sorrow and malice had, for a time, taken their flight, and yielded place
to a generous sympathy, which filled my eyes with tears, but had more in
it of pleasure than of pain. That Clithero was instrumental to the death
of Waldegrave, that he could furnish the clue explanatory of every
bloody and mysterious event that had hitherto occurred, there was no
longer the possibility of doubting. "He, indeed," said I, "is the
murderer of excellence; and yet it shall be my province to emulate a
father's clemency, and restore this unhappy man to purity and to peace."

Day after day passed, without hearing any thing of Clithero. I began to
grow uneasy and impatient. I had gained so much, and by means so
unexpected, that I could more easily endure uncertainty with respect to
what remained to be known. But my patience had its limits. I should,
doubtless, have made use of new means to accelerate this discovery, had
not his timely appearance made them superfluous.

Sunday being at length arrived, I resolved to go to Inglefield's, seek
an interview with his servant, and urge him, by new importunities, to
confide to me the secret. On my way thither, Clithero appeared in sight.
His visage was pale and wan, and his form emaciated and shrunk. I was
astonished at the alteration which the lapse of a week had made in his
appearance. At a small distance I mistook him for a stranger. As soon as
I perceived who it was, I greeted him with the utmost friendliness. My
civilities made little impression on him, and he hastened to inform me,
that he was coming to my uncle's, for the purpose of meeting and talking
with me. If I thought proper, we would go into the wood together, and
find some spot where we might discourse at our leisure and be exempt
from interruption.

You will easily conceive with what alacrity I accepted his invitation.