It may be proper to mention, in explanation of this scene, and to show
the thorough perturbation of my mind during this night, intelligence
gained some days after from Eliza. She said, that about two o'clock, on
this night, she was roused by a violent ringing of the bell. She was
startled by so unseasonable a summons. She slept in a chamber adjoining
Mrs. Fielding's, and hesitated whether she should alarm her friend; but,
the summons not being repeated, she had determined to forbear. Added to this, was the report of Mrs. Stevens, who, on the same night,
about half an hour after I and her husband had retired, imagined that
she heard the street door opened and shut; but, this being followed by
no other consequence, she supposed herself mistaken. I have little doubt
that, in my feverish and troubled sleep, I actually went forth, posted
to the house of Mrs. Fielding, rung for admission, and shortly after
returned to my own apartment. This confusion of mind was somewhat allayed by the return of light. It
gave way to more uniform but not less rueful and despondent perceptions. The image of Achsa filled my fancy, but it was the harbinger of nothing
but humiliation and sorrow. To outroot the conviction of my own
unworthiness, to persuade myself that I was regarded with the tenderness
that Stevens had ascribed to her, that the discovery of my thoughts
would not excite her anger and grief, I felt to be impossible. In this state of mind, I could not see her. To declare my feelings would
produce indignation and anguish; to hide them from her scrutiny was not
in my power; yet, what would she think of my estranging myself from her
society? What expedient could I honestly adopt to justify my absence,
and what employments could I substitute for those precious hours
hitherto devoted to her? "_This_ afternoon," thought I, "she has been invited to spend at
Stedman's country-house on Schuylkill. She consented to go, and I was to
accompany her. I am fit only for solitude. My behaviour, in her
presence, will be enigmatical, capricious, and morose. I must not go:
yet what will she think of my failure? Not to go will be injurious and
suspicious." I was undetermined. The appointed hour arrived. I stood at my
chamber-window, torn by a variety of purposes, and swayed alternately by
repugnant arguments. I several times went to the door of my apartment,
and put my foot upon the first step of the staircase, but as often
paused, reconsidered, and returned to my room. In these fluctuations the hour passed. No messenger arrived from Mrs. Fielding, inquiring into the cause of my delay. Was she offended at my
negligence? Was she sick and disabled from going, or had she changed her
mind? I now remembered her parting words at our last interview. Were
they not susceptible of two constructions? She said my visit was too
long, and bade me begone. Did she suspect my presumption, and is she
determined thus to punish me? This terror added anew to all my former anxieties. It was impossible to
rest in this suspense. I would go to her; I would lay before her all the
anguish of my heart; I would not spare myself. She shall not reproach me
more severely than I will reproach myself. I will hear my sentence from
her own lips, and promise unlimited submission to the doom of separation
and exile which she will pronounce. I went forth to her house. The drawing-room and summer-house were empty. I summoned Philip the footman: his mistress was gone to Mr. Stedman's. "How?--To Stedman's?--In whose company?" "Miss Stedman and her brother called for her in the carriage, and
persuaded her to go with them." Now my heart sunk, indeed! Miss Stedman's _brother_! A youth, forward,
gallant, and gay! Flushed with prosperity, and just returned from
Europe, with all the confidence of age, and all the ornaments of
education! She has gone with him, though pre-engaged to me! Poor Arthur,
how art thou despised! This information only heightened my impatience. I went away, but
returned in the evening. I waited till eleven, but she came not back. I
cannot justly paint the interval that passed till next morning. It was
void of sleep. On leaving her house, I wandered into the fields. Every
moment increased my impatience. "She will probably spend the morrow at
Stedman's," said I, "and possibly the next day. Why should I wait for
her return? Why not seek her there, and rid myself at once of this
agonizing suspense? Why not go thither now? This night, wherever I spend
it, will be unacquainted with repose. I will go; it is already near
twelve, and the distance is more than eight miles. I will hover near the
house till morning, and then, as early as possible, demand an
interview." I was well acquainted with Stedman's villa, having formerly been there
with Mrs. Fielding. I quickly entered its precincts. I went close to the
house; looked mournfully at every window. At one of them a light was to
be seen, and I took various stations to discover, if possible, the
persons within. Methought once I caught a glimpse of a female, whom my
fancy easily imagined to be Achsa. I sat down upon the lawn, some
hundred feet from the house, and opposite the window whence the light
proceeded. I watched it, till at length some one came to the window,
lifted it, and, leaning on her arms, continued to look out. The preceding day had been a very sultry one: the night, as usual after
such a day and the fall of a violent shower, was delightfully serene and
pleasant. Where I stood was enlightened by the moon. Whether she saw me
or not, I could hardly tell, or whether she distinguished any thing but
a human figure. Without reflecting on what was due to decorum and punctilio, I
immediately drew near the house. I quickly perceived that her attention
was fixed. Neither of us spoke, till I had placed myself directly under
her; I then opened my lips, without knowing in what manner to address
her. She spoke first, and in a startled and anxious voice:--

"Who is that?" "Arthur Mervyn; he that was two days ago your friend." "Mervyn! What is it that brings you here at this hour? What is the
matter? What has happened? Is anybody sick?" "All is safe; all are in good health." "What then do you come hither for at such an hour?" "I meant not to disturb you; I meant not to be seen." "Good heavens! How you frighten me! What can be the reason of so
strange----"

"Be not alarmed. I meant to hover near the house till morning, that I
might see you as early as possible." "For what purpose?" "I will tell you when we meet, and let that be at five o'clock; the sun
will then be risen; in the cedar-grove under the bank; till when,
farewell." Having said this, I prevented all expostulation, by turning the angle of
the house, and hastening towards the shore of the river. I roved about
the grove that I have mentioned. In one part of it is a rustic seat and
table, shrouded by trees and shrubs, and an intervening eminence, from
the view of those in the house.