desperate act which he had meditated. It might at least conceal some
token of his past existence. It might lead into spaces hitherto
unvisited, and to summits from which wider landscapes might be seen.

One morning I set out to explore this scene. The road which Clithero had
taken was laboriously circuitous. On my return from the first pursuit of
him, I ascended the cliff in my former footsteps, but soon lighted on
the beaten track which I have already described. This enabled me to shun
a thousand obstacles which had lately risen before me, and opened an
easy passage to the cavern.

I once more traversed this way. The brow of the hill was gained. The
ledges of which it consisted afforded sufficient footing, when the
attempt was made, though viewed at a distance they seemed to be too
narrow for that purpose. As I descended the rugged stair, I could not
but wonder at the temerity and precipitation with which this descent had
formerly been made. It seemed as if the noonday light and the tardiest
circumspection would scarcely enable me to accomplish it; yet then it
had been done with headlong speed, and with no guidance but the moon's
uncertain rays.

I reached the mouth of the cave. Till now I had forgotten that a lamp or
a torch might be necessary to direct my subterranean footsteps. I was
unwilling to defer the attempt. Light might possibly be requisite, if
the cave had no other outlet. Somewhat might present itself within to
the eyes, which might forever elude the hands, but I was more inclined
to consider it merely as an avenue terminating in an opening on the
summit of the steep, or on the opposite side of the ridge. Caution might
supply the place of light, or, having explored the cave as far as
possible at present, I might hereafter return, better furnished for the