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withdrawn with night from his stealthy watch upon the household.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