The night did not promise to be a good one. The clouds were scudding

wildly from east to west. The air was moist and chill. There was

no light from moon or stars, and I strode with difficulty, though

still rapidly, through the unpaved streets. I was singularly and

painfully excited by the conversation with Kingsley. My own experience

before, had prepared me to become so, with the slightest additional

provocation. Facts were rapidly accumulating to confirm my fears,

and lessen my doubts. That dark, meaning letter of Mrs. Delaney!

The adventure in the streamlet.--The scream--the look--the secrecy!

What a history seemed to be compressed in these few topics.

I hurried forward--I was now among the trees. I had almost to grope

my way, it was so dark. I was helped forward by some governing

instincts. My fiend was busy all the while. I fancied, now, that

there was something exulting in his tone. But he drove me forward

without forbearance. I felt that these clouds in the sky--this gloom

and excitement in my heart--were not for nothing. Every gust of

wind brought to me some whisper of fear; and there seemed a constant

murmur among the trees--one burden--whose incessant utterance was

only shame and wo. How completely the agony of one's spirit sheds

its tone of horror upon the surrounding world. How the flowers wither

as our hearts wither--how sickly grows sunlight and moonlight, in

our despair--how lonely and utter sad is the breath of winds, when

our bosoms are about to be laid bare of hope and sustenance by the

brooding tempest of our sorrows.

I had a terrible prescience of some dreadful experience which awaited

me as I drove forward. Obstructions of tree and shrub, and tangled

vines, encountered me, but did not long arrest, and I really felt

them not. I put them aside without a consciousness.

At length a glimmering light informed me I was near the cottage.

I could see the heavy dark masses of foliage that crowded before

the entrance. The light was in the parlor. There was also one in

the room of Mrs. Porterfield. Ours, which was on the same floor

with hers, was in darkness. I never experienced sensations more

like those of a drunken man than when, working my way cautiously

among the trees, I approached the window. The glasses were down,

possibly in consequence of the violence of the gust. But there was

one thing unusual. The curtains were also down at both windows.

These curtains were half-curtains only. They fell from the upper

edge of the lower sash, and were simply meant to protect the inmates

from the casual glance of persons in front. The house was on an

elevation of two or three feet from the ground. It was impossible

to see into the apartment unless I could raise myself at least that

much above my own stature. I looked around me for a stump, bench,

block--anything; but there was nothing, or in the darkness I failed

to find it. To clamber up against the side of the house would have

disturbed the inmates. I ascended a tree, and buried within its

leaves, looked directly into the apartment.




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