more austere expression, and, after scowling on my
person for a moment, he withdrew his eyes, and, placing in a corner a
bundle which he bore in his hand, he turned and seemed preparing to
withdraw. I was anxiously attentive to his demeanour, and, as soon as I perceived
his purpose to depart, leaped on my feet to prevent it. I took his hand,
and, affectionately pressing it, said, "Do you not know me? Have you so
soon forgotten me, who is truly your friend?" He looked at me with some attention, but again withdrew his eyes, and
placed himself in silence on the seat which I had left. I seated myself
near him, and a pause of mutual silence ensued. My mind was full of the purpose that brought me hither, but I knew not
in what manner to communicate my purpose. Several times I opened my lips
to speak, but my perplexity continued, and suitable words refused to
suggest themselves. At length I said, in a confused tone,--

"I came hither with a view to benefit a man with whose misfortunes his
own lips have made me acquainted, and who has awakened in my breast the
deepest sympathy. I know the cause and extent of his dejection. I know
the event which has given birth to horror and remorse in his heart. He
believes that, by his means, his patroness and benefactress has found an
untimely death." These words produced a visible shock in my companion, which evinced that
I had at least engaged his attention. I proceeded:--

"This unhappy lady was cursed with a wicked and unnatural brother. She
conceived a disproportionate affection for this brother, and erroneously
imagined that her fate was blended with his, that their lives would
necessarily terminate at the same period, and that, therefore, whoever
was the contriver of his death was likewise, by a fatal and invincible
necessity, the author of her own. "Clithero was her servant, but was raised by her bounty to the station
of her son and the rank of her friend. Clithero, in self-defence, took
away the life of that unnatural brother, and, in that deed, falsely but
cogently believed that he had perpetrated the destruction of his
benefactress. "To ascertain the truth, he sought her presence. She was found, the
tidings of her brother's death were communicated, and she sank
breathless at his feet." At these words Clithero started from the ground, and cast upon me looks
of furious indignation. "And come you hither," he muttered, "for this
end?--to recount my offences and drive me again to despair?" "No," answered I, with quickness; "I come to outroot a fatal but
powerful illusion. I come to assure you that the woman with whose
destruction you charge yourself is _not dead_." These words, uttered with the most emphatical solemnity, merely produced
looks in which contempt was mingled with anger. He continued silent. "I perceive," resumed I, "that my words are disregarded. Would to Heaven
I were able to conquer your incredulity, could show you not only the
truth but the probability of my tale! Can you not confide in me? that
Euphemia Lorimer is now alive, is happy, is the wife of Sarsefield? that
her brother is forgotten and his murderer regarded without enmity or
vengeance?" He looked at me with a strange expression of contempt. "Come," said he,
at length; "make out thy assertion to be true. Fall on thy knees, and
invoke the thunder of Heaven to light on thy head if thy words be false. Swear that Euphemia Lorimer is alive; happy; forgetful of Wiatte and
compassionate of me. Swear that thou hast seen her; talked with her;
received from her own lips the confession of her pity for him who aimed
a dagger at her bosom. Swear that she is Sarsefield's wife." I put my hands together, and, lifting my eyes to heaven, exclaimed, "I
comply with your conditions. I call the omniscient God to witness that
Euphemia Lorimer is alive; that I have seen her with these eyes; have
talked with her; have inhabited the same house for months." These asseverations were listened to with shuddering. He laid not aside,
however, an air of incredulity and contempt. "Perhaps," said he, "thou
canst point out the place of her abode?--canst guide me to the city, the
street, the very door of her habitation?" "I can. She resides at this moment in the city of New York; in Broadway;
in a house contiguous to the--." "'Tis well!" exclaimed my companion, in a tone loud, abrupt, and in the
utmost degree vehement. "'Tis well! Rash and infatuated youth, thou hast
ratified, beyond appeal or forgiveness, thy own doom. Thou hast once
more let loose my steps, and sent me on a fearful journey. Thou hast
furnished the means of detecting thy imposture. I will fly to the spot
which thou describest. I will ascertain thy falsehood with my own eyes. If she be alive, then am I reserved for the performance of a new crime. My evil destiny will have it so. If she be dead, I shall make thee
expiate." So saying, he darted through the door, and was gone in a moment beyond
my sight and my reach. I ran to the road, looked on every side, and
called; but my calls were repeated in vain. He had fled with the
swiftness of a deer. My own embarrassment, confusion, and terror were inexpressible. His last
words were incoherent. They denoted the tumult and vehemence of frenzy. They intimated his resolution to seek the presence of your wife. I had
furnished a clue which could not fail to conduct him to her presence. What might not be dreaded from the interview? Clithero is a maniac. This
truth cannot be concealed. Your wife can with difficulty preserve her
tranquillity when his image occurs to her remembrance.