I rose. I could no longer subdue my emotions to the necessary

degree of watchfulness. I trod the chamber till daylight. Then,

I dressed myself and went out into the street. I had no distinct

object. A vague persuasion only, that I must do something--that

something must be done--that, in short, it was necessary to force

this exhausting drama to its fit conclusion. Of course William

Edgerton was my object. As yet, how to bring about the issue, was

a problem which my mind was not prepared to solve. Whether I was

to stab or shoot him; whether we were to go through the tedious

processes of the duel; to undergo the fatigue of preliminaries,

or to shorten them by sudden rencounter; these were topics which

filled my thoughts confusedly; upon which I had no clear conviction;

not because I did not attempt to fix upon a course, but from a sheer

inability to think at all. My whole brain was on fire; a chaotic

mass, such as rushes up from the unstopped vents of the volcano--fire,

stones, and lava--but dense smoke enveloping the whole.

In this frame of mind I hurried through the streets. The shops were

yet unopened. The sun was just about to rise. There was a humming

sound, like that of distant waters murmuring along the shore, which

filled my ears; but otherwise everything was silent. Sleep had not

withdrawn with night from his stealthy watch upon the household. It

seemed to me that I alone could not sleep. Even guilt--if my wife

were really guilty--even guilt could sleep. I left her sleeping,

and how sweetly! as if the dream which had made her sob and sigh,

had been succeeded by others, that made all smiles again. I could

not sleep, and yet, who, but a few months before, had been possessed

of such fair prospects of peace and prosperity? Fortune held

forth sufficient promise; fame--so far as fame can be accorded by

a small community--had done something toward giving me an honorable

repute; and love--had not love been seemingly as liberal and prompt

as ever young passions could have desired? I was making money; I was

getting reputation; the only woman whom I had ever loved or sought,

was mine; and mine, too, in spite of opposition and discouragements

which would have chilled the ardor of half the lovers in the world.

And yet I was not happy. It takes so small an amount of annoyance

to produce misery in the heart of selfesteem, when united with

suspicion, that it was scarcely possible that I should be happy.

Such a man has a taste for self-torture; as one troubled with an

irritating humor, is never at rest, unless he is tearing the flesh

into a sore; he may then rest as he may.




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