ARTHUR MERVYN;

OR, MEMOIRS OF THE YEAR 1793. 

BY

CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN. 

"Fielding, Richardson, and Scott occupied pedestals. In a niche wasdeposited the bust of our countryman, the author of 'Arthur Mervyn. '"

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 

PHILADELPHIA: DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER, 23 SOUTH NINTH STREET. 1889. 

PREFACE. 

The evils of pestilence by which this city has lately been afflictedwill probably form an era in its history. The schemes of reformation andimprovement to which they will give birth, or, if no efforts of humanwisdom can avail to avert the periodical visitations of this calamity, the change in manners and population which they will produce, will be, in the highest degree, memorable. They have already supplied new andcopious materials for reflection to the physician and the politicaleconomist. They have not been less fertile of instruction to the moralobserver, to whom they have furnished new displays of the influence ofhuman passions and motives. 

Amidst the medical and political discussions which are now afloat in thecommunity relative to this topic, the author of these remarks hasventured to methodize his own reflections, and to weave into an humblenarrative such incidents as appeared to him most instructive andremarkable among those which came within the sphere of his ownobservation. It is every one's duty to profit by all opportunities ofinculcating on mankind the lessons of justice and humanity. Theinfluences of hope and fear, the trials of fortitude and constancy, which took place in this city in the autumn of 1793, have, perhaps, never been exceeded in any age. It is but just to snatch some of thesefrom oblivion, and to deliver to posterity a brief but faithful sketchof the condition of this metropolis during that calamitous period. Menonly require to be made acquainted with distress for their compassionand their charity to be awakened. He that depicts, in lively colours, the evils of disease and poverty, performs an eminent service to thesufferers, by calling forth benevolence in those who are able to affordrelief; and he who portrays examples of disinterestedness andintrepidity confers on virtue the notoriety and homage that are due toit, and rouses in the spectators the spirit of salutary emulation. 

In the following tale a particular series of adventures is brought to aclose; but these are necessarily connected with the events whichhappened subsequent to the period here described. These events are notless memorable than those which form the subject of the present volume, and may hereafter be published, either separately or in addition tothis. 

C. B. B. 

ARTHUR MERVYN. 

CHAPTER I. 

I was resident in this city during the year 1793. Many motivescontributed to detain me, though departure was easy and commodious, andmy friends were generally solicitous for me to go. It is not my purposeto enumerate these motives, or to dwell on my present concerns andtransactions, but merely to compose a narrative of some incidents withwhich my situation made me acquainted. 

Returning one evening, somewhat later than usual, to my own house, myattention was attracted, just as I entered the porch, by the figure of aman reclining against the wall at a few paces distant. My sight wasimperfectly assisted by a far-off lamp; but the posture in which he sat, the hour, and the place, immediately suggested the idea of one disabledby sickness. It was obvious to conclude that his disease waspestilential. This did not deter me from approaching and examining himmore closely. 

He leaned his head against the wall; his eyes were shut, his handsclasped in each other, and his body seemed to be sustained in an uprightposition merely by the cellar-door against which he rested his leftshoulder. The lethargy into which he was sunk seemed scarcelyinterrupted by my feeling his hand and his forehead. His throbbingtemples and burning skin indicated a fever, and his form, alreadyemaciated, seemed to prove that it had not been of short duration. 

There was only one circumstance that hindered me from forming animmediate determination in what manner this person should be treated. My family consisted of my wife and a young child. Our servant-maid hadbeen seized, three days before, by the reigning malady, and, at her ownrequest, had been conveyed to the hospital. We ourselves enjoyed goodhealth, and were hopeful of escaping with our lives. Our measures forthis end had been cautiously taken and carefully adhered to. They didnot consist in avoiding the receptacles of infection, for my officerequired me to go daily into the midst of them; nor in filling the housewith the exhalations of gunpowder, vinegar, or tar. They consisted incleanliness, reasonable exercise, and wholesome diet. Custom hadlikewise blunted the edge of our apprehensions. To take this person intomy house, and bestow upon him the requisite attendance, was the schemethat first occurred to me. In this, however, the advice of my wife wasto govern me. 

I mentioned the incident to her. I pointed out the danger which was tobe dreaded from such an inmate. I desired her to decide with caution, and mentioned my resolution to conform myself implicitly to herdecision. Should we refuse to harbour him, we must not forget that therewas a hospital to which he would, perhaps, consent to be carried, andwhere he would be accommodated in the best manner the times would admit. 

"Nay, " said she, "talk not of hospitals. At least, let him have hischoice. I have no fear about me, for my part, in a case where theinjunctions of duty are so obvious. Let us take the poor, unfortunatewretch into our protection and care, and leave the consequences toHeaven. "

I expected and was pleased with this proposal. I returned to the sickman, and, on rousing him from his stupor, found him still in possessionof his reason. With a candle near, I had an opportunity of viewing himmore accurately. 

His garb was plain, careless, and denoted rusticity. His aspect wassimple and ingenuous, and his decayed visage still retained traces ofuncommon but manlike beauty. He had all the appearances of mere youth, unspoiled by luxury and uninured to misfortune. I scarcely ever beheldan object which laid so powerful and sudden a claim to my affection andsuccour. 

"You are sick, " said I, in as cheerful a tone as I could assume. "Coldbricks and night-airs are comfortless attendants for one in yourcondition. Rise, I pray you, and come into the house. We will try tosupply you with accommodations a little more suitable. "

At this address he fixed his languid eyes upon me. "What would youhave?" said he. "I am very well as I am. While I breathe, which will notbe long, I shall breathe with more freedom here than elsewhere. Let mealone--I am very well as I am. "

"Nay, " said I, "this situation is unsuitable to a sick man. I only askyou to come into my house, and receive all the kindness that it is inour power to bestow. Pluck up courage, and I will answer for yourrecovery, provided you submit to directions, and do as we would haveyou. Rise, and come along with me. We will find you a physician and anurse, and all we ask in return is good spirits and compliance. "

"Do you not know, " he replied, "what my disease is? Why should you riskyour safety for the sake of one whom your kindness cannot benefit, andwho has nothing to give in return?"

There was something in the style of this remark, that heightened myprepossession in his favour, and made me pursue my purpose with morezeal. "Let us try what we can do for you, " I answered. "If we save yourlife, we shall have done you some service, and, as for recompense, wewill look to that. "

It was with considerable difficulty that he was persuaded to accept ourinvitation. He was conducted to a chamber, and, the criticalness of hiscase requiring unusual attention, I spent the night at his bedside. 

My wife was encumbered with the care both of her infant and her family. The charming babe was in perfect health, but her mother's constitutionwas frail and delicate. We simplified the household duties as much aspossible, but still these duties were considerably burdensome to one notused to the performance, and luxuriously educated. The addition of asick man was likely to be productive of much fatigue. My engagementswould not allow me to be always at home, and the state of my patient, and the remedies necessary to be prescribed, were attended with manynoxious and disgustful circumstances. My fortune would not allow me tohire assistance. My wife, with a feeble frame and a mind shrinking, onordinary occasions, from such offices, with fastidious scrupulousness, was to be his only or principal nurse. 

My neighbours were fervent in their well-meant zeal, and loud in theirremonstrances on the imprudence and rashness of my conduct. They calledme presumptuous and cruel in exposing my wife and child, as well asmyself, to such imminent hazard, for the sake of one, too, who mostprobably was worthless, and whose disease had doubtless been, bynegligence or mistreatment, rendered incurable. 

I did not turn a deaf ear to these censurers. I was aware of all theinconveniences and perils to which I thus spontaneously exposed myself. No one knew better the value of that woman whom I called mine, or set ahigher price upon her life, her health, and her ease. The virulence andactivity of this contagion, the dangerous condition of my patient, andthe dubiousness of his character, were not forgotten by me; but still myconduct in this affair received my own entire approbation. Allobjections on the score of my friends were removed by her ownwillingness and even solicitude to undertake the province. I had moreconfidence than others in the vincibility of this disease, and in thesuccess of those measures which we had used for our defence against it. But, whatever were the evils to accrue to us, we were sure of one thing:namely, that the consciousness of having neglected this unfortunateperson would be a source of more unhappiness than could possibly redoundfrom the attendance and care that he would claim. 

The more we saw of him, indeed, the more did we congratulate ourselveson our proceeding. His torments were acute and tedious; but, in themidst even of delirium, his heart seemed to overflow with gratitude, andto be actuated by no wish but to alleviate our toil and our danger. Hemade prodigious exertions to perform necessary offices for himself. Hesuppressed his feelings and struggled to maintain a cheerful tone andcountenance, that he might prevent that anxiety which the sight of hissufferings produced in us. He was perpetually furnishing reasons why hisnurse should leave him alone, and betrayed dissatisfaction whenever sheentered his apartment. 

In a few days, there were reasons to conclude him out of danger; and, ina fortnight, nothing but exercise and nourishment were wanting tocomplete his restoration. Meanwhile nothing was obtained from him butgeneral information, that his place of abode was Chester county, andthat some momentous engagement induced him to hazard his safety bycoming to the city in the height of the epidemic. 

He was far from being talkative. His silence seemed to be the jointresult of modesty and unpleasing remembrances. His features werecharacterized by pathetic seriousness, and his deportment by a gravityvery unusual at his age. According to his own representation, he was nomore than eighteen years old, but the depth of his remarks indicated amuch greater advance. His name was Arthur Mervyn. He described himselfas having passed his life at the plough-tail and the threshing-floor; asbeing destitute of all scholastic instruction; and as being long sincebereft of the affectionate regards of parents and kinsmen. 

When questioned as to the course of life which he meant to pursue uponhis recovery, he professed himself without any precise object. He waswilling to be guided by the advice of others, and by the lights whichexperience should furnish. The country was open to him, and he supposedthat there was no part of it in which food could not be purchased by hislabour. He was unqualified, by his education, for any liberalprofession. His poverty was likewise an insuperable impediment. He couldafford to spend no time in the acquisition of a trade. He must labour, not for future emolument, but for immediate subsistence. The onlypursuit which his present circumstances would allow him to adopt wasthat which, he was inclined to believe, was likewise the most eligible. Without doubt his experience was slender, and it seemed absurd topronounce concerning that of which he had no direct knowledge; but so itwas, he could not outroot from his mind the persuasion that to plough, to sow, and to reap, were employments most befitting a reasonablecreature, and from which the truest pleasure and the least pollutionwould flow. He contemplated no other scheme than to return, as soon ashis health should permit, into the country, seek employment where it wasto be had, and acquit himself in his engagements with fidelity anddiligence. 

I pointed out to him various ways in which the city might furnishemployment to one with his qualifications. He had said that he wassomewhat accustomed to the pen. There were stations in which thepossession of a legible hand was all that was requisite. He might add tothis a knowledge of accounts, and thereby procure himself a post in somemercantile or public office. 

To this he objected, that experience had shown him unfit for the life ofa penman. This had been his chief occupation for a little while, and hefound it wholly incompatible with his health. He must not sacrifice theend for the means. Starving was a disease preferable to consumption. Besides, he laboured merely for the sake of living, and he lived merelyfor the sake of pleasure. If his tasks should enable him to live, but, at the same time, bereave him of all satisfaction, they inflictedinjury, and were to be shunned as worse evils than death. 

I asked to what species of pleasure he alluded, with which the businessof a clerk was inconsistent. 

He answered that he scarcely knew how to describe it. He read books whenthey came in his way. He had lighted upon few, and, perhaps, thepleasure they afforded him was owing to their fewness; yet he confessedthat a mode of life which entirely forbade him to read was by no meansto his taste. But this was trivial. He knew how to value the thoughts ofother people, but he could not part with the privilege of observing andthinking for himself. He wanted business which would suffer at leastnine-tenths of his attention to go free. If it afforded agreeableemployment to that part of his attention which it applied to its ownuse, so much the better; but, if it did not, he should not repine. Heshould be content with a life whose pleasures were to its pains as nineare to one. He had tried the trade of a copyist, and in circumstancesmore favourable than it was likely he should ever again have anopportunity of trying it, and he had found that it did not fulfil therequisite conditions. Whereas the trade of ploughman was friendly tohealth, liberty, and pleasure. 

The pestilence, if it may so be called, was now declining. The health ofmy young friend allowed him to breathe the fresh air and to walk. Afriend of mine, by name Wortley, who had spent two months from the city, and to whom, in the course of a familiar correspondence, I had mentionedthe foregoing particulars, returned from his rural excursion. He wasposting, on the evening of the day of his arrival, with a friendlyexpedition, to my house, when he overtook Mervyn going in the samedirection. He was surprised to find him go before him into my dwelling, and to discover, which he speedily did, that this was the youth whom Ihad so frequently mentioned to him. I was present at their meeting. 

There was a strange mixture in the countenance of Wortley when they werepresented to each other. His satisfaction was mingled with surprise, andhis surprise with anger. Mervyn, in his turn, betrayed considerableembarrassment. Wortley's thoughts were too earnest on some topic toallow him to converse. He shortly made some excuse for taking leave, and, rising, addressed himself to the youth with a request that he wouldwalk home with him. This invitation, delivered in a tone which left itdoubtful whether a compliment or menace were meant, augmented Mervyn'sconfusion. He complied without speaking, and they went out together;--mywife and I were left to comment upon the scene. 

It could not fail to excite uneasiness. They were evidently no strangersto each other. The indignation that flashed from the eyes of Wortley, and the trembling consciousness of Mervyn, were unwelcome tokens. Theformer was my dearest friend, and venerable for his discernment andintegrity. The latter appeared to have drawn upon himself the anger anddisdain of this man. We already anticipated the shock which thediscovery of his unworthiness would produce. 

In a half-hour Mervyn returned. His embarrassment had given place todejection. He was always serious, but his features were now overcast bythe deepest gloom. The anxiety which I felt would not allow me tohesitate long. 

"Arthur, " said I, "something is the matter with you. Will you notdisclose it to us? Perhaps you have brought yourself into some dilemmaout of which we may help you to escape. Has any thing of an unpleasantnature passed between you and Wortley?"

The youth did not readily answer. He seemed at a loss for a suitablereply. At length he said that something disagreeable had indeed passedbetween him and Wortley. He had had the misfortune to be connected witha man by whom Wortley conceived himself to be injured. He had borne nopart in inflicting this injury, but had nevertheless been threatenedwith ill treatment if he did not make disclosures which, indeed, it wasin his power to make, but which he was bound, by every sanction, towithhold. This disclosure would be of no benefit to Wortley. It wouldrather operate injuriously than otherwise; yet it was endeavoured to bewrested from him by the heaviest menaces. There he paused. 

We were naturally inquisitive as to the scope of these menaces; butMervyn entreated us to forbear any further discussion of this topic. Heforesaw the difficulties to which his silence would subject him. One ofits most fearful consequences would be the loss of our good opinion. Heknew not what he had to dread from the enmity of Wortley. Mr. Wortley'sviolence was not without excuse. It was his mishap to be exposed tosuspicions which could only be obviated by breaking his faith. But, indeed, he knew not whether any degree of explicitness would confute thecharges that were made against him; whether, by trampling on his sacredpromise, he should not multiply his perils instead of lessening theirnumber. A difficult part had been assigned to him; by much toodifficult for one young, improvident, and inexperienced as he was. 

Sincerity, perhaps, was the best course. Perhaps, after having had anopportunity for deliberation, he should conclude to adopt it; meanwhilehe entreated permission to retire to his chamber. He was unable toexclude from his mind ideas which yet could, with no propriety, at leastat present, be made the theme of conversation. 

These words were accompanied with simplicity and pathos, and with tokensof unaffected distress. 

"Arthur, " said I, "you are master of your actions and time in thishouse. Retire when you please; but you will naturally suppose us anxiousto dispel this mystery. Whatever shall tend to obscure or malign yourcharacter will of course excite our solicitude. Wortley is notshort-sighted or hasty to condemn. So great is my confidence in hisintegrity that I will not promise my esteem to one who has irrecoverablylost that of Wortley. I am not acquainted with your motives toconcealment, or what it is you conceal; but take the word of one whopossesses that experience which you complain of wanting, that sincerityis always safest. "

As soon as he had retired, my curiosity prompted me to pay an immediatevisit to Wortley. I found him at home. He was no less desirous of aninterview, and answered my inquiries with as much eagerness as they weremade. 

"You know, " said he, "my disastrous connection with Thomas Welbeck. Yourecollect his sudden disappearance last July, by which I was reduced tothe brink of ruin. Nay, I am, even now, far from certain that I shallsurvive that event. I spoke to you about the youth who lived with him, and by what means that youth was discovered to have crossed the river inhis company on the night of his departure. This is that very youth. 

"This will account for my emotion at meeting him at your house; Ibrought him out with me. His confusion sufficiently indicated hisknowledge of transactions between Welbeck and me. I questioned him as tothe fate of that man. To own the truth, I expected some well-digestedlie; but he merely said that he had promised secrecy on that subject, and must therefore be excused from giving me any information. I askedhim if he knew that his master, or accomplice, or whatever was hisrelation to him, absconded in my debt? He answered that he knew it well;but still pleaded a promise of inviolable secrecy as to hishiding-place. This conduct justly exasperated me, and I treated him withthe severity which he deserved. I am half ashamed to confess theexcesses of my passion; I even went so far as to strike him. He bore myinsults with the utmost patience. No doubt the young villain is wellinstructed in his lesson. He knows that he may safely defy my power. From threats I descended to entreaties. I even endeavoured to wind thetruth from him by artifice. I promised him a part of the debt if hewould enable me to recover the whole. I offered him a considerablereward if he would merely afford me a clue by which I might trace him tohis retreat; but all was insufficient. He merely put on an air ofperplexity and shook his head in token of non-compliance. "

Such was my friend's account of this interview. His suspicions wereunquestionably plausible; but I was disposed to put a more favourableconstruction on Mervyn's behaviour. I recollected the desolate andpenniless condition in which I found him, and the uniform complacencyand rectitude of his deportment for the period during which we hadwitnessed it. These ideas had considerable influence on my judgment, andindisposed me to follow the advice of my friend, which was to turn himforth from my doors that very night. 

My wife's prepossessions were still more powerful advocates of thisyouth. She would vouch, she said, before any tribunal, for hisinnocence; but she willingly concurred with me in allowing him thecontinuance of our friendship on no other condition than that of adisclosure of the truth. To entitle ourselves to this confidence we werewilling to engage, in our turn, for the observance of secrecy, so farthat no detriment should accrue from this disclosure to himself or hisfriend. 

Next morning, at breakfast, our guest appeared with a countenance lessexpressive of embarrassment than on the last evening. His attention waschiefly engaged by his own thoughts, and little was said till thebreakfast was removed. I then reminded him of the incidents of theformer day, and mentioned that the uneasiness which thence arose to ushad rather been increased than diminished by time. 

"It is in your power, my young friend, " continued I, "to add still moreto this uneasiness, or to take it entirely away. I had no personalacquaintance with Thomas Welbeck. I have been informed by others thathis character, for a certain period, was respectable, but that, atlength, he contracted large debts, and, instead of paying them, absconded. You, it seems, lived with him. On the night of his departureyou are known to have accompanied him across the river, and this, itseems, is the first of your reappearance on the stage. Welbeck's conductwas dishonest. He ought doubtless to be pursued to his asylum and becompelled to refund his winnings. You confess yourself to know his placeof refuge, but urge a promise of secrecy. Know you not that to assist orconnive at the escape of this man was wrong? To have promised to favourhis concealment and impunity by silence was only an aggravation of thiswrong. That, however, is past. Your youth, and circumstances, hithertounexplained, may apologize for that misconduct; but it is certainly yourduty to repair it to the utmost of your power. Think whether, bydisclosing what you know, you will not repair it. "

"I have spent most of last night, " said the youth, "in reflecting onthis subject. I had come to a resolution, before you spoke, of confidingto you my simple tale. I perceive in what circumstances I am placed, andthat I can keep my hold of your good opinion only by a candiddeportment. I have indeed given a promise which it was wrong, or ratherabsurd, in another to exact, and in me to give; yet none butconsiderations of the highest importance would persuade me to break mypromise. No injury will accrue from my disclosure to Welbeck. If thereshould, dishonest as he was, that would be a sufficient reason for mysilence. Wortley will not, in any degree, be benefited by anycommunication that I can make. Whether I grant or withhold information, my conduct will have influence only on my own happiness, and thatinfluence will justify me in granting it. 

"I received your protection when I was friendless and forlorn. You havea right to know whom it is that you protected. My own fate is connectedwith the fate of Welbeck, and that connection, together with theinterest you are pleased to take in my concerns, because they are mine, will render a tale worthy of attention which will not be recommended byvariety of facts or skill in the display of them. 

"Wortley, though passionate, and, with regard to me, unjust, may yet bea good man; but I have no desire to make him one of my auditors. You, sir, may, if you think proper, relate to him afterwards what particularsconcerning Welbeck it may be of importance for him to know; but atpresent it will be well if your indulgence shall support me to the endof a tedious but humble tale. "

The eyes of my Eliza sparkled with delight at this proposal. Sheregarded this youth with a sisterly affection, and considered hiscandour, in this respect, as an unerring test of his rectitude. She wasprepared to hear and to forgive the errors of inexperience andprecipitation. I did not fully participate in her satisfaction, but wasnevertheless most zealously disposed to listen to his narrative. 

My engagements obliged me to postpone this rehearsal till late in theevening. Collected then round a cheerful hearth, exempt from alllikelihood of interruption from without, and our babe's unpractisedsenses shut up in the sweetest and profoundest sleep, Mervyn, after apause of recollection, began. 

CHAPTER II. 

My natal soil is Chester county. My father had a small farm, on which hehas been able, by industry, to maintain himself and a numerous family. He has had many children, but some defect in the constitution of ourmother has been fatal to all of them but me. They died successively asthey attained the age of nineteen or twenty, and, since I have not yetreached that age, I may reasonably look for the same premature fate. Inthe spring of last year my mother followed her fifth child to the grave, and three months afterwards died herself. 

My constitution has always been frail, and, till the death of my mother, I enjoyed unlimited indulgence. I cheerfully sustained my portion oflabour, for that necessity prescribed; but the intervals were always atmy own disposal, and, in whatever manner I thought proper to employthem, my plans were encouraged and assisted. Fond appellations, tones ofmildness, solicitous attendance when I was sick, deference to myopinions, and veneration for my talents, compose the image which I stillretain of my mother. I had the thoughtlessness and presumption of youth, and, now that she is gone, my compunction is awakened by a thousandrecollections of my treatment of her. I was indeed guilty of no flagrantacts of contempt or rebellion. Perhaps her deportment was inevitablycalculated to instil into me a froward and refractory spirit. My faults, however, were speedily followed by repentance, and, in the midst ofimpatience and passion, a look of tender upbraiding from her was alwayssufficient to melt me into tears and make me ductile to her will. Ifsorrow for her loss be an atonement for the offences which I committedduring her life, ample atonement has been made. 

My father is a man of slender capacity, but of a temper easy andflexible. He was sober and industrious by habit. He was content to beguided by the superior intelligence of his wife. Under this guidance heprospered; but, when that was withdrawn, his affairs soon began tobetray marks of unskilfulness and negligence. My understanding, perhaps, qualified me to counsel and assist my father, but I was whollyunaccustomed to the task of superintendence. Besides, gentleness andfortitude did not descend to me from my mother, and these wereindispensable attributes in a boy who desires to dictate to hisgray-headed parent. Time, perhaps, might have conferred dexterity on me, or prudence on him, had not a most unexpected event given a differentdirection to my views. 

Betty Lawrence was a wild girl from the pine-forests of New Jersey. Atthe age of ten years she became a bound servant in this city, and, afterthe expiration of her time, came into my father's neighbourhood insearch of employment. She was hired in our family as milkmaid andmarket-woman. Her features were coarse, her frame robust, her mindtotally unlettered, and her morals defective in that point in whichfemale excellence is supposed chiefly to consist. She possessedsuper-abundant health and good-humour, and was quite a supportablecompanion in the hay-field or the barnyard. 

On the death of my mother, she was exalted to a somewhat higher station. The same tasks fell to her lot; but the time and manner of performingthem were, in some degree, submitted to her own choice. The cows and thedairy were still her province; but in this no one interfered with her orpretended to prescribe her measures. For this province she seemed notunqualified, and, as long as my father was pleased with her management, I had nothing to object. 

This state of things continued, without material variation, for severalmonths. There were appearances in my father's deportment to Betty, whichexcited my reflections, but not my fears. The deference which wasoccasionally paid to the advice or the claims of this girl was accountedfor by that feebleness of mind which degraded my father, in whateverscene he should be placed, to be the tool of others. I had no conceptionthat her claims extended beyond a temporary or superficialgratification. 

At length, however, a visible change took place in her manners. Ascornful affectation and awkward dignity began to be assumed. A greaterattention was paid to dress, which was of gayer hues and morefashionable texture. I rallied her on these tokens of a sweetheart, andamused myself with expatiating to her on the qualifications of herlover. A clownish fellow was frequently her visitant. His attentions didnot appear to be discouraged. He therefore was readily supposed to bethe man. When pointed out as the favourite, great resentment wasexpressed, and obscure insinuations were made that her aim was not quiteso low as that. These denials I supposed to be customary on suchoccasions, and considered the continuance of his visits as a sufficientconfutation of them. 

I frequently spoke of Betty, her newly-acquired dignity, and of theprobable cause of her change of manners, to my father. When this themewas started, a certain coldness and reserve overspread his features. Hedealt in monosyllables, and either laboured to change the subject ormade some excuse for leaving me. This behaviour, though it occasionedsurprise, was never very deeply reflected on. My father was old, and themournful impressions which were made upon him by the death of his wife, the lapse of almost half a year seemed scarcely to have weakened. Bettyhad chosen her partner, and I was in daily expectation of receiving asummons to the wedding. 

One afternoon this girl dressed herself in the gayest manner and seemedmaking preparations for some momentous ceremony. My father had directedme to put the horse to the chaise. On my inquiring whither he was going, he answered me, in general terms, that he had some business at a fewmiles' distance. I offered to go in his stead, but he said that wasimpossible. I was proceeding to ascertain the possibility of this whenhe left me to go to a field where his workmen were busy, directing me toinform him when the chaise was ready, to supply his place, whileabsent, in overlooking the workmen. 

This office was performed; but before I called him from the field Iexchanged a few words with the milkmaid, who sat on a bench, in all theprimness of expectation, and decked with the most gaudy plumage. I ratedher imaginary lover for his tardiness, and vowed eternal hatred to themboth for not making me a bride's attendant. She listened to me with anair in which embarrassment was mingled sometimes with exultation andsometimes with malice. I left her at length, and returned to the housenot till a late hour. As soon as I entered, my father presented Betty tome as his wife, and desired she might receive that treatment from mewhich was due to a mother. 

It was not till after repeated and solemn declarations from both of themthat I was prevailed upon to credit this event. Its effect upon myfeelings may be easily conceived. I knew the woman to be rude, ignorant, and licentious. Had I suspected this event, I might have fortified myfather's weakness and enabled him to shun the gulf to which he wastending; but my presumption had been careless of the danger. To thinkthat such a one should take the place of my revered mother wasintolerable. 

To treat her in any way not squaring with her real merits; to hinderanger and scorn from rising at the sight of her in her new condition, was not in my power. To be degraded to the rank of her servant, tobecome the sport of her malice and her artifices, was not to be endured. I had no independent provision; but I was the only child of my father, and had reasonably hoped to succeed to his patrimony. On this hope I hadbuilt a thousand agreeable visions. I had meditated innumerable projectswhich the possession of this estate would enable me to execute. I had nowish beyond the trade of agriculture, and beyond the opulence which ahundred acres would give. 

These visions were now at an end. No doubt her own interest would be, tothis woman, the supreme law, and this would be considered asirreconcilably hostile to mine. My father would easily be moulded toher purpose, and that act easily extorted from him which should reduceme to beggary. She had a gross and perverse taste. She had a numerouskindred, indigent and hungry. On these his substance would speedily belavished. Me she hated, because she was conscious of having injured me, because she knew that I held her in contempt, and because I had detectedher in an illicit intercourse with the son of a neighbour. 

The house in which I lived was no longer my own, nor even my father's. Hitherto I had thought and acted in it with the freedom of a master; butnow I was become, in my own conceptions, an alien and an enemy to theroof under which I was born. Every tie which had bound me to it wasdissolved or converted into something which repelled me to a distancefrom it. I was a guest whose presence was borne with anger andimpatience. 

I was fully impressed with the necessity of removal, but I knew notwhither to go, or what kind of subsistence to seek. My father had been aScottish emigrant, and had no kindred on this side of the ocean. Mymother's family lived in New Hampshire, and long separation hadextinguished all the rights of relationship in her offspring. Tillingthe earth was my only profession, and, to profit by my skill in it, itwould be necessary to become a day-labourer in the service of strangers;but this was a destiny to which I, who had so long enjoyed the pleasuresof independence and command, could not suddenly reconcile myself. Itoccurred to me that the city might afford me an asylum. A short day'sjourney would transport me into it. I had been there twice or thrice inmy life, but only for a few hours each time. I knew not a human face, and was a stranger to its modes and dangers. I was qualified for noemployment, compatible with a town life, but that of the pen. This, indeed, had ever been a favourite tool with me; and, though it mayappear somewhat strange, it is no less true that I had had nearly asmuch practice at the quill as at the mattock. But the sum of my skilllay in tracing distinct characters. I had used it merely to transcribewhat others had written, or to give form to my own conceptions. Whetherthe city would afford me employment, as a mere copyist, sufficientlylucrative, was a point on which I possessed no means of information. 

My determination was hastened by the conduct of my new mother. Myconjectures as to the course she would pursue with regard to me had notbeen erroneous. My father's deportment, in a short time, grew sullen andaustere. Directions were given in a magisterial tone, and any remissnessin the execution of his orders was rebuked with an air of authority. Atlength these rebukes were followed by certain intimations that I was nowold enough to provide for myself; that it was time to think of someemployment by which I might secure a livelihood; that it was a shame forme to spend my youth in idleness; that what he had gained was by his ownlabour; and I must be indebted for my living to the same source. 

These hints were easily understood. At first, they excited indignationand grief. I knew the source whence they sprung, and was merely able tosuppress the utterance of my feelings in her presence. My looks, however, were abundantly significant, and my company became hourly moreinsupportable. Abstracted from these considerations, my father'sremonstrances were not destitute of weight. He gave me being, butsustenance ought surely to be my own gift. In the use of that for whichhe had been indebted to his own exertions, he might reasonably consulthis own choice. He assumed no control over me; he merely did what hewould with his own, and, so far from fettering my liberty, he exhortedme to use it for my own benefit, and to make provision for myself. 

I now reflected that there were other manual occupations besides that ofthe plough. Among these none had fewer disadvantages than that ofcarpenter or cabinet-maker. I had no knowledge of this art; but neithercustom, nor law, nor the impenetrableness of the mystery, required me toserve a seven years' apprenticeship to it. A master in this trade mightpossibly be persuaded to take me under his tuition; two or three yearswould suffice to give me the requisite skill. Meanwhile my father would, perhaps, consent to bear the cost of my maintenance. Nobody could liveupon less than I was willing to do. 

I mentioned these ideas to my father; but he merely commended myintentions without offering to assist me in the execution of them. Hehad full employment, he said, for all the profits of his ground. Nodoubt, if I would bind myself to serve four or five years, my masterwould be at the expense of my subsistence. Be that as it would, I mustlook for nothing from him. I had shown very little regard for hishappiness; I had refused all marks of respect to a woman who wasentitled to it from her relation to him. He did not see why he shouldtreat as a son one who refused what was due to him as a father. Hethought it right that I should henceforth maintain myself. He did notwant my services on the farm, and the sooner I quitted his house thebetter. 

I retired from this conference with a resolution to follow the advicethat was given. I saw that henceforth I must be my own protector, andwondered at the folly that detained me so long under his roof. To leaveit was now become indispensable, and there could be no reason fordelaying my departure for a single hour. I determined to bend my courseto the city. The scheme foremost in my mind was to apprentice myself tosome mechanical trade. I did not overlook the evils of constraint andthe dubiousness as to the character of the master I should choose. I wasnot without hopes that accident would suggest a different expedient, andenable me to procure an immediate subsistence without forfeiting myliberty. 

I determined to commence my journey the next morning. No wonder theprospect of so considerable a change in my condition should deprive meof sleep. I spent the night ruminating on the future, and in painting tomy fancy the adventures which I should be likely to meet. The foresightof man is in proportion to his knowledge. No wonder that, in my state ofprofound ignorance, not the faintest preconception should be formed ofthe events that really befell me. My temper was inquisitive, but therewas nothing in the scene to which I was going from which my curiosityexpected to derive gratification. Discords and evil smells, unsavouryfood, unwholesome labour, and irksome companions, were, in my opinion, the unavoidable attendants of a city. 

My best clothes were of the homeliest texture and shape. My whole stockof linen consisted of three check shirts. Part of my winter evenings'employment, since the death of my mother, consisted in knitting my ownstockings. Of these I had three pair, one of which I put on, and therest I formed, together with two shirts, into a bundle. Threequarter-dollar pieces composed my whole fortune in money. 

CHAPTER III. 

I rose at the dawn, and, without asking or bestowing a blessing, salliedforth into the highroad to the city, which passed near the house. I leftnothing behind, the loss of which I regretted. I had purchased most ofmy own books with the product of my own separate industry, and, theirnumber being, of course, small, I had, by incessant application, gottenthe whole of them by rote. They had ceased, therefore, to be of anyfurther use. I left them, without reluctance, to the fate for which Iknew them to be reserved, that of affording food and habitation to mice. 

I trod this unwonted path with all the fearlessness of youth. In spiteof the motives to despondency and apprehension incident to my state, myheels were light and my heart joyous. "Now, " said I, "I am mounted intoman. I must build a name and a fortune for myself. Strange if thisintellect and these hands will not supply me with an honest livelihood. I will try the city in the first place; but, if that should fail, resources are still left to me. I will resume my post in the cornfieldand threshing-floor, to which I shall always have access, and where Ishall always be happy. "

I had proceeded some miles on my journey, when I began to feel theinroads of hunger. I might have stopped at any farm-house, and havebreakfasted for nothing. It was prudent to husband, with the utmostcare, my slender stock; but I felt reluctance to beg as long as I hadthe means of buying, and I imagined that coarse bread and a little milkwould cost little even at a tavern, when any farmer was willing tobestow them for nothing. My resolution was further influenced by theappearance of a signpost. What excuse could I make for begging abreakfast with an inn at hand and silver in my pocket?

I stopped, accordingly, and breakfasted. The landlord was remarkablyattentive and obliging, but his bread was stale, his milk sour, and hischeese the greenest imaginable. I disdained to animadvert on thesedefects, naturally supposing that his house could furnish no better. 

Having finished my meal, I put, without speaking, one of my pieces intohis hand. This deportment I conceived to be highly becoming, and toindicate a liberal and manly spirit. I always regarded with contempt ascrupulous maker of bargains. He received the money with a complaisantobeisance. "Right, " said he. "_Just_ the money, sir. You are on foot, sir. A pleasant way of travelling, sir. I wish you a good day, sir. " Sosaying, he walked away. 

This proceeding was wholly unexpected. I conceived myself entitled to atleast three-fourths of it in change. The first impulse was to call himback, and contest the equity of his demand; but a moment's reflectionshowed me the absurdity of such conduct. I resumed my journey withspirits somewhat depressed. I have heard of voyagers and wanderers indeserts, who were willing to give a casket of gems for a cup of coldwater. I had not supposed my own condition to be, in any respect, similar; yet I had just given one-third of my estate for a breakfast. 

I stopped at noon at another inn. I counted on purchasing a dinner forthe same price, since I meant to content myself with the same fare. Alarge company was just sitting down to a smoking banquet. The landlordinvited me to join them. I took my place at the table, but was furnishedwith bread and milk. Being prepared to depart, I took him aside. "Whatis to pay?" said I. --"Did you drink any thing, sir?"--"Certainly. Idrank the milk which was furnished. "--"But any liquors, sir?"---"No. "

He deliberated a moment, and then, assuming an air of disinterestedness, "'Tis our custom to charge dinner and club; but, as you drank nothing, we'll let the club go. A mere dinner is half a dollar, sir. "

He had no leisure to attend to my fluctuations. After debating withmyself on what was to be done, I concluded that compliance was best, and, leaving the money at the bar, resumed my way. 

I had not performed more than half my journey, yet my purse was entirelyexhausted. This was a specimen of the cost incurred by living at an inn. If I entered the city, a tavern must, at least for some time, be myabode; but I had not a farthing remaining to defray my charges. Myfather had formerly entertained a boarder for a dollar per week, and, incase of need, I was willing to subsist upon coarser fare and lie on aharder bed than those with which our guest had been supplied. Thesefacts had been the foundation of my negligence on this occasion. 

What was now to be done? To return to my paternal mansion wasimpossible. To relinquish my design of entering the city and to seek atemporary asylum, if not permanent employment, at some one of theplantations within view, was the most obvious expedient. Thesedeliberations did not slacken my pace. I was almost unmindful of my way, when I found I had passed Schuylkill at the upper bridge. I was nowwithin the precincts of the city, and night was hastening. It behoovedme to come to a speedy decision. 

Suddenly I recollected that I had not paid the customary toll at thebridge; neither had I money wherewith to pay it. A demand of paymentwould have suddenly arrested my progress; and so slight an incidentwould have precluded that wonderful destiny to which I was reserved. Theobstacle that would have hindered my advance now prevented my return. Scrupulous honesty did not require me to turn back and awaken thevigilance of the toll-gatherer. I had nothing to pay, and by returning Ishould only double my debt. "Let it stand, " said I, "where it does. Allthat honour enjoins is to pay when I am able. "

I adhered to the crossways, till I reached Market Street. Night hadfallen, and a triple row of lamps presented a spectacle enchanting andnew. My personal cares were, for a time, lost in the tumultuoussensations with which I was now engrossed. I had never visited the cityat this hour. When my last visit was paid, I was a mere child. Thenovelty which environed every object was, therefore, nearly absolute. Iproceeded with more cautious steps, but was still absorbed in attentionto passing objects. I reached the market-house, and, entering it, indulged myself in new delight and new wonder. 

I need not remark that our ideas of magnificence and splendour aremerely comparative; yet you may be prompted to smile when I tell youthat, in walking through this avenue, I, for a moment, conceived myselftransported to the hall "pendent with many a row of starry lamps andblazing crescents fed by naphtha and asphaltos. " That this transitionfrom my homely and quiet retreat had been effected in so few hours worethe aspect of miracle or magic. 

I proceeded from one of these buildings to another, till I reached theirtermination in Front Street. Here my progress was checked, and I soughtrepose to my weary limbs by seating myself on a stall. No wonder somefatigue was felt by me, accustomed as I was to strenuous exertions, since, exclusive of the minutes spent at breakfast and dinner, I hadtravelled fifteen hours and forty-five miles. 

I began now to reflect, with some earnestness, on my condition. I was astranger, friendless and moneyless. I was unable to purchase food andshelter, and was wholly unused to the business of begging. Hunger wasthe only serious inconvenience to which I was immediately exposed. I hadno objection to spend the night in the spot where I then sat. I had nofear that my visions would be troubled by the officers of police. It wasno crime to be without a home; but how should I supply my presentcravings and the cravings of to-morrow?

At length it occurred to me that one of our country neighbours wasprobably at this time in the city. He kept a store as well as cultivateda farm. He was a plain and well-meaning man, and, should I be sofortunate as to meet him, his superior knowledge of the city might be ofessential benefit to me in my present forlorn circumstances. Hisgenerosity might likewise induce him to lend me so much as wouldpurchase one meal. I had formed the resolution to leave the city nextday, and was astonished at the folly that had led me into it; but, meanwhile, my physical wants must be supplied. 

Where should I look for this man? In the course of conversation Irecollected him to have referred to the place of his temporary abode. Itwas an inn; but the sign or the name of the keeper for some timewithstood all my efforts to recall them. 

At length I lighted on the last. It was Lesher's tavern. I immediatelyset out in search of it. After many inquiries, I at last arrived at thedoor. I was preparing to enter the house when I perceived that my bundlewas gone. I had left it on the stall where I had been sitting. Peoplewere perpetually passing to and fro. It was scarcely possible not tohave been noticed. No one that observed it would fail to make it hisprey. Yet it was of too much value to me to allow me to be governed by abare probability. I resolved to lose not a moment in returning. 

With some difficulty I retraced my steps, but the bundle haddisappeared. The clothes were, in themselves, of small value, but theyconstituted the whole of my wardrobe; and I now reflected that they werecapable of being transmuted, by the pawn or sale of them, into food. There were other wretches as indigent as I was, and I consoled myself bythinking that my shirts and stockings might furnish a seasonablecovering to their nakedness; but there was a relic concealed within thisbundle, the loss of which could scarcely be endured by me. It was theportrait of a young man who died three years ago at my father's house, drawn by his own hand. 

He was discovered one morning in the orchard with many marks of insanityupon him. His air and dress bespoke some elevation of rank and fortune. My mother's compassion was excited, and, as his singularities wereharmless, an asylum was afforded him, though he was unable to pay forit. He was constantly declaiming, in an incoherent manner, about somemistress who had proved faithless. His speeches seemed, however, likethe rantings of an actor, to be rehearsed by rote or for the sake ofexercise. He was totally careless of his person and health, and, byrepeated negligences of this kind, at last contracted a fever of whichhe speedily died. The name which he assumed was Clavering. 

He gave no distinct account of his family, but stated, in loose terms, that they were residents in England, high-born and wealthy. That theyhad denied him the woman whom he loved and banished him to America, under penalty of death if he should dare to return, and that they hadrefused him all means of subsistence in a foreign land. He predicted, inhis wild and declamatory way, his own death. He was very skilful at thepencil, and drew this portrait a short time before his dissolution, presented it to me, and charged me to preserve it in remembrance of him. My mother loved the youth because he was amiable and unfortunate, andchiefly because she fancied a very powerful resemblance between hiscountenance and mine. I was too young to build affection on any rationalfoundation. I loved him, for whatever reason, with an ardour unusual atmy age, and which this portrait had contributed to prolong and tocherish. 

In thus finally leaving my home, I was careful not to leave this picturebehind. I wrapped it in paper in which a few elegiac stanzas wereinscribed in my own hand, and with my utmost elegance of penmanship. Ithen placed it in a leathern case, which, for greater security, wasdeposited in the centre of my bundle. It will occur to you, perhaps, that it would be safer in some fold or pocket of the clothes which Iwore. I was of a different opinion, and was now to endure the penalty ofmy error. 

It was in vain to heap execrations on my negligence, or to consume thelittle strength left to me in regrets. I returned once more to thetavern and made inquiries for Mr. Capper, the person whom I have justmentioned as my father's neighbour. I was informed that Capper was nowin town; that he had lodged, on the last night, at this house; that hehad expected to do the same to-night, but a gentleman had called tenminutes ago, whose invitation to lodge with him to-night had beenaccepted. They had just gone out together. Who, I asked, was thegentleman? The landlord had no knowledge of him; he knew neither hisplace of abode nor his name. Was Mr. Capper expected to return hither inthe morning? No; he had heard the stranger propose to Mr. Capper to gowith him into the country to-morrow, and Mr. Capper, he believed, hadassented. 

This disappointment was peculiarly severe. I had lost, by my ownnegligence, the only opportunity that would offer of meeting my friend. Had even the recollection of my loss been postponed for three minutes, Ishould have entered the house, and a meeting would have been secured. Icould discover no other expedient to obviate the present evil. My heartbegan now, for the first time, to droop. I looked back, with namelessemotions, on the days of my infancy. I called up the image of my mother. I reflected on the infatuation of my surviving parent, and theusurpation of the detestable Betty, with horror. I viewed myself as themost calamitous and desolate of human beings. 

At this time I was sitting in the common room. There were others in thesame apartment, lounging, or whistling, or singing. I noticed them not, but, leaning my head upon my hand, I delivered myself up to painful andintense meditation. From this I was roused by some one placing himselfon the bench near me and addressing me thus:--"Pray, sir, if you willexcuse me, who was the person whom you were looking for just now?Perhaps I can give you the information you want. If I can, you will bevery welcome to it. " I fixed my eyes with some eagerness on the personthat spoke. He was a young man, expensively and fashionably dressed, whose mien was considerably prepossessing, and whose countenance bespokesome portion of discernment. I described to him the man whom I sought. "I am in search of the same man myself, " said he, "but I expect to meethim here. He may lodge elsewhere, but he promised to meet me here athalf after nine. I have no doubt he will fulfil his promise, so that youwill meet the gentleman. "

I was highly gratified by this information, and thanked my informantwith some degree of warmth. My gratitude he did not notice, butcontinued: "In order to beguile expectation, I have ordered supper;will you do me the favour to partake with me, unless indeed you havesupped already?" I was obliged, somewhat awkwardly, to decline hisinvitation, conscious as I was that the means of payment were not in mypower. He continued, however, to urge my compliance till at length itwas, though reluctantly, yielded. My chief motive was the certainty ofseeing Capper. 

My new acquaintance was exceedingly conversible, but his conversationwas chiefly characterized by frankness and good-humour. My reservegradually diminished, and I ventured to inform him, in general terms, ofmy former condition and present views. He listened to my details withseeming attention, and commented on them with some judiciousness. Hisstatements, however, tended to discourage me from remaining in the city. 

Meanwhile the hour passed and Capper did not appear. I noticed thiscircumstance to him with no little solicitude. He said that possibly hemight have forgotten or neglected his engagement. His affair was not ofthe highest importance, and might be readily postponed to a futureopportunity. He perceived that my vivacity was greatly damped by thisintelligence. He importuned me to disclose the cause. He made himselfvery merry with my distress, when it was at length discovered. As to theexpense of supper, I had partaken of it at his invitation; he thereforeshould of course be charged with it. As to lodging, he had a chamber anda bed, which he would insist upon my sharing with him. 

My faculties were thus kept upon the stretch of wonder. Every new act ofkindness in this man surpassed the fondest expectation that I hadformed. I saw no reason why I should be treated with benevolence. Ishould have acted in the same manner if placed in the samecircumstances; yet it appeared incongruous and inexplicable. I knowwhence my ideas of human nature were derived. They certainly were notthe offspring of my own feelings. These would have taught me thatinterest and duty were blended in every act of generosity. 

I did not come into the world without my scruples and suspicions. I wasmore apt to impute kindnesses to sinister and hidden than to obvious andlaudable motives. 

I paused to reflect upon the possible designs of this person. What endcould be served by this behaviour? I was no subject of violence orfraud. I had neither trinket nor coin to stimulate the treachery ofothers. What was offered was merely lodging for the night. Was this anact of such transcendent disinterestedness as to be incredible? My garbwas meaner than that of my companion, but my intellectualaccomplishments were at least upon a level with his. Why should he besupposed to be insensible to my claims upon his kindness? I was a youthdestitute of experience, money, and friends; but I was not devoid of allmental and personal endowments. That my merit should be discovered, evenon such slender intercourse, had surely nothing in it that shockedbelief. 

While I was thus deliberating, my new friend was earnest in hissolicitations for my company. He remarked my hesitation, but ascribed itto a wrong cause. "Come, " said he, "I can guess your objections and canobviate them. You are afraid of being ushered into company; and peoplewho have passed their lives like you have a wonderful antipathy tostrange faces; but this is bedtime with our family, so that we can deferyour introduction to them till to-morrow. We may go to our chamberwithout being seen by any but servants. "

I had not been aware of this circumstance. My reluctance flowed from adifferent cause, but, now that the inconveniences of ceremony werementioned, they appeared to me of considerable weight. I was wellpleased that they should thus be avoided, and consented to go along withhim. 

We passed several streets and turned several corners. At last we turnedinto a kind of court which seemed to be chiefly occupied by stables. "Wewill go, " said he, "by the back way into the house. We shall thus saveourselves the necessity of entering the parlour, where some of thefamily may still be. "

My companion was as talkative as ever, but said nothing from which Icould gather any knowledge of the number, character, and condition ofhis family. 

CHAPTER IV. 

We arrived at a brick wall, through which we passed by a gate into anextensive court or yard. The darkness would allow me to see nothing butoutlines. Compared with the pigmy dimensions of my father's woodenhovel, the buildings before me were of gigantic loftiness. The horseswere here far more magnificently accommodated than I had been. By alarge door we entered an elevated hall. "Stay here, " said he, "justwhile I fetch a light. "

He returned, bearing a candle, before I had time to ponder on my presentsituation. 

We now ascended a staircase, covered with painted canvas. No one whoseinexperience is less than mine can imagine to himself the impressionsmade upon me by surrounding objects. The height to which this stairascended, its dimensions, and its ornaments, appeared to me acombination of all that was pompous and superb. 

We stopped not till we had reached the third story. Here my companionunlocked and led the way into a chamber. "This, " said he, "is my room;permit me to welcome you into it. "

I had no time to examine this room before, by some accident, the candlewas extinguished. "Curse upon my carelessness!" said he. "I must go downagain and light the candle. I will return in a twinkling. Meanwhile youmay undress yourself and go to bed. " He went out, and, as I afterwardsrecollected, locked the door behind him. 

I was not indisposed to follow his advice, but my curiosity would firstbe gratified by a survey of the room. Its height and spaciousness wereimperfectly discernible by starlight, and by gleams from a street-lamp. The floor was covered with a carpet, the walls with brilliant hangings;the bed and windows were shrouded by curtains of a rich texture andglossy hues. Hitherto I had merely read of these things. I knew them tobe the decorations of opulence; and yet, as I viewed them, andremembered where and what I was on the same hour the preceding day, Icould scarcely believe myself awake, or that my senses were not beguiledby some spell. 

"Where, " said I, "will this adventure terminate? I rise on the morrowwith the dawn and speed into the country. When this night is remembered, how like a vision will it appear! If I tell the tale by a kitchen-fire, my veracity will be disputed. I shall be ranked with the story-tellersof Shiraz and Bagdad. "

Though busied in these reflections, I was not inattentive to theprogress of time. Methought my companion was remarkably dilatory. Hewent merely to relight his candle, but certainly he might, during thistime, have performed the operation ten times over. Some unforeseenaccident might occasion his delay. 

Another interval passed, and no tokens of his coming. I began now togrow uneasy. I was unable to account for his detention. Was not sometreachery designed? I went to the door, and found that it was locked. This heightened my suspicions. I was alone, a stranger, in an upper roomof the house. Should my conductor have disappeared, by design or byaccident, and some one of the family should find me here, what would bethe consequence? Should I not be arrested as a thief, and conveyed toprison? My transition from the street to this chamber would not be morerapid than my passage hence to a jail. 

These ideas struck me with panic. I revolved them anew, but they onlyacquired greater plausibility. No doubt I had been the victim ofmalicious artifice. Inclination, however, conjured up oppositesentiments, and my fears began to subside. What motive, I asked, couldinduce a human being to inflict wanton injury? I could not account forhis delay; but how numberless were the contingencies that might occasionit!

I was somewhat comforted by these reflections, but the consolation theyafforded was short-lived. I was listening with the utmost eagerness tocatch the sound of a foot, when a noise was indeed heard, but totallyunlike a step. It was human breath struggling, as it were, for passage. On the first effort of attention, it appeared like a groan. Whence itarose I could not tell. He that uttered it was near; perhaps in theroom. 

Presently the same noise was again heard, and now I perceived that itcame from the bed. It was accompanied with a motion like some onechanging his posture. What I at first conceived to be a groan appearednow to be nothing more than the expiration of a sleeping man. Whatshould I infer from this incident? My companion did not apprize me thatthe apartment was inhabited. Was his imposture a jestful or a wickedone?

There was no need to deliberate. There were no means of concealment orescape. The person would some time awaken and detect me. The intervalwould only be fraught with agony, and it was wise to shorten it. ShouldI not withdraw the curtain, awake the person, and encounter at once allthe consequences of my situation? I glided softly to the bed, when thethought occurred, May not the sleeper be a female?

I cannot describe the mixture of dread and of shame which glowed in myveins. The light in which such a visitant would be probably regarded bya woman's fears, the precipitate alarms that might be given, the injurywhich I might unknowingly inflict or undeservedly suffer, threw mythoughts into painful confusion. My presence might pollute a spotlessreputation, or furnish fuel to jealousy. 

Still, though it were a female, would not less injury be done by gentlyinterrupting her slumber? But the question of sex still remained to bedecided. For this end I once more approached the bed, and drew aside thesilk. The sleeper was a babe. This I discovered by the glimmer of astreet-lamp. 

Part of my solicitudes were now removed. It was plain that this chamberbelonged to a nurse or a mother. She had not yet come to bed. Perhaps itwas a married pair, and their approach might be momently expected. Ipictured to myself their entrance and my own detection. I could imagineno consequence that was not disastrous and horrible, and from which Iwould not at any price escape. I again examined the door, and found thatexit by this avenue was impossible. There were other doors in this room. Any practicable expedient in this extremity was to be pursued. One ofthese was bolted. I unfastened it and found a considerable space within. Should I immure myself in this closet? I saw no benefit that wouldfinally result from it. I discovered that there was a bolt on theinside, which would somewhat contribute to security. This being drawn, no one could enter without breaking the door. 

I had scarcely paused, when the long-expected sound of footsteps washeard in the entry. Was it my companion, or a stranger? If it were thelatter, I had not yet mustered courage sufficient to meet him. I cannotapplaud the magnanimity of my proceeding; but no one can expect intrepidor judicious measures from one in my circumstances. I stepped into thecloset, and closed the door. Some one immediately after unlocked thechamber door. He was unattended with a light. The footsteps, as theymoved along the carpet, could scarcely be heard. 

I waited impatiently for some token by which I might be governed. I putmy ear to the keyhole, and at length heard a voice, but not that of mycompanion, exclaim, somewhat above a whisper, "Smiling cherub! safe andsound, I see. Would to God my experiment may succeed, and that thoumayest find a mother where I have found a wife!" There he stopped. Heappeared to kiss the babe, and, presently retiring, locked the doorafter him. 

These words were capable of no consistent meaning. They served, atleast, to assure me that I had been treacherously dealt with. Thischamber, it was manifest, did not belong to my companion. I put upprayers to my Deity that he would deliver me from these toils. What acondition was mine! Immersed in palpable darkness! shut up in thisunknown recess! lurking like a robber!

My meditations were disturbed by new sounds. The door was unlocked, more than one person entered the apartment, and light streamed throughthe keyhole. I looked; but the aperture was too small and the figurespassed too quickly to permit me the sight of them. I bent my ear, andthis imparted some more authentic information. 

The man, as I judged by the voice, was the same who had just departed. Rustling of silk denoted his companion to be female. Some words beinguttered by the man, in too low a key to be overheard, the lady burstinto a passion of tears. He strove to comfort her by soothing tones andtender appellations. "How can it be helped?" said he. "It is time toresume your courage. Your duty to yourself and to me requires you tosubdue this unreasonable grief. "

He spoke frequently in this strain, but all he said seemed to havelittle influence in pacifying the lady. At length, however, her sobsbegan to lessen in vehemence and frequency. He exhorted her to seek forsome repose. Apparently she prepared to comply, and conversation was, for a few minutes, intermitted. 

I could not but advert to the possibility that some occasion to examinethe closet, in which I was immured, might occur. I knew not in whatmanner to demean myself if this should take place. I had no option atpresent. By withdrawing myself from view I had lost the privilege of anupright deportment. Yet the thought of spending the night in this spotwas not to be endured. 

Gradually I began to view the project of bursting from the closet, andtrusting to the energy of truth and of an artless tale, with morecomplacency. More than once my hand was placed upon the bolt, butwithdrawn by a sudden faltering of resolution. When one attempt failed, I recurred once more to such reflections as were adapted to renew mypurpose. 

I preconcerted the address which I should use. I resolved to beperfectly explicit; to withhold no particular of my adventures from themoment of my arrival. My description must necessarily suit some personwithin their knowledge. All I should want was liberty to depart; but, ifthis were not allowed, I might at least hope to escape any illtreatment, and to be confronted with my betrayer. In that case I did notfear to make him the attester of my innocence. 

Influenced by these considerations, I once more touched the lock. Atthat moment the lady shrieked, and exclaimed, "Good God! What is here?"An interesting conversation ensued. The object that excited herastonishment was the child. I collected from what passed that thediscovery was wholly unexpected by her. Her husband acted as if equallyunaware of this event. He joined in all her exclamations of wonder andall her wild conjectures. When these were somewhat exhausted, heartfully insinuated the propriety of bestowing care upon the littlefoundling. I now found that her grief had been occasioned by the recentloss of her own offspring. She was, for some time, averse to herhusband's proposal, but at length was persuaded to take the babe to herbosom and give it nourishment. 

This incident had diverted my mind from its favourite project, andfilled me with speculations on the nature of the scene. One explicationwas obvious, that the husband was the parent of this child, and had usedthis singular expedient to procure for it the maternal protection of hiswife. It would soon claim from her all the fondness which sheentertained for her own progeny. No suspicion probably had yet, or wouldhereafter, occur with regard to its true parent. If her character bedistinguished by the usual attributes of women, the knowledge of thistruth may convert her love into hatred. I reflected with amazement onthe slightness of that thread by which human passions are led from theirtrue direction. With no less amazement did I remark the complexity ofincidents by which I had been empowered to communicate to her thistruth. How baseless are the structures of falsehood, which we build inopposition to the system of eternal nature! If I should escapeundetected from this recess, it will be true that I never saw the faceof either of these persons, and yet I am acquainted with the most secrettransaction of their lives. 

My own situation was now more critical than before. The lights wereextinguished, and the parties had sought repose. To issue from thecloset now would be imminently dangerous. My councils were again at astand and my designs frustrated. Meanwhile the persons did not droptheir discourse, and I thought myself justified in listening. Many factsof the most secret and momentous nature were alluded to. Some allusionswere unintelligible. To others I was able to affix a plausible meaning, and some were palpable enough. Every word that was uttered on thatoccasion is indelibly imprinted on my memory. Perhaps the singularity ofmy circumstances, and my previous ignorance of what was passing in theworld, contributed to render me a greedy listener. Most that was said Ishall overlook; but one part of the conversation it will be necessary torepeat. 

A large company had assembled that evening at their house. Theycriticized the character and manners of several. At last the husbandsaid, "What think you of the nabob? Especially when he talked aboutriches? How artfully he encourages the notion of his poverty! Yet not asoul believes him. I cannot for my part account for that scheme of his. I half suspect that his wealth flows from a bad source, since he is sostudious of concealing it. "

"Perhaps, after all, " said the lady, "you are mistaken as to hiswealth. "

"Impossible, " exclaimed the other. "Mark how he lives. Have I not seenhis bank-account? His deposits, since he has been here, amount to noless than half a million. "

"Heaven grant that it be so!" said the lady, with a sigh. "I shall thinkwith less aversion of your scheme. If poor Tom's fortune be made, and henot the worse, or but little the worse on that account, I shall think iton the whole best. "

"That, " replied he, "is what reconciles me to the scheme. To him thirtythousand are nothing. "

"But will he not suspect you of some hand in it?"

"How can he? Will I not appear to lose as well as himself? Tom is mybrother, but who can be supposed to answer for a brother's integrity?but he cannot suspect either of us. Nothing less than a miracle canbring our plot to light. Besides, this man is not what he ought to be. He will, some time or other, come out to be a grand impostor. He makesmoney by other arts than bargain and sale. He has found his way, by somemeans, to the Portuguese treasury. "

Here the conversation took a new direction, and, after some time, thesilence of sleep ensued. 

Who, thought I, is this nabob who counts his dollars by half-millions, and on whom it seems as if some fraud was intended to be practised?Amidst their wariness and subtlety, how little are they aware that theirconversation has been overheard! By means as inscrutable as those whichconducted me hither, I may hereafter be enabled to profit by thisdetection of a plot. But, meanwhile, what was I to do? How was I toeffect my escape from this perilous asylum?

After much reflection, it occurred to me that to gain the street withoutexciting their notice was not utterly impossible. Sleep does notcommonly end of itself, unless at a certain period. What impedimentswere there between me and liberty which I could not remove, and removewith so much caution as to escape notice? Motion and sound inevitably gotogether; but every sound is not attended to. The doors of the closetand the chamber did not creak upon their hinges. The latter might belocked. This I was able to ascertain only by experiment. If it were so, yet the key was probably in the lock, and might be used without muchnoise. 

I waited till their slow and hoarser inspirations showed them to be bothasleep. Just then, on changing my position, my head struck against somethings which depended from the ceiling of the closet. They wereimplements of some kind which rattled against each other in consequenceof this unlucky blow. I was fearful lest this noise should alarm, as thecloset was little distant from the bed. The breathing of one instantlyceased, and a motion was made as if the head were lifted from thepillow. This motion, which was made by the husband, awaked hiscompanion, who exclaimed, "What is the matter?"

"Something, I believe, " replied he, "in the closet. If I was notdreaming, I heard the pistols strike against each other as if some onewas taking them down. "

This intimation was well suited to alarm the lady. She besought him toascertain the matter. This, to my utter dismay, he at first consented todo, but presently observed that probably his ears had misinformed him. It was hardly possible that the sound proceeded from them. It might be arat, or his own fancy might have fashioned it. It is not easy todescribe my trepidations while this conference was holding. I saw howeasily their slumber was disturbed. The obstacles to my escape were lesssurmountable than I had imagined. 

In a little time all was again still. I waited till the usual tokens ofsleep were distinguishable. I once more resumed my attempt. The bolt waswithdrawn with all possible slowness; but I could by no means preventall sound. My state was full of inquietude and suspense; my attentionbeing painfully divided between the bolt and the condition of thesleepers. The difficulty lay in giving that degree of force which wasbarely sufficient. Perhaps not less than fifteen minutes were consumedin this operation. At last it was happily effected, and the door wascautiously opened. 

Emerging as I did from utter darkness, the light admitted into threewindows produced, to my eyes, a considerable illumination. Objectswhich, on my first entrance into this apartment, were invisible, werenow clearly discerned. The bed was shrouded by curtains, yet I shrunkback into my covert, fearful of being seen. To facilitate my escape, Iput off my shoes. My mind was so full of objects of more urgent moment, that the propriety of taking them along with me never occurred. I leftthem in the closet. 

I now glided across the apartment to the door. I was not a littlediscouraged by observing that the key was wanting. My whole hopedepended on the omission to lock it. In my haste to ascertain thispoint, I made some noise which again roused one of the sleepers. Hestarted, and cried, "Who is there?"

I now regarded my case as desperate, and detection as inevitable. Myapprehensions, rather than my caution, kept me mute. I shrunk to thewall, and waited in a kind of agony for the moment that should decide myfate. 

The lady was again roused. In answer to her inquiries, her husband saidthat some one, he believed, was at the door, but there was no danger oftheir entering, for he had locked it, and the key was in his pocket. 

My courage was completely annihilated by this piece of intelligence. Myresources were now at an end. I could only remain in this spot till themorning light, which could be at no great distance, should discover me. My inexperience disabled me from estimating all the perils of mysituation. Perhaps I had no more than temporary inconveniences to dread. My intention was innocent, and I had been betrayed into my presentsituation, not by my own wickedness, but the wickedness of others. 

I was deeply impressed with the ambiguousness which would necessarilyrest upon my motives, and the scrutiny to which they would be subjected. I shuddered at the bare possibility of being ranked with thieves. Thesereflections again gave edge to my ingenuity in search of the means ofescape. I had carefully attended to the circumstances of their entrance. Possibly the act of locking had been unnoticed; but was it not likewisepossible that this person had been mistaken? The key was gone. Wouldthis have been the case if the door were unlocked?

My fears, rather than my hopes, impelled me to make the experiment. Idrew back the latch, and, to my unspeakable joy, the door opened. 

I passed through and explored my way to the staircase. I descended tillI reached the bottom. I could not recollect with accuracy the positionof the door leading into the court, but, by carefully feeling along thewall with my hands, I at length discovered it. It was fastened byseveral bolts and a lock. The bolts were easily withdrawn, but the keywas removed. I knew not where it was deposited. I thought I had reachedthe threshold of liberty, but here was an impediment that threatened tobe insurmountable. 

But, if doors could not be passed, windows might be unbarred. Iremembered that my companion had gone into a door on the left hand, insearch of a light. I searched for this door. Fortunately it was fastenedonly by a bolt. It admitted me into a room which I carefully exploredtill I reached a window. I will not dwell on my efforts to unbar thisentrance. Suffice it to say that, after much exertion and frequentmistakes, I at length found my way into the yard, and thence passed intothe court. 

CHAPTER V. 

Now I was once more on public ground. By so many anxious efforts had Idisengaged myself from the perilous precincts of private property. Asmany stratagems as are usually made to enter a house had been employedby me to get out of it. I was urged to the use of them by my fears; yet, so far from carrying off spoil, I had escaped with the loss of anessential part of my dress. 

I had now leisure to reflect. I seated myself on the ground and reviewedthe scenes through which I had just passed. I began to think that myindustry had been misemployed. Suppose I had met the person on his firstentrance into his chamber? Was the truth so utterly wild as not to havefound credit? Since the door was locked, and there was no other avenue, what other statement but the true one would account for my being foundthere? This deportment had been worthy of an honest purpose. My betrayerprobably expected that this would be the issue of his jest. My rusticsimplicity, he might think, would suggest no more ambiguous or elaborateexpedient. He might likewise have predetermined to interfere if mysafety had been really endangered. 

On the morrow the two doors of the chamber and the window below would befound unclosed. They will suspect a design to pillage, but theirsearches will terminate in nothing but in the discovery of a pair ofclumsy and dusty shoes in the closet. Now that I was safe I could nothelp smiling at the picture which my fancy drew of their anxiety andwonder. These thoughts, however, gave place to more momentousconsiderations. 

I could not imagine to myself a more perfect example of indigence than Inow exhibited. There was no being in the city on whose kindness I hadany claim. Money I had none, and what I then wore comprised my wholestock of movables. I had just lost my shoes, and this loss rendered mystockings of no use. My dignity remonstrated against a barefootpilgrimage, but to this, necessity now reconciled me. I threw mystockings between the bars of a stable-window, belonging, as I thought, to the mansion I had just left. These, together with my shoes, I left topay the cost of my entertainment. 

I saw that the city was no place for me. The end that I had had in view, of procuring some mechanical employment, could only be obtained by theuse of means, but what means to pursue I knew not. This night's perilsand deceptions gave me a distaste to a city life, and my ancientoccupations rose to my view enhanced by a thousand imaginary charms, Iresolved forthwith to strike into the country. 

The day began now to dawn. It was Sunday, and I was desirous of eludingobservation. I was somewhat recruited by rest, though the languors ofsleeplessness oppressed me. I meant to throw myself on the first lap ofverdure I should meet, and indulge in sleep that I so much wanted. Iknew not the direction of the streets; but followed that which I firstentered from the court, trusting that, by adhering steadily to onecourse, I should some time reach the fields. This street, as Iafterwards found, tended to Schuylkill, and soon extricated me fromhouses. I could not cross this river without payment of toll. It wasrequisite to cross it in order to reach that part of the country whitherI was desirous of going; but how should I effect my passage? I knew ofno ford, and the smallest expense exceeded my capacity. Ten thousandguineas and a farthing were equally remote from nothing, and nothing wasthe portion allotted to me. 

While my mind was thus occupied, I turned up one of the streets whichtend northward. It was, for some length, uninhabited and unpaved. Presently I reached a pavement, and a painted fence, along which a rowof poplars was planted. It bounded a garden into which a knot-holepermitted me to pry. The enclosure was a charming green, which I sawappended to a house of the loftiest and most stately order. It seemedlike a recent erection, had all the gloss of novelty, and exhibited, tomy unpractised eyes, the magnificence of palaces. My father's dwellingdid not equal the height of one story, and might be easily comprised inone-fourth of those buildings which here were designed to accommodatethe menials. My heart dictated the comparison between my own conditionand that of the proprietors of this domain. How wide and how impassablewas the gulf by which we were separated! This fair inheritance hadfallen to one who, perhaps, would only abuse it to the purposes ofluxury, while I, with intentions worthy of the friend of mankind, wasdoomed to wield the flail and the mattock. 

I had been entirely unaccustomed to this strain of reflection. My bookshad taught me the dignity and safety of the middle path, and my darlingwriter abounded with encomiums on rural life. At a distance from luxuryand pomp, I viewed them, perhaps, in a just light. A nearer scrutinyconfirmed my early prepossessions; but, at the distance at which I nowstood, the lofty edifices, the splendid furniture, and the copiousaccommodations of the rich excited my admiration and my envy. 

I relinquished my station, and proceeded, in a heartless mood, along thefence. I now came to the mansion itself. The principal door was enteredby a staircase of marble. I had never seen the stone of Carrara, andwildly supposed this to have been dug from Italian quarries. The beautyof the poplars, the coolness exhaled from the dew-besprent bricks, thecommodiousness of the seat which these steps afforded, and theuncertainty into which I was plunged respecting my future conduct, allcombined to make me pause. I sat down on the lower step and began tomeditate. 

By some transition it occurred to me that the supply of my most urgentwants might be found in some inhabitant of this house. I needed atpresent a few cents; and what were a few cents to the tenant of amansion like this? I had an invincible aversion to the calling of abeggar, but I regarded with still more antipathy the vocation of athief; to this alternative, however, I was now reduced. I must eithersteal or beg; unless, indeed, assistance could be procured under thenotion of a loan. Would a stranger refuse to lend the pittance that Iwanted? Surely not, when the urgency of my wants was explained. 

I recollected other obstacles. To summon the master of the house fromhis bed, perhaps, for the sake of such an application, would bepreposterous. I should be in more danger of provoking his anger thanexciting his benevolence. This request might, surely, with morepropriety be preferred to a passenger. I should, probably, meet severalbefore I should arrive at Schuylkill. 

A servant just then appeared at the door, with bucket and brush. Thisobliged me, much sooner than I intended, to decamp. With some reluctanceI rose and proceeded. This house occupied the corner of the street, andI now turned this corner towards the country. A person, at some distancebefore me, was approaching in an opposite direction. 

"Why, " said I, "may I not make my demand of the first man I meet? Thisperson exhibits tokens of ability to lend. There is nothing chilling oraustere in his demeanour. "

The resolution to address this passenger was almost formed; but thenearer he advanced my resolves grew less firm. He noticed me not till hecame within a few paces. He seemed busy in reflection; and, had not myfigure caught his eye, or had he merely bestowed a passing glance uponme, I should not have been sufficiently courageous to have detained him. The event, however, was widely different. 

He looked at me and started. For an instant, as it were, and till he hadtime to dart at me a second glance, he checked his pace. This behaviourdecided mine, and he stopped on perceiving tokens of a desire to addresshim. I spoke, but my accents and air sufficiently denoted myembarrassments:--

"I am going to solicit a favour which my situation makes of the highestimportance to me, and which I hope it will be easy for you, sir, togrant. It is not an alms, but a loan, that I seek; a loan that I willrepay the moment I am able to do it. I am going to the country, buthave not wherewith to pay my passage over Schuylkill, or to buy a morselof bread. May I venture to request of you, sir, the loan of sixpence? AsI told you, it is my intention to repay it. "

I delivered this address, not without some faltering, but with greatearnestness. I laid particular stress upon my intention to refund themoney. He listened with a most inquisitive air. His eye perused me fromhead to foot. 

After some pause, he said, in a very emphatic manner, "Why into thecountry? Have you family? Kindred? Friends?"

"No, " answered I, "I have neither. I go in search of the means ofsubsistence. I have passed my life upon a farm, and propose to die inthe same condition. "

"Whence have you come?"

"I came yesterday from the country, with a view to earn my bread in someway, but have changed my plan and propose now to return. "

"Why have you changed it? In what way are you capable of earning yourbread?"

"I hardly know, " said I. "I can, as yet, manage no tool, that can bemanaged in the city, but the pen. My habits have, in some small degree, qualified me for a writer. I would willingly accept employment of thatkind. "

He fixed his eyes upon the earth, and was silent for some minutes. Atlength, recovering himself, he said, "Follow me to my house. Perhapssomething may be done for you. If not, I will lend you sixpence. "

It may be supposed that I eagerly complied with the invitation. Mycompanion said no more, his air bespeaking him to be absorbed by his ownthoughts, till he reached his house, which proved to be that at the doorof which I had been seated. We entered a parlour together. 

Unless you can assume my ignorance and my simplicity, you will be unableto conceive the impressions that were made by the size and ornaments ofthis apartment. I shall omit these impressions, which, indeed, nodescription could adequately convey, and dwell on incidents of greatermoment. He asked me to give him a specimen of my penmanship. I told youthat I had bestowed very great attention upon this art. Implements werebrought, and I sat down to the task. By some inexplicable connection aline in Shakspeare occurred to me, and I wrote, --

 "My poverty, but not my will, consents. "

The sentiment conveyed in this line powerfully affected him, but in away which I could not then comprehend. I collected from subsequentevents that the inference was not unfavourable to my understanding or mymorals. He questioned me as to my history. I related my origin and myinducements to desert my father's house. With respect to last night'sadventures I was silent. I saw no useful purpose that could be answeredby disclosure, and I half suspected that my companion would refusecredit to my tale. 

There were frequent intervals of abstraction and reflection between hisquestions. My examination lasted not much less than an hour. At lengthhe said, "I want an amanuensis or copyist. On what terms will you livewith me?"

I answered that I knew not how to estimate the value of my services. Iknew not whether these services were agreeable or healthful. My life hadhitherto been active. My constitution was predisposed to diseases of thelungs, and the change might be hurtful. I was willing, however, to tryand to content myself for a month or a year, with so much as wouldfurnish me with food, clothing, and lodging. 

"'Tis well, " said he. "You remain with me as long and no longer thanboth of us please. You shall lodge and eat in this house. I will supplyyou with clothing, and your task will be to write what I dictate. Yourperson, I see, has not shared much of your attention. It is in my powerto equip you instantly in the manner which becomes a resident in thishouse. Come with me. "

He led the way into the court behind and thence into a neat building, which contained large wooden vessels and a pump: "There, " said he, "youmay wash yourself; and, when that is done, I will conduct you to yourchamber and your wardrobe. "

This was speedily performed, and he accordingly led the way to thechamber. It was an apartment in the third story, finished and furnishedin the same costly and superb style with the rest of the house. Heopened closets and drawers which overflowed with clothes and linen ofall and of the best kinds. "These are yours, " said he, "as long as youstay with me. Dress yourself as likes you best. Here is every thing yournakedness requires. When dressed, you may descend to breakfast. " Withthese words he left me. 

The clothes were all in the French style, as I afterwards, by comparingmy garb with that of others, discovered. They were fitted to my shapewith the nicest precision. I bedecked myself with all my care. Iremembered the style of dress used by my beloved Clavering. My lockswere of shining auburn, flowing and smooth like his. Having wrung thewet from them, and combed, I tied them carelessly in a black riband. Thus equipped, I surveyed myself in a mirror. 

You may imagine, if you can, the sensations which this instantaneoustransformation produced. Appearances are wonderfully influenced bydress. Check shirt, buttoned at the neck, an awkward fustian coat, checktrowsers and bare feet, were now supplanted by linen and muslin, nankeencoat striped with green, a white silk waistcoat elegantlyneedle-wrought, cassimere pantaloons, stockings of variegated silk, andshoes that in their softness, pliancy, and polished surface vied withsatin. I could scarcely forbear looking back to see whether the image inthe glass, so well proportioned, so gallant, and so graceful, did notbelong to another. I could scarcely recognise any lineaments of my own. I walked to the window. "Twenty minutes ago, " said I, "I was traversingthat path a barefoot beggar; now I am thus. " Again I surveyed myself. "Surely some insanity has fastened on my understanding. My senses arethe sport of dreams. Some magic that disdains the cumbrousness ofnature's progress has wrought this change. " I was roused from thesedoubts by a summons to breakfast, obsequiously delivered by a blackservant. 

I found Welbeck (for I shall henceforth call him by his true name) atthe breakfast-table. A superb equipage of silver and china was beforehim. He was startled at my entrance. The change in my dress seemed for amoment to have deceived him. His eye was frequently fixed upon me withunusual steadfastness. At these times there was inquietude and wonder inhis features. 

I had now an opportunity of examining my host. There was nicety but noornament in his dress. His form was of the middle height, spare, butvigorous and graceful. His face was cast, I thought, in a foreign mould. His forehead receded beyond the usual degree in visages which I hadseen. His eyes large and prominent, but imparting no marks of benignityand habitual joy. The rest of his face forcibly suggested the idea of aconvex edge. His whole figure impressed me with emotions of venerationand awe. A gravity that almost amounted to sadness invariably attendedhim when we were alone together. 

He whispered the servant that waited, who immediately retired. He thensaid, turning to me, "A lady will enter presently, whom you are to treatwith the respect due to my daughter. You must not notice any emotion shemay betray at the sight of you, nor expect her to converse with you; forshe does not understand your language. " He had scarcely spoken when sheentered. I was seized with certain misgivings and flutterings which aclownish education may account for. I so far conquered my timidity, however, as to snatch a look at her. I was not born to execute herportrait. Perhaps the turban that wreathed her head, the brillianttexture and inimitable folds of her drapery, and nymphlike port, morethan the essential attributes of her person, gave splendour to thecelestial vision. Perhaps it was her snowy hues, and the cast ratherthan the position of her features, that were so prolific of enchantment;or perhaps the wonder originated only in my own ignorance. 

She did not immediately notice me. When she did she almost shrieked withsurprise. She held up her hands, and, gazing upon me, uttered variousexclamations which I could not understand. I could only remark that heraccents were thrillingly musical. Her perturbations refused to bestilled. It was with difficulty that she withdrew her regards from me. Much conversation passed between her and Welbeck, but I could comprehendno part of it. I was at liberty to animadvert on the visible part oftheir intercourse. I diverted some part of my attention from my ownembarrassments, and fixed it on their looks. 

In this art, as in most others, I was an unpractised simpleton. In thecountenance of Welbeck, there was somewhat else than sympathy with theastonishment and distress of the lady; but I could not interpret theseadditional tokens. When her attention was engrossed by Welbeck, her eyeswere frequently vagrant or downcast; her cheeks contracted a deeper hue;and her breathing was almost prolonged into a sigh. These were marks onwhich I made no comments at the time. My own situation was calculated tobreed confusion in my thoughts and awkwardness in my gestures. Breakfastbeing finished, the lady, apparently at the request of Welbeck, sat downto a piano-forte. 

Here again I must be silent. I was not wholly destitute of musicalpractice and musical taste. I had that degree of knowledge which enabledme to estimate the transcendent skill of this performer. As if thepathos of her touch were insufficient, I found after some time that thelawless jarrings of the keys were chastened by her own more liquidnotes. She played without a book, and, though her bass might bepreconcerted, it was plain that her right-hand notes were momentary andspontaneous inspirations. Meanwhile Welbeck stood, leaning his arms onthe back of a chair near her, with his eyes fixed on her face. Hisfeatures were fraught with a meaning which I was eager to interpret, butunable. 

I have read of transitions effected by magic; I have read of palaces anddeserts which were subject to the dominion of spells; poets may sportwith their power, but I am certain that no transition was ever conceivedmore marvellous and more beyond the reach of foresight than that which Ihad just experienced. Heaths vexed by a midnight storm may be changedinto a hall of choral nymphs and regal banqueting; forest glades maygive sudden place to colonnades and carnivals; but he whose senses aredeluded finds himself still on his natal earth. These miracles arecontemptible when compared with that which placed me under this roof andgave me to partake in this audience. I know that my emotions are indanger of being regarded as ludicrous by those who cannot figure tothemselves the consequences of a limited and rustic education. 

CHAPTER VI. 

In a short time the lady retired. I naturally expected that somecomments would be made on her behaviour, and that the cause of hersurprise and distress on seeing me would be explained; but Welbeck saidnothing on that subject. When she had gone, he went to the window andstood for some time occupied, as it seemed, with his own thoughts. Thenhe turned to me, and, calling me by my name, desired me to accompany himup-stairs. There was neither cheerfulness nor mildness in his address, but neither was there any thing domineering or arrogant. 

We entered an apartment on the same floor with my chamber, but separatedfrom it by a spacious entry. It was supplied with bureaus, cabinets, andbookcases. "This, " said he, "is your room and mine; but we must enter itand leave it together. I mean to act not as your master but your friend. My maimed hand" (so saying, he showed me his right hand, the forefingerof which was wanting) "will not allow me to write accurately orcopiously. For this reason I have required your aid, in a work of somemoment. Much haste will not be requisite, and, as to the hours andduration of employment, these will be seasonable and short. 

"Your present situation is new to you, and we will therefore deferentering on our business. Meanwhile you may amuse yourself in whatmanner you please. Consider this house as your home and make yourselffamiliar with it. Stay within or go out, be busy or be idle, as yourfancy shall prompt: only you will conform to our domestic system as toeating and sleep; the servants will inform you of this. Next week wewill enter on the task for which I designed you. You may now withdraw. "

I obeyed this mandate with some awkwardness and hesitation. I went intomy own chamber not displeased with an opportunity of loneliness. I threwmyself on a chair and resigned myself to those thoughts which wouldnaturally arise in this situation. I speculated on the character andviews of Welbeck. I saw that he was embosomed in tranquillity andgrandeur. Riches, therefore, were his; but in what did his opulenceconsist, and whence did it arise? What were the limits by which it wasconfined, and what its degree of permanence? I was unhabituated to ideasof floating or transferable wealth. The rent of houses and lands was theonly species of property which was, as yet, perfectly intelligible. Myprevious ideas led me to regard Welbeck as the proprietor of thisdwelling and of numerous houses and farms. By the same cause I was fainto suppose him enriched by inheritance, and that his life had beenuniform. 

I next adverted to his social condition. This mansion appeared to havebut two inhabitants besides servants. Who was the nymph who had hoveredfor a moment in my sight? Had he not called her his daughter? Theapparent difference in their ages would justify this relation; but herguise, her features, and her accents, were foreign. Her language Isuspected strongly to be that of Italy. How should he be the father ofan Italian? But were there not some foreign lineaments in hiscountenance?

This idea seemed to open a new world to my view. I had gained, from mybooks, confused ideas of European governments and manners. I knew thatthe present was a period of revolution and hostility. Might not these beillustrious fugitives from Provence or the Milanese? Their portablewealth, which may reasonably be supposed to be great, they havetransported hither. Thus may be explained the sorrow that veils theircountenance. The loss of estates and honours; the untimely death ofkindred, and perhaps of his wife, may furnish eternal food for regrets. Welbeck's utterance, though rapid and distinct, partook, as I conceived, in some very slight degree of a foreign idiom. 

Such was the dream that haunted my undisciplined and unenlightenedimagination. The more I revolved it, the more plausible it seemed. Ondue supposition every appearance that I had witnessed was easilysolved, --unless it were their treatment of me. This, at first, was asource of hopeless perplexity. Gradually, however, a clue seemed to beafforded. Welbeck had betrayed astonishment on my first appearance. Thelady's wonder was mingled with distress. Perhaps they discovered aremarkable resemblance between me and one who stood in the relation ofson to Welbeck, and of brother to the lady. This youth might haveperished on the scaffold or in war. These, no doubt, were his clothes. This chamber might have been reserved for him, but his death left it tobe appropriated to another. 

I had hitherto been unable to guess at the reason why all this kindnesshad been lavished on me. Will not this conjecture sufficiently accountfor it? No wonder that this resemblance was enhanced by assuming hisdress. 

Taking all circumstances into view, these ideas were not, perhaps, destitute of probability. Appearances naturally suggested them to me. They were, also, powerfully enforced by inclination. They threw me intotransports of wonder and hope. When I dwelt upon the incidents of mypast life, and traced the chain of events, from the death of my motherto the present moment, I almost acquiesced in the notion that somebeneficent and ruling genius had prepared my path for me. Events which, when foreseen, would most ardently have been deprecated, and when theyhappened were accounted in the highest degree luckless, were now seen tobe propitious. Hence I inferred the infatuation of despair, and thefolly of precipitate conclusions. 

But what was the fate reserved for me? Perhaps Welbeck would adopt mefor his own son. Wealth has ever been capriciously distributed. The merephysical relation of birth is all that entitles us to manors andthrones. Identity itself frequently depends upon a casual likeness or anold nurse's imposture. Nations have risen in arms, as in the case of theStuarts, in the cause of one the genuineness of whose birth has beendenied and can never be proved. But if the cause be trivial andfallacious, the effects are momentous and solid. It ascertains ourportion of felicity and usefulness, and fixes our lot among peasants orprinces. 

Something may depend upon my own deportment. Will it not behoove me tocultivate all my virtues and eradicate all my defects? I see that theabilities of this man are venerable. Perhaps he will not lightly orhastily decide in my favour. He will be governed by the proofs that Ishall give of discernment and integrity. I had always been exempt fromtemptation, and was therefore undepraved; but this view of things had awonderful tendency to invigorate my virtuous resolutions. All within mewas exhilaration and joy. 

There was but one thing wanting to exalt me to a dizzy height and giveme place among the stars of heaven. My resemblance to her brother hadforcibly affected this lady; but I was not her brother. I was raised toa level with her and made a tenant of the same mansion. Some intercoursewould take place between us. Time would lay level impediments andestablish familiarity, and this intercourse might foster love andterminate in--_marriage_!

These images were of a nature too glowing and expansive to allow me tobe longer inactive. I sallied forth into the open air. This tumult ofdelicious thoughts in some time subsided, and gave way to imagesrelative to my present situation. My curiosity was awake. As yet I hadseen little of the city, and this opportunity for observation was not tobe neglected. I therefore coursed through several streets, attentivelyexamining the objects that successively presented themselves. 

At length, it occurred to me to search out the house in which I hadlately been immured. I was not without hopes that at some future periodI should be able to comprehend the allusions and brighten theobscurities that hung about the dialogue of last night. 

The house was easily discovered. I reconnoitred the court and gatethrough which I had passed. The mansion was of the first order inmagnitude and decoration. This was not the bound of my presentdiscovery, for I was gifted with that confidence which would make me seton foot inquiries in the neighbourhood. I looked around for a suitablemedium of intelligence. The opposite and adjoining houses were small, and apparently occupied by persons of an indigent class. At one of thesewas a sign denoting it to be the residence of a tailor. Seated on abench at the door was a young man, with coarse uncombed locks, breechesknee-unbuttoned, stockings ungartered, shoes slipshod and unbuckled, anda face unwashed, gazing stupidly from hollow eyes. His aspect wasembellished with good nature, though indicative of ignorance. 

This was the only person in sight. He might be able to say somethingconcerning his opulent neighbour. To him, therefore, I resolved toapply. I went up to him, and, pointing to the house in question, askedhim who lived there. 

He answered, "Mr. Matthews. "

"What is his profession, --his way of life?"

"A gentleman. He does nothing but walk about. "

"How long has he been married?"

"Married! He is not married as I know on. He never has been married. Heis a bachelor. "

This intelligence was unexpected. It made me pause to reflect whether Ihad not mistaken the house. This, however, seemed impossible. I renewedmy questions. 

"A bachelor, say you? Are you not mistaken?"

"No. It would be an odd thing if he was married. An old fellow, with onefoot in the grave--Comical enough for him to _git_ a _vife_!"

"An old man? Does he live alone? What is his family?"

"No, he does not live alone. He has a niece that lives with him. She ismarried, and her husband lives there too. "

"What is his name?"

"I don't know. I never heard it as I know on. "

"What is his trade?"

"He's a merchant; he keeps a store somewhere or other; but I don't knowwhere. "

"How long has he been married?"

"About two years. They lost a child lately. The young woman was in ahuge taking about it. They say she was quite crazy some days for thedeath of the child; and she is not quite out of _the dumps_ yet. To-be-sure, the child was a sweet little thing; but they need not makesuch a rout about it. I'll war'n' they'll have enough of them beforethey die. "

"What is the character of the young man? Where was he born and educated?Has he parents or brothers?"

My companion was incapable of answering these questions, and I left himwith little essential addition to the knowledge I already possessed. 

CHAPTER VII. 

After viewing various parts of the city, intruding into churches, anddiving into alleys, I returned. The rest of the day I spent chiefly inmy chamber, reflecting on my new condition; surveying my apartment, itspresses and closets; and conjecturing the causes of appearances. 

At dinner and supper I was alone. Venturing to inquire of the servantwhere his master and mistress were, I was answered that they wereengaged. I did not question him as to the nature of their engagement, though it was a fertile source of curiosity. 

Next morning, at breakfast, I again met Welbeck and the lady. Theincidents were nearly those of the preceding morning, if it were notthat the lady exhibited tokens of somewhat greater uneasiness. When sheleft us, Welbeck sank into apparent meditation. I was at a loss whetherto retire or remain where I was. At last, however, I was on the point ofleaving the room, when he broke silence and began a conversation withme. 

He put questions to me, the obvious scope of which was to know mysentiments on moral topics. I had no motives to conceal my opinions, andtherefore delivered them with frankness. At length he introducedallusions to my own history, and made more particular inquiries on thathead. Here I was not equally frank; yet I did not feign any thing, butmerely dealt in generals. I had acquired notions of propriety on thishead, perhaps somewhat fastidious. Minute details, respecting our ownconcerns, are apt to weary all but the narrator himself. I said thusmuch, and the truth of my remark was eagerly assented to. 

With some marks of hesitation and after various preliminaries, mycompanion hinted that my own interest, as well as his, enjoined upon mesilence to all but himself, on the subject of my birth and earlyadventures. It was not likely that, while in his service, my circle ofacquaintance would be large or my intercourse with the world frequent;but in my communication with others he requested me to speak rather ofothers than of myself. This request, he said, might appear singular tome, but he had his reasons for making it, which it was not necessary, atpresent, to disclose, though, when I should know them, I should readilyacknowledge their validity. 

I scarcely knew what answer to make. I was willing to oblige him. I wasfar from expecting that any exigence would occur, making disclosure myduty. The employment was productive of pain more than of pleasure, andthe curiosity that would uselessly seek a knowledge of my past life wasno less impertinent than the loquacity that would uselessly communicatethat knowledge. I readily promised, therefore, to adhere to his advice. 

This assurance afforded him evident satisfaction; yet it did not seem toamount to quite as much as he wished. He repeated, in stronger terms, the necessity there was for caution. He was far from suspecting me topossess an impertinent and talkative disposition, or that, in myeagerness to expatiate on my own concerns, I should overstep the limitsof politeness. But this was not enough. I was to govern myself by apersuasion that the interests of my friend and myself would bematerially affected by my conduct. 

Perhaps I ought to have allowed these insinuations to breed suspicion inmy mind; but, conscious as I was of the benefits which I had receivedfrom this man; prone, from my inexperience, to rely upon professions andconfide in appearances; and unaware that I could be placed in anycondition in which mere silence respecting myself could be injurious orcriminal, I made no scruple to promise compliance with his wishes. Nay, I went further than this; I desired to be accurately informed as to whatit was proper to conceal. He answered that my silence might extend toevery thing anterior to my arrival in the city and my being incorporatedwith his family. Here our conversation ended, and I retired to ruminateon what had passed. 

I derived little satisfaction from my reflections. I began now toperceive inconveniences that might arise from this precipitate promise. Whatever should happen in consequence of my being immured in thechamber, and of the loss of my clothes and of the portrait of my friend, I had bound myself to silence. These inquietudes, however, weretransient. I trusted that these events would operate auspiciously; butmy curiosity was now awakened as to the motives which _Welbeck_ couldhave for exacting from me this concealment. To act under the guidance ofanother, and to wander in the dark, ignorant whither my path tended andwhat effects might flow from my agency, was a new and irksome situation. 

From these thoughts I was recalled by a message from Welbeck. He gave mea folded paper, which he requested me to carry to No. --South FourthStreet. "Inquire, " said he, "for Mrs. Wentworth, in order merely toascertain the house, for you need not ask to see her; merely give theletter to the servant and retire. Excuse me for imposing this serviceupon you. It is of too great moment to be trusted to a common messenger;I usually perform it myself, but am at present otherwise engaged. "

I took the letter and set out to deliver it. This was a triflingcircumstance, yet my mind was full of reflections on the consequencesthat might flow from it. I remembered the directions that were given, but construed them in a manner different, perhaps, from Welbeck'sexpectations or wishes. He had charged me to leave the billet with theservant who happened to answer my summons; but had he not said that themessage was important, insomuch that it could not be intrusted to commonhands? He had permitted, rather than enjoined, me to dispense withseeing the lady; and this permission I conceived to be dictated merelyby regard to my convenience. It was incumbent on me, therefore, to takesome pains to deliver the script into her own hands. 

I arrived at the house and knocked. A female servant appeared. "Hermistress was up-stairs; she would tell her if I wished to see her, " andmeanwhile invited me to enter the parlour; I did so; and the girlretired to inform her mistress that one waited for her. I ought tomention that my departure from the directions which I had received was, in some degree, owing to an inquisitive temper; I was eager afterknowledge, and was disposed to profit by every opportunity to survey theinterior of dwellings and converse with their inhabitants. 

I scanned the walls, the furniture, the pictures. Over the fireplace wasa portrait in oil of a female. She was elderly and matron-like. Perhapsshe was the mistress of this habitation, and the person to whom I shouldimmediately be introduced. Was it a casual suggestion, or was there anactual resemblance between the strokes of the pencil which executed thisportrait and that of Clavering? However that be, the sight of thispicture revived the memory of my friend and called up a fugitivesuspicion that this was the production of his skill. 

I was busily revolving this idea when the lady herself entered. It wasthe same whose portrait I had been examining. She fixed scrutinizing andpowerful eyes upon me. She looked at the superscription of the letterwhich I presented, and immediately resumed her examination of me. I wassomewhat abashed by the closeness of her observation, and gave tokens ofthis state of mind which did not pass unobserved. They seemed instantlyto remind her that she behaved with too little regard to civility. Sherecovered herself and began to peruse the letter. Having done this, herattention was once more fixed upon me. She was evidently desirous ofentering into some conversation, but seemed at a loss in what manner tobegin. This situation was new to me and was productive of no smallembarrassment. I was preparing to take my leave when she spoke, thoughnot without considerable hesitation:--

"This letter is from Mr. Welbeck--you are his friend--Ipresume--perhaps--a relation?"

I was conscious that I had no claim to either of these titles, and thatI was no more than his servant. My pride would not allow me toacknowledge this, and I merely said, "I live with him at present, madam. "

I imagined that this answer did not perfectly satisfy her; yet shereceived it with a certain air of acquiescence. She was silent for a fewminutes, and then, rising, said, "Excuse me, sir, for a few minutes. Iwill write a few words to Mr. Welbeck. " So saying, she withdrew. 

I returned to the contemplation of the picture. From this, however, myattention was quickly diverted by a paper that lay on the mantel. Asingle glance was sufficient to put my blood into motion. I started andlaid my hand upon the well-known packet. It was that which enclosed theportrait of Clavering!

I unfolded and examined it with eagerness. By what miracle came ithither? It was found, together with my bundle, two nights before. I haddespaired of ever seeing it again, and yet here was the same portraitenclosed in the selfsame paper! I have forborne to dwell upon theregret, amounting to grief, with which I was affected in consequence ofthe loss of this precious relic. My joy on thus speedily andunexpectedly regaining it is not easily described. 

For a time I did not reflect that to hold it thus in my hand was notsufficient to entitle me to repossession. I must acquaint this lady withthe history of this picture, and convince her of my ownership. But howwas this to be done? Was she connected in any way, by friendship or byconsanguinity, with that unfortunate youth? If she were, someinformation as to his destiny would be anxiously sought. I did not, justthen, perceive any impropriety in imparting it. If it came into herhands by accident, still, it will be necessary to relate the mode inwhich it was lost in order to prove my title to it. 

I now heard her descending footsteps, and hastily replaced the pictureon the mantel. She entered, and, presenting me a letter, desired me todeliver it to Mr. Welbeck. I had no pretext for deferring my departure, but was unwilling to go without obtaining possession of the portrait. Aninterval of silence and irresolution succeeded. I cast significantglances at the spot where it lay, and at length mustered up my strengthof mind, and, pointing to the paper, --"Madam, " said I, "_there_ issomething which I recognise to be mine: I know not how it came into yourpossession, but so lately as the day before yesterday it was in mine. Ilost it by a strange accident, and, as I deem it of inestimable value, Ihope you will have no objection to restore it. "

During this speech the lady's countenance exhibited marks of the utmostperturbation. "Your picture!" she exclaimed; "you lost it! How? Where?Did you know that person? What has become of him?"

"I knew him well, " said I. "That picture was executed by himself. Hegave it to me with his own hands; and, till the moment I unfortunatelylost it, it was my dear and perpetual companion. "

"Good heaven!" she exclaimed, with increasing vehemence; "where did youmeet with him? What has become of him? Is he dead, or alive?"

These appearances sufficiently showed me that Clavering and this ladywere connected by some ties of tenderness. I answered that he was dead;that my mother and myself were his attendants and nurses, and that thisportrait was his legacy to me. 

This intelligence melted her into tears, and it was some time before sherecovered strength enough to resume the conversation. She then inquired, "When and where was it that he died? How did you lose this portrait? Itwas found wrapped in some coarse clothes, lying in a stall in themarket-house, on Saturday evening. Two negro women, servants of one ofmy friends, strolling through the market, found it and brought it totheir mistress, who, recognising the portrait, sent it to me. To whomdid that bundle belong? Was it yours?"

These questions reminded me of the painful predicament in which I nowstood. I had promised Welbeck to conceal from every one my formercondition; but to explain in what manner this bundle was lost, and howmy intercourse with Clavering had taken place, was to violate thispromise. It was possible, perhaps, to escape the confession of the truthby equivocation. Falsehoods were easily invented, and might lead her faraway from my true condition; but I was wholly unused to equivocation. Never yet had a lie polluted my lips. I was not weak enough to beashamed of my origin. This lady had an interest in the fate ofClavering, and might justly claim all the information which I was ableto impart. Yet to forget the compact which I had so lately made, and anadherence to which might possibly be in the highest degree beneficial tome and to Welbeck; I was willing to adhere to it, provided falsehoodcould be avoided. 

These thoughts rendered me silent. The pain of my embarrassment amountedalmost to agony. I felt the keenest regret at my own precipitation inclaiming the picture. Its value to me was altogether imaginary. Theaffection which this lady had borne the original, whatever was thesource of that affection, would prompt her to cherish the copy, and, however precious it was in my eyes, I should cheerfully resign it toher. 

In the confusion of my thoughts an expedient suggested itselfsufficiently inartificial and bold. "It is true, madam, what I havesaid. I saw him breathe his last. This is his only legacy. If you wishit I willingly resign it; but this is all that I can now disclose. I amplaced in circumstances which render it improper to say more. "

These words were uttered not very distinctly, and the lady's vehemencehindered her from noticing them. She again repeated her interrogations, to which I returned the same answer. 

At first she expressed the utmost surprise at my conduct. From this shedescended to some degree of asperity. She made rapid allusions to thehistory of Clavering. He was the son of the gentleman who owned thehouse in which Welbeck resided. He was the object of immeasurablefondness and indulgence. He had sought permission to travel, and, thisbeing refused by the absurd timidity of his parents, he had twice beenfrustrated in attempting to embark for Europe clandestinely. Theyascribed his disappearance to a third and successful attempt of thiskind, and had exercised anxious and unwearied diligence in endeavouringto trace his footsteps. All their efforts had failed. One motive fortheir returning to Europe was the hope of discovering some traces ofhim, as they entertained no doubt of his having crossed the ocean. Thevehemence of Mrs. Wentworth's curiosity as to those particulars of hislife and death may be easily conceived. My refusal only heightened thispassion. 

Finding me refractory to all her efforts, she at length dismissed me inanger. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

This extraordinary interview was now past. Pleasure as well as painattended my reflections on it. I adhered to the promise I hadimprovidently given to Welbeck, but had excited displeasure, and perhapssuspicion, in the lady. She would find it hard to account for mysilence. She would probably impute it to perverseness, or imagine it toflow from some incident connected with the death of Clavering, calculated to give a new edge to her curiosity. 

It was plain that some connection subsisted between her and Welbeck. Would she drop the subject at the point which it had now attained? Wouldshe cease to exert herself to extract from me the desired information, or would she not rather make Welbeck a party in the cause, and prejudicemy new friend against me? This was an evil proper, by all lawful means, to avoid. I knew of no other expedient than to confess to him the truthwith regard to Clavering, and explain to him the dilemma in which myadherence to my promise had involved me. 

I found him on my return home, and delivered him the letter with which Iwas charged. At the sight of it, surprise, mingled with some uneasiness, appeared in his looks. "What!" said he, in a tone of disappointment, "you then saw the lady?"

I now remembered his directions to leave my message at the door, andapologized for my neglecting them by telling my reasons. His chagrinvanished, but not without an apparent effort, and he said that all waswell; the affair was of no moment. 

After a pause of preparation, I entreated his attention to somethingwhich I had to relate. I then detailed the history of Clavering and ofmy late embarrassments. As I went on, his countenance betokenedincreasing solicitude. His emotion was particularly strong when I cameto the interrogatories of Mrs. Wentworth in relation to Clavering; butthis emotion gave way to profound surprise when I related the manner inwhich I had eluded her inquiries. I concluded with observing that, whenI promised forbearance on the subject of my own adventures, I had notforeseen any exigence which would make an adherence to my promisedifficult or inconvenient; that, if his interest was promoted by mysilence, I was still willing to maintain it, and requested hisdirections how to conduct myself on this occasion. 

He appeared to ponder deeply and with much perplexity on what I hadsaid. When he spoke there was hesitation in his manner and circuity inhis expressions, that proved him to have something in his thoughts whichhe knew not how to communicate. He frequently paused; but my answers andremarks, occasionally given, appeared to deter him from the revelationof his purpose. Our discourse ended, for the present, by his desiring meto persist in my present plan; I should suffer no inconveniences fromit, since it would be my own fault if an interview again took placebetween the lady and me; meanwhile he should see her and effectuallysilence her inquiries. 

I ruminated not superficially or briefly on this dialogue. By what meanswould he silence her inquiries? He surely meant not to mislead her byfallacious representations. Some inquietude now crept into my thoughts. I began to form conjectures as to the nature of the scheme to which mysuppression of the truth was to be thus made subservient. It seemed asif I were walking in the dark and might rush into snares or drop intopits before I was aware of my danger. Each moment accumulated my doubts, and I cherished a secret foreboding that the event would prove my newsituation to be far less fortunate than I had, at first, fondlybelieved. The question now occurred, with painful repetition, who andwhat was Welbeck? What was his relation to this foreign lady? What wasthe service for which I was to be employed?

I could not be contented without a solution of these mysteries. Whyshould I not lay my soul open before my new friend? Considering mysituation, would he regard my fears and my surmises as criminal? I feltthat they originated in laudable habits and views. My peace of minddepended on the favourable verdict which conscience should pass on myproceedings. I saw the emptiness of fame and luxury, when put in thebalance against the recompense of virtue. Never would I purchase theblandishments of adulation and the glare of opulence at the price of myhonesty. 

Amidst these reflections the dinner-hour arrived. The lady and Welbeckwere present. A new train of sentiments now occupied my mind. I regardedthem both with inquisitive eyes. I cannot well account for therevolution which had taken place in my mind. Perhaps it was a proof ofthe capriciousness of my temper, or it was merely the fruit of myprofound ignorance of life and manners. Whencesoever it arose, certainit is that I contemplated the scene before me with altered eyes. Itsorder and pomp was no longer the parent of tranquillity and awe. My wildreveries of inheriting this splendour and appropriating the affectionsof this nymph, I now regarded as lunatic hope and childish folly. Education and nature had qualified me for a different scene. This mightbe the mask of misery and the structure of vice. 

My companions as well as myself were silent during the meal. The ladyretired as soon as it was finished. My inexplicable melancholyincreased. It did not pass unnoticed by Welbeck, who inquired, with anair of kindness, into the cause of my visible dejection. I am almostashamed to relate to what extremes my folly transported me. Instead ofanswering him, I was weak enough to shed tears. 

This excited afresh his surprise and his sympathy. He renewed hisinquiries; my heart was full, but how to disburden it I knew not. Atlength, with some difficulty, I expressed my wishes to leave his houseand return into the country. 

What, he asked, had occurred to suggest this new plan? What motive couldincite me to bury myself in rustic obscurity? How did I purpose todispose of myself? Had some new friend sprung up more able or morewilling to benefit me than he had been?

"No, " I answered, "I have no relation who would own me, or friend whowould protect. If I went into the country it would be to the toilsomeoccupations of a day-labourer; but even that was better than my presentsituation. "

This opinion, he observed, must be newly formed. What was there irksomeor offensive in my present mode of life?

That this man condescended to expostulate with me; to dissuade me frommy new plan; and to enumerate the benefits which he was willing toconfer, penetrated my heart with gratitude. I could not but acknowledgethat leisure and literature, copious and elegant accommodation, werevaluable for their own sake; that all the delights of sensation andrefinements of intelligence were comprised within my present sphere, andwould be nearly wanting in that to which I was going. I felt temporarycompunction for my folly, and determined to adopt a differentdeportment. I could not prevail upon myself to unfold the true cause ofmy dejection, and permitted him therefore to ascribe it to a kind ofhomesickness; to inexperience; and to that ignorance which, on beingushered into a new scene, is oppressed with a sensation of forlornness. He remarked that these chimeras would vanish before the influence oftime, and company, and occupation. On the next week he would furnish mewith employment; meanwhile he would introduce me into company, whereintelligence and vivacity would combine to dispel my glooms. 

As soon as we separated, my disquietudes returned. I contended with themin vain, and finally resolved to abandon my present situation. When andhow this purpose was to be effected I knew not. That was to be the themeof future deliberation. 

Evening having arrived, Welbeck proposed to me to accompany me on avisit to one of his friends. I cheerfully accepted the invitation, andwent with him to your friend Mr. Wortley's. A numerous party wasassembled, chiefly of the female sex. I was introduced by Welbeck bythe title of _a young friend of his_. Notwithstanding my embarrassment, I did not fail to attend to what passed on this occasion. I remarkedthat the utmost deference was paid to my companion, on whom his entranceinto this company appeared to operate like magic. His eyes sparkled; hisfeatures expanded into a benign serenity; and his wonted reserve gaveplace to a torrent-like and overflowing elocution. 

I marked this change in his deportment with the utmost astonishment. Sogreat was it, that I could hardly persuade myself that it was the sameperson. A mind thus susceptible of new impressions must be, I conceived, of a wonderful texture. Nothing was further from my expectations thanthat this vivacity was mere dissimulation and would take its leave ofhim when he left the company; yet this I found to be the case. The doorwas no sooner closed after him than his accustomed solemnity returned. He spake little, and that little was delivered with emphatical andmonosyllabic brevity. 

We returned home at a late hour, and I immediately retired to mychamber, not so much from the desire of repose as in order to enjoy andpursue my own reflections without interruption. 

The condition of my mind was considerably remote from happiness. I wasplaced in a scene that furnished fuel to my curiosity. This passion is asource of pleasure, provided its gratification be practicable. I had noreason, in my present circumstances, to despair of knowledge; yetsuspicion and anxiety beset me. I thought upon the delay and toil whichthe removal of my ignorance would cost, and reaped only pain and fearfrom the reflection. 

The air was remarkably sultry. Lifted sashes and lofty ceilings wereinsufficient to attemper it. The perturbation of my thoughts affected mybody, and the heat which oppressed me was aggravated, by myrestlessness, almost into fever. Some hours were thus painfully past, when I recollected that the bath, erected in the court below, containeda sufficient antidote to the scorching influence of the atmosphere. 

I rose, and descended the stairs softly, that I might not alarm Welbeckand the lady, who occupied the two rooms on the second floor. Iproceeded to the bath, and, filling the reservoir with water, speedilydissipated the heat that incommoded me. Of all species of sensualgratification, that was the most delicious; and I continued for a longtime laving my limbs and moistening my hair. In the midst of thisamusement, I noticed the approach of day, and immediately saw thepropriety of returning to my chamber. I returned with the same cautionwhich I had used in descending; my feet were bare, so that it was easyto proceed unattended by the smallest signal of my progress. 

I had reached the carpeted staircase, and was slowly ascending, when Iheard, within the chamber that was occupied by the lady, a noise, as ofsome one moving. Though not conscious of having acted improperly, yet Ifelt reluctance to be seen. There was no reason to suppose that thissound was connected with the detection of me in this situation; yet Iacted as if this reason existed, and made haste to pass the door andgain the second flight of steps. 

I was unable to accomplish my design, when the chamber door slowlyopened, and Welbeck, with a light in his hand, came out. I was abashedand disconcerted at this interview. He started at seeing me; but, discovering in an instant who it was, his face assumed an expression inwhich shame and anger were powerfully blended. He seemed on the point ofopening his mouth to rebuke me; but, suddenly checking himself, he said, in a tone of mildness, "How is this? Whence come you?"

His emotion seemed to communicate itself, with an electrical rapidity, to my heart. My tongue faltered while I made some answer. I said, "I hadbeen seeking relief from the heat of the weather, in the bath. " He heardmy explanation in silence; and, after a moment's pause, passed into hisown room, and shut himself in. I hastened to my chamber. 

A different observer might have found in these circumstances no food forhis suspicion or his wonder. To me, however, they suggested vague andtumultuous ideas. 

As I strode across the room I repeated, "This woman is his daughter. What proof have I of that? He once asserted it; and has frequentlyuttered allusions and hints from which no other inference could bedrawn. The chamber from which he came, in an hour devoted to sleep, washers. For what end could a visit like this be paid? A parent may visithis child at all seasons, without a crime. On seeing me, methought hisfeatures indicated more than surprise. A keen interpreter would be aptto suspect a consciousness of wrong. What if this woman be not hischild! How shall their relationship be ascertained?"

I was summoned at the customary hour to breakfast. My mind was full ofideas connected with this incident. I was not endowed with sufficientfirmness to propose the cool and systematic observation of this man'sdeportment. I felt as if the state of my mind could not but be evidentto him; and experienced in myself all the confusion which this discoverywas calculated to produce in him. I would have willingly excused myselffrom meeting him; but that was impossible. 

At breakfast, after the usual salutations, nothing was said. For a timeI scarcely lifted my eyes from the table. Stealing a glance at Welbeck, I discovered in his features nothing but his wonted gravity. He appearedoccupied with thoughts that had no relation to last night's adventure. This encouraged me; and I gradually recovered my composure. Theirinattention to me allowed me occasionally to throw scrutinizing andcomparing glances at the face of each. 

The relationship of parent and child is commonly discovered in thevisage; but the child may resemble either of its parents, yet have nofeature in common with both. Here outlines, surfaces, and hues were inabsolute contrariety. That kindred subsisted between them was possible, notwithstanding this dissimilitude; but this circumstance contributed toenvenom my suspicions. 

Breakfast being finished, Welbeck cast an eye of invitation to thepiano-forte. The lady rose to comply with his request. My eye chancedto be, at that moment, fixed on her. In stepping to the instrument, somemotion or appearance awakened a thought in my mind which affected myfeelings like the shock of an earthquake. 

I have too slight acquaintance with the history of the passions to trulyexplain the emotion which now throbbed in my veins. I had been astranger to what is called love. From subsequent reflection, I havecontracted a suspicion that the sentiment with which I regarded thislady was not untinctured from this source, and that hence arose theturbulence of my feelings on observing what I construed into marks ofpregnancy. The evidence afforded me was slight; yet it exercised anabsolute sway over my belief. 

It was well that this suspicion had not been sooner excited. Nowcivility did not require my stay in the apartment, and nothing butflight could conceal the state of my mind. I hastened, therefore, to adistance, and shrouded myself in the friendly secrecy of my own chamber. 

The constitution of my mind is doubtless singular and perverse; yet thatopinion, perhaps, is the fruit of my ignorance. It may by no means beuncommon for men to _fashion_ their conclusions in opposition toevidence and _probability_, and so as to feed their malice and subverttheir happiness. Thus it was, in an eminent degree, in my case. Thesimple fact was connected, in my mind, with a train of the most hatefulconsequences. The depravity of Welbeck was inferred from it. The charmsof this angelic woman were tarnished and withered. I had formerlysurveyed her as a precious and perfect monument, but now it was a sceneof ruin and blast. 

This had been a source of sufficient anguish; but this was not all. Irecollected that the claims of a parent had been urged. Will you believethat these claims were now admitted, and that they heightened theiniquity of Welbeck into the blackest and most stupendous of all crimes?These ideas were necessarily transient. Conclusions more conformable toappearances succeeded. This lady might have been lately reduced towidowhood. The recent loss of a beloved companion would sufficientlyaccount for her dejection, and make her present situation compatiblewith duty. 

By this new train of ideas I was somewhat comforted. I saw the folly ofprecipitate inferences and the injustice of my atrocious imputations, and acquired some degree of patience in my present state of uncertainty. My heart was lightened of its wonted burden, and I laboured to inventsome harmless explication of the scene that I had witnessed thepreceding night. 

At dinner Welbeck appeared as usual, but not the lady. I ascribed herabsence to some casual indisposition, and ventured to inquire into thestate of her health. My companion said she was well, but that she hadleft the city for a month or two, finding the heat of summerinconvenient where she was. This was no unplausible reason forretirement. A candid mind would have acquiesced in this representation, and found in it nothing inconsistent with a supposition respecting thecause of appearances favourable to her character; but otherwise was Iaffected. The uneasiness which had flown for a moment returned, and Isunk into gloomy silence. 

From this I was roused by my patron, who requested me to deliver abillet, which he put into my hand, at the counting-house of Mr. Thetford, and to bring him an answer. This message was speedilyperformed. I entered a large building by the river-side. A spaciousapartment presented itself, well furnished with pipes and hogsheads. Inone corner was a smaller room, in which a gentleman was busy at writing. I advanced to the door of the room, but was there met by a young person, who received my paper and delivered it to him within. I stood still atthe door; but was near enough to overhear what would pass between them. 

The letter was laid upon the desk, and presently he that sat at itlifted his eyes and glanced at the superscription. He scarcely spokeabove a whisper; but his words, nevertheless, were clearlydistinguishable. I did not call to mind the sound of his voice, but hiswords called up a train of recollections. 

"Lo!" said he, carelessly, "this from the _Nabob_!"

An incident so slight as this was sufficient to open a spacious sceneof meditation. This little word, half whispered in a thoughtless mood, was a key to unlock an extensive cabinet of secrets. Thetford wasprobably indifferent whether his exclamation were overheard. Little didhe think on the inferences which would be built upon it. 

"The Nabob!" By this appellation had some one been denoted in thechamber dialogue of which I had been an unsuspected auditor. The man whopretended poverty, and yet gave proofs of inordinate wealth; whom it waspardonable to defraud of thirty thousand dollars; first, because theloss of that sum would be trivial to one opulent as he; and, secondly, because he was imagined to have acquired this opulence by other thanhonest methods. Instead of forthwith returning home, I wandered into thefields, to indulge myself in the new thoughts which were produced bythis occurrence. 

I entertained no doubt that the person alluded to was my patron. No newlight was thrown upon his character; unless something were deduciblefrom the charge vaguely made, that his wealth was the fruit of illicitpractices. He was opulent, and the sources of his wealth were unknown, if not to the rest of the community, at least to Thetford. But here hada plot been laid. The fortune of Thetford's brother was to rise from thesuccess of artifices of which the credulity of Welbeck was to be thevictim. To detect and to counterwork this plot was obviously my duty. Myinterference might now indeed be too late to be useful; but this was atleast to be ascertained by experiment. 

How should my intention be effected? I had hitherto concealed fromWelbeck my adventures at Thetford's house. These it was now necessary todisclose, and to mention the recent occurrence. My deductions, inconsequence of my ignorance, might be erroneous; but of their truth hisknowledge of his own affairs would enable him to judge. It was possiblethat Thetford and he whose chamber conversation I had overheard weredifferent persons. I endeavoured in vain to ascertain their identity bya comparison of their voices. The words lately heard, my remembrancedid not enable me certainly to pronounce to be uttered by the sameorgans. 

This uncertainty was of little moment. It sufficed that Welbeck wasdesignated by this appellation, and that therefore he was proved to bethe subject of some fraudulent proceeding. The information that Ipossessed it was my duty to communicate as expeditiously as possible. Iwas resolved to employ the first opportunity that offered for this end. 

My meditations had been ardently pursued, and, when I recalled myattention, I found myself bewildered among fields and fences. It waslate before I extricated myself from unknown paths, and reached home. 

I entered the parlour; but Welbeck was not there. A table, withtea-equipage for one person, was set; from which I inferred that Welbeckwas engaged abroad. This belief was confirmed by the report of theservant. He could not inform me where his master was, but merely that heshould not take tea at home. This incident was a source of vexation andimpatience. I knew not but that delay would be of the utmost moment tothe safety of my friend. Wholly unacquainted as I was with the nature ofhis contracts with Thetford, I could not decide whether a single hourwould not avail to obviate the evils that threatened him. Had I knownwhither to trace his footsteps, I should certainly have sought animmediate interview; but, as it was, I was obliged to wait, with whatpatience I could collect, for his return to his own house. 

I waited hour after hour in vain. The sun declined, and the shades ofevening descended; but Welbeck was still at a distance. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Welbeck did not return, though hour succeeded hour till the clock struckten. I inquired of the servants, who informed me that their master wasnot accustomed to stay out so late. I seated myself at a table, in aparlour, on which there stood a light, and listened for the signal ofhis coming, either by the sound of steps on the pavement without or by apeal from the bell. The silence was uninterrupted and profound, and eachminute added to my sum of impatience and anxiety. 

To relieve myself from the heat of the weather, which was aggravated bythe condition of my thoughts, as well as to beguile this tormentinginterval, it occurred to me to betake myself to the bath. I left thecandle where it stood, and imagined that even in the bath I should hearthe sound of the bell which would be rung upon his arrival at the door. 

No such signal occurred, and, after taking this refreshment, I preparedto return to my post. The parlour was still unoccupied, but this was notall; the candle I had left upon the table was gone. This was aninexplicable circumstance. On my promise to wait for their master, theservants had retired to bed. No signal of any one's entrance had beengiven. The street door was locked, and the key hung at its customaryplace upon the wall. What was I to think? It was obvious to suppose thatthe candle had been removed by a domestic; but their footsteps could notbe traced, and I was not sufficiently acquainted with the house to findthe way, especially immersed in darkness, to their chamber. One measure, however, it was evidently proper to take, which was to supply myself, anew, with a light. This was instantly performed; but what was next tobe done?

I was weary of the perplexities in which I was embroiled. I saw noavenue to escape from them but that which led me to the bosom of natureand to my ancient occupations. For a moment I was tempted to resume myrustic garb, and, on that very hour, to desert this habitation. Onething only detained me; the desire to apprize my patron of the treacheryof Thetford. For this end I was anxious to obtain an interview; but nowI reflected that this information could by other means be imparted. Wasit not sufficient to write him briefly these particulars, and leave himto profit by the knowledge? Thus I might, likewise, acquaint him with mymotives for thus abruptly and unseasonably deserting his service. 

To the execution of this scheme pen and paper were necessary. Thebusiness of writing was performed in the chamber on the third story. Ihad been hitherto denied access to this room. In it was a show of papersand books. Here it was that the task, for which I had been retained, wasto be performed; but I was to enter it and leave it only in company withWelbeck. For what reasons, I asked, was this procedure to be adopted?

The influence of prohibitions and an appearance of disguise in awakeningcuriosity is well known. My mind fastened upon the idea of this roomwith an unusual degree of intenseness. I had seen it but for a moment. Many of Welbeck's hours were spent in it. It was not to be inferred thatthey were consumed in idleness: what then was the nature of hisemployment over which a veil of such impenetrable secrecy was cast?

Will you wonder that the design of entering this recess was insensiblyformed? Possibly it was locked, but its accessibleness was likewisepossible. I meant not the commission of any crime. My principal purposewas to procure the implements of writing, which were elsewhere not to befound. I should neither unseal papers nor open drawers. I would merelytake a survey of the volumes and attend to the objects thatspontaneously presented themselves to my view. In this there surely wasnothing criminal or blameworthy. Meanwhile I was not unmindful of thesudden disappearance of the candle. This incident filled my bosom withthe inquietudes of fear and the perturbations of wonder. 

Once more I paused to catch any sound that might arise from without. Allwas still. I seized the candle and prepared to mount the stairs. I hadnot reached the first landing when I called to mind my midnight meetingwith Welbeck at the door of his daughter's chamber. The chamber was nowdesolate; perhaps it was accessible; if so, no injury was done byentering it. My curiosity was strong, but it pictured to itself noprecise object. Three steps would bear me to the door. The trial, whether it was fastened, might be made in a moment; and I readilyimagined that something might be found within to reward the trouble ofexamination. The door yielded to my hand, and I entered. 

No remarkable object was discoverable. The apartment was supplied withthe usual furniture. I bent my steps towards a table over which a mirrorwas suspended. My glances, which roved with swiftness from one object toanother, shortly lighted on a miniature portrait that hung near. Iscrutinized it with eagerness. It was impossible to overlook itsresemblance to my own visage. This was so great that for a moment Iimagined myself to have been the original from which it had been drawn. This flattering conception yielded place to a belief merely ofsimilitude between me and the genuine original. 

The thoughts which this opinion was fitted to produce were suspended bya new object. A small volume, that had, apparently, been much used, layupon the toilet. I opened it, and found it to contain some of the Dramasof Apostolo Zeno. I turned over the leaves; a written paper saluted mysight. A single glance informed me that it was English. For the presentI was insensible to all motives that would command me to forbear. Iseized the paper with an intention to peruse it. 

At that moment a stunning report was heard. It was loud enough to shakethe walls of the apartment, and abrupt enough to throw me into tremors. I dropped the book and yielded for a moment to confusion and surprise. From what quarter it came, I was unable accurately to determine; butthere could be no doubt, from its loudness, that it was near, and evenin the house. It was no less manifest that the sound arose from thedischarge of a pistol. Some hand must have drawn the trigger. Irecollected the disappearance of the candle from the room below. Instantly a supposition darted into my mind which made my hair rise andmy teeth chatter. 

"This, " I said, "is the deed of Welbeck. He entered while I was absentfrom the room; he hied to his chamber; and, prompted by some unknowninstigation, has inflicted on himself death!" This idea had a tendencyto palsy my limbs and my thoughts. Some time passed in painful andtumultuous fluctuation. My aversion to this catastrophe, rather than abelief of being, by that means, able to prevent or repair the evil, induced me to attempt to enter his chamber. It was possible that myconjectures were erroneous. 

The door of his room was locked. I knocked; I demanded entrance in a lowvoice; I put my eye and my ear to the keyhole and the crevices; nothingcould be heard or seen. It was unavoidable to conclude that no one waswithin; yet the effluvia of gunpowder was perceptible. 

Perhaps the room above had been the scene of this catastrophe. Iascended the second flight of stairs. I approached the door. No soundcould be caught by my most vigilant attention. I put out the light thatI carried, and was then able to perceive that there was light within theroom. I scarcely knew how to act. For some minutes I paused at the door. I spoke, and requested permission to enter. My words were succeeded by adeath-like stillness. At length I ventured softly to withdraw the bolt, to open and to advance within the room. Nothing could exceed the horrorof my expectation; yet I was startled by the scene that I beheld. 

In a chair, whose back was placed against the front wall, sat Welbeck. My entrance alarmed him not, nor roused him from the stupor into whichhe was plunged. He rested his hands upon his knees, and his eyes wereriveted to something that lay, at the distance of a few feet beforehim, on the floor. A second glance was sufficient to inform me of whatnature this object was. It was the body of a man, bleeding, ghastly, andstill exhibiting the marks of convulsion and agony!

I shall omit to describe the shock which a spectacle like thiscommunicated to my unpractised senses. I was nearly as panic-struck andpowerless as Welbeck himself. I gazed, without power of speech, at onetime, at Welbeck; then I fixed terrified eyes on the distorted featuresof the dead. At length, Welbeck, recovering from his reverie, looked up, as if to see who it was that had entered. No surprise, no alarm, wasbetrayed by him on seeing me. He manifested no desire or intention tointerrupt the fearful silence. 

My thoughts wandered in confusion and terror. The first impulse was tofly from the scene; but I could not be long insensible to the exigencesof the moment. I saw that affairs must not be suffered to remain intheir present situation. The insensibility or despair of Welbeckrequired consolation and succour. How to communicate my thoughts, oroffer my assistance, I knew not. What led to this murderous catastrophe;who it was whose breathless corpse was before me; what concern Welbeckhad in producing his death; were as yet unknown. 

At length he rose from his seat, and strode at first with faltering, andthen with more steadfast steps, across the floor. This motion seemed toput him in possession of himself. He seemed now, for the first time, torecognise my presence. He turned to me, and said, in a tone ofseverity, --

"How now? What brings you here?"

This rebuke was unexpected. I stammered out, in reply, that the reportof the pistol had alarmed me, and that I came to discover the cause ofit. 

He noticed not my answer, but resumed his perturbed steps, and hisanxious but abstracted looks. Suddenly he checked himself, and, glancinga furious eye at the corpse, he muttered, "Yes, the die is cast. Thisworthless and miserable scene shall last no longer. I will at once getrid of life and all its humiliations. "

Here succeeded a new pause. The course of his thoughts seemed now tobecome once more tranquil. Sadness, rather than fury, overspread hisfeatures; and his accent, when he spoke to me, was not faltering, butsolemn. 

"Mervyn, " said he, "you comprehend not this scene. Your youth andinexperience make you a stranger to a deceitful and flagitious world. You know me not. It is time that this ignorance should vanish. Theknowledge of me and of my actions may be of use to you. It may teach youto avoid the shoals on which my virtue and my peace have been wrecked;but to the rest of mankind it can be of no use. The ruin of my fame is, perhaps, irretrievable; but the height of my iniquity need not be known. I perceive in you a rectitude and firmness worthy to be trusted; promiseme, therefore, that not a syllable of what I tell you shall ever passyour lips. "

I had lately experienced the inconvenience of a promise; but I was nowconfused, embarrassed, ardently inquisitive as to the nature of thisscene, and unapprized of the motives that might afterwards occur, persuading or compelling me to disclosure. The promise which he exactedwas given. He resumed:--

"I have detained you in my service, partly for your own benefit, butchiefly for mine. I intended to inflict upon you injury and to do yougood. Neither of these ends can I now accomplish, unless the lessonswhich my example may inculcate shall inspire you with fortitude and armyou with caution. 

"What it was that made me thus, I know not. I am not destitute ofunderstanding. My thirst of knowledge, though irregular, is ardent. Ican talk and can feel as virtue and justice prescribe; yet the tenor ofmy actions has been uniform. One tissue of iniquity and folly has beenmy life; while my thoughts have been familiar with enlightened anddisinterested principles. Scorn and detestation I have heaped uponmyself. Yesterday is remembered with remorse. To-morrow is contemplatedwith anguish and fear; yet every day is productive of the same crimesand of the same follies. 

"I was left, by the insolvency of my father, (a trader of Liverpool, )without any means of support but such as labour should afford me. Whatever could generate pride, and the love of independence, was myportion. Whatever can incite to diligence was the growth of mycondition; yet my indolence was a cureless disease; and there were noarts too sordid for me to practise. 

"I was content to live on the bounty of a kinsman. His family wasnumerous, and his revenue small. He forbore to upbraid me, or even toinsinuate the propriety of providing for myself; but he empowered me topursue any liberal or mechanical profession which might suit my taste. Iwas insensible to every generous motive. I laboured to forget mydependent and disgraceful condition, because the remembrance was asource of anguish, without being able to inspire me with a steadyresolution to change it. 

"I contracted an acquaintance with a woman who was unchaste, perverse, and malignant. Me, however, she found it no difficult task to deceive. My uncle remonstrated against the union. He took infinite pains tounveil my error, and to convince me that wedlock was improper for onedestitute, as I was, of the means of support, even if the object of mychoice were personally unexceptionable. 

"His representations were listened to with anger. That he thwarted mywill in this respect, even by affectionate expostulation, cancelled allthat debt of gratitude which I owed to him. I rewarded him for all hiskindness by invective and disdain, and hastened to complete myill-omened marriage. I had deceived the woman's father by assertions ofpossessing secret resources. To gratify my passion, I descended todissimulation and falsehood. He admitted me into his family, as thehusband of his child; but the character of my wife and the fallacy of myassertions were quickly discovered. He denied me accommodation under hisroof, and I was turned forth to the world to endure the penalty of myrashness and my indolence. 

"Temptation would have moulded me into any villanous shape. My virtuoustheories and comprehensive erudition would not have saved me from thebasest of crimes. Luckily for me, I was, for the present, exempted fromtemptation. I had formed an acquaintance with a young American captain. On being partially informed of my situation, he invited me to embarkwith him for his own country. My passage was gratuitous. I arrived, in ashort time, at Charleston, which was the place of his abode. 

"He introduced me to his family, every member of which was, likehimself, imbued with affection and benevolence. I was treated like theirson and brother. I was hospitably entertained until I should be able toselect some path of lucrative industry. Such was my incurable depravity, that I made no haste to select my pursuit. An interval of inoccupationsucceeded, which I applied to the worst purposes. 

"My friend had a sister, who was married, but during the absence of herhusband resided with her family. Hence originated our acquaintance. Thepurest of human hearts and the most vigorous understanding were hers. She idolized her husband, who well deserved to be the object of heradoration. Her affection for him, and her general principles, appearedto be confirmed beyond the power to be shaken. I sought her intercoursewithout illicit views; I delighted in the effusions of her candour andthe flashes of her intelligence; I conformed, by a kind of instinctivehypocrisy, to her views; I spoke and felt from the influence ofimmediate and momentary conviction. She imagined she had found in me afriend worthy to partake in all her sympathies and forward all herwishes. We were mutually deceived. She was the victim of self-delusion;but I must charge myself with practising deceit both upon myself andher. 

"I reflect with astonishment and horror on the steps which led to herdegradation and to my calamity. In the high career of passion allconsequences were overlooked. She was the dupe of the most audacioussophistry and the grossest delusion. I was the slave of sensual impulsesand voluntary blindness. The effect may be easily conceived. Not tillsymptoms of pregnancy began to appear were our eyes opened to the ruinwhich impended over us. 

"Then I began to revolve the consequences, which the mist of passion hadhitherto concealed. I was tormented by the pangs of remorse, and pursuedby the phantom of ingratitude. To complete my despair, this unfortunatelady was apprized of my marriage with another woman; a circumstancewhich I had anxiously concealed from her. She fled from her father'shouse at a time when her husband and brother were hourly expected. Whatbecame of her I knew not. She left behind her a letter to her father, inwhich the melancholy truth was told. 

"Shame and remorse had no power over my life. To elude the storm ofinvective and upbraiding, to quiet the uproar of my mind, I did notbetake myself to voluntary death. My pusillanimity still clung to thiswretched existence. I abruptly retired from the scene, and, repairing tothe port, embarked in the first vessel which appeared. The ship chancedto belong to Wilmington, in Delaware, and here I sought out an obscureand cheap abode. 

"I possessed no means of subsistence. I was unknown to my neighbours, and desired to remain unknown. I was unqualified for manual labour byall the habits of my life; but there was no choice between penury anddiligence, --between honest labour and criminal inactivity. I musedincessantly on the forlornness of my condition. Hour after hour passed, and the horrors of want began to encompass me. I sought with eagernessfor an avenue by which I might escape from it. The perverseness of mynature led me on from one guilty thought to another. I took refuge in mycustomary sophistries, and reconciled myself at length to a schemeof--_forgery_!"

CHAPTER X. 

"Having ascertained my purpose, it was requisite to search out the meansby which I might effect it. These were not clearly or readily suggested. The more I contemplated my project, the more numerous and arduous itsdifficulties appeared. I had no associates in my undertaking. A dueregard to my safety, and the unextinguished sense of honour, deterred mefrom seeking auxiliaries and co-agents. The esteem of mankind was thespring of all my activity, the parent of all my virtue and all my vice. To preserve this, it was necessary that my guilty projects should haveneither witness nor partaker. 

"I quickly discovered that to execute this scheme demanded time, application, and money, none of which my present situation would permitme to devote to it. At first it appeared that an attainable degree ofskill and circumspection would enable me to arrive, by means ofcounterfeit bills, to the pinnacle of affluence and honour. My error wasdetected by a closer scrutiny, and I finally saw nothing in this pathbut enormous perils and insurmountable impediments. 

"Yet what alternative was offered me? To maintain myself by the labourof my hands, to perform any toilsome or prescribed task, wasincompatible with my nature. My habits debarred me from countryoccupations. My pride regarded as vile and ignominious drudgery anyemployment which the town could afford. Meanwhile, my wants were asurgent as ever, and my funds were exhausted. 

"There are few, perhaps, whose external situation resembled mine, whowould have found in it any thing but incitements to industry andinvention. A thousand methods of subsistence, honest but laborious, were at my command, but to these I entertained an irreconcilableaversion. Ease and the respect attendant upon opulence I was willing topurchase at the price of ever-wakeful suspicion and eternal remorse;but, even at this price, the purchase was impossible. 

"The desperateness of my condition became hourly more apparent. Thefurther I extended my view, the darker grew the clouds which hung overfuturity. Anguish and infamy appeared to be the inseparable conditionsof my existence. There was one mode of evading the evils that impended. To free myself from self-upbraiding and to shun the persecutions of myfortune was possible only by shaking off life itself. 

"One evening, as I traversed the bank of the creek, these dismalmeditations were uncommonly intense. They at length terminated in aresolution to throw myself into the stream. The first impulse was torush instantly to my death; but the remembrance of papers, lying at mylodgings, which might unfold more than I desired to the curiosity ofsurvivors, induced me to postpone this catastrophe till the nextmorning. 

"My purpose being formed, I found my heart lightened of its usualweight. By you it will be thought strange, but it is nevertheless true, that I derived from this new prospect not only tranquillity butcheerfulness. I hastened home. As soon as I entered, my landlordinformed me that a person had been searching for me in my absence. Thiswas an unexampled incident, and foreboded me no good. I was stronglypersuaded that my visitant had been led hither not by friendly buthostile purposes. This persuasion was confirmed by the description ofthe stranger's guise and demeanour given by my landlord. My fearsinstantly recognised the image of Watson, the man by whom I had been soeminently benefited, and whose kindness I had compensated by the ruin ofhis sister and the confusion of his family. 

"An interview with this man was less to be endured than to look upon theface of an avenging deity. I was determined to avoid this interview, and, for this end, to execute my fatal purpose within the hour. Mypapers were collected with a tremulous hand, and consigned to theflames. I then bade my landlord inform all visitants that I should notreturn till the next day, and once more hastened towards the river. 

"My way led past the inn where one of the stages from Baltimore wasaccustomed to stop. I was not unaware that Watson had possibly beenbrought in the coach which had recently arrived, and which now stoodbefore the door of the inn. The danger of my being descried orencountered by him as I passed did not fail to occur. This was to beeluded by deviating from the main street. 

"Scarcely had I turned a corner for this purpose when I was accosted bya young man whom I knew to be an inhabitant of the town, but with whom Ihad hitherto had no intercourse but what consisted in a transientsalutation. He apologized for the liberty of addressing me, and, at thesame time, inquired if I understood the French language. 

"Being answered in the affirmative, he proceeded to tell me that in thestage, just arrived, had come a passenger, a youth who appeared to beFrench, who was wholly unacquainted with our language, and who had beenseized with a violent disease. 

"My informant had felt compassion for the forlorn condition of thestranger, and had just been seeking me at my lodgings, in hope that myknowledge of French would enable me to converse with the sick man, andobtain from him a knowledge of his situation and views. 

"The apprehensions I had precipitately formed were thus removed, and Ireadily consented to perform this service. The youth was, indeed, in adeplorable condition. Besides the pains of his disease, he wasoverpowered by dejection. The innkeeper was extremely anxious for theremoval of his guest. He was by no means willing to sustain the troubleand expense of a sick or a dying man, for which it was scarcely probablethat he should ever be reimbursed. The traveller had no baggage, and hisdress betokened the pressure of many wants. 

"My compassion for this stranger was powerfully awakened. I was inpossession of a suitable apartment, for which I had no power to pay therent that was accruing; but my inability in this respect was unknown, and I might enjoy my lodgings unmolested for some weeks. The fate ofthis youth would be speedily decided, and I should be left at liberty toexecute my first intentions before my embarrassments should be visiblyincreased. 

"After a moment's pause, I conducted the stranger to my home, placed himin my own bed, and became his nurse. His malady was such as is known inthe tropical islands by the name of the yellow or malignant fever, andthe physician who was called speedily pronounced his case desperate. 

"It was my duty to warn him of the death that was hastening, and topromise the fulfilment of any of his wishes not inconsistent with mypresent situation. He received my intelligence with fortitude, andappeared anxious to communicate some information respecting his ownstate. His pangs and his weakness scarcely allowed him to beintelligible. From his feeble efforts and broken narrative I collectedthus much concerning his family and fortune. 

"His father's name was Vincentio Lodi. From a merchant at Leghorn, hehad changed himself into a planter in the island of Guadaloupe. His sonhad been sent, at an early age, for the benefits of education, toEurope. The young Vincentio was, at length, informed by his father, that, being weary of his present mode of existence, he had determined tosell his property and transport himself to the United States. The sonwas directed to hasten home, that he might embark, with his father, onthis voyage. 

"The summons was cheerfully obeyed. The youth, on his arrival at theisland, found preparation making for the funeral of his father. Itappeared that the elder Lodi had flattered one of his slaves with theprospect of his freedom, but had, nevertheless, included this slave inthe sale that he had made of his estate. Actuated by revenge, the slaveassassinated Lodi in the open street, and resigned himself, without astruggle, to the punishment which the law had provided for such a deed. 

"The property had been recently transferred, and the price was nowpresented to young Vincentio by the purchaser. He was by no meansinclined to adopt his father's project, and was impatient to return withhis inheritance to France. Before this could be done, the conduct of hisfather had rendered a voyage to the Continent indispensable. 

"Lodi had a daughter, whom, a few weeks previous to his death, he hadintrusted to an American captain for whom he had contracted afriendship. The vessel was bound to Philadelphia; but the conduct shewas to pursue, and the abode she was to select, on her arrival, wereknown only to the father, whose untimely death involved the son inconsiderable uncertainty with regard to his sister's fate. His anxietyon this account induced him to seize the first conveyance that offered. In a short time he landed at Baltimore. 

"As soon as he recovered from the fatigues of his voyage, he prepared togo to Philadelphia. Thither his baggage was immediately sent under theprotection of a passenger and countryman. His money consisted inPortuguese gold, which, in pursuance of advice, he had changed intobank-notes. He besought me, in pathetic terms, to search out his sister, whose youth and poverty, and ignorance of the language and manners ofthe country, might expose her to innumerable hardships. At the sametime, he put a pocket-book and small volume into my hand, indicating, byhis countenance and gestures, his desire that I would deliver them tohis sister. 

"His obsequies being decently performed, I had leisure to reflect uponthe change in my condition which this incident had produced. In thepocket-book were found bills to the amount of twenty thousand dollars. The volume proved to be a manuscript, written by the elder Lodi inItalian, and contained memoirs of the ducal house of Visconti, from whomthe writer believed himself to have lineally descended. 

"Thus had I arrived, by an avenue so much beyond my foresight, at thepossession of wealth. The evil which impelled me to the brink ofsuicide, and which was the source, though not of all, yet of the largerportion, of my anguish, was now removed. What claims to honour or toease were consequent on riches were, by an extraordinary fortune, nowconferred upon me. 

"Such, for a time, were my new-born but transitory raptures. I forgotthat this money was not mine. That it had been received, under everysanction of fidelity, for another's use. To retain it was equivalent torobbery. The sister of the deceased was the rightful claimant; it was myduty to search her out, and perform my tacit but sacred obligations, byputting the whole into her possession. 

"This conclusion was too adverse to my wishes not to be strenuouslycombated. I asked what it was that gave man the power of ascertainingthe successor to his property. During his life, he might transfer theactual possession; but, if vacant at his death, he into whose handsaccident should cast it was the genuine proprietor. It is true, that thelaw had sometimes otherwise decreed, but in law there was no validityfurther than it was able, by investigation and punishment, to enforceits decrees: but would the law extort this money from me?

"It was rather by gesture than by words that the will of Lodi wasimparted. It was the topic of remote inferences and vague conjecturerather than of explicit and unerring declarations. Besides, if the ladywere found, would not prudence dictate the reservation of her fortune tobe administered by me, for her benefit? Of this her age and educationhad disqualified herself. It was sufficient for the maintenance of both. She would regard me as her benefactor and protector. By supplying allher wants and watching over her safety without apprizing her of themeans by which I shall be enabled to do this, I shall lay irresistibleclaims to her love and her gratitude. 

"Such were the sophistries by which reason was seduced and my integrityannihilated. I hastened away from my present abode. I easily traced thebaggage of the deceased to an inn, and gained possession of it. Itcontained nothing but clothes and books. I then instituted the mostdiligent search after the young lady. For a time, my exertions werefruitless. 

"Meanwhile, the possessor of this house thought proper to embark withhis family for Europe. The sum which he demanded for his furniture, though enormous, was precipitately paid by me. His servants werecontinued in their former stations, and in the day at which herelinquished the mansion, I entered on possession. 

"There was no difficulty in persuading the world that Welbeck was apersonage of opulence and rank. My birth and previous adventures it wasproper to conceal. The facility with which mankind are misled in theirestimate of characters, their proneness to multiply inferences andconjectures, will not be readily conceived by one destitute of myexperience. My sudden appearance on the stage, my stately reserve, mysplendid habitation, and my circumspect deportment, were sufficient toentitle me to homage. The artifices that were used to unveil the truth, and the guesses that were current respecting me, were adapted to gratifymy ruling passion. 

"I did not remit my diligence to discover the retreat of MademoiselleLodi. I found her, at length, in the family of a kinsman of the captainunder whose care she had come to America. Her situation was irksome andperilous. She had already experienced the evils of being protectorlessand indigent, and my seasonable interference snatched her from impendingand less supportable ills. 

"I could safely unfold all that I knew of her brother's history, exceptthe legacy which he had left. I ascribed the diligence with which I hadsought her to his death-bed injunctions, and prevailed upon her toaccept from me the treatment which she would have received from herbrother if he had continued to live, and if his power to benefit hadbeen equal to my own. 

"Though less can be said in praise of the understanding than of thesensibilities of this woman, she is one whom no one could refrain fromloving, though placed in situations far less favourable to thegeneration of that sentiment than mine. In habits of domestic andincessant intercourse, in the perpetual contemplation of featuresanimated by boundless gratitude and ineffable sympathies, it could notbe expected that either she or I should escape enchantment. 

"The poison was too sweet not to be swallowed with avidity by me. Toolate I remembered that I was already enslaved by inextricableobligations. It was easy to have hidden this impediment from the eyes ofmy companion, but here my integrity refused to yield. I can, indeed, layclaim to little merit on account of this forbearance. If there had beenno alternative between deceit and the frustration of my hopes, I shoulddoubtless have dissembled the truth with as little scruple on this as ona different occasion; but I could not be blind to the weakness of herwith whom I had to contend. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"Meanwhile large deductions had been made from my stock of money, andthe remnant would be speedily consumed by my present mode of life. Myexpenses far exceeded my previous expectations. In no long time I shouldbe reduced to my ancient poverty, which the luxurious existence that Inow enjoyed, and the regard due to my beloved and helpless companion, would render more irksome than ever. Some scheme to rescue me from thisfate was indispensable; but my aversion to labour, to any pursuit theend of which was merely gain, and which would require application andattention, continued undiminished. 

"I was plunged anew into dejection and perplexity. From this I wassomewhat relieved by a plan suggested by Mr. Thetford. I thought I hadexperience of his knowledge and integrity, and the scheme that heproposed seemed liable to no possibility of miscarriage. A ship was tobe purchased, supplied with a suitable cargo, and despatched to a portin the West Indies. Loss from storms and enemies was to be precluded byinsurance. Every hazard was to be enumerated, and the ship and cargovalued at the highest rate. Should the voyage be safely performed, theprofits would be double the original expense. Should the ship be takenor wrecked, the insurers would have bound themselves to make ample, speedy, and certain indemnification. Thetford's brother, a wary andexperienced trader, was to be the supercargo. 

"All my money was laid out upon this scheme. Scarcely enough wasreserved to supply domestic and personal wants. Large debts werelikewise incurred. Our caution had, as we conceived, annihilated everychance of failure. Too much could not be expended on a project soinfallible; and the vessel, amply fitted and freighted, departed on hervoyage. 

"An interval, not devoid of suspense and anxiety, succeeded. Mymercantile inexperience made me distrust the clearness of my owndiscernment, and I could not but remember that my utter andirretrievable destruction was connected with the failure of my scheme. Time added to my distrust and apprehensions. The time at which tidingsof the ship were to be expected elapsed without affording anyinformation of her destiny. My anxieties, however, were to be carefullyhidden from the world. I had taught mankind to believe that this projecthad been adopted more for amusement than gain; and the debts which I hadcontracted seemed to arise from willingness to adhere to establishedmaxims, more than from the pressure of necessity. 

"Month succeeded month, and intelligence was still withheld. The noteswhich I had given for one-third of the cargo, and for the premium ofinsurance, would shortly become due. For the payment of the former, andthe cancelling of the latter, I had relied upon the expeditious returnor the demonstrated loss of the vessel. Neither of these events hadtaken place. 

"My cares were augmented from another quarter. My companion's situationnow appeared to be such as, if our intercourse had been sanctified bywedlock, would have been regarded with delight. As it was, no symptomswere equally to be deplored. Consequences, as long as they were involvedin uncertainty, were extenuated or overlooked; but now, when they becameapparent and inevitable, were fertile of distress and upbraiding. 

"Indefinable fears, and a desire to monopolize all the meditations andaffections of this being, had induced me to perpetuate her ignorance ofany but her native language, and debar her from all intercourse with theworld. My friends were of course inquisitive respecting her character, adventures, and particularly her relation to me. The consciousness howmuch the truth redounded to my dishonour made me solicitous to leadconjecture astray. For this purpose I did not discountenance theconclusion that was adopted by some, --that she was my daughter. Ireflected that all dangerous surmises would be effectually precluded bythis belief. 

"These precautions afforded me some consolation in my presentdifficulties. It was requisite to conceal the lady's condition from theworld. If this should be ineffectual, it would not be difficult todivert suspicion from my person. The secrecy that I had practised wouldbe justified, in the apprehension of those to whom the personalcondition of Clemenza should be disclosed, by the feelings of a father. 

"Meanwhile, it was an obvious expedient to remove the unhappy lady to adistance from impertinent observers. A rural retreat, lonely andsequestered, was easily procured, and hither she consented to repair. This arrangement being concerted, I had leisure to reflect upon theevils which every hour brought nearer, and which threatened toexterminate me. 

"My inquietudes forbade me to sleep, and I was accustomed to rise beforeday and seek some respite in the fields. Returning from one of theseunseasonable rambles, I chanced to meet you. Your resemblance to thedeceased Lodi, in person and visage, is remarkable. When you first metmy eye, this similitude startled me. Your subsequent appeal to mycompassion was clothed in such terms as formed a powerful contrast withyour dress, and prepossessed me greatly in favour of your education andcapacity. 

"In my present hopeless condition, every incident, however trivial, wasattentively considered, with a view to extract from it some means ofescaping from my difficulties. My love for the Italian girl, in spite ofall my efforts to keep it alive, had begun to languish. Marriage wasimpossible; and had now, in some degree, ceased to be desirable. We areapt to judge of others by ourselves. The passion I now found myselfdisposed to ascribe chiefly to fortuitous circumstances; to the impulseof gratitude, and the exclusion of competitors; and believed that yourresemblance to her brother, your age and personal accomplishments, might, after a certain time, and in consequence of suitablecontrivances on my part, give a new direction to her feelings. To gainyour concurrence, I relied upon your simplicity, your gratitude, andyour susceptibility to the charms of this bewitching creature. 

"I contemplated, likewise, another end. Mrs. Wentworth is rich. A youthwho was once her favourite, and designed to inherit her fortunes, hasdisappeared, for some years, from the scene. His death is most probable, but of that there is no satisfactory information. The life of thisperson, whose name is Clavering, is an obstacle to some designs whichhad occurred to me in relation to this woman. My purposes were crude andscarcely formed. I need not swell the catalogue of my errors byexpatiating upon them. Suffice it to say that the peculiar circumstancesof your introduction to me led me to reflections on the use that mightbe made of your agency, in procuring this lady's acquiescence in myschemes. You were to be ultimately persuaded to confirm her in thebelief that her nephew was dead. To this consummation it wasindispensable to lead you by slow degrees and circuitous paths. Meanwhile, a profound silence, with regard to your genuine history, wasto be observed; and to this forbearance your consent was obtained withmore readiness than I expected. 

"There was an additional motive for the treatment you received from me. My personal projects and cares had hitherto prevented me from readingLodi's manuscript; a slight inspection, however, was sufficient to provethat the work was profound and eloquent. My ambition has panted, withequal avidity, after the reputation of literature and opulence. To claimthe authorship of this work was too harmless and specious a stratagemnot to be readily suggested. I meant to translate it into English, andto enlarge it by enterprising incidents of my own invention. My scruplesto assume the merit of the original composer might thus be removed. Forthis end, your assistance as an amanuensis would be necessary. 

"You will perceive that all these projects depended on the seasonablearrival of intelligence from ----. The delay of another week would sealmy destruction. The silence might arise from the foundering of the shipand the destruction of all on board. In this case, the insurance was notforfeited, but payment could not be obtained within a year. Meanwhile, the premium and other debts must be immediately discharged, and this wasbeyond my power. Meanwhile, I was to live in a manner that would notbelie my pretensions; but my coffers were empty. 

"I cannot adequately paint the anxieties with which I have been haunted. Each hour has added to the burden of my existence, till, in consequenceof the events of this day, it has become altogether insupportable. Somehours ago, I was summoned by Thetford to his house. The messengerinformed me that tidings had been received of my ship. In answer to myeager interrogations, he could give no other information than that shehad been captured by the British. He was unable to relate particulars. 

"News of her safe return would, indeed, have been far more acceptable;but even this information was a source of infinite congratulation. Itprecluded the demand of my insurers. The payment of other debts might bepostponed for a month, and my situation be the same as before theadoption of this successless scheme. Hope and joy were reinstated in mybosom, and I hasted to Thetford's counting-house. 

"He received me with an air of gloomy dissatisfaction. I accounted forhis sadness by supposing him averse to communicate information which wasless favourable than our wishes had dictated. He confirmed, with visiblereluctance, the news of her capture. He had just received letters fromhis brother, acquainting him with all particulars, and containing theofficial documents of this transaction. 

"This had no tendency to damp my satisfaction, and I proceeded to perusewith eagerness the papers which he put into my hand. I had not proceededfar, when my joyous hopes vanished. Two French mulattoes had, after muchsolicitation, and the most solemn promises to carry with them noarticles which the laws of war decree to be contraband, obtained apassage in the vessel. She was speedily encountered by a privateer, bywhom every receptacle was ransacked. In a chest, belonging to theFrenchmen, and which they had affirmed to contain nothing but theirclothes, were found two sabres, and other accoutrements of an officer ofcavalry. Under this pretence, the vessel was captured and condemned, andthis was a cause of forfeiture which had not been provided against inthe contract of insurance. 

"By this untoward event my hopes were irreparably blasted. The utmostefforts were demanded to conceal my thoughts from my companion. Theanguish that preyed upon my heart was endeavoured to be masked by looksof indifference. I pretended to have been previously informed by themessenger not only of the capture, but of the cause that led to it, andforbore to expatiate upon my loss, or to execrate the authors of mydisappointment. My mind, however, was the theatre of discord and agony, and I waited with impatience for an opportunity to leave him. 

"For want of other topics, I asked by whom this information had beenbrought. He answered, that the bearer was Captain Amos Watson, whosevessel had been forfeited, at the same time, under a different pretence. He added that, my name being mentioned accidentally to Watson, thelatter had betrayed marks of great surprise, and been very earnest inhis inquiries respecting my situation. Having obtained what knowledgeThetford was able to communicate, the captain had departed, avowing aformer acquaintance with me, and declaring his intention of paying me avisit. 

"These words operated on my frame like lightning. All within me wastumult and terror, and I rushed precipitately out of the house. I wentforward with unequal steps, and at random. Some instinct led me into thefields, and I was not apprized of the direction of my steps, till, looking up, I found myself upon the shore of Schuylkill. 

"Thus was I, a second time, overborne by hopeless and incurable evils. An interval of motley feelings, of specious artifice and contemptibleimposture, had elapsed since my meeting with the stranger at Wilmington. Then my forlorn state had led me to the brink of suicide. A brief andfeverish respite had been afforded me, but now was I transported to theverge of the same abyss. 

"Amos Watson was the brother of the angel whom I had degraded anddestroyed. What but fiery indignation and unappeasable vengeance couldlead him into my presence? With what heart could I listen to hisinvectives? How could I endure to look upon the face of one whom I hadloaded with such atrocious and intolerable injuries?

"I was acquainted with his loftiness of mind; his detestation ofinjustice, and the whirlwind passions that ingratitude and villany likemine were qualified to awaken in his bosom. I dreaded not his violence. The death that he might be prompted to inflict was no object ofaversion. It was poverty and disgrace, the detection of my crimes, thelooks and voice of malediction and upbraiding, from which my cowardiceshrunk. 

"Why should I live? I must vanish from that stage which I had latelytrodden. My flight must be instant and precipitate. To be a fugitivefrom exasperated creditors, and from the industrious revenge of Watson, was an easy undertaking; but whither could I fly, where I should not bepursued by the phantoms of remorse, by the dread of hourly detection, bythe necessities of hunger and thirst? In what scene should I be exemptfrom servitude and drudgery? Was my existence embellished withenjoyments that would justify my holding it, encumbered with hardshipsand immersed in obscurity?

"There was no room for hesitation. To rush into the stream before me, and put an end at once to my life and the miseries inseparably linkedwith it, was the only proceeding which fate had left to my choice. Mymuscles were already exerted for this end, when the helpless conditionof Clemenza was remembered. What provision could I make against theevils that threatened her? Should I leave her utterly forlorn andfriendless? Mrs. Wentworth's temper was forgiving and compassionate. Adversity had taught her to participate and her wealth enabled her torelieve distress. Who was there by whom such powerful claims to succourand protection could be urged as by this desolate girl? Might I notstate her situation in a letter to this lady, and urge irresistiblepleas for the extension of her kindness to this object?

"These thoughts made me suspend my steps. I determined to seek myhabitation once more, and, having written and deposited this letter, toreturn to the execution of my fatal purpose. I had scarcely reached myown door, when some one approached along the pavement. The form, atfirst, was undistinguishable, but, by coming, at length, within theillumination of a lamp, it was perfectly recognised. 

"To avoid this detested interview was now impossible. Watson approachedand accosted me. In this conflict of tumultuous feelings I was stillable to maintain an air of intrepidity. His demeanour was that of a manwho struggles with his rage. His accents were hurried, and scarcelyarticulate. 'I have ten words to say to you, ' said he; 'lead into thehouse, and to some private room. My business with you will be despatchedin a breath. '

"I made him no answer, but led the way into my house, and to my study. On entering this room, I put the light upon the table, and, turning tomy visitant, prepared silently to hear what he had to unfold. He struckhis clenched hand against the table with violence. His motion was ofthat tempestuous kind as to overwhelm the power of utterance, and foundit easier to vent itself in gesticulations than in words. At length heexclaimed, --

"'It is well. Now has the hour, so long and so impatiently demanded bymy vengeance, arrived. Welbeck! Would that my first words could strikethee dead! They will so, if thou hast any title to the name of man. 

"'My sister is dead; dead of anguish and a broken heart. Remote from herfriends; in a hovel; the abode of indigence and misery. 

"'Her husband is no more. He returned after a long absence, a tediousnavigation, and vicissitudes of hardships. He flew to the bosom of hislove; of his wife. She was gone; lost to him, and to virtue. In a fit ofdesperation, he retired to his chamber and despatched himself. This isthe instrument with which the deed was performed. '

"Saying this, Watson took a pistol from his pocket, and held it to myhead. I lifted not my hand to turn aside the weapon. I did not shudderat the spectacle, or shrink from his approaching hand. With fingersclasped together, and eyes fixed upon the floor, I waited till his furywas exhausted. He continued:--

"'All passed in a few hours. The elopement of his daughter, --the deathof his son. O my father! Most loved and most venerable of men! To seethee changed into a maniac! Haggard and wild! Deterred from outrage onthyself and those around thee by fetters and stripes! What was it thatsaved me from a like fate? To view this hideous ruin, and to think bywhom it was occasioned! Yet not to become frantic like thee, my father;or not destroy myself like thee, my brother! My friend!--

"'No. For this hour was I reserved; to avenge your wrongs and mine inthe blood of this ungrateful villain. '

"'There, ' continued he, producing a second pistol, and tendering it tome, --'there is thy defence. Take we opposite sides of this table, andfire at the same instant. '

"During this address I was motionless. He tendered the pistol, but Iunclasped not my hands to receive it. 

"'Why do you hesitate?' resumed he. 'Let the chance between us be equal, or fire you first. '

"'No, ' said I, 'I am ready to die by your hand. I wish it. It willpreclude the necessity of performing the office for myself. I haveinjured you, and merit all that your vengeance can inflict. I know yournature too well to believe that my death will be perfect expiation. Whenthe gust of indignation is past, the remembrance of your deed will onlyadd to your sum of misery; yet I do not love you well enough to wishthat you would forbear. I desire to die, and to die by another's handrather than my own. '

"'Coward!' exclaimed Watson, with augmented vehemence, 'you know me toowell to believe me capable of assassination. Vile subterfuge!Contemptible plea! Take the pistol and defend yourself. You want not thepower or the will; but, knowing that I spurn at murder, you think yoursafety will be found in passiveness. Your refusal will avail you little. Your fame, if not your life, is at my mercy. If you falter now, I willallow you to live, but only till I have stabbed your reputation. '

"I now fixed my eyes steadfastly upon him, and spoke:--'How much astranger are you to the feelings of Welbeck! How poor a judge of hiscowardice! I take your pistol, and consent to your conditions. '

"We took opposite sides of the table. 'Are you ready?' he cried; 'fire!'

"Both triggers were drawn at the same instant. Both pistols weredischarged. Mine was negligently raised. Such is the untoward chancethat presides over human affairs; such is the malignant destiny by whichmy steps have ever been pursued. The bullet whistled harmlessly byme, --levelled by an eye that never before failed, and with so small aninterval between us. I escaped, but my blind and random shot took placein his heart. 

"There is the fruit of this disastrous meeting. The catalogue of deathis thus completed. Thou sleepest, Watson! Thy sister is at rest, and soart thou. Thy vows of vengeance are at an end. It was not reserved forthee to be thy own and thy sister's avenger. Welbeck's measure oftransgressions is now full, and his own hand must execute the justicethat is due to him. "

CHAPTER XII. 

Such was Welbeck's tale, listened to by me with an eagerness in whichevery faculty was absorbed. How adverse to my dreams were the incidentsthat had just been related! The curtain was lifted, and a scene of guiltand ignominy disclosed where my rash and inexperienced youth hadsuspected nothing but loftiness and magnanimity. 

For a while the wondrousness of this tale kept me from contemplating theconsequences that awaited us. My unfledged fancy had not hitherto soaredto this pitch. All was astounding by its novelty, or terrific by itshorror. The very scene of these offences partook, to my rusticapprehension, of fairy splendour and magical abruptness. Myunderstanding was bemazed, and my senses were taught to distrust theirown testimony. 

From this musing state I was recalled by my companion, who said to me, in solemn accents, "Mervyn! I have but two requests to make. Assist meto bury these remains, and then accompany me across the river. I have nopower to compel your silence on the acts that you have witnessed. I havemeditated to benefit as well as to injure you; but I do not desire thatyour demeanour should conform to any other standard than justice. Youhave promised, and to that promise I trust. 

"If you choose to fly from this scene, to withdraw yourself from whatyou may conceive to be a theatre of guilt or peril, the avenues areopen; retire unmolested and in silence. If you have a manlike spirit, ifyou are grateful for the benefits bestowed upon you, if your discernmentenables you to see that compliance with my request will entangle you inno guilt and betray you into no danger, stay, and aid me in hiding theseremains from human scrutiny. 

"Watson is beyond the reach of further injury. I never intended himharm, though I have torn from him his sister and friend, and havebrought his life to an untimely close. To provide him a grave is a dutythat I owe to the dead and to the living. I shall quickly place myselfbeyond the reach of inquisitors and judges, but would willingly rescuefrom molestation or suspicion those whom I shall leave behind. "

What would have been the fruit of deliberation, if I had had the time orpower to deliberate, I know not. My thoughts flowed with tumult andrapidity. To shut this spectacle from my view was the first impulse; butto desert this man, in a time of so much need, appeared a thankless anddastardly deportment. To remain where I was, to conform implicitly tohis direction, required no effort. Some fear was connected with hispresence, and with that of the dead; but, in the tremulous confusion ofmy present thoughts, solitude would conjure up a thousand phantoms. 

I made no preparation to depart. I did not verbally assent to hisproposal. He interpreted my silence into acquiescence. He wrapped thebody in the carpet, and then, lifting one end, cast at me a look whichindicated his expectations that I would aid him in lifting this ghastlyburden. During this process, the silence was unbroken. 

I knew not whither he intended to convey the corpse. He had talked ofburial, but no receptacle had been provided. How far safety might dependupon his conduct in this particular, I was unable to estimate. I was intoo heartless a mood to utter my doubts. I followed his example inraising the corpse from the floor. 

He led the way into the passage and down-stairs. Having reached thefirst floor, he unbolted a door which led into the cellar. The stairsand passage were illuminated by lamps that hung from the ceiling andwere accustomed to burn during the night. Now, however, we were enteringdarksome and murky recesses. 

"Return, " said he, in a tone of command, "and fetch the light. I willwait for you. "

I obeyed. As I returned with the light, a suspicion stole into my mind, that Welbeck had taken this opportunity to fly; and that, on regainingthe foot of the stairs, I should find the spot deserted by all but thedead. My blood was chilled by this image. The momentary resolution itinspired was to follow the example of the fugitive, and leave thepersons whom the ensuing day might convene on this spot, to form theirown conjectures as to the cause of this catastrophe. 

Meanwhile, I cast anxious eyes forward. Welbeck was discovered in thesame place and posture in which he had been left. Lifting the corpse andits shroud in his arms, he directed me to follow him. The vaults beneathwere lofty and spacious. He passed from one to the other till we reacheda small and remote cell. Here he cast his burden on the ground. In thefall, the face of Watson chanced to be disengaged from its covering. Itsclosed eyes and sunken muscles were rendered in a tenfold degree ghastlyand rueful by the feeble light which the candle shed upon it. 

This object did not escape the attention of Welbeck. He leaned againstthe wall, and, folding his arms, resigned himself to reverie. He gazedupon the countenance of Watson, but his looks denoted his attention tobe elsewhere employed. 

As to me, my state will not be easily described. My eye roved fearfullyfrom one object to another. By turns it was fixed upon the murderedperson and the murderer. The narrow cell in which we stood, itsrudely-fashioned walls and arches, destitute of communication with theexternal air, and its palpable dark scarcely penetrated by the rays of asolitary candle, added to the silence which was deep and universal, produced an impression on my fancy which no time will obliterate. 

Perhaps my imagination was distempered by terror. The incident which Iam going to relate may appear to have existed only in my fancy. Be thatas it may, I experienced all the effects which the fullest belief isadapted to produce. Glancing vaguely at the countenance of Watson, myattention was arrested by a convulsive motion in the eyelids. Thismotion increased, till at length the eyes opened, and a glance, languidbut wild, was thrown around. Instantly they closed, and the tremulousappearance vanished. 

I started from my place and was on the point of uttering someinvoluntary exclamation. At the same moment, Welbeck seemed to recoverfrom his reverie. 

"How is this?" said he. "Why do we linger here? Every moment isprecious. We cannot dig for him a grave with our hands. Wait here, whileI go in search of a spade. "

Saying this, he snatched the candle from my hand, and hasted away. Myeye followed the light as its gleams shifted their place upon the wallsand ceilings, and, gradually vanishing, gave place to unrespited gloom. This proceeding was so unexpected and abrupt, that I had no time toremonstrate against it. Before I retrieved the power of reflection, thelight had disappeared and the footsteps were no longer to be heard. 

I was not, on ordinary occasions, destitute of equanimity; but perhapsthe imagination of man is naturally abhorrent of death, until tutoredinto indifference by habit. Every circumstance combined to fill me withshuddering and panic. For a while, I was enabled to endure my situationby the exertions of my reason. That the lifeless remains of a humanbeing are powerless to injure or benefit, I was thoroughly persuaded. Isummoned this belief to my aid, and was able, if not to subdue, yet tocurb, my fears. I listened to catch the sound of the returning footstepsof Welbeck, and hoped that every new moment would terminate my solitude. 

No signal of his coming was afforded. At length it occurred to me thatWelbeck had gone with no intention to return; that his malice hadseduced me hither to encounter the consequences of his deed. He had fledand barred every door behind him. This suspicion may well be supposed tooverpower my courage, and to call forth desperate efforts for mydeliverance. 

I extended my hands and went forward. I had been too little attentive tothe situation and direction of these vaults and passages, to go forwardwith undeviating accuracy. My fears likewise tended to confuse myperceptions and bewilder my steps. Notwithstanding the danger ofencountering obstructions, I rushed towards the entrance withprecipitation. 

My temerity was quickly punished. In a moment, I was repelled by ajutting angle of the wall, with such force that I staggered backward andfell. The blow was stunning, and, when I recovered my senses, Iperceived that a torrent of blood was gushing from my nostrils. Myclothes were moistened with this unwelcome effusion, and I could not butreflect on the hazard which I should incur by being detected in thisrecess, covered by these accusing stains. 

This reflection once more set me on my feet and incited my exertions. Inow proceeded with greater wariness and caution. I had lost all distinctnotions of my way. My motions were at random. All my labour was to shunobstructions and to advance whenever the vacuity would permit. By thismeans, the entrance was at length found, and, after various efforts, Iarrived, beyond my hopes, at the foot of the staircase. 

I ascended, but quickly encountered an insuperable impediment. The doorat the stair-head was closed and barred. My utmost strength was exertedin vain, to break the lock or the hinges. Thus were my direstapprehensions fulfilled. Welbeck had left me to sustain the charge ofmurder; to obviate suspicions the most atrocious and plausible that thecourse of human events is capable of producing. 

Here I must remain till the morrow; till some one can be made tooverhear my calls and come to my deliverance. What effects will myappearance produce on the spectator? Terrified by phantoms and stainedwith blood, shall I not exhibit the tokens of a maniac as well as anassassin?

The corpse of Watson will quickly be discovered. If, previous to thisdisclosure, I should change my blood-stained garments and withdraw intothe country, shall I not be pursued by the most vehement suspicions, and, perhaps, hunted to my obscurest retreat by the ministers ofjustice? I am innocent; but my tale, however circumstantial or true, will scarcely suffice for my vindication. My flight will be construedinto a proof of incontestable guilt. 

While harassed by these thoughts, my attention was attracted by a faintgleam cast upon the bottom of the staircase. It grew stronger, hoveredfor a moment in my sight, and then disappeared. That it proceeded from alamp or candle, borne by some one along the passages, was no untenableopinion, but was far less probable than that the effulgence wasmeteorous. I confided in the latter supposition, and fortified myselfanew against the dread of preternatural dangers. My thoughts reverted tothe contemplation of the hazards and suspicions which flowed from mycontinuance in this spot. 

In the midst of my perturbed musing, my attention was again recalled byan illumination like the former. Instead of hovering and vanishing, itwas permanent. No ray could be more feeble; but the tangible obscurityto which it succeeded rendered it conspicuous as an electrical flash. For a while I eyed it without moving from my place, and in momentaryexpectation of its disappearance. 

Remarking its stability, the propriety of scrutinizing it more nearly, and of ascertaining the source whence it flowed, was at lengthsuggested. Hope, as well as curiosity, was the parent of my conduct. Though utterly at a loss to assign the cause of this appearance, I waswilling to believe some connection between that cause and the means ofmy deliverance. 

I had scarcely formed the resolution of descending the stair, when myhope was extinguished by the recollection that the cellar had narrow andgrated windows, through which light from the street might possibly havefound access. A second recollection supplanted this belief, for in myway to this staircase my attention would have been solicited, and mysteps, in some degree, been guided, by light coming through theseavenues. 

Having returned to the bottom of the stair, I perceived every part ofthe long-drawn passage illuminated. I threw a glance forward to thequarter whence the rays seemed to proceed, and beheld, at a considerabledistance, Welbeck in the cell which I had left, turning up the earthwith a spade. 

After a pause of astonishment, the nature of the error which I hadcommitted rushed upon my apprehension. I now perceived that the darknesshad misled me to a different staircase from that which I had originallydescended. It was apparent that Welbeck intended me no evil, but hadreally gone in search of the instrument which he had mentioned. 

This discovery overwhelmed me with contrition and shame, though it freedme from the terrors of imprisonment and accusation. To return to thecell which I had left, and where Welbeck was employed in his disastrousoffice, was the expedient which regard to my own safety unavoidablysuggested. 

Welbeck paused, at my approach, and betrayed a momentary consternationat the sight of my ensanguined visage. The blood, by some inexplicableprocess of nature, perhaps by the counteracting influence of fear, hadquickly ceased to flow. Whether the cause of my evasion, and of my fluxof blood, was guessed, or whether his attention was withdrawn, by moremomentous objects, from my condition, he proceeded in his task insilence. 

A shallow bed and a slight covering of clay were provided for thehapless Watson. Welbeck's movements were hurried and tremulous. Hiscountenance betokened a mind engrossed by a single purpose, in somedegree foreign to the scene before him. An intensity and fixedness offeatures were conspicuous, that led me to suspect the subversion of hisreason. 

Having finished the task, he threw aside his implement. He then put intomy hand a pocket-book, saying it belonged to Watson, and might containsomething serviceable to the living. I might make what use of it Ithought proper. He then remounted the stairs, and, placing the candle ona table in the hall, opened the principal door and went forth. I wasdriven, by a sort of mechanical impulse, in his footsteps. I followedhim because it was agreeable to him and because I knew not whither elseto direct my steps. 

The streets were desolate and silent. The watchman's call, remotely andfaintly heard, added to the general solemnity. I followed my companionin a state of mind not easily described. I had no spirit even to inquirewhither he was going. It was not till we arrived at the water's edgethat I persuaded myself to break silence. I then began to reflect on thedegree in which his present schemes might endanger Welbeck or myself. Ihad acted long enough a servile and mechanical part; and been guided byblind and foreign impulses. It was time to lay aside my fetters, anddemand to know whither the path tended in which I was importuned towalk. 

Meanwhile I found myself entangled among boats and shipping. I am unableto describe the spot by any indisputable tokens. I know merely that itwas the termination of one of the principal streets. Here Welbeckselected a boat and prepared to enter it. For a moment I hesitated tocomply with his apparent invitation. I stammered out aninterrogation:--"Why is this? Why should we cross the river? Whatservice can I do for you? I ought to know the purpose of my voyagebefore I enter it. "

He checked himself and surveyed me for a minute in silence. "What do youfear?" said he. "Have I not explained my wishes? Merely cross the riverwith me, for I cannot navigate a boat by myself. Is there any thingarduous or mysterious in this undertaking? we part on the Jersey shore, and I shall leave you to your destiny. All I shall ask from you will besilence, and to hide from mankind what you know concerning me. "

He now entered the boat and urged me to follow his example. Ireluctantly complied, I perceived that the boat contained but one oar, and that was a small one. He seemed startled and thrown into greatperplexity by this discovery. "It will be impossible, " said he, in atone of panic and vexation, "to procure another at this hour: what is tobe done?"

This impediment was by no means insuperable. I had sinewy arms, and knewwell how to use an oar for the double purpose of oar and rudder. I tookmy station at the stern, and quickly extricated the boat from itsneighbours and from the wharves. I was wholly unacquainted with theriver. The bar by which it was encumbered I knew to exist, but in whatdirection and to what extent it existed, and how it might be avoided inthe present state of the tide, I knew not. It was probable, therefore, unknowing as I was of the proper track, that our boat would speedilyhave grounded. 

My attention, meanwhile, was fixed upon the oar. My companion sat at theprow, and was in a considerable degree unnoticed. I cast my eyesoccasionally at the scene which I had left. Its novelty, joined with theincidents of my condition, threw me into a state of suspense and wonderwhich frequently slackened my hand and left the vessel to be driven bythe downward current. Lights were sparingly seen, and these wereperpetually fluctuating, as masts, yards, and hulls were interposed, andpassed before them. In proportion as we receded from the shore, theclamours seemed to multiply, and the suggestion that the city wasinvolved in confusion and uproar did not easily give way to maturerthoughts. _Twelve_ was the hour cried, and this ascended at once fromall quarters, and was mingled with the baying of dogs, so as to producetrepidation and alarm. 

From this state of magnificent and awful feeling I was suddenly calledby the conduct of Welbeck. We had scarcely moved two hundred yards fromthe shore, when he plunged into the water. The first conception was thatsome implement or part of the boat had fallen over-board. I looked backand perceived that his seat was vacant. In my first astonishment Iloosened my hold of the oar, and it floated away. The surface was smoothas glass, and the eddy occasioned by his sinking was scarcely visible. Ihad not time to determine whether this was designed or accidental. Itssuddenness deprived me of the power to exert myself for his succour. Iwildly gazed around me, in hopes of seeing him rise. After some time myattention was drawn, by the sound of agitation in the water, to aconsiderable distance. 

It was too dark for any thing to be distinctly seen. There was no cryfor help. The noise was like that of one vigorously struggling for amoment, and then sinking to the bottom. I listened with painfuleagerness, but was unable to distinguish a third signal. He sunk to riseno more. 

I was for a time inattentive to my own situation. The dreadfulness andunexpectedness of this catastrophe occupied me wholly. The quick motionof the lights upon the shore showed me that I was borne rapidly alongwith the tide. How to help myself, how to impede my course or to regaineither shore, since I had lost the oar, I was unable to tell. I was noless at a loss to conjecture whither the current, if suffered to controlmy vehicle, would finally transport me. 

The disappearance of lights and buildings, and the diminution of thenoises, acquainted me that I had passed the town. It was impossiblelonger to hesitate. The shore was to be regained by one way only, whichwas swimming. To any exploit of this kind, my strength and my skill wereadequate. I threw away my loose gown; put the pocket-book of theunfortunate Watson in my mouth, to preserve it from being injured bymoisture; and committed myself to the stream. 

I landed in a spot incommoded with mud and reeds. I sunk knee-deep intothe former, and was exhausted by the fatigue of extricating myself. Atlength I recovered firm ground, and threw myself on the turf to repairmy wasted strength, and to reflect on the measures which my futurewelfare enjoined me to pursue. 

What condition was ever parallel to mine? The transactions of the lastthree days resembled the monstrous creations of delirium. They werepainted with vivid hues on my memory; but so rapid and incongruous werethese transitions, that I almost denied belief to their reality. Theyexercised a bewildering and stupefying influence on my mind, from whichthe meditations of an hour were scarcely sufficient to relieve me. Gradually I recovered the power of arranging my ideas and formingconclusions. 

Welbeck was dead. His property was swallowed up, and his creditors leftto wonder at his disappearance. All that was left was the furniture ofhis house, to which Mrs. Wentworth would lay claim, in discharge of theunpaid rent. What now was the destiny that awaited the lost andfriendless Mademoiselle Lodi? Where was she concealed? Welbeck haddropped no intimation by which I might be led to suspect the place ofher abode. If my power, in other respects, could have contributed aughtto her relief, my ignorance of her asylum had utterly disabled me. 

But what of the murdered person? He had suddenly vanished from the faceof the earth. His fate and the place of his interment would probably besuspected and ascertained. Was I sure to escape from the consequences ofthis deed? Watson had relatives and friends. What influence on theirstate and happiness his untimely and mysterious fate would possess, itwas obvious to inquire. This idea led me to the recollection of hispocket-book. Some papers might be there explanatory of his situation. 

I resumed my feet. I knew not where to direct my steps. I was droppingwith wet, and shivering with the cold. I was destitute of habitation andfriend. I had neither money nor any valuable thing in my possession. Imoved forward mechanically and at random. Where I landed was at no greatdistance from the verge of the town. In a short time I discovered theglimmering of a distant lamp. To this I directed my steps, and here Ipaused to examine the contents of the pocket-book. 

I found three bank-notes, each of fifty dollars, enclosed in a piece ofblank paper. Besides these were three letters, apparently written by hiswife, and dated at Baltimore. They were brief, but composed in a strainof great tenderness, and containing affecting allusions to their child. I could gather, from their date and tenor, that they were receivedduring his absence on his recent voyage; that her condition wasconsiderably necessitous, and surrounded by wants which their prolongedseparation had increased. 

The fourth letter was open, and seemed to have been very lately written. It was directed to Mrs. Mary Watson. He informed her in it of hisarrival at Philadelphia from St. Domingo; of the loss of his ship andcargo; and of his intention to hasten home with all possible expedition. He told her that all was lost but one hundred and fifty dollars, thegreater part of which he should bring with him, to relieve her morepressing wants. The letter was signed, and folded, and superscribed, butunsealed. 

A little consideration showed me in what manner it became me, on thisoccasion, to demean myself. I put the bank-notes in the letter, andsealed it with a wafer; a few of which were found in the pocket-book. Ihesitated some time whether I should add any thing to the informationwhich the letter contained, by means of a pencil which offered itself tomy view; but I concluded to forbear. I could select no suitable terms inwhich to communicate the mournful truth. I resolved to deposit thisletter at the post-office, where I knew letters could be left at allhours. 

My reflections at length reverted to my own condition. What was the fatereserved for me? How far my safety might be affected by remaining in thecity, in consequence of the disappearance of Welbeck, and my knownconnection with the fugitive, it was impossible to foresee. My fearsreadily suggested innumerable embarrassments and inconveniences whichwould flow from this source. Besides, on what pretence should I remain?To whom could I apply for protection or employment? All avenues, even tosubsistence, were shut against me. The country was my sole asylum. Here, in exchange for my labour, I could at least purchase food, safety, andrepose. But, if my choice pointed to the country, there was no reasonfor a moment's delay. It would be prudent to regain the fields, and befar from this detested city before the rising of the sun. 

Meanwhile I was chilled and chafed by the clothes that I wore. To changethem for others was absolutely necessary to my ease. The clothes which Iwore were not my own, and were extremely unsuitable to my new condition. My rustic and homely garb was deposited in my chamber at Welbeck's. These thoughts suggested the design of returning thither. I consideredthat, probably, the servants had not been alarmed. That the door wasunfastened, and the house was accessible. It would be easy to enter andretire without notice; and this, not without some waverings andmisgivings, I presently determined to do. 

Having deposited my letter at the office, I proceeded to my late abode. I approached, and lifted the latch with caution. There were noappearances of any one having been disturbed. I procured a light in thekitchen, and hied softly and with dubious footsteps to my chamber. ThereI disrobed, and resumed my check shirt, and trowsers, and fustian coat. This change being accomplished, nothing remained but that I shouldstrike into the country with the utmost expedition. 

In a momentary review which I took of the past, the design for whichWelbeck professed to have originally detained me in his service occurredto my mind. I knew the danger of reasoning loosely on the subject ofproperty. To any trinket or piece of furniture in this house I did notallow myself to question the right of Mrs. Wentworth; a right accruingto her in consequence of Welbeck's failure in the payment of his rent;but there was one thing which I felt an irresistible desire, and noscruples which should forbid me, to possess, and that was, themanuscript to which Welbeck had alluded, as having been written by thedeceased Lodi. 

I was well instructed in Latin, and knew the Tuscan language to benearly akin to it. I despaired not of being at some time able tocultivate this language, and believed that the possession of thismanuscript might essentially contribute to this end, as well as to manyothers equally beneficial. It was easy to conjecture that the volume wasto be found among his printed books, and it was scarcely less easy toascertain the truth of this conjecture. I entered, not without tremuloussensations, into the apartment which had been the scene of thedisastrous interview between Watson and Welbeck. At every step I almostdreaded to behold the spectre of the former rise before me. 

Numerous and splendid volumes were arranged on mahogany shelves, andscreened by doors of glass. I ran swiftly over their names, and was atlength so fortunate as to light upon the book of which I was in search. I immediately secured it, and, leaving the candle extinguished on atable in the parlour, I once more issued forth into the street. Withlight steps and palpitating heart I turned my face towards the country. My necessitous condition I believed would justify me in passing withoutpayment the Schuylkill bridge, and the eastern sky began to brightenwith the dawn of morning not till I had gained the distance of ninemiles from the city. 

Such is the tale which I proposed to relate to you. Such are thememorable incidents of five days of my life; from which I have gatheredmore instruction than from the whole tissue of my previous existence. Such are the particulars of my knowledge respecting the crimes andmisfortunes of Welbeck; which the insinuations of Wortley, and my desireto retain your good opinion, have induced me to unfold. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Mervyn's pause allowed his auditors to reflect on the particulars of hisnarration, and to compare them with the facts with a knowledge of whichtheir own observation had supplied them. My profession introduced me tothe friendship of Mrs. Wentworth, by whom, after the disappearance ofWelbeck, many circumstances respecting him had been mentioned. Sheparticularly dwelt upon the deportment and appearance of this youth, atthe single interview which took place between them, and herrepresentations were perfectly conformable to those which Mervyn hadhimself delivered. 

Previously to this interview, Welbeck had insinuated to her that arecent event had put him in possession of the truth respecting thedestiny of Clavering. A kinsman of his had arrived from Portugal, bywhom this intelligence had been brought. He dexterously eluded herentreaties to be furnished with minuter information, or to introducethis kinsman to her acquaintance. As soon as Mervyn was ushered into herpresence, she suspected him to be the person to whom Welbeck hadalluded, and this suspicion his conversation had confirmed. She was at aloss to comprehend the reasons of the silence which he so pertinaciouslymaintained. 

Her uneasiness, however, prompted her to renew her solicitations. On theday subsequent to the catastrophe related by Mervyn, she sent amessenger to Welbeck, with a request to see him. Gabriel, the blackservant, informed the messenger that his master had gone into thecountry for a week. At the end of the week, a messenger was againdespatched with the same errand. He called and knocked, but no oneanswered his signals. He examined the entrance by the kitchen, butevery avenue was closed. It appeared that the house was wholly deserted. 

These appearances naturally gave birth to curiosity and suspicion. Thehouse was repeatedly examined, but the solitude and silence withincontinued the same. The creditors of Welbeck were alarmed by theseappearances, and their claims to the property remaining in the housewere precluded by Mrs. Wentworth, who, as owner of the mansion, waslegally entitled to the furniture, in place of the rent which Welbeckhad suffered to accumulate. 

On examining the dwelling, all that was valuable and portable, particularly linen and plate, was removed. The remainder was distrained, but the tumults of pestilence succeeded and hindered it from being sold. Things were allowed to continue in their former situation, and the housewas carefully secured. We had no leisure to form conjectures on thecauses of this desertion. An explanation was afforded us by thenarrative of this youth. It is probable that the servants, finding theirmaster's absence continue, had pillaged the house and fled. 

Meanwhile, though our curiosity with regard to Welbeck was appeased, itwas obvious to inquire by what series of inducements and events Mervynwas reconducted to the city and led to the spot where I first met withhim. We intimated our wishes in this respect, and our young friendreadily consented to take up the thread of his story and bring it downto the point that was desired. For this purpose, the ensuing evening wasselected. Having, at an early hour, shut ourselves up from all intrudersand visitors, he continued as follows. 

 * * * * *

I have mentioned that, by sunrise, I had gained the distance of manymiles from the city. My purpose was to stop at the first farm-house, andseek employment as a day-labourer. The first person whom I observed wasa man of placid mien and plain garb. Habitual benevolence was apparentamidst the wrinkles of age. He was traversing his buckwheat-field, andmeasuring, as it seemed, the harvest that was now nearly ripe. 

I accosted him with diffidence, and explained my wishes. He listened tomy tale with complacency, inquired into my name and family, and into myqualifications for the office to which I aspired. My answers were candidand full. 

"Why, " said he, "I believe thou and I can make a bargain. We will, atleast, try each other for a week or two. If it does not suit our mutualconvenience, we can change. The morning is damp and cool, and thy plightdoes not appear the most comfortable that can be imagined. Come to thehouse and eat some breakfast. "

The behaviour of this good man filled me with gratitude and joy. Methought I could embrace him as a father, and entrance into his houseappeared like return to a long-lost and much-loved home. My desolate andlonely condition appeared to be changed for paternal regards and thetenderness of friendship. 

These emotions were confirmed and heightened by every object thatpresented itself under this roof. The family consisted of Mrs. Hadwin, two simple and affectionate girls, his daughters, and servants. Themanners of this family, quiet, artless, and cordial, the occupationsallotted me, the land by which the dwelling was surrounded, its pureairs, romantic walks, and exhaustless fertility, constituted a powerfulcontrast to the scenes which I had left behind, and were congenial withevery dictate of my understanding and every sentiment that glowed in myheart. 

My youth, mental cultivation, and circumspect deportment, entitled me todeference and confidence. Each hour confirmed me in the good opinion ofMr. Hadwin, and in the affections of his daughters. In the mind of myemployer, the simplicity of the husbandman and the devotion of theQuaker were blended with humanity and intelligence. The sisters, Susanand Eliza, were unacquainted with calamity and vice through the mediumof either observation or books. They were strangers to the benefits ofan elaborate education, but they were endowed with curiosity anddiscernment, and had not suffered their slender means of instruction toremain unimproved. 

The sedateness of the elder formed an amusing contrast with the laughingeye and untamable vivacity of the younger; but they smiled and theywept in unison. They thought and acted in different but not discordantkeys. On all momentous occasions, they reasoned and felt alike. Inordinary cases, they separated, as it were, into different tracks; butthis diversity was productive not of jarring, but of harmony. 

A romantic and untutored disposition like mine may be supposed liable tostrong impressions from perpetual converse with persons of their age andsex. The elder was soon discovered to have already disposed of heraffections. The younger was free, and somewhat that is more easilyconceived than named stole insensibly upon my heart. The images thathaunted me at home and abroad, in her absence and her presence, gradually coalesced into one shape, and gave birth to an incessant trainof latent palpitations and indefinable hopes. My days were little elsethan uninterrupted reveries, and night only called up phantoms morevivid and equally enchanting. 

The memorable incidents which had lately happened scarcely counterpoisedmy new sensations or diverted my contemplations from the present. Myviews were gradually led to rest upon futurity, and in that I quicklyfound cause of circumspection and dread. My present labours were light, and were sufficient for my subsistence in a single state; but wedlockwas the parent of new wants and of new cares. Mr. Hadwin's possessionswere adequate to his own frugal maintenance, but, divided between hischildren, would be too scanty for either. Besides, this division couldonly take place at his death, and that was an event whose speedyoccurrence was neither desirable nor probable. 

Another obstacle was now remembered. Hadwin was the conscientious memberof a sect which forbade the marriage of its votaries with those of adifferent communion. I had been trained in an opposite creed, andimagined it impossible that I should ever become a proselyte toQuakerism. It only remained for me to feign conversion, or to root outthe opinions of my friend and win her consent to a secret marriage. Whether hypocrisy was eligible was no subject of deliberation. If thepossession of all that ambition can conceive were added to thetransports of union with Eliza Hadwin, and offered as the price ofdissimulation, it would have been instantly rejected. My external goodswere not abundant nor numerous, but the consciousness of rectitude wasmine; and, in competition with this, the luxury of the heart and of thesenses, the gratifications of boundless ambition and inexhaustiblewealth, were contemptible and frivolous. 

The conquest of Eliza's errors was easy; but to introduce discord andsorrow into this family was an act of the utmost ingratitude andprofligacy. It was only requisite for my understanding clearly todiscern, to be convinced of the insuperability of this obstacle. It wasmanifest, therefore, that the point to which my wishes tended was placedbeyond my reach. 

To foster my passion was to foster a disease destructive either of myintegrity or my existence. It was indispensable to fix my thoughts upona different object, and to debar myself even from her intercourse. Toponder on themes foreign to my darling image, and to seclude myself fromher society, at hours which had usually been spent with her, weredifficult tasks. The latter was the least practicable. I had to contendwith eyes which alternately wondered at and upbraided me for myunkindness. She was wholly unaware of the nature of her own feelings, and this ignorance made her less scrupulous in the expression of hersentiments. 

Hitherto I had needed not employment beyond myself and my companions. Now my new motives made me eager to discover some means of controllingand beguiling my thoughts. In this state, the manuscript of Lodioccurred to me. In my way hither, I had resolved to make the study ofthe language of this book, and the translation of its contents intoEnglish, the business and solace of my leisure. Now this resolution wasrevived with new force. 

My project was perhaps singular. The ancient language of Italy possesseda strong affinity with the modern. My knowledge of the former was myonly means of gaining the latter. I had no grammar or vocabulary toexplain how far the meanings and inflections of Tuscan words variedfrom the Roman dialect. I was to ponder on each sentence and phrase; toselect among different conjectures the most plausible, and to ascertainthe true by patient and repeated scrutiny. 

This undertaking, fantastic and impracticable as it may seem, proved, upon experiment, to be within the compass of my powers. The detail of myprogress would be curious and instructive. What impediments, in theattainment of a darling purpose, human ingenuity and patience are ableto surmount; how much may be done by strenuous and solitary efforts; howthe mind, unassisted, may draw forth the principles of inflection andarrangement; may profit by remote, analogous, and latent similitudes, would be forcibly illustrated by my example; but the theme, howeverattractive, must, for the present, be omitted. 

My progress was slow; but the perception of hourly improvement affordedme unspeakable pleasure. Having arrived near the last pages, I was ableto pursue, with little interruption, the thread of an eloquentnarration. The triumph of a leader of outlaws over the popularenthusiasm of the Milanese and the claims of neighbouring potentates wasabout to be depicted. The _Condottiero_ Sforza had taken refuge from hisenemies in a tomb, accidentally discovered amidst the ruins of a Romanfortress in the Apennines. He had sought this recess for the sake ofconcealment, but found in it a treasure by which he would be enabled tosecure the wavering and venal faith of that crew of ruffians thatfollowed his standard, provided he fell not into the hands of theenemies who were now in search of him. 

My tumultuous curiosity was suddenly checked by the following leavesbeing glued together at the edges. To dissever them without injury tothe written spaces was by no means easy. I proceeded to the task, notwithout precipitation. The edges were torn away, and the leaves parted. 

It may be thought that I took up the thread where it had been broken;but no. The object that my eyes encountered, and which the cementedleaves had so long concealed, was beyond the power of the mostcapricious or lawless fancy to have prefigured; yet it bore a shadowyresemblance to the images with which my imagination was previouslyoccupied. I opened, and beheld--_a bank-note_!

To the first transports of surprise, the conjecture succeeded, that theremaining leaves, cemented together in the same manner, might enclosesimilar bills. They were hastily separated, and the conjecture wasverified. My sensations at this discovery were of an inexplicable kind. I gazed at the notes in silence. I moved my finger over them; held themin different positions; read and reread the name of each sum, and thesignature; added them together, and repeated to myself--"_Twentythousand dollars!_ They are mine, and by such means!"

This sum would have redeemed the fallen fortunes of Welbeck. The dyingLodi was unable to communicate all the contents of this inestimablevolume. He had divided his treasure, with a view to its greater safety, between this volume and his pocket-book. Death hasted upon him toosuddenly to allow him to explain his precautions. Welbeck had placed thebook in his collection, purposing some time to peruse it; but, deterredby anxieties which the perusal would have dissipated, he rushed todesperation and suicide, from which some evanescent contingency, byunfolding this treasure to his view, would have effectually rescued him. 

But was this event to be regretted? This sum, like the former, wouldprobably have been expended in the same pernicious prodigality. Hiscareer would have continued some time longer; but his inveterate habitswould have finally conducted his existence to the same criminal andignominious close. 

But the destiny of Welbeck was accomplished. The money was placed, without guilt or artifice, in my possession. My fortune had been thusunexpectedly and wondrously propitious. How was I to profit by herfavour? Would not this sum enable me to gather round me all theinstruments of pleasure? Equipage, and palace, and a multitude ofservants; polished mirrors, splendid hangings, banquets, and flatterers, were equally abhorrent to my taste and my principles. The accumulationof knowledge, and the diffusion of happiness, in which riches may berendered eminently instrumental, were the only precepts of duty, and theonly avenues to genuine felicity. 

"But what, " said I, "is my title to this money? By retaining it, shall Inot be as culpable as Welbeck? It came into his possession, as it cameinto mine, without a crime; but my knowledge of the true proprietor isequally certain, and the claims of the unfortunate stranger are as validas ever. Indeed, if utility, and not law, be the measure of justice, herclaim, desolate and indigent as she is, unfitted, by her past life, bythe softness and the prejudices of her education, for contending withcalamity, is incontestable. 

"As to me, health and diligence will give me, not only the competencewhich I seek, but the power of enjoying it. If my present condition beunchangeable, I shall not be unhappy. My occupations are salutary andmeritorious; I am a stranger to the cares as well as to the enjoyment ofriches; abundant means of knowledge are possessed by me, as long as Ihave eyes to gaze at man and at nature, as they are exhibited in theiroriginal forms or in books. The precepts of my duty cannot be mistaken. The lady must be sought and the money restored to her. "

Certain obstacles existed to the immediate execution of this scheme. Howshould I conduct my search? What apology should I make for withdrawingthus abruptly, and contrary to the terms of an agreement into which Ihad lately entered, from the family and service of my friend andbenefactor Hadwin?

My thoughts were called away from pursuing these inquiries by a rumour, which had gradually swelled to formidable dimensions; and which, atlength, reached us in our quiet retreats. The city, we were told, wasinvolved in confusion and panic, for a pestilential disease had begunits destructive progress. Magistrates and citizens were flying to thecountry. The numbers of the sick multiplied beyond all example; even inthe pest-affected cities of the Levant. The malady was malignant andunsparing. 

The usual occupations and amusements of life were at an end. Terror hadexterminated all the sentiments of nature. Wives were deserted byhusbands, and children by parents. Some had shut themselves in theirhouses, and debarred themselves from all communication with the rest ofmankind. The consternation of others had destroyed their understanding, and their misguided steps hurried them into the midst of the dangerwhich they had previously laboured to shun. Men were seized by thisdisease in the streets; passengers fled from them; entrance into theirown dwellings was denied to them; they perished in the public ways. 

The chambers of disease were deserted, and the sick left to die ofnegligence. None could be found to remove the lifeless bodies. Theirremains, suffered to decay by piecemeal, filled the air with deadlyexhalations, and added tenfold to the devastation. 

Such was the tale, distorted and diversified a thousand ways by thecredulity and exaggeration of the tellers. At first I listened to thestory with indifference or mirth. Methought it was confuted by its ownextravagance. The enormity and variety of such an evil made it unworthyto be believed. I expected that every new day would detect the absurdityand fallacy of such representations. Every new day, however, added tothe number of witnesses and the consistency of the tale, till, atlength, it was not possible to withhold my faith. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

This rumour was of a nature to absorb and suspend the whole soul. Acertain sublimity is connected with enormous dangers that imparts to ourconsternation or our pity a tincture of the pleasing. This, at least, may be experienced by those who are beyond the verge of peril. My ownperson was exposed to no hazard. I had leisure to conjure up terrificimages, and to personate the witnesses and sufferers of this calamity. This employment was not enjoined upon me by necessity, but was ardentlypursued, and must therefore have been recommended by some namelesscharm. 

Others were very differently affected. As often as the tale wasembellished with new incidents or enforced by new testimony, the hearergrew pale, his breath was stifled by inquietudes, his blood was chilled, and his stomach was bereaved of its usual energies. A temporaryindisposition was produced in many. Some were haunted by a melancholybordering upon madness, and some, in consequence of sleepless panics, for which no cause could be assigned, and for which no opiates could befound, were attacked by lingering or mortal diseases. 

Mr. Hadwin was superior to groundless apprehensions. His daughters, however, partook in all the consternation which surrounded them. Theeldest had, indeed, abundant reason for her terror. The youth to whomshe was betrothed resided in the city. A year previous to this, he hadleft the house of Mr. Hadwin, who was his uncle, and had removed toPhiladelphia in pursuit of fortune. 

He made himself clerk to a merchant, and, by some mercantile adventuresin which he had successfully engaged, began to flatter himself withbeing able, in no long time, to support a family. Meanwhile, a tenderand constant correspondence was maintained between him and his belovedSusan. This girl was a soft enthusiast, in whose bosom devotion and loveglowed with an ardour that has seldom been exceeded. 

The first tidings of the _yellow fever_ was heard by her withunspeakable perturbation. Wallace was interrogated, by letter, respecting its truth. For a time, he treated it as a vague report. Atlength, a confession was extorted from him that there existed apestilential disease in the city; but he added that it was hithertoconfined to one quarter, distant from the place of his abode. 

The most pathetic entreaties were urged by her that he would withdrawinto the country. He declared his resolution to comply when the streetin which he lived should become infected and his stay should be attendedwith real danger. He stated how much his interests depended upon thefavour of his present employer, who had used the most powerful argumentsto detain him, but declared that, when his situation should become, inthe least degree, perilous, he would slight every consideration ofgratitude and interest, and fly to _Malverton_. Meanwhile, he promisedto communicate tidings of his safety by every opportunity. 

Belding, Mr. Hadwin's next neighbour, though not uninfected by thegeneral panic, persisted to visit the city daily with his _market-cart_. He set out by sunrise, and usually returned by noon. By him a letter waspunctually received by Susan. As the hour of Belding's returnapproached, her impatience and anxiety increased. The daily epistle wasreceived and read, in a transport of eagerness. For a while her emotionsubsided, but returned with augmented vehemence at noon on the ensuingday. 

These agitations were too vehement for a feeble constitution like hers. She renewed her supplications to Wallace to quit the city. He repeatedhis assertions of being, hitherto, secure, and his promise of comingwhen the danger should be imminent. When Belding returned, and, insteadof being accompanied by Wallace, merely brought a letter from him, theunhappy Susan would sink into fits of lamentation and weeping, and repelevery effort to console her with an obstinacy that partook of madness. It was, at length, manifest that Wallace's delays would be fatallyinjurious to the health of his mistress. 

Mr. Hadwin had hitherto been passive. He conceived that the entreatiesand remonstrances of his daughter were more likely to influence theconduct of Wallace than any representations which he could make. Now, however, he wrote the contumacious Wallace a letter, in which he laidhis commands upon him to return in company with Belding, and declaredthat by a longer delay the youth would forfeit his favour. 

The malady had, at this time, made considerable progress. Belding'sinterest at length yielded to his fears, and this was the last journeywhich he proposed to make. Hence our impatience for the return ofWallace was augmented; since, if this opportunity were lost, no suitableconveyance might again be offered him. 

Belding set out, as usual, at the dawn of day. The customary intervalbetween his departure and return was spent by Susan in a tumult of hopesand fears. As noon approached, her suspense arose to a pitch of wildnessand agony. She could scarcely be restrained from running along the road, many miles, towards the city; that she might, by meeting Beldinghalf-way, the sooner ascertain the fate of her lover. She stationedherself at a window which overlooked the road along which Belding was topass. 

Her sister and her father, though less impatient, marked, with painfuleagerness, the first sound of the approaching vehicle. They snatched alook at it as soon as it appeared in sight. Belding was without acompanion. 

This confirmation of her fears overwhelmed the unhappy Susan. She sunkinto a fit, from which, for a long time, her recovery was hopeless. Thiswas succeeded by paroxysms of a furious insanity, in which sheattempted to snatch any pointed implement which lay within her reach, with a view to destroy herself. These being carefully removed, orforcibly wrested from her, she resigned herself to sobs andexclamations. 

Having interrogated Belding, he informed us that he occupied his usualpost in the market-place; that heretofore Wallace had duly sought himout, and exchanged letters; but that, on this morning, the young man hadnot made his appearance, though Belding had been induced, by his wish tosee him, to prolong his stay in the city much beyond the usual period. 

That some other cause than sickness had occasioned this omission wasbarely possible. There was scarcely room for the most sanguine temper toindulge a hope. Wallace was without kindred, and probably withoutfriends, in the city. The merchant in whose service he had placedhimself was connected with him by no considerations but that ofinterest. What then must be his situation when seized with a maladywhich all believed to be contagious, and the fear of which was able todissolve the strongest ties that bind human beings together?

I was personally a stranger to this youth. I had seen his letters, andthey bespoke, not indeed any great refinement or elevation ofintelligence, but a frank and generous spirit, to which I could notrefuse my esteem; but his chief claim to my affection consisted in hisconsanguinity to Mr. Hadwin, and his place in the affections of Susan. His welfare was essential to the happiness of those whose happiness hadbecome essential to mine. I witnessed the outrages of despair in thedaughter, and the symptoms of a deep but less violent grief in thesister and parent. Was it not possible for me to alleviate their pangs?Could not the fate of Wallace be ascertained?

This disease assailed men with different degrees of malignity. In itsworst form perhaps it was incurable; but, in some of its modes, it wasdoubtless conquerable by the skill of physicians and the fidelity ofnurses. In its least formidable symptoms, negligence and solitude wouldrender it fatal. 

Wallace might, perhaps, experience this pest in its most lenientdegree; but the desertion of all mankind, the want not only of medicinesbut of food, would irrevocably seal his doom. My imagination wasincessantly pursued by the image of this youth, perishing alone, and inobscurity; calling on the name of distant friends, or invoking, ineffectually, the succour of those who were near. 

Hitherto distress had been contemplated at a distance, and through themedium of a fancy delighting to be startled by the wonderful, ortransported by sublimity. Now the calamity had entered my own doors, imaginary evils were supplanted by real, and my heart was the seat ofcommiseration and horror. 

I found myself unfit for recreation or employment. I shrouded myself inthe gloom of the neighbouring forest, or lost myself in the maze ofrocks and dells. I endeavoured, in vain, to shut out the phantoms of thedying Wallace, and to forget the spectacle of domestic woes. At lengthit occurred to me to ask, May not this evil be obviated, and thefelicity of the Hadwins re-established? Wallace is friendless andsuccourless; but cannot I supply to him the place of protector andnurse? Why not hasten to the city, search out his abode, and ascertainwhether he be living or dead? If he still retain life, may I not, byconsolation and attendance, contribute to the restoration of his health, and conduct him once more to the bosom of his family?

With what transports will his arrival be hailed! How amply will theirimpatience and their sorrow be compensated by his return! In thespectacle of their joys, how rapturous and pure will be my delight! Dothe benefits which I have received from the Hadwins demand a lessretribution than this?

It is true that my own life will be endangered; but my danger will beproportioned to the duration of my stay in this seat of infection. Thedeath or the flight of Wallace may absolve me from the necessity ofspending one night in the city. The rustics who daily frequent themarket are, as experience proves, exempt from this disease; inconsequence, perhaps, of limiting their continuance in the city to a fewhours. May I not, in this respect, conform to their example, and enjoya similar exemption?

My stay, however, may be longer than the day. I may be condemned toshare in the common destiny. What then? Life is dependent on a thousandcontingencies, not to be computed or foreseen. The seeds of an early andlingering death are sown in my constitution. It is in vain to hope toescape the malady by which my mother and my brothers have died. We are arace whose existence some inherent property has limited to the shortspace of twenty years. We are exposed, in common with the rest ofmankind, to innumerable casualties; but, if these be shunned, we areunalterably fated to perish by _consumption_. Why then should I scrupleto lay down my life in the cause of virtue and humanity? It is better todie in the consciousness of having offered an heroic sacrifice, to dieby a speedy stroke, than by the perverseness of nature, in ignominiousinactivity and lingering agonies. 

These considerations determined me to hasten to the city. To mention mypurpose to the Hadwins would be useless or pernicious. It would onlyaugment the sum of their present anxieties. I should meet with athousand obstacles in the tenderness and terror of Eliza, and in theprudent affection of her father. Their arguments I should be condemnedto hear, but should not be able to confute; and should only load myselfwith imputations of perverseness and temerity. 

But how else should I explain my absence? I had hitherto preserved mylips untainted by prevarication or falsehood. Perhaps there was nooccasion which would justify an untruth; but here, at least, it wassuperfluous or hurtful. My disappearance, if effected without notice orwarning, will give birth to speculation and conjecture; but my truemotives will never be suspected, and therefore will excite no fears. Myconduct will not be charged with guilt. It will merely be thought uponwith some regret, which will be alleviated by the opinion of my safety, and the daily expectation of my return. 

But, since my purpose was to search out Wallace, I must be previouslyfurnished with directions to the place of his abode, and a descriptionof his person. Satisfaction on this head was easily obtained from Mr. Hadwin; who was prevented from suspecting the motives of my curiosity, by my questions being put in a manner apparently casual. He mentionedthe street, and the number of the house. 

I listened with surprise. It was a house with which I was alreadyfamiliar. He resided, it seems, with a merchant. Was it possible for meto be mistaken?

What, I asked, was the merchant's name?

_Thetford. _

This was a confirmation of my first conjecture. I recollected theextraordinary means by which I had gained access to the house andbedchamber of this gentleman. I recalled the person and appearance ofthe youth by whose artifices I had been entangled in the snare. Theseartifices implied some domestic or confidential connection betweenThetford and my guide. Wallace was a member of the family. Could it behe by whom I was betrayed?

Suitable questions easily obtained from Hadwin a description of theperson and carriage of his nephew. Every circumstance evinced theidentity of their persons. Wallace, then, was the engaging and sprightlyyouth whom I had encountered at Lesher's; and who, for purposes nothitherto discoverable, had led me into a situation so romantic andperilous. 

I was far from suspecting that these purposes were criminal. It was easyto infer that his conduct proceeded from juvenile wantonness and a loveof sport. My resolution was unaltered by this disclosure; and, havingobtained all the information which I needed, I secretly began myjourney. 

My reflections, on the way, were sufficiently employed in tracing theconsequences of my project; in computing the inconveniences and dangersto which I was preparing to subject myself; in fortifying my courageagainst the influence of rueful sights and abrupt transitions; and inimagining the measures which it would be proper to pursue in everyemergency. 

Connected as these views were with the family and character ofThetford, I could not but sometimes advert to those incidents whichformerly happened. The mercantile alliance between him and Welbeck wasremembered; the allusions which were made to the condition of the latterin the chamber-conversation of which I was an unsuspected auditor; andthe relation which these allusions might possess with subsequentoccurrences. Welbeck's property was forfeited. It had been confided tothe care of Thetford's brother. Had the cause of this forfeiture beentruly or thoroughly explained? Might not contraband articles have beenadmitted through the management or under the connivance of the brothers?and might not the younger Thetford be furnished with the means ofpurchasing the captured vessel and her cargo, --which, as usual, would besold by auction at a fifth or tenth of its real value?

Welbeck was not alive to profit by the detection of this artifice, admitting these conclusions to be just. My knowledge will be useless tothe world; for by what motives can I be influenced to publish the truth?or by whom will my single testimony be believed, in opposition to thatplausible exterior, and, perhaps, to that general integrity, whichThetford has maintained? To myself it will not be unprofitable. It is alesson on the principles of human nature; on the delusiveness ofappearances; on the perviousness of fraud; and on the power with whichnature has invested human beings over the thoughts and actions of eachother. 

Thetford and his frauds were dismissed from my thoughts, to give placeto considerations relative to Clemenza Lodi, and the money which chancehad thrown into my possession. Time had only confirmed my purpose torestore these bills to the rightful proprietor, and heightened myimpatience to discover her retreat. I reflected, that the means of doingthis were more likely to suggest themselves at the place to which I wasgoing than elsewhere. I might, indeed, perish before my views, in thisrespect, could be accomplished. Against these evils I had at present nopower to provide. While I lived, I would bear perpetually about me thevolume and its precious contents. If I died, a superior power mustdirect the course of this as of all other events. 

CHAPTER XV. 

These meditations did not enfeeble my resolution, or slacken my pace. Inproportion as I drew near the city, the tokens of its calamitouscondition became more apparent. Every farm-house was filled withsupernumerary tenants, fugitives from home, and haunting the skirts ofthe road, eager to detain every passenger with inquiries after news. Thepassengers were numerous; for the tide of emigration was by no meansexhausted. Some were on foot, bearing in their countenances the tokensof their recent terror, and filled with mournful reflections on theforlornness of their state. Few had secured to themselves an asylum;some were without the means of paying for victuals or lodging for thecoming night; others, who were not thus destitute, yet knew not whitherto apply for entertainment, every house being already overstocked withinhabitants, or barring its inhospitable doors at their approach. 

Families of weeping mothers and dismayed children, attended with a fewpieces of indispensable furniture, were carried in vehicles of everyform. The parent or husband had perished; and the price of some movable, or the pittance handed forth by public charity, had been expended topurchase the means of retiring from this theatre of disasters, thoughuncertain and hopeless of accommodation in the neighbouring districts. 

Between these and the fugitives whom curiosity had led to the road, dialogues frequently took place, to which I was suffered to listen. Fromevery mouth the tale of sorrow was repeated with new aggravations. Pictures of their own distress, or of that of their neighbours, wereexhibited in all the hues which imagination can annex to pestilence andpoverty. 

My preconceptions of the evil now appeared to have fallen short of thetruth. The dangers into which I was rushing seemed more numerous andimminent than I had previously imagined. I wavered not in my purpose. Apanic crept to my heart, which more vehement exertions were necessary tosubdue or control; but I harboured not a momentary doubt that the coursewhich I had taken was prescribed by duty. There was no difficulty orreluctance in proceeding. All for which my efforts were demanded was towalk in this path without tumult or alarm. 

Various circumstances had hindered me from setting out upon this journeyas early as was proper. My frequent pauses to listen to the narrativesof travellers contributed likewise to procrastination. The sun hadnearly set before I reached the precincts of the city. I pursued thetrack which I had formerly taken, and entered High Street afternightfall. Instead of equipages and a throng of passengers, the voice oflevity and glee, which I had formerly observed, and which the mildnessof the season would, at other times, have produced, I found nothing buta dreary solitude. 

The market-place, and each side of this magnificent avenue, wereilluminated, as before, by lamps; but between the verge of Schuylkilland the heart of the city I met not more than a dozen figures; and thesewere ghost-like, wrapped in cloaks, from behind which they cast upon meglances of wonder and suspicion, and, as I approached, changed theircourse, to avoid touching me. Their clothes were sprinkled with vinegar, and their nostrils defended from contagion by some powerful perfume. 

I cast a look upon the houses, which I recollected to have formerlybeen, at this hour, brilliant with lights, resounding with livelyvoices, and thronged with busy faces. Now they were closed, above andbelow; dark, and without tokens of being inhabited. From the upperwindows of some, a gleam sometimes fell upon the pavement I wastraversing, and showed that their tenants had not fled, but weresecluded or disabled. 

These tokens were new, and awakened all my panics. Death seemed tohover over this scene, and I dreaded that the floating pestilence hadalready lighted on my frame. I had scarcely overcome these tremors, whenI approached a house the door of which was opened, and before whichstood a vehicle, which I presently recognised to be a _hearse_. 

The driver was seated on it. I stood still to mark his visage, and toobserve the course which he proposed to take. Presently a coffin, borneby two men, issued from the house. The driver was a negro; but hiscompanions were white. Their features were marked by ferociousindifference to danger or pity. One of them, as he assisted in thrustingthe coffin into the cavity provided for it, said, "I'll be damned if Ithink the poor dog was quite dead. It wasn't the _fever_ that ailed him, but the sight of the girl and her mother on the floor. I wonder how theyall got into that room. What carried them there?"

The other surlily muttered, "Their legs, to-be-sure. "

"But what should they hug together in one room for?"

"To save us trouble, to-be-sure. "

"And I thank them with all my heart; but, damn it, it wasn't right toput him in his coffin before the breath was fairly gone. I thought thelast look he gave me told me to stay a few minutes. "

"Pshaw! He could not live. The sooner dead the better for him; as wellas for us. Did you mark how he eyed us when we carried away his wife anddaughter? I never cried in my life, since I was knee-high, but curse meif I ever felt in better tune for the business than just then. Hey!"continued he, looking up, and observing me standing a few paces distant, and listening to their discourse; "what's wanted? Anybody dead?"

I stayed not to answer or parley, but hurried forward. My jointstrembled, and cold drops stood on my forehead. I was ashamed of my owninfirmity; and, by vigorous efforts of my reason, regained some degreeof composure. The evening had now advanced, and it behooved me toprocure accommodation at some of the inns. 

These were easily distinguished by their _signs_, but many were withoutinhabitants. At length I lighted upon one, the hall of which was openand the windows lifted. After knocking for some time, a young girlappeared, with many marks of distress. In answer to my question, sheanswered that both her parents were sick, and that they could receive noone. I inquired, in vain, for any other tavern at which strangers mightbe accommodated. She knew of none such, and left me, on someone'scalling to her from above, in the midst of my embarrassment. After amoment's pause, I returned, discomfited and perplexed, to the street. 

I proceeded, in a considerable degree, at random. At length I reached aspacious building in Fourth Street, which the signpost showed me to bean inn. I knocked loudly and often at the door. At length a femaleopened the window of the second story, and, in a tone of peevishness, demanded what I wanted. I told her that I wanted lodging. 

"Go hunt for it somewhere else, " said she; "you'll find none here. " Ibegan to expostulate; but she shut the window with quickness, and leftme to my own reflections. 

I began now to feel some regret at the journey I had taken. Never, inthe depth of caverns or forests, was I equally conscious of loneliness. I was surrounded by the habitations of men; but I was destitute ofassociate or friend. I had money, but a horse-shelter, or a morsel offood, could not be purchased. I came for the purpose of relievingothers, but stood in the utmost need myself. Even in health my conditionwas helpless and forlorn; but what would become of me should this fatalmalady be contracted? To hope that an asylum would be afforded to a sickman, which was denied to one in health, was unreasonable. 

The first impulse which flowed from these reflections was to hasten backto _Malverton_; which, with sufficient diligence, I might hope to regainbefore the morning light. I could not, methought, return upon my stepswith too much speed. I was prompted to run, as if the pest was rushingupon me and could be eluded only by the most precipitate flight. 

This impulse was quickly counteracted by new ideas. I thought withindignation and shame on the imbecility of my proceeding. I called upthe images of Susan Hadwin, and of Wallace. I reviewed the motives whichhad led me to the undertaking of this journey. Time had, by no means, diminished their force. I had, indeed, nearly arrived at theaccomplishment of what I had intended. A few steps would carry me toThetford's habitation. This might be the critical moment when succourwas most needed and would be most efficacious. 

I had previously concluded to defer going thither till the ensuingmorning; but why should I allow myself a moment's delay? I might atleast gain an external view of the house, and circumstances might arisewhich would absolve me from the obligation of remaining an hour longerin the city. All for which I came might be performed; the destiny ofWallace be ascertained; and I be once more safe within the precincts of_Malverton_ before the return of day. 

I immediately directed my steps towards the habitation of Thetford. Carriages bearing the dead were frequently discovered. A few passengerslikewise occurred, whose hasty and perturbed steps denoted theirparticipation in the common distress. The house of which I was in questquickly appeared. Light from an upper window indicated that it was stillinhabited. 

I paused a moment to reflect in what manner it became me to proceed. Toascertain the existence and condition of Wallace was the purpose of myjourney. He had inhabited this house; and whether he remained in it wasnow to be known. I felt repugnance to enter, since my safety might, byentering, be unawares and uselessly endangered. Most of the neighbouringhouses were apparently deserted. In some there were various tokens ofpeople being within. Might I not inquire, at one of these, respectingthe condition of Thetford's family? Yet why should I disturb them byinquiries so impertinent at this unseasonable hour? To knock atThetford's door, and put my questions to him who should obey the signal, was the obvious method. 

I knocked dubiously and lightly. No one came. I knocked again, and moreloudly; I likewise drew the bell. I distinctly heard its distant peals. If any were within, my signal could not fail to be noticed. I paused, and listened, but neither voice nor footsteps could be heard. The light, though obscured by window-curtains, which seemed to be drawn close, wasstill perceptible. 

I ruminated on the causes that might hinder my summons from beingobeyed. I figured to myself nothing but the helplessness of disease, orthe insensibility of death. These images only urged me to persist inendeavouring to obtain admission. Without weighing the consequences ofmy act, I involuntarily lifted the latch. The door yielded to my hand, and I put my feet within the passage. 

Once more I paused. The passage was of considerable extent, and at theend of it I perceived light as from a lamp or candle. This impelled meto go forward, till I reached the foot of a staircase. A candle stoodupon the lowest step. 

This was a new proof that the house was not deserted. I struck my heelagainst the floor with some violence; but this, like my former signals, was unnoticed. Having proceeded thus far, it would have been absurd toretire with my purpose uneffected. Taking the candle in my hand, Iopened a door that was near. It led into a spacious parlour, furnishedwith profusion and splendour. I walked to and fro, gazing at the objectswhich presented themselves; and, involved in perplexity, I knocked withmy heel louder than ever; but no less ineffectually. 

Notwithstanding the lights which I had seen, it was possible that thehouse was uninhabited. This I was resolved to ascertain, by proceedingto the chamber which I had observed, from without, to be illuminated. This chamber, as far as the comparison of circumstances would permit meto decide, I believed to be the same in which I had passed the firstnight of my late abode in the city. Now was I, a second time, in almostequal ignorance of my situation, and of the consequences which impended, exploring my way to the same recess. 

I mounted the stair. As I approached the door of which I was in search, a vapour, infectious and deadly, assailed my senses. It resemblednothing of which I had ever before been sensible. Many odours had beenmet with, even since my arrival in the city, less supportable than this. I seemed not so much to smell as to taste the element that nowencompassed me. I felt as if I had inhaled a poisonous and subtle fluid, whose power instantly bereft my stomach of all vigour. Some fatalinfluence appeared to seize upon my vitals, and the work of corrosionand decomposition to be busily begun. 

For a moment, I doubted whether imagination had not some share inproducing my sensation; but I had not been previously panic-struck; andeven now I attended to my own sensations without mental discomposure. That I had imbibed this disease was not to be questioned. So far thechances in my favour were annihilated. The lot of sickness was drawn. 

Whether my case would be lenient or malignant, whether I should recoveror perish, was to be left to the decision of the future. This incident, instead of appalling me, tended rather to invigorate my courage. Thedanger which I feared had come. I might enter with indifference on thistheatre of pestilence. I might execute, without faltering, the dutiesthat my circumstances might create. My state was no longer hazardous;and my destiny would be totally uninfluenced by my future conduct. 

The pang with which I was first seized, and the momentary inclination tovomit, which it produced, presently subsided. My wholesome feelings, indeed, did not revisit me, but strength to proceed was restored to me. The effluvia became more sensible as I approached the door of thechamber. The door was ajar; and the light within was perceived. Mybelief that those within were dead was presently confuted by sound, which I first supposed to be that of steps moving quickly and timorouslyacross the floor. This ceased, and was succeeded by sounds of differentbut inexplicable import. 

Having entered the apartment, I saw a candle on the hearth. A table wascovered with vials and other apparatus of a sick-chamber. A bed stood onone side, the curtain of which was dropped at the foot, so as to concealany one within. I fixed my eyes upon this object. There were sufficienttokens that some one lay upon the bed. Breath, drawn at long intervals;mutterings scarcely audible; and a tremulous motion in the bedstead, were fearful and intelligible indications. 

If my heart faltered, it must not be supposed that my trepidations arosefrom any selfish considerations. Wallace only, the object of my search, was present to my fancy. Pervaded with remembrance of the Hadwins; ofthe agonies which they had already endured; of the despair which wouldoverwhelm the unhappy Susan when the death of her lover should beascertained; observant of the lonely condition of this house, whence Icould only infer that the sick had been denied suitable attendance; andreminded, by the symptoms that appeared, that this being was strugglingwith the agonies of death; a sickness of the heart, more insupportablethan that which I had just experienced, stole upon me. 

My fancy readily depicted the progress and completion of this tragedy. Wallace was the first of the family on whom the pestilence had seized. Thetford had fled from his habitation. Perhaps as a father and husband, to shun the danger attending his stay was the injunction of his duty. Itwas questionless the conduct which selfish regards would dictate. Wallace was left to perish alone; or, perhaps, (which, indeed, was asupposition somewhat justified by appearances, ) he had been left to thetendance of mercenary wretches; by whom, at this desperate moment, hehad been abandoned. 

I was not mindless of the possibility that these forebodings, speciousas they were, might be false. The dying person might be some other thanWallace. The whispers of my hope were, indeed, faint; but they, atleast, prompted me to snatch a look at the expiring man. For thispurpose I advanced and thrust my head within the curtain. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The features of one whom I had seen so transiently as Wallace may beimagined to be not easily recognised, especially when those featureswere tremulous and deathful. Here, however, the differences were tooconspicuous to mislead me. I beheld one in whom I could recollect nonethat bore resemblance. Though ghastly and livid, the traces ofintelligence and beauty were undefaced. The life of Wallace was of morevalue to a feeble individual; but surely the being that was stretchedbefore me, and who was hastening to his last breath, was precious tothousands. 

Was he not one in whose place I would willingly have died? The offeringwas too late. His extremities were already cold. A vapour, noisome andcontagious, hovered over him. The flutterings of his pulse had ceased. His existence was about to close amidst convulsion and pangs. 

I withdrew my gaze from this object, and walked to a table. I was nearlyunconscious of my movements. My thoughts were occupied withcontemplations of the train of horrors and disasters that pursue therace of man. My musings were quickly interrupted by the sight of a smallcabinet, the hinges of which were broken and the lid half raised. In thepresent state of my thoughts, I was prone to suspect the worst. Herewere traces of pillage. Some casual or mercenary attendant had not onlycontributed to hasten the death of the patient, but had rifled hisproperty and fled. 

This suspicion would, perhaps, have yielded to mature reflections, if Ihad been suffered to reflect. A moment scarcely elapsed, when someappearance in the mirror, which hung over the table, called myattention. It was a human figure. Nothing could be briefer than theglance that I fixed upon this apparition; yet there was room enough forthe vague conception to suggest itself, that the dying man had startedfrom his bed and was approaching me. This belief was, at the sameinstant, confuted, by the survey of his form and garb. One eye, a scarupon his cheek, a tawny skin, a form grotesquely misproportioned, brawnyas Hercules, and habited in livery, composed, as it were, the parts ofone view. 

To perceive, to fear, and to confront this apparition were blended intoone sentiment. I turned towards him with the swiftness of lightning; butmy speed was useless to my safety. A blow upon my temple was succeededby an utter oblivion of thought and of feeling. I sunk upon the floorprostrate and senseless. 

My insensibility might be mistaken by observers for death, yet some partof this interval was haunted by a fearful dream. I conceived myselflying on the brink of a pit, whose bottom the eye could not reach. Myhands and legs were fettered, so as to disable me from resisting twogrim and gigantic figures who stooped to lift me from the earth. Theirpurpose, methought, was to cast me into this abyss. My terrors wereunspeakable, and I struggled with such force, that my bonds snapped andI found myself at liberty. At this moment my senses returned, and Iopened my eyes. 

The memory of recent events was, for a time, effaced by my visionaryhorrors. I was conscious of transition from one state of being toanother; but my imagination was still filled with images of danger. Thebottomless gulf and my gigantic persecutors were still dreaded. I lookedup with eagerness. Beside me I discovered three figures, whose characteror office was explained by a coffin of pine boards which lay upon thefloor. One stood with hammer and nails in his hand, as ready to replaceand fasten the lid of the coffin as soon as its burden should bereceived. 

I attempted to rise from the floor, but my head was dizzy and my sightconfused. Perceiving me revive, one of the men assisted me to regain myfeet. The mist and confusion presently vanished, so as to allow me tostand unsupported and to move. I once more gazed at my attendants, andrecognised the three men whom I had met in High Street, and whoseconversation I have mentioned that I overheard. I looked again upon thecoffin. A wavering recollection of the incidents that led me hither, andof the stunning blow which I had received, occurred to me. I saw intowhat error appearances had misled these men, and shuddered to reflect bywhat hairbreadth means I had escaped being buried alive. 

Before the men had time to interrogate me, or to comment upon mysituation, one entered the apartment, whose habit and mien tended toencourage me. The stranger was characterized by an aspect full ofcomposure and benignity, a face in which the serious lines of age wereblended with the ruddiness and smoothness of youth, and a garb thatbespoke that religious profession with whose benevolent doctrines theexample of Hadwin had rendered me familiar. 

On observing me on my feet, he betrayed marks of surprise andsatisfaction. He addressed me in a tone of mildness:--

"Young man, " said he, "what is thy condition? Art thou sick? If thouart, thou must consent to receive the best treatment which the timeswill afford. These men will convey thee to the hospital at Bush Hill. "

The mention of that contagious and abhorred receptacle inspired me withsome degree of energy. "No, " said I, "I am not sick; a violent blowreduced me to this situation. I shall presently recover strength enoughto leave this spot without assistance. "

He looked at me with an incredulous but compassionate air:--"I fear thoudost deceive thyself or me. The necessity of going to the hospital ismuch to be regretted, but, on the whole, it is best. Perhaps, indeed, thou hast kindred or friends who will take care of thee?"

"No, " said I; "neither kindred nor friends. I am a stranger in the city. I do not even know a single being. "

"Alas!" returned the stranger, with a sigh, "thy state is sorrowful. But how camest thou hither?" continued he, looking around him; "andwhence comest thou?"

"I came from the country. I reached the city a few hours ago. I was insearch of a friend who lived in this house. "

"Thy undertaking was strangely hazardous and rash; but who is the friendthou seekest? Was it he who died in that bed, and whose corpse has justbeen removed?"

The men now betrayed some impatience; and inquired of the last comer, whom they called Mr. Estwick, what they were to do. He turned to me, andasked if I were willing to be conducted to the hospital. 

I assured him that I was free from disease, and stood in no need ofassistance; adding, that my feebleness was owing to a stunning blowreceived from a ruffian on my temple. The marks of this blow wereconspicuous, and after some hesitation he dismissed the men; who, lifting the empty coffin on their shoulders, disappeared. 

He now invited me to descend into the parlour; "for, " said he, "the airof this room is deadly. I feel already as if I should have reason torepent of having entered it. "

He now inquired into the cause of those appearances which he hadwitnessed. I explained my situation as clearly and succinctly as I wasable. 

After pondering, in silence, on my story, --"I see how it is, " said he;"the person whom thou sawest in the agonies of death was a stranger. Hewas attended by his servant and a hired nurse. His master's death beingcertain, the nurse was despatched by the servant to procure a coffin. Heprobably chose that opportunity to rifle his master's trunk, that stoodupon the table. Thy unseasonable entrance interrupted him; and hedesigned, by the blow which he gave thee, to secure his retreat beforethe arrival of a hearse. I know the man, and the apparition thou hast sowell described was his. Thou sayest that a friend of thine lived in thishouse: thou hast come too late to be of service. The whole family haveperished. Not one was suffered to escape. "

This intelligence was fatal to my hopes. It required some efforts tosubdue my rising emotions. Compassion not only for Wallace, but forThetford, his father, his wife and his child, caused a passionateeffusion of tears. I was ashamed of this useless and childlikesensibility; and attempted to apologize to my companion. The sympathy, however, had proved contagious, and the stranger turned away his face tohide his own tears. 

"Nay, " said he, in answer to my excuses, "there is no need to be ashamedof thy emotion. Merely to have known this family, and to have witnessedtheir deplorable fate, is sufficient to melt the most obdurate heart. Isuspect that thou wast united to some one of this family by ties oftenderness like those which led the unfortunate _Maravegli_ hither. "

This suggestion was attended, in relation to myself, with some degree ofobscurity; but my curiosity was somewhat excited by the name that he hadmentioned, I inquired into the character and situation of this person, and particularly respecting his connection with this family. 

"Maravegli, " answered he, "was the lover of the eldest daughter, andalready betrothed to her. The whole family, consisting of helplessfemales, had placed themselves under his peculiar guardianship. MaryWalpole and her children enjoyed in him a husband and a father. "

The name of Walpole, to which I was a stranger, suggested doubts which Ihastened to communicate. "I am in search, " said I, "not of a femalefriend, though not devoid of interest in the welfare of Thetford and hisfamily. My principal concern is for a youth, by name Wallace. "

He looked at me with surprise. "Thetford! this is not his abode. Hechanged his habitation some weeks previous to the _fever_. Those wholast dwelt under this roof were an Englishwoman and seven daughters. "

This detection of my error somewhat consoled me. It was still possiblethat Wallace was alive and in safety. I eagerly inquired whitherThetford had removed, and whether he had any knowledge of his presentcondition. 

They had removed to No. --, in Market Street. Concerning their state heknew nothing. His acquaintance with Thetford was imperfect. Whether hehad left the city or had remained, he was wholly uninformed. 

It became me to ascertain the truth in these respects. I was preparingto offer my parting thanks to the person by whom I had been so highlybenefited; since, as he now informed me, it was by his interpositionthat I was hindered from being enclosed alive in a coffin. He wasdubious of my true condition, and peremptorily commanded the followersof the hearse to desist. A delay of twenty minutes, and some medicalapplication, would, he believed, determine whether my life wasextinguished or suspended. At the end of this time, happily, my senseswere recovered. 

Seeing my intention to depart, he inquired why, and whither I was going. Having heard my answer, --"Thy design, " resumed he, "is highly indiscreetand rash. Nothing will sooner generate this fever than fatigue andanxiety. Thou hast scarcely recovered from the blow so lately received. Instead of being useful to others, this precipitation will only disablethyself. Instead of roaming the streets and inhaling this unwholesomeair, thou hadst better betake thyself to bed and try to obtain somesleep. In the morning, thou wilt be better qualified to ascertain thefate of thy friend, and afford him the relief which he shall want. "

I could not but admit the reasonableness of these remonstrances; butwhere should a chamber and bed be sought? It was not likely that a newattempt to procure accommodation at the inns would succeed better thanthe former. 

"Thy state, " replied he, "is sorrowful. I have no house to which I canlead thee. I divide my chamber, and even my bed, with another, and mylandlady could not be prevailed upon to admit a stranger. What thou wiltdo, I know not. This house has no one to defend it. It was purchased andfurnished by the last possessor; but the whole family, includingmistress, children, and servants, were cut off in a single week. Perhaps no one in America can claim the property. Meanwhile, plunderersare numerous and active. A house thus totally deserted, and replenishedwith valuable furniture, will, I fear, become their prey. To-nightnothing can be done towards rendering it secure, but staying in it. Artthou willing to remain here till the morrow?

"Every bed in the house has probably sustained a dead person. It wouldnot be proper, therefore, to lie in any one of them. Perhaps thou mayestfind some repose upon this carpet. It is, at least, better than theharder pavement and the open air. "

This proposal, after some hesitation, I embraced. He was preparing toleave me, promising, if life were spared to him, to return early in themorning. My curiosity respecting the person whose dying agonies I hadwitnessed prompted me to detain him a few minutes. 

"Ah!" said he, "this, perhaps, is the only one of many victims to thispestilence whose loss the remotest generations may have reason todeplore. He was the only descendant of an illustrious house of Venice. He has been devoted from his childhood to the acquisition of knowledgeand the practice of virtue. He came hither as an enlightened observer;and, after traversing the country, conversing with all the men in iteminent for their talents or their office, and collecting a fund ofobservations whose solidity and justice have seldom been paralleled, heembarked, three months ago, for Europe. 

"Previously to his departure, he formed a tender connection with theeldest daughter of this family. The mother and her children had recentlyarrived from England. So many faultless women, both mentally andpersonally considered, it was not my fortune to meet with before. Thisyouth well deserved to be adopted into this family. He proposed toreturn with the utmost expedition to his native country, and, after thesettlement of his affairs, to hasten back to America and ratify hiscontract with Fanny Walpole. 

"The ship in which he embarked had scarcely gone twenty leagues to sea, before she was disabled by a storm, and obliged to return to port. Heposted to New York, to gain a passage in a packet shortly to sail. Meanwhile this malady prevailed among us. Mary Walpole pole was hinderedby her ignorance of the nature of that evil which assailed us, and thecounsel of injudicious friends, from taking the due precautions for hersafety. She hesitated to fly till flight was rendered impracticable. Herdeath added to the helplessness and distraction of the family. They weresuccessively seized and destroyed by the same pest. 

"Maravegli was apprized of their danger. He allowed the packet to departwithout him, and hastened to rescue the Walpoles from the perils whichencompassed them. He arrived in this city time enough to witness theinterment of the last survivor. In the same hour he was seized himselfby this disease: the catastrophe is known to thee. 

"I will now leave thee to thy repose. Sleep is no less needful to myselfthan to thee; for this is the second night which has passed without it. "Saying this, my companion took his leave. 

I now enjoyed leisure to review my situation. I experienced noinclination to sleep. I lay down for a moment, but my comfortlesssensations and restless contemplations would not permit me to rest. Before I entered this house, I was tormented with hunger; but my cravinghad given place to inquietude and loathing. I paced, in thoughtful andanxious mood, across the floor of the apartment. 

I mused upon the incidents related by Estwick, upon the exterminatingnature of this pestilence, and on the horrors of which it wasproductive. I compared the experience of the last hours with thosepictures which my imagination had drawn in the retirements of_Malverton_. I wondered at the contrariety that exists between thescenes of the city and the country; and fostered, with more zeal thanever, the resolution to avoid those seats of depravity and danger. 

Concerning my own destiny, however, I entertained no doubt. My newsensations assured me that my stomach had received this corrosivepoison. Whether I should die or live was easily decided. The sicknesswhich assiduous attendance and powerful prescriptions might removewould, by negligence and solitude, be rendered fatal; but from whomcould I expect medical or friendly treatment?

I had indeed a roof over my head. I should not perish in the public way;but what was my ground for hoping to continue under this roof? Mysickness being suspected, I should be dragged in a cart to the hospital;where I should, indeed, die, but not with the consolation of lonelinessand silence. Dying groans were the only music, and livid corpses werethe only spectacle, to which I should there be introduced. 

Immured in these dreary meditations, the night passed away. The lightglancing through the window awakened in my bosom a gleam ofcheerfulness. Contrary to my expectations, my feelings were not moredistempered, notwithstanding my want of sleep, than on the last evening. This was a token that my state was far from being so desperate as Isuspected. It was possible, I thought, that this was the worstindisposition to which I was liable. 

Meanwhile, the coming of Estwick was impatiently expected. The sunarose, and the morning advanced, but he came not. I remembered that hetalked of having reason to repent his visit to this house. Perhaps he, likewise, was sick, and this was the cause of his delay. This man'skindness had even my love. If I had known the way to his dwelling, Ishould have hastened thither, to inquire into his condition, and toperform for him every office that humanity might enjoin; but he had notafforded me any information on that head. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

It was now incumbent on me to seek the habitation of Thetford. To leavethis house accessible to every passenger appeared to be imprudent. I hadno key by which I might lock the principal door. I therefore bolted iton the inside, and passed through a window, the shutters of which Iclosed, though I could not fasten after me. This led me into a spaciouscourt, at the end of which was a brick wall, over which I leaped intothe street. This was the means by which I had formerly escaped from thesame precincts. 

The streets, as I passed, were desolate and silent. The largestcomputation made the number of fugitives two-thirds of the whole people;yet, judging by the universal desolation, it seemed as if the solitudewere nearly absolute. That so many of the houses were closed, I wasobliged to ascribe to the cessation of traffic, which made the openingof their windows useless, and the terror of infection, which made theinhabitants seclude themselves from the observation of each other. 

I proceeded to search out the house to which Estwick had directed me asthe abode of Thetford. What was my consternation when I found it to bethe same at the door of which the conversation took place of which I hadbeen an auditor on the last evening!

I recalled the scene of which a rude sketch had been given by the_hearse-men_. If such were the fate of the master of the family, abounding with money and friends, what could be hoped for the moneylessand friendless Wallace? The house appeared to be vacant and silent; butthese tokens might deceive. There was little room for hope; butcertainty was wanting, and might, perhaps, be obtained by entering thehouse. In some of the upper rooms a wretched being might be immured; bywhom the information, so earnestly desired, might be imparted, and towhom my presence might bring relief, not only from pestilence, butfamine. For a moment, I forgot my own necessitous condition, andreflected not that abstinence had already undermined my strength. 

I proceeded to knock at the door. That my signal was unnoticed producedno surprise. The door was unlocked, and I opened. At this moment myattention was attracted by the opening of another door near me. Ilooked, and perceived a man issuing forth from a house at a smalldistance. 

It now occurred to me, that the information which I sought mightpossibly be gained from one of Thetford's neighbours. This person wasaged, but seemed to have lost neither cheerfulness nor vigour. He had anair of intrepidity and calmness. It soon appeared that I was the objectof his curiosity. He had, probably, marked my deportment through somewindow of his dwelling, and had come forth to make inquiries into themotives of my conduct. 

He courteously saluted me. "You seem, " said he, "to be in search of someone. If I can afford you the information you want, you will be welcometo it. "

Encouraged by this address, I mentioned the name of Thetford; and addedmy fears that he had not escaped the general calamity. 

"It is true, " said he. "Yesterday himself, his wife, and his child, werein a hopeless condition. I saw them in the evening, and expected not tofind them alive this morning. As soon as it was light, however, Ivisited the house again; but found it empty. I suppose they must havedied, and been removed in the night. "

Though anxious to ascertain the destiny of Wallace, I was unwilling toput direct questions. I shuddered, while I longed to know the truth. 

"Why, " said I, falteringly, "did he not seasonably withdraw from thecity? Surely he had the means of purchasing an asylum in the country. "

"I can scarcely tell you, " he answered. "Some infatuation appeared tohave seized him. No one was more timorous; but he seemed to thinkhimself safe as long as he avoided contact with infected persons. He waslikewise, I believe, detained by a regard to his interest. His flightwould not have been more injurious to his affairs than it was to thoseof others; but gain was, in his eyes, the supreme good. He intendedultimately to withdraw; but his escape to-day, gave him new courage toencounter the perils of to-morrow. He deferred his departure from day today, till it ceased to be practicable. "

"His family, " said I, "was numerous. It consisted of more than his wifeand children. Perhaps these retired in sufficient season. "

"Yes, " said he; "his father left the house at an early period. One ortwo of the servants likewise forsook him. One girl, more faithful andheroic than the rest, resisted the remonstrances of her parents andfriends, and resolved to adhere to him in every fortune. She was anxiousthat the family should fly from danger, and would willingly have fled intheir company; but while they stayed, it was her immovable resolutionnot to abandon them. 

"Alas, poor girl! She knew not of what stuff the heart of Thetford wasmade. Unhappily, she was the first to become sick. I question muchwhether her disease was pestilential. It was, probably, a slightindisposition, which, in a few days, would have vanished of itself, orhave readily yielded to suitable treatment. 

"Thetford was transfixed with terror. Instead of summoning a physician, to ascertain the nature of her symptoms, he called a negro and his cartfrom Bush Hill. In vain the neighbours interceded for this unhappyvictim. In vain she implored his clemency, and asserted the lightness ofher indisposition. She besought him to allow her to send to her mother, who resided a few miles in the country, who would hasten to her succour, and relieve him and his family from the danger and trouble of nursingher. 

"The man was lunatic with apprehension. He rejected her entreaties, though urged in a manner that would have subdued a heart of flint. Thegirl was innocent, and amiable, and courageous, but entertained anunconquerable dread of the hospital. Finding entreaties ineffectual, sheexerted all her strength in opposition to the man who lifted her intothe cart. 

"Finding that her struggles availed nothing, she resigned herself todespair. In going to the hospital, she believed herself led to certaindeath, and to the sufferance of every evil which the known inhumanity ofits attendants could inflict. This state of mind, added to exposure to anoonday sun, in an open vehicle, moving, for a mile, over a ruggedpavement, was sufficient to destroy her. I was not surprised to hearthat she died the next day. 

"This proceeding was sufficiently iniquitous; yet it was not the worstact of this man. The rank and education of the young woman might be someapology for negligence; but his clerk, a youth who seemed to enjoy hisconfidence, and to be treated by his family on the footing of a brotheror son, fell sick on the next night, and was treated in the samemanner. "

These tidings struck me to the heart. A burst of indignation and sorrowfilled my eyes. I could scarcely stifle my emotions sufficiently to ask, "Of whom, sir, do you speak? Was the name of the youth--hisname--was----"

"His name was Wallace. I see that you have some interest in his fate. Hewas one whom I loved. I would have given half my fortune to procure himaccommodation under some hospitable roof. His attack was violent; but, still, his recovery, if he had been suitably attended, was possible. That he should survive removal to the hospital, and the treatment hemust receive when there, was not to be hoped. 

"The conduct of Thetford was as absurd as it was wicked. To imagine thedisease to be contagious was the height of folly; to suppose himselfsecure, merely by not permitting a sick man to remain under his roof, was no less stupid; but Thetford's fears had subverted hisunderstanding. He did not listen to arguments or supplications. Hisattention was incapable of straying from one object. To influence him bywords was equivalent to reasoning with the deaf. 

"Perhaps the wretch was more to be pitied than hated. The victims of hisimplacable caution could scarcely have endured agonies greater thanthose which his pusillanimity inflicted on himself. Whatever be theamount of his guilt, the retribution has been adequate. He witnessed thedeath of his wife and child, and last night was the close of his ownexistence. Their sole attendant was a black woman; whom, by frequentvisits, I endeavoured, with little success, to make diligent in theperformance of her duty. "

Such, then, was the catastrophe of Wallace. The end for which Ijourneyed hither was accomplished. His destiny was ascertained; and allthat remained was to fulfil the gloomy predictions of the lovely butunhappy Susan. To tell them all the truth would be needlessly toexasperate her sorrow. Time, aided by the tenderness and sympathy offriendship, may banish her despair, and relieve her from all but thewitcheries of melancholy. 

Having disengaged my mind from these reflections, I explained to mycompanion, in general terms, my reasons for visiting the city, and mycuriosity respecting. Thetford. He inquired into the particulars of myjourney, and the time of my arrival. When informed that I had come inthe preceding evening, and had passed the subsequent hours without sleepor food, he expressed astonishment and compassion. 

"Your undertaking, " said he, "has certainly been hazardous. There ispoison in every breath which you draw, but this hazard has been greatlyincreased by abstaining from food and sleep. My advice is to hasten backinto the country; but you must first take some repose and some victuals. If you pass Schuylkill before nightfall, it will be sufficient. "

I mentioned the difficulty of procuring accommodation on the road. Itwould be most prudent to set out upon my journey so as to reach_Malverton_ at night. As to food and sleep, they were not to bepurchased in this city. 

"True, " answered my companion, with quickness, "they are not to bebought; but I will furnish you with as much as you desire of both, fornothing. That is my abode, " continued he, pointing to the house which hehad lately left. "I reside with a widow lady and her daughter, who tookmy counsel, and fled in due season. I remain to moralize upon the scene, with only a faithful black, who makes my bed, prepares my coffee, andbakes my loaf. If I am sick, all that a physician can do, I will do formyself, and all that a nurse can perform, I expect to be performed by_Austin_. 

"Come with me, drink some coffee, rest a while on my mattress, and thenfly, with my benedictions on your head. "

These words were accompanied by features disembarrassed and benevolent. My temper is alive to social impulses, and I accepted his invitation, not so much because I wished to eat or to sleep, but because I feltreluctance to part so soon with a being who possessed so much fortitudeand virtue. 

He was surrounded by neatness and plenty. Austin added dexterity tosubmissiveness. My companion, whose name I now found to be Medlicote, was prone to converse, and commented on the state of the city like onewhose reading had been extensive and experience large. He combated anopinion which I had casually formed respecting the origin of thisepidemic, and imputed it, not to infected substances imported from theEast or West, but to a morbid constitution of the atmosphere, owingwholly or in part to filthy streets, airless habitations, and squalidpersons. 

As I talked with this man, the sense of danger was obliterated, I feltconfidence revive in my heart, and energy revisit my stomach. Though farfrom my wonted health, my sensation grew less comfortless, and I foundmyself to stand in no need of repose. 

Breakfast being finished, my friend pleaded his daily engagements asreasons for leaving me. He counselled me to strive for some repose, butI was conscious of incapacity to sleep. I was desirous of escaping, assoon as possible, from this tainted atmosphere, and reflected whetherany thing remained to be done respecting Wallace. 

It now occurred to me that this youth must have left some clothes andpapers, and, perhaps, books. The property of these was now vested in theHadwins. I might deem myself, without presumption, their representativeor agent. Might I not take some measures for obtaining possession, or atleast for the security, of these articles?

The house and its furniture were tenantless and unprotected. It wasliable to be ransacked and pillaged by those desperate ruffians of whommany were said to be hunting for spoil even at a time like this. Ifthese should overlook this dwelling, Thetford's unknown successor orheir might appropriate the whole. Numberless accidents might happen tooccasion the destruction or embezzlement of what belonged to Wallace, which might be prevented by the conduct which I should now pursue. 

Immersed in these perplexities, I remained bewildered and motionless. Iwas at length roused by some one knocking at the door. Austin obeyed thesignal, and instantly returned, leading in--Mr. Hadwin!

I know not whether this unlooked-for interview excited on my part mostgrief or surprise. The motive of his coming was easily divined. Hisjourney was on two accounts superfluous. He whom he sought was dead. Theduty of ascertaining his condition I had assigned to myself. 

I now perceived and deplored the error of which I had been guilty, inconcealing my intended journey from my patron. Ignorant of the part Ihad acted, he had rushed into the jaws of this pest, and endangered alife unspeakably valuable to his children and friends. I shoulddoubtless have obtained his grateful consent to the project which I hadconceived; but my wretched policy had led me into this clandestine path. Secrecy may seldom be a crime. A virtuous intention may produce it; butsurely it is always erroneous and pernicious. 

My friend's astonishment at the sight of me was not inferior to my own. The causes which led to this unexpected interview were mutuallyexplained. To soothe the agonies of his child, he consented to approachthe city, and endeavour to procure intelligence of Wallace. When heleft his house, he intended to stop in the environs, and hire someemissary, whom an ample reward might tempt to enter the city, andprocure the information which was needed. 

No one could be prevailed upon to execute so dangerous a service. Averseto return without performing his commission, he concluded to examine forhimself. Thetford's removal to this street was known to him; but, beingignorant of my purpose, he had not mentioned this circumstance to me, during our last conversation. 

I was sensible of the danger which Hadwin had incurred by entering thecity. Perhaps my knowledge of the inexpressible importance of his lifeto the happiness of his daughters made me aggravate his danger. I knewthat the longer he lingered in this tainted air, the hazard wasincreased. A moment's delay was unnecessary. Neither Wallace nor myselfwere capable of being benefited by his presence. 

I mentioned the death of his nephew as a reason for hastening hisdeparture. I urged him in the most vehement terms to remount his horseand to fly; I endeavoured to preclude all inquiries respecting myself orWallace; promising to follow him immediately, and answer all hisquestions at _Malverton_. My importunities were enforced by his ownfears, and, after a moment's hesitation, he rode away. 

The emotions produced by this incident were, in the present criticalstate of my frame, eminently hurtful. My morbid indications suddenlyreturned. I had reason to ascribe my condition to my visit to thechamber of Maravegli; but this and its consequences to myself, as wellas the journey of Hadwin, were the fruits of my unhappy secrecy. 

I had always been accustomed to perform my journeys on foot. This, onordinary occasions, was the preferable method, but now I ought to haveadopted the easiest and swiftest means. If Hadwin had been acquaintedwith my purpose he would not only have approved, but would have allowedme, the use of a horse. These reflections were rendered less pungent bythe recollection that my motives were benevolent, and that I hadendeavoured the benefit of others by means which appeared to me mostsuitable. 

Meanwhile, how was I to proceed? What hindered me from pursuing thefootsteps of Hadwin with all the expedition which my uneasiness, ofbrain and stomach, would allow? I conceived that to leave any thingundone, with regard to Wallace, would be absurd. His property might beput under the care of my new friend. But how was it to be distinguishedfrom the property of others? It was, probably, contained in trunks, which were designated by some label or mark. I was unacquainted with hischamber, but, by passing from one to the other, I might finally discoverit. Some token, directing my footsteps, might occur, though at presentunforeseen. 

Actuated by these considerations, I once more entered Thetford'shabitation. I regretted that I had not procured the counsel orattendance of my new friend; but some engagements, the nature of whichhe did not explain, occasioned him to leave me as soon as breakfast wasfinished. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

I wandered over this deserted mansion, in a considerable degree, atrandom. Effluvia of a pestilential nature assailed me from every corner. In the front room of the second story, I imagined that I discoveredvestiges of that catastrophe which the past night had produced. The bedappeared as if some one had recently been dragged from it. The sheetswere tinged with yellow, and with that substance which is said to becharacteristic of this disease, the gangrenous or black vomit. The floorexhibited similar stains. 

There are many who will regard my conduct as the last refinement oftemerity, or of heroism. Nothing, indeed, more perplexes me than areview of my own conduct. Not, indeed, that death is an object always tobe dreaded, or that my motive did not justify my actions; but of alldangers, those allied to pestilence, by being mysterious and unseen, arethe most formidable. To disarm them of their terrors requires thelongest familiarity. Nurses and physicians soonest become intrepid orindifferent; but the rest of mankind recoil from the scene withunconquerable loathing. 

I was sustained, not by confidence of safety, and a belief of exemptionfrom this malady, or by the influence of habit, which inures us to allthat is detestable or perilous, but by a belief that this was aseligible an avenue to death as any other; and that life is a trivialsacrifice in the cause of duty. 

I passed from one room to the other. A portmanteau, marked with theinitials of Wallace's name, at length attracted my notice. From thiscircumstance I inferred that this apartment had been occupied by him. The room was neatly arranged, and appeared as if no one had lately usedit. There were trunks and drawers. That which I have mentioned was theonly one that bore marks of Wallace's ownership. This I lifted in myarms with a view to remove it to Medlicote's house. 

At that moment, methought I heard a footstep slowly and lingeringlyascending the stair. I was disconcerted at this incident. The footstephad in it a ghost-like solemnity and tardiness. This phantom vanished ina moment, and yielded place to more humble conjectures. A human beingapproached, whose office and commission were inscrutable. That we werestrangers to each other was easily imagined; but how would myappearance, in this remote chamber, and loaded with another's property, be interpreted? Did he enter the house after me, or was he the tenant ofsome chamber hitherto unvisited; whom my entrance had awakened from histrance and called from his couch?

In the confusion of my mind, I still held my burden uplifted. To haveplaced it on the floor, and encountered this visitant, without thisequivocal token about me, was the obvious proceeding. Indeed, time onlycould decide whether these footsteps tended to this, or to some other, apartment. 

My doubts were quickly dispelled. The door opened, and a figure glidedin. The portmanteau dropped from my arms, and my heart's blood waschilled. If an apparition of the dead were possible, (and thatpossibility I could not deny, ) this was such an apparition. A hue, yellowish and livid; bones, uncovered with flesh; eyes, ghastly, hollow, woe-begone, and fixed in an agony of wonder upon me; and locks, mattedand negligent, constituted the image which I now beheld. My belief ofsomewhat preternatural in this appearance was confirmed by recollectionof resemblances between these features and those of one who was dead. Inthis shape and visage, shadowy and death-like as they were, thelineaments of Wallace, of him who had misled my rustic simplicity on myfirst visit to this city, and whose death I had conceived to beincontestably ascertained, were forcibly recognised. 

This recognition, which at first alarmed my superstition, speedily ledto more rational inferences. Wallace had been dragged to the hospital. Nothing was less to be suspected than that he would return alive fromthat hideous receptacle, but this was by no means impossible. The figurethat stood before me had just risen from the bed of sickness, and fromthe brink of the grave. The crisis of his malady had passed, and he wasonce more entitled to be ranked among the living. 

This event, and the consequences which my imagination connected with it, filled me with the liveliest joy. I thought not of his ignorance of thecauses of my satisfaction, of the doubts to which the circumstances ofour interview would give birth, respecting the integrity of my purpose. I forgot the artifices by which I had formerly been betrayed, and theembarrassments which a meeting with the victim of his artifices wouldexcite in him; I thought only of the happiness which his recovery wouldconfer upon his uncle and his cousins. 

I advanced towards him with an air of congratulation, and offered him myhand. He shrunk back, and exclaimed, in a feeble voice, "Who are you?What business have you here?"

"I am the friend of Wallace, if he will allow me to be so. I am amessenger from your uncle and cousins at _Malverton_. I came to know thecause of your silence, and to afford you any assistance in my power. "

He continued to regard me with an air of suspicion and doubt. These Iendeavoured to remove by explaining the motives that led me hither. Itwas with difficulty that he seemed to credit my representations. Whenthoroughly convinced of the truth of my assertions, he inquired withgreat anxiety and tenderness concerning his relations; and expressed hishope that they were ignorant of what had befallen him. 

I could not encourage his hopes. I regretted my own precipitation inadopting the belief of his death. This belief had been uttered withconfidence, and without stating my reasons for embracing it, to Mr. Hadwin. These tidings would be borne to his daughters, and their griefwould be exasperated to a deplorable and perhaps to a fatal degree. 

There was but one method of repairing or eluding this mischief. Intelligence ought to be conveyed to them of his recovery. But where wasthe messenger to be found? No one's attention could be found disengagedfrom his own concerns. Those who were able or willing to leave the cityhad sufficient motives for departure, in relation to themselves. Ifvehicle or horse were procurable for money, ought it not to be securedfor the use of Wallace himself, whose health required the easiest andspeediest conveyance from this theatre of death?

My companion was powerless in mind as in limbs. He seemed unable toconsult upon the means of escaping from the inconveniences by which hewas surrounded. As soon as sufficient strength was regained, he had leftthe hospital. To repair to _Malverton_ was the measure which prudenceobviously dictated; but he was hopeless of effecting it. The city wasclose at hand; this was his usual home; and hither his tottering andalmost involuntary steps conducted him. 

He listened to my representations and counsels, and acknowledged theirpropriety. He put himself under my protection and guidance, and promisedto conform implicitly to my directions. His strength had sufficed tobring him thus far, but was now utterly exhausted. The task of searchingfor a carriage and horse devolved upon me. 

In effecting this purpose, I was obliged to rely upon my own ingenuityand diligence. Wallace, though so long a resident in the city, knew notto whom I could apply, or by whom carriages were let to hire. My ownreflections taught me, that this accommodation was most likely to befurnished by innkeepers, or that some of those might at least inform meof the best measures to be taken. I resolved to set out immediately onthis search. Meanwhile, Wallace was persuaded to take refuge inMedlicote's apartments; and to make, by the assistance of Austin, thenecessary preparation for his journey. 

The morning had now advanced. The rays of a sultry sun had a sickeningand enfeebling influence beyond any which I had ever experienced. Thedrought of unusual duration had bereft the air and the earth of everyparticle of moisture. The element which I breathed appeared to havestagnated into noxiousness and putrefaction. I was astonished atobserving the enormous diminution of my strength. My brows were heavy, my intellects benumbed, my sinews enfeebled, and my sensationsuniversally unquiet. 

These prognostics were easily interpreted. What I chiefly dreaded was, that they would disable me from executing the task which I hadundertaken. I summoned up all my resolution, and cherished a disdain ofyielding to this ignoble destiny. I reflected that the source of allenergy, and even of life, is seated in thought; that nothing is arduousto human efforts; that the external frame will seldom languish, whileactuated by an unconquerable soul. 

I fought against my dreary feelings, which pulled me to the earth. Iquickened my pace, raised my drooping eyelids, and hummed a cheerful andfavourite air. For all that I accomplished during this day, I believemyself indebted to the strenuousness and ardour of my resolutions. 

I went from one tavern to another. One was deserted; in another thepeople were sick, and their attendants refused to hearken to myinquiries or offers; at a third, their horses were engaged. I wasdetermined to prosecute my search as long as an inn or a livery-stableremained unexamined, and my strength would permit. 

To detail the events of this expedition, the arguments and supplicationswhich I used to overcome the dictates of avarice and fear, thefluctuation of my hopes and my incessant disappointments, would beuseless. Having exhausted all my expedients ineffectually, I wascompelled to turn my weary steps once more to Medlicote's lodgings. 

My meditations were deeply engaged by the present circumstances of mysituation. Since the means which were first suggested wereimpracticable, I endeavoured to investigate others. Wallace's debilitymade it impossible for him to perform this journey on foot; but wouldnot his strength and his resolution suffice to carry him beyondSchuylkill? A carriage or horse, though not to be obtained in the city, could, without difficulty, be procured in the country. Every farmer hadbeasts for burden and draught. One of these might be hired, at noimmoderate expense, for half a day. 

This project appeared so practicable and so specious, that I deeplyregretted the time and the efforts which had already been so fruitlesslyexpended. If my project, however, had been mischievous, to review itwith regret was only to prolong and to multiply its mischiefs. I trustedthat time and strength would not be wanting to the execution of this newdesign. 

On entering Medlicote's house, my looks, which, in spite of my languors, were sprightly and confident, flattered Wallace with the belief that myexertions had succeeded. When acquainted with their failure, he sunk asquickly into hopelessness. My new expedient was heard by him with nomarks of satisfaction. It was impossible, he said, to move from thisspot by his own strength. All his powers were exhausted by his walk fromBush Hill. 

I endeavoured, by arguments and railleries, to revive his courage. Thepure air of the country would exhilarate him into new life. He mightstop at every fifty yards, and rest upon the green sod. If overtaken bythe night, we would procure a lodging, by address and importunity; but, if every door should be shut against us, we should at least enjoy theshelter of some barn, and might diet wholesomely upon the new-laid eggsthat we should find there. The worst treatment we could meet with wasbetter than continuance in the city. 

These remonstrances had some influence, and he at length consented toput his ability to the test. First, however, it was necessary toinvigorate himself by a few hours' rest. To this, though with infinitereluctance, I consented. 

This interval allowed him to reflect upon the past, and to inquire intothe fate of Thetford and his family. The intelligence which Medlicotehad enabled me to afford him was heard with more satisfaction thanregret. The ingratitude and cruelty with which he had been treatedseemed to have extinguished every sentiment but hatred and vengeance. Iwas willing to profit by this interval to know more of Thetford than Ialready possessed. I inquired why Wallace had so perversely neglectedthe advice of his uncle and cousin, and persisted to brave so manydangers when flight was so easy. 

"I cannot justify my conduct, " answered he. "It was in the highestdegree thoughtless and perverse. I was confident and unconcerned as longas our neighbourhood was free from disease, and as long as I forbore anycommunication with the sick; yet I should have withdrawn to Malverton, merely to gratify my friends, if Thetford had not used the most powerfularguments to detain me. He laboured to extenuate the danger. 

"'Why not stay, ' said he, 'as long as I and my family stay? Do you thinkthat we would linger here, if the danger were imminent? As soon as itbecomes so, we will fly. You know that we have a country-house preparedfor our reception. When we go, you shall accompany us. Your services atthis time are indispensable to my affairs. If you will not desert me, your salary next year shall be double; and that will enable you to marryyour cousin immediately. Nothing is more improbable than that any of usshould be sick; but, if this should happen to you, I plight my honourthat you shall be carefully and faithfully attended. '

"These assurances were solemn and generous. To make Susan Hadwin my wifewas the scope of all my wishes and labours. By staying, I should hastenthis desirable event, and incur little hazard. By going, I shouldalienate the affections of Thetford; by whom, it is but justice toacknowledge, that I had hitherto been treated with unexampled generosityand kindness; and blast all the schemes I had formed for rising intowealth. 

"My resolution was by no means steadfast. As often as a letter from_Malverton_ arrived, I felt myself disposed to hasten away; but thisinclination was combated by new arguments and new entreaties ofThetford. 

"In this state of suspense, the girl by whom Mrs. Thetford's infant wasnursed fell sick. She was an excellent creature, and merited bettertreatment than she received. Like me, she resisted the persuasions ofher friends, but her motives for remaining were disinterested andheroic. 

"No sooner did her indisposition appear, than she was hurried to thehospital. I saw that no reliance could be placed upon the assurances ofThetford. Every consideration gave way to his fear of death. After thegirl's departure, though he knew that she was led by his means toexecution, yet he consoled himself by repeating and believing herassertions, that her disease was not _the fever_. 

"I was now greatly alarmed for my own safety. I was determined toencounter his anger and repel his persuasions; and to depart with themarket-man next morning. That night, however, I was seized with aviolent fever. I knew in what manner patients were treated at thehospital, and removal thither was to the last degree abhorred. 

"The morning arrived, and my situation was discovered. At the firstintimation, Thetford rushed out of the house, and refused to re-enter ittill I was removed. I knew not my fate, till three ruffians made theirappearance at my bedside, and communicated their commission. 

"I called on the name of Thetford and his wife. I entreated a moment'sdelay, till I had seen these persons, and endeavoured to procure arespite from my sentence. They were deaf to my entreaties, and preparedto execute their office by force. I was delirious with rage and terror. I heaped the bitterest execrations on my murderer; and by turns, invokedthe compassion of, and poured a torrent of reproaches on, the wretcheswhom he had selected for his ministers. My struggles and outcries werevain. 

"I have no perfect recollection of what passed till my arrival at thehospital. My passions combined with my disease to make me frantic andwild. In a state like mine, the slightest motion could not be enduredwithout agony. What then must I have felt, scorched and dazzled by thesun, sustained by hard boards, and borne for miles over a ruggedpavement?

"I cannot make you comprehend the anguish of my feelings. To bedisjointed and torn piecemeal by the rack was a torment inexpressiblyinferior to this. Nothing excites my wonder but that I did not expirebefore the cart had moved three paces. 

"I knew not how, or by whom, I was moved from this vehicle. Insensibility came at length to my relief. After a time I opened myeyes, and slowly gained some knowledge of my situation. I lay upon amattress, whose condition proved that a half-decayed corpse had recentlybeen dragged from it. The room was large, but it was covered with bedslike my own. Between each, there was scarcely the interval of threefeet. Each sustained a wretch, whose groans and distortions bespoke thedesperateness of his condition. 

"The atmosphere was loaded by mortal stenches. A vapour, suffocating andmalignant, scarcely allowed me to breathe. No suitable receptacle wasprovided for the evacuations produced by medicine or disease. My nearestneighbour was struggling with death, and my bed, casually extended, wasmoist with the detestable matter which had flowed from his stomach. 

"You will scarcely believe that, in this scene of horrors, the sound oflaughter should be overheard. While the upper rooms of this building arefilled with the sick and the dying, the lower apartments are the sceneof carousals and mirth. The wretches who are hired, at enormous wages, to tend the sick and convey away the dead, neglect their duty, andconsume the cordials which are provided for the patients, in debaucheryand riot. 

"A female visage, bloated with malignity and drunkenness, occasionallylooked in. Dying eyes were cast upon her, invoking the boon, perhaps, ofa drop of cold water, or her assistance to change a posture whichcompelled him to behold the ghastly writhings or deathful _smile_ of hisneighbour. 

"The visitant had left the banquet for a moment, only to see who wasdead. If she entered the room, blinking eyes and reeling steps showedher to be totally unqualified for ministering the aid that was needed. Presently she disappeared, and others ascended the staircase, a coffinwas deposited at the door, the wretch, whose heart still quivered, wasseized by rude hands, and dragged along the floor into the passage. 

"Oh! how poor are the conceptions which are formed, by the fortunatefew, of the sufferings to which millions of their fellow-beings arecondemned. This misery was more frightful, because it was seen to flowfrom the depravity of the attendants. My own eyes only would make mecredit the existence of wickedness so enormous. No wonder that to die ingarrets, and cellars, and stables, unvisited and unknown, had, by somany, been preferred to being brought hither. 

"A physician cast an eye upon my state. He gave some directions to theperson who attended him. I did not comprehend them, they were neverexecuted by the nurses, and, if the attempt had been made, I shouldprobably have refused to receive what was offered. Recovery was equallybeyond my expectations and my wishes. The scene which was hourlydisplayed before me, the entrance of the sick, most of whom perished ina few hours, and their departure to the graves prepared for them, reminded me of the fate to which I, also, was reserved. 

"Three days passed away, in which every hour was expected to be thelast. That, amidst an atmosphere so contagious and deadly, amidst causesof destruction hourly accumulating, I should yet survive, appears to menothing less than miraculous. That of so many conducted to this housethe only one who passed out of it alive should be myself almostsurpasses my belief. 

"Some inexplicable principle rendered harmless those potent enemies ofhuman life. My fever subsided and vanished. My strength was revived, andthe first use that I made of my limbs was to bear me far from thecontemplation and sufferance of those evils. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

Having gratified my curiosity in this respect, Wallace proceeded toremind me of the circumstances of our first interview. He hadentertained doubts whether I was the person whom he had met at Lesher's. I acknowledged myself to be the same, and inquired, in my turn, into themotives of his conduct on that occasion. 

"I confess, " said he, with some hesitation, "I meant only to sport withyour simplicity and ignorance. You must not imagine, however, that mystratagem was deep-laid and deliberately executed. My professions at thetavern were sincere. I meant not to injure but to serve you. It was nottill I reached the head of the staircase that the mischievouscontrivance occurred. I foresaw nothings at the moment, but ludicrousmistakes and embarrassment. The scheme was executed almost at the verymoment it occurred. 

"After I had returned to the parlour, Thetford charged me with thedelivery of a message in a distant quarter of the city. It was not tillI had performed this commission, and had set out on my return, that Ifully revolved the consequences likely to flow from my project. 

"That Thetford and his wife would detect you in their bedchamber wasunquestionable. Perhaps, weary of my long delay, you would have fairlyundressed and gone to bed. The married couple would have madepreparation to follow you, and, when the curtain was undrawn, woulddiscover a robust youth, fast asleep, in their place. These images, which had just before excited my laughter, now produced a very differentemotion. I dreaded some fatal catastrophe from the fiery passions ofThetford. In the first transports of his fury he might pistol you, or, at least, might command you to be dragged to prison. 

"I now heartily repented of my jest, and hastened home, that I mightprevent, as far as possible, the evil effects that might flow from it. The acknowledgment of my own agency in this affair would, at least, transfer Thetford's indignation to myself, to whom it was equitably due. 

"The married couple had retired to their chamber, and no alarm orconfusion had followed. This was an inexplicable circumstance. I waitedwith impatience till the morning should furnish a solution of thedifficulty. The morning arrived. A strange event had, indeed, takenplace in their bedchamber. They found an infant asleep in their bed. Thetford had been roused twice in the night, once by a noise in thecloset, and afterwards by a noise at the door. 

"Some connection between these sounds and the foundling was naturallysuspected. In the morning the closet was examined, and a coarse pair ofshoes was found on the floor. The chamber door, which Thetford hadlocked in the evening, was discovered to be open, as likewise a windowin the kitchen. 

"These appearances were a source of wonder and doubt to others, but wereperfectly intelligible to me. I rejoiced that my stratagem had no moredangerous consequence, and admired the ingenuity and perseverance withwhich you had extricated yourself from so critical a state. "

This narrative was only the verification of my own guesses. Its factswere quickly supplanted in my thoughts by the disastrous picture he haddrawn of the state of the hospital. I was confounded and shocked by themagnitude of this evil. The cause of it was obvious. The wretches whommoney could purchase were, of course, licentious and unprincipled. Superintended and controlled, they might be useful instruments; but thatsuperintendence could not be bought. 

What qualities were requisite in the governor of such an institution? Hemust have zeal, diligence, and perseverance. He must act from lofty andpure motives. He must be mild and firm, intrepid and compliant. Oneperfectly qualified for the office it is desirable, but not possible, to find. A dispassionate and honest zeal in the cause of duty andhumanity may be of eminent utility. Am I not endowed with this zeal?Cannot my feeble efforts obviate some portion of this evil?

No one has hitherto claimed this disgustful and perilous situation. Mypowers and discernment are small, but if they be honestly exerted theycannot fail to be somewhat beneficial. 

The impulse produced by these reflections was to hasten to the CityHall, and make known my wishes. This impulse was controlled byrecollections of my own indisposition, and of the state of Wallace. Todeliver this youth to his friends was the strongest obligation. Whenthis was discharged, I might return to the city, and acquit myself ofmore comprehensive duties. 

Wallace had now enjoyed a few hours' rest, and was persuaded to beginthe journey. It was now noonday, and the sun darted insupportable rays. Wallace was more sensible than I of their unwholesome influence. We hadnot reached the suburbs, when his strength was wholly exhausted, and, had I not supported him, he would have sunk upon the pavement. 

My limbs were scarcely less weak, but my resolutions were much morestrenuous than his. I made light of his indisposition, and endeavouredto persuade him that his vigour would return in proportion to hisdistance from the city. The moment we should reach a shade, a shortrespite would restore us to health and cheerfulness. 

Nothing could revive his courage or induce him to go on. To return or toproceed was equally impracticable. But, should he be able to return, where should he find a retreat? The danger of relapse was imminent; hisown chamber at Thetford's was unoccupied. If he could regain this house, might I not procure him a physician and perform for him the part ofnurse?

His present situation was critical and mournful. To remain in thestreet, exposed to the malignant fervours of the sun, was not to beendured. To carry him in my arms exceeded my strength. Should I notclaim the assistance of the first passenger that appeared?

At that moment a horse and chaise passed us. The vehicle proceeded at aquick pace. He that rode in it might afford us the succour that weneeded. He might be persuaded to deviate from his course and convey thehelpless Wallace to the house we had just left. 

This thought instantly impelled me forward. Feeble as I was, I even ranwith speed, in order to overtake the vehicle. My purpose was effectedwith the utmost difficulty. It fortunately happened that the carriagecontained but one person, who stopped at my request. His countenance andguise was mild and encouraging. 

"Good friend, " I exclaimed, "here is a young man too indisposed to walk. I want him carried to his lodgings. Will you, for money or for charity, allow him a place in your chaise, and set him down where I shalldirect?" Observing tokens of hesitation, I continued, "You need have nofears to perform this office. He is not sick, but merely feeble. I willnot ask twenty minutes, and you may ask what reward you think proper. "

Still he hesitated to comply. His business, he said, had not led himinto the city. He merely passed along the skirts of it, whence heconceived that no danger would arise. He was desirous of helping theunfortunate; but he could not think of risking his own life in the causeof a stranger, when he had a wife and children depending on hisexistence and exertions for bread. It gave him pain to refuse, but hethought his duty to himself and to others required that he should nothazard his safety by compliance. 

This plea was irresistible. The mildness of his manner showed that hemight have been overpowered by persuasion or tempted by reward. I wouldnot take advantage of his tractability; but should have declined hisassistance, even if it had been spontaneously offered. I turned awayfrom him in silence, and prepared to return to the spot where I had leftmy friend. The man prepared to resume his way. 

In this perplexity, the thought occurred to me that, since this personwas going into the country, he might, possibly, consent to carry Wallacealong with him. I confided greatly in the salutary influence of ruralairs. I believed that debility constituted the whole of his complaint;that continuance in the city might occasion his relapse, or, at least, procrastinate his restoration. 

I once more addressed myself to the traveller, and inquired in whatdirection and how far he was going. To my unspeakable satisfaction, hisanswer informed me that his home lay beyond Mr. Hadwin's, and that thisroad carried him directly past that gentleman's door. He was willing toreceive Wallace into his chaise, and to leave him at his uncle's. 

This joyous and auspicious occurrence surpassed my fondest hopes. Ihurried with the pleasing tidings to Wallace, who eagerly consented toenter the carriage. I thought not at the moment of myself, or how farthe same means of escaping from my danger might be used. The strangercould not be anxious on my account; and Wallace's dejection and weaknessmay apologize for his not soliciting my company, or expressing his fearsfor my safety. He was no sooner seated, than the traveller hurried away. I gazed after them, motionless and mute, till the carriage, turning acorner, passed beyond my sight. 

I had now leisure to revert to my own condition, and to ruminate on thatseries of abrupt and diversified events that had happened during the fewhours which had been passed in the city: the end of my coming was thusspeedily and satisfactorily accomplished. My hopes and fears had rapidlyfluctuated; but, respecting this young man, had now subsided into calmand propitious certainty. Before the decline of the sun, he would enterhis paternal roof, and diffuse ineffable joy throughout that peacefuland chaste asylum. 

This contemplation, though rapturous and soothing, speedily gave way toreflections on the conduct which my duty required, and the safedeparture of Wallace afforded me liberty, to pursue. To offer myself asa superintendent of the hospital was still my purpose. The languors ofmy frame might terminate in sickness, but this event it was useless toanticipate. The lofty site and pure airs of Bush Hill might tend todissipate my languors and restore me to health. At least while I hadpower, I was bound to exert it to the wisest purposes. I resolved toseek the City Hall immediately, and, for that end, crossed theintermediate fields which separated Sassafras from Chestnut Street. 

More urgent considerations had diverted my attention from the moneywhich I bore about me, and from the image of the desolate lady to whomit belonged. My intentions, with regard to her, were the same as ever;but now it occurred to me, with new force, that my death might precludean interview between us, and that it was prudent to dispose, in someuseful way, of the money which would otherwise be left to the sport ofchance. 

The evils which had befallen this city were obvious and enormous. Hungerand negligence had exasperated the malignity and facilitated theprogress of the pestilence. Could this money be more usefully employedthan in alleviating these evils? During my life, I had no power over it, but my death would justify me in prescribing the course which it shouldtake. 

How was this course to be pointed out? How might I place it, so that Ishould effect my intentions without relinquishing the possession duringmy life?

These thoughts were superseded by a tide of new sensations. The weightthat incommoded my brows and my stomach was suddenly increased. My brainwas usurped by some benumbing power, and my limbs refused to support me. My pulsations were quickened, and the prevalence of fever could nolonger be doubted. 

Till now, I had entertained a faint hope that my indisposition wouldvanish of itself. This hope was at an end. The grave was before me, andmy projects of curiosity or benevolence were to sink into oblivion. Iwas not bereaved of the powers of reflection. The consequences of lyingin the road, friendless and unprotected, were sure. The first passengerwould notice me, and hasten to summon one of those carriages which arebusy night and day in transporting its victims to the hospital. 

This fate was, beyond all others, abhorrent to my imagination. To hideme under some roof, where my existence would be unknown and unsuspected, and where I might perish unmolested and in quiet, was my present wish. Thetford's or Medlicote's might afford me such an asylum, if it werepossible to reach it. 

I made the most strenuous exertions; but they could not carry me forwardmore than a hundred paces. Here I rested on steps, which, on looking up, I perceived to belong to Welbeck's house. 

This incident was unexpected. It led my reflections into a new train. Togo farther, in the present condition of my frame, was impossible. I waswell acquainted with this dwelling. All its avenues were closed. Whetherit had remained unoccupied since my flight from it, I could not decide. It was evident that, at present, it was without inhabitants. Possibly itmight have continued in the same condition in which Welbeck had left it. Beds or sofas might be found, on which a sick man might rest, and befearless of intrusion. 

This inference was quickly overturned by the obvious supposition thatevery avenue was bolted and locked. This, however, might not be thecondition of the bath-house, in which there was nothing that required tobe guarded with unusual precautions. I was suffocated by inward andscorched by external heat; and the relief of bathing and drinkingappeared inestimable. 

The value of this prize, in addition to my desire to avoid theobservation of passengers, made me exert all my remnant of strength. Repeated efforts at length enabled me to mount the wall; and placed me, as I imagined, in security. I swallowed large draughts of water as soonas I could reach the well. 

The effect was, for a time, salutary and delicious. My fervours wereabated, and my faculties relieved from the weight which had latelyoppressed them. My present condition was unspeakably more advantageousthan the former. I did not believe that it could be improved, till, casting my eye vaguely over the building, I happened to observe theshutters of a lower window partly opened. 

Whether this was occasioned by design or by accident there was no meansof deciding. Perhaps, in the precipitation of the latest possessor, thiswindow had been overlooked. Perhaps it had been unclosed by violence, and afforded entrance to a robber. By what means soever it hadhappened, it undoubtedly afforded ingress to me. I felt no scruple inprofiting by this circumstance. My purposes were not dishonest. I shouldnot injure or purloin any thing. It was laudable to seek a refuge fromthe well-meant persecutions of those who governed the city. All I soughtwas the privilege of dying alone. 

Having gotten in at the window, I could not but remark that thefurniture and its arrangements had undergone no alteration in myabsence. I moved softly from one apartment to another, till at length Ientered that which had formerly been Welbeck's bedchamber. 

The bed was naked of covering. The cabinets and closets exhibited theirfastenings broken. Their contents were gone. Whether these appearanceshad been produced by midnight robbers, or by the ministers of law andthe rage of the creditors of Welbeck, was a topic of fruitlessconjecture. 

My design was now effected. This chamber should be the scene of mydisease and my refuge from the charitable cruelty of my neighbours. Mynew sensations conjured up the hope that my indisposition might prove atemporary evil. Instead of pestilential or malignant fever, it might bea harmless intermittent. Time would ascertain its true nature;meanwhile, I would turn the carpet into a coverlet, supply my pitcherwith water, and administer without sparing, and without fear, thatremedy which was placed within my reach. 

CHAPTER XX. 

I laid myself on the bed and wrapped my limbs in the folds of thecarpet. My thoughts were restless and perturbed. I was once more busy inreflecting on the conduct which I ought to pursue with regard to thebank-bills. I weighed, with scrupulous attention, every circumstancethat might influence my decision. I could not conceive any morebeneficial application of this property than to the service of theindigent, at this season of multiplied distress; but I considered that, if my death were unknown, the house would not be opened or examined tillthe pestilence had ceased, and the benefits of this application wouldthus be partly or wholly precluded. 

This season of disease, however, would give place to a season ofscarcity. The number and wants of the poor, during the ensuing winter, would be deplorably aggravated. What multitudes might be rescued fromfamine and nakedness by the judicious application of this sum!

But how should I secure this application? To enclose the bills in aletter, directed to some eminent citizen or public officer, was theobvious proceeding. Both of these conditions were fulfilled in theperson of the present chief-magistrate. To him, therefore, the packetwas to be sent. 

Paper and the implements of writing were necessary for this end. Wouldthey be found, I asked, in the upper room? If that apartment, like therest which I had seen, and its furniture, had remained untouched, mytask would be practicable; but, if the means of writing were not to beimmediately procured, my purpose, momentous and dear as it was, must berelinquished. 

The truth, in this respect, was easily and ought immediately to beascertained. I rose from the bed which I had lately taken, and proceededto the _study_. The entries and staircases were illuminated by a prettystrong twilight. The rooms, in consequence of every ray being excludedby the closed shutters, were nearly as dark as if it had been midnight. The rooms into which I had already passed were locked, but its key wasin each lock. I flattered myself that the entrance into the _study_would be found in the same condition. The door was shut, but no key wasto be seen. My hopes were considerably damped by this appearance, but Iconceived it to be still possible to enter, since, by chance or bydesign, the door might be unlocked. 

My fingers touched the lock, when a sound was heard as if a bolt, appending to the door on the inside, had been drawn. I was startled bythis incident. It betokened that the room was already occupied by someother, who desired to exclude a visitor. The unbarred shutter below wasremembered, and associated itself with this circumstance. That thishouse should be entered by the same avenue, at the same time, and thisroom should be sought, by two persons, was a mysterious concurrence. 

I began to question whether I had heard distinctly. Numberlessinexplicable noises are apt to assail the ear in an empty dwelling. Thevery echoes of our steps are unwonted and new. This, perhaps, was somesuch sound. Resuming courage, I once more applied to the lock. The door, in spite of my repeated efforts, would not open. 

My design was too momentous to be readily relinquished. My curiosity andmy fears likewise were awakened. The marks of violence, which I had seenon the closets and cabinets below, seemed to indicate the presence ofplunderers. Here was one who laboured for seclusion and concealment. 

The pillage was not made upon my property. My weakness would disable mefrom encountering or mastering a man of violence. To solicit admissioninto this room would be useless. To attempt to force my way would beabsurd. These reflections prompted me to withdraw from the door; but theuncertainty of the conclusions I had drawn, and the importance ofgaining access to this apartment, combined to check my steps. 

Perplexed as to the means I should employ, I once more tried the lock. The attempt was fruitless as the former. Though hopeless of anyinformation to be gained by that means, I put my eye to the keyhole. Idiscovered a light different from what was usually met with at thishour. It was not the twilight which the sun, imperfectly excluded, produces, but gleams, as from a lamp; yet its gleams were fainter andobscurer than a lamp generally imparts. 

Was this a confirmation of my first conjecture? Lamplight at noonday, ina mansion thus deserted, and in a room which had been the scene ofmemorable and disastrous events, was ominous. Hitherto no direct proofhad been given of the presence of a human being. How to ascertain hispresence, or whether it were eligible by any means to ascertain it, werepoints on which I had not deliberated. 

I had no power to deliberate. My curiosity impelled me to call, --"Isthere any one within? Speak. "

These words were scarcely uttered, when some one exclaimed, in a voicevehement but half-smothered, "Good God!"--

A deep pause succeeded. I waited for an answer; for somewhat to whichthis emphatic invocation might be a prelude. Whether the tones wereexpressive of surprise, or pain, or grief, was, for a moment, dubious. Perhaps the motives which led me to this house suggested the suspicionwhich presently succeeded to my doubts, --that the person within wasdisabled by sickness. The circumstances of my own condition took awaythe improbability from this belief. Why might not another be inducedlike me to hide himself in this desolate retreat? Might not a servant, left to take care of the house, a measure usually adopted by the opulentat this time, be seized by the reigning malady? Incapacitated forexertion, or fearing to be dragged to the hospital, he has shut himselfin this apartment. The robber, it may be, who came to pillage, wasovertaken and detained by disease. In either case, detection orintrusion would be hateful, and would be assiduously eluded. 

These thoughts had no tendency to weaken or divert my efforts to obtainaccess to this room. The person was a brother in calamity, whom it wasmy duty to succour and cherish to the utmost of my power. Once more Ispoke:--

"Who is within? I beseech you answer me. Whatever you be, I desire to doyou good and not injury. Open the door and let me know your condition. Iwill try to be of use to you. "

I was answered by a deep groan, and by a sob counteracted and devouredas it were by a mighty effort. This token of distress thrilled to myheart. My terrors wholly disappeared, and gave place to unlimitedcompassion. I again entreated to be admitted, promising all the succouror consolation which my situation allowed me to afford. 

Answers were made in tones of anger and impatience, blended with thoseof grief:--"I want no succour; vex me not with your entreaties andoffers. Fly from this spot; linger not a moment, lest you participate mydestiny and rush upon your death. "

These I considered merely as the effusions of delirium, or the dictatesof despair. The style and articulation denoted the speaker to besuperior to the class of servants. Hence my anxiety to see and to aidhim was increased. My remonstrances were sternly and pertinaciouslyrepelled. For a time, incoherent and impassioned exclamations flowedfrom him. At length, I was only permitted to hear strong aspirations andsobs, more eloquent and more indicative of grief than any language. 

This deportment filled me with no less wonder than commiseration. Bywhat views this person was led hither, by what motives induced to denyhimself to my entreaties, was wholly incomprehensible. Again, thoughhopeless of success, I repeated my request to be admitted. 

My perseverance seemed now to have exhausted all his patience, and heexclaimed, in a voice of thunder, "Arthur Mervyn! Begone. Linger but amoment, and my rage, tiger-like, will rush upon you and rend you limbfrom limb. "

This address petrified me. The voice that uttered this sanguinary menacewas strange to my ears. It suggested no suspicion of ever having heardit before. Yet my accents had betrayed me to him. He was familiar withmy name. Notwithstanding the improbability of my entrance into thisdwelling, I was clearly recognized and unhesitatingly named!

My curiosity and compassion were in no wise diminished, but I foundmyself compelled to give up my purpose. I withdrew reluctantly from thedoor, and once more threw myself upon my bed. Nothing was morenecessary, in the present condition of my frame; than sleep; and sleephad, perhaps, been possible, if the scene around me had been lesspregnant with causes of wonder and panic. 

Once more I tasked memory in order to discover, in the persons with whomI had hitherto conversed, some resemblance, in voice or tones, to himwhom I had just heard. This process was effectual. Gradually myimagination called up an image which, now that it was clearly seen, Iwas astonished had not instantly occurred. Three years ago, a man, byname Colvill, came on foot, and with a knapsack on his back, into thedistrict where my father resided. He had learning and genius, andreadily obtained the station for which only he deemed himself qualified;that of a schoolmaster. 

His demeanour was gentle and modest; his habits, as to sleep, food, andexercise, abstemious and regular. Meditation in the forest, or readingin his closet, seemed to constitute, together with attention to hisscholars, his sole amusement and employment. He estranged himself fromcompany, not because society afforded no pleasure, but because studiousseclusion afforded him chief satisfaction. 

No one was more idolized by his unsuspecting neighbours. His scholarsrevered him as a father, and made under his tuition a remarkableproficiency. His character seemed open to boundless inspection, and hisconduct was pronounced by all to be faultless. 

At the end of a year the scene was changed. A daughter of one of hispatrons, young, artless, and beautiful, appeared to have fallen a preyto the arts of some detestable seducer. The betrayer was graduallydetected, and successive discoveries showed that the same artifices hadbeen practised, with the same success, upon many others. Colvill was thearch-villain. He retired from the storm of vengeance that was gatheringover him, and had not been heard of since that period. 

I saw him rarely, and for a short time, and I was a mere boy. Hence thefailure to recollect his voice, and to perceive that the voice of himimmured in the room above was the same with that of Colvill. Though Ihad slight reasons for recognising his features or accents, I hadabundant cause to think of him with detestation, and pursue him withimplacable revenge, for the victim of his acts, she whose ruin was firstdetected, was--_my sister_. 

This unhappy girl escaped from the upbraidings of her parents, from thecontumelies of the world, from the goadings of remorse, and the anguishflowing from the perfidy and desertion of Colvill, in a voluntary death. She was innocent and lovely. Previous to this evil, my soul was linkedwith hers by a thousand resemblances and sympathies, as well as byperpetual intercourse from infancy, and by the fraternal relation. Shewas my sister, my preceptress and friend; but she died--her end wasviolent, untimely, and criminal! I cannot think of her withoutheart-bursting grief; of her destroyer, without a rancour which I knowto be wrong, but which I cannot subdue. 

When the image of Colvill rushed, upon this occasion, on my thought, Ialmost started on my feet. To meet him, after so long a separation, here, and in these circumstances, was so unlooked-for and abrupt anevent, and revived a tribe of such hateful impulses and agonizingrecollections, that a total revolution seemed to have been effected inmy frame. His recognition of my person, his aversion to be seen, hisejaculation of terror and surprise on first hearing my voice, allcontributed to strengthen my belief. 

How was I to act? My feeble frame could but ill second my vengefulpurposes; but vengeance, though it sometimes occupied my thoughts, washindered by my reason from leading me, in any instance, to outrage oreven to upbraiding. 

All my wishes with regard to this man were limited to expelling hisimage from my memory, and to shunning a meeting with him. That he hadnot opened the door at my bidding was now a topic of joy. To look uponsome bottomless pit, into which I was about to be cast headlong, andalive, was less to be abhorred than to look upon the face of Colvill. Had I known that he had taken refuge in this house, no power should havecompelled me to enter it. To be immersed in the infection of thehospital, and to be hurried, yet breathing and observant, to my grave, was a more supportable fate. 

I dwell, with self-condemnation and shame, upon this part of my story. To feel extraordinary indignation at vice, merely because we havepartaken in an extraordinary degree of its mischiefs, is unjustifiable. To regard the wicked with no emotion but pity, to be active inreclaiming them, in controlling their malevolence, and preventing orrepairing the ills which they produce, is the only province of duty. This lesson, as well as a thousand others, I have yet to learn; but Idespair of living long enough for that or any beneficial purpose. 

My emotions with regard to Colvill were erroneous, but omnipotent. Istarted from my bed, and prepared to rush into the street. I wascareless of the lot that should befall me, since no fate could be worsethan that of abiding under the same roof with a wretch spotted with somany crimes. 

I had not set my feet upon the floor before my precipitation was checkedby a sound from above. The door of the study was cautiously and slowlyopened. This incident admitted only of one construction, supposing allobstructions removed. Colvill was creeping from his hiding-place, andwould probably fly with speed from the house. My belief of his sicknesswas now confuted. An illicit design was congenial with his characterand congruous with those appearances already observed. 

I had no power or wish to obstruct his flight. I thought of it withtransport, and once more threw myself upon the bed, and wrapped myaverted face in the carpet. He would probably pass this door, unobservant of me, and my muffled face would save me from the agoniesconnected with the sight of him. 

The footsteps above were distinguishable, though it was manifest thatthey moved with lightsomeness and circumspection. They reached the stairand descended. The room in which I lay was, like the rest, obscured bythe closed shutters. This obscurity now gave way to a light, resemblingthat glimmering and pale reflection which I had noticed in the study. Myeyes, though averted from the door, were disengaged from the folds whichcovered the rest of my head, and observed these tokens of Colvill'sapproach, flitting on the wall. 

My feverish perturbations increased as he drew nearer. He reached thedoor, and stopped. The light rested for a moment. Presently he enteredthe apartment. My emotions suddenly rose to a height that would not becontrolled. I imagined that he approached the bed, and was gazing uponme. At the same moment, by an involuntary impulse, I threw off mycovering, and, turning my face, fixed my eyes upon my visitant. 

It was as I suspected. The figure, lifting in his right hand a candle, and gazing at the bed, with lineaments and attitude bespeaking fearfulexpectation and tormenting doubts, was now beheld. One glancecommunicated to my senses all the parts of this terrific vision. Asinking at my heart, as if it had been penetrated by a dagger, seizedme. This was not enough: I uttered a shriek, too rueful and loud not tohave startled the attention of the passengers, if any had, at thatmoment, been passing the street. 

Heaven seemed to have decreed that this period should be filled withtrials of my equanimity and fortitude. The test of my courage was oncemore employed to cover me with humiliation and remorse. This secondtime, my fancy conjured up a spectre, and I shuddered as if the gravewere forsaken and the unquiet dead haunted my pillow. 

The visage and the shape had indeed preternatural attitudes, but theybelonged, not to Colvill, but to--WELBECK. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

He whom I had accompanied to the midst of the river; whom I had imaginedthat I saw sink to rise no more, was now before me. Though incapable ofprecluding the groundless belief of preternatural visitations, I wasable to banish the phantom almost at the same instant at which itappeared. Welbeck had escaped from the stream alive; or had, by someinconceivable means, been restored to life. 

The first was the most plausible conclusion. It instantly engendered asuspicion, that his plunging into the water was an artifice, intended toestablish a belief of his death. His own tale had shown him to be versedin frauds, and flexible to evil. But was he not associated with Colvill?and what, but a compact in iniquity, could bind together such men?

While thus musing, Welbeck's countenance and gesture displayed emotionstoo vehement for speech. The glances that he fixed upon me wereunsteadfast and wild. He walked along the floor, stopping at eachmoment, and darting looks of eagerness upon me. A conflict of passionskept him mute. At length, advancing to the bed, on the side of which Iwas now sitting, he addressed me:--

"What is this? Are you here? In defiance of pestilence, are you actuatedby some demon to haunt me, like the ghost of my offences, and cover mewith shame? What have I to do with that dauntless yet guiltless front?With that foolishly-confiding and obsequious, yet erect andunconquerable, spirit? Is there no means of evading your pursuit? Must Idip my hands, a second time, in blood; and dig for you a grave by theside of Watson?"

These words were listened to with calmness. I suspected and pitied theman, but I did not fear him. His words and his looks were indicativeless of cruelty than madness. I looked at him with an air compassionateand wistful. I spoke with mildness and composure:--

"Mr. Welbeck, you are unfortunate and criminal. Would to God I couldrestore you to happiness and virtue! but, though my desire be strong, Ihave no power to change your habits or rescue you from misery. 

"I believed you to be dead. I rejoice to find myself mistaken. While youlive, there is room to hope that your errors will be cured; and theturmoils and inquietudes that have hitherto beset your guilty progresswill vanish by your reverting into better paths. 

"From me you have nothing to fear. If your welfare will be promoted bymy silence on the subject of your history, my silence shall beinviolate. I deem not lightly of my promises. They are given, and shallnot be recalled. 

"This meeting was casual. Since I believed you to be dead, it could notbe otherwise. You err, if you suppose that any injury will accrue to youfrom my life; but you need not discard that error. Since my death iscoming, I am not averse to your adopting the belief that the event isfortunate to you. 

"Death is the inevitable and universal lot. When or how it comes, is oflittle moment. To stand, when so many thousands are falling around me, is not to be expected. I have acted an humble and obscure part in theworld, and my career has been short; but I murmur not at the decree thatmakes it so. 

"The pestilence is now upon me. The chances of recovery are too slenderto deserve my confidence. I came hither to die unmolested, and at peace. All I ask of you is to consult your own safety by immediate flight; andnot to disappoint my hopes of concealment, by disclosing my condition tothe agents of the hospital. "

Welbeck listened with the deepest attention. The wildness of his airdisappeared, and gave place to perplexity and apprehension. 

"You are sick, " said he, in a tremulous tone, in which terror wasmingled with affection. "You know this, and expect not to recover. Nomother, nor sister, nor friend, will be near to administer food, ormedicine, or comfort; yet you can talk calmly; can be thus considerateof others--of me; whose guilt has been so deep, and who has merited solittle at your hands!

"Wretched coward! Thus miserable as I am and expect to be, I cling tolife. To comply with your heroic counsel, and to fly; to leave you thusdesolate and helpless, is the strongest impulse. Fain would I resist it, but cannot. 

"To desert you would be flagitious and dastardly beyond all former acts;yet to stay with you is to contract the disease, and to perish afteryou. 

"Life, burdened as it is with guilt and ignominy, is still dear--yet youexhort me to go; you dispense with my assistance. Indeed, I could be ofno use; I should injure myself and profit you nothing. I cannot go intothe city and procure a physician or attendant. I must never more appearin the streets of this city. I must leave you, then. " He hurried to thedoor. Again, he hesitated. I renewed my entreaties that he would leaveme; and encouraged his belief that his presence might endanger himselfwithout conferring the slightest benefit upon me. 

"Whither should I fly? The wide world contains no asylum for me. I livedbut on one condition. I came hither to find what would save me fromruin, --from death. I find it not. It has vanished. Some audacious andfortunate hand has snatched it from its place, and now my ruin iscomplete. My last hope is extinct. 

"Yes, Mervyn! I will stay with you. I will hold your head. I will putwater to your lips. I will watch night and day by your side. When youdie, I will carry you by night to the neighbouring field; will bury you, and water your grave with those tears that are due to your incomparableworth and untimely destiny. Then I will lay myself in your bed, and waitfor the same oblivion. "

Welbeck seemed now no longer to be fluctuating between oppositepurposes. His tempestuous features subsided into calm. He put thecandle, still lighted, on the table, and paced the floor with lessdisorder than at his first entrance. 

His resolution was seen to be the dictate of despair. I hoped that itwould not prove invincible to my remonstrances. I was conscious that hisattendance might preclude, in some degree, my own exertions, andalleviate the pangs of death; but these consolations might be purchasedtoo dear. To receive them at the hazard of his life would be to makethem odious. 

But, if he should remain, what conduct would his companion pursue? Whydid he continue in the study when Welbeck had departed? By what motiveswere those men led hither? I addressed myself to Welbeck:--

"Your resolution to remain is hasty and rash. By persisting in it, youwill add to the miseries of my condition; you will take away the onlyhope that I cherished. But, however you may act, Colvill or I must bebanished from this roof. What is the league between you? Break it, Iconjure you, before his frauds have involved you in inextricabledestruction. "

Welbeck looked at me with some expression of doubt. 

"I mean, " continued I, "the man whose voice I heard above. He is avillain and betrayer. I have manifold proofs of his guilt. Why does helinger behind you? However you may decide, it is fitting that he shouldvanish. "

"Alas!" said Welbeck, "I have no companion, none to partake with me ingood or evil. I came hither alone. "

"How?" exclaimed I. "Whom did I hear in the room above? Some oneanswered my interrogations and entreaties, whom I too certainlyrecognised. Why does he remain?"

"You heard no one but myself. The design that brought me hither was tobe accomplished without a witness. I desired to escape detection, andrepelled your solicitations for admission in a counterfeited voice. 

"That voice belonged to one from whom I had lately parted. What hismerits or demerits are, I know not. He found me wandering in the forestsof New Jersey. He took me to his home. When seized by a lingeringmalady, he nursed me with fidelity and tenderness. When somewhatrecovered, I speeded hither; but our ignorance of each other's characterand views was mutual and profound. 

"I deemed it useful to assume a voice different from my own. This wasthe last which I had heard, and this arbitrary and casual circumstancedecided my choice. "

This imitation was too perfect, and had influenced my fears toostrongly, to be easily credited. I suspected Welbeck of some newartifice to baffle my conclusions and mislead my judgment. Thissuspicion, however, yielded to his earnest and repeated declarations. IfColvill were not here, where had he made his abode? How came friendshipand intercourse between Welbeck and him? By what miracle escaped theformer from the river, into which I had imagined him forever sunk?

"I will answer you, " said he, with candour. "You know already too muchfor me to have any interest in concealing any part of my life. You havediscovered my existence, and the causes that rescued me from destructionmay be told without detriment to my person or fame. 

"When I leaped into the river, I intended to perish. I harboured noprevious doubts of my ability to execute my fatal purpose. In thisrespect I was deceived. Suffocation would not come at my bidding. Mymuscles and limbs rebelled against my will. There was a mechanicalrepugnance to the loss of life, which I could not vanquish. My strugglesmight thrust me below the surface, but my lips were spontaneously shut, and excluded the torrent from my lungs. When my breath was exhausted, the efforts that kept me at the bottom were involuntarily remitted, andI rose to the surface. 

"I cursed my own pusillanimity. Thrice I plunged to the bottom, and asoften rose again. My aversion to life swiftly diminished, and at lengthI consented to make use of my skill in swimming, which has seldom beenexceeded, to prolong my existence. I landed in a few minutes on theJersey shore. 

"This scheme being frustrated, I sunk into dreariness and inactivity. Ifelt as if no dependence could be placed upon my courage, as if anyeffort I should make for self-destruction would be fruitless; yetexistence was as void as ever of enjoyment and embellishment. My meansof living were annihilated. I saw no path before me. To shun thepresence of mankind was my sovereign wish. Since I could not die by myown hands, I must be content to crawl upon the surface, till a superiorfate should permit me to perish. 

"I wandered into the centre of the wood. I stretched myself on the mossyverge of a brook, and gazed at the stars till they disappeared. The nextday was spent with little variation. The cravings of hunger were felt, and the sensation was a joyous one, since it afforded me the practicablemeans of death. To refrain from food was easy, since some efforts wouldbe needful to procure it, and these efforts should not be made. Thus wasthe sweet oblivion for which I so earnestly panted placed within myreach. 

"Three days of abstinence, and reverie, and solitude, succeeded. On theevening of the fourth, I was seated on a rock, with my face buried in myhands. Some one laid his hand upon my shoulder. I started and looked up. I beheld a face beaming with compassion and benignity. He endeavoured toextort from me the cause of my solitude and sorrow. I disregarded hisentreaties, and was obstinately silent. 

"Finding me invincible in this respect, he invited me to his cottage, which was hard by. I repelled him at first with impatience and anger, but he was not to be discouraged or intimidated. To elude hispersuasions I was obliged to comply. My strength was gone, and the vitalfabric was crumbling into pieces. A fever raged in my veins, and I wasconsoled by reflecting that my life was at once assailed by famine anddisease. 

"Meanwhile, my gloomy meditations experienced no respite. I incessantlyruminated on the events of my past life. The long series of my crimesarose daily and afresh to my imagination. The image of Lodi wasrecalled, his expiring looks and the directions which were mutuallygiven respecting his sister's and his property. 

"As I perpetually revolved these incidents, they assumed new forms, andwere linked with new associations. The volume written by his father, andtransferred to me by tokens which were now remembered to be moreemphatic than the nature of the composition seemed to justify, waslikewise remembered. It came attended by recollections respecting avolume which I filled, when a youth, with extracts from the Roman andGreek poets. Besides this literary purpose, I likewise used to preservein it the bank-bills with the keeping or carriage of which I chanced tobe entrusted. This image led me back to the leather case containingLodi's property, which was put into my hands at the same time with thevolume. 

"These images now gave birth to a third conception, which darted on mybenighted understanding like an electrical flash. Was it not possiblethat part of Lodi's property might be enclosed within the leaves of thisvolume? In hastily turning it over, I recollected to have noticed leaveswhose edges by accident or design adhered to each other. Lodi, inspeaking of the sale of his father's West-India property, mentioned thatthe sum obtained for it was forty thousand dollars. Half only of thissum had been discovered by me. How had the remainder been appropriated?Surely this volume contained it. 

"The influence of this thought was like the infusion of a new soul intomy frame. From torpid and desperate, from inflexible aversion tomedicine and food, I was changed in a moment into vivacity and hope, into ravenous avidity for whatever could contribute to my restoration tohealth. 

"I was not without pungent regrets and racking fears. That this volumewould be ravished away by creditors or plunderers was possible. Everyhour might be that which decided my fate. The first impulse was to seekmy dwelling and search for this precious deposit. 

"Meanwhile, my perturbations and impatience only exasperated my disease. While chained to my bed, the rumour of pestilence was spread abroad. This event, however, generally calamitous, was propitious to me, and washailed with satisfaction. It multiplied the chances that my house andits furniture would be unmolested. 

"My friend was assiduous and indefatigable in his kindness. Mydeportment, before and subsequent to the revival of my hopes, wasincomprehensible, and argued nothing less than insanity. My thoughtswere carefully concealed from him, and all that he witnessed wascontradictory and unintelligible. 

"At length, my strength was sufficiently restored. I resisted all myprotector's importunities to postpone my departure till the perfectconfirmation of my health. I designed to enter the city at midnight, that prying eyes might be eluded; to bear with me a candle and the meansof lighting it, to explore my way to my ancient study, and to ascertainmy future claim to existence and felicity. 

"I crossed the river this morning. My impatience would not suffer me towait till evening. Considering the desolation of the city, I thought Imight venture to approach thus near, without hazard of detection. Thehouse, at all its avenues, was closed. I stole into the back court. Awindow-shutter proved to be unfastened. I entered, and discoveredclosets and cabinets unfastened and emptied of all their contents. Atthis spectacle my heart sunk. My books, doubtless, had shared the commondestiny. My blood throbbed with painful vehemence as I approached thestudy and opened the door. 

"My hopes, that languished for a moment, were revived by the sight of myshelves, furnished as formerly. I had lighted my candle below, for Idesired not to awaken observation and suspicion by unclosing thewindows. My eye eagerly sought the spot where I remembered to have leftthe volume. Its place was empty. The object of all my hopes had eludedmy grasp, and disappeared forever. 

"To paint my confusion, to repeat my execrations on the infatuationwhich had rendered, during so long a time that it was in my possession, this treasure useless to me, and my curses of the fatal interferencewhich had snatched away the prize, would be only aggravations of mydisappointment and my sorrow. You found me in this state, and know whatfollowed. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

This narrative threw new light on the character of Welbeck. If accidenthad given him possession of this treasure, it was easy to predict onwhat schemes of luxury and selfishness it would have been expended. Thesame dependence on the world's erroneous estimation, the same devotionto imposture, and thoughtlessness of futurity, would have constitutedthe picture of his future life, as had distinguished the past. 

This money was another's. To retain it for his own use was criminal. Ofthis crime he appeared to be as insensible as ever. His owngratification was the supreme law of his actions. To be subjected to thenecessity of honest labour was the heaviest of all evils, and one fromwhich he was willing to escape by the commission of suicide. 

The volume which he sought was mine. It was my duty to restore it to therightful owner, or, if the legal claimant could not be found, to employit in the promotion of virtue and happiness. To give it to Welbeck wasto consecrate it to the purpose of selfishness and misery. My right, legally considered, was as valid as his. 

But, if I intended not to resign it to him, was it proper to disclosethe truth and explain by whom the volume was purloined from the shelf?The first impulse was to hide this truth; but my understanding had beentaught, by recent occurrences, to question the justice and deny theusefulness of secrecy in any case. My principles were true; my motiveswere pure: why should I scruple to avow my principles and vindicate myactions?

Welbeck had ceased to be dreaded or revered. That awe which was oncecreated by his superiority of age, refinement of manners, and dignityof garb, had vanished. I was a boy in years, an indigent and uneducatedrustic; but I was able to discern the illusions of power and riches, andabjured every claim to esteem that was not founded on integrity. Therewas no tribunal before which I should falter in asserting the truth, andno species of martyrdom which I would not cheerfully embrace in itscause. 

After some pause, I said, "Cannot you conjecture in what way this volumehas disappeared?"

"No, " he answered, with a sigh. "Why, of all his volumes, this onlyshould have vanished, was an inexplicable enigma. "

"Perhaps, " said I, "it is less important to know how it was removed, than by whom it is now possessed. "

"Unquestionably; and yet, unless that knowledge enables me to regain thepossession, it will be useless. "

"Useless then it will be, for the present possessor will never return itto you. "

"Indeed, " replied he, in a tone of dejection, "your conjecture is mostprobable. Such a prize is of too much value to be given up. "

"What I have said flows not from conjecture, but from knowledge. I knowthat it will never be restored to you. "

At these words, Welbeck looked at me with anxiety and doubt:--"You_know_ that it will not! Have you any knowledge of the book? Can youtell me what has become of it?"

"Yes. After our separation on the river, I returned to this house. Ifound this volume and secured it. You rightly suspected its contents. The money was there. "

Welbeck started as if he had trodden on a mine of gold. His firstemotion was rapturous, but was immediately chastened by some degree ofdoubt:--"What has become of it? Have you got it? Is it entire? Have youit with you?"

"It is unimpaired. I have got it, and shall hold it as a sacred trustfor the rightful proprietor. "

The tone with which this declaration was accompanied shook the new-bornconfidence of Welbeck. "The rightful proprietor! true, but I am he. Tome only it belongs, and to me you are, doubtless, willing to restoreit. "

"Mr. Welbeck! It is not my desire to give you perplexity or anguish; tosport with your passions. On the supposition of your death, I deemed itno infraction of justice to take this manuscript. Accident unfolded itscontents. I could not hesitate to choose my path. The natural and legalsuccessor of Vincentio Lodi is his sister. To her, therefore, thisproperty belongs, and to her only will I give it. "

"Presumptuous boy! And this is your sage decision. I tell you that I amthe owner, and to me you shall render it. Who is this girl? Childish andignorant! Unable to consult and to act for herself on the most trivialoccasion. Am I not, by the appointment of her dying brother, herprotector and guardian? Her age produces a legal incapacity of property. Do you imagine that so obvious an expedient as that of procuring mylegal appointment as her guardian was overlooked by me? If it wereneglected, still my title to provide her subsistence and enjoyment isunquestionable. 

"Did I not rescue her from poverty, and prostitution, and infamy? Have Inot supplied all her wants with incessant solicitude? Whatever hercondition required has been plenteously supplied. The dwelling and itsfurniture was hers, as far a rigid jurisprudence would permit. Toprescribe her expenses and govern her family was the province of herguardian. 

"You have heard the tale of my anguish and despair. Whence did they flowbut from the frustration of schemes projected for her benefit, as theywere executed with her money and by means which the authority of herguardian fully justified? Why have I encountered this contagiousatmosphere, and explored my way, like a thief, to this recess, but witha view to rescue her from poverty and restore to her her own?

"Your scruples are ridiculous and criminal. I treat them with lessseverity, because your youth is raw and your conceptions crude. But if, after this proof of the justice of my claim, you hesitate to restore themoney, I shall treat you as a robber, who has plundered my cabinet andrefused to refund his spoil. "

These reasonings were powerful and new. I was acquainted with the rightsof guardianship. Welbeck had, in some respects, acted as the friend ofthis lady. To vest himself with this office was the conduct which heryouth and helplessness prescribed to her friend. His title to thismoney, as her guardian, could not be denied. 

But how was this statement compatible with former representations? Nomention had then been made of guardianship. By thus acting, he wouldhave thwarted all his schemes for winning the esteem of mankind andfostering the belief which the world entertained of his opulence andindependence. 

I was thrown, by these thoughts, into considerable perplexity. If hisstatement were true, his claim to this money was established; but Iquestioned its truth. To intimate my doubts of his veracity would be toprovoke abhorrence and outrage. 

His last insinuation was peculiarly momentous. Suppose him thefraudulent possessor of this money: shall I be justified in taking itaway by violence under pretence of restoring it to the genuineproprietor, who, for aught I know, may be dead, or with whom, at least, I may never procure a meeting? But will not my behaviour on thisoccasion be deemed illicit? I entered Welbeck's habitation at midnight, proceeded to his closet, possessed myself of portable property, andretired unobserved. Is not guilt imputable to an action like this?

Welbeck waited with impatience for a conclusion to my pause. Myperplexity and indecision did not abate, and my silence continued. Atlength, he repeated his demands, with new vehemence. I was compelled toanswer. I told him, in few words, that his reasonings had not convincedme of the equity of his claim, and that my determination was unaltered. 

He had not expected this inflexibility from one in my situation. Thefolly of opposition, when my feebleness and loneliness were contrastedwith his activity and resources, appeared to him monstrous and glaring;but his contempt was converted into rage and fear when he reflectedthat this folly might finally defeat his hopes. He had probablydetermined to obtain the money, let the purchase cost what it would, butwas willing to exhaust pacific expedients before he should resort toforce. He might likewise question whether the money was within hisreach. I had told him that I had it, but whether it was now about me wassomewhat dubious; yet, though he used no direct inquiries, he chose toproceed on the supposition of its being at hand. His angry tones werenow changed into those of remonstrance and persuasion:--

"Your present behaviour, Mervyn, does not justify the expectation I hadformed of you. You have been guilty of a base theft. To this you haveadded the deeper crime of ingratitude, but your infatuation and follyare, at least, as glaring as your guilt. Do you think I can credit yourassertions that you keep this money for another, when I recollect thatsix weeks have passed since you carried it off? Why have you not soughtthe owner and restored it to her? If your intentions had been honest, would you have suffered so long a time to elapse without doing this? Itis plain that you designed to keep it for your own use. 

"But, whether this were your purpose or not, you have no longer power torestore it or retain it. You say that you came hither to die. If so, what is to be the fate of the money? In your present situation youcannot gain access to the lady. Some other must inherit this wealth. Next to _Signora Lodi_, whose right can be put in competition with mine?But, if you will not give it to me on my own account, let it be given intrust for her. Let me be the bearer of it to her own hands. I havealready shown you that my claim to it, as her guardian, is legal andincontrovertible, but this claim I waive. I will merely be the executorof your will. I will bind myself to comply with your directions by anyoath, however solemn and tremendous, which you shall prescribe. "

As long as my own heart acquitted me, these imputations of dishonestyaffected me but little. They excited no anger, because they originatedin ignorance, and were rendered plausible to Welbeck by such facts aswere known to him. It was needless to confute the charge by elaborateand circumstantial details. 

It was true that my recovery was, in the highest degree, improbable, andthat my death would put an end to my power over this money; but had Inot determined to secure its useful application in case of my death?This project was obstructed by the presence of Welbeck; but I hoped thathis love of life would induce him to fly. He might wrest this volumefrom me by violence, or he might wait till my death should give himpeaceable possession. But these, though probable events, were notcertain, and would, by no means, justify the voluntary surrender. Hisstrength, if employed for this end, could not be resisted; but then itwould be a sacrifice, not a choice, but necessity. 

Promises were easily given, but were surely not to be confided in. Welbeck's own tale, in which it could not be imagined that he hadaggravated his defects, attested the frailty of his virtue. To put intohis hands a sum like this, in expectation of his delivering it toanother, when my death would cover the transaction with impenetrablesecrecy, would be, indeed, a proof of that infatuation which he thoughtproper to impute to me. 

These thoughts influenced my resolutions, but they were revolved insilence. To state them verbally was useless. They would not justify myconduct in his eyes. They would only exasperate dispute, and impel himto those acts of violence which I was desirous of preventing. The soonerthis controversy should end, and I in any measure be freed from theobstruction of his company, the better. 

"Mr. Welbeck, " said I, "my regard to your safety compels me to wish thatthis interview should terminate. At a different time, I should not beunwilling to discuss this matter. Now it will be fruitless. Myconscience points out to me too clearly the path I should pursue for meto mistake it. As long as I have power over this money, I shall keep itfor the use of the unfortunate lady whom I have seen in this house. Ishall exert myself to find her; but, if that be impossible, I shallappropriate it in a way in which you shall have no participation. "

I will not repeat the contest that succeeded between my forbearance andhis passions. I listened to the dictates of his rage and his avarice insilence. Astonishment at my inflexibility was blended with his anger. Byturns he commented on the guilt and on the folly of my resolutions. Sometimes his emotions would mount into fury, and he would approach mein a menacing attitude, and lift his hand as if he would exterminate meat a blow. My languid eyes, my cheeks glowing and my temples throbbingwith fever, and my total passiveness, attracted his attention andarrested his stroke. Compassion would take the place of rage, and thebelief be revived that remonstrances and arguments would answer hispurpose. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

This scene lasted I know not how long. Insensibly the passions andreasonings of Welbeck assumed a new form. A grief, mingled withperplexity, overspread his countenance. He ceased to contend or tospeak. His regards were withdrawn from me, on whom they had hithertobeen fixed; and, wandering or vacant, testified a conflict of mindterrible beyond any that my young imagination had ever conceived. 

For a time he appeared to be unconscious of my presence. He moved to andfro with unequal steps, and with gesticulations that possessed ahorrible but indistinct significance. Occasionally he struggled forbreath, and his efforts were directed to remove some choking impediment. 

No test of my fortitude had hitherto occurred equal to that to which itwas now subjected. The suspicion which this deportment suggested wasvague and formless. The tempest which I witnessed was the prelude ofhorror. These were throes which would terminate in the birth of somegigantic and sanguinary purpose. Did he meditate to offer a bloodysacrifice? Was his own death or was mine to attest the magnitude of hisdespair or the impetuosity of his vengeance?

Suicide was familiar to his thoughts. He had consented to live but onone condition; that of regaining possession of this money. Should I bejustified in driving him, by my obstinate refusal, to this fatalconsummation of his crimes? Yet my fear of this catastrophe wasgroundless. Hitherto he had argued and persuaded; but this method waspursued because it was more eligible than the employment of force, orthan procrastination. 

No. These were tokens that pointed to me. Some unknown instigation wasat work within him, to tear away his remnant of humanity and fit him forthe office of my murderer. I knew not how the accumulation of guiltcould contribute to his gratification or security. His actions had beenpartially exhibited and vaguely seen. What extenuations or omissions hadvitiated his former or recent narrative; how far his actual performanceswere congenial with the deed which was now to be perpetrated, I knewnot. 

These thoughts lent new rapidity to my blood. I raised my head from thepillow, and watched the deportment of this man with deeper attention. The paroxysm which controlled him at length, in some degree, subsided. He muttered, "Yes. It must come. My last humiliation must cover me. Mylast confession must be made. To die, and leave behind me this train ofenormous perils, must not be. 

"O Clemenza! O Mervyn! Ye have not merited that I should leave you alegacy of persecution and death. Your safety must be purchased at whatprice my malignant destiny will set upon it. The cord of theexecutioner, the note of everlasting infamy, is better than to leave youbeset by the consequences of my guilt. It must not be. "

Saying this, Welbeck cast fearful glances at the windows and door. Heexamined every avenue and listened. Thrice he repeated this scrutiny. Having, as it seemed, ascertained that no one lurked within audience, heapproached the bed. He put his mouth close to my face. He attempted tospeak, but once more examined the apartment with suspicious glances. 

He drew closer, and at length, in a tone scarcely articulate, andsuffocated with emotion, he spoke:--"Excellent but fatally-obstinateyouth! Know at least the cause of my importunity. Know at least thedepth of my infatuation and the enormity of my guilt. 

"The bills--surrender them to me, and save yourself from persecution anddisgrace. Save the woman whom you wish to benefit, from the blackestimputations; from hazard to her life and her fame; from languishing indungeons; from expiring on the gallows!

"The bills--oh, save me from the bitterness of death! Let the evils towhich my miserable life has given birth terminate here and in myself. Surrender them to me, for----"

There he stopped. His utterence was choked by terror. Rapid glances wereagain darted at the windows and door. The silence was uninterrupted, except by far-off sounds, produced by some moving carriage. Once more hesummoned resolution, and spoke:--

"Surrender them to me--for--_they are forged_!

"Formerly I told you, that a scheme of forgery had been conceived. Shamewould not suffer me to add, that my scheme was carried into execution. The bills were fashioned, but my fears contended against my necessities, and forbade me to attempt to exchange them. The interview with Lodisaved me from the dangerous experiment. I enclosed them in that volume, as the means of future opulence, to be used when all other and lesshazardous resources should fail. 

"In the agonies of my remorse at the death of Watson, they wereforgotten. They afterwards recurred to recollection. My wishes pointedto the grave; but the stroke that should deliver me from life wassuspended only till I could hasten hither, get possession of thesepapers, and destroy them. 

"When I thought upon the chances that should give them an owner; bringthem into circulation; load the innocent with suspicion; and lead themto trial, and, perhaps, to death, my sensations were fraught with agony;earnestly as I panted for death, it was necessarily deferred till I hadgained possession of and destroyed these papers. 

"What now remains? You have found them. Happily they have not been used. Give them, therefore, to me, that I may crush at once the brood ofmischiefs which they could not but generate. "

This disclosure was strange. It was accompanied with every token ofsincerity. How had I tottered on the brink of destruction! If I had madeuse of this money, in what a labyrinth of misery might I not have beeninvolved! My innocence could never have been proved. An alliance withWelbeck could not have failed to be inferred. My career would have foundan ignominious close; or, if my punishment had been transmuted intoslavery and toil, would the testimony of my conscience have supportedme?

I shuddered at the view of those disasters from which I was rescued bythe miraculous chance which led me to this house. Welbeck's request wassalutary to me and honourable to himself. I could not hesitate a momentin compliance. The notes were enclosed in paper, and deposited in a foldof my clothes. I put my hand upon them. 

My motion and attention were arrested, at the instant, by a noise whicharose in the street. Footsteps were heard upon the pavement before thedoor, and voices, as if busy in discourse. This incident was adapted toinfuse the deepest alarm into myself and my companion. The motives ofour trepidation were, indeed, different, and were infinitely morepowerful in my case than in his. It portended to me nothing less thanthe loss of my asylum, and condemnation to an hospital. 

Welbeck hurried to the door, to listen to the conversation below. Thisinterval was pregnant with thought. That impulse which led myreflections from Welbeck to my own state passed away in a moment, andsuffered me to meditate anew upon the terms of that confession which hadjust been made. 

Horror at the fate which this interview had enabled me to shun wasuppermost in my conceptions. I was eager to surrender these fatal bills. I held them for that purpose in my hand, and was impatient for Welbeck'sreturn. He continued at the door; stooping, with his face averted, andeagerly attentive to the conversation in the street. 

All the circumstances of my present situation tended to arrest theprogress of thought and chain my contemplations to one image; but evennow there was room for foresight and deliberation. Welbeck intended todestroy these bills. Perhaps he had not been sincere; or, if hispurpose had been honestly disclosed, this purpose might change when thebills were in his possession. His poverty and sanguineness of tempermight prompt him to use them. 

That this conduct was evil, and would only multiply his miseries, couldnot be questioned. Why should I subject his frailty to this temptation?The destruction of these bills was the loudest injunction of my duty;was demanded by every sanction which bound me to promote the welfare ofmankind. 

The means of destruction was easy. A lighted candle stood on a table, atthe distance of a few yards. Why should I hesitate a moment toannihilate so powerful a cause of error and guilt? A passing instant wassufficient. A momentary lingering might change the circumstances thatsurrounded me, and frustrate my project. 

My languors were suspended by the urgencies of this occasion. I startedfrom my bed and glided to the table. Seizing the notes with my righthand, I held them in the flame of the candle, and then threw them, blazing, on the floor. 

The sudden illumination was perceived by Welbeck. The cause of itappeared to suggest itself as soon. He turned, and, marking the paperwhere it lay, leaped to the spot, and extinguished the fire with hisfoot. His interposition was too late. Only enough of them remained toinform him of the nature of the sacrifice. 

Welbeck now stood, with limbs trembling, features aghast, and eyesglaring upon me. For a time he was without speech. The storm wasgathering in silence, and at length burst upon me. In a tone menacingand loud, he exclaimed, --

"Wretch! what have you done?"

"I have done justly. These notes were false. You desired to destroythem, that they might not betray the innocent. I applauded your purpose, and have saved you from the danger of temptation by destroying themmyself. "

"Maniac! Miscreant! To be fooled by so gross an artifice! The notes weregenuine. The tale of their forgery was false and meant only to wrestthem from you. Execrable and perverse idiot! Your deed has sealed myperdition. It has sealed your own. You shall pay for it with your blood. I will slay you by inches. I will stretch you, as you have stretched me, on the rack. "

During this speech, all was frenzy and storm in the countenance andfeatures of Welbeck. Nothing less could be expected than that the scenewould terminate in some bloody catastrophe. I bitterly regretted thefacility with which I had been deceived, and the precipitation of mysacrifice. The act, however lamentable, could not be revoked. Whatremained but to encounter or endure its consequences with unshrinkingfirmness?

The contest was too unequal. It is possible that the frenzy whichactuated Welbeck might have speedily subsided. It is more likely thathis passions would have been satiated with nothing but my death. Thisevent was precluded by loud knocks at the street door, and calls by someone on the pavement without, of--"Who is within? Is any one within?"

These noises gave a new direction to Welbeck's thoughts. "They arecoming, " said he. "They will treat you as a sick man and a thief. Icannot desire you to suffer a worse evil than they will inflict. I leaveyou to your fate. " So saying, he rushed out of the room. 

Though confounded and stunned by this rapid succession of events, I wasyet able to pursue measures for eluding these detested visitants. Ifirst extinguished the light, and then, observing that the parley in thestreet continued and grew louder, I sought an asylum in the remotestcorner of the house. During my former abode here, I noticed that atrap-door opened in the ceiling of the third story, to which you wereconducted by a movable stair or ladder. I considered that this, probably, was an opening into a narrow and darksome nook formed by theangle of the roof. By ascending, drawing after me the ladder, andclosing the door, I should escape the most vigilant search. 

Enfeebled as I was by my disease, my resolution rendered me strenuous. Igained the uppermost room, and, mounting the ladder, found myself at asufficient distance from suspicion. The stair was hastily drawn up, andthe door closed. In a few minutes, however, my new retreat proved to beworse than any for which it was possible to change it. The air wasmusty, stagnant, and scorchingly hot. My breathing became difficult, andI saw that to remain here ten minutes would unavoidably producesuffocation. 

My terror of intruders had rendered me blind to the consequences ofimmuring myself in this cheerless recess. It was incumbent on me toextricate myself as speedily as possible. I attempted to lift the door. My first effort was successless. Every inspiration was quicker and moredifficult than the former. As my terror, so my strength and my exertionsincreased. Finally my trembling hand lighted on a nail that wasimperfectly driven into the wood, and which, by affording me a firmerhold, enabled me at length to raise it, and to inhale the air frombeneath. 

Relieved from my new peril by this situation, I bent an attentive earthrough the opening, with a view to ascertain if the house had beenentered or if the outer door was still beset, but could hear nothing. Hence I was authorized to conclude that the people had departed, andthat I might resume my former station without hazard. 

Before I descended, however, I cast a curious eye over this recess. Itwas large enough to accommodate a human being. The means by which it wasentered were easily concealed. Though narrow and low, it was long, and, were it possible to contrive some inlet for the air, one studious ofconcealment might rely on its protection with unbounded confidence. 

My scrutiny was imperfect by reason of the faint light which found itsway through the opening; yet it was sufficient to set me afloat on a seaof new wonders and subject my fortitude to a new test. --

Here Mervyn paused in his narrative. A minute passed in silence andseeming indecision. His perplexities gradually disappeared, and hecontinued:--

 * * * * *

I have promised to relate the momentous incidents of my life, and havehitherto been faithful in my enumeration. There is nothing which I moredetest than equivocation and mystery. Perhaps, however, I shall nowincur some imputation of that kind. I would willingly escape theaccusation, but confess that I am hopeless of escaping it. 

I might, indeed, have precluded your guesses and surmises by omitting torelate what befell me from the time of my leaving my chamber till Iregained it. I might deceive you by asserting that nothing remarkableoccurred; but this would be false, and every sacrifice is trivial whichis made upon the altar of sincerity. Besides, the time may come when noinconvenience will arise from minute descriptions of the objects which Inow saw, and of the reasonings and inferences which they suggested to myunderstanding. At present, it appears to be my duty to pass them over insilence; but it would be needless to conceal from you that the interval, though short, and the scrutiny, though hasty, furnished matter which mycuriosity devoured with unspeakable eagerness, and from whichconsequences may hereafter flow, deciding on my peace and my life. 

Nothing, however, occurred which could detain me long in this spot. Ionce more sought the lower story and threw myself on the bed which I hadleft. My mind was thronged with the images flowing from my lateadventure. My fever had gradually increased, and my thoughts weredeformed by inaccuracy and confusion. 

My heart did not sink when I reverted to my own condition. That I shouldquickly be disabled from moving, was readily perceived. The foresight ofmy destiny was steadfast and clear. To linger for days in thiscomfortless solitude, to ask in vain, not for powerful restoratives oralleviating cordials, but for water to moisten my burning lips and abatethe torments of thirst; ultimately to expire in torpor or frenzy, wasthe fate to which I looked forward; yet I was not terrified. I seemed tobe sustained by a preternatural energy. I felt as if the opportunity ofcombating such evils was an enviable privilege, and, though none wouldwitness my victorious magnanimity, yet to be conscious that praise wasmy due was all that my ambition required. 

These sentiments were doubtless tokens of delirium. The excruciatingagonies which now seized upon my head, and the cord which seemed to bedrawn across my breast, and which, as my fancy imagined, was tightenedby some forcible hand, with a view to strangle me, were incompatiblewith sober and coherent views. 

Thirst was the evil which chiefly oppressed me. The means of relief waspointed out by nature and habit. I rose, and determined to replenish mypitcher at the well. It was easier, however, to descend than to return. My limbs refused to bear me, and I sat down upon the lower step of thestaircase. Several hours had elapsed since my entrance into thisdwelling, and it was now night. 

My imagination now suggested a new expedient. Medlicote was a generousand fearless spirit. To put myself under his protection, if I could walkas far as his lodgings, was the wisest proceeding which I could adopt. From this design, my incapacity to walk thus far, and the consequencesof being discovered in the street, had hitherto deterred me. Theseimpediments were now, in the confusion of my understanding, overlookedor despised, and I forthwith set out upon this hopeless expedition. 

The doors communicating with the court, and, through the court, with thestreet, were fastened by inside bolts. These were easily withdrawn, andI issued forth with alacrity and confidence. My perturbed senses and thedarkness hindered me from discerning the right way. I was conscious ofthis difficulty, but was not disheartened. I proceeded, as I have sincediscovered, in a direction different from the true, but hesitated nottill my powers were exhausted and I sunk upon the ground. I closed myeyes, and dismissed all fear, and all foresight of futurity. In thissituation I remained some hours, and should probably have expired onthis spot, had not I attracted your notice, and been provided, underthis roof, with all that medical skill, that the tenderest humanitycould suggest. 

In consequence of your care, I have been restored to life and to health. Your conduct was not influenced by the prospect of pecuniary recompense, of service, or of gratitude. It is only in one way that I am able toheighten the gratification which must flow from reflection on yourconduct:--by showing that the being whose life you have prolonged, though uneducated, ignorant, and poor, is not profligate and worthless, and will not dedicate that life which your bounty has given, tomischievous or contemptible purposes. 

END OF VOL I. 

ARTHUR MERVYN;

OR, MEMOIRS OF THE YEAR 1793. 

VOL. II. 

ARTHUR MERVYN. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Here ended the narrative of Mervyn. Surely its incidents were of nocommon kind. During this season of pestilence, my opportunities ofobservation had been numerous, and I had not suffered them to passunimproved. The occurrences which fell within my own experience bore ageneral resemblance to those which had just been related, but they didnot hinder the latter from striking on my mind with all the force ofnovelty. They served no end, but as vouchers for the truth of the tale. 

Surely the youth had displayed inimitable and heroic qualities. Hiscourage was the growth of benevolence and reason, and not the child ofinsensibility and the nursling of habit. He had been qualified for theencounter of gigantic dangers by no laborious education. He steppedforth upon the stage, unfurnished, by anticipation or experience, withthe means of security against fraud; and yet, by the aid of pureintentions, had frustrated the wiles of an accomplished and veterandeceiver. 

I blessed the chance which placed the youth under my protection. When Ireflected on that tissue of nice contingencies which led him to my door, and enabled me to save from death a being of such rare endowments, myheart overflowed with joy, not unmingled with regrets and trepidation. How many have been cut off by this disease, in their career of virtueand their blossom-time of genius! How many deeds of heroism andself-devotion are ravished from existence, and consigned to hopelessoblivion!

I had saved the life of this youth. This was not the limit of my duty ormy power. Could I not render that life profitable to himself and tomankind? The gains of my profession were slender; but these gains weresufficient for his maintenance as well as my own. By residing with me, partaking my instructions, and reading my books, he would, in a fewyears, be fitted for the practice of physic. A science whose truths areso conducive to the welfare of mankind, and which comprehends the wholesystem of nature, could not but gratify a mind so beneficent andstrenuous as his. 

This scheme occurred to me as soon as the conclusion of his tale allowedme to think. I did not immediately mention it, since the approbation ofmy wife, of whose concurrence, however, I entertained no doubt, waspreviously to be obtained. Dismissing it, for the present, from mythoughts, I reverted to the incidents of his tale. 

The lady whom Welbeck had betrayed and deserted was not unknown to me. Iwas but too well acquainted with her fate. If she had been single incalamity, her tale would have been listened to with insupportablesympathy; but the frequency of the spectacle of distress seems to lessenthe compassion with which it is reviewed. Now that those scenes are onlyremembered, my anguish is greater than when they were witnessed. Thenevery new day was only a repetition of the disasters of the foregoing. My sensibility, if not extinguished, was blunted; and I gazed upon thecomplicated ills of poverty and sickness with a degree of unconcern onwhich I should once have reflected with astonishment. 

The fate of Clemenza Lodi was not, perhaps, more signal than many whichhave occurred. It threw detestable light upon the character of Welbeck, and showed him to be more inhuman than the tale of Mervyn had evincedhim to be. That man, indeed, was hitherto imperfectly seen. The time hadnot come which should fully unfold the enormity of his transgressionsand the complexity of his frauds. 

There lived in a remote quarter of the city a woman, by name Villars, who passed for the widow of an English officer. Her manners and mode ofliving were specious. She had three daughters, well trained in theschool of fashion, and elegant in person, manners, and dress. They hadlately arrived from Europe, and, for a time, received from theirneighbours that respect to which their education and fortune appeared tolay claim. 

The fallacy of their pretensions slowly appeared. It began to besuspected that their subsistence was derived not from pension orpatrimony, but from the wages of pollution. Their habitation wasclandestinely frequented by men who were unfaithful to their secret; oneof these was allied to me by ties which authorized me in watching hissteps and detecting his errors, with a view to his reformation. From himI obtained a knowledge of the genuine character of these women. 

A man like Welbeck, who was the slave of depraved appetites, could notfail of being quickly satiated with innocence and beauty. Some accidentintroduced him to the knowledge of this family, and the youngestdaughter found him a proper subject on which to exercise her artifices. It was to the frequent demands made upon his purse, by this woman, thatpart of the embarrassments in which Mervyn found him involved are to beascribed. 

To this circumstance must likewise be imputed his anxiety to transfer tosome other the possession of the unhappy stranger. Why he concealed fromMervyn his connection with Lucy Villars may be easily imagined. Hissilence with regard to Clemenza's asylum will not create surprise, whenit was told that she was placed with Mrs. Villars. On what conditionsshe was received under this roof, cannot be so readily conjectured. Itis obvious, however, to suppose that advantage was to be taken of herignorance and weakness, and that they hoped, in time, to make her anassociate in their profligate schemes. 

The appearance of pestilence, meanwhile, threw them into panic, and theyhastened to remove from danger. Mrs. Villars appears to have been awoman of no ordinary views. She stooped to the vilest means of amassingmoney; but this money was employed to secure to herself and herdaughters the benefits of independence. She purchased the house whichshe occupied in the city, and a mansion in the environs, well built andsplendidly furnished. To the latter, she and her family, of which theItalian girl was now a member, retired at the close of July. 

I have mentioned that the source of my intelligence was a kinsman, whohad been drawn from the paths of sobriety and rectitude by theimpetuosity of youthful passions. He had power to confess and deplore, but none to repair, his errors. One of these women held him by a spellwhich he struggled in vain to dissolve, and by which, in spite ofresolutions and remorses, he was drawn to her feet, and made tosacrifice to her pleasure his reputation and his fortune. 

My house was his customary abode during those intervals in which he waspersuaded to pursue his profession. Some time before the infection beganits progress, he had disappeared. No tidings were received of him, tilla messenger arrived, entreating my assistance. I was conducted to thehouse of Mrs. Villars, in which I found no one but my kinsman. Here, itseems, he had immured himself from my inquiries, and, on being seized bythe reigning malady, had been deserted by the family, who, ere theydeparted, informed me by a messenger of his condition. 

Despondency combined with his disease to destroy him. Before he died, heinformed me fully of the character of his betrayers. The late arrival, name, and personal condition of Clemenza Lodi were related. Welbeck wasnot named, but was described in terms which, combined with the narrativeof Mervyn, enabled me to recognise the paramour of Lucy Villars in theman whose crimes had been the principal theme of our discourse. 

Mervyn's curiosity was greatly roused when I intimated my acquaintancewith the fate of Clemenza. In answer to his eager interrogations, Irelated what I knew. The tale plunged him into reverie. Recovering, atlength, from his thoughtfulness, he spoke:--

"Her condition is perilous. The poverty of Welbeck will drive him farfrom her abode. Her profligate protectors will entice her or abandon herto ruin. Cannot she be saved?"

"I know not, " answered I, "by what means. "

"The means are obvious. Let her remove to some other dwelling. Let herbe apprized of the vices of those who surround her. Let her be entreatedto fly. The will need only be inspired, the danger need only be shown, and she is safe, for she will remove beyond its reach. "

"Thou art an adventurous youth. Who wilt thou find to undertake theoffice? Who will be persuaded to enter the house of a stranger, seekwithout an introduction the presence of this girl, tell her that thehouse she inhabits is a house of prostitution, prevail on her to believethe tale, and persuade her to accompany him? Who will open his house tothe fugitive? Whom will you convince that her illicit intercourse withWelbeck, of which the opprobrious tokens cannot be concealed, has notfitted her for the company of prostitutes, and made her unworthy ofprotection? Who will adopt into their family a stranger whose conducthas incurred infamy, and whose present associates have, no doubt, madeher worthy of the curse?"

"True. These are difficulties which I did not foresee. Must she thenperish? Shall not something be done to rescue her from infamy andguilt?"

"It is neither in your power nor in mine to do any thing. "

The lateness of the hour put an end to our conversation and summoned usto repose. I seized the first opportunity of imparting to my wife thescheme which had occurred, relative to our guest; with which, as Iexpected, she readily concurred. In the morning, I mentioned it toMervyn. I dwelt upon the benefits that adhered to the medicalprofession, the power which it confers of lightening the distresses ofour neighbours, the dignity which popular opinion annexes to it, theavenue which it opens to the acquisition of competence, the freedom fromservile cares which attends it, and the means of intellectualgratification with which it supplies us. 

As I spoke, his eyes sparkled with joy. "Yes, " said he, with vehemence, "I willingly embrace your offer. I accept this benefit, because I knowthat, if my pride should refuse it, I should prove myself less worthythan you think, and give you pain, instead of that pleasure which I ambound to confer. I would enter on the duties and studies of my newprofession immediately; but somewhat is due to Mr. Hadwin and hisdaughters. I cannot vanquish my inquietudes respecting them, but byreturning to Malverton and ascertaining their state with my own eyes. You know in what circumstances I parted with Wallace and Mr. Hadwin. Iam not sure that either of them ever reached home, or that they did notcarry the infection along with them. I now find myself sufficientlystrong to perform the journey, and purposed to have acquainted you, atthis interview, with my intentions. An hour's delay is superfluous, andI hope you will consent to my setting out immediately. Rural exerciseand air, for a week or fortnight, will greatly contribute to my health. "

No objection could be made to this scheme. His narrative had excited nocommon affection in our bosoms for the Hadwins. His visit could not onlyinform us of their true state, but would dispel that anxiety which theycould not but entertain respecting our guest. It was a topic of somesurprise that neither Wallace nor Hadwin had returned to the city, witha view to obtain some tidings of their friend. It was more easy tosuppose them to have been detained by some misfortune, than byinsensibility or indolence. In a few minutes Mervyn bade us adieu, andset out upon his journey, promising to acquaint us with the state ofaffairs as soon as possible after his arrival. We parted from him withreluctance, and found no consolation but in the prospect of his speedyreturn. 

During his absence, conversation naturally turned upon those topicswhich were suggested by the narrative and deportment of this youth. Different conclusions were formed by his two auditors. They had bothcontracted a deep interest in his welfare, and an ardent curiosity as tothose particulars which his unfinished story had left in obscurity. Thetrue character and actual condition of Welbeck were themes of muchspeculation. Whether he were dead or alive, near or distant from hisancient abode, was a point on which neither Mervyn, nor any of thosewith whom I had means of intercourse, afforded any information. Whetherhe had shared the common fate, and had been carried by the collectors ofthe dead from the highway or the hovel to the pits opened alike for therich and the poor, the known and the unknown; whether he had escaped toa foreign shore, or were destined to reappear upon this stage, werequestions involved in uncertainty. 

The disappearance of Watson would, at a different time, have excitedmuch inquiry and suspicion; but, as this had taken place on the eve ofthe epidemic, his kindred and friends would acquiesce, without scruple, in the belief that he had been involved in the general calamity, and wasto be numbered among the earliest victims. Those of his professionusually resided in the street where the infection began, and where itsravages had been most destructive; and this circumstance wouldcorroborate the conclusions of his friends. 

I did not perceive any immediate advantage to flow from imparting theknowledge I had lately gained to others. Shortly after Mervyn'sdeparture to Malverton, I was visited by Wortley. Inquiring for myguest, I told him that, having recovered his health, he had left myhouse. He repeated his invectives against the villany of Welbeck, hissuspicions of Mervyn, and his wishes for another interview with theyouth. Why had I suffered him to depart, and whither had he gone?

"He has gone for a short time into the country. I expect him to returnin less than a week, when you will meet with him here as often as youplease, for I expect him to take up his abode in this house. "

Much astonishment and disapprobation were expressed by my friend. Ihinted that the lad had made disclosures to me, which justified myconfidence in his integrity. These proofs of his honesty were not of anature to be indiscriminately unfolded. Mervyn had authorized me tocommunicate so much of his story to Wortley, as would serve to vindicatehim from the charge of being Welbeck's co-partner in fraud; but this endwould only be counteracted by an imperfect tale, and the full recital, though it might exculpate Mervyn, might produce inconveniences by whichthis advantage would be outweighed. 

Wortley, as might be naturally expected, was by no means satisfied withthis statement. He suspected that Mervyn was a wily impostor; that hehad been trained in the arts of fraud, under an accomplished teacher;that the tale which he had told to me was a tissue of ingenious andplausible lies; that the mere assertions, however plausible and solemn, of one like him, whose conduct had incurred such strong suspicions, wereunworthy of the least credit. 

"It cannot be denied, " continued my friend, "that he lived with Welbeckat the time of his elopement; that they disappeared together; that theyentered a boat, at Pine Street wharf, at midnight; that this boat wasdiscovered by the owner in the possession of a fisherman at Redbank, whoaffirmed that he had found it stranded near his door, the day succeedingthat on which they disappeared. Of all this I can supply you withincontestable proof. If, after this proof, you can give credit to hisstory, I shall think you made of very perverse and credulous materials. "

"The proof you mention, " said I, "will only enhance his credibility. Allthe facts which you have stated have been admitted by him. Theyconstitute an essential portion of his narrative. "

"What then is the inference? Are not these evidences of a compactbetween them? Has he not acknowledged this compact in confessing that heknew Welbeck was my debtor; that he was apprized of his flight, but that(what matchless effrontery!) he had promised secrecy, and would, by nomeans, betray him? You say he means to return; but of that I doubt. Youwill never see his face more. He is too wise to thrust himself againinto the noose; but I do not utterly despair of lighting upon Welbeck. Old Thetford, Jamieson, and I, have sworn to hunt him through the world. I have strong hopes that he has not strayed far. Some intelligence haslately been received, which has enabled us to place our hounds upon hisscent. He may double and skulk; but, if he does not fall into our toilsat last, he will have the agility and cunning, as well as the malignity, of devils. "

The vengeful disposition thus betrayed by Wortley was not withoutexcuse. The vigour of his days had been spent in acquiring a slendercapital; his diligence and honesty had succeeded, and he had latelythought his situation such as to justify marriage with an excellentwoman, to whom he had for years been betrothed, but from whom hispoverty had hitherto compelled him to live separate. Scarcely had thisalliance taken place, and the full career of nuptial enjoyments begun, when his ill fate exposed him to the frauds of Welbeck, and brought him, in one evil hour, to the brink of insolvency. 

Jamieson and Thetford, however, were rich, and I had not till now beeninformed that they had reasons for pursuing Welbeck with peculiaranimosity. The latter was the uncle of him whose fate had been relatedby Mervyn, and was one of those who employed money, not as the medium oftraffic, but as in itself a commodity. He had neither wines nor cloths, to transmute into silver. He thought it a tedious process to exchangeto-day one hundred dollars for a cask or bale, and to-morrow exchangethe bale or cask for one hundred _and ten_ dollars. It was better togive the hundred for a piece of paper, which, carried forthwith to themoney-changers, he could procure a hundred twenty-three andthree-fourths. In short, this man's coffers were supplied by the despairof honest men and the stratagems of rogues. I did not immediatelysuspect how this man's prudence and indefatigable attention to his owninterest should allow him to become the dupe of Welbeck. 

"What, " said I, "is old Thetford's claim upon Welbeck?"

"It is a claim, " he replied, "that, if it ever be made good, will doomWelbeck to imprisonment and wholesome labour for life. "

"How? Surely it is nothing more than debt. "

"Have you not heard? But that is no wonder. Happily you are a strangerto mercantile anxieties and revolutions. Your fortune does not rest on abasis which an untoward blast may sweep away, or four strokes of a penmay demolish. That hoary dealer in suspicions was persuaded to put hishand to three notes for eight hundred dollars each. The _eight_ was thendexterously prolonged to eigh_teen_; they were duly deposited in timeand place, and the next day Welbeck was credited for fifty-three hundredand seventy-three, which, an hour after, were _told out_ to hismessenger. Hard to say whether the old man's grief, shame, or rage, beuppermost. He disdains all comfort but revenge, and that he will procureat any price. Jamieson, who deals in the same _stuff_ with Thetford, wasoutwitted in the same manner, to the same amount, and on the same day. 

"This Welbeck must have powers above the common rate of mortals. Growngray in studying the follies and the stratagems of men, these veteranswere overreached. No one pities them. 'Twere well if his artifices hadbeen limited to such, and he had spared the honest and the poor. It isfor his injuries to men who have earned their scanty subsistence withoutforfeiting their probity, that I hate him, and shall exult to see himsuffer all the rigours of the law. " Here Wortley's engagements compelledhim to take his leave. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

While musing upon these facts, I could not but reflect with astonishmenton the narrow escapes which Mervyn's virtue had experienced. I was by nomeans certain that his fame or his life was exempt from all danger, orthat the suspicions which had already been formed respecting him couldpossibly be wiped away. Nothing but his own narrative, repeated withthat simple but nervous eloquence which we had witnessed, could rescuehim from the most heinous charges. Was there any tribunal that would notacquit him on merely hearing his defence?

Surely the youth was honest. His tale could not be the fruit ofinvention; and yet, what are the bounds of fraud? Nature has set nolimits to the combinations of fancy. A smooth exterior, a show ofvirtue, and a specious tale, are, a thousand times, exhibited in humanintercourse by craft and subtlety. Motives are endlessly varied, whileactions continue the same; and an acute penetration may not find it hardto select and arrange motives, suited to exempt from censure any actionthat a human being can commit. 

Had I heard Mervyn's story from another, or read it in a book, I might, perhaps, have found it possible to suspect the truth; but, as long asthe impression made by his tones, gestures, and looks, remained in mymemory, this suspicion was impossible. Wickedness may sometimes beambiguous, its mask may puzzle the observer; our judgment may be made tofalter and fluctuate, but the face of Mervyn is the index of an honestmind. Calm or vehement, doubting or confident, it is full of benevolenceand candour. He that listens to his words may question their truth, buthe that looks upon his countenance when speaking cannot withhold hisfaith. 

It was possible, however, to find evidence supporting or confuting hisstory. I chanced to be acquainted with a family, by name Althorpe, whowere natives of that part of the country where his father resided. Ipaid them a visit, and, after a few preliminaries, mentioned, as if byaccident, the name of Mervyn. They immediately recognised this name asbelonging to one of their ancient neighbours. The death of the wife andsons, and the seduction of the only daughter by Colvill, with manypathetic incidents connected with the fate of this daughter, werementioned. 

This intelligence induced me to inquire of Mrs. Althorpe, a sensible andcandid woman, if she were acquainted with the recent or presentsituation of this family. 

"I cannot say much, " she answered, "of my own knowledge. Since mymarriage, I am used to spend a few weeks of summer at my father's, butam less inquisitive than I once was into the concerns of my oldneighbours. I recollect, however, when there, last year, during _thefever_, to have heard that Sawny Mervyn had taken a second wife; thathis only son, a youth of eighteen, had thought proper to be highlyoffended with his father's conduct, and treated the new mistress of thehouse with insult and contempt. I should not much wonder at this, seeingchildren are so apt to deem themselves unjustly treated by a secondmarriage of their parent; but it was hinted that the boy's jealousy anddiscontent were excited by no common cause. The new mother was not mucholder than himself, had been a servant of the family, and a criminalintimacy had subsisted between her, while in that condition, and theson. Her marriage with his father was justly accounted by theirneighbours a most profligate and odious transaction. The son, perhaps, had, in such a case, a right to scold, but he ought not to have carriedhis anger to such extremes as have been imputed to him. He is said tohave grinned upon her with contempt, and even to have called her_strumpet_ in the presence of his father and of strangers. 

"It was impossible for such a family to keep together. Arthur took leaveone night to possess himself of all his father's cash, mount the besthorse in his meadow, and elope. For a time, no one knew whither he hadgone. At last, one was said to have met with him in the streets of thiscity, metamorphosed from a rustic lad into a fine gentleman. Nothingcould be quicker than this change, for he left the country on a Saturdaymorning, and was seen in a French frock and silk stockings, going intoChrist's Church the next day. I suppose he kept it up with a high hand, as long as his money lasted. 

"My lather paid us a visit last week, and, among other country-news, told us that Sawny Mervyn had sold his place. His wife had persuaded himto try his fortune in the Western country. The price of his hundredacres here would purchase a thousand there, and the man, being verygross and ignorant, and, withal, quite a simpleton, found no difficultyin perceiving that a thousand are ten times more than a hundred. He wasnot aware that a rood of ground upon Schuylkill is tenfold better thanan acre on the Tennessee. 

"The woman turned out to be an artful profligate. Having sold his groundand gotten his money, he placed it in her keeping, and she, to enjoy itwith the more security, ran away to the city; leaving him to prosecutehis journey to Kentucky moneyless and alone. Some time after, Mr. Althorpe and I were at the play, when he pointed out to me a group offemales in an upper box, one of whom was no other than Betty Lawrence. It was not easy to recognise, in her present gaudy trim, all flauntingwith ribbons and shining with trinkets, the same Betty who used to dealout pecks of potatoes and superintend her basket of cantaloupes in theJersey market, in pasteboard bonnet and linsey petticoat. Her companionswere of the infamous class. If Arthur were still in the city, there isno doubt that the mother and son might renew the ancient terms of theiracquaintance. 

"The old man, thus robbed and betrayed, sought consolation in thebottle, of which he had been at all times over-fond. He wandered fromone tavern to another till his credit was exhausted, and then was sentto jail, where, I believe, he is likely to continue till his death. Such, my friend, is the history of the Mervyns. "

"What proof, " said I, "have you of the immoral conduct of the son? Ofhis mistreatment of his mother, and his elopement with his father'shorse and money?"

"I have no proof but the unanimous report of Mervyn's neighbours. Respectable and honest men have affirmed, in my hearing, that they hadbeen present when the boy treated his mother in the way that I havedescribed. I was, besides, once in company with the old man, and heardhim bitterly inveigh against his son, and charge him with the fact ofstealing his horse and money. I well remember that tears rolled from hiseyes while talking on the subject. As to his being seen in the city thenext day after his elopement, dressed in a most costly and fashionablemanner, I can doubt that as little as the rest, for he that saw him wasmy father, and you, who know my father, know what credit is due to hiseyes and his word. He had seen Arthur often enough not to be mistaken, and described his appearance with great exactness. The boy is extremelyhandsome, give him his due; has dark hazel eyes, auburn hair, and veryelegant proportions. His air and gait have nothing of the clown in them. Take away his jacket and trousers, and you have as spruce a fellow asever came from dancing-school or college. He is the exact picture of hismother, and the most perfect contrast to the sturdy legs, squat figure, and broad, unthinking, sheepish face of the father that can be imagined. You must confess that his appearance here is a pretty strong proof ofthe father's assertions. The money given for these clothes could notpossibly have been honestly acquired. It is to be presumed that theywere bought or stolen, for how else should they have been gotten?"

"What was this lad's personal deportment during the life of his mother, and before his father's second marriage?"

"Very little to the credit of his heart or his intellects. Being theyoungest son, the only one who at length survived, and having apowerful resemblance to herself, he became the mother's favourite. Hisconstitution was feeble, and he loved to stroll in the woods more thanto plough or sow. This idleness was much against his father'sinclination and judgment; and, indeed, it was the foundation of all hisvices. When he could be prevailed upon to do any thing it was in abungling manner, and so as to prove that his thoughts were fixed on anything except his business. When his assistance was wanted he was neverto be found at hand. They were compelled to search for him among therocks and bushes, and he was generally discovered sauntering along thebank of a river, or lolling in the shade of a tree. This disposition toinactivity and laziness, in so young a man, was very strange. Persons ofhis age are rarely fond of work, but then they are addicted to company, and sports, and exercises. They ride, or shoot, or frolic; but thisbeing moped away his time in solitude, never associated with other youngpeople, never mounted a horse but when he could not help it, and neverfired a gun or angled for a fish in his life. Some people supposed himto be half an idiot, or, at least, not to be right in his mind; and, indeed, his conduct was so very perverse and singular, that I do notwonder at those who accounted for it in this way. "

"But surely, " said I, "he had some object of pursuit. Perhaps he wasaddicted to books. "

"Far from it. On the contrary, his aversion to school was as great ashis hatred of the plough. He never could get his lessons or bear theleast constraint. He was so much indulged by his mother at home, thattasks and discipline of any kind were intolerable. He was a perpetualtruant; till, the master one day attempting to strike him, he ran out ofthe room and never entered it more. The mother excused and countenancedhis frowardness, and the foolish father was obliged to give way. I donot believe he had two months' schooling in his life. "

"Perhaps, " said I, "he preferred studying by himself, and at liberty. Ihave known boys endowed with great curiosity and aptitude to learning, who never could endure set tasks, and spurned at the pedagogue and hisrod. "

"I have known such likewise, but this was not one of them. I know notwhence he could derive his love of knowledge or the means of acquiringit. The family were totally illiterate. The father was a Scotch peasant, whose ignorance was so great that he could not sign his name. His wife, I believe, could read, and might sometimes decipher the figures in analmanac; but that was all. I am apt to think that the son's ability wasnot much greater. You might as well look for silver platters or marbletables in his house, as for a book or a pen. 

"I remember calling at their house one evening in the winter beforelast. It was intensely cold; and my father, who rode with me, havingbusiness with Sawny Mervyn, we stopped a minute at his gate; and, whilethe two old men were engaged in conversation, I begged leave to warmmyself by the kitchen fire. Here, in the chimney-corner, seated on ablock, I found Arthur busily engaged in _knitting stockings_! I thoughtthis a whimsical employment for a young active man. I told him so, for Iwanted to put him to the blush; but he smiled in my face, and answered, without the least discomposure, 'Just as whimsical a business for ayoung active woman. Pray, did you never knit a stocking?'

"'Yes; but that was from necessity. Were I of a different sex, or did Ipossess the strength of a man, I should rather work in my field or studymy book. '

"'Rejoice that you are a woman, then, and are at liberty to pursue thatwhich costs least labour and demands most skill. You see, though a man, I use your privilege, and prefer knitting yarn to threshing my brainwith a book or the barn-floor with a flail. '

"'I wonder, ' said I, contemptuously, 'you do not put on the petticoat aswell as handle the needle. '

"'Do not wonder, ' he replied; 'it is because I hate a petticoatencumbrance as much as I love warm feet. Look there, ' (offering thestocking to my inspection:) 'is it not well done?'

"I did not touch it, but sneeringly said, 'Excellent! I wonder you donot apprentice yourself to a tailor. '

"He looked at me with an air of ridiculous simplicity, and said, 'Howprone the woman is to _wonder_! You call the work excellent, and yet_wonder_ that I do not make myself a slave to improve my skill! Did youlearn needlework from seven years' squatting on a tailor's board? Hadyou come to me, I would have taught you in a day. '

"'I was taught at school. '

"'And paid your instructor?'

"'To-be-sure. '

"''Twas liberty and money thrown away. Send your sister, if you haveone, to me, and I will teach her without either rod or wages. Will you?'

"'You have an old and a violent antipathy, I believe, to any thing likea school. '

"'True. It was early and violent. Had not you?'

"'No. I went to school with pleasure; for I thought to read and writewere accomplishments of some value. '

"'Indeed? Then I misunderstood you just now. I thought you said that, had you the strength of a man, you should prefer the plough and the bookto the needle. Whence, supposing you a female, I inferred that you had awoman's love for the needle and a fool's hatred of books. '

"My father calling me from without, I now made a motion to go. 'Stay, 'continued he, with great earnestness, throwing aside hisknitting-apparatus, and beginning in great haste to pull off hisstockings. 'Draw these stockings over your shoes. They will save yourfeet from the snow while walking to your horse. '

"Half angry, and half laughing, I declined the offer. He had drawn themoff, however, and, holding them in his hand, 'Be persuaded, ' said he;'only lift your feet, and I will slip them on in a trice. '

"Finding me positive in my refusal, he dropped the stockings; and, without more ado, caught me up in his arms, rushed out of the room, and, running barefoot through the snow, set me fairly on my horse. All wasdone in a moment, and before I had time to reflect on his intentions. Hethen seized my hand, and, kissing it with great fervour, exclaimed, 'Athousand thanks to you for not accepting my stockings. You have therebysaved yourself and me the time and toil of drawing on and drawing off. Since you have taught me to wonder, let me practise the lesson inwondering at your folly, in wearing worsted shoes and silk stockings ata season like this. Take my counsel, and turn your silk to worsted andyour worsted to leather. Then may you hope for warm feet and dry. What!Leave the gate without a blessing on your counsellor?'

"I spurred my horse into a gallop, glad to escape from so strange abeing. I could give you many instances of behaviour equally singular, and which betrayed a mixture of shrewdness and folly, of kindness andimpudence, which justified, perhaps, the common notion that hisintellects were unsound. Nothing was more remarkable than hisimpenetrability to ridicule and censure. You might revile him for hours, and he would listen to you with invincible composure. To awaken anger orshame in him was impossible. He would answer, but in such a way as toshow him totally unaware of your true meaning. He would afterwards talkto you with all the smiling affability and freedom of an old friend. Every one despised him for his idleness and folly, no less conspicuousin his words than his actions; but no one feared him, and few were angrywith him, till after the detection of his commerce with _Betty_, and hisinhuman treatment of his father. "

"Have you good reasons for supposing him to have been illicitlyconnected with that girl?"

"Yes. Such as cannot be discredited. It would not be proper for me tostate these proofs. Nay, he never denied it. When reminded, on oneoccasion, of the inference which every impartial person would draw fromappearances, he acknowledged, with his usual placid effrontery, that theinference was unavoidable. He even mentioned other concurring andcontemporary incidents, which had eluded the observation of hiscensurer, and which added still more force to the conclusion. He wasstudious to palliate the vices of this woman, as long as he was her onlyparamour; but, after her marriage with his father, the tone was changed. He confessed that she was tidy, notable, industrious; but, then, shewas a prostitute. When charged with being instrumental in making hersuch, and when his companions dwelt upon the depravity of reviling herfor vices which she owed to him, 'True, ' he would say, 'there isdepravity and folly in the conduct you describe. Make me out, if youplease, to be a villain. What then? I was talking, not of myself, but ofBetty. Still this woman is a prostitute. If it were I that made hersuch, with more confidence may I make the charge. But think not that Iblame Betty. Place me in her situation, and I should have acted just so. I should have formed just such notions of my interest, and pursued it bythe same means. Still, say I, I would fain have a different woman for myfather's wife, and the mistress of his family. '"

CHAPTER XXVI. 

This conversation was interrupted by a messenger from my wife, whodesired my return immediately. I had some hopes of meeting with Mervyn, some days having now elapsed since his parting from us, and not beingconscious of any extraordinary motives for delay. It was Wortley, however, and not Mervyn, to whom I was called. 

My friend came to share with me his suspicions and inquietudesrespecting Welbeck and Mervyn. An accident had newly happened which hadawakened these suspicions afresh. He desired a patient audience while heexplained them to me. These were his words:--

"To-day a person presented me a letter from a mercantile friend atBaltimore. I easily discerned the bearer to be a sea-captain. He was aman of sensible and pleasing aspect, and was recommended to myfriendship and counsel in the letter which he brought. The letterstated, that a man, by name Amos Watson, by profession a mariner, and aresident at Baltimore, had disappeared in the summer of last year, in amysterious and incomprehensible manner. He was known to have arrived inthis city from Jamaica, and to have intended an immediate journey to hisfamily, who lived at Baltimore; but he never arrived there, and no traceof his existence has since been discovered. The bearer had come toinvestigate, if possible, the secret of his fate, and I was earnestlyentreated to afford him all the assistance and advice in my power, inthe prosecution of his search. I expressed my willingness to serve thestranger, whose name was Williams; and, after offering him entertainmentat my house, which was thankfully accepted, he proceeded to unfold tome the particulars of this affair. His story was this. 

"'On the 20th of last June, I arrived, ' said he, 'from the West Indies, in company with Captain Watson. I commanded the ship in which he came asa passenger, his own ship being taken and confiscated by the English. Wehad long lived in habits of strict friendship, and I loved him for hisown sake, as well as because he had married my sister. We landed in themorning, and went to dine with Mr. Keysler, since dead, but who thenlived in Water Street. He was extremely anxious to visit his family, and, having a few commissions to perform in the city, which would notdemand more than a couple of hours, he determined to set out nextmorning in the stage. Meanwhile, I had engagements which required me torepair with the utmost expedition to New York. I was scarcely lessanxious than my brother to reach Baltimore, where my friends alsoreside; but there was an absolute necessity of going eastward. Iexpected, however, to return hither in three days, and then to followWatson home. Shortly after dinner we parted; he to execute hiscommissions, and I to embark in the mail-stage. 

"'In the time prefixed I returned. I arrived early in the morning, andprepared to depart again at noon. Meanwhile, I called at Keysler's. Thisis an old acquaintance of Watson's and mine; and, in the course of talk, he expressed some surprise that Watson had so precipitately deserted hishouse. I stated the necessity there was for Watson's immediate departure_southward_, and added, that no doubt my brother had explained thisnecessity. 

"'Why, (said Keysler, ) it is true, Captain Watson mentioned hisintention of leaving town early next day; but then he gave me reason toexpect that he would sup and lodge with me that night, whereas he hasnot made his appearance since. Besides, his trunk was brought to myhouse. This, no doubt, he intended to carry home with him, but here itremains still. It is not likely that in the hurry of departure hisbaggage was forgotten. Hence, I inferred that he was still in town, andhave been puzzling myself these three days with conjectures as to whatis become of him. What surprises me more is, that, on inquiring amongthe few friends which he has in this city, I find them as ignorant ofhis motions as myself. I have not, indeed, been wholly withoutapprehensions that some accident or other has befallen him. '

"'I was not a little alarmed by this intimation. I went myself, agreeably to Keysler's directions, to Watson's friends, and made anxiousinquiries, but none of them had seen my brother since his arrival. Iendeavoured to recollect the commissions which he designed to execute, and, if possible, to trace him to the spot where he last appeared. Hehad several packets to deliver, one of which was addressed to WalterThetford. Him, after some inquiry, I found out, but unluckily he chancedto be in the country. I found, by questioning a clerk, who transactedhis business in his absence, that a person, who answered the minutedescription which I gave of Watson, had been there on the day on which Iparted with him, and had left papers relative to the capture of one ofThetford's vessels by the English. This was the sum of the informationhe was able to afford me. 

"'I then applied to three merchants for whom my brother had letters. They all acknowledged the receipt of these letters, but they weredelivered through the medium of the post-office. 

"'I was extremely anxious to reach home. Urgent engagements compelled meto go on without delay. I had already exhausted all the means of inquirywithin my reach, and was obliged to acquiesce in the belief that Watsonhad proceeded homeward at the time appointed, and left, by forgetfulnessor accident, his trunk behind him. On examining the books kept at thestage-offices, his name nowhere appeared, and no conveyance by water hadoccurred during the last week. Still, the only conjecture I could formwas that he had gone homeward. 

"'Arriving at Baltimore, I found that Watson had not yet made hisappearance. His wife produced a letter, which, by the postmark, appearedto have been put into the office at Philadelphia, on the morning afterour arrival, and on which he had designed to commence his journey. Thisletter had been written by my brother, in my presence, but I haddissuaded him from sending it, since the same coach that should bear theletter was likewise to carry himself. I had seen him put it unwafered inhis pocket-book, but this letter, unaltered in any part, and containingmoney which he had at first intended to enclose in it, was now conveyedto his wife's hand. In this letter he mentioned his design of settingout for Baltimore on the _twenty-first_, yet on that day the letteritself had been put into the office. 

"'We hoped that a short time would clear up this mystery, and bring thefugitive home; but, from that day till the present, no atom ofintelligence has been received concerning him. The yellow fever, whichquickly followed, in this city, and my own engagements, have hinderedme, till now, from coming hither and resuming the search. 

"'My brother was one of the most excellent of men. His wife loved him todistraction, and, together with his children, depended for subsistenceupon his efforts. You will not, therefore, be surprised that hisdisappearance excited, in us, the deepest consternation and distress;but I have other and peculiar reasons for wishing to know his fate. Igave him several bills of exchange on merchants of Baltimore, which Ihad received in payment of my cargo, in order that they might, as soonas possible, be presented and accepted. These have disappeared with thebearer. There is likewise another circumstance that makes his existenceof no small value. 

"'There is an English family, who formerly resided in Jamaica, andpossessed an estate of great value, but who, for some years, have livedin the neighbourhood of Baltimore. The head of this family died a yearago, and left a widow and three daughters. The lady thought it eligibleto sell her husband's property in Jamaica, the island becoming hourlymore exposed to the chances of war and revolution, and transfer it tothe United States, where she purposes henceforth to reside. Watson hadbeen her husband's friend, and, his probity and disinterestedness beingwell known, she intrusted him with legal powers to sell this estate. This commission was punctually performed, and the purchase-money wasreceived. In order to confer on it the utmost possible security, herolled up four bills of exchange, drawn upon opulent, merchants ofLondon, in a thin sheet of lead, and, depositing this roll in a leatherngirdle, fastened it round his waist, and under his clothes; a second sethe gave to me, and a third he despatched to Mr. Keysler, by a vesselwhich sailed a few days before him. On our arrival in this city, wefound that Keysler had received those transmitted to him, and which hehad been charged to keep till our arrival. They were now produced, and, together with those which I had carried, were delivered to Watson. Byhim they were joined to those in the girdle, which he still wore, conceiving this method of conveyance to be safer than any other, and, atthe same time, imagining it needless, in so short a journey as remainedto be performed, to resort to other expedients. 

"'The sum which he thus bore about him was no less than ten thousandpounds sterling. It constituted the whole patrimony of a worthy andexcellent family, and the loss of it reduces them to beggary. It is gonewith Watson, and whither Watson has gone it is impossible even to guess. 

"'You may now easily conceive, sir, the dreadful disasters which may beconnected with this man's fate, and with what immeasurable anxiety hisfamily and friends have regarded his disappearance. That he is alive canscarcely be believed; for in what situation could he be placed in whichhe would not be able and willing to communicate some tidings of his fateto his family?

"'Our grief has been unspeakably aggravated by the suspicions which Mrs. Maurice and her friends have allowed themselves to admit. They do notscruple to insinuate that Watson, tempted by so great a prize, hassecretly embarked for England, in order to obtain payment for thesebills and retain the money for his own use. 

"'No man was more impatient of poverty than Watson, but no man's honestywas more inflexible. He murmured at the destiny that compelled him tosacrifice his ease, and risk his life upon the ocean in order toprocure the means of subsistence; and all the property which he hadspent the best part of his life in collecting had just been ravishedaway from him by the English; but, if he had yielded to this temptationat any time, it would have been on receiving these bills at Jamaica. Instead of coming hither, it would have been infinitely more easy andconvenient to have embarked directly for London; but none who thoroughlyknew him can, for a moment, harbour a suspicion of his truth. 

"'If he be dead, and if the bills are not to be recovered, yet toascertain this will, at least, serve to vindicate his character. As longas his fate is unknown, his fame will be loaded with the most flagrantimputations, and, if these bills be ever paid in London, theseimputations will appear to be justified. If he has been robbed, therobber will make haste to secure the payment, and the Maurices may notunreasonably conclude that the robber was Watson himself. ' Many otherparticulars were added by the stranger, to show the extent of the evilsflowing from the death of his brother, and the loss of the papers whichhe carried with him. 

"I was greatly at a loss, " continued Wortley, "what directions or adviceto afford this man. Keysler, as you know, died early of the pestilence;but Keysler was the only resident in this city with whom Williams hadany acquaintance. On mentioning the propriety of preventing the sale ofthese bills in America, by some public notice, he told me that thiscaution had been early taken; and I now remembered seeing theadvertisement, in which the bills had been represented as having beenlost or stolen in this city, and a reward of a thousand dollars wasoffered to any one who should restore them. This caution had beenpublished in September, in all the trading-towns from Portsmouth toSavannah, but had produced no satisfaction. 

"I accompanied Williams to the mayor's office, in hopes of finding inthe records of his proceedings, during the last six months, some tracesof Watson; but neither these records nor the memory of the magistrateafforded us any satisfaction. Watson's friends had drawn up, likewise, a description of the person and dress of the fugitive, an account of theincidents attending his disappearance, and of the papers which he had inhis possession, with the manner in which these papers had been secured. These had been already published in the Southern newspapers, and havebeen just reprinted in our own. As the former notice had availednothing, this second expedient was thought necessary to be employed. 

"After some reflection, it occurred to me that it might be proper torenew the attempt which Williams had made to trace the footsteps of hisfriend to the moment of his final disappearance. He had pursued Watsonto Thetford's; but Thetford himself had not been seen, and he had beencontented with the vague information of his clerk. Thetford and hisfamily, including his clerk, had perished, and it seemed as if thissource of information was dried up. It was possible, however, that oldThetford might have some knowledge of his nephew's transactions, bywhich some light might chance to be thrown upon this obscurity. Itherefore called on him, but found him utterly unable to afford me thelight that I wished. My mention of the packet which Watson had broughtto Thetford, containing documents respecting the capture of a certainship, reminded him of the injuries which he had received from Welbeck, and excited him to renew his menaces and imputations on that wretch. Having somewhat exhausted this rhetoric, he proceeded to tell me whatconnection there was between the remembrance of his injuries and thecapture of this vessel. 

"This vessel and its cargo were, in fact, the property of Welbeck. Theyhad been sent to a good market, and had been secured by an adequateinsurance. The value of this ship and cargo, and the validity of thepolicy, he had taken care to ascertain by means of his two nephews, oneof whom had gone out supercargo. This had formed his inducement to lendhis three notes to Welbeck, in exchange for three other notes, the wholeamount of which included the _equitable interest_ of _five per cent. Permonth_ on his own loan. For the payment of these notes he by no meansrelied, as the world foolishly imagined, on the seeming opulence andsecret funds of Welbeck. These were illusions too gross to have anyinfluence on him. He was too old a bird to be decoyed into the net by_such_ chaff. No; his nephew, the supercargo, would of course receivethe produce of the voyage, and so much of this produce as would pay hisdebt he had procured the owner's authority to intercept its passage fromthe pocket of his nephew to that of Welbeck. In case of loss, he hadobtained a similar security upon the policy. Jamieson's proceedings hadbeen the same with his own, and no affair in which he had ever engagedhad appeared to be more free from hazard than this. Their calculations, however, though plausible, were defeated. The ship was taken andcondemned, for a cause which rendered the insurance ineffectual. 

"I bestowed no time in reflecting on this tissue of extortions andfrauds, and on that course of events which so often disconcerts thestratagems of cunning. The names of Welbeck and Watson were thusassociated together, and filled my thoughts with restlessness andsuspicion. Welbeck was capable of any weakness. It was possible aninterview had happened between these men, and that the fugitive had beensomeway instrumental in Watson's fate. These thoughts were mentioned toWilliams, whom the name of Welbeck threw into the utmost perturbation. On finding that one of this name had dwelt in this city, and that he hadproved a villain, he instantly admitted the most dreary forebodings. 

"'I have heard, ' said Williams, 'the history of this Welbeck a score oftimes from my brother. There formerly subsisted a very intimateconnection between them. My brother had conferred, upon one whom hethought honest, innumerable benefits; but all his benefits had beenrepaid by the blackest treachery. Welbeck's character and guilt hadoften been made the subject of talk between us, but, on these occasions, my brother's placid and patient temper forsook him. His grief for thecalamities which had sprung from this man, and his desire of revenge, burst all bounds, and transported him to a pitch of temporary frenzy. Ioften inquired in what manner he intended to act if a meeting shouldtake place between them. He answered, that doubtless he should act likea maniac, in defiance of his sober principles, and of the duty which heowed his family. 

"'What! (said I, ) would you stab or pistol him?

"'No. I was not born for an assassin. I would upbraid him in such termsas the furious moment might suggest, and then challenge him to ameeting, from which either he or I should not part with life. I wouldallow time for him to make his peace with Heaven, and for me to blasthis reputation upon earth, and to make such provision for my possibledeath as duty and discretion would prescribe. 

"'Now, nothing is more probable than that Welbeck and my brother havemet. Thetford would of course mention his name and interest in thecaptured ship, and hence the residence of this detested being in thiscity would be made known. Their meeting could not take place withoutsome dreadful consequence. I am fearful that to that meeting we mustimpute the disappearance of my brother. '

CHAPTER XXVII. 

"Here was new light thrown upon the character of Welbeck, and new foodadministered to my suspicions. No conclusion could be more plausiblethan that which Williams had drawn; but how should it be renderedcertain? Walter Thetford, or some of his family, had possibly beenwitnesses of something, which, added to our previous knowledge, mightstrengthen or prolong that clue, one end of which seemed now to be putinto our hands; but Thetford's father-in-law was the only one of hisfamily, who, by seasonable flight from the city, had escaped thepestilence. To him, who still resided in the country, I repaired withall speed, accompanied by Williams. 

"The old man, being reminded, by a variety of circumstances, of theincidents of that eventful period, was, at length, enabled to relatethat he had been present at the meeting which took place between Watsonand his son Walter, when certain packets were delivered by the former, relative, as he quickly understood, to the condemnation of a ship inwhich Thomas Thetford had gone supercargo. He had noticed some emotionof the stranger, occasioned by his son's mentioning the concern whichWelbeck had in the vessel. He likewise remembered the stranger'sdeclaring his intention of visiting Welbeck, and requesting Walter toafford him directions to his house. 

"'Next morning at the breakfast-table, ' continued the old man, 'Iadverted to yesterday's incidents, and asked my son how Welbeck hadborne the news of the loss of his ship. "He bore it, " said Walter, "as aman of his wealth ought to bear so trivial a loss. But there wassomething very strange in his behaviour, " says my son, "when I mentionedthe name of the captain who brought the papers; and, when I mentionedthe captain's design of paying him a visit, he stared upon me, for amoment, as if he were frighted out of his wits, and then, snatching uphis hat, ran furiously out of the house. " This was all my son said uponthat occasion; but, as I have since heard, it was on that very nightthat Welbeck absconded from his creditors. '

"I have this moment returned from this interview with old Thetford. Icome to you, because I thought it possible that Mervyn, agreeably toyour expectations, had returned, and I wanted to see the lad once more. My suspicions with regard to him have been confirmed, and a warrant wasthis day issued for apprehending him as Welbeck's accomplice. "

I was startled by this news. "My friend, " said I, "be cautious how youact, I beseech you. You know not in what evils you may involve theinnocent. Mervyn I know to be blameless; but Welbeck is indeed avillain. The latter I shall not be sorry to see brought to justice; butthe former, instead of meriting punishment, is entitled to rewards. "

"So you believe, on the mere assertion of the boy, perhaps, hisplausible lies might produce the same effect upon me; but I must staytill he thinks proper to exert his skill. The suspicions to which he isexposed will not easily be obviated; but, if he has any thing to say inhis defence, his judicial examination will afford him the suitableopportunity. Why are you so much afraid to subject his innocence to thistest? It was not till you heard his tale that your own suspicions wereremoved. Allow me the same privilege of unbelief. 

"But you do me wrong, in deeming me the cause of his apprehension. It isJamieson and Thetford's work, and they have not proceeded on shadowysurmises and the impulses of mere revenge. Facts have come to light ofwhich you are wholly unaware, and which, when known to you, will conquereven your incredulity as to the guilt of Mervyn. "

"Facts? Let me know them, I beseech you. If Mervyn has deceived me, there is an end to my confidence in human nature. All limits todissimulation, and all distinctness between vice and virtue, will beeffaced. No man's word, nor force of collateral evidence, shall weighwith me a hair. "

"It was time, " replied my friend, "that your confidence in smoothfeatures and fluent accents should have ended long ago. Till I gainedfrom my present profession some knowledge of the world, a knowledgewhich was not gained in a moment, and has not cost a trifle, I wasequally wise in my own conceit; and, in order to decide upon the truthof any one's pretensions, needed only a clear view of his face and adistinct hearing of his words. My folly, in that respect, was only to becured, however, by my own experience, and I suppose your credulity willyield to no other remedy. These are the facts:--

"Mrs. Wentworth, the proprietor of the house in which Welbeck lived, hasfurnished some intelligence respecting Mervyn, whose truth cannot bedoubted, and which furnishes the strongest evidence of a conspiracybetween this lad and his employer. It seems that, some years since, anephew of this lady left his father's family clandestinely, and has notbeen heard of since. This nephew was intended to inherit her fortunes, and her anxieties and inquiries respecting him have been endless andincessant. These, however, have been fruitless. Welbeck, knowing thesecircumstances, and being desirous of substituting a girl whom he hadmoulded for his purpose, in place of the lost youth, in the affectionsof the lady while living, and in her testament when dead, endeavoured topersuade her that the youth had died in some foreign country. For thisend, Mervyn was to personate a kinsman of Welbeck who had just arrivedfrom Europe, and who had been a witness of her nephew's death. A storywas, no doubt, to be contrived, where truth should be copied with themost exquisite dexterity; and, the lady being prevailed upon to believethe story, the way was cleared for accomplishing the remainder of theplot. 

"In due time, and after the lady's mind had been artfully prepared byWelbeck, the pupil made his appearance; and, in a conversation full ofstudied ambiguities, assured the lady that her nephew was dead. For thepresent he declined relating the particulars of his death, and displayeda constancy and intrepidity in resisting her entreaties that would havebeen admirable in a better cause. Before she had time to fathom thispainful mystery, Welbeck's frauds were in danger of detection, and heand his pupil suddenly disappeared. 

"While the plot was going forward, there occurred an incident which theplotters had not foreseen or precluded, and which possibly might havecreated some confusion or impediment in their designs. A bundle wasfound one night in the street, consisting of some coarse clothes, andcontaining, in the midst of it, the miniature portrait of Mrs. Wentworth's nephew. It fell into the hands of one of that lady'sfriends, who immediately despatched the bundle to her. Mervyn, in hisinterview with this lady, spied the portrait on the mantel-piece. Led bysome freak of fancy, or some web of artifice, he introduced the talkrespecting her nephew, by boldly claiming it as his; but, when the modein which it had been found was mentioned, he was disconcerted andconfounded, and precipitately withdrew. 

"This conduct, and the subsequent flight of the lad, afforded groundenough to question the truth of his intelligence respecting her nephew;but it has since been confuted, in a letter just received from herbrother in England. In this letter, she is informed that her nephew hadbeen seen by one who knew him well, in Charleston; that some intercoursetook place between the youth and the bearer of the news, in the courseof which the latter had persuaded the nephew to return to his family, and that the youth had given some tokens of compliance. Theletter-writer, who was father to the fugitive, had written to certainfriends at Charleston, entreating them to use their influence with therunaway to the same end, and, at any rate, to cherish and protect him. Thus, I hope you will admit that the duplicity of Mervyn isdemonstrated. "

"The facts which you have mentioned, " said I, after some pause, "partlycorrespond with Mervyn's story; but the last particular isirreconcilably repugnant to it. Now, for the first time, I begin to feelthat my confidence is shaken. I feel my mind bewildered and distractedby the multitude of new discoveries which have just taken place. I wanttime to revolve them slowly, to weigh them accurately, and to estimatetheir consequences fully. I am afraid to speak; fearing that, in thepresent trouble of my thoughts, I may say something which I mayafterwards regret, I want a counsellor; but you, Wortley, are unfit forthe office. Your judgment is unfurnished with the same materials; yoursufferings have soured your humanity and biassed your candour. The onlyone qualified to divide with me these cares, and aid in selecting thebest mode of action, is my wife. She is mistress of Mervyn's history; anobserver of his conduct during his abode with us; and is hindered, byher education and temper, from deviating into rigour and malevolence. Will you pardon me, therefore, if I defer commenting on your narrativetill I have had an opportunity of reviewing it and comparing it with myknowledge of the lad, collected from himself and from my ownobservation?"

Wortley could not but admit the justice of my request, and, after somedesultory conversation, we parted. I hastened to communicate to my wifethe various intelligence which I had lately received. Mrs. Althorpe'sportrait of the Mervyns contained lineaments which the summary detail ofArthur did not enable us fully to comprehend. The treatment which theyouth is said to have given to his father; the illicit commerce thatsubsisted between him and his father's wife; the pillage of money andhis father's horse, but ill accorded with the tale which we had heard, and disquieted our minds with doubts, though far from dictating ourbelief. 

What, however, more deeply absorbed our attention, was the testimony ofWilliams and of Mrs. Wentworth. That which was mysterious andinscrutable to Wortley and the friends of Watson was luminous to us. Thecoincidence between the vague hints laboriously collected by theseinquirers, and the narrative of Mervyn, afforded the most cogentattestation of the truth of that narrative. 

Watson had vanished from all eyes, but the spot where rested his remainswas known to us. The girdle spoken of by Williams would not be suspectedto exist by his murderer. It was unmolested, and was doubtless buriedwith him. That which was so earnestly sought, and which constituted thesubsistence of the Maurices, would probably be found adhering to hisbody. What conduct was incumbent upon me who possessed this knowledge?

It was just to restore these bills to their true owner; but how couldthis be done without hazardous processes and tedious disclosures? Towhom ought these disclosures to be made? By what authority or agencycould these half-decayed limbs be dug up, and the lost treasure be takenfrom amidst the horrible corruption in which it was immersed?

This ought not to be the act of a single individual. This act wouldentangle him in a maze of perils and suspicions, of concealments andevasions, from which he could not hope to escape with his reputationinviolate. The proper method was through the agency of the law. It is tothis that Mervyn must submit his conduct. The story which he told to mehe must tell to the world. Suspicions have fixed themselves upon him, which allow him not the privilege of silence and obscurity. While hecontinued unknown and unthought of, the publication of his story wouldonly give unnecessary birth to dangers; but now dangers are incurredwhich it may probably contribute to lessen, if not to remove. 

Meanwhile the return of Mervyn to the city was anxiously expected. Dayafter day passed, and no tidings were received. I had business of anurgent nature which required my presence in Jersey, but which, in thedaily expectation of the return of my young friend, I postponed a weeklonger than rigid discretion allowed. At length I was obliged to complywith the exigence, and left the city, but made such arrangements that Ishould be apprized by my wife of Mervyn's return with all practicableexpedition. 

These arrangements were superfluous, for my business was despatched, andmy absence at an end, before the youth had given us any tokens of hisapproach. I now remembered the warnings of Wortley, and his assertionsthat Mervyn had withdrawn himself forever from our view. The event hadhitherto unwelcomely coincided with these predictions, and a thousanddoubts and misgivings were awakened. 

One evening, while preparing to shake off gloomy thoughts by a visit toa friend, some one knocked at my door, and left a billet containingthese words:--

"_Dr. Stevens is requested to come immediately to the Debtors'Apartments in Prune Street. _"

This billet was without signature. The handwriting was unknown, and theprecipitate departure of the bearer left me wholly at a loss withrespect to the person of the writer, or the end for which my presencewas required. This uncertainty only hastened my compliance with thesummons. 

The evening was approaching, --a time when the prison-doors areaccustomed to be shut and strangers to be excluded. This furnished anadditional reason for despatch. As I walked swiftly along, I revolvedthe possible motives that might have prompted this message. A conjecturewas soon formed, which led to apprehension and inquietude. 

One of my friends, by name Carlton, was embarrassed with debts which hewas unable to discharge. He had lately been menaced with arrest by acreditor not accustomed to remit any of his claims. I dreaded that thiscatastrophe had now happened, and called to mind the anguish with whichthis untoward incident would overwhelm his family. I knew his incapacityto take away the claim of his creditor by payment, or to soothe him intoclemency by supplication. 

So prone is the human mind to create for itself distress, that I was notaware of the uncertainty of this evil till I arrived at the prison. Ichecked myself at the moment when I opened my lips to utter the name ofmy friend, and was admitted without particular inquiries. I supposedthat he by whom I had been summoned hither would meet me in the commonroom. 

The apartment was filled with pale faces and withered forms. The marksof negligence and poverty were visible in all; but few betrayed, intheir features or gestures, any symptoms of concern on account of theircondition. Ferocious gayety, or stupid indifference, seemed to sit uponevery brow. The vapour from a heated stove, mingled with the fumes ofbeer and tallow that were spilled upon it, and with the tainted breathof so promiscuous a crowd, loaded the stagnant atmosphere. At my firsttransition from the cold and pure air without, to this noxious element, I found it difficult to breathe. A moment, however, reconciled me to mysituation, and I looked anxiously round to discover some face which Iknew. 

Almost every mouth was furnished with a cigar, and every hand with aglass of porter. Conversation, carried on with much emphasis of tone andgesture, was not wanting. Sundry groups, in different corners, werebeguiling the tedious hours at whist. Others, unemployed, were strollingto and fro, and testified their vacancy of thought and care by hummingor whistling a tune. 

I fostered the hope that my prognostics had deceived me. This hope wasstrengthened by reflecting that the billet received was written in adifferent hand from that of my friend. Meanwhile I continued my search. Seated on a bench, silent and aloof from the crowd, his eyes fixed uponthe floor, and his face half concealed by his hand, a form was at lengthdiscovered which verified all my conjectures and fears. Carlton was he. 

My heart drooped and my tongue faltered at this sight. I surveyed himfor some minutes in silence. At length, approaching the bench on whichhe sat, I touched his hand and awakened him from his reverie. He lookedup. A momentary gleam of joy and surprise was succeeded by a gloomdeeper than before. 

It was plain that my friend needed consolation. He was governed by anexquisite sensibility to disgrace. He was impatient of constraint. Heshrunk, with fastidious abhorrence, from the contact of the vulgar andthe profligate. His constitution was delicate and feeble. Impure airs, restraint from exercise, unusual aliment, unwholesome or incommodiousaccommodations, and perturbed thoughts, were, at any time, sufficient togenerate disease and to deprive him of life. 

To these evils he was now subjected. He had no money wherewith topurchase food. He had been dragged hither in the morning. He had nottasted a morsel since his entrance. He had not provided a bed on whichto lie; or inquired in what room, or with what companions, the night wasto be spent. 

Fortitude was not among my friend's qualities. He was more prone toshrink from danger than encounter it, and to yield to the flood ratherthan sustain it; but it is just to observe that his anguish, on thepresent occasion, arose not wholly from selfish considerations. Hisparents were dead, and two sisters were dependent on him for support. One of these was nearly of his own age. The other was scarcely emergedfrom childhood. There was an intellectual as well as a personalresemblance between my friend and his sisters. They possessed hisphysical infirmities, his vehement passions, and refinements of taste;and the misery of his condition was tenfold increased, by reflecting onthe feelings which would be awakened in them by the knowledge of hisstate, and the hardships to which the loss of his succour would exposethem. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

It was not in my power to release my friend by the payment of his debt;but, by contracting with the keeper of the prison for his board, I couldsave him from famine; and, by suitable exertions, could procure himlodging as convenient as the time would admit. I could promise toconsole and protect his sisters, and, by cheerful tones and frequentvisits, dispel some part of the evil which encompassed him. 

After the first surprise had subsided, he inquired by what accident thismeeting had been produced. Conscious of my incapacity to do him anyessential service, and unwilling to make me a partaker in his miseries, he had forborne to inform me of his condition. 

This assurance was listened to with some wonder. I showed him thebillet. It had not been written by him. He was a stranger to thepenmanship. None but the attorney and officer were apprized of his fate. It was obvious to conclude, that this was the interposition of somefriend, who, knowing my affection for Carlton, had taken this mysteriousmethod of calling me to his succour. 

Conjectures as to the author and motives of this inter position weresuspended by more urgent considerations. I requested an interview withthe keeper, and inquired how Carlton could be best accommodated. 

He said that all his rooms were full but one, which, in consequence ofthe dismission of three persons in the morning, had at present but onetenant. This person had lately arrived, was sick, and had with him, atthis time, one of his friends. Carlton might divide the chamber withthis person. No doubt his consent would be readily given; though thisarrangement, being the best, must take place whether he consented ornot. 

This consent I resolved immediately to seek, and, for that purpose, desired to be led to the chamber. The door of the apartment was shut. Iknocked for admission. It was instantly opened, and I entered. The firstperson who met my view was--Arthur Mervyn. 

I started with astonishment. Mervyn's countenance betrayed nothing butsatisfaction at the interview. The traces of fatigue and anxiety gaveplace to tenderness and joy. It readily occurred to me that Mervyn wasthe writer of the note which I had lately received. To meet him withinthese walls, and at this time, was the most remote and undesirable ofall contingencies. The same hour had thus made me acquainted with thekindred and unwelcome fate of two beings whom I most loved. 

I had scarcely time to return his embrace, when, taking my hand, he ledme to a bed that stood in one corner. There was stretched upon it onewhom a second glance enabled me to call by his name, though I had neverbefore seen him. The vivid portrait which Mervyn had drawn wasconspicuous in the sunken and haggard visage before me. This face had, indeed, proportions and lines which could never be forgotten ormistaken. Welbeck, when once seen or described, was easily distinguishedfrom the rest of mankind. He had stronger motives than other men forabstaining from guilt, the difficulty of concealment or disguise beingtenfold greater in him than in others, by reason of the indelible andeye-attracting marks which nature had set upon him. 

He was pallid and emaciated. He did not open his eyes on my entrance. Heseemed to be asleep; but, before I had time to exchange glances withMervyn, or to inquire into the nature of the scene, he awoke. On seeingme he started, and cast a look of upbraiding on my companion. The lattercomprehended his emotion, and endeavoured to appease him. 

"This person, " said he, "is my friend. He is likewise a physician; and, perceiving your state to require medical assistance, I ventured to sendfor him. "

Welbeck replied, in a contemptuous and indignant tone, "Thou mistakestmy condition, boy. My disease lies deeper than his scrutiny will everreach. I had hoped thou wert gone. Thy importunities are well meant, butthey aggravate my miseries. "

He now rose from the bed, and continued, in a firm and resolute tone, "You are intruders into this apartment. It is mine, and I desire to beleft alone. "

Mervyn returned, at first, no answer to this address. He was immersed inperplexity. At length, raising his eyes from the floor, he said, "Myintentions are indeed honest, and I am grieved that I want the power ofpersuasion. To-morrow, perhaps, I may reason more cogently with yourdespair, or your present mood may be changed. To aid my own weakness Iwill entreat the assistance of this friend. "

These words roused a new spirit in Welbeck. His confusion and angerincreased. His tongue faltered as he exclaimed, "Good God! what meanyou? Headlong and rash as you are, you will not share with this personyour knowledge of me?" Here he checked himself, conscious that the wordshe had already uttered tended to the very end which he dreaded. Thisconsciousness, added to the terror of more ample disclosures, which thesimplicity and rectitude of Mervyn might prompt him to make, chained uphis tongue, and covered him with dismay. 

Mervyn was not long in answering:--"I comprehend your fears and yourwishes. I am bound to tell you the truth. To this person your story hasalready been told. Whatever I have witnessed under your roof, whatever Ihave heard from your lips, have been faithfully disclosed to him. "

The countenance of Welbeck now betrayed a mixture of incredulity andhorror. For a time his utterance was stifled by his complicatedfeelings:--

"It cannot be. So enormous a deed is beyond thy power. Thy qualities aremarvellous. Every new act of thine outstrips the last, and belies thenewest calculations. But this--this perfidy exceeds--this outrage uponpromises, this violation of faith, this blindness to the future, isincredible. " There he stopped; while his looks seemed to call uponMervyn for a contradiction of his first assertion. 

"I know full well how inexpiably stupid or wicked my act will appear toyou, but I will not prevaricate or lie. I repeat, that every thing isknown to him. Your birth; your early fortunes; the incidents atCharleston and Wilmington; your treatment of the brother and sister;your interview with Watson, and the fatal issue of that interview--Ihave told him all, just as it was told to me. "

Here the shock that was felt by Welbeck overpowered his caution and hisstrength. He sunk upon the side of the bed. His air was stillincredulous, and he continued to gaze upon Mervyn. He spoke in a toneless vehement:--

"And hast thou then betrayed me? Hast thou shut every avenue to myreturn to honour? Am I known to be a seducer and assassin? To havemeditated all crimes, and to have perpetrated the worst?

"Infamy and death are my portion. I know they are reserved for me; but Idid not think to receive them at thy hands, that under that innocentguise there lurked a heart treacherous and cruel. But go; leave me tomyself. This stroke has exterminated my remnant of hope. Leave me toprepare my neck for the halter, and my lips for this last and bitterestcup. "

Mervyn struggled with his tears, and replied, "All this was foreseen, and all this I was prepared to endure. My friend and I will withdraw, asyou wish; but to-morrow I return; not to vindicate my faith or myhumanity; not to make you recant your charges, or forgive the faultswhich I seem to have committed, but to extricate you from your presentevil, or to arm you with fortitude. "

So saying, he led the way out of the room. I followed him in silence. The strangeness and abruptness of this scene left me no power to assumea part in it. I looked on with new and indescribable sensations. Ireached the street before my recollection was perfectly recovered. Ithen reflected on the purpose that had led me to Welbeck's chamber. Thispurpose was yet unaccomplished. I desired Mervyn to linger a momentwhile I returned into the house. I once more inquired for the keeper, and told him I should leave to him the province of acquainting Welbeckwith the necessity of sharing his apartment with a stranger. I speedilyrejoined Mervyn in the street. 

I lost no time in requiring an explanation of the scene that I hadwitnessed. "How became you once more the companion of Welbeck? Why didyou not inform me by letter of your arrival at Malverton, and of whatoccurred during your absence? What is the fate of Mr. Hadwin and ofWallace?"

"Alas!" said he, "I perceive that, though I have written, you have neverreceived my letters. The tale of what has occurred since we parted islong and various. I am not only willing but eager to communicate thestory; but this is no suitable place. Have patience till we reach yourhouse. I have involved myself in perils and embarrassments from which Idepend upon your counsel and aid to release me. "

I had scarcely reached my own door, when I was overtaken by a servant, whom I knew to belong to the family in which Carlton and his sistersresided. Her message, therefore, was readily guessed. She came, as Iexpected, to inquire for my friend, who had left his home in the morningwith a stranger, and had not yet returned. His absence had occasionedsome inquietude, and his sister had sent this message to me, to procurewhat information respecting the cause of his detention I was able togive. 

My perplexity hindered me, for some time, from answering. I was willingto communicate the painful truth with my own mouth. I saw the necessityof putting an end to her suspense, and of preventing the news fromreaching her with fallacious aggravations or at an unseasonable time. 

I told the messenger that I had just parted with Mr. Carlton, that hewas well, and that I would speedily come and acquaint his sister withthe cause of his absence. 

Though burning with curiosity respecting Mervyn and Welbeck, I readilypostponed its gratification till my visit to Miss Carlton was performed. I had rarely seen this lady; my friendship for her brother, thoughardent, having been lately formed, and chiefly matured by interviews atmy house. I had designed to introduce her to my wife, but variousaccidents had hindered the execution of my purpose. Now consolation andcounsel were more needed than ever, and delay or reluctance in bestowingit would have been, in a high degree, unpardonable. 

I therefore parted with Mervyn, requesting him to await my return, andpromising to perform the engagement which compelled me to leave him, with the utmost despatch. On entering Miss Carlton's apartment, Iassumed an air of as much tranquillity as possible. I found the ladyseated at a desk, with pen in hand and parchment before her. She greetedme with affectionate dignity, and caught from my countenance thatcheerfulness of which on my entrance she was destitute. 

"You come, " said she, "to inform me what has made my brother a truantto-day. Till your message was received I was somewhat anxious. This dayhe usually spends in rambling through the fields; but so bleak andstormy an atmosphere, I suppose, would prevent his excursion. I pray, sir, what is it detains him?"

To conquer my embarrassment, and introduce the subject by indirect andcautious means, I eluded her question, and, casting an eye at theparchment, --"How now?" said I; "this is strange employment for a lady. Iknew that my friend pursued this trade, and lived by binding fast thebargains which others made; but I knew not that the pen was ever usurpedby his sister. "

"The usurpation was prompted by necessity. My brother's impatient temperand delicate frame unfitted him for the trade. He pursued it with noless reluctance than diligence, devoting to the task three nights in theweek, and the whole of each day. It would long ago have killed him, hadI not bethought myself of sharing his tasks. The pen was irksome andtoilsome at first, but use has made it easy, and far more eligible thanthe needle, which was formerly my only tool. 

"This arrangement affords my brother opportunities of exercise andrecreation, without diminishing our profits; and my time, though notless constantly, is more agreeably, as well as more lucratively, employed than formerly. "

"I admire your reasoning. By this means provision is made againstuntoward accidents. If sickness should disable him, you are qualified topursue the same means of support. "

At these words the lady's countenance changed. She put her hand on myarm, and said, in a fluttering and hurried accent, "Is my brother sick?"

"No. He is in perfect health. My observation was a harmless one. I amsorry to observe your readiness to draw alarming inferences. If I wereto say that your scheme is useful to supply deficiencies, not only whenyour brother is disabled by sickness, but when thrown, by some inhumancreditor, into jail, no doubt you would perversely and hastily inferthat he is now in prison. "

I had scarcely ended the sentence, when the piercing eyes of the ladywere anxiously fixed upon mine. After a moment's pause, she exclaimed, "The inference, indeed, is too plain. I know his fate. It has long beenforeseen and expected, and I have summoned up my equanimity to meet it. Would to Heaven he may find the calamity as light as I should find it!but I fear his too irritable spirit. "

When her fears were confirmed, she started out into no vehemence ofexclamation. She quickly suppressed a few tears which would not bewithheld, and listened to my narrative of what had lately occurred, withtokens of gratitude. 

Formal consolation was superfluous. Her mind was indeed more fertilethan my own in those topics which take away its keenest edge fromaffliction. She observed that it was far from being the heaviestcalamity which might have happened. The creditor was perhaps vincible byarguments and supplications. If these should succeed, the disaster wouldnot only be removed, but that security from future molestation begained, to which they had for a long time been strangers. 

Should he be obdurate, their state was far from being hopeless. Carlton's situation allowed him to pursue his profession. His gainswould be equal, and his expenses would not be augmented. By their mutualindustry they might hope to amass sufficient to discharge the debt at novery remote period. 

What she chiefly dreaded was the pernicious influence of dejection andsedentary labour on her brother's health. Yet this was not to beconsidered as inevitable. Fortitude might be inspired by exhortation andexample, and no condition precluded us from every species of bodilyexertion. The less inclined he should prove to cultivate the means ofdeliverance and happiness within his reach, the more necessary it becamefor her to stimulate and fortify his resolution. 

If I were captivated by the charms of this lady's person and carriage, my reverence was excited by these proofs of wisdom and energy. Izealously promised to concur with her in every scheme she should adoptfor her own or her brother's advantage; and, after spending some hourswith her, took my leave. 

I now regretted the ignorance in which I had hitherto remainedrespecting this lady. That she was, in an eminent degree, feminine andlovely, was easily discovered; but intellectual weakness had been rashlyinferred from external frailty. She was accustomed to shrink fromobservation, and reserve was mistaken for timidity. I called on Carltononly when numerous engagements would allow, and when, by some accident, his customary visits had been intermitted. On those occasions, my staywas short, and my attention chiefly confined to her brother. I nowresolved to atone for my ancient negligence, not only by my ownassiduities, but by those of my wife. 

On my return home, I found Mervyn and my wife in earnest discourse. Ianticipated the shock which the sensibility of the latter would receivefrom the tidings which I had to communicate respecting Carlton. I wasunwilling, and yet perceived the necessity of disclosing the truth. Idesired to bring these women, as soon as possible, to the knowledge ofeach other, but the necessary prelude to this was an acquaintance withthe disaster that had happened. 

Scarcely had I entered the room, when Mervyn turned to me, and said, with an air of anxiety and impatience, "Pray, my friend, have you anyknowledge of Francis Carlton?"

The mention of this name by Mervyn produced some surprise. Iacknowledged my acquaintance with him. 

"Do you know in what situation he now is?"

In answer to this question, I stated by what singular means hissituation had been made known to me, and the purpose from theaccomplishment of which I had just returned. I inquired in my turn, "Whence originated this question?"

He had overheard the name of Carlton in the prison. Two persons werecommuning in a corner, and accident enabled him to catch this name, though uttered by them in a half whisper, and to discover that theperson talked about had lately been conveyed thither. 

This name was not now heard for the first time. It was connected withremembrances that made him anxious for the fate of him to whom itbelonged. In discourse with my wife, this name chanced to be againmentioned, and his curiosity was roused afresh. I was willing tocommunicate all that I knew, but Mervyn's own destiny was too remarkablenot to absorb all my attention, and I refused to discuss any other themetill that were fully explained. He postponed his own gratification tomine, and consented to relate the incidents that had happened from themoment of our separation till the present. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

At parting with you, my purpose was to reach the abode of the Hadwins asspeedily as possible. I travelled therefore with diligence. Setting outso early, I expected, though on foot, to reach the end of my journeybefore noon. The activity of muscles is no obstacle to thought. So farfrom being inconsistent with intense musing, it is, in my own case, propitious to that state of mind. 

Probably no one had stronger motives for ardent meditation than I. Mysecond journey to the city was prompted by reasons, and attended byincidents, that seemed to have a present existence. To think upon themwas to view, more deliberately and thoroughly, objects and persons thatstill hovered in my sight. Instead of their attributes being alreadyseen, and their consequences at an end, it seemed as if a series ofnumerous years and unintermitted contemplation were requisite tocomprehend them fully, and bring into existence their most momentouseffects. 

If men be chiefly distinguished from each other by the modes in whichattention is employed, either on external and sensible objects, ormerely on abstract ideas and the creatures of reflection, I may justlyclaim to be enrolled in the second class. My existence is a series ofthoughts rather than of motions. Ratiocination and deduction leave mysenses unemployed. The fulness of my fancy renders my eye vacant andinactive. Sensations do not precede and suggest, but follow and aresecondary to, the acts of my mind. 

There was one motive, however, which made me less inattentive to thescene that was continually shifting before and without me than I amwont to be. The loveliest form which I had hitherto seen was that ofClemenza Lodi. I recalled her condition as I had witnessed it, asWelbeck had described, and as you had painted it. The past was withoutremedy; but the future was, in some degree, within our power to createand to fashion. Her state was probably dangerous. She might already beforlorn, beset with temptation or with anguish; or danger might only beapproaching her, and the worst evils be impending ones. 

I was ignorant of her state. Could I not remove this ignorance? Wouldnot some benefit redound to her from beneficent and seasonableinterposition?

You had mentioned that her abode had lately been with Mrs. Villars, andthat this lady still resided in the country. The residence had beensufficiently described, and I perceived that I was now approaching it. In a short time I spied its painted roof and five chimneys through anavenue of _catalpas_. 

When opposite the gate which led into this avenue, I paused. It seemedas if this moment were to decide upon the liberty and innocence of thisbeing. In a moment I might place myself before her, ascertain her truecondition, and point out to her the path of honour and safety. Thisopportunity might be the last. Longer delay might render interpositionfruitless. 

But how was I to interpose? I was a stranger to her language, and shewas unacquainted with mine. To obtain access to her, it was necessaryonly to demand it. But how should I explain my views and state my wisheswhen an interview was gained? And what expedient was it in my power topropose?

"Now, " said I, "I perceive the value of that wealth which I have beenaccustomed to despise. The power of eating and drinking, the nature andlimits of existence and physical enjoyment, are not changed or enlargedby the increase of wealth. Our corporeal and intellectual wants aresupplied at little expense; but our own wants are the wants of others, and that which remains, after our own necessities are obviated, it isalways easy and just to employ in relieving the necessities of others. 

"There are no superfluities in my store. It is not in my power to supplythis unfortunate girl with decent raiment and honest bread. I have nohouse to which to conduct her. I have no means of securing her fromfamine and cold. 

"Yet, though indigent and feeble, I am not destitute of friends and ofhome. Cannot she be admitted to the same asylum to which I am nowgoing?" This thought was sudden and new. The more it was revolved, themore plausible it seemed. This was not merely the sole expedient, butthe best that could have been suggested. 

The Hadwins were friendly, hospitable, unsuspicious. Their board, thoughsimple and uncouth, was wholesome and plenteous. Their residence wassequestered and obscure, and not obnoxious to impertinent inquiries andmalignant animadversion. Their frank and ingenuous temper would makethem easy of persuasion, and their sympathies were prompt andoverflowing. 

"I am nearly certain, " continued I, "that they will instantly affordprotection to this desolate girl. Why shall I not anticipate theirconsent, and present myself to their embraces and their welcomes in hercompany?"

Slight reflection showed me that this precipitation was improper. Whether Wallace had ever arrived at Malverton, whether Mr. Hadwin hadescaped infection, whether his house were the abode of security andquiet, or a scene of desolation, were questions yet to be determined. The obvious and best proceeding was to hasten forward, to afford theHadwins, if in distress, the feeble consolations of my friendship; or, if their state were happy, to procure their concurrence to my schemerespecting Clemenza. 

Actuated by these considerations, I resumed my journey. Looking forward, I perceived a chaise and horse standing by the left-hand fence, at thedistance of some hundred yards. This object was not uncommon or strange, and, therefore, it was scarcely noticed. When I came near, however, methought I recognised in this carriage the same in which myimportunities had procured a seat for the languishing Wallace, in themanner which I have formerly related. 

It was a crazy vehicle and old-fashioned. When once seen it couldscarcely be mistaken or forgotten. The horse was held by his bridle to apost, but the seat was empty. My solicitude with regard to Wallace'sdestiny, of which he to whom the carriage belonged might possibly affordme some knowledge, made me stop and reflect on what measures it wasproper to pursue. 

The rider could not be at a great distance from this spot. His absencewould probably be short. By lingering a few minutes an interview mightbe gained, and the uncertainty and suspense of some hours be therebyprecluded. I therefore waited, and the same person whom I had formerlyencountered made his appearance, in a short time, from under a copsethat skirted the road. 

He recognised me with more difficulty than attended my recognition ofhim. The circumstances, however, of our first meeting were easilyrecalled to his remembrance. I eagerly inquired when and where he hadparted with the youth who had been, on that occasion, intrusted to hiscare. 

He answered that, on leaving the city and inhaling the purer air of thefields and woods, Wallace had been, in a wonderful degree, invigoratedand refreshed. An instantaneous and total change appeared to have beenwrought in him. He no longer languished with fatigue or fear, but becamefull of gayety and talk. 

The suddenness of this transition; the levity with which he related andcommented on his recent dangers and evils, excited the astonishment ofhis companion, to whom he not only communicated the history of hisdisease, but imparted many anecdotes of a humorous kind. Some of thesemy companion repeated. I heard them with regret and dissatisfaction. They betokened a mind vitiated by intercourse with the thoughtless anddepraved of both sexes, and particularly with infamous and profligatewomen. 

My companion proceeded to mention that Wallace's exhilaration lasted butfor a short time, and disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Hewas seized with deadly sickness, and insisted upon leaving the carriage, whose movements shocked his stomach and head to an insupportable degree. His companion was not void of apprehensions on his own account, but wasunwilling to desert him, and endeavoured to encourage him. His effortswere vain. Though the nearest house was at the distance of some hundredyards, and though it was probable that the inhabitants of this housewould refuse to accommodate one in his condition, yet Wallace could notbe prevailed on to proceed; and, in spite of persuasion andremonstrance, left the carriage and threw himself on the grassy bankbeside the road. 

This person was not unmindful of the hazard which he incurred by contactwith a sick man. He conceived himself to have performed all that wasconsistent with duty to himself and to his family; and Wallace, persisting in affirming that, by attempting to ride farther, he shouldmerely hasten his death, was at length left to his own guidance. 

These were unexpected and mournful tidings. I had fondly imagined thathis safety was put beyond the reach of untoward accidents. Now, however, there was reason to suppose him to have perished by a lingering andpainful disease, rendered fatal by the selfishness of mankind, by thewant of seasonable remedies, and exposure to inclement airs. Someuncertainty, however, rested on his fate. It was my duty to remove it, and to carry to the Hadwins no mangled and defective tale. Where, Iasked, had Wallace and his companion parted?

It was about three miles farther onward. The spot, and the house withinview from the spot, were accurately described. In this house it waspossible that Wallace had sought an asylum, and some intelligencerespecting him might be gained from its inhabitants. My informant wasjourneying to the city, so that we were obliged to separate. 

In consequence of this man's description of Wallace's deportment, andthe proofs of a dissolute and thoughtless temper which he had given, Ibegan to regard his death as an event less deplorable. Such a one wasunworthy of a being so devoutly pure, so ardent in fidelity andtenderness, as Susan Hadwin. If he loved, it was probable that, indefiance of his vows, he would seek a different companion. If he adheredto his first engagements, his motives would be sordid, and thedisclosure of his latent defects might produce more exquisite misery tohis wife than his premature death or treacherous desertion. 

The preservation of this man was my sole motive for entering theinfected city, and subjecting my own life to the hazards from which myescape may almost be esteemed miraculous. Was not the enddisproportioned to the means? Was there arrogance in believing my life aprice too great to be given for his?

I was not, indeed, sorry for the past. My purpose was just, and themeans which I selected were the best my limited knowledge supplied. Myhappiness should be drawn from reflecting on the equity of myintentions. That these intentions were frustrated by the ignorance ofothers, or my own, was the consequence of human frailty. Honestpurposes, though they may not bestow happiness on others, will, atleast, secure it to him who fosters them. 

By these reflections my regrets were dissipated, and I prepared torejoice alike, whether Wallace should be found to have escaped or tohave perished. The house to which I had been directed was speedilybrought into view. I inquired for the master or mistress of the mansion, and was conducted to a lady of a plain and housewifely appearance. 

My curiosity was fully gratified. Wallace, whom my description easilyidentified, had made his appearance at her door on the evening of theday on which he left the city. The dread of _the fever_ was descanted onwith copious and rude eloquence. I supposed her eloquence on this themeto be designed to apologize to me for her refusing entrance to the sickman. The peroration, however, was different. Wallace was admitted, andsuitable attention paid to his wants. 

Happily, the guest had nothing to struggle with but extreme weakness. Repose, nourishing diet, and salubrious airs restored him in a shorttime to health. He lingered under this roof for three weeks, and then, without any professions of gratitude, or offers of pecuniaryremuneration, or information of the course which he determined to take, he left them. 

These facts, added to that which I had previously known, threw noadvantageous light upon the character of Wallace. It was obvious toconclude that he had gone to Malverton, and thither there was nothing tohinder me from following him. 

Perhaps one of my grossest defects is a precipitate temper. I choose mypath suddenly, and pursue it with impetuous expedition. In the presentinstance, my resolution was conceived with unhesitating zeal, and Iwalked the faster that I might the sooner execute it. Miss Hadwindeserved to be happy. Love was in her heart the all-absorbing sentiment. A disappointment there was a supreme calamity. Depravity and folly mustassume the guise of virtue before it can claim her affection. Thisdisguise might be maintained for a time, but its detection mustinevitably come, and the sooner this detection takes place the morebeneficial it must prove. 

I resolved to unbosom myself, with equal and unbounded confidence, toWallace and his mistress. I would choose for this end, not the momentwhen they were separate, but that in which they were together. Myknowledge, and the sources of my knowledge, relative to Wallace, shouldbe unfolded to the lady with simplicity and truth. The lover should bepresent, to confute, to extenuate, or to verify the charges. 

During the rest of the day these images occupied the chief place in mythoughts. The road was miry and dark, and my journey proved to be moretedious and fatiguing than I expected. At length, just as the eveningclosed, the well-known habitation appeared in view. Since my departure, winter had visited the world, and the aspect of nature was desolate anddreary. All around this house was vacant, negligent, forlorn. Thecontrast between these appearances and those which I had noticed on myfirst approach to it, when the ground and the trees were decked withthe luxuriance and vivacity of summer, was mournful, and seemed toforetoken ill. My spirits drooped as I noticed the general inactivityand silence. 

I entered, without warning, the door that led into the parlour. No facewas to be seen or voice heard. The chimney was ornamented, as in summer, with evergreen shrubs. Though it was now the second month of frost andsnow, fire did not appear to have been lately kindled on this hearth. 

This was a circumstance from which nothing good could be deduced. Hadthere been those to share its comforts who had shared them on formeryears, this was the place and hour at which they commonly assembled. Adoor on one side led, through a narrow entry, into the kitchen. I openedthis door, and passed towards the kitchen. 

No one was there but an old man, squatted in the chimney-corner. Hisface, though wrinkled, denoted undecayed health and an unbending spirit. A homespun coat, leathern breeches wrinkled with age, and blue yarnhose, were well suited to his lean and shrivelled form. On his rightknee was a wooden bowl, which he had just replenished from a pipkin ofhasty pudding still smoking on the coals; and in his left hand a spoon, which he had, at that moment, plunged into a bottle of molasses thatstood beside him. 

This action was suspended by my entrance. He looked up and exclaimed, "Heyday! who's this that comes into other people's houses without somuch as saying 'by your leave'? What's thee business? Who's thee want?"

I had never seen this personage before. I supposed it to be some newdomestic, and inquired for Mr. Hadwin. 

"Ah!" replied he, with a sigh, "William Hadwin. Is it him thee wants?Poor man! He is gone to rest many days since. "

My heart sunk within me at these tidings. "Dead!" said I; "do you meanthat he is dead?"--This exclamation was uttered in a tone of somevehemence. It attracted the attention of some one who was standingwithout, who immediately entered the kitchen. It was Eliza Hadwin. Themoment she beheld me she shrieked aloud, and, rushing into my arms, fainted away. 

The old man dropped his bowl; and, starting from his seat, staredalternately at me and at the breathless girl. My emotion, made up ofjoy, and sorrow, and surprise, rendered me for a moment powerless asshe. At length he said, "I understand this. I know who thee is, and willtell her thee's come. " So saying, he hastily left the room. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

In a short time this gentle girl recovered her senses. She did notwithdraw herself from my sustaining arm, but, leaning on my bosom, sheresigned herself to passionate weeping. I did not endeavour to checkthis effusion, believing that its influence would be salutary. 

I had not forgotten the thrilling sensibility and artless graces of thisgirl. I had not forgotten the scruples which had formerly made me checka passion whose tendency was easily discovered. These new proofs of heraffection were, at once, mournful and delightful. The untimely fate ofher father and my friend pressed with new force upon my heart, and mytears, in spite of my fortitude, mingled with hers. 

The attention of both was presently attracted by a faint scream, whichproceeded from above. Immediately tottering footsteps were heard in thepassage, and a figure rushed into the room, pale, emaciated, haggard, and wild. She cast a piercing glance at me, uttered a feebleexclamation, and sunk upon the floor without signs of life. 

It was not difficult to comprehend this scene. I now conjectured, whatsubsequent inquiry confirmed, that the old man had mistaken me forWallace, and had carried to the elder sister the news of his return. This fatal disappointment of hopes that had nearly been extinct, andwhich were now so powerfully revived, could not be endured by a frameverging to dissolution. 

This object recalled all the energies of Eliza, and engrossed all mysolicitude. I lifted the fallen girl in my arms; and, guided by hersister, carried her to her chamber. I had now leisure to contemplate thechanges which a few months had made in this lovely frame. I turned awayfrom the spectacle with anguish, but my wandering eyes were recalled bysome potent fascination, and fixed in horror upon a form which evincedthe last stage of decay. Eliza knelt on one side, and, leaning her faceupon the bed, endeavoured in vain to smother her sobs. I sat on theother motionless, and holding the passive and withered hand of thesufferer. 

I watched with ineffable solicitude the return of life. It returned atlength, but merely to betray symptoms that it would speedily departforever. For a time my faculties were palsied, and I was made animpotent spectator of the ruin that environed me. This pusillanimityquickly gave way to resolutions and reflections better suited to theexigencies of the time. 

The first impulse was to summon a physician; but it was evident that thepatient had been sinking by slow degrees to this state, and that thelast struggle had begun. Nothing remained but to watch her whileexpiring, and perform for her, when dead, the rites of interment. Thesurvivor was capable of consolation and of succour. I went to her anddrew her gently into another apartment. The old man, tremulous andwonder-struck, seemed anxious to perform some service. I directed him tokindle a fire in Eliza's chamber. Meanwhile I persuaded my gentle friendto remain in this chamber, and resign to me the performance of everyoffice which her sister's condition required. I sat beside the bed ofthe dying till the mortal struggle was past. 

I perceived that the house had no inhabitant besides the two females andthe old man. I went in search of the latter, and found him crouched, asbefore, at the kitchen-fire, smoking his pipe. I placed myself on thesame bench, and entered into conversation with him. 

I gathered from him that he had, for many years, been Mr. Hadwin'sservant. That lately he had cultivated a small farm in thisneighbourhood for his own advantage. Stopping one day in October, at thetavern, he heard that his old master had lately been in the city, hadcaught _the fever_, and after his return had died with it. The moment hebecame sick, his servants fled from the house, and the neighboursrefused to approach it. The task of attending his sick-bed was allottedto his daughters, and it was by their hands that his grave was dug andhis body covered with earth. The same terror of infection existed afterhis death as before, and these hapless females were deserted by allmankind. 

Old Caleb was no sooner informed of these particulars, than he hurriedto the house, and had since continued in their service. His heart waskind, but it was easily seen that his skill extended only to execute thedirections of another. Grief for the death of Wallace and her fatherpreyed upon the health of the eldest daughter. The younger became hernurse, and Caleb was always at hand to execute any orders theperformance of which was on a level with his understanding. Theirneighbours had not withheld their good offices, but they were stillterrified and estranged by the phantoms of pestilence. 

During the last week Susan had been too weak to rise from her bed; yetsuch was the energy communicated by the tidings that Wallace was alive, and had returned, that she leaped upon her feet and rushed down-stairs. How little did that man deserve so strenuous and immortal an affection!

I would not allow myself to ponder on the sufferings of these women. Iendeavoured to think only of the best expedients for putting an end tothese calamities. After a moment's deliberation I determined to go to ahouse at some miles' distance; the dwelling of one who, though notexempt from the reigning panic, had shown more generosity towards theseunhappy girls than others. During my former abode in this district, Ihad ascertained his character, and found him to be compassionate andliberal. 

Overpowered by fatigue and watching, Eliza was no sooner relieved, by mypresence, of some portion of her cares, than she sunk into profoundslumber. I directed Caleb to watch the house till my return, whichshould be before midnight, and then set out for the dwelling of Mr. Ellis. 

The weather was temperate and moist, and rendered the footing of themeadows extremely difficult. The ground, that had lately been frozen andcovered with snow, was now changed into gullies and pools, and this wasno time to be fastidious in the choice of paths. A brook, swelled by therecent _thaw_, was likewise to be passed. The rail which I had formerlyplaced over it by way of bridge had disappeared, and I was obliged towade through it. At length I approached the house to which I was going. 

At so late an hour, farmers and farmers' servants are usually abed, andtheir threshold is intrusted to their watch-dogs. Two belonged to Mr. Ellis, whose ferocity and vigilance were truly formidable to a stranger;but I hoped that in me they would recognise an old acquaintance, andsuffer me to approach. In this I was not mistaken. Though my personcould not be distinctly seen by starlight, they seemed to scent me fromafar, and met me with a thousand caresses. 

Approaching the house, I perceived that its tenants were retired totheir repose. This I expected, and hastened to awaken Mr. Ellis, byknocking briskly at the door. Presently he looked out of a window above, and, in answer to his inquiries, in which impatience at being sounseasonably disturbed was mingled with anxiety, I told him my name, andentreated him to come down and allow me a few minutes' conversation. Hespeedily dressed himself, and, opening the kitchen door, we seatedourselves before the fire. 

My appearance was sufficiently adapted to excite his wonder; he hadheard of my elopement from the house of Mr. Hadwin, he was a stranger tothe motives that prompted my departure, and to the events that hadbefallen me, and no interview was more distant from his expectationsthan the present. His curiosity was written in his features, but thiswas no time to gratify his curiosity. The end that I now had in view wasto procure accommodation for Eliza Hadwin in this man's house. For thispurpose it was my duty to describe, with simplicity and truth, theinconveniences which at present surrounded her, and to relate all thathad happened since my arrival. 

I perceived that my tale excited his compassion, and I continued withnew zeal to paint to him the helplessness of this girl. The death ofher father and sister left her the property of this farm. Her sex andage disqualified her for superintending the harvest-field and thethreshing-floor; and no expedient was left but to lease the land toanother, and, taking up her abode in the family of some kinsman orfriend, to subsist, as she might easily do, upon the rent. Meanwhile hercontinuance in this house was equally useless and dangerous, and Iinsinuated to my companion the propriety of immediately removing her tohis own. 

Some hesitation and reluctance appeared in him, which I immediatelyascribed to an absurd dread of infection. I endeavoured, by appealing tohis reason as well as to his pity, to conquer this dread. I pointed outthe true cause of the death of the elder daughter, and assured him theyoungest knew no indisposition but that which arose from distress. Ioffered to save him from any hazard that might attend his approachingthe house, by accompanying her hither myself. All that her safetyrequired was that his doors should not be shut against her when shepresented herself before them. 

Still he was fearful and reluctant; and, at length, mentioned that heruncle resided not more than sixteen miles farther; that he was hernatural protector, and, he dared to say, would find no difficulty inadmitting her into his house. For his part, there might be reason inwhat I said, but he could not bring himself to think but that there wasstill some danger of _the fever_. It was right to assist people indistress, to-be-sure; but to risk his own life he did not think to behis duty. He was no relation of the family, and it was the duty ofrelations to help each other. Her uncle was the proper person to assisther, and no doubt he would be as willing as able. 

The marks of dubiousness and indecision which accompanied these wordsencouraged me in endeavouring to subdue his scruples. The increase ofhis aversion to my scheme kept pace with my remonstrances, and hefinally declared that he would, on no account, consent to it. 

Ellis was by no means hard of heart. His determination did not prove thecoldness of his charity, but merely the strength of his fears. He washimself an object more of compassion than of anger; and he acted likethe man whose fear of death prompts him to push his companion from theplank which saved him from drowning, but which is unable to sustainboth. Finding him invincible to my entreaties, I thought upon theexpedient which he suggested of seeking the protection of her uncle. Itwas true that the loss of parents had rendered her uncle her legalprotector. His knowledge of the world; his house and property andinfluence, would, perhaps, fit him for this office in a more eminentdegree than I was fitted. To seek a different asylum might, indeed, beunjust to both; and, after some reflection, I not only dismissed theregret which Ellis's refusal had given me, but even thanked him for theintelligence and counsel which he had afforded me. I took leave of him, and hastened back to Hadwin's. 

Eliza, by Caleb's report, was still asleep. There was no urgentnecessity for awakening her; but something was forthwith to be done withregard to the unhappy girl that was dead. The proceeding incumbent on uswas obvious. All that remained was to dig a grave, and to deposit theremains with as much solemnity and decency as the time would permit. There were two methods of doing this. I might wait till the next day;till a coffin could be made and conveyed hither; till the woman, whosetrade it was to make and put on the habiliments assigned by custom tothe dead, could be sought out and hired to attend; till kindred, friends, and neighbours could be summoned to the obsequies; till acarriage were provided to remove the body to a burying-ground, belongingto a meeting-house, and five miles distant; till those whose trade itwas to dig graves had prepared one, within the sacred enclosure, for herreception; or, neglecting this toilsome, tedious, and expensiveceremonial, I might seek the grave of Hadwin, and lay the daughter bythe side of her parent. 

Perhaps I was strong in my preference of the latter mode. The customs ofburial may, in most cases, be in themselves proper. If the customs beabsurd, yet it may be generally proper to adhere to them; but doubtlessthere are cases in which it is our duty to omit them. I conceived thepresent case to be such a one. 

The season was bleak and inclement. Much time, labour, and expense wouldbe required to go through the customary rites. There was none but myselfto perform these, and I had not the suitable means. The misery of Elizawould only be prolonged by adhering to these forms, and her fortune beneedlessly diminished by the expenses unavoidably to be incurred. 

After musing upon these ideas for some time, I rose from my seat, anddesired Caleb to follow me. We proceeded to an outer shed where farmers'tools used to be kept. I supplied him and myself with a spade, andrequested him to lead me to the spot where Mr. Hadwin was laid. 

He betrayed some hesitation to comply, and appeared struck with somedegree of alarm, as if my purpose had been to molest, instead ofsecuring, the repose of the dead. I removed his doubts by explaining myintentions; but he was scarcely less shocked, on discovering the truth, than he had been alarmed by his first suspicions. He stammered out hisobjections to my scheme. There was but one mode of burial, he thought, that was decent and proper, and he could not be free to assist me inpursuing any other mode. 

Perhaps Caleb's aversion to the scheme might have been easily overcome;but I reflected that a mind like his was at once flexible and obstinate. He might yield to arguments and entreaties, and act by their immediateimpulse; but the impulse passed away in a moment, old and habitualconvictions were resumed, and his deviation from the beaten track wouldbe merely productive of compunction. His aid, on the present occasion, though of some use, was by no means indispensable. I forbore to solicithis concurrence, or even to vanquish the scruples he entertained againstdirecting me to the grave of Hadwin. It was a groundless superstitionthat made one spot more suitable for this purpose than another. Idesired Caleb, in a mild tone, to return to the kitchen, and leave me toact as I thought proper. I then proceeded to the orchard. 

One corner of this field was somewhat above the level of the rest. Thetallest tree of the group grew there, and there I had formerly placed abench, and made it my retreat at periods of leisure. It had beenrecommended by its sequestered situation, its luxuriant verdure, andprofound quiet. On one side was a potato-field, on the other a_melon-patch_; and before me, in rows, some hundreds of apple-trees. Here I was accustomed to seek the benefits of contemplation and studythe manuscripts of Lodi. A few months had passed since I had lastvisited this spot. What revolutions had since occurred, and how gloomilycontrasted was my present purpose with what had formerly led me hither!

In this spot I had hastily determined to dig the grave of Susan. Thegrave was dug. All that I desired was a cavity of sufficient dimensionsto receive her. This being made, I returned to the house, lifted thecorpse in my arms, and bore it without delay to the spot. Caleb, seatedin the kitchen, and Eliza, asleep in her chamber, were wholly unapprizedof my motions. The grave was covered, the spade reposited under theshed, and my seat by the kitchen-fire resumed in a time apparently tooshort for so solemn and momentous a transaction. 

I look back upon this incident with emotions not easily described. Itseems as if I acted with too much precipitation; as if insensibility, and not reason, had occasioned that clearness of conceptions, andbestowed that firmness of muscles, which I then experienced. I neithertrembled nor wavered in my purpose. I bore in my arms the being whom Ihad known and loved, through the whistling gale and intense darkness ofa winter's night; I heaped earth upon her limbs, and covered them fromhuman observation, without fluctuations or tremors, though not withoutfeelings that were awful and sublime. 

Perhaps some part of my steadfastness was owing to my late experience, and some minds may be more easily inured to perilous emergencies thanothers. If reason acquires strength only by the diminution ofsensibility, perhaps it is just for sensibility to be diminished. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

The safety of Eliza was the object that now occupied my cares. To haveslept, after her example, had been most proper; but my uncertainty withregard to her fate, and my desire to conduct her to some other home, kept my thoughts in perpetual motion. I waited with impatience till sheshould awake and allow me to consult with her on plans for futurity. 

Her sleep terminated not till the next day had arisen. Having recoveredthe remembrance of what had lately happened, she inquired for hersister. She wanted to view once more the face and kiss the lips of herbeloved Susan. Some relief to her anguish she expected to derive fromthis privilege. 

When informed of the truth, when convinced that Susan had disappearedforever, she broke forth into fresh passion. It seemed as if her losswas not hopeless or complete as long as she was suffered to behold theface of her friend and to touch her lips. She accused me of actingwithout warrant and without justice; of defrauding her of her dearestand only consolation; and of treating her sister's sacred remains withbarbarous indifference and rudeness. 

I explained in the gentlest terms the reasons of my conduct. I was notsurprised or vexed that she, at first, treated them as futile, and asheightening my offence. Such was the impulse of a grief which wasproperly excited by her loss. To be tranquil and steadfast, in the midstof the usual causes of impetuosity and agony, is either the prerogativeof wisdom that sublimes itself above all selfish considerations, or thebadge of giddy and unfeeling folly. 

The torrent was at length exhausted. Upbraiding was at an end; andgratitude, and tenderness, and implicit acquiescence in any scheme whichmy prudence should suggest, succeeded. I mentioned her uncle as one towhom it would be proper, in her present distress, to apply. 

She started and betrayed uneasiness at this name. It was evident thatshe by no means concurred with me in my notions of propriety; that shethought with aversion of seeking her uncle's protection. I requested herto state her objections to this scheme, or to mention any other whichshe thought preferable. 

She knew nobody. She had not a friend in the world but myself. She hadnever been out of her father's house. She had no relation but her unclePhilip, and he--she could not live with him. I must not insist upon hergoing to his house. It was not the place for her. She should never behappy there. 

I was, at first, inclined to suspect in my friend some capricious andgroundless antipathy. I desired her to explain what in her uncle'scharacter made him so obnoxious. She refused to be more explicit, andpersisted in thinking that his house was no suitable abode for her. 

Finding her, in this respect, invincible, I sought for some otherexpedient. Might she not easily be accommodated as a boarder in thecity, or some village, or in a remote quarter of the country? Ellis, hernearest and most opulent neighbour, had refused to receive her; butthere were others who had not his fears. There were others, within thecompass of a day's journey, who were strangers to the cause of Hadwin'sdeath; but would it not be culpable to take advantage of that ignorance?Their compliance ought not to be the result of deception. 

While thus engaged, the incidents of my late journey recurred to myremembrance, and I asked, "Is not the honest woman, who entertainedWallace, just such a person as that of whom I am in search? Hertreatment of Wallace shows her to be exempt from chimerical fears, proves that she has room in her house for an occasional inmate. "

Encouraged by these views, I told my weeping companion that I hadrecollected a family in which she would be kindly treated; and that, ifshe chose, we would not lose a moment in repairing thither. Horses, belonging to the farm, grazed in the meadows, and a couple of thesewould carry us in a few hours to the place which I had selected for herresidence. On her eagerly assenting to this proposal, I inquired inwhose care, and in what state, our present habitation should be left. 

The father's property now belonged to the daughter. Eliza's mind wasquick, active, and sagacious; but her total inexperience gave hersometimes the appearance of folly. She was eager to fly from this house, and to resign herself and her property, without limitation or condition, to my control. Our intercourse had been short, but she relied on myprotection and counsel as absolutely as she had been accustomed to doupon her father's. 

She knew not what answer to make to my inquiry. Whatever I pleased to dowas the best. What did I think ought to be done?

"Ah!" thought I, "sweet, artless, and simple girl! how wouldst thou havefared, if Heaven had not sent me to thy succour? There are beings in theworld who would make a selfish use of thy confidence; who would beguilethee at once of innocence and property. Such am not I. Thy welfare is aprecious deposit, and no father or brother could watch over it with moresolicitude than I will do. "

I was aware that Mr. Hadwin might have fixed the destination of hisproperty, and the guardianship of his daughters, by will. On suggestingthis to my friend, it instantly reminded her of an incident that tookplace after his last return from the city. He had drawn up his will, andgave it into Susan's possession, who placed it in a drawer, whence itwas now taken by my friend. 

By this will his property was now found to be bequeathed to his twodaughters; and his brother, Philip Hadwin, was named executor, andguardian to his daughters till they should be twenty years old. Thisname was no sooner heard by my friend, than she exclaimed, in a tone ofaffright, "Executor! My uncle! What is that? What power does that givehim?"

"I know not exactly the power of executors. He will, doubtless, havepossession of your property till you are twenty years of age. Yourperson will likewise be under his care till that time. "

"Must he decide where I am to live?"

"He is vested with all the power of a father. "

This assurance excited the deepest consternation. She fixed her eyes onthe ground, and was lost, for a time, in the deepest reverie. Recovering, at length, she said, with a sigh, "What if my father hadmade no will?"

"In that case, a guardian could not be dispensed with, but the right ofnaming him would belong to yourself. "

"And my uncle would have nothing to do with my affairs?"

"I am no lawyer, " said I; "but I presume all authority over your personand property would devolve upon the guardian of your own choice. "

"Then I am free. " Saying this, with a sudden motion, she tore in severalpieces the will, which, during this dialogue, she had held in her hand, and threw the fragments into the fire. 

No action was more unexpected to me than this. My astonishment hinderedme from attempting to rescue the paper from the flames. It was consumedin a moment. I was at a loss in what manner to regard this sacrifice. Itdenoted a force of mind little in unison with that simplicity andhelplessness which this girl had hitherto displayed. It argued thedeepest apprehensions of mistreatment from her uncle. Whether hisconduct had justified this violent antipathy, I had no means of judging. Mr. Hadwin's choice of him, as his executor, was certainly one proof ofhis integrity. 

My abstraction was noticed by Eliza with visible anxiety. It was plainthat she dreaded the impression which this act of seeming temerity hadmade upon me. "Do not be angry with me, " said she; "perhaps I have beenwrong, but I could not help it. I will have but one guardian and oneprotector. "

The deed was irrevocable. In my present ignorance of the domestichistory of the Hadwins, I was unqualified to judge how far circumstancesmight extenuate or justify the act. On both accounts, therefore, it wasimproper to expatiate upon it. 

It was concluded to leave the care of the house to honest Caleb; tofasten closets and drawers, and, carrying away the money which was foundin one of them, and which amounted to no inconsiderable sum, to repairto the house formerly mentioned. The air was cold; a heavy snow began tofall in the night; the wind blew tempestuously; and we were compelled toconfront it. 

In leaving her dwelling, in which she had spent her whole life, theunhappy girl gave way afresh to her sorrow. It made her feeble andhelpless. When placed upon the horse, she was scarcely able to maintainher seat. Already chilled by the cold, blinded by the drifting snow, andcut by the blast, all my remonstrances were needed to inspire her withresolution. 

I am not accustomed to regard the elements, or suffer them to retard ordivert me from any design that I have formed. I had overlooked the weakand delicate frame of my companion, and made no account of her beingless able to support cold and fatigue than myself. It was not till wehad made some progress in our way, that I began to view, in their truelight, the obstacles that were to be encountered. I conceived it, however, too late to retreat, and endeavoured to push on with speed. 

My companion was a skilful rider, but her steed was refractory andunmanageable. She was able, however, to curb his spirit till we hadproceeded ten or twelve miles from Malverton. The wind and the coldbecame too violent to be longer endured, and I resolved to stop at thefirst house which should present itself to my view, for the sake ofrefreshment and warmth. 

We now entered a wood of some extent, at the termination of which Iremembered that a dwelling stood. To pass this wood, therefore, withexpedition, was all that remained before we could reach a hospitableasylum. I endeavoured to sustain, by this information, the sinkingspirits of my companion. While busy in conversing with her, a blast ofirresistible force twisted off the highest branch of a tree before us. It fell in the midst of the road, at the distance of a few feet from herhorse's head. Terrified by this accident, the horse started from thepath, and, rushing into the wood, in a moment threw himself and hisrider on the ground, by encountering the rugged stock of an oak. 

I dismounted and flew to her succour. The snow was already dyed with theblood which flowed from some wound in her head, and she lay withoutsense or motion. My terrors did not hinder me from anxiously searchingfor the hurt which was received, and ascertaining the extent of theinjury. Her forehead was considerably bruised; but, to my unspeakablejoy, the blood flowed from the nostrils, and was, therefore, to beregarded as no mortal symptom. 

I lifted her in my arms, and looked around me for some means of relief. The house at which I proposed to stop was upwards of a mile distant. Iremembered none that was nearer. To place the wounded girl on my ownhorse, and proceed gently to the house in question, was the soleexpedient; but, at present, she was senseless, and might, on recovering, be too feeble to sustain her own weight. 

To recall her to life was my first duty; but I was powerless, orunacquainted with the means. I gazed upon her features, and endeavoured, by pressing her in my arms, to inspire her with some warmth. I lookedtowards the road, and listened for the wished-for sound of some carriagethat might be prevailed on to stop and receive her. Nothing was moreimprobable than that either pleasure or business would induce men toencounter so chilling and vehement a blast. To be lighted on by sometraveller was, therefore, a hopeless event. 

Meanwhile, Eliza's swoon continued, and my alarm increased. What effecther half-frozen blood would have in prolonging this condition, orpreventing her return to life, awakened the deepest apprehensions. Ileft the wood, still bearing her in my arms, and re-entered the road, from the desire of descrying, as soon as possible, the coming passenger. I looked this way and that, and again listened. Nothing but the sweepingblast, rent and fallen branches, and snow that filled and obscured theair, were perceivable. Each moment retarded the course of my own bloodand stiffened my sinews, and made the state of my companion moredesperate. How was I to act? To perish myself, or see her perish, was anignoble fate; courage and activity were still able to avert it. My horsestood near, docile and obsequious; to mount him and to proceed on myway, holding my lifeless burden in my arms, was all that remained. 

At this moment my attention was called by several voices issuing fromthe wood. It was the note of gayety and glee. Presently a sleigh, withseveral persons of both sexes, appeared, in a road which led through theforest into that in which I stood. They moved at a quick pace, but theirvoices were hushed, and they checked the speed of their horses, ondiscovering us. No occurrence was more auspicious than this; for Irelied with perfect confidence on the benevolence of these persons, and, as soon as they came near, claimed their assistance. 

My story was listened to with sympathy, and one of the young men, leaping from the sleigh, assisted me in placing Eliza in the place whichhe had left. A female, of sweet aspect and engaging manners, insistedupon turning back and hastening to the house, where it seems her fatherresided, and which the party had just left. I rode after the sleigh, which in a few minutes arrived at the house. The dwelling was spaciousand neat, and a venerable man and woman, alarmed by the quick return ofthe young people, came forth to know the cause. They received theirguest with the utmost tenderness, and provided her with all theaccommodations which her condition required. Their daughter relinquishedthe scheme of pleasure in which she had been engaged, and, compellingher companions to depart without her, remained to nurse and console thesick. 

A little time showed that no lasting injury had been suffered. Contusions, more troublesome than dangerous, and easily curable by suchapplications as rural and traditional wisdom has discovered, were theonly consequences of the fall. My mind, being relieved fromapprehensions on this score, had leisure to reflect upon the use whichmight be made of the present state of things. 

When I remarked the structure of this house, and the features anddeportment of its inhabitants, methought I discerned a powerfulresemblance between this family and Hadwin's. It seemed as if somebenignant power had led us hither as to the most suitable asylum thatcould be obtained; and, in order to supply to the forlorn Eliza theplace of those parents and that sister she had lost, I conceived that, if their concurrence could be gained, no abode was more suitable thanthis. No time was to be lost in gaining this concurrence. The curiosityof our host and hostess, whose name was Curling, speedily afforded me anopportunity to disclose the history and real situation of my friend. There were no motives to reserve or prevarication. There was nothingwhich I did not faithfully and circumstantially relate. I concluded withstating my wishes that they would admit my friend as a boarder intotheir house. 

The old man was warm in his concurrence. His wife betrayed somescruples; which, however, her husband's arguments and mine removed. Idid not even suppress the tenor and destruction of the will, and theantipathy which Eliza had conceived for her uncle, and which I declaredmyself unable to explain. It presently appeared that Mr. Curling hadsome knowledge of Philip Hadwin, and that the latter had acquired therepute of being obdurate and profligate. He employed all means toaccomplish his selfish ends, and would probably endeavour to usurp theproperty which his brother had left. To provide against his power andhis malice would be particularly incumbent on us, and my new friendreadily promised his assistance in the measures which we should take tothat end. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

The state of my feelings may be easily conceived to consist of mixed, but, on the whole, of agreeable, sensations. The death of Hadwin and hiselder daughter could not be thought upon without keen regrets. These itwas useless to indulge, and were outweighed by reflections on thepersonal security in which the survivor was now placed. It was hurtfulto expend my unprofitable cares upon the dead, while there existed oneto whom they could be of essential benefit, and in whose happiness theywould find an ample compensation. 

This happiness, however, was still incomplete. It was still exposed tohazard, and much remained to be done before adequate provision was madeagainst the worst of evils, poverty. I now found that Eliza, being onlyfifteen years old, stood in need of a guardian, and that the forms oflaw required that some one should make himself her father'sadministrator. Mr. Curling, being tolerably conversant with thesesubjects, pointed out the mode to be pursued, and engaged to act on thisoccasion as Eliza's friend. 

There was another topic on which my happiness, as well as that of myfriend, required us to form some decision. I formerly mentioned, that, during my abode at Malverton, I had not been insensible to theattractions of this girl. An affection had stolen upon me, for which itwas easily discovered that I should not have been denied a suitablereturn. My reasons for stifling these emotions, at that time, have beenmentioned. It may now be asked, what effect subsequent events hadproduced on my feelings, and how far partaking and relieving herdistresses had revived a passion which may readily be supposed to havebeen, at no time, entirely extinguished. 

The impediments which then existed were removed. Our union would nolonger risk the resentment or sorrow of her excellent parent. She had nolonger a sister to divide with her the property of the farm, and makewhat was sufficient for both, when living together, too little foreither separately. Her youth and simplicity required, beyond mostothers, a legal protector, and her happiness was involved in the successof those hopes which she took no pains to conceal. 

As to me, it seemed at first view as if every incident conspired todetermine my choice. Omitting all regard to the happiness of others, myown interest could not fail to recommend a scheme by which the preciousbenefits of competence and independence might be honestly obtained. Theexcursions of my fancy had sometimes carried me beyond the boundsprescribed by my situation, but they were, nevertheless, limited to thatfield to which I had once some prospect of acquiring a title. All Iwanted for the basis of my gaudiest and most dazzling structures was ahundred acres of plough-land and meadow. Here my spirit of improvement, my zeal to invent and apply new maxims of household luxury andconvenience, new modes and instruments of tillage, new arts connectedwith orchard, garden, and cornfield, were supplied with abundant scope. Though the want of these would not benumb my activity, or take awaycontent, the possession would confer exquisite and permanent enjoyments. 

My thoughts have ever hovered over the images of wife and children withmore delight than over any other images. My fancy was always active onthis theme, and its reveries sufficiently ecstatic and glowing; but, since my intercourse with this girl, my scattered visions were collectedand concentrated. I had now a form and features before me; a sweet andmelodious voice vibrated in my ear; my soul was filled, as it were, withher lineaments and gestures, actions and looks. All ideas, possessingany relation to beauty or sex, appeared to assume this shape. They keptan immovable place in my mind, they diffused around them an ineffablecomplacency. Love is merely of value as a prelude to a more tender, intimate, and sacred union. Was I not in love? and did I not pant afterthe irrevocable bounds, the boundless privileges, of wedlock?

The question which others might ask, I have asked myself:--Was I not inlove? I am really at a loss for an answer. There seemed to beirresistible weight in the reasons why I should refuse to marry, andeven forbear to foster love in my friend. I considered my youth, mydefective education, and my limited views. I had passed from my cottageinto the world. I had acquired, even in my transient sojourn among thebusy haunts of men, more knowledge than the lucubrations and employmentsof all my previous years had conferred. Hence I might infer thechildlike immaturity of my understanding, and the rapid progress I wasstill capable of making. Was this an age to form an irrevocablecontract; to choose the companion of my future life, the associate of myschemes of intellectual and benevolent activity?

I had reason to contemn my own acquisitions; but were not those of Elizastill more slender? Could I rely upon the permanence of her equanimityand her docility to my instructions? What qualities might not timeunfold, and how little was I qualified to estimate the character of onewhom no vicissitude or hardship had approached before the death of herfather, --whose ignorance was, indeed, great, when it could justly besaid even to exceed my own!

Should I mix with the world, enroll myself in different classes ofsociety, be a witness to new scenes; might not my modes of judgingundergo essential variations? Might I not gain the knowledge of beingswhose virtue was the gift of experience and the growth of knowledge? whojoined to the modesty and charms of woman the benefits of education, thematurity and steadfastness of age, and with whose character andsentiments my own would be much more congenial than they could possiblybe with the extreme youth, rustic simplicity, and mental imperfectionsof Eliza Hadwin?

To say truth, I was now conscious of a revolution in my mind. I canscarcely assign its true cause. No tokens of it appeared during my lateretreat to Malverton. Subsequent incidents, perhaps, joined with theinfluence of meditation, had generated new views. On my first visit tothe city, I had met with nothing but scenes of folly, depravity, andcunning. No wonder that the images connected with the city weredisastrous and gloomy; but my second visit produced somewhat differentimpressions. Maravegli, Estwick, Medlicote, and you, were beings whoinspired veneration and love. Your residence appeared to beautify andconsecrate this spot, and gave birth to an opinion that, if cities arethe chosen seats of misery and vice, they are likewise the soil of allthe laudable and strenuous productions of mind. 

My curiosity and thirst of knowledge had likewise received a newdirection. Books and inanimate nature were cold and lifelessinstructors. Men, and the works of men, were the objects of rationalstudy, and our own eyes only could communicate just conceptions of humanperformances. The influence of manners, professions, and socialinstitutions, could be thoroughly known only by direct inspection. 

Competence, fixed property and a settled abode, rural occupations andconjugal pleasures, were justly to be prized; but their value could beknown and their benefits fully enjoyed only by those who have tried allscenes; who have mixed with all classes and ranks; who have partaken ofall conditions; and who have visited different hemispheres and climatesand nations. The next five or eight years of my life should be devotedto activity and change; it should be a period of hardship, danger, andprivation; it should be my apprenticeship to fortitude and wisdom, andbe employed to fit me for the tranquil pleasures and steadfast exertionsof the remainder of my life. 

In consequence of these reflections, I determined to suppress thattenderness which the company of Miss Hadwin produced, to remove anymistakes into which she had fallen, and to put it out of my power toclaim for her more than the dues of friendship. All ambiguities, in acase like this, and all delays, were hurtful. She was not exempt frompassion, but this passion, I thought, was young, and easilyextinguished. 

In a short time her health was restored, and her grief melted down intoa tender melancholy. I chose a suitable moment, when not embarrassed bythe presence of others, to reveal my thoughts. My disclosure wasingenuous and perfect. I laid before her the whole train of my thoughts, nearly in the order, though in different and more copious terms thanthose, in which I have just explained them to you. I concealed nothing. The impression which her artless loveliness had made upon me atMalverton; my motives for estranging myself from her society; the natureof my present feelings with regard to her, and my belief of the state ofher heart; the reasonings into which I had entered; the advantages ofwedlock and its inconveniences; and, finally, the resolution I hadformed of seeking the city, and, perhaps, of crossing the ocean, wereminutely detailed. 

She interrupted me not, but changing looks, blushes, flutterings, andsighs, showed her to be deeply and variously affected by my discourse. Ipaused for some observation or comment. She seemed conscious of myexpectation, but had no power to speak. Overpowered, at length, by heremotions, she burst into tears. 

I was at a loss in what manner to construe these symptoms. I waited tillher vehemence was somewhat subsided, and then said, "What think you ofmy schemes? Your approbation is of some moment: do you approve of themor not?"

This question excited some little resentment, and she answered, "Youhave left me nothing to say. Go, and be happy; no matter what becomes ofme. I hope I shall be able to take care of myself. "

The tone in which this was said had something in it of upbraiding. "Yourhappiness, " said I, "is too dear to me to leave it in danger. In thishouse you will not need my protection, but I shall never be so far fromyou as to be disabled from hearing how you fare, by letter, and of beingactive for your good. You have some money, which you must husband well. Any rent from your farm cannot be soon expected; but what you have got, if you remain with Mr. Curling, will pay your board and all otherexpenses for two years; but you must be a good economist. I shallexpect, " continued I, with a serious smile, "a punctual account of allyour sayings and doings. I must know how every minute is employed andevery penny is expended, and, if I find you erring, I must tell you soin good round terms. "

These words did not dissipate the sullenness which her looks hadbetrayed. She still forbore to look at me, and said, "I do not know howI should tell you every thing. You care so little about me that--Ishould only be troublesome. I am old enough to think and act for myself, and shall advise with nobody but myself. "

"That is true, " said I. "I shall rejoice to see you independent andfree. Consult your own understanding, and act according to its dictates. Nothing more is wanting to make you useful and happy. I am anxious toreturn to the city, but, if you will allow me, will go first toMalverton, see that things are in due order, and that old Caleb is well. From thence, if you please, I will call at your uncle's, and tell himwhat has happened. He may, otherwise, entertain pretensions and formviews erroneous in themselves and injurious to you. He may think himselfentitled to manage your estate. He may either suppose a will to havebeen made, or may actually have heard from your father, or from others, of that which you burnt, and in which he was named executor. Hisboisterous and sordid temper may prompt him to seize your house andgoods, unless seasonably apprized of the truth; and, when he knows thetruth, he may start into rage, which I shall be more fitted to encounterthan you. I am told that anger transforms him into a ferocious madman. Shall I call upon him?"

She shuddered at the picture which I had drawn of her uncle's character;but this emotion quickly gave place to self-upbraiding for the manner inwhich she had repelled my proffers of service. She melted once more intotears, and exclaimed, --

"I am not worthy of the pains you take for me. I am unfeeling andungrateful. Why should I think ill of you for despising me, when Idespise myself?"

"You do yourself injustice, my friend. I think I see your most secretthoughts; and these, instead of exciting anger or contempt, only awakencompassion and tenderness. You love; and must, therefore, conceive myconduct to be perverse and cruel. I counted on your harbouring suchthoughts. Time only and reflection will enable you to see my motives intheir true light. Hereafter you will recollect my words, and find themsufficient to justify my conduct. You will acknowledge the propriety ofmy engaging in the cares of the world before I sit down in retirementand ease. "

"Ah! how much you mistake me! I admire and approve of your schemes. Whatangers and distresses me is, that you think me unworthy to partake ofyour cares and labours; that you regard my company as an obstacle andencumbrance; that assistance and counsel must all proceed from you; andthat no scene is fit for me, but what you regard as slothful andinglorious. 

"Have I not the same claims to be wise, and active, and courageous, asyou? If I am ignorant and weak, do I not owe it to the same cause thathas made you so? and will not the same means which promote yourimprovement be likewise useful to me? You desire to obtain knowledge, bytravelling and conversing with many persons, and studying many sciences;but you desire it for yourself alone. Me you think poor, weak, andcontemptible; fit for nothing but to spin and churn. Provided I exist, am screened from the weather, have enough to eat and drink, you aresatisfied. As to strengthening my mind and enlarging my knowledge, thesethings are valuable to you, but on me they are thrown away. I deservenot the gift. "

This strain, simple and just as it was, was wholly unexpected. I wassurprised and disconcerted. In my previous reasonings I had certainlyconsidered her sex as utterly unfitting her for those scenes andpursuits to which I had destined myself. Not a doubt of the validity ofmy conclusion had insinuated itself; but now my belief was shaken, though it was not subverted. I could not deny that human ignorance wascurable by the same means in one sex as in the other; that fortitudeand skill were of no less value to one than to the other. 

Questionless, my friend was rendered, by her age and inexperience, ifnot by sex, more helpless and dependent than I; but had I not been proneto overrate the difficulties which I should encounter? Had I not deemedunjustly of her constancy and force of mind? Marriage would render herproperty joint, and would not compel me to take up my abode in thewoods, to abide forever in one spot, to shackle my curiosity, or limitmy excursions. 

But marriage was a contract awful and irrevocable. Was this the womanwith whom my reason enjoined me to blend my fate, without the power ofdissolution? Would not time unfold qualities in her which I did not atpresent suspect, and which would evince an incurable difference in ourminds? Would not time lead me to the feet of one who more nearlyapproached that standard of ideal excellence which poets and romancershad exhibited to my view?

These considerations were powerful and delicate. I knew not in whatterms to state them to my companion, so as to preclude the imputation ofarrogance or indecorum. It became me, however, to be explicit, and toexcite her resentment rather than mislead her judgment. She collected mymeaning from a few words, and, interrupting me, said, --

"How very low is the poor Eliza in your opinion! We are, indeed, bothtoo young to be married. May I not see you, and talk with you, withoutbeing your wife? May I not share your knowledge, relieve your cares, andenjoy your confidence, as a sister might do? May I not accompany you inyour journeys and studies, as one friend accompanies another? Myproperty may be yours; you may employ it for your benefit and mine; notbecause you are my husband, but my friend. You are going to the city. Let me go along with you. Let me live where you live. The house that islarge enough to hold you will hold me. The fare that is good enough foryou will be luxury to me. Oh! let it be so, will you?

"You cannot think how studious, how thoughtful, how inquisitive, I willbe. How tenderly I will nurse you when sick! it is possible you may besick, you know, and, no one in the world will be half so watchful andaffectionate as I shall be. Will you let me?"

In saying this, her earnestness gave new pathos to her voice. Insensiblyshe put her face close to mine, and, transported beyond the usual boundsof reserve by the charms of that picture which her fancy contemplated, she put her lips to my cheek, and repeated, in a melting accent, "Willyou let me?"

You, my friends, who have not seen Eliza Hadwin, cannot conceive whateffect this entreaty was adapted to produce in me. She has surely thesweetest voice, the most speaking features, and most delicate symmetry, that ever woman possessed. Her guileless simplicity and tenderness madeher more enchanting. To be the object of devotion to a heart so ferventand pure was, surely, no common privilege. Thus did she tender meherself; and was not the gift to be received with eagerness andgratitude?

No. I was not so much a stranger to mankind as to acquiesce in thisscheme. As my sister or my wife, the world would suffer us to resideunder the same roof; to apply to common use the same property; and dailyto enjoy the company of each other; but she was not my sister, andmarriage would be an act of the grossest indiscretion. I explained toher, in few words, the objections to which her project was liable. 

"Well, then, " said she, "let me live in the next house, in theneighbourhood, or, at least, in the same city. Let me be where I may seeyou once a day, or once a week, or once a month. Shut me not wholly fromyour society, and the means of becoming, in time, less ignorant andfoolish than I now am. "

After a pause, I replied, "I love you too well not to comply with thisrequest. Perhaps the city will be as suitable a residence as any otherfor you, as it will, for some time, be most convenient to me. I shall bebetter able to watch over your welfare, and supply you with the means ofimprovement, when you are within a small distance. At present, you mustconsent to remain here, while I visit your uncle, and afterwards go tothe city. I shall look out for you a suitable lodging, and inform youwhen it is found. If you then continue in the same mind, I will come, and, having gained the approbation of Mr. Curling, will conduct you totown. " Here ended our dialogue. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Though I had consented to this scheme, I was conscious that some hazardsattended it. I was afraid of calumny, which might trouble the peace ordestroy the reputation of my friend. I was afraid of my own weakness, which might be seduced into an indiscreet marriage by the charms orsufferings of this bewitching creature. I felt that there was no pricetoo dear to save her from slander. A fair fame is of the highestimportance to a young female, and the loss of it but poorly supplied bythe testimony of her own conscience. I had reason for tenfold solicitudeon this account, since I was her only protector and friend. Hence, Icherished some hopes that time might change her views, and suggest lessdangerous schemes. Meanwhile, I was to lose no time in visitingMalverton and Philip Hadwin. 

About ten days had elapsed since we had deserted Malverton. These weredays of successive storms, and travelling had been renderedinconvenient. The weather was now calm and clear, and, early in themorning that ensued the dialogue which I have just related, I set out onhorseback. 

Honest Caleb was found eating his breakfast nearly in the spot where hehad been first discovered. He answered my inquiries by saying, that, twodays after our departure, several men had come to the house, one of whomwas Philip Hadwin. They had interrogated him as to the condition of thefarm, and the purpose of his remaining on it. William Hadwin they knewto have been some time dead; but where were the girls, his daughters?

Caleb answered that Susy, the eldest, was likewise dead. 

These tidings excited astonishment. When died she, and how, and wherewas she buried?

It happened two days before, and she was buried, he believed, but couldnot tell where. 

Not tell where? By whom, then, was she buried?

Really, he could not tell. Some strange man came there just as she wasdying. He went to the room, and, when she was dead, took her away, butwhat he did with the body was more than he could say, but he had anotion that he buried it. The man stayed till the morning, and then wentoff with Lizzy, leaving him to keep house by himself. He had not seeneither of them, nor, indeed, a single soul since. 

This was all the information that Caleb could afford the visitants. Itwas so lame and incredible that they began to charge the man withfalsehood, and to threaten him with legal animadversion. Just then Mr. Ellis entered the house, and, being made acquainted with the subject ofdiscourse, told all that he himself knew. He related the midnight visitwhich I had paid him, explained my former situation in the family, andmy disappearance in September. He stated the advice he had given me tocarry Eliza to her uncle's, and my promise to comply with his counsel. The uncle declared he had seen nothing of his niece, and Caleb added, that, when she set out, she took the road that led to town. 

These hints afforded grounds for much conjecture and suspicion. Ellisnow mentioned some intelligence that he had gathered respecting me in alate journey to ----. It seems I was the son of an honest farmer in thatquarter, who married a tidy girl of a milkmaid that lived with him. Myfather had detected me in making some atrocious advances to mymother-in-law, and had turned me out of doors. I did not go off, however, without rifling his drawer of some hundreds of dollars, whichhe had laid up against a rainy day. I was noted for such pranks, and washated by all the neighbours for my pride and laziness. It was easy, bycomparison of circumstances, for Ellis to ascertain that Hadwin'sservant Mervyn was the same against whom such heavy charges were laid. 

Previously to this journey, he had heard of me from Hadwin, who was loudin praise of my diligence, sobriety, and modesty. For his part, he hadalways been cautious of giving countenance to vagrants that came fromnobody knew where, and worked their way with a plausible tongue. He wasnot surprised to hear it whispered that Betsy Hadwin had fallen in lovewith the youth, and now, no doubt, he had persuaded her to run away withhim. The heiress of a fine farm was a prize not to be met with everyday. 

Philip broke into rage at this news; swore that if it turned out so, hisniece should starve upon the town, and that he would take good care tobalk the lad. His brother he well knew had left a will, to which he wasexecutor, and that this will would in good time be forthcoming. Aftermuch talk and ransacking the house, and swearing at his truant niece, heand his company departed, charging Caleb to keep the house and itscontents for his use. This was all that Caleb's memory had retained ofthat day's proceedings. 

Curling had lately commented on the character of Philip Hadwin. This manwas totally unlike his brother, was a noted brawler and bully, a tyrantto his children, a plague to his neighbours, and kept a rendezvous fordrunkards and idlers, at the sign of the Bull's Head, at ----. He wasnot destitute of parts, and was no less dreaded for cunning thanmalignity. He was covetous, and never missed an opportunity ofoverreaching his neighbour. There was no doubt that his niece's propertywould be embezzled should it ever come into his hands, and any powerwhich he might obtain over her person would be exercised to herdestruction. His children were tainted with the dissoluteness of theirfather, and marriage had not repaired the reputation of his daughters, or cured them of depravity: this was the man whom I now proposed tovisit. 

I scarcely need to say that the calumny of Betty Lawrence gave me nouneasiness. My father had no doubt been deceived, as well as my father'sneighbours, by the artifices of this woman. I passed among them for athief and a profligate, but their error had hitherto been harmless tome. The time might come which should confute the tale without myefforts. Betty, sooner or later, would drop her mask, and afford theantidote to her own poisons, unless some new incident should occur tomake me hasten the catastrophe. 

I arrived at Hadwin's house. I was received with some attention as aguest. I looked, among the pimpled visages that filled the piazza, forthat of the landlord, but found him in an inner apartment with two orthree more seated round a table. On intimating my wish to speak with himalone, the others withdrew. 

Hadwin's visage had some traces of resemblance to his brother; but themeek, placid air, pale cheeks, and slender form of the latter werepowerfully contrasted with the bloated arrogance, imperious brow, androbust limbs of the former. This man's rage was awakened by a straw; itimpelled him in an instant to oaths and buffetings, and made his life aneternal brawl. The sooner my interview with such a personage should beat an end, the better. I therefore explained the purpose of my coming asfully and in as few words as possible. 

"Your name, sir, is Philip Hadwin. Your brother William, of Malverton, died lately and left two daughters. The youngest only is now alive, andI come, commissioned from her, to inform you that, as no will of herfather's is extant, she is preparing to administer to his estate. As herfather's brother, she thought you entitled to this information. "

The change which took place in the countenance of this man, during thisaddress, was remarkable, but not easily described. His cheeks contracteda deeper crimson, his eyes sparkled, and his face assumed an expressionin which curiosity was mingled with rage. He bent forward, and said, ina hoarse and contemptuous tone, "Pray, is your name Mervyn?"

I answered, without hesitation, and as if the question were whollyunimportant, "Yes; my name is Mervyn. "

"God damn it! You then are the damned rascal"--(but permit me to repeathis speech without the oaths with which it was plentifully interlarded. Not three words were uttered without being garnished with a--"God damnit!" "damnation!" "I'll be damned to hell if"--and the like energeticexpletives. ) "You then are the rascal that robbed Billy's house; thatran away with the fool his daughter; persuaded her to burn her father'swill, and have the hellish impudence to come into this house! But Ithank you for it. I was going to look for you; you've saved me trouble. I'll settle all accounts with you here. Fair and softly, my good lad! IfI don't bring you to the gallows--If I let you escape without such adressing! Damned impudence! Fellow! I've been at Malverton. I've heardof your tricks. So! finding the will not quite to your mind, knowingthat the executor would balk your schemes, you threw the will into thefire; you robbed the house of all the cash, and made off with thegirl!--The old fellow saw it all, and will swear to the truth. "

These words created some surprise. I meant not to conceal from this manthe tenor and destruction of the will, nor even the measures which hisniece had taken or intended to take. What I supposed to be unknown tohim appeared to have been communicated by the talkative Caleb, whosemind was more inquisitive and less sluggish than first appearances hadled me to imagine. Instead of moping by the kitchen-fire when Eliza andI were conversing in an upper room, it now appeared that he hadreconnoitred our proceedings through some keyhole or crevice, and hadrelated what he had seen to Hadwin. 

Hadwin proceeded to exhaust his rage in oaths and menaces. He frequentlyclenched his fist and thrust it in my face, drew it back as if to renderhis blow more deadly; ran over the same series of exclamations on myimpudence and villany, and talked of the gallows and the whipping-post;enforced each word by the epithets _damnable_ and _hellish_; closed eachsentence with--"and be curst to you!"

There was but one mode for me to pursue; all forcible opposition to aman of his strength was absurd. It was my province to make his angerconfine itself to words, and patiently to wait till the paroxysm shouldend or subside of itself. To effect this purpose, I kept my seat, andcarefully excluded from my countenance every indication of timidity andpanic on the one hand, and of scorn and defiance on the other. My lookand attitude were those of a man who expected harsh words, but whoentertained no suspicion that blows would be inflicted. 

I was indebted for my safety to an inflexible adherence to this medium. To have strayed, for a moment, to either side, would have brought uponme his blows. That he did not instantly resort to violence inspired mewith courage, since it depended on myself whether food should besupplied to his passion. Rage must either progress or decline; and, since it was in total want of provocation, it could not fail ofgradually subsiding. 

My demeanour was calculated to damp the flame, not only by its directinfluence, but by diverting his attention from the wrongs which he hadreceived, to the novelty of my behaviour. The disparity in size andstrength between us was too evident to make him believe that I confidedin my sinews for my defence; and, since I betrayed neither contempt norfear, he could not but conclude that I trusted to my own integrity or tohis moderation. I seized the first pause in his rhetoric to enforce thissentiment. 

"You are angry, Mr. Hadwin, and are loud in your threats; but they donot frighten me. They excite no apprehension or alarm, because I knowmyself able to convince you that I have not injured you. This is an inn, and I am your guest. I am sure I shall find better entertainment thanblows. Come, " continued I, smiling, "it is possible that I am not somischievous a wretch as your fancy paints me. I have no claims upon yourniece but that of friendship, and she is now in the house of an honestman, Mr. Curling, where she proposes to continue as long as isconvenient. 

"It is true that your brother left a will, which his daughter burnt inmy presence, because she dreaded the authority which that will gave you, not only over her property, but person. It is true that on leaving thehouse she took away the money which was now her own, and which wasnecessary to subsistence. It is true that I bore her company, and haveleft her in an honest man's keeping. I am answerable for nothing more. As to you, I meant not to injure you; I advised not the burning of thewill. I was a stranger, till after that event, to your character. I knewneither good nor ill of you. I came to tell you all this, because, asEliza's uncle, you had a right to the information. "

"So! you come to tell me that she burnt the will, and is going toadminister--to what, I beseech you? To her father's property? Ay, Iwarrant you. But take this along with you:--that property is mine; land, house, stock, every thing. All is safe and snug under cover of amortgage, to which Billy was kind enough to add a bond. One was sued, and the other _entered up_, a week ago. So that all is safe under mythumb, and the girl may whistle or starve for me. I shall give myself noconcern about the strumpet. You thought to get a prize; but, damn me, you've met with your match in me. Phil Haddin's not so easily choused, Ipromise you. I intended to give you this news, and a drubbing into thebargain; but you may go, and make haste. She burnt the will, did she, because I was named in it, --and sent you to tell me so? Good souls! Itwas kind of you, and I am bound to be thankful. Take her back news ofthe mortgage; and, as for you, leave my house. You may go scot-free thistime; but I pledge my word for a sound beating when you next enter thesedoors. I'll pay it to you with interest. Leave my house, I say!"

"A mortgage, " said I, in a low voice, and affecting not to hear hiscommands; "that will be sad news for my friend. Why, sir, you are afortunate man. Malverton is an excellent spot; well watered and manured;newly and completely fenced; not a larger barn in the county; oxen andhorses and cows in the best order; I never set eyes on a finer orchard. By my faith, sir, you are a fortunate man. But, pray, what have you fordinner? I am hungry as a wolf. Order me a beef-steak, and some potationor other. The bottle there, --it is cider, I take it; pray, push it tothis side. " Saying this, I stretched out my hand towards the bottlewhich stood before him. 

I confided in the power of a fearless and sedate manner. Methoughtthat, as anger was the food of anger, it must unavoidably subside in acontest with equability. This opinion was intuitive, rather than theproduct of experience, and perhaps I gave no proof of my sagacity inhazarding my safety on its truth. Hadwin's character made him dreadedand obeyed by all. He had been accustomed to ready and tremuloussubmission from men far more brawny and robust than I was, and to findhis most vehement menaces and gestures totally ineffectual on a being soslender and diminutive at once wound up his rage and excited hisastonishment. One motion counteracted and suspended the other. He liftedhis hand, but delayed to strike. One blow, applied with his usualdexterity, was sufficient to destroy me. Though seemingly careless, Iwas watchful of his motions, and prepared to elude the stroke byshrinking or stooping. Meanwhile, I stretched my hand far enough toseize the bottle, and, pouring its contents into a tumbler, put it to mylips:--

"Come, sir, I drink your health, and wish you speedy possession ofMalverton. I have some interest with Eliza, and will prevail on her toforbear all opposition and complaint. Why should she complain? While Ilive, she shall not be a beggar. No doubt your claim is legal, andtherefore ought to be admitted. What the law gave, the law has takenaway. Blessed be the dispensers of law! Excellent cider! open anotherbottle, will you, and, I beseech, hasten dinner, if you would not see medevour the table. "

It was just, perhaps, to conjure up the demon avarice to fight with thedemon anger. Reason alone would, in such a contest, be powerless, but, in truth, I spoke without artifice or disguise. If his claim were legal, opposition would be absurd and pernicious. I meant not to rely upon hisown assertions, and would not acknowledge the validity of his claim tillI had inspected the deed. Having instituted suits, this was now in apublic office, and there the inspection should be made. Meanwhile, noreason could be urged why I should part from him in anger, while hiskindred to Eliza, and his title to her property, made it useful tosecure his favour. It was possible to obtain a remission of his claims, even when the law enforced them; it would be imprudent at least todiminish the chances of remission by fostering his wrath and provokinghis enmity. 

"What!" he exclaimed, in a transport of fury, "a'n't I master of my ownhouse? Out, I say!"

These were harsh terms, but they were not accompanied by gestures andtones so menacing as those which had before been used. It was plain thatthe tide, which so lately threatened my destruction, had begun torecede. This encouraged me to persist. 

"Be not alarmed, my good friend, " said I, placidly and smiling. "A manof your bone need not fear a pigmy like me. I shall scarcely be able todethrone you in your own castle, with an army of hostlers, tapsters, andcooks at your beck. You shall still be master here, provided you useyour influence to procure me a dinner. "

His acquiescence in a pacific system was extremely reluctant andgradual. He laid aside one sullen tone and wrathful look after theother; and, at length, consented not only to supply me with a dinner, but to partake of it with me. Nothing was more a topic of surprise tohimself than his forbearance. He knew not how it was. He had never beentreated so before. He was not proof against entreaty and submission; butI had neither supplicated nor submitted. The stuff that I was made ofwas at once damnably tough and devilishly pliant. When he thought of myimpudence, in staying in his house after he had bade me leave it, he wastempted to resume his passion. When he reflected on my courage, inmaking light of his anger, notwithstanding his known impetuosity and mypersonal inferiority, he could not withhold his esteem. But my patienceunder his rebukes, my unalterable equanimity, and my ready consent tothe validity of his claims, soothed and propitiated him. 

An exemption from blows and abuse was all that I could gain from thisman. I told him the truth, with regard to my own history, so far as itwas connected with the Hadwins. I exhibited, in affecting colours, thehelpless condition of Eliza; but could extort from him nothing but hisconsent that, if she chose, she might come and live with him. He wouldgive her victuals and clothes for so much house-work as she was able todo. If she chose to live elsewhere, he promised not to molest her, orintermeddle in her concerns. The house and land were his by law, and hewould have them. 

It was not my province to revile or expostulate with him. I stated whatmeasures would be adopted by a man who regarded the interest of othersmore than his own; who was anxious for the welfare of an innocent girl, connected with him so closely by the ties of kindred, and who wasdestitute of what is called natural friends. If he did not cancel, forher sake, his bond and mortgage, he would, at least, afford her a frugalmaintenance. He would extend to her, in all emergencies, his counsel andprotection. 

All that, he said, was sheer nonsense. He could not sufficiently wonderat my folly, in proposing to him to make a free gift of a hundred richacres, to a girl too who scarcely knew her right hand from her left;whom the first cunning young rogue like myself would _chouse_ out of thewhole, and take herself into the bargain. But my folly was evensurpassed by my impudence, since, as the _friend_ of this girl, I wasmerely petitioning on my own account. I had come to him, whom I neversaw before, on whom I had no claim, and who, as I well knew, had reasonto think me a sharper, and modestly said, "Here's a girl who has nofortune. I am greatly in want of one. Pray, give her such an estate thatyou have in your possession. If you do, I'll marry her, and take it intomy own hands. " I might be thankful that he did not answer such apetition with a horse-whipping. But if he did not give her his estate, he might extend to her, forsooth, his counsel and protection. "That I'veoffered to do, " continued he. "She may come and live in my house, if shewill. She may do some of the family work. I'll discharge the chambermaidto make room for her. Lizzy, if I remember right, has a pretty face. Shecan't have a better market for it than as chambermaid to an inn. If sheminds her p's and q's she may make up a handsome sum at the year's end. "

I thought it time to break off the conference; and, my dinner beingfinished, took my leave, leaving behind me the character of _a queersort of chap_. I speeded to the prothonotary's office, which was kept inthe village, and quickly ascertained the truth of Hadwin's pretensions. There existed a mortgage, with bond and warrant of attorney, to so greatan amount as would swallow up every thing at Malverton. Furnished withthese tidings, I prepared, with a drooping heart, to return to Mr. Curling's. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

This incident necessarily produced a change in my views with regard tomy friend. Her fortune consisted of a few hundreds of dollars, which, frugally administered, might procure decent accommodation in thecountry. When this was consumed, she must find subsistence in tendingthe big wheel or the milk-pail, unless fortune should enable me to placeher in a more favourable situation. This state was, in some respects, but little different from that in which she had spent the former part ofher life; but, in her father's house, these employments were dignifiedby being, in some degree, voluntary, and relieved by frequent intervalsof recreation and leisure. Now they were likely to prove irksome andservile, in consequence of being performed for hire and imposed bynecessity. Equality, parental solicitudes, and sisterly endearments, would be wanting to lighten the yoke. 

These inconveniences, however, were imaginary. This was the school inwhich fortitude and independence were to be learned. Habit, and thepurity of rural manners, would, likewise, create anew those ties whichdeath had dissolved. The affections of parent and sister would besupplied by the fonder and more rational attachments of friendship. These toils were not detrimental to beauty or health. What was to bedreaded from them was their tendency to quench the spirit of liberalcuriosity; to habituate the person to bodily, rather than intellectual, exertions; to supersede and create indifference or aversion to the onlyinstruments of rational improvement, the pen and the book. 

This evil, however, was at some distance from Eliza. Her present abodewas quiet and serene. Here she might enjoy domestic pleasures andopportunities of mental improvement for the coming twelvemonth at least. This period would, perhaps, be sufficient for the formation of studioushabits. What schemes should be adopted for this end would be determinedby the destiny to which I myself should be reserved. 

My path was already chalked out, and my fancy now pursued it withuncommon pleasure. To reside in your family; to study your profession;to pursue some subordinate or casual mode of industry, by which I mightpurchase leisure for medical pursuits, for social recreations, and forthe study of mankind on your busy and thronged stage, was the scope ofmy wishes. This destiny would not hinder punctual correspondence andoccasional visits to Eliza. Her pen might be called into action, and hermind be awakened by books, and every hour be made to add to her storesof knowledge and enlarge the bounds of her capacity. 

I was spiritless and gloomy when I left ----; but reflections on myfuture lot, and just views of the situation of my friend, insensiblyrestored my cheerfulness. I arrived at Mr. Curling's in the evening, andhastened to impart to Eliza the issue of my commission. It gave heruneasiness, merely as it frustrated the design, on which she had fondlymused, of residing in the city. She was somewhat consoled by my promisesof being her constant correspondent and occasional visitor. 

Next morning I set out on my journey hither, on foot. The way was notlong; the weather, though cold, was wholesome and serene. My spiritswere high, and I saw nothing in the world before me but sunshine andprosperity. I was conscious that my happiness depended not on therevolutions of nature or the caprice of man. All without was, indeed, vicissitude and uncertainty; but within my bosom was a centre not to beshaken or removed. My purposes were honest and steadfast. Every sensewas the inlet of pleasure, because it was the avenue of knowledge; andmy soul brooded over the world to ideas, and glowed with exultation atthe grandeur and beauty of its own creations. 

This felicity was too rapturous to be of long duration. I graduallydescended from these heights; and the remembrance of past incidents, connected with the images of your family, to which I was returning, ledmy thoughts into a different channel. Welbeck and the unhappy girl whomhe had betrayed; Mrs. Villars and Wallace, were recollected anew. Theviews which I had formed, for determining the fate and affordingassistance to Clemenza, were recalled. My former resolutions with regardto her had been suspended by the uncertainty in which the fate of theHadwins was, at that time, wrapped. Had it not become necessary whollyto lay aside these resolutions?

That, indeed, was an irksome conclusion. No wonder that I struggled torepel it; that I fostered the doubt whether money was the onlyinstrument of benefit; whether caution, and fortitude, and knowledge, were not the genuine preservatives from evil. Had I not the means in myhands of dispelling her fatal ignorance of Welbeck and of those withwhom she resided? Was I not authorized, by my previous though slenderintercourse, to seek her presence?

Suppose I should enter Mrs. Villars's house, desire to be introduced tothe lady, accost her with affectionate simplicity, and tell her thetruth? Why be anxious to smooth the way? why deal in apologies, circuities, and innuendoes? All these are feeble and perverserefinements, unworthy of an honest purpose and an erect spirit. Tobelieve her inaccessible to my visit was absurd. To wait for thepermission of those whose interest it might be to shut out visitants wascowardice. This was an infringement of her liberty which equity and lawequally condemned. By what right could she be restrained fromintercourse with others? Doors and passages may be between her and me. With a purpose such as mine, no one had a right to close the one orobstruct the other. Away with cowardly reluctances and clownishscruples, and let me hasten this moment to her dwelling. 

Mrs. Villars is the portress of the mansion. She will probably presentherself before me, and demand the reason of my visit. What shall I sayto her? The truth. To falter, or equivocate, or dissemble to this womanwould be wicked. Perhaps her character has been misunderstood andmaligned. Can I render her a greater service than to apprize her of theaspersions that have rested on it, and afford her the opportunity ofvindication? Perhaps she is indeed selfish and profligate; the betrayerof youth and the agent of lasciviousness. Does she not deserve to knowthe extent of her errors and the ignominy of her trade? Does she notmerit the compassion of the good and the rebukes of the wise? To shrinkfrom the task would prove me cowardly and unfirm. Thus far, at least, let my courage extend. 

Alas! Clemenza is unacquainted with my language. My thoughts cannot makethemselves apparent but by words, and to my words she will be able toaffix no meaning. Yet is not that a hasty decision? The version from thedramas of Zeno which I found in her toilet was probably hers, and provesher to have a speculative knowledge of our tongue. Near half a year hassince elapsed, during which she has dwelt with talkers of English, andconsequently could not fail to have acquired it. This conclusion issomewhat dubious, but experiment will give it certainty. 

Hitherto I had strolled along the path at a lingering pace. Time enough, methought, to reach your threshold between sunrise and moonlight, if myway had been three times longer than it was. You were the pleasingphantom that hovered before me and beckoned me forward. What a totalrevolution had occurred in the course of a few seconds! for thus longdid my reasonings with regard to Clemenza and the Villars require topass through my understanding, and escape, in half-muttered soliloquy, from my lips. My muscles trembled with eagerness, and I bounded forwardwith impetuosity. I saw nothing but a vista of catalpas, leafless, loaded with icicles, and terminating in four chimneys and a paintedroof. My fancy outstripped my footsteps, and was busy in picturing facesand rehearsing dialogues. Presently I reached this new object of mypursuit, darted through the avenue, noticed that some windows of thehouse were unclosed, drew thence a hasty inference that the house wasnot without inhabitants, and knocked, quickly and loudly, for admission. 

Some one within crept to the door, opened it with seeming caution, andjust far enough to allow the face to be seen. It was the timid, pale, and unwashed face of a girl who was readily supposed to be a servant, taken from a cottage, and turned into a bringer of wood and water and ascourer of tubs and trenches. She waited in timorous silence thedelivery of my message. Was Mrs. Villars at home?

"No; she has gone to town. "

Were any of her daughters within?

She could not tell; she believed--she thought--which did I want? MissHetty or Miss Sally?

"Let me see Miss Hetty. " Saying this, I pushed gently against the door. The girl, half reluctant, yielded way; I entered the passage, and, putting my hand on the lock of a door that seemed to lead into aparlour, --"Is Miss Hetty in this room?"

No; there was nobody there. 

"Go call her, then. Tell her there is one who wishes to see her onimportant business. I will wait for her coming in this room. " So saying, I opened the door, and entered the apartment, while the girl withdrew toperform my message. 

The parlour was spacious and expensively furnished, but an air ofnegligence and disorder was everywhere visible. The carpet was wrinkledand unswept; a clock on the table, in a glass frame, so streaked andspotted with dust as scarcely to be transparent, and the indexmotionless, and pointing at four instead of nine; embers scattered onthe marble hearth, and tongs lying on the fender with the handle in theashes; a harpsichord, uncovered, one end loaded with _scores_, tumbledtogether in a heap, and the other with volumes of novels and plays, someon their edges, some on their backs, gaping open by the scorching oftheir covers; rent; blurred; stained; blotted; dog-eared; tables awry;chairs crowding each other; in short, no object but indicated theneglect or the ignorance of domestic neatness and economy. 

My leisure was employed in surveying these objects, and in listeningfor the approach of Miss Hetty. Some minutes elapsed, and no one came. Areason for delay was easily imagined, and I summoned patience to wait. Iopened a book; touched the instrument; surveyed the vases on themantel-tree; the figures on the hangings, and the print of Apollo andthe Sibyl, taken from Salvator, and hung over the chimney. I eyed my ownshape and garb in the mirror, and asked how my rustic appearance wouldbe regarded by that supercilious and voluptuous being to whom I wasabout to present myself. 

Presently the latch of the door was softly moved: it opened, and thesimpleton, before described, appeared. She spoke, but her voice was sofull of hesitation, and so near a whisper, that much attention wasneeded to make out her words:--Miss Hetty was not at home; she was goneto town with her _mistress_. 

This was a tale not to be credited. How was I to act? She persisted inmaintaining the truth of it. --"Well, then, " said I, at length, "tellMiss Sally that I wish to speak with her. She will answer my purposejust as well. "

Miss Sally was not at home neither. She had gone to town too. They wouldnot be back, she did not know when; not till night, she supposed. It wasso indeed; none of them wasn't at home; none but she and Nanny in thekitchen: indeed there wasn't. 

"Go tell Nanny to come here; I will leave my message with her. " Shewithdrew, but Nanny did not receive the summons, or thought proper notto obey it. All was vacant and still. 

My state was singular and critical. It was absurd to prolong it; but toleave the house with my errand unexecuted would argue imbecility andfolly. To ascertain Clemenza's presence in this house, and to gain aninterview, were yet in my power. Had I not boasted of my intrepidity inbraving denials and commands when they endeavoured to obstruct mypassage to this woman? But here were no obstacles nor prohibition. Suppose the girl had said truth, that the matron and her daughters wereabsent, and that Nanny and herself were the only guardians of themansion. So much the better. My design will not be opposed. I have onlyto mount the stair, and go from one room to another till I find what Iseek. 

There was hazard, as well as plausibility, in this scheme. I thought itbest once more to endeavour to extort information from the girl, andpersuade her to be my guide to whomsoever the house contained. I put myhand to the bell and rung a brisk peal. No one came. I passed into theentry, to the foot of a staircase, and to a back-window. Nobody waswithin hearing or sight. 

Once more I reflected on the rectitude of my intentions, on thepossibility that the girl's assertions might be true, on the benefits ofexpedition, and of gaining access to the object of my visit withoutinterruption or delay. To these considerations was added a sort ofcharm, not easily explained, and by no means justifiable, produced bythe very temerity and hazardness accompanying this attempt. I thought, with scornful emotions, on the bars and hinderances which pride, andcaprice, and delusive maxims of decorum, raise in the way of humanintercourse. I spurned at these semblances and substitutes of honesty, and delighted to shake such fetters into air and trample suchimpediments to dust. I wanted to see a human being, in order to promoteher happiness. It was doubtful whether she was within twenty paces ofthe spot where I stood. The doubt was to be solved. How? By examiningthe space. I forthwith proceeded to examine it. I reached the secondstory. I approached a door that was closed. I knocked. After a pause, asoft voice said, "Who is there?"

The accents were as musical as those of Clemenza, but were in otherrespects different. I had no topic to discuss with this person. Ianswered not, yet hesitated to withdraw. Presently the same voice wasagain heard:--"What is it you want? Why don't you answer? Come in!" Icomplied with the command, and entered the room. 

It was deliberation and foresight that led me hither, and not chance orcaprice. Hence, instead of being disconcerted or vanquished by theobjects that I saw, I was tranquil and firm. My curiosity, however, mademe a vigilant observer. Two females, arrayed with voluptuous negligence, in a manner adapted to the utmost seclusion, and seated in a carelessattitude on a sofa, were now discovered. 

Both darted glances at the door. One, who appeared to be the youngest, no sooner saw me, than she shrieked, and, starting from her seat, betrayed in the looks which she successively cast upon me, on herself, and on the chamber, whose apparatus was in no less confusion than thatof the apartment below, her consciousness of the unseasonableness ofthis meeting. 

The other shrieked likewise, but in her it seemed to be the token ofsurprise rather than that of terror. There was, probably, somewhat in myaspect and garb that suggested an apology for this intrusion, as arisingfrom simplicity and mistake. She thought proper, however, to assume theair of one offended, and, looking sternly, --"How now, fellow, " said she, "what is this? Why come you hither?"

This questioner was of mature age, but had not passed the period ofattractiveness and grace. All the beauty that nature had bestowed wasstill retained, but the portion had never been great. What she possessedwas so modelled and embellished by such a carriage and dress as to giveit most power over the senses of the gazer. In proportion, however, asit was intended and adapted to captivate those who know none butphysical pleasures, it was qualified to breed distaste and aversion inme. 

I am sensible how much error may have lurked in this decision. I hadbrought with me the belief of their being unchaste; and seized, perhapswith too much avidity, any appearance that coincided with myprepossessions. Yet the younger by no means inspired the same disgust;though I had no reason to suppose her more unblemished than the elder. Her modesty seemed unaffected, and was by no means satisfied, like thatof the elder, with defeating future curiosity. The consciousness of whathad already been exposed filled her with confusion, and she would haveflown away, if her companion had not detained her by some degree offorce. "What ails the girl? There's nothing to be frightened at. Fellow!" she repeated, "what brings you here?"

I advanced and stood before them. I looked steadfastly, but, I believe, with neither effrontery nor anger, on the one who addressed me. I spokein a tone serious and emphatical. "I come for the sake of speaking to awoman who formerly resided in this house, and probably resides herestill. Her name is Clemenza Lodi. If she be here, I request you toconduct me to her instantly. "

Methought I perceived some inquietude, a less imperious and moreinquisitive air, in this woman, on hearing the name of Clemenza. It wasmomentary, and gave way to peremptory looks. "What is your business withher? And why did you adopt this mode of inquiry? A very extraordinaryintrusion! Be good enough to leave the chamber. Any questions proper tobe answered will be answered below. "

"I meant not to intrude or offend. It was not an idle or impertinentmotive that led me hither. I waited below for some time after solicitingan audience of you through the servant. She assured me you were absent, and laid me under the necessity of searching for Clemenza Lodi myself, and without a guide. I am anxious to withdraw, and request merely to bedirected to the room which she occupies. "

"I direct you, " replied she, in a more resolute tone, "to quit the roomand the house. "

"Impossible, madam, " I replied, still looking at her earnestly; "leavethe house without seeing her! You might as well enjoin me to pull theAndes on my head!--to walk barefoot to Pekin! Impossible!"

Some solicitude was now mingled with her anger. "This is strangeinsolence! unaccountable behaviour!--begone from my room! will youcompel me to call the gentlemen?"

"Be not alarmed, " said I, with augmented mildness. There was, indeed, compassion and sorrow at my heart, and these must have somewhatinfluenced my looks. "Be not alarmed. I came to confer a benefit, not toperpetrate an injury. I came not to censure or expostulate with you, but merely to counsel and aid a being that needs both; all I want is tosee her. In this chamber I sought not you, but her. Only lead me to her, or tell me where she is. I will then rid you of my presence. "

"Will you compel me to call those who will punish this insolence as itdeserves?"

"Dearest madam! I compel you to nothing. I merely supplicate. I wouldask you to lead me to these gentlemen, if I did not know that there arenone but females in the house. It is you who must receive and complywith my petition. Allow me a moment's interview with Clemenza Lodi. Compliance will harm you not, but will benefit her. What is yourobjection?"

"This is the strangest proceeding! the most singular conduct! Is this aplace fit to parley with you? I warn you of the consequence of staying amoment longer. Depend upon it, you will sorely repent it. "

"You are obdurate, " said I, and turned towards the younger, who listenedto this discourse in tremors and panic. I took her hand with an air ofhumility and reverence. "Here, " said I, "there seems to be purity, innocence, and condescension. I took this house to be the temple ofvoluptuousness. Females I expected to find in it, but such only astraded in licentious pleasures; specious, perhaps not destitute oftalents, beauty, and address, but dissolute and wanton, sensual andavaricious; yet in this countenance and carriage there are tokens ofvirtue. I am born to be deceived, and the semblance of modesty isreadily assumed. Under this veil, perhaps, lurk a tainted heart anddepraved appetites. Is it so?"

She made me no answer, but somewhat in her looks seemed to evince thatmy favourable prepossessions were just. I noticed likewise that thealarm of the elder was greatly increased by this address to hercompanion. The thought suddenly occurred that this girl might be incircumstances not unlike those of Clemenza Lodi; that she was notapprized of the character of her associates, and might by this meetingbe rescued from similar evils. 

This suspicion filled me with tumultuous feelings. Clemenza was for atime forgotten. I paid no attention to the looks or demeanour of theelder, but was wholly occupied in gazing on the younger. My anxiety toknow the truth gave pathos and energy to my tones while I spoke:--

"Who, where, what are you? Do you reside in this house? Are you a sisteror daughter in this family, or merely a visitant? Do you know thecharacter, profession, and views of your companions? Do you deem themvirtuous, or know them to be profligate? Speak! tell me, I beseech you!"

The maiden confusion which had just appeared in the countenance of thisperson now somewhat abated. She lifted her eyes, and glanced by turns atme and at her who sat by her side. An air of serious astonishmentoverspread her features, and she seemed anxious for me to proceed. Theelder, meanwhile, betrayed the utmost alarm, again upbraided myaudacity, commanded me to withdraw, and admonished me of the danger Iincurred by lingering. 

I noticed not her interference, but again entreated to know of theyounger her true state. She had no time to answer me, supposing her notto want the inclination, for every pause was filled by the clamorousimportunities and menaces of the other. I began to perceive that myattempts were useless to this end, but the chief and most estimablepurpose was attainable. It was in my power to state the knowledge Ipossessed, through your means, of Mrs. Villars and her daughters. Thisinformation might be superfluous, since she to whom it was given mightbe one of this licentious family. The contrary, however, was notimprobable, and my tidings, therefore, might be of the utmost moment toher safety. 

A resolute and even impetuous manner reduced my incessant interrupter tosilence. What I had to say, I compressed in a few words, and adhered toperspicuity and candour with the utmost care. I still held the hand thatI had taken, and fixed my eyes upon her countenance with a steadfastnessthat hindered her from lifting her eyes. 

"I know you not; whether you be dissolute or chaste, I cannot tell. Ineither case, however, what I am going to say will be useful. Let mefaithfully repeat what I have heard. It is mere rumour, and I vouch notfor its truth. Rumour as it is, I submit it to your judgment, and hopethat it may guide you into paths of innocence and honour. 

"Mrs. Villars and her three daughters are Englishwomen, who supportedfor a time an unblemished reputation, but who, at length, were suspectedof carrying on the trade of prostitution. This secret could not beconcealed forever. The profligates who frequented their house betrayedthem. One of them, who died under their roof, after they had withdrawnfrom it into the country, disclosed to his kinsman, who attended hisdeath-bed, their genuine character. 

"The dying man likewise related incidents in which I am deeplyconcerned. I have been connected with one by name Welbeck. In his houseI met an unfortunate girl, who was afterwards removed to Mrs. Villars's. Her name was Clemenza Lodi. Residence in this house, under the controlof a woman like Mrs. Villars and her daughters, must be injurious to herinnocence, and from this control I now come to rescue her. "

I turned to the elder, and continued, --"By all that is sacred, I adjureyou to tell me whether Clemenza Lodi be under this roof! If she be not, whither has she gone? To know this I came hither, and any difficulty orreluctance in answering will be useless; till an answer be obtained, Iwill not go hence. "

During this speech, anger had been kindling in the bosom of this woman. It now burst upon me in a torrent of opprobrious epithets. I was avillain, a calumniator, a thief. I had lurked about the house, tillthose whose sex and strength enabled them to cope with me had gone. Ihad entered these doors by fraud. I was a wretch, guilty of the lastexcesses of insolence and insult. 

To repel these reproaches, or endure them, was equally useless. Thesatisfaction that I sought was only to be gained by searching the house. I left the room without speaking. Did I act illegally in passing fromone story and one room to another? Did I really deserve the imputationsof rashness and insolence? My behaviour, I well know, was ambiguous andhazardous, and perhaps wanting in discretion, but my motives wereunquestionably pure. I aimed at nothing but the rescue of a humancreature from distress and dishonour. 

I pretend not to the wisdom of experience and age; to the praise offorethought or subtlety. I choose the obvious path, and pursue it withheadlong expedition. Good intentions, unaided by knowledge, will, perhaps, produce more injury than benefit, and therefore knowledge mustbe gained, but the acquisition is not momentary; is not bestowed unaskedand untoiled for. Meanwhile, we must not be inactive because we areignorant. Our good purposes must hurry to performance, whether ourknowledge be greater or less. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

To explore the house in this manner was so contrary to ordinary rules, that the design was probably wholly unsuspected by the women whom I hadjust left. My silence, at parting, might have been ascribed by them tothe intimidating influence of invectives and threats. Hence I proceededin my search without interruption. 

Presently I reached a front chamber in the third story. The door wasajar. I entered it on tiptoe. Sitting on a low chair by the fire, Ibeheld a female figure, dressed in a negligent but not indecent manner. Her face, in the posture in which she sat, was only half seen. Its hueswere sickly and pale, and in mournful unison with a feeble and emaciatedform. Her eyes were fixed upon a babe that lay stretched upon a pillowat her feet. The child, like its mother, for such she was readilyimagined to be, was meagre and cadaverous. Either it was dead, or couldnot be very distant from death. 

The features of Clemenza were easily recognised, though no contrastcould be greater, in habit and shape and complexion, than that which herpresent bore to her former appearance. All her roses had faded, and herbrilliancies vanished. Still, however, there was somewhat fitted toawaken the tenderest emotions. There were tokens of inconsolabledistress. 

Her attention was wholly absorbed by the child. She lifted not her eyestill I came close to her and stood before her. When she discovered me, afaint start was perceived. She looked at me for a moment, then, puttingone spread hand before her eyes, she stretched out the other towards thedoor, and waving it in silence, as if to admonish me to depart. 

This motion, however emphatical, I could not obey. I wished to obtainher attention, but knew not in what words to claim it. I was silent. Ina moment she removed her hand from her eyes, and looked at me with neweagerness. Her features bespoke emotions which, perhaps, flowed from mylikeness to her brother, joined with the memory of my connection withWelbeck. 

My situation was full of embarrassment. I was by no means certain thatmy language would be understood. I knew not in what light the policy anddissimulation of Welbeck might have taught her to regard me. Whatproposal, conducive to her comfort and her safety, could I make to her?

Once more she covered her eyes, and exclaimed, in a feeble voice, "Goaway! begone!"

As if satisfied with this effort, she resumed her attention to herchild. She stooped and lifted it in her arms, gazing, meanwhile, on itsalmost lifeless features with intense anxiety. She crushed it to herbosom, and, again looking at me, repeated, "Go away! go away! begone!"

There was somewhat in the lines of her face, in her tones and gestures, that pierced to my heart. Added to this, was my knowledge of hercondition; her friendlessness; her poverty; the pangs of unrequitedlove; and her expiring infant. I felt my utterance choked, and my tearsstruggling for passage. I turned to the window, and endeavoured toregain my tranquillity. 

"What was it, " said I, "that brought me hither? The perfidy of Welbeckmust surely have long since been discovered. What can I tell her of theVillars which she does not already know, or of which the knowledge willbe useful? If their treatment has been just, why should I detract fromtheir merit? If it has been otherwise, their own conduct will havedisclosed their genuine character. Though voluptuous themselves, it doesnot follow that they have laboured to debase this creature. Thoughwanton, they may not be inhuman. 

"I can propose no change in her condition for the better. Should she bewilling to leave this house, whither is it in my power to conduct her?Oh that I were rich enough to provide food for the hungry, shelter forthe houseless, and raiment for the naked!"

I was roused from these fruitless reflections by the lady, whom somesudden thought induced to place the child in its bed, and, rising, tocome towards me. The utter dejection which her features lately betrayedwas now changed for an air of anxious curiosity. "Where, " said she, inher broken English, --"where is Signor Welbeck?"

"Alas!" returned I, "I know not. That question might, I thought, withmore propriety be put to you than me. "

"I know where he be; I fear where he be. "

So saying, the deepest sighs burst from her heart. She turned from me, and, going to the child, took it again into her lap. Its pale and sunkencheek was quickly wet with the mother's tears, which, as she silentlyhung over it, dropped fast from her eyes. 

This demeanour could not but awaken curiosity, while it gave a new turnto my thoughts. I began to suspect that in the tokens which I saw therewas not only distress for her child, but concern for the fate ofWelbeck. "Know you, " said I, "where Mr. Welbeck is? Is he alive? Is henear? Is he in calamity?"

"I do not know if he be alive. He be sick. He be in prison. They willnot let me go to him. And"--here her attention and mine was attracted bythe infant, whose frame, till now motionless, began to be tremulous. Itsfeatures sunk into a more ghastly expression. Its breathings weredifficult, and every effort to respire produced a convulsion harder thanthe last. 

The mother easily interpreted these tokens. The same mortal struggleseemed to take place in her features as in those of her child. At lengthher agony found way in a piercing shriek. The struggle in the infant waspast. Hope looked in vain for a new motion in its heart or its eyelids. The lips were closed, and its breath was gone forever!

The grief which overwhelmed the unhappy parent was of that outrageousand desperate kind which is wholly incompatible with thinking. A fewincoherent motions and screams, that rent the soul, were followed by adeep swoon. She sunk upon the floor, pale and lifeless as her babe. 

I need not describe the pangs which such a scene was adapted to producein me. These were rendered more acute by the helpless and ambiguoussituation in which I was placed. I was eager to bestow consolation andsuccour, but was destitute of all means. I was plunged intouncertainties and doubts. I gazed alternately at the infant and itsmother. I sighed. I wept. I even sobbed. I stooped down and took thelifeless hand of the sufferer. I bathed it with my tears, and exclaimed, "Ill-fated woman! unhappy mother! what shall I do for thy relief? Howshall I blunt the edge of this calamity, and rescue thee from newevils?"

At this moment the door of the apartment was opened, and the younger ofthe women whom I had seen below entered. Her looks betrayed the deepestconsternation and anxiety. Her eyes in a moment were fixed by thedecayed form and the sad features of Clemenza. She shuddered at thisspectacle, but was silent. She stood in the midst of the floor, fluctuating and bewildered. I dropped the hand that I was holding, andapproached her. 

"You have come, " said I, "in good season. I know you not, but willbelieve you to be good. You have a heart, it may be, not free fromcorruption, but it is still capable of pity for the miseries of others. You have a hand that refuses not its aid to the unhappy. See; there isan infant dead. There is a mother whom grief has, for a time, deprivedof life. She has been oppressed and betrayed; been robbed of propertyand reputation--but not of innocence. She is worthy of relief. Have youarms to receive her? Have you sympathy, protection, and a home to bestowupon a forlorn, betrayed, and unhappy stranger? I know not what thishouse is; I suspect it to be no better than a brothel. I know not whattreatment this woman has received. When her situation and wants areascertained, will you supply her wants? Will you rescue her from evilsthat may attend her continuance here?"

She was disconcerted and bewildered by this address. At length shesaid, "All that has happened, all that I have heard and seen, is sounexpected, so strange, that I am amazed and distracted. Your behaviourI cannot comprehend, nor your motive for making this address to me. Icannot answer you, except in one respect. If this woman has sufferedinjury, I have had no part in it. I knew not of her existence nor hersituation till this moment; and whatever protection or assistance shemay justly claim, I am both able and willing to bestow. I do not livehere, but in the city. I am only an occasional visitant in this house. "

"What, then!" I exclaimed, with sparkling eyes and a rapturous accent, "you are not profligate; are a stranger to the manners of this house, and a detester of these manners? Be not a deceiver, I entreat you. Idepend only on your looks and professions, and these may be dissembled. "

These questions, which indeed argued a childish simplicity, excited hersurprise. She looked at me, uncertain whether I was in earnest or injest. At length she said, "Your language is so singular, that I am at aloss how to answer it. I shall take no pains to find out its meaning, but leave you to form conjectures at leisure. Who is this woman, and howcan I serve her?" After a pause, she continued:--"I cannot afford herany immediate assistance, and shall not stay a moment longer in thishouse. There" (putting a card in my hand) "is my name and place ofabode. If you shall have any proposals to make, respecting this woman, Ishall be ready to receive them in my own house. " So saying, shewithdrew. 

I looked wistfully after her, but could not but assent to her assertion, that her presence here would be more injurious to her than beneficial toClemenza. She had scarcely gone, when the elder woman entered. There wasrage, sullenness, and disappointment in her aspect. These, however, weresuspended by the situation in which she discovered the mother and child. It was plain that all the sentiments of woman were not extinguished inher heart. She summoned the servants and seemed preparing to take suchmeasures as the occasion prescribed. I now saw the folly of supposingthat these measures would be neglected, and that my presence could notessentially contribute to the benefit of the sufferer. Still, however, Ilingered in the room, till the infant was covered with a cloth, and thestill senseless parent was conveyed into an adjoining chamber. The womanthen, as if she had not seen me before, fixed scowling eyes upon me, andexclaimed, "Thief! villain! why do you stay here?"

"I mean to go, " said I, "but not till I express my gratitude andpleasure at the sight of your attention to this sufferer. You deem meinsolent and perverse, but I am not such; and hope that the day willcome when I shall convince you of my good intentions. "

"Begone!" interrupted she, in a more angry tone. "Begone this moment, orI will treat you as a thief. " She now drew forth her hand from under hergown, and showed a pistol. "You shall see, " she continued, "that I willnot be insulted with impunity. If you do not vanish, I will shoot you asa robber. "

This woman was far from wanting a force and intrepidity worthy of adifferent sex. Her gestures and tones were full of energy. They denoteda haughty and indignant spirit. It was plain that she conceived herselfdeeply injured by my conduct; and was it absolutely certain that heranger was without reason? I had loaded her house with atrociousimputations, and these imputations might be false. I had conceived themupon such evidence as chance had provided; but this evidence, intricateand dubious as human actions and motives are, might be void of truth. 

"Perhaps, " said I, in a sedate tone, "I have injured you; I havemistaken your character. You shall not find me less ready to repair, than to perpetrate, this injury. My error was without malice, and----"

I had not time to finish the sentence, when this rash and enraged womanthrust the pistol close to my head and fired it. I was wholly unawarethat her fury would lead her to this excess. It was a sort of mechanicalimpulse that made me raise my hand and attempt to turn aside theweapon. I did this deliberately and tranquilly, and without conceivingthat any thing more was intended by her movement than to intimidate me. To this precaution, however, I was indebted for life. The bullet wasdiverted from my forehead to my left ear, and made a slight wound uponthe surface, from which the blood gushed in a stream. 

The loudness of this explosion, and the shock which the ball produced inmy brain, sunk me into a momentary stupor. I reeled backward, and shouldhave fallen, had not I supported myself against the wall. The sight ofmy blood instantly restored her reason. Her rage disappeared, and wassucceeded by terror and remorse. She clasped her hands, and exclaimed, "Oh! what! what have I done? My frantic passion has destroyed me. "

I needed no long time to show me the full extent of the injury which Ihad suffered and the conduct which it became me to adopt. For a moment Iwas bewildered and alarmed, but presently perceived that this was anincident more productive of good than of evil. It would teach me cautionin contending with the passions of another, and showed me that there isa limit which the impetuosities of anger will sometimes overstep. Instead of reviling my companion, I addressed myself to her thus:--

"Be not frighted. You have done me no injury, and, I hope, will deriveinstruction from this event. Your rashness had like to have sacrificedthe life of one who is your friend, and to have exposed yourself toinfamy and death, or, at least, to the pangs of eternal remorse. Learnfrom hence to curb your passions, and especially to keep at a distancefrom every murderous weapon, on occasions when rage is likely to takeplace of reason. 

"I repeat that my motives in entering this house were connected withyour happiness as well as that of Clemenza Lodi. If I have erred insupposing you the member of a vile and pernicious trade, that error wasworthy of being rectified, but violence and invective tend only toconfirm it. I am incapable of any purpose that is not beneficent; but, in the means that I use and in the evidence on which I proceed, I amliable to a thousand mistakes. Point out to me the road by which I cando you good, and I will cheerfully pursue it. "

Finding that her fears had been groundless as to the consequences of herrashness, she renewed, though with less vehemence than before, herimprecations on my intermeddling and audacious folly. I listened tillthe storm was nearly exhausted, and then, declaring my intention torevisit the house if the interest of Clemenza should require it, Iresumed my way to the city. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

"Why, " said I, as I hasted forward, "is my fortune so abundant inunforeseen occurrences? Is every man who leaves his cottage and theimpressions of his infancy behind him ushered into such a world ofrevolutions and perils as have trammelled my steps? or is my sceneindebted for variety and change to my propensity to look into otherpeople's concerns, and to make their sorrows and their joys mine?

"To indulge an adventurous spirit, I left the precincts of thebarn-door, enlisted in the service of a stranger, and encountered athousand dangers to my virtue under the disastrous influence of Welbeck. Afterwards my life was set at hazard in the cause of Wallace, and now amI loaded with the province of protecting the helpless Eliza Hadwin andthe unfortunate Clemenza. My wishes are fervent, and my powers shall notbe inactive in their defence; but how slender are these powers!

"In the offers of the unknown lady there is, indeed, some consolationfor Clemenza. It must be my business to lay before my friend Stevens theparticulars of what has befallen me, and to entreat his directions howthis disconsolate girl may be most effectually succoured. It may be wiseto take her from her present abode, and place her under some chaste andhumane guardianship, where she may gradually lose remembrance of herdead infant and her specious betrayer. The barrier that severs her fromWelbeck must be high as heaven and insuperable as necessity. 

"But, soft! Talked she not of Welbeck? Said she not that he was inprison and was sick? Poor wretch! I thought thy course was at an end;that the penalty of guilt no longer weighed down thy heart; that thymisdeeds and thy remorses were buried in a common and obscure grave; butit seems thou art still alive. 

"Is it rational to cherish the hope of thy restoration to innocence andpeace? Thou art no obdurate criminal; hadst thou less virtue, thycompunctions would be less keen. Wert thou deaf to the voice of duty, thy wanderings into guilt and folly would be less fertile of anguish. The time will perhaps come, when the measure of thy transgressions andcalamities will overflow, and the folly of thy choice will be tooconspicuous to escape thy discernment. Surely, even for suchtransgressors as thou, there is a salutary power in the precepts oftruth and the lessons of experience. 

"But thou art imprisoned and art sick. This, perhaps, is the crisis ofthy destiny. Indigence and dishonour were the evils to shun which thyintegrity and peace of mind have been lightly forfeited. Thou hast foundthat the price was given in vain; that the hollow and deceitfulenjoyments of opulence and dignity were not worth the purchase; andthat, frivolous and unsubstantial as they are, the only path that leadsto them is that of honesty and diligence. Thou art in prison and artsick; and there is none to cheer thy hour with offices of kindness, oruphold thy fainting courage by the suggestions of good counsel. For suchas thou the world has no compassion. Mankind will pursue thee to thegrave with execrations. Their cruelty will be justified or palliated, since they know thee not. They are unacquainted with the goadings of thyconscience and the bitter retributions which thou art daily suffering. They are full of their own wrongs, and think only of those tokens ofexultation and complacency which thou wast studious of assuming in thyintercourse with them. It is I only that thoroughly know thee and canrightly estimate thy claims to compassion. 

"I have somewhat partaken of thy kindness, and thou meritest somegratitude at my hands. Shall I not visit and endeavour to console theein thy distress? Let me, at least, ascertain thy condition, and be theinstrument in repairing the wrongs which thou hast inflicted. Let megain, from the contemplation of thy misery, new motives to sincerity andrectitude. "

While occupied by these reflections, I entered the city. The thoughtswhich engrossed my mind related to Welbeck. It is not my custom to defertill to-morrow what can be done to-day. The destiny of man frequentlyhangs upon the lapse of a minute. "I will stop, " said I, "at the prison;and, since the moment of my arrival may not be indifferent, I will gothither with all possible haste. " I did not content myself with walking, but, regardless of the comments of passengers, hurried along the way atfull speed. 

Having inquired for Welbeck, I was conducted through a dark room, crowded with beds, to a staircase. Never before had I been in a prison. Never had I smelt so noisome an odour, or surveyed faces so begrimedwith filth and misery. The walls and floors were alike squalid anddetestable. It seemed that in this house existence would be bereaved ofall its attractions; and yet those faces, which could be seen throughthe obscurity that encompassed them, were either void of care ordistorted with mirth. 

"This, " said I, as I followed my conductor, "is the residence ofWelbeck. What contrasts are these to the repose and splendour, picturedwalls, glossy hangings, gilded sofas, mirrors that occupied from ceilingto floor, carpets of Tauris, and the spotless and transcendentbrilliancy of coverlets and napkins, in thy former dwelling! Herebrawling and the shuffling of rude feet are eternal. The air is loadedwith the exhalations of disease and the fumes of debauchery. Thou artcooped up in airless space, and, perhaps, compelled to share thy narrowcell with some stupid ruffian. Formerly, the breezes were courted by thylofty windows. Aromatic shrubs were scattered on thy hearth. Menials, splendid in apparel, showed their faces with diffidence in thyapartment, trod lightly on thy marble floor, and suffered not thesanctity of silence to be troubled by a whisper. Thy lamp shot its raysthrough the transparency of alabaster, and thy fragrant lymph flowedfrom vases of porcelain. Such were formerly the decorations of thyhall, the embellishments of thy existence; but now--alas!----"

We reached a chamber in the second story. My conductor knocked at thedoor. No one answered. Repeated knocks were unheard or unnoticed by theperson within. At length, lifting a latch, we entered together. 

The prisoner lay upon the bed, with his face turned from the door. Iadvanced softly, making a sign to the keeper to withdraw. Welbeck wasnot asleep, but merely buried in reverie. I was unwilling to disturb hismusing, and stood with my eyes fixed upon his form. He appearedunconscious that any one had entered. 

At length, uttering a deep sigh, he changed his posture, and perceivedme in my motionless and gazing attitude. Recollect in what circumstanceswe had last parted. Welbeck had, no doubt, carried away with him fromthat interview a firm belief that I should speedily die. His prognostic, however, was fated to be contradicted. 

His first emotions were those of surprise. These gave place tomortification and rage. After eyeing me for some time, he averted hisglances, and that effort which is made to dissipate some obstacle tobreathing showed me that his sensations were of the most excruciatingkind. He laid his head upon the pillow, and sunk into his former musing. He disdained, or was unable, to utter a syllable of welcome or contempt. 

In the opportunity that had been afforded me to view his countenance, Ihad observed tokens of a kind very different from those which used to bevisible. The gloomy and malignant were more conspicuous. Health hadforsaken his cheeks, and taken along with it those flexible parts whichformerly enabled him to cover his secret torments and insidious purposesbeneath a veil of benevolence and cheerfulness. "Alas!" said I, loudenough for him to hear me, "here is a monument of ruin. Despair andmischievous passions are too deeply rooted in this heart for me to tearthem away. "

These expressions did not escape his notice. He turned once more andcast sullen looks upon me. There was somewhat in his eyes that made meshudder. They denoted that his reverie was not that of grief, but ofmadness. I continued, in a less steadfast voice than before:--

"Unhappy Clemenza! I have performed thy message. I have visited him thatis sick and in prison. Thou hadst cause for anguish and terror, evengreater cause than thou imaginedst. Would to God that thou wouldst becontented with the report which I shall make; that thy misguidedtenderness would consent to leave him to his destiny, would suffer himto die alone; but that is a forbearance which no eloquence that Ipossess will induce thee to practise. Thou must come, and witness forthyself. "

In speaking thus, I was far from foreseeing the effects which would beproduced on the mind of Welbeck. I was far from intending to instil intohim a belief that Clemenza was near at hand, and was preparing to enterhis apartment; yet no other images but these would, perhaps, have rousedhim from his lethargy, and awakened that attention which I wished toawaken. He started up, and gazed fearfully at the door. 

"What!" he cried. "What! Is she here? Ye powers, that have scatteredwoes in my path, spare me the sight of her! But from this agony I willrescue myself. The moment she appears I will pluck out these eyes anddash them at her feet. "

So saying, he gazed with augmented eagerness upon the door. His handswere lifted to his head, as if ready to execute his frantic purpose. Iseized his arm and besought him to lay aside his terror, for thatClemenza was far distant. She had no intention, and besides was unable, to visit him. 

"Then I am respited. I breathe again. No; keep her from a prison. Dragher to the wheel or to the scaffold; mangle her with stripes; tortureher with famine; strangle her child before her face, and cast it to thehungry dogs that are howling at the gate; but--keep her from a prison. Never let her enter these doors. " There he stopped; his eyes being fixedon the floor, and his thoughts once more buried in reverie. Iresumed:--

"She is occupied with other griefs than those connected with the fate ofWelbeck. She is not unmindful of you; she knows you to be sick and inprison; and I came to do for you whatever office your condition mightrequire, and I came at her suggestion. She, alas! has full employmentfor her tears in watering the grave of her child. "

He started. "What! dead? Say you that the child is dead?"

"It is dead. I witnessed its death. I saw it expire in the arms of itsmother; that mother whom I formerly met under your roof blooming andgay, but whom calamity has tarnished and withered. I saw her in theraiment of poverty, under an accursed roof: desolate; alone; unsolacedby the countenance or sympathy of human beings; approached only by thosewho mock at her distress, set snares for her innocence, and push her toinfamy. I saw her leaning over the face of her dying babe. "

Welbeck put his hands to his head, and exclaimed, "Curses on thy lips, infernal messenger! Chant elsewhere thy rueful ditty! Vanish! if thouwouldst not feel in thy heart fangs red with blood less guilty thanthine. "

Till this moment the uproar in Welbeck's mind appeared to hinder himfrom distinctly recognising his visitant. Now it seemed as if theincidents of our last interview suddenly sprung up in his remembrance. 

"What! This is the villain that rifled my cabinet, the maker of mypoverty and of all the evils which it has since engendered! That has ledme to a prison! Execrable fool! you are the author of the scene that youdescribe, and of horrors without number and name. To whatever crimes Ihave been urged since that interview, and the fit of madness that madeyou destroy my property, they spring from your act; they flowed fromnecessity, which, had you held your hand at that fateful moment, wouldnever have existed. 

"How dare you thrust yourself upon my privacy? Why am I not alone? Fly!and let my miseries want, at least, the aggravation of beholding theirauthor. My eyes loathe the sight of thee! My heart would suffocate theewith its own bitterness! Begone!"

"I know not, " I answered, "why innocence should tremble at the ravingsof a lunatic; why it should be overwhelmed by unmerited reproaches! Whyit should not deplore the errors of its foe, labour to correct thoseerrors, and----"

"Thank thy fate, youth, that my hands are tied up by my scorn; thank thyfate that no weapon is within reach. Much has passed since I saw thee, and I am a new man. I am no longer inconstant and cowardly. I have nomotives but contempt to hinder me from expiating the wrongs which thouhast done me in thy blood. I disdain to take thy life. Go; and let thyfidelity, at least, to the confidence which I have placed in thee, beinviolate. Thou hast done me harm enough, but canst do, if thou wilt, still more. Thou canst betray the secrets that are lodged in thy bosom, and rob me of the comfort of reflecting that my guilt is known but toone among the living. "

This suggestion made me pause, and look back upon the past. I hadconfided this man's tale to you. The secrecy on which he so fondlyleaned was at an end. Had I acted culpably or not?

But why should I ruminate, with anguish and doubt, upon the past? Thefuture was within my power, and the road of my duty was too plain to bemistaken. I would disclose to Welbeck the truth, and cheerfullyencounter every consequence. I would summon my friend to my aid, andtake his counsel in the critical emergency in which I was placed. Iought not to rely upon myself alone in my efforts to benefit this being, when another was so near whose discernment and benevolence, andknowledge of mankind, and power of affording relief, were far superiorto mine. 

Influenced by these thoughts, I left the apartment without speaking;and, procuring pen and paper, despatched to you the billet which broughtabout our meeting. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Mervyn's auditors allowed no pause in their attention to this story. Having ended, a deep silence took place. The clock which stood upon themantel had sounded twice the customary _larum_, but had not been heardby us. It was now struck a third time. It was _one_. Our guest appearedsomewhat startled at this signal, and looked, with a mournful sort ofearnestness, at the clock. There was an air of inquietude about himwhich I had never observed in an equal degree before. 

I was not without much curiosity respecting other incidents than thosewhich had just been related by him; but, after so much fatigue as he hadundergone, I thought it improper to prolong the conversation. 

"Come, " said I, "my friend, let us to bed. This is a drowsy time, and, after so much exercise of mind and body, you cannot but need somerepose. Much has happened in your absence, which is proper to be knownto you; but our discourse will be best deferred till to-morrow. I willcome into your chamber by day-dawn, and unfold to you particulars. "

"Nay, " said he, "withdraw not on my account. If I go to my chamber, itwill not be to sleep, but to meditate, especially after your assurancethat something of moment has occurred in my absence. My thoughts, independently of any cause of sorrow or fear, have received an impulsewhich solitude and darkness will not stop. It is impossible to know toomuch for our safety and integrity, or to know it too soon. What hashappened?"

I did not hesitate to comply with his request, for it was not difficultto conceive that, however tired the limbs might be, the adventures ofthis day would not be easily expelled from the memory at night. I toldhim the substance of the conversation with Mrs. Althorpe. He smiled atthose parts of the narrative which related to himself; but when hisfather's depravity and poverty were mentioned, he melted into tears. 

"Poor wretch! I, that knew thee in thy better days, might have easilydivined this consequence. I foresaw thy poverty and degradation in thesame hour that I left thy roof. My soul drooped at the prospect, but Isaid, It cannot be prevented, and this reflection was an antidote togrief; but, now that thy ruin is complete, it seems as if some of itwere imputable to me, who forsook thee when the succour and counsel of ason were most needed. Thou art ignorant and vicious, but thou art myfather still. I see that the sufferings of a better man than thou artwould less afflict me than thine. Perhaps it is still in my power torestore thy liberty and good name, and yet--that is a fond wish. Thouart past the age when the ignorance and grovelling habits of a humanbeing are susceptible of cure. " There he stopped, and, after a gloomypause, continued:--

 * * * * *

I am not surprised or afflicted at the misconceptions of my neighbourswith relation to my own character. Men must judge from what they see;they must build their conclusions on their knowledge. I never saw in therebukes of my neighbours any thing but laudable abhorrence of vice. Theywere too eager to blame, to collect materials of censure rather than ofpraise. It was not me whom they hated and despised. It was the phantomthat passed under my name, which existed only in their imagination, andwhich was worthy of all their scorn and all their enmity. 

What I appeared to be in their eyes was as much the object of my owndisapprobation as of theirs. Their reproaches only evinced the rectitudeof their decisions, as well as of my own. I drew from them new motivesto complacency. They fortified my perseverance in the path which I hadchosen as best; they raised me higher in my own esteem; they heightenedthe claims of the reproachers themselves to my respect and mygratitude. 

They thought me slothful, incurious, destitute of knowledge and of allthirst of knowledge, insolent, and profligate. They say that in thetreatment of my father I have been ungrateful and inhuman. I have stolenhis property, and deserted him in his calamity. Therefore they hate andrevile me. It is well; I love them for these proofs of their discernmentand integrity. Their indignation at wrong is the truest test of theirvirtue. 

It is true that they mistake me, but that arises from the circumstancesof our mutual situation. They examined what was exposed to their view, they grasped at what was placed within their reach. To decide contraryto appearances, to judge from what they knew not, would prove them to bebrutish and not rational, would make their decision of no worth, andrender them, in their turn, objects of neglect and contempt. 

It is true that I hated school; that I sought occasions of absence, andfinally, on being struck by the master, determined to enter his presenceno more. I loved to leap, to run, to swim, to climb trees and to clamberup rocks, to shroud myself in thickets and stroll among woods, to obeythe impulse of the moment, and to prate or be silent, just as my humourprompted me. All this I loved more than to go to and fro in the samepath, and at stated hours to look off and on a book, to read just asmuch and of such a kind, to stand up and be seated, just as anotherthought proper to direct. I hated to be classed, cribbed, rebuked, andferuled at the pleasure of one who, as it seemed to me, knew no guide inhis rewards but caprice, and no prompter in his punishments but passion. 

It is true that I took up the spade and the hoe as rarely, and for asshort a time, as possible. I preferred to ramble in the forest andloiter on the hill; perpetually to change the scene; to scrutinize theendless variety of objects; to compare one leaf and pebble with another;to pursue those trains of thought which their resemblances anddifferences suggested; to inquire what it was that gave them this place, structure, and form, were more agreeable employments than ploughing andthreshing. 

My father could well afford to hire labour. What my age and myconstitution enabled me to do could be done by a sturdy boy, in half thetime, with half the toil, and with none of the reluctance. The boy was abond-servant, and the cost of his clothing and food was next to nothing. True it is, that my service would have saved him even this expense, butmy motives for declining the effort were not hastily weighed orsuperficially examined. These were my motives. 

My frame was delicate and feeble. Exposure to wet blasts and verticalsuns was sure to make me sick. My father was insensible to thisconsequence; and no degree of diligence would please him but that whichwould destroy my health. My health was dearer to my mother than to me. She was more anxious to exempt me from possible injuries than reasonjustified; but anxious she was, and I could not save her from anxietybut by almost wholly abstaining from labour. I thought her peace of mindwas of some value, and that, if the inclination of either of my parentsmust be gratified at the expense of the other, the preference was due tothe woman who bore me; who nursed me in disease; who watched over mysafety with incessant tenderness; whose life and whose peace wereinvolved in mine. I should have deemed myself brutish and obduratelywicked to have loaded her with fears and cares merely to smooth the browof a froward old man, whose avarice called on me to sacrifice my easeand my health, and who shifted to other shoulders the province ofsustaining me when sick, and of mourning for me when dead. 

I likewise believed that it became me to reflect upon the influence ofmy decision on my own happiness; and to weigh the profits flowing to myfather from my labour, against the benefits of mental exercise, thepleasures of the woods and streams, healthful sensations, and the luxuryof musing. The pecuniary profit was petty and contemptible. It obviatedno necessity. It purchased no rational enjoyment. It merely provoked, byfurnishing the means of indulgence, an appetite from which my father wasnot exempt. It cherished the seeds of depravity in him, and lessened thelittle stock of happiness belonging to my mother. 

I did not detain you long, my friends, in portraying my parents, andrecounting domestic incidents, when I first told you my story. What hadno connection with the history of Welbeck and with the part that I haveacted upon this stage I thought it proper to omit. My omission waslikewise prompted by other reasons. My mind is enervated and feeble, like my body. I cannot look upon the sufferings of those I love withoutexquisite pain. I cannot steel my heart by the force of reason, and bysubmission to necessity; and, therefore, too frequently employ thecowardly expedient of endeavouring to forget what I cannot rememberwithout agony. 

I told you that my father was sober and industrious by habit; but habitis not uniform. There were intervals when his plodding and tame spiritgave place to the malice and fury of a demon. Liquors were not sought byhim; but he could not withstand entreaty, and a potion that produced noeffect upon others changed him into a maniac. 

I told you that I had a sister, whom the arts of a villain destroyed. Alas! the work of her destruction was left unfinished by him. The blowsand contumelies of a misjudging and implacable parent, who scrupled notto thrust her, with her new-born infant, out of doors; the curses andtaunts of unnatural brothers, left her no alternative but death. ----ButI must not think of this; I must not think of the wrongs which my motherendured in the person of her only and darling daughter. 

My brothers were the copyists of the father, whom they resembled intemper and person. My mother doted on her own image in her daughter andin me. This daughter was ravished from her by self-violence, and herother children by disease. I only remained to appropriate her affectionsand fulfil her hopes. This alone had furnished a sufficient reason why Ishould be careful of my health and my life, but my father's charactersupplied me with a motive infinitely more cogent. 

It is almost incredible, but nevertheless true, that the only beingwhose presence and remonstrances had any influence on my father, atmoments when his reason was extinct, was myself. As to my personalstrength, it was nothing; yet my mother's person was rescued frombrutal violence; he was checked, in the midst of his ferocious career, by a single look or exclamation from me. The fear of my rebukes had evensome influence in enabling him to resist temptation. If I entered thetavern at the moment when he was lifting the glass to his lips, I neverweighed the injunctions of decorum, but, snatching the vessel from hishand, I threw it on the ground. I was not deterred by the presence ofothers; and their censures on my want of filial respect and duty werelistened to with unconcern. I chose not to justify myself by expatiatingon domestic miseries, and by calling down that pity on my mother which Iknew would only have increased her distress. 

The world regarded my deportment as insolent and perverse to a degree ofinsanity. To deny my father an indulgence which they thought harmless, and which, indeed, was harmless in its influence on other men; tointerfere thus publicly with his social enjoyments, and expose him tomortification and shame, was loudly condemned; but my duty to my motherdebarred me from eluding this censure on the only terms on which itcould have been eluded. Now it has ceased to be necessary to concealwhat passed in domestic retirements, and I should willingly confess thetruth before any audience. 

At first my father imagined that threats and blows would intimidate hismonitor. In this he was mistaken, and the detection of this mistakeimpressed him with an involuntary reverence for me, which set bounds tothose excesses which disdained any other control. Hence I derived newmotives for cherishing a life which was useful, in so many ways, to mymother. 

My condition is now changed. I am no longer on that field to which thelaw, as well as reason, must acknowledge that I had some right, whilethere was any in my father. I must hazard my life, if need be, in thepursuit of the means of honest subsistence. I never spared myself whilein the service of Mr. Hadwin; and, at a more inclement season, shouldprobably have incurred some hazard by my diligence. 

These were the motives of my _idleness_, --for my abstaining from thecommon toils of the farm passed by that name among my neighbours;though, in truth, my time was far from being wholly unoccupied by manualemployments, but these required less exertion of body or mind, or weremore connected with intellectual efforts. They were pursued in theseclusion of my chamber or the recesses of a wood. I did not labour toconceal them, but neither was I anxious to attract notice. It wassufficient that the censure of my neighbours was unmerited, to make meregard it with indifference. 

I sought not the society of persons of my own age, not from sullen orunsociable habits, but merely because those around me were totallyunlike myself. Their tastes and occupations were incompatible with mine. In my few books, in my pen, in the vegetable and animal existencesaround me, I found companions who adapted their visits and intercourseto my convenience and caprice, and with whom I was never tired ofcommuning. 

I was not unaware of the opinion which my neighbours had formed of mybeing improperly connected with Betty Lawrence. I am not sorry that Ifell into company with that girl. Her intercourse has instructed me inwhat some would think impossible to be attained by one who had neverhaunted the impure recesses of licentiousness in a city. The knowledgewhich a residence in this town for ten years gave her audacious andinquisitive spirit she imparted to me. Her character, profligate andartful, libidinous and impudent, and made up of the impressions which acity life had produced on her coarse but active mind, was open to mystudy, and I studied it. 

I scarcely know how to repel the charge of illicit conduct, and todepict the exact species of intercourse subsisting between us. I alwaystreated her with freedom, and sometimes with gayety. I had no motives toreserve. I was so formed that a creature like her had no power over mysenses. That species of temptation adapted to entice me from the truepath was widely different from the artifices of Betty. There was nopoint at which it was possible for her to get possession of my fancy. Iwatched her while she practised all her tricks and blandishments, as Iregarded a similar deportment in the _animal salax ignavumque_ whoinhabits the sty. I made efforts to pursue my observationsunembarrassed; but my efforts were made, not to restrain desire, but tosuppress disgust. The difficulty lay, not in withholding my caresses, but in forbearing to repulse her with rage. 

Decorum, indeed, was not outraged, and all limits were not oversteppedat once. Dubious advances were employed; but, when found unavailing, were displaced by more shameless and direct proceedings. She was toolittle versed in human nature to see that her last expedient was alwaysworse than the preceding; and that, in proportion as she lost sight ofdecency, she multiplied the obstacles to her success. 

Betty had many enticements in person and air. She was ruddy, smooth, andplump. To these she added--I must not say what, for it is strange towhat lengths a woman destitute of modesty will sometimes go. But, allher artifices availing her not at all in the contest with myinsensibilities, she resorted to extremes which it would serve no goodpurpose to describe in this audience. They produced not the consequencesshe wished, but they produced another which was by no means displeasingto her. An incident one night occurred, from which a sagacious observerdeduced the existence of an intrigue. It was useless to attempt torectify his mistake by explaining appearances in a manner consistentwith my innocence. This mode of explication implied a _continence_ in mewhich he denied to be possible. The standard of possibilities, especially in vice and virtue, is fashioned by most men after their owncharacter. A temptation which this judge of human nature knew that _he_was unable to resist, he sagely concluded to be irresistible by anyother man, and quickly established the belief among my neighbours, thatthe woman who married the father had been prostituted to the son. ThoughI never admitted the truth of this aspersion, I believed it useless todeny, because no one would credit my denial, and because I had no powerto disprove it. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

What other inquiries were to be resolved by our young friend, we werenow, at this late hour, obliged to postpone till the morrow. I shallpass over the reflections which a story like this would naturallysuggest, and hasten to our next interview. 

After breakfast next morning, the subject of last night's conversationwas renewed. I told him that something had occurred in his absence, inrelation to Mrs. Wentworth and her nephew, that had perplexed us not alittle. "My information is obtained, " continued I, "from Wortley; and itis nothing less than that young Clavering, Mrs. Wentworth's nephew, is, at this time, actually alive. "

Surprise, but none of the embarrassment of guilt, appeared in hiscountenance at these tidings. He looked at me as if desirous that Ishould proceed. 

"It seems, " added I, "that a letter was lately received by this ladyfrom the father of Clavering, who is now in Europe. This letter reportsthat this son was lately met with in Charleston, and relates the meanswhich old Mr. Clavering had used to prevail upon his son to return home;means, of the success of which he entertained well-grounded hopes. Whatthink you?"

"I can only reject it, " said he, after some pause, "as untrue. Thefather's correspondent may have been deceived. The father may have beendeceived, or the father may conceive it necessary to deceive the aunt, or some other supposition as to the source of the error may be true; butan error it surely is. Clavering is not alive. I know the chamber wherehe died, and the withered pine under which he lies buried. "

"If she be deceived, " said I, "it will be impossible to rectify hererror. "

"I hope not. An honest front and a straight story will be sufficient. "

"How do you mean to act?"

"Visit her, without doubt, and tell her the truth. My tale will be toocircumstantial and consistent to permit her to disbelieve. "

"She will not hearken to you. She is too strongly prepossessed againstyou to admit you even to a hearing. "

"She cannot help it. Unless she lock her door against me, or stuff herears with wool, she must hear me. Her prepossessions are reasonable, butare easily removed by telling the truth. Why does she suspect me ofartifice? Because I seemed to be allied to Welbeck, and because Idisguised the truth. That she thinks ill of me is not her fault, but mymisfortune; and, happily for me, a misfortune easily removed. "

"Then you will try to see her?"

"I will see her, and the sooner the better. I will see her to-day; thismorning; as soon as I have seen Welbeck, whom I shall immediately visitin his prison. "

"There are other embarrassments and dangers of which you are not aware. Welbeck is pursued by many persons whom he has defrauded of large sums. By these persons you are deemed an accomplice in his guilt, and awarrant is already in the hands of officers for arresting you whereveryou are found. "

"In what way, " said Mervyn, sedately, "do they imagine me a partaker ofhis crime?"

"I know not. You lived with him. You fled with him. You aided andconnived at his escape. "

"Are these crimes?"

"I believe not, but they subject you to suspicion. "

"To arrest and to punishment?"

"To detention for a while, perhaps. But these alone cannot expose you topunishment. "

"I thought so. Then I have nothing to fear. "

"You have imprisonment and obloquy, at least, to dread. "

"True; but they cannot be avoided but by my exile and skulking out ofsight, --evils infinitely more formidable. I shall, therefore, not avoidthem. The sooner my conduct is subjected to scrutiny, the better. Willyou go with me to Welbeck?"

"I will go with you. "

Inquiring for Welbeck of the keeper of the prison, we were informed thathe was in his own apartment, very sick. The physician attending theprison had been called, but the prisoner had preserved an obstinate andscornful silence; and had neither explained his condition, nor consentedto accept any aid. 

We now went alone into his apartment. His sensibility seemed fastebbing, yet an emotion of joy was visible in his eyes at the appearanceof Mervyn. He seemed likewise to recognise in me his late visitant, andmade no objection to my entrance. 

"How are you this morning?" said Arthur, seating himself on the bedside, and taking his hand. The sick man was scarcely able to articulate hisreply:--"I shall soon be well. I have longed to see you. I want to leavewith you a few words. " He now cast his languid eyes on me. "You are hisfriend, " he continued. "You know all. You may stay. "

There now succeeded a long pause, during which he closed his eyes, andresigned himself as if to an oblivion of all thought. His pulse under myhand was scarcely perceptible. From this in some minutes he recovered, and, fixing his eyes on Mervyn, resumed, in a broken and feebleaccent:--

"Clemenza! You have seen her. Weeks ago, I left her in an accursedhouse; yet she has not been mistreated. Neglected and abandoned indeed, but not mistreated. Save her, Mervyn. Comfort her. Awaken charity forher sake. 

"I cannot tell you what has happened. The tale would be too long, --toomournful. Yet, in justice to the living, I must tell you something. Mywoes and my crimes will be buried with me. Some of them, but not all. 

"Ere this, I should have been many leagues upon the ocean, had not anewspaper fallen into my hands while on the eve of embarkation. By thatI learned that a treasure was buried with the remains of the ill-fatedWatson. I was destitute. I was unjust enough to wish to make thistreasure my own. Prone to think I was forgotten, or numbered with thevictims of pestilence, I ventured to return under a careless disguise. Ipenetrated to the vaults of that deserted dwelling by night. I dug upthe bones of my friend, and found the girdle and its valuable contents, according to the accurate description that I had read. 

"I hastened back with my prize to Baltimore, but my evil destinyovertook me at last. I was recognised by emissaries of Jamieson, arrested and brought hither, and here shall I consummate my fate anddefeat the rage of my creditors by death. But first----"

Here Welbeck stretched out his left hand to Mervyn, and, after somereluctance, showed a roll of lead. 

"Receive this, " said he. "In the use of it, be guided by your honestyand by the same advertisement that furnished me the clue by which torecover it. That being secured, the world and I will part forever. Withdraw, for your presence can help me nothing. "

We were unwilling to comply with his injunction, and continued somelonger time in his chamber; but our kind intent availed nothing. Hequickly relapsed into insensibility, from which he recovered not again, but next day expired. Such, in the flower of his age, was the fate ofThomas Welbeck. 

Whatever interest I might feel in accompanying the progress of my youngfriend, a sudden and unforeseen emergency compelled me again to leavethe city. A kinsman, to whom I was bound by many obligations, wassuffering a lingering disease, and, imagining, with some reason, hisdissolution to be not far distant, he besought my company and myassistance, to soothe, at least, the agonies of his last hour. I wasanxious to clear up the mysteries which Arthur's conduct had produced, and to shield him, if possible, from the evils which I feared awaitedhim. It was impossible, however, to decline the invitation of mykinsman, as his residence was not a day's journey from the city. I wasobliged to content myself with occasional information, imparted byMervyn's letters or those of my wife. 

Meanwhile, on leaving the prison, I hasted to inform Mervyn of the truenature of the scene which had just passed. By this extraordinaryoccurrence, the property of the Maurices was now in honest hands. Welbeck, stimulated by selfish motives, had done that which any otherperson would have found encompassed with formidable dangers anddifficulties. How this attempt was suggested or executed, he had notinformed us, nor was it desirable to know. It was sufficient that themeans of restoring their own to a destitute and meritorious family werenow in our possession. 

Having returned home, I unfolded to Mervyn all the particularsrespecting Williams and the Maurices which I had lately learned fromWortley. He listened with deep attention, and, my story being finished, he said, "In this small compass, then, is the patrimony and subsistenceof a numerous family. To restore it to them is the obviousproceeding--but how? Where do they abide?"

"Williams and Watson's wife live in Baltimore, and the Maurices livenear that town. The advertisements alluded to by Wortley, and which areto be found in any newspaper, will inform us; but, first, are we surethat any or all of these bills are contained in this covering?"

The lead was now unrolled, and the bills which Williams had describedwere found enclosed. Nothing appeared to be deficient. Of this, however, we were scarcely qualified to judge. Those that were the property ofWilliams might not be entire, and what would be the consequence ofpresenting them to him, if any had been embezzled by Welbeck?

This difficulty was obviated by Mervyn, who observed that theadvertisement describing these bills would afford us ample informationon this head. "Having found out where the Maurices and Mrs. Watson live, nothing remains but to visit them, and put an end, as far as lies in mypower, to their inquietudes. "

"What! Would you go to Baltimore?"

"Certainly. Can any other expedient be proper? How shall I otherwiseinsure the safe conveyance of these papers?"

"You may send them by post. "

"But why not go myself?"

"I can hardly tell, unless your appearance on such an errand may besuspected likely to involve you in embarrassments. "

"What embarrassments? If they receive their own, ought they not to besatisfied?"

"The inquiry will naturally be made as to the manner of gainingpossession of these papers. They were lately in the hands of Watson, butWatson has disappeared. Suspicions are awake respecting the cause of hisdisappearance. These suspicions are connected with Welbeck, andWelbeck's connection with you is not unknown. "

"These are evils, but I see not how an ingenious and open conduct isadapted to increase these evils. If they come, I must endure them. "

"I believe your decision is right. No one is so skilful an advocate in acause, as he whose cause it is. I rely upon your skill and address, andshall leave you to pursue your own way. I must leave you for a time, butshall expect to be punctually informed of all that passes. " With thisagreement we parted, and I hastened to perform my intended journey. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

I am glad, my friend, thy nimble pen has got so far upon its journey. What remains of my story may be despatched in a trice. I have just nowsome vacant hours, which might possibly be more usefully employed, butnot in an easier manner or more pleasant. So, let me carry on thythread. 

First, let me mention the resolutions I had formed at the time I partedwith my friend. I had several objects in view. One was a conference withMrs. Wentworth; another was an interview with her whom I met with atVillars's. My heart melted when I thought upon the desolate condition ofClemenza, and determined me to direct my first efforts for her relief. For this end I was to visit the female who had given me a direction toher house. The name of this person is Achsa Fielding, and she lived, according to her own direction, at No. 40 Walnut Street. 

I went thither without delay. She was not at home. Having gainedinformation from the servant as to when she might be found, I proceededto Mrs. Wentworth's. In going thither my mind was deeply occupied inmeditation; and, with my usual carelessness of forms, I entered thehouse and made my way to the parlour, where an interview had formerlytaken place between us. 

Having arrived, I began, though somewhat unseasonably, to reflect uponthe topics with which I should introduce my conversation, andparticularly the manner in which I should introduce myself. I had openeddoors without warning, and traversed passages without being noticed. This had arisen from my thoughtlessness. There was no one within hearingor sight. What was next to be done? Should I not return softly to theouter door, and summon the servant by knocking?

Preparing to do this, I heard a footstep in the entry which suspended mydesign. I stood in the middle of the floor, attentive to thesemovements, when presently the door opened, and there entered theapartment Mrs. Wentworth herself! She came, as it seemed, withoutexpectation of finding any one there. When, therefore, the figure of aman caught her vagrant attention, she started and cast a hasty looktowards me. 

"Pray!" (in a peremptory tone, ) "how came you here, sir? and what isyour business?"

Neither arrogance, on the one hand, nor humility, upon the other, hadany part in modelling my deportment. I came not to deprecate anger, orexult over distress. I answered, therefore, distinctly, firmly, anderectly, --

"I came to see you, madam, and converse with you; but, being busy withother thoughts, I forgot to knock at the door. No evil was intended bymy negligence, though propriety has certainly not been observed. Willyou pardon this intrusion, and condescend to grant me your attention?"

"To what? What have you to say to me? I know you only as the accompliceof a villain in an attempt to deceive me. There is nothing to justifyyour coming hither, and I desire you to leave the house with as littleceremony as you entered it. "

My eyes were lowered at this rebuke, yet I did not obey the command. "Your treatment of me, madam, is such as I appear to you to deserve. Appearances are unfavourable to me, but those appearances are false. Ihave concurred in no plot against your reputation or your fortune. Ihave told you nothing but the truth. I came hither to promote no selfishor sinister purpose. I have no favour to entreat, and no petition tooffer, but that you will suffer me to clear up those mistakes which youhave harboured respecting me. 

"I am poor. I am destitute of fame and of kindred. I have nothing toconsole me in obscurity and indigence, but the approbation of my ownheart and the good opinion of those who know me as I am. The good may beled to despise and condemn me. Their aversion and scorn shall not makeme unhappy; but it is my interest and my duty to rectify their error ifI can. I regard your character with esteem. You have been mistaken incondemning me as a liar and impostor, and I came to remove this mistake. I came, if not to procure your esteem, at least to take away hatred andsuspicion. 

"But this is not all my purpose. You are in an error in relation notonly to my character, but to the situation of your nephew Clavering. Iformerly told you, that I saw him die; that I assisted at his burial:but my tale was incoherent and imperfect, and you have since receivedintelligence to which you think proper to trust, and which assures youthat he is still living. All I now ask is your attention, while I relatethe particulars of my knowledge. 

"Proof of my veracity or innocence may be of no value in your eyes, butthe fate of your nephew ought to be known to you. Certainty, on thishead, may be of much importance to your happiness, and to the regulationof your future conduct. To hear me patiently can do you no injury, andmay benefit you much. Will you permit me to go on?"

During this address, little abatement of resentment and scorn wasvisible in my companion. 

"I will hear you, " she replied. "Your invention may amuse if it does notedify. But, I pray you, let your story be short. "

I was obliged to be content with this ungraceful concession, andproceeded to begin my narration. I described the situation of myfather's dwelling. I mentioned the year, month, day, and hour of hernephew's appearance among us. I expatiated minutely on his form, features, dress, sound of his voice, and repeated his words. Hisfavourite gestures and attitudes were faithfully described. 

I had gone but a little way in my story, when the effects were visiblein her demeanour which I expected from it. Her knowledge of the youth, and of the time and manner of his disappearance, made it impossible forme, with so minute a narrative, to impose upon her credulity. Everyword, every incident related, attested my truth, by their agreement withwhat she herself previously knew. 

Her suspicious and angry watchfulness was quickly exchanged for downcastlooks, and stealing tears, and sighs difficultly repressed. Meanwhile, Idid not pause, but described the treatment he received from my mother'stenderness, his occupations, the freaks of his insanity, and, finally, the circumstances of his death and funeral. 

Thence I hastened to the circumstances which brought me to the city;which placed me in the service of Welbeck, and obliged me to perform soambiguous a part in her presence. I left no difficulty to be solved, andno question unanticipated. 

"I have now finished my story, " I continued, "and accomplished my designin coming hither. Whether I have vindicated my integrity from yoursuspicions, I know not. I have done what in me lay to remove your error;and, in that, have done my duty. What more remains? Any inquiries youare pleased to make, I am ready to answer. If there be none to make, Iwill comply with your former commands, and leave the house with aslittle ceremony as I entered it. "

"Your story, " she replied, "has been unexpected. I believe it fully, andam sorry for the hard thoughts which past appearances have made meentertain concerning you. "

Here she sunk into mournful silence. "The information, " she at lengthresumed, "which I have received from another quarter respecting thatunfortunate youth, astonishes and perplexes me. It is inconsistent withyour story, but it must be founded on some mistake, which I am, atpresent, unable to unravel. Welbeck, whose connection has been sounfortunate to you----"

"Unfortunate! Dear madam! How unfortunate? It has done away a part of myignorance of the world in which I live. It has led me to the situationin which I am now placed. It has introduced me to the knowledge of manygood people. It has made me the witness and the subject of many acts ofbeneficence and generosity. My knowledge of Welbeck has been useful tome. It has enabled me to be useful to others. I look back upon thatallotment of my destiny which first led me to his door, with gratitudeand pleasure. 

"Would to heaven, " continued I, somewhat changing my tone, "intercoursewith Welbeck had been as harmless to all others as it has been to me!that no injury to fortune and fame, and innocence and life, had beenincurred by others greater than has fallen upon my head! There is onebeing, whose connection with him has not been utterly dissimilar in itsorigin and circumstances to mine, though the catastrophe has, indeed, been widely and mournfully different. 

"And yet, within this moment, a thought has occurred from which I derivesome consolation and some hope. You, dear madam, are rich. Thesespacious apartments, this plentiful accommodation, are yours. You haveenough for your own gratification and convenience, and somewhat tospare. Will you take to your protecting arms, to your hospitable roof, an unhappy girl whom the arts of Welbeck have robbed of fortune, reputation, and honour, who is now languishing in poverty, weeping overthe lifeless remains of her babe, surrounded by the agents of vice, andtrembling on the verge of infamy?"

"What can this mean?" replied the lady. "Of whom do you speak?"

"You shall know her. You shall be apprized of her claims to yourcompassion. Her story, as far as is known to me, I will faithfullyrepeat to you. She is a stranger; an Italian; her name is ClemenzaLodi. "

"Clemenza Lodi! Good heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth; "why, surely--itcannot be. And yet--is it possible that you are that person?"

"I do not comprehend you, madam. "

"A friend has related a transaction of a strange sort. It is scarcely anhour since she told it me. The name of Clemenza Lodi was mentioned init, and a young man of most singular deportment was described. But tellme how you were engaged on Thursday morning. "

"I was coming to this city from a distance. I stopped ten minutes at thehouse of----"

"Mrs. Villars?"

"The same. Perhaps you know her and her character. Perhaps you canconfirm or rectify my present opinions concerning her. It is there thatthe unfortunate Clemenza abides. It is thence that I wish her to bespeedily removed. "

"I have heard of you; of your conduct upon that occasion. "

"Of me?" answered I, eagerly. "Do you know that woman?" So saying, Iproduced the card which I had received from her, and on which her namewas written. 

"I know her well. She is my countrywoman and my friend. "

"Your friend? Then she is good; she is innocent; she is generous. Willshe be a sister, a protectress, to Clemenza? Will you exhort her to adeed of charity? Will you be, yourself, an example of beneficence?Direct me to Miss Fielding, I beseech you. I have called on her already, but in vain, and there is no time to be lost. "

"Why are you so precipitate? What would you do?"

"Take her away from that house instantly--bring her hither--place herunder your protection--give her Mrs. Wentworth for a counsellor--afriend--a mother. Shall I do this? Shall I hie thither to-day, this veryhour--now? Give me your consent, and she shall be with you before noon. "

"By no means, " replied she, with earnestness. "You are too hasty. Anaffair of so much importance cannot be despatched in a moment. There aremany difficulties and doubts to be first removed. "

"Let them be reserved for the future. Withhold not your helping handtill the struggle has disappeared forever. Think on the gulf that isalready gaping to swallow her. This is no time to hesitate and falter. Iwill tell you her story, but not now; we will postpone it tillto-morrow, and first secure her from impending evils. She shall tell ityou herself. In an hour I will bring her hither, and she herself shallrecount to you her sorrows. Will you let me?"

"Your behaviour is extraordinary. I can scarcely tell whether thissimplicity be real or affected. One would think that your common sensewould show you the impropriety of your request. To admit under my roof awoman notoriously dishonoured, and from an infamous house----"

"My dearest madam! How can you reflect upon the situation withoutirresistible pity? I see that you are thoroughly aware of her pastcalamity and her present danger. Do not these urge you to make haste toher relief? Can any lot be more deplorable than hers? Can any state bemore perilous? Poverty is not the only evil that oppresses or thatthreatens her. The scorn of the world, and her own compunction, thedeath of the fruit of her error and the witness of her shame, are notthe worst. She is exposed to the temptations of the profligate; whileshe remains with Mrs. Villars, her infamy accumulates; her furtherdebasement is facilitated; her return to reputation and to virtue isobstructed by new bars. "

"How know I that her debasement is not already complete andirremediable? She is a mother, but not a wife. How came she thus? Is herbeing Welbeck's prostitute no proof of her guilt?"

"Alas! I know not. I believe her not very culpable; I know her to beunfortunate; to have been robbed and betrayed. You are a stranger to herhistory. I am myself imperfectly acquainted with it. 

"But let me tell you the little that I know. Perhaps my narrative maycause you to think of her as I do. "

She did not object to this proposal, and I immediately recounted allthat I had gained from my own observations, or from Welbeck himself, respecting this forlorn girl. Having finished my narrative, I proceededthus:--

"Can you hesitate to employ that power which was given you for goodends, to rescue this sufferer? Take her to your home; to your bosom; toyour confidence. Keep aloof those temptations which beset her in herpresent situation. Restore her to that purity which her desolatecondition, her ignorance, her misplaced gratitude and the artifices of askilful dissembler, have destroyed, if it be destroyed; for how know weunder what circumstances her ruin was accomplished? With what pretences, or appearances, or promises, she was won to compliance?"

"True. I confess my ignorance; but ought not that ignorance to beremoved before she makes a part of my family?"

"Oh, no! It may be afterwards removed. It cannot be removed before. Bybringing her hither you shield her, at least, from future and possibleevils. Here you can watch her conduct and sift her sentimentsconveniently and at leisure. Should she prove worthy of your charity, how justly may you congratulate yourself on your seasonable efforts inher cause! If she prove unworthy, you may then demean yourself accordingto her demerits. "

"I must reflect upon it. --To-morrow----"

"Let me prevail on you to admit her at once, and without delay. Thisvery moment may be the critical one. To-day we may exert ourselves withsuccess, but to-morrow all our efforts may be fruitless. Why fluctuate, why linger, when so much good may be done, and no evil can possibly beincurred? It requires but a word from you; you need not move a finger. Your house is large. You have chambers vacant and convenient. Consentonly that your door shall not be barred against her; that you will treather with civility: to carry your kindness into effect; to persuade herto attend me hither and to place herself in your care, shall be myprovince. "

These and many similar entreaties and reasonings were ineffectual. Hergeneral disposition was kind, but she was unaccustomed to strenuous orsudden exertions. To admit the persuasions of such an advocate to souncommon a scheme as that of sharing her house with a creature thuspreviously unknown to her, thus loaded with suspicion and with obloquy, was not possible. 

I at last forbore importunity, and requested her to tell me when I mightexpect to meet with Mrs. Fielding at her lodgings. Inquiry was made towhat end I sought an interview. I made no secret of my purpose. 

"Are you mad, young man?" she exclaimed. "Mrs. Fielding has already beenegregiously imprudent. On the faith of an ancient slight acquaintancewith Mrs. Villars in Europe, she suffered herself to be decoyed into avisit. Instead of taking warning by numerous tokens of the realcharacter of that woman, in her behaviour and in that of her visitants, she consented to remain there one night. The next morning took placethat astonishing interview with you which she has since described to me. She is now warned against the like indiscretion. And, pray, whatbenevolent scheme would you propose to her?"

"Has she property? Is she rich?"

"She is. Unhappily, perhaps, for her, she is absolute mistress of herfortune, and has neither guardian nor parent to control her in the useof it. "

"Has she virtue? Does she know the value of affluence and a fair fame?And will not she devote a few dollars to rescue a fellow-creature fromindigence and infamy and vice? Surely she will. She will hazard nothingby the boon. I will be her almoner. I will provide the wretched strangerwith food and raiment and dwelling; I will pay for all, if Mrs. Fielding, from her superfluity, will supply the means. Clemenza shallowe life and honour to your friend, till I am able to supply the needfulsum from my own stock. "

While thus speaking, my companion gazed at me with steadfastness:--"Iknow not what to make of you. Your language and ideas are those of alunatic. Are you acquainted with Mrs. Fielding?"

"Yes. I have seen her two days ago, and she has invited me to see heragain. "

"And on the strength of this acquaintance you expect to be her almoner?To be the medium of her charity?"

"I desire to save her trouble; to make charity as light and easy aspossible. 'Twill be better if she perform those offices herself. 'Twillredound more to the credit of her reason and her virtue. But I solicither benignity only in the cause of Clemenza. For her only do I wish atpresent to call forth her generosity and pity. "

"And do you imagine she will intrust her money to one of your age andsex, whom she knows so imperfectly, to administer to the wants of onewhom she found in such a house as Mrs. Villars's? She never will. Shementioned her imprudent engagement to meet you, but she is now warnedagainst the folly of such confidence. 

"You have told me plausible stories of yourself and of this Clemenza. Icannot say that I disbelieve them, but I know the ways of the world toowell to bestow implicit faith so easily. You are an extraordinary youngman. You may possibly be honest. Such a one as you, with your educationand address, may possibly have passed all your life in a hovel; but itis scarcely credible, let me tell you. I believe most of the factsrespecting my nephew, because my knowledge of him before his flightwould enable me to detect your falsehood; but there must be other proofsbesides an innocent brow and a voluble tongue, to make me give fullcredit to your pretensions. 

"I have no claim upon Welbeck which can embarrass you. On that score, you are free from any molestation from me or my friends. I havesuspected you of being an accomplice in some vile plot, and am nowinclined to acquit you; but that is all that you must expect from me, till your character be established by other means than your ownassertions. I am engaged at present, and must therefore request you toput an end to your visit. "

This strain was much unlike the strain which preceded it. I imagined, bythe mildness of her tone and manners, that her unfavourableprepossessions were removed; but they seemed to have suddenly regainedtheir pristine force. I was somewhat disconcerted by this unexpectedchange. I stood for a minute silent and irresolute. 

Just then a knock was heard at the door, and presently entered that veryfemale whom I had met with at Villars's. I caught her figure as Iglanced through the window. Mrs. Wentworth darted at me many significantglances, which commanded me to withdraw; but, with this object in view, it was impossible. 

As soon as she entered, her eyes were fixed upon me. Certainrecollections naturally occurred at that moment, and made her cheeksglow. Some confusion reigned for a moment, but was quickly dissipated. She did not notice me, but exchanged salutations with her friend. 

All this while I stood near the window, in a situation not a littlepainful. Certain tremors which I had not been accustomed to feel, andwhich seemed to possess a mystical relation to the visitant, disabled meat once from taking my leave, or from performing any useful purpose bystaying. At length, struggling for composure, I approached her, and, showing her the card she had given me, said, --

"Agreeably to this direction, I called an hour ago, at your lodgings. Ifound you not. I hope you will permit me to call once more. When shallI expect to meet you at home?"

Her eyes were cast on the floor. A kind of indirect attention was fixedon Mrs. Wentworth, serving to intimidate and check her. At length shesaid, in an irresolute voice, "I shall be at home this evening. "

"And this evening, " replied I, "I will call to see you. " So saying, Ileft the house. 

This interval was tedious, but was to be endured with equanimity. I wasimpatient to be gone to Baltimore, and hoped to be able to set out bythe dawn of next day. Meanwhile, I was necessarily to perform somethingwith respect to Clemenza. 

After dinner I accompanied Mrs. Stevens to visit Miss Carlton. I waseager to see a woman who could bear adversity in the manner which myfriend had described. 

She met us at the door of her apartment. Her seriousness was not abatedby her smiles of affability and welcome. "My friend!" whispered I, "howtruly lovely is this Miss Carlton! Are the heart and the intelligencewithin worthy of these features?"

"Yes, they are. The account of her employments, of her resignation tothe ill fate of the brother whom she loves, proves that they are. "

My eyes were riveted to her countenance and person. I feltuncontrollable eagerness to speak to her, and to gain her good opinion. 

"You must know this young man, my dear Miss Carlton, " said my friend, looking at me; "he is my husband's friend, and professes a great desireto be yours. You must not treat him as a mere stranger, for he knowsyour character and situation already, as well as that of your brother. "

She looked at me with benignity:--"I accept his friendship willingly andgratefully, and shall endeavour to convince him that his good opinion isnot misplaced. "

There now ensued a conversation somewhat general, in which this youngwoman showed a mind vigorous from exercise and unembarrassed by care. She affected no concealment of her own condition, of her wants, or hercomforts. She laid no stress upon misfortunes, but contrived to deducesome beneficial consequence to herself, and some motive for gratitude toHeaven, from every wayward incident that had befallen her. 

This demeanour emboldened me, at length, to inquire into the cause ofher brother's imprisonment, and the nature of his debt. 

She answered frankly and without hesitation:--"It is a debt of hisfather's, for which he made himself responsible during his father'slife. The act was generous but imprudent, as the event has shown;though, at the time, the unhappy effects could not be foreseen. 

"My father, " continued she, "was arrested by his creditor, at a timewhen the calmness and comforts of his own dwelling were necessary to hishealth. The creditor was obdurate, and would release him upon nocondition but that of receiving a bond from my brother, by which heengaged to pay the debt at several successive times and in smallportions. All these instalments were discharged with great difficultyindeed, but with sufficient punctuality, except the last, to which mybrother's earnings were not adequate. "

"How much is the debt?"

"Four hundred dollars. "

"And is the state of the creditor such as to make the loss of fourhundred dollars of more importance to him than the loss of liberty toyour brother?"

She answered, smiling, "That is a very abstract view of things. On sucha question you and I might, perhaps, easily decide in favour of mybrother; but would there not be some danger of deciding partially? Hisconduct is a proof of his decision, and there is no power to change it. "

"Will not argument change it? Methinks in so plain a case I should beable to convince him. You say he is rich and childless. His annualincome is ten times more than this sum. Your brother cannot pay the debtwhile in prison; whereas, if at liberty, he might slowly and finallydischarge it. If his humanity would not yield, his avarice might bebrought to acquiesce. "

"But there is another passion which you would find it somewhat harder tosubdue, and that is his vengeance. He thinks himself wronged, andimprisons my brother, not to enforce payment, but to inflict misery. Ifyou could persuade him that there is no hardship in imprisonment, youwould speedily gain the victory; but that could not be attemptedconsistently with truth. In proportion to my brother's suffering is hisgratification. "

"You draw an odious and almost incredible portrait. "

"And yet such a one would serve for the likeness of almost every secondman we meet. "

"And is such your opinion of mankind? Your experience must surely havebeen of a rueful tenor to justify such hard thoughts of the rest of yourspecies. "

"By no means. It has been what those whose situation disables them fromlooking further than the surface of things would regard as unfortunate;but, if my goods and evils were equitably balanced, the former would bethe weightiest. I have found kindness and goodness in great numbers, buthave likewise met prejudice and rancor in many. My opinion of Farquharis not lightly taken up. I saw him yesterday, and the nature of hismotives in the treatment of my brother was plain enough. "

Here this topic was succeeded by others, and the conversation ceased nottill the hour had arrived on which I had preconcerted to visit Mrs. Fielding. I left my two friends for this purpose. 

I was admitted to Mrs. Fielding's presence without scruple ordifficulty. There were two females in her company, and one of the othersex, well-dressed, elderly, and sedate persons. Their discourse turnedupon political topics, with which, as you know, I have but slightacquaintance. They talked of fleets and armies, of Robespierre and Pitt, of whom I had only a newspaper-knowledge. 

In a short time the women rose, and, huddling on their cloaks, disappeared, in company with the gentleman. Being thus left alone withMrs. Fielding, some embarrassment was mutually betrayed. With muchhesitation, which, however, gradually disappeared, my companion, atlength, began the conversation:--

"You met me lately, in a situation, sir, on which I look back withtrembling and shame, but not with any self-condemnation. I was led intoit without any fault, unless a too hasty confidence may be styled afault. I had known Mrs. Villars in England, where she lived with anuntainted reputation, at least; and the sight of my countrywoman, in aforeign land, awakened emotions in the indulgence of which I did notimagine there was either any guilt or any danger. She invited me to seeher at her house with so much urgency and warmth, and solicited me totake a place immediately in a chaise in which she had come to the city, that I too incautiously complied. 

"You are a stranger to me, and I am unacquainted with your character. What little I have seen of your deportment, and what little I havelately heard concerning you from Mrs. Wentworth, do not produceunfavourable impressions; but the apology I have made was due to my ownreputation, and should have been offered to you whatever your characterhad been. " There she stopped. 

"I came not hither, " said I, "to receive an apology. Your demeanour, onour first interview, shielded you sufficiently from any suspicions orsurmises that I could form. What you have now mentioned was likewisementioned by your friend, and was fully believed upon her authority. Mypurpose, in coming, related not to you, but to another. I desired merelyto interest your generosity and justice on behalf of one whose destituteand dangerous condition may lay claim to your compassion and yoursuccour. "

"I comprehend you, " said she, with an air of some perplexity. "I knowthe claims of that person. "

"And will you comply with them?"

"In what manner can I serve her?"

"By giving her the means of living. "

"Does she not possess them already?"

"She is destitute. Her dependence was wholly placed upon one that isdead, by whom her person was dishonoured and her fortune embezzled. "

"But she still lives. She is not turned into the street. She is notdestitute of home. "

"But what a home!"

"Such as she may choose to remain in. "

"She cannot choose it. She must not choose it. She remains throughignorance, or through the incapacity of leaving it. "

"But how shall she be persuaded to a change?"

"I will persuade her. I will fully explain her situation. I will supplyher with a new home. "

"You will persuade her to go with you, and to live at a home of yourproviding and on your bounty?"

"Certainly. "

"Would that change be worthy of a cautious person? Would it benefit herreputation? Would it prove her love of independence?"

"My purposes are good. I know not why she should suspect them. But I amonly anxious to be the instrument. Let her be indebted to one of her ownsex, of unquestionable reputation. Admit her into this house. Invite herto your arms. Cherish and console her as your sister. "

"Before I am convinced that she deserves it? And even then, what regardshall I, young, unmarried, independent, affluent, pay to my ownreputation in harbouring a woman in these circumstances?"

"But you need not act yourself. Make me your agent and almoner. Onlysupply her with the means of subsistence through me. "

"Would you have me act a clandestine part? Hold meetings with one ofyour sex, and give him money for a purpose which I must hide from theworld? Is it worth while to be a dissembler and impostor? And will notsuch conduct incur more dangerous surmises and suspicions than wouldarise from acting openly and directly? You will forgive me for remindingyou, likewise, that it is particularly incumbent upon those in mysituation to be circumspect in their intercourse with men and withstrangers. This is the second time that I have seen you. My knowledge ofyou is extremely dubious and imperfect, and such as would make theconduct you prescribe to me, in a high degree, rash and culpable. Youmust not, therefore, expect me to pursue it. "

These words were delivered with an air of firmness and dignity. I wasnot insensible to the truth of her representations. "I confess, " said I, "what you have said makes me doubt the propriety of my proposal; yet Iwould fain be of service to her. Cannot you point out some practicablemethod?"

She was silent and thoughtful, and seemed indisposed to answer myquestion. 

"I had set my heart upon success in this negotiation, " continued I, "andcould not imagine any obstacle to its success; but I find my ignoranceof the world's ways much greater than I had previously expected. Youdefraud yourself of all the happiness redounding from the act of makingothers happy. You sacrifice substance to show, and are more anxious toprevent unjust aspersions from lighting on yourself, than to rescue afellow-creature from guilt and infamy. 

"You are rich, and abound in all the conveniences and luxuries of life. A small portion of your superfluity would obviate the wants of a beingnot less worthy than yourself. It is not avarice or aversion to labourthat makes you withhold your hand. It is dread of the sneers andsurmises of malevolence and ignorance. 

"I will not urge you further at present. Your determination to be wiseshould not be hasty. Think upon the subject calmly and sedately, andform your resolution in the course of three days. At the end of thatperiod I will visit you again. " So saying, and without waiting forcomment or answer, I withdrew. 

CHAPTER XL. 

I mounted the stage-coach at daybreak the next day, in company with asallow Frenchman from St. Domingo, his fiddle-case, an ape, and twofemale blacks. The Frenchman, after passing the suburbs, took out hisviolin and amused himself with humming to his own _tweedle-tweedle_. Themonkey now and then munched an apple, which was given to him from abasket by the blacks, who gazed with stupid wonder, and an exclamatory_La! La!_ upon the passing scenery, or chattered to each other in a sortof open-mouthed, half-articulate, monotonous, singsong jargon. 

The man looked seldom either on this side or that; and spoke only torebuke the frolics of the monkey, with a "Tenez! Dominique! Prenezgarde! Diable noir!"

As to me, my thought was busy in a thousand ways. I sometimes gazed atthe faces of my _four_ companions, and endeavoured to discern thedifferences and samenesses between them. I took an exact account of thefeatures, proportions, looks, and gestures of the monkey, the Congolese, and the Creole Gaul. I compared them together, and examined them apart. I looked at them in a thousand different points of view, and pursued, untired and unsatiated, those trains of reflections which began at eachchange of tone, feature, and attitude. 

I marked the country as it successively arose before me, and foundendless employment in examining the shape and substance of the fence, the barn, and the cottage, the aspect of earth and of heaven. How greatare the pleasures of health and of mental activity!

My chief occupation, however, related to the scenes into which I wasabout to enter. My imaginations were, of course, crude and inadequate;and I found an uncommon gratification in comparing realities, as theysuccessively occurred, with the pictures which my wayward fancy haddepicted. 

I will not describe my dreams. My proper task is to relate the truth. Neither shall I dwell upon the images suggested by the condition of thecountry through which I passed. I will confine myself to mentioning thetransactions connected with the purpose of my journey. 

I reached Baltimore at night. I was not so fatigued but that I couldramble through the town. I intended, at present, merely thegratification of a stranger's curiosity. My visit to Mrs. Watson and herbrother I designed should take place on the morrow. The evening of myarrival I deemed an unseasonable time. 

While roving about, however, it occurred to me, that it might not beimpolitic to find the way to their habitation even now. My purposes ofgeneral curiosity would equally be served whichever way my steps werebent; and to trace the path to their dwelling would save me the troubleof inquiries and interrogations to-morrow. 

When I looked forward to an interview with the wife of Watson, and tothe subject which would be necessarily discussed at that interview, Ifelt a trembling and misgiving at my heart. "Surely, " thought I, "itwill become me to exercise immeasurable circumspection and address; andyet how little are these adapted to the impetuosity and candour of mynature!

"How am I to introduce myself? What am I to tell her? That I was a sortof witness to the murder of her husband? That I received from the handof his assassin the letter which I afterwards transmitted to her? and, from the same hands, the bills contained in his girdle?

"How will she start and look aghast! What suspicions will she harbour?What inquiries shall be made of me? How shall they be disarmed andeluded, or answered? Deep consideration will be necessary before I trustmyself to such an interview. The coming night shall be devoted toreflection upon this subject. "

From these thoughts I proceeded to inquiries for the street mentioned inthe advertisement, where Mrs. Watson was said to reside. The street, and, at length, the habitation, was found. Having reached a stationopposite, I paused and surveyed the mansion. It was a wooden edifice oftwo stories, humble, but neat. You ascended to the door by several stonesteps. Of the two lower windows, the shutters of one were closed, butthose of the other were open. Though late in the evening, there was noappearance of light or fire within. 

Beside the house was a painted fence, through which was a gate leadingto the back of the building. Guided by the impulse of the moment, Icrossed the street to the gate, and, lifting the latch, entered thepaved alley, on one side of which was a paled fence, and on the otherthe house, looking through two windows into the alley. 

The first window was dark like those in front; but at the second a lightwas discernible. I approached it, and, looking through, beheld a plainbut neat apartment, in which parlour, kitchen, and nursery seemed to beunited. A fire burned cheerfully in the chimney, over which was atea-kettle. On the hearth sat a smiling and playful cherub of a boy, tossing something to a black girl who sat opposite, and whose innocentand regular features wanted only a different hue to make them beautiful. Near it, in a rocking-chair, with a sleeping babe in her lap, sat afemale figure in plain but neat and becoming attire. Her posturepermitted half her face to be seen, and saved me from any danger ofbeing observed. 

This countenance was full of sweetness and benignity, but the sadnessthat veiled its lustre was profound. Her eyes were now fixed upon thefire and were moist with the tears of remembrance, while she sung, inlow and scarcely-audible strains, an artless lullaby. 

This spectacle exercised a strange power over my feelings. Whileoccupied in meditating on the features of the mother, I was unaware ofmy conspicuous situation. The black girl, having occasion to change hersituation, in order to reach the ball which was thrown at her, unluckilycaught a glance of my figure through the glass. In a tone of halfsurprise and half terror, she cried out, "Oh! see dare! a man!"

I was tempted to draw suddenly back, but a second thought showed me theimpropriety of departing thus abruptly and leaving behind me some alarm. I felt a sort of necessity for apologizing for my intrusion into theseprecincts, and hastened to a door that led into the same apartment. Iknocked. A voice somewhat confused bade me enter. It was not till Iopened the door and entered the room, that I fully saw in whatembarrassments I had incautiously involved myself. 

I could scarcely obtain sufficient courage to speak, and gave a confusedassent to the question, "Have you business with me, sir?" She offered mea chair, and I sat down. She put the child, not yet awakened, into thearms of the black, who kissed it and rocked it in her arms with greatsatisfaction, and, resuming her seat, looked at me with inquisitivenessmingled with complacency. 

After a moment's pause, I said, "I was directed to this house as theabode of Mr. Ephraim Williams. Can he be seen, madam?"

"He is not in town at present. If you will leave a message with me, Iwill punctually deliver it. "

The thought suddenly occurred, whether any more was needful than merelyto leave the bills suitably enclosed, as they already were, in a packet. Thus all painful explanations might be avoided, and I might have reasonto congratulate myself on his seasonable absence. Actuated by thesethoughts, I drew forth the packet, and put it into her hand, saying, "Iwill leave this in your possession, and must earnestly request you tokeep it safe until you can deliver it into his own hands. "

Scarcely had I said this before new suggestions occurred. Was it rightto act in this clandestine and mysterious manner? Should I leave thesepersons in uncertainty respecting the fate of a husband and a brother?What perplexities, misunderstandings, and suspenses might not grow outof this uncertainty? and ought they not to be precluded at any hazard tomy own safety or good name?

These sentiments made me involuntarily stretch forth my hand to retakethe packet. This gesture, and other significances in my manners, joinedto a trembling consciousness in herself, filled my companion with allthe tokens of confusion and fear. She alternately looked at me and atthe paper. Her trepidation increased, and she grew pale. These emotionswere counteracted by a strong effort. 

At length she said, falteringly, "I will take good care of them, andwill give them to my brother. "

She rose and placed them in a drawer, after which she resumed her seat. 

On this occasion all my wariness forsook me. I cannot explain why myperplexity and the trouble of my thoughts were greater upon this thanupon similar occasions. However it be, I was incapable of speaking, andfixed my eyes upon the floor. A sort of electrical sympathy pervaded mycompanion, and terror and anguish were strongly manifested in theglances which she sometimes stole at me. We seemed fully to understandeach other without the aid of words. 

This imbecility could not last long. I gradually recovered my composure, and collected my scattered thoughts. I looked at her with seriousness, and steadfastly spoke:--"Are you the wife of Amos Watson?"

She started:--"I am indeed. Why do you ask? Do you know any thingof----?" There her voice failed. 

I replied with quickness, "Yes. I am fully acquainted with his destiny. "

"Good God!" she exclaimed, in a paroxysm of surprise, and bendingeagerly forward, "my husband is then alive! This packet is from him. Where is he? When have you seen him?"

"'Tis a long time since. "

"But where, where is he now? Is he well? Will he return to me?"

"Never. "

"Merciful Heaven!" (looking upwards and clasping her hands, ) "I thankthee at least for his life! But why has he forsaken me? Why will he notreturn?"

"For a good reason, " said I, with augmented solemnity, "he will neverreturn to thee. Long ago was he laid in the cold grave. "

She shrieked; and, at the next moment, sunk in a swoon upon the floor. Iwas alarmed. The two children shrieked, and ran about the room terrifiedand unknowing what they did. I was overwhelmed with somewhat liketerror, yet I involuntarily raised the mother in my arms, and cast aboutfor the means of recalling her from this fit. 

Time to effect this had not elapsed, when several persons, apparentlyMrs. Watson's neighbours, and raised by the outcries of the girls, hastily entered the room. They looked at me with mingled surprise andsuspicion; but my attitude, being not that of an injurer but helper; mycountenance, which showed the pleasure their entrance, at this criticalmoment, afforded me; and my words, in which I besought their assistance, and explained, in some degree, and briefly, the cause of thoseappearances, removed their ill thoughts. 

Presently, the unhappy woman, being carried by the new-comers into abedroom adjoining, recovered her sensibility. I only waited for this. Ihad done my part. More information would be useless to her, and not tobe given by me, at least in the present audience, without embarrassmentand peril. I suddenly determined to withdraw, and this, the attention ofthe company being otherwise engaged, I did without notice. I returned tomy inn, and shut myself up in my chamber. Such was the change which, undesigned, unforeseen, half an hour had wrought in my situation. Mycautious projects had perished in their conception. That which I haddeemed so arduous, to require such circumspect approaches, suchwell-concerted speeches, was done. 

I had started up before this woman as if from the pores of the ground. Ihad vanished with the same celerity, but had left her in possession ofproofs sufficient that I was neither spectre nor demon. "I will visither, " said I, "again. I will see her brother, and know the full effectof my disclosure. I will tell them all that I myself know. Ignorancewould be no less injurious to them than to myself; but, first, I willsee the Maurices. "

CHAPTER XLI. 

Next morning I arose betimes, and equipped myself without delay. I hadeight or ten miles to walk, so far from the town being the residence ofthese people; and I forthwith repaired to their dwelling. The personswhom I desired to see were known to me only by name, and by their placeof abode. It was a mother and her three daughters to whom I now carriedthe means not only of competence but riches; means which they, no doubt, had long ago despaired of regaining, and which, among all possiblemessengers, one of my age and guise would be the least suspected ofbeing able to restore. 

I arrived, through intricate ways, at eleven o'clock, at the house ofMrs. Maurice. It was a neat dwelling, in a very fanciful and rusticstyle, in the bosom of a valley, which, when decorated by the verdureand blossoms of the coming season, must possess many charms. At presentit was naked and dreary. 

As I approached it, through a long avenue, I observed two femalefigures, walking arm-in-arm and slowly to and fro, in the path in whichI now was. "These, " said I, "are daughters of the family. Graceful, well-dressed, fashionable girls they seem at this distance. May they bedeserving of the good tidings which I bring!" Seeing them turn towardsthe house, I mended my pace, that I might overtake them and requesttheir introduction of me to their mother. 

As I more nearly approached, they again turned; and, perceiving me, theystood as if in expectation of my message. I went up to them. 

A single glance, cast at each, made me suspect that they were notsisters; but, somewhat to my disappointment, there was nothing highlyprepossessing in the countenance of either. They were what is every daymet with, though less embellished by brilliant drapery and turban, inmarkets and streets. An air somewhat haughty, somewhat supercilious, lessened still more their attractions. These defects, however, werenothing to me. 

I inquired, of her that seemed to be the elder of the two, for Mrs. Maurice. 

"She is indisposed, " was the cold reply. 

"That is unfortunate. Is it not possible to see her?"

"No;" with still more gravity. 

I was somewhat at a loss how to proceed. A pause ensued. At length thesame lady resumed, "What's your business? You can leave your messagewith me. "

"With nobody but her. If she be not _very_ indisposed----"

"She is very indisposed, " interrupted she, peevishly. "If you cannotleave your message, you may take it back again, for she must not bedisturbed. "

This was a singular reception. I was disconcerted and silent. I knew notwhat to say. "Perhaps, " I at last observed, "some other time----"

"No, " (with increasing heat, ) "no other time. She is more likely to beworse than better. Come, Betsy, " said she, taking hold of hercompanion's arm; and, hieing into the house, shut the door after her, and disappeared. I stood, at the bottom of the steps, confounded at suchstrange and unexpected treatment. I could not withdraw till my purposewas accomplished. After a moment's pause, I stepped to the door, andpulled the bell. A negro came, of a very unpropitious aspect, and, opening the door, looked at me in silence. To my question, Was Mrs. Maurice to be seen? he made some answer, in a jargon which I could notunderstand; but his words were immediately followed by an unseen personwithin the house:--"Mrs. Maurice can't be seen by anybody. Come in, Cato, and shut the door. " This injunction was obeyed by Cato withoutceremony. 

Here was a dilemma! I came with ten thousand pounds in my hands, tobestow freely on these people, and such was the treatment I received. "Imust adopt, " said I, "a new mode. "

I lifted the latch, without a second warning, and, Cato havingdisappeared, went into a room, the door of which chanced to be open, onmy right hand. I found within the two females whom I had accosted in theportico. I now addressed myself to the younger:--"This intrusion, when Ihave explained the reason of it, will, I hope, be forgiven. I come, madam----"

"Yes, " interrupted the other, with a countenance suffused byindignation, "I know very well whom you come from, and what it is thatprompts this insolence; but your employer shall see that we have notsunk so low as he imagines. Cato! Bob! I say. "

"My employer, madam! I see you labour under some great mistake. I haveno employer. I come from a great distance. I come to bring intelligenceof the utmost importance to your family. I come to benefit and not toinjure you. "

By this time, Bob and Cato, two sturdy blacks, entered the room. "Turnthis person, " said the imperious lady, regardless of my explanations, "out of the house. Don't you hear me?" she continued, observing thatthey looked one upon the other and hesitated. 

"Surely, madam, " said I, "you are precipitate. You are treating like anenemy one who will prove himself your mother's best friend. "

"Will you leave the house?" she exclaimed, quite beside herself withanger. "Villains! why don't you do as I bid you?"

The blacks looked upon each other, as if waiting for an example. Theirhabitual deference for every thing _white_, no doubt, held their handsfrom what they regarded as a profanation. At last Bob said, in awhining, beseeching tone, "Why, missee, massa buckra wanna go for doo, dan he winna go fo' wee. "

The lady now burst into tears of rage. She held out her hand, menacingly. "Will you leave the house?"

"Not willingly, " said I, in a mild tone. "I came too far to return withthe business that brought me unperformed. I am persuaded, madam, youmistake my character and my views. I have a message to deliver yourmother which deeply concerns her and your happiness, if you are herdaughter. I merely wished to see her, and leave with her a piece ofimportant news; news in which her fortune is deeply interested. "

These words had a wonderful effect upon the young lady. Her anger waschecked. "Good God!" she exclaimed, "are you Watson?"

"No; I am only Watson's representative, and come to do all that Watsoncould do if he were present. "

She was now importunate to know my business. 

"My business lies with Mrs. Maurice. Advertisements, which I have seen, direct me to her, and to this house; and to her only shall I deliver mymessage. "

"Perhaps, " said she, with a face of apology, "I have mistaken you. Mrs. Maurice is my mother. She is really indisposed, but I can stand in herplace on this occasion. "

"You cannot represent her in this instance. If I cannot have access toher now, I must go; and shall return when you are willing to grant it. "

"Nay, " replied she, "she is not, perhaps, so very sick but that I willgo, and see if she will admit you. " So saying, she left me for threeminutes; and, returning, said her mother wished to see me. 

I followed up-stairs, at her request; and, entering an ill-furnishedchamber, found, seated in an arm-chair, a lady seemingly in years, pale, and visibly infirm. The lines of her countenance were far from layingclaim to my reverence. It was too much like the daughter's. 

She looked at me, at my entrance, with great eagerness, and said, in asharp tone, "Pray, friend, what is it you want with me? Make haste; tellyour story, and begone. "

"My story is a short one, and easily told. Amos Watson was your agent inJamaica. He sold an estate belonging to you, and received the money. "

"He did, " said she, attempting ineffectually to rise from her seat, andher eyes beaming with a significance that shocked me; "he did, thevillain, and purloined the money, to the ruin of me and my daughters. But if there be justice on earth it will overtake him. I trust I shallhave the pleasure one day--I hope to hear he's hanged. Well, but go on, friend. He _did_ sell it, I tell you. "

"He sold it for ten thousand pounds, " I resumed, "and invested this sumin bills of exchange. Watson is dead. These bills came into my hands. Iwas lately informed, by the public papers, who were the real owners, andhave come from Philadelphia with no other view than to restore them toyou. There they are, " continued I, placing them in her lap, entire anduntouched. 

She seized the papers, and looked at me and at her daughter, by turns, with an air of one suddenly bewildered. She seemed speechless, and, growing suddenly more ghastly pale, leaned her head back upon the chair. The daughter screamed, and hastened to support the languid parent, whodifficultly articulated, "Oh, I am sick; sick to death. Put me on thebed. "

I was astonished and affrighted at this scene. Some of the domestics, ofboth colours, entered, and gazed at me with surprise. Involuntarily Iwithdrew, and returned to the room below, into which I had firstentered, and which I now found deserted. 

I was for some time at a loss to guess at the cause of theseappearances. At length it occurred to me, that joy was the source of thesickness that had seized Mrs. Maurice. The abrupt recovery of what hadprobably been deemed irretrievable would naturally produce this effectupon a mind of a certain texture. 

I was deliberating whether to stay or go, when the daughter entered theroom, and, after expressing some surprise at seeing me, whom shesupposed to have retired, told me that her mother wished to see me againbefore my departure. In this request there was no kindness. All wascold, supercilious, and sullen. I obeyed the summons without speaking. 

I found Mrs. Maurice seated in her arm-chair, much in her former guise. Without desiring me to be seated, or relaxing aught in her asperity oflooks and tones, --"Pray, friend, how did you _come by_ these papers?"

"I assure you, madam, they were honestly _come by_, " answered I, sedately and with half a smile; "but, if the whole is there that wasmissing, the mode and time in which they came to me is matter ofconcern only to myself. Is there any deficiency?"

"I am not sure. I don't know much of these matters. There may be less. Idare say there is. I shall know that soon. I expect a friend of mineevery minute who will look them over. I don't doubt you can give a goodaccount of yourself. "

"I doubt not but I can--to those who have a right to demand it. In thiscase, curiosity must be very urgent indeed before I shall consent togratify it. "

"You must know this is a suspicious case. Watson, to-be-sure, embezzledthe money; to-be-sure, you are his accomplice. "

"Certainly, " said I, "my conduct, on this occasion, proves that. What Ihave brought to you, of my own accord; what I have restored to you, fully and unconditionally, it is plain Watson embezzled, and that I wasaiding in the fraud. To restore what was never stolen always betrays thethief. To give what might be kept without suspicion is, without doubt, arrant knavery. To be serious, madam, in coming thus far, for thispurpose, I have done enough; and must now bid you farewell. "

"Nay, don't go yet. I have something more to say to you. My friend, I'msure, will be here presently. There he is;" (noticing a peal upon thebell. ) "Polly, go down, and see if that's Mr. Somers. If it is, bringhim up. " The daughter went. 

I walked to the window absorbed in my own reflections. I wasdisappointed and dejected. The scene before me was the unpleasingreverse of all that my fancy, while coming hither, had foreboded. Iexpected to find virtuous indigence and sorrow lifted, by my means, toaffluence and exultation. I expected to witness the tears of gratitudeand the caresses of affection. What had I found? Nothing but sordidness, stupidity, and illiberal suspicion. 

The daughter stayed much longer than the mother's patience could endure. She knocked against the floor with her heel. A servant came up. "Where'sPolly, you slut? It was not you, hussy, that I wanted. It was her. "

"She is talking in the parlour with a gentleman. "

"Mr. Somers, I suppose; hey, fool? Run with my compliments to him, wench. Tell him, please walk up. "

"It is not Mr. Somers, ma'am. "

"No? Who then, saucebox? What gentleman can have any thing to do withPolly?"

"I don't know, ma'am. "

"Who said you did, impertinence? Run, and tell her I want her thisinstant. "

The summons was not delivered, or Polly did not think proper to obey it. Full ten minutes of thoughtful silence on my part, and of mutteredvexation and impatience on that of the old lady, elapsed before Polly'sentrance. As soon as she appeared, the mother began to complain bitterlyof her inattention and neglect; but Polly, taking no notice of her, addressed herself to me, and told me that a gentleman below wished tosee me. I hastened down, and found a stranger, of a plain appearance, inthe parlour. His aspect was liberal and ingenuous; and I quicklycollected, from his discourse, that this was the brother-in-law ofWatson, and the companion of his last voyage. 

CHAPTER XLII. 

My eyes sparkled with pleasure at this unexpected interview, and Iwillingly confessed my desire to communicate all the knowledge of hisbrother's destiny which I possessed. He told me, that, returning late toBaltimore, on the last evening, he found his sister in much agitationand distress, which, after a time, she explained to him. She likewiseput the packets I had left into his hands. 

"I leave you to imagine, " continued he, "my surprise and curiosity atthis discovery. I was, of course, impatient to see the bearer of suchextraordinary tidings. This morning, inquiring for one of yourappearance at the taverns, I was, at length, informed of your arrivalyesterday in the stage; of your going out alone in the evening; of yoursubsequent return; and of your early departure this morning. Accidentally I lighted on your footsteps; and, by suitable inquiries onthe road, have finally traced you hither. 

"You told my sister her husband was dead. You left with her papers thatwere probably in his possession at the time of his death. I understandfrom Miss Maurice that the bills belonging to her mother have just beendelivered to her. I presume you have no objection to clear up thismystery. "

"To you I am anxious to unfold every thing. At this moment, or at anytime, but the sooner the more agreeable to me, I will do it. "

"This, " said he, looking around him, "is no place; there is an inn, nota hundred yards from this gate, where I have left my horse; will you gothither?" I readily consented, and, calling for a private apartment, Ilaid before this man every incident of my life connected with Welbeckand Watson; my full, circumstantial, and explicit story appeared toremove every doubt which he might have entertained of my integrity. 

In Williams I found a plain, good man, of a temper confiding andaffectionate. My narration being finished, he expressed, by unaffectedtokens, his wonder and his grief on account of Watson's destiny. To myinquiries, which were made with frankness and fervour, respecting hisown and his sister's condition, he said that the situation of both wasdeplorable till the recovery of this property. They had been saved fromutter ruin, from beggary and a jail, only by the generosity and lenityof his creditors, who did not suffer the suspicious circumstancesattending Watson's disappearance to outweigh former proofs of hisprobity. They had never relinquished the hopes of receiving some tidingsof their kinsman. 

I related what had just passed in the house of Mrs. Maurice, andrequested to know from him the history and character of this family. 

"They have treated you, " he answered, "exactly as any one who knew themwould have predicted. The mother is narrow, ignorant, bigoted, andavaricious. The eldest daughter, whom you saw, resembles the old lady inmany things. Age, indeed, may render the similitude complete. Atpresent, pride and ill-humour are her chief characteristics. 

"The youngest daughter has nothing in mind or person in common with herfamily. Where they are irascible, she is patient; where they areimperious, she is humble; where they are covetous, she is liberal; wherethey are ignorant and indolent, she is studious and skilful. It is rare, indeed, to find a young lady more amiable than Miss Fanny Maurice, orwho has had more crosses and afflictions to sustain. 

"The eldest daughter always extorted the supply of her wants, from herparents, by threats and importunities; but the younger could never beprevailed upon to employ the same means, and, hence, she sufferedinconveniences which, to any other girl, born to an equal rank, wouldhave been, to the last degree, humiliating and vexatious. To her theyonly afforded new opportunities for the display of her most shiningvirtues, --fortitude and charity. No instance of their sordidness ortyranny ever stole a murmur from her. For what they had given, existenceand a virtuous education, she said they were entitled to gratitude. Whatthey withheld was their own, in the use of which they were notaccountable to her. She was not ashamed to owe her subsistence to herown industry, and was only held by the pride of her family--in thisinstance their pride was equal to their avarice--from seeking out somelucrative kind of employment. Since the shock which their fortunesustained by Watson's disappearance, she has been permitted to pursuethis plan, and she now teaches music in Baltimore for a living. No one, however, in the highest rank, can be more generally respected andcaressed than she is. "

"But will not the recovery of this money make a favourable change in hercondition?"

"I can hardly tell; but I am inclined to think it will not. It will notchange her mother's character. Her pride may be awakened anew, and shemay oblige Miss Fanny to relinquish her new profession, and that will bea change to be deplored. "

"What good has been done, then, by restoring this money?"

"If pleasure be good, you must have conferred a great deal on theMaurices; upon the mother and two of the daughters, at least, --the onlypleasure, indeed, which their natures can receive. It is less than ifyou had raised them from absolute indigence, which has not been thecase, since they had wherewithal to live upon besides their Jamaicaproperty. But how?" continued Williams, suddenly recollecting himself;"have you claimed the reward promised to him who should restore thesebills?"

"What reward?"

"No less than a thousand dollars. It was publicly promised under thehands of Mrs. Maurice and of Hemmings, her husband's executor. "

"Really, " said I, "that circumstance escaped my attention, and I wonderthat it did; but is it too late to repair the evil?"

"Then you have no scruple to accept the reward?"

"Certainly not. Could you suspect me of so strange a punctilio as that?"

"Yes; but I know not why. The story you have just finished taught me toexpect some unreasonable refinement upon that head. To be hired, to bebribed, to do our duty is supposed by some to be degrading. "

"This is no such bribe to me. I should have acted just as I have done, had no recompense been promised. In truth, this has been my conduct, forI never once thought of the reward; but, now that you remind me of it, Iwould gladly see it bestowed. To fulfil their engagements, in thisrespect, is no more than justice in the Maurices. To one in my conditionthe money will be highly useful. If these people were poor, or generousand worthy, or if I myself were already rich, I might less repine attheir withholding it; but, things being as they are with them and withme, it would, I think, be gross injustice in them to withhold, and in meto refuse. "

"That injustice, " said Williams, "will, on their part, I fear, becommitted. 'Tis pity you first applied to Mrs. Maurice. Nothing can beexpected from her avarice, unless it be wrested from her by a lawsuit. "

"That is a force which I shall never apply. "

"Had you gone first to Hemmings, you might, I think, have looked forpayment. He is not a mean man. A thousand dollars, he must know, is notmuch to give for forty thousand. Perhaps, indeed, it may not yet be toolate. I am well known to him, and, if you please, will attend you to himin the evening, and state your claim. "

I thankfully accepted this offer, and went with him accordingly. I foundthat Hemmings had been with Mrs. Maurice in the course of the day; hadreceived from her intelligence of this transaction, and had entertainedthe expectation of a visit from me for this very purpose. 

While Williams explained to him the nature of my claim, he scanned mewith great intentness. His austere and inflexible brow afforded melittle room to hope for success, and this hopelessness was confirmed byhis silence and perplexity when Williams had made an end. 

"To-be-sure, " said he, after some pause, "the contract was explicit. To-be-sure, the conditions on Mr. Mervyn's side have been performed. Certain it is, the bills are entire and complete, but Mrs. Maurice willnot consent to do her part, and Mrs. Maurice, to whom the papers werepresented, is the person by whom, according to the terms of thecontract, the reward must be paid. "

"But Mrs. Maurice, you know, sir, may be legally compelled to pay, " saidWilliams. 

"Perhaps she may; but I tell you plainly, that she never will do thething without compulsion. Legal process, however, in this case, willhave other inconveniences besides delay. Some curiosity will naturallybe excited, as to the history of these papers. Watson disappeared atwelvemonth ago. Who can avoid asking, Where have these papers beendeposited all this while, and how came this person in possession ofthem?"

"That kind of curiosity, " said I, "is natural and laudable, and gladlywould I gratify it. Disclosure or concealment in that case, however, would nowise affect my present claim. Whether a bond, legally executed, shall be paid, does not depend upon determining whether the payer isfondest of boiled mutton or roast beef. Truth, in the first case, has noconnection with truth in the second. So far from eluding this curiosity, so far from studying concealment, I am anxious to publish the truth. "

"You are right, to-be-sure, " said Hemmings. "Curiosity is a natural, butonly an incidental, consequence in this case. I have no reason fordesiring that it should be an unpleasant consequence to you. "

"Well, sir, " said Williams, "you think that Arthur Mervyn has no remedyin this case but the law?"

"Mrs. Maurice, to-be-sure, will never pay but on compulsion. Mervynshould have known his own interest better. While his left hand wasstretched out to give, his right should have been held forth to receive. As it is, he must be contented with the aid of law. Any attorney willprosecute on condition of receiving _half the sum_ when recovered. "

We now rose to take our leave, when Hemmings, desiring us to pause amoment, said, "To-be-sure, in the utmost strictness of the terms of ourpromise, the reward was to be paid by the person who received thepapers; but it must be owned that your claim, at any rate, isequitable. I have money of the deceased Mr. Maurice in my hands. Thesevery bills are now in my possession. I will therefore pay you your due, and take the consequences of an act of justice on myself. I was preparedfor you. Sign that receipt, and there is a _check_ for the amount. "

CHAPTER XLIII. 

This unexpected and agreeable decision was accompanied by an invitationto supper, at which we were treated by our host with much affability andkindness. Finding me the author of Williams's good fortune as well asMrs. Maurice's, and being assured by the former of his entire convictionof the rectitude of my conduct, he laid aside all reserve and distancewith regard to me. He inquired into my prospects and wishes, andprofessed his willingness to serve me. 

I dealt with equal unreserve and frankness. "I am poor, " said I. "Moneyfor my very expenses hither I have borrowed from a friend, to whom I am, in other respects, much indebted, and whom I expect to compensate onlyby gratitude and future services. 

"In coming hither, I expected only an increase of my debts; to sinkstill deeper into poverty; but happily the issue has made me rich. Thishour has given me competence, at least. "

"What! call you a thousand dollars competence?"

"More than competence. I call it an abundance. My own ingenuity, while Ienjoy health, will enable me to live. This I regard as a fund, first topay my debts, and next to supply deficiencies occasioned by untowardaccidents or ill health, during the ensuing three or four years atleast. "

We parted with this new acquaintance at a late hour, and I acceptedWilliams's invitation to pass the time I should spend at Baltimore, under his sister's roof. There were several motives for prolonging thisstay. What I had heard of Miss Fanny Maurice excited strong wishes to bepersonally acquainted with her. This young lady was affectionatelyattached to Mrs. Watson, by whose means my wishes were easilyaccomplished. 

I never was in habits of reserve, even with those whom I had no reasonto esteem. With those who claimed my admiration and affection, it wasimpossible to be incommunicative. Before the end of my second interview, both these women were mistresses of every momentous incident of my life, and of the whole chain of my feelings and opinions, in relation to everysubject, and particularly in relation to themselves. Every topicdisconnected with these is comparatively lifeless and inert. 

I found it easy to win their attention, and to render them communicativein their turn. As full disclosures as I had made without condition orrequest, my inquiries and example easily obtained from Mrs. Watson andMiss Maurice. The former related every event of her youth, and thecircumstances leading to her marriage. She depicted the character of herhusband, and the whole train of suspenses and inquietudes occasioned byhis disappearance. The latter did not hide from me her opinions upon anyimportant subject, and made me thoroughly acquainted with her actualsituation. 

This intercourse was strangely fascinating. My heart was buoyed up by akind of intoxication. I now found myself exalted to my genial element, and began to taste the delights of existence. In the intercourse ofingenuous and sympathetic minds, I found a pleasure which I had notpreviously conceived. 

The time flew swiftly away, and a fortnight passed almost before I wasaware that a day had gone by. I did not forget the friends whom I hadleft behind, but maintained a punctual correspondence with Stevens, towhom I imparted all occurrences. 

The recovery of my friend's kinsman allowed him in a few days to returnhome. His first object was the consolation and relief of Carlton, whom, with much difficulty, he persuaded to take advantage of the laws infavour of insolvent debtors. Carlton's only debt was owing to his uncle, and, by rendering up every species of property, except his clothes andthe implements of his trade, he obtained a full discharge. Inconjunction with his sister, he once more assumed the pen, and, beingno longer burdened with debts he was unable to discharge, he resumed, together with his pen, his cheerfulness. Their mutual industry wassufficient for their decent and moderate subsistence. 

The chief reason for my hasty return was my anxiety respecting ClemenzaLodi. This reason was removed by the activity and benevolence of myfriend. He paid this unfortunate stranger a visit at Mrs. Villars's. Access was easily obtained, and he found her sunk into the deepestmelancholy. The recent loss of her child, the death of Welbeck, of whichshe was soon apprized, her total dependence upon those with whom she wasplaced, who, however, had always treated her without barbarity orindecorum, were the calamities that weighed down her spirits. 

My friend easily engaged her confidence and gratitude, and prevailedupon her to take refuge under his own roof. Mrs. Wentworth's scruples, as well as those of Mrs. Fielding, were removed by his arguments andentreaties, and they consented to take upon themselves, and dividebetween them, the care of her subsistence and happiness. Theycondescended to express much curiosity respecting me, and some interestin my welfare, and promised to receive me, on my return, on the footingof a friend. 

With some reluctance, I at length bade my new friends farewell, andreturned to Philadelphia. Nothing remained, before I should enter on myprojected scheme of study and employment, under the guidance of Stevens, but to examine the situation of Eliza Hadwin with my own eyes, and, ifpossible, to extricate my father from his unfortunate situation. 

My father's state had given me the deepest concern. I figured to myselfhis condition, besotted by brutal appetites, reduced to beggary, shut upin a noisome prison, and condemned to that society which must foster allhis depraved propensities. I revolved various schemes for his relief. Afew hundreds would take him from prison; but how should he be afterwardsdisposed of? How should he be cured of his indolent habits? How shouldhe be screened from the contagion of vicious society? By what means, consistently with my own wants and the claims of others, should Isecure to him an acceptable subsistence?

Exhortation and example were vain. Nothing but restraint would keep himat a distance from the haunts of brawling and debauchery. The want ofmoney would be no obstacle to prodigality and waste. Credit would beresorted to as long as it would answer his demand. When that failed, hewould once more be thrown into a prison; the same means to extricate himwould have to be repeated, and money be thus put into the pockets of themost worthless of mankind, the agents of drunkenness and blasphemy, without any permanent advantage to my father, the principal object of mycharity. 

Though unable to fix on any plausible mode of proceeding, I determined, at least, to discover his present condition. Perhaps something mightsuggest itself, upon the spot, suited to my purpose. Without delay Iproceeded to the village of Newtown, and, alighting at the door of theprison, inquired for my father. 

"Sawny Mervyn you want, I suppose, " said the keeper. "Poor fellow! Hecame into limbo in a crazy condition, and has been a burden on my handsever since. After lingering along for some time, he was at last kindenough to give us the slip. It is just a week since he drank his lastpint--and _died_. "

I was greatly shocked at this intelligence. It was some time before myreason came to my aid, and showed me that this was an event, on thewhole, and on a disinterested and dispassionate view, not unfortunate. The keeper knew not my relation to the deceased, and readily recountedthe behaviour of the prisoner and the circumstances of his last hours. 

I shall not repeat the narrative. It is useless to keep alive the sadremembrance. He was now beyond the reach of my charity or pity; and, since reflection could answer no beneficial end to him, it was my dutyto divert my thoughts into different channels, and live henceforth formy own happiness and that of those who were within the sphere of myinfluence. 

I was now alone in the world, so far as the total want of kindredcreates solitude. Not one of my blood, nor even of my name, was to befound in this quarter of the world. Of my mother's kindred I knewnothing. So far as friendship or service might be claimed from them, tome they had no existence. I was destitute of all those benefits whichflow from kindred, in relation to protection, advice, or property. Myinheritance was nothing. Not a single relic or trinket in my possessionconstituted a memorial of my family. The scenes of my childish andjuvenile days were dreary and desolate. The fields which I was wont totraverse, the room in which I was born, retained no traces of the past. They were the property and residence of strangers, who knew nothing ofthe former tenants, and who, as I was now told, had hastened tonew-model and transform every thing within and without the habitation. 

These images filled me with melancholy, which, however, disappeared inproportion as I approached the abode of my beloved girl. Absence hadendeared the image of my _Bess_--I loved to call her so--to my soul. Icould not think of her without a melting softness at my heart, and tearsin which pain and pleasure were unaccountably mingled. As I approachedCurling's house, I strained my sight, in hopes of distinguishing herform through the evening dusk. 

I had told her of my purpose, by letter. She expected my approach atthis hour, and was stationed, with a heart throbbing with impatience, atthe roadside, near the gate. As soon as I alighted, she rushed into myarms. 

I found my sweet friend less blithesome and contented than I wished. Hersituation, in spite of the parental and sisterly regards which shereceived from the Curlings, was mournful and dreary to her imagination. Rural business was irksome, and insufficient to fill up her time. Herlife was tiresome, and uniform, and heavy. 

I ventured to blame her discontent, and pointed out the advantages ofher situation. "Whence, " said I, "can these dissatisfactions andrepinings arise?"

"I cannot tell, " said she; "I don't know how it is with me. I am alwayssorrowful and thoughtful. Perhaps I think too much of my poor fatherand of Susan; and yet that can't be it, neither, for I think of them butseldom; not half as much as I ought, perhaps. I think of nobody almostbut you. Instead of minding my business, or chatting and laughing withPeggy Curling, I love to get by myself, --to read, over and over, yourletters, or to think how you are employed just then, and how happy Ishould be if I were in Fanny Maurice's place. 

"But it is all over now; this visit rewards me for every thing. I wonderhow I could ever be sullen or mopeful. I will behave better, indeed Iwill, and be always, as now, a most happy girl. "

The greater part of three days was spent in the society of my friend, inlistening to her relation of all that had happened during my absence, and in communicating, in my turn, every incident which had befallenmyself. After this I once more returned to the city. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

I now set about carrying my plan of life into effect. I began withardent zeal and unwearied diligence the career of medical study. Ibespoke the counsels and instructions of my friend; attended him on hisprofessional visits, and acted, in all practicable cases, as hissubstitute. I found this application of time more pleasurable than I hadimagined. My mind gladly expanded itself, as it were, for the receptionof new ideas. My curiosity grew more eager in proportion as it wassupplied with food, and every day added strength to the assurance that Iwas no insignificant and worthless being; that I was destined to be_something_ in this scene of existence, and might some time lay claim tothe gratitude and homage of my fellow men. 

I was far from being, however, monopolized by these pursuits. I wasformed on purpose for the gratification of social intercourse. To loveand to be loved; to exchange hearts and mingle sentiments with all thevirtuous and amiable whom my good fortune had placed within the circuitof my knowledge, I always esteemed my highest enjoyment and my chiefduty. 

Carlton and his sister, Mrs. Wentworth, and Achsa Fielding, were my mostvaluable associates beyond my own family. With all these mycorrespondence was frequent and unreserved, but chiefly with the latter. This lady had dignity and independence, a generous and enlightenedspirit, beyond what her education had taught me to expect. She wascircumspect and cautious in her deportment, and was not prompt to makeadvances, or accept them. She withheld her esteem and confidence untilshe had full proof of their being deserved. 

I am not sure that her treatment of me was fully conformable to herrules. My manners, indeed, as she once told me, she had never met within another. Ordinary rules were so totally overlooked in my behaviour, that it seemed impossible for any one who knew me to adhere to them. Nooption was left but to admit my claims to friendship and confidenceinstantly, or to reject them altogether. 

I was not conscious of this singularity. The internal and undiscoveredcharacter of another weighed nothing with me in the question whetherthey should be treated with frankness or reserve. I felt no scruple onany occasion to disclose every feeling and every event. Any one whocould listen found me willing to talk. Every talker found me willing tolisten. Every one had my sympathy and kindness, _without_ claiming it;but I _claimed_ the kindness and sympathy of every one. 

Achsa Fielding's countenance bespoke, I thought, a mind worthy to beknown and to be loved. The first moment I engaged her attention, I toldher so. I related the little story of my family, spread out before herall my reasonings and determinations, my notions of right and wrong, myfears and wishes. All this was done with sincerity and fervour, withgestures, actions, and looks, in which I felt as if my whole soul wasvisible. Her superior age, sedateness, and prudence, gave my deportmenta filial freedom and affection, and I was fond of calling her "_mamma_. "

I particularly dwelt upon the history of my dear country-girl; paintedher form and countenance; recounted our dialogues, and related all myschemes for making her wise, and good, and happy. On these occasions myfriend would listen to me with the mutest attention. I showed her theletters I received, and offered her for her perusal those which I wrotein answer, before they were sealed and sent. 

On these occasions she would look by turns on my face and away from me. A varying hue would play upon her cheek, and her eyes were fuller thanwas common, of meaning. 

"Such-and-such, " I once said, "are my notions; now, what do _you_think?"

"_Think_!" emphatically, and turning somewhat aside, she answered;"that you are the most--_strange_ of human creatures. "

"But tell me, " I resumed, following and searching her averted eyes; "amI right? would you do thus? Can you help me to improve my girl? I wishyou knew the bewitching little creature. How would that heart overflowwith affection and with gratitude towards you! She should be yourdaughter. No--you are too nearly of an age for that. A sister; her_elder_ sister, you should be. _That_, when there is no other relation, includes them all. Fond sisters you would be, and I the fond brother ofyou both. "

My eyes glistened as I spoke. In truth, I am in that respect a merewoman. My friend was more powerfully moved. After a momentary struggleshe burst into tears. 

"Good heaven!" said I, "what ails you? Are you not well?"

Her looks betrayed an unaccountable confusion, from which she quicklyrecovered:--"It was folly to be thus affected. Something ailed me, Ibelieve, but it is past. But, come, you want some lines of finishing thedescription of the _Boa_ in La Cepide. "

"True. And I have twenty minutes to spare. Poor Franks is very illindeed, but he cannot be seen till nine. We'll read till then. "

Thus on the wings of pleasure and improvement passed my time; notwithout some hues, occasionally, of a darker tint. My heart was now andthen detected in sighing. This occurred when my thoughts glanced at thepoor Eliza, and measured, as it were, the interval between us. "We aretoo--_too_ far apart, " thought I. 

The best solace on these occasions was the company of Mrs. Fielding; hermusic, her discourse, or some book which she set me to rehearsing toher. One evening, when preparing to pay her a visit, I received thefollowing letter from my Bess:--

 _To A. Mervyn. _

 CURLING'S, May 6, 1794. 

Where does this letter you promised me stay all this while? Indeed, Arthur, you torment me more than I deserve, and more than I could everfind it in my heart to do you. You treat me cruelly. I must say so, though I offend you. I must write, though you do not deserve that Ishould, and though I fear I am in a humour not very fit for writing. Ihad better go to my chamber and weep; weep at your--_unkindness_, I wasgoing to say; but, perhaps, it is only forgetfulness; and yet what canbe more unkind than forgetfulness? I am sure I have never forgotten you. Sleep itself, which wraps all other images in forgetfulness, only bringsyou nearer, and makes me see you more distinctly. 

But where can this letter stay?--Oh! that--hush! foolish girl! If a wordof that kind escape thy lips, Arthur will be angry with thee; and then, indeed, thou mightest weep in earnest. _Then_ thou wouldst have somecause for thy tears. More than once already has he almost broken thyheart with his reproaches. Sore and weak as it now is, any newreproaches would assuredly break it quite. 

I _will_ be content. I will be as good a housewife and dairywoman, stirabout as briskly, and sing as merrily, as Peggy Curling. Why not? I amas young, as innocent, and enjoy as good health. Alas! she has reason tobe merry. She has father, mother, brothers; but I have none. And he thatwas all these, and more than all these, to me, has--_forgotten_ me. 

But, perhaps, it is some accident that hinders. Perhaps Oliver left themarket earlier than he used to do; or you mistook the house; or perhapssome poor creature was sick, was taken suddenly ill, and you were busyin chafing his clay-cold limbs; it fell to you to wipe the clammy dropsfrom his brow. Such things often happen (don't they, Arthur?) to peopleof your trade, and some such thing has happened now; and that was thereason you did not write. 

And if so, shall I repine at your silence? Oh no! At such a time thepoor Bess might easily be, and ought to be, forgotten. She would notdeserve your love if she could repine at a silence brought about thisway. 

And oh! may it be so! May there be nothing worse than this! If the sickman--see, Arthur, how my hand trembles. Can you read this scrawl? Whatis always bad, my fears make worse than ever. 

I must not think that. And yet, if it be so, if my friend himself besick, what will become of me? Of me, that ought to cherish you andcomfort you; that ought to be your nurse. Endure for you your sickness, when she cannot remove it. 

Oh! that----I _will_ speak out--Oh that this strange scruple had neverpossessed you! Why should I _not_ be with you? Who can love you andserve you as well as I? In sickness and health, I will console andassist you. Why will you deprive yourself of such a comforter and suchan aid as I would be to you?

Dear Arthur, think better of it. Let me leave this dreary spot, where, indeed, as long as I am thus alone, I can enjoy no comfort. Let me cometo you. I will put up with any thing for the sake of seeing you, thoughit be but once a day. Any garret or cellar in the dirtiest lane ordarkest alley will be good enough for me. I will think it a palace, sothat I can _but_ see you now and then. 

Do not refuse--do not argue with me, so fond you always are of arguing!My heart is set upon your compliance. And yet, dearly as I prize yourcompany, I would not ask it, if I thought there was any thing improper. You say there is, and you talk about it in a way that I do notunderstand. For my sake, you tell me, you refuse; but let me entreat youto comply for my sake. 

Your pen cannot teach me like your tongue. You write me long letters, and tell me a great deal in them; but my soul droops when I call to mindyour voice and your looks, and think how long a time must pass before Isee you and hear you again. I have no spirit to think upon the words andpaper before me. My eye and my thought wander far away. 

I bethink me how many questions I might ask you; how many doubts youmight clear up if you were but within hearing. If you were but close tome; but I cannot ask them here. I am too poor a creature at the pen, and, somehow or another, it always happens, I can only write aboutmyself or about you. By the time I have said all this, I have tired myfingers, and when I set about telling you how this poem and that storyhave affected me, I am at a loss for words; I am bewildered and bemazed, as it were. 

It is not so when we talk to one another. With your arm about me, andyour sweet face close to mine, I can prattle forever. Then my heartoverflows at my lips. After hours thus spent, it seems as if there werea thousand things still to be said. Then I can tell you what the bookhas told me. I can repeat scores of verses by heart, though I heard themonly once read; but it is because _you_ have read them to me. 

Then there is nobody here to answer my questions. They never look intobooks. They hate books. They think it waste of time to read. Even Peggy, who you say has naturally a strong mind, wonders what I can find toamuse myself in a book. In her playful mood, she is always teasing me tolay it aside. 

I do not mind her, for I like to read; but, if I did not like it before, I could not help doing so ever since you told me that nobody could gainyour love who was not fond of books. And yet, though I like it on thataccount more than I did, I don't read somehow so earnestly andunderstand so well as I used to do when my mind was all at ease, alwaysfrolicsome, and ever upon _tiptoe_, as I may say. 

How strangely (have you not observed it?) I am altered of late!--I, thatwas ever light of heart, the very soul of gayety, brimfull of glee, amnow demure as our old _tabby_--and not half as wise. Tabby had witenough to keep her paws out of the coals, whereas poor I have--but nomatter what. It will never come to pass, I see that. So many reasons forevery thing! Such looking forward! Arthur, are not men sometimes too_wise_ to be happy?

I am now _so_ grave. Not one smile can Peggy sometimes get from me, though she tries for it the whole day. But I know how it comes. Strange, indeed, if, losing father and sister, and thrown upon the wide world, penniless and _friendless_ too, now that _you_ forget me, I shouldcontinue to smile. No. I never shall smile again. At least, while I stayhere, I never shall, I believe. 

If a certain somebody suffer me to live with him, --_near_ him, Imean, --perhaps the sight of him as he enters the door, perhaps the soundof his voice, asking, "Where is my Bess?" might produce a smile. Such aone as the very thought produces now, --yet not, I hope, so transient, and so quickly followed by a tear. Women are born, they say, to trouble, and tears are given them for their relief. 'Tis all very true. 

Let it be as I wish, will you? If Oliver bring not back good tidings, ifhe bring not a letter from thee, or thy letter still refuses myrequest, --I don't know what may happen. Consent, if you love your poorgirl. 

 E. H. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

The reading of this letter, though it made me mournful, did not hinderme from paying the visit I intended. My friend noticed my discomposure. 

"What, Arthur! thou art quite the 'penseroso' to-night. Come, let mecheer thee with a song. Thou shalt have thy favourite ditty. " Shestepped to the instrument, and, with more than airy lightness, touchedand sung:--

 "Now knit hands and beat the ground In a light, fantastic round, Till the telltale sun descry Our conceal'd solemnity. "

Her music, though blithsome and aerial, was not sufficient for the end. My cheerfulness would not return even at her bidding. She again noticedmy sedateness, and inquired into the cause. 

"This girl of mine, " said I, "has infected me with her own sadness. There is a letter I have just received. " She took it and began to read. 

Meanwhile, I placed myself before her, and fixed my eyes steadfastlyupon her features. There is no book in which I read with more pleasurethan the face of woman. _That_ is generally more full of meaning, and ofbetter meaning too, than the hard and inflexible lineaments of man; and_this_ woman's face has no parallel. 

She read it with visible emotion. Having gone through it, she did notlift her eye from the paper, but continued silent, as if buried inthought. After some time, (for I would not interrupt the pause, ) sheaddressed me thus:--

"This girl seems to be very anxious to be with you. "

"As much as I am that she should be so. " My friend's countenancebetrayed some perplexity. As soon as I perceived it, I said, "Why areyou thus grave?" Some little confusion appeared, as if she would nothave her gravity discovered. "There again, " said I, "new tokens in yourface, my good mamma, of something which you will not mention. Yet, soothto say, this is not your first perplexity. I have noticed it before, andwondered. It happens only when my _Bess_ is introduced. Something inrelation to her it must be, but what I cannot imagine. Why does _her_name, particularly, make you thoughtful, disturbed, dejected? Therenow--but I must know the reason. You don't agree with me in my notionsof this girl, I fear, and you will not disclose your thoughts. "

By this time, she had gained her usual composure, and, without noticingmy comments on her looks, said, "Since you are both of one mind, whydoes she not leave the country?"

"That cannot be, I believe. Mrs. Stevens says it would be disreputable. I am no proficient in etiquette, and must, therefore, in affairs of thiskind, be guided by those who are. But would to heaven I were truly herfather or brother! Then all difficulties would be done away. "

"Can you seriously wish that?"

"Why, no. I believe it would be more rational to wish that the worldwould suffer me to act the fatherly or brotherly part, without therelationship. "

"And is that the only part you wish to act towards this girl?"

"Certainly, the only part. "

"You surprise me. Have you not confessed your love for her?"

"I _do_ love her. There is nothing upon earth more dear to me than my_Bess_. "

"But love is of different kinds. She was loved by her father----"

"Less than by me. He was a good man, but not of lively feelings. Besides, he had another daughter, and they shared his love between them;but she has no sister to share _my_ love. Calamity, too, has endearedher to me; I am all her consolation, dependence, and hope, and nothing, surely, can induce me to abandon her. "

"Her reliance upon you for happiness, " replied my friend, with a sigh, "is plain enough. "

"It is; but why that sigh? And yet I understand it. It remonstrates withme on my incapacity for her support. I know it well, but it is wrong tobe cast down. I have youth, health, and spirits, and ought not todespair of living for my own benefit and hers; but you sigh again, andit is impossible to keep my courage when _you_ sigh. Do tell me what youmean by it. "

"You partly guessed the cause. She trusts to you for happiness, but Isomewhat suspect she trusts in vain. "

"In vain! I beseech you, tell me why you think so. "

"You say you love her: why then not make her your wife?"

"My wife! Surely her extreme youth, and my destitute condition, willaccount for that. "

"She is fifteen; the age of delicate fervour, of inartificial love, andsuitable enough for marriage. As to your condition, you may live moreeasily together than apart. She has no false taste or perverse desiresto gratify. She has been trained in simple modes and habits. Besides, that objection can be removed another way. But are these all yourobjections?"

"Her youth I object to, merely in connection with her mind. She is toolittle improved to be my wife. She wants that solidity of mind, thatmaturity of intelligence which ten years more may possibly give her, butwhich she cannot have at this age. "

"You are a very prudential youth: then you are willing to wait ten yearsfor a wife?"

"Does that follow? Because my Bess will not be qualified for wedlock inless time, does it follow that I must wait for her?"

"I spoke on the supposition that you loved her. "

"And that is true; but love is satisfied with studying her happiness asher father or brother. Some years hence, perhaps in half a year, (forthis passion, called wedded or _marriage-wishing_ love, is of suddengrowth, ) my mind may change and nothing may content me but to have Bessfor my wife. Yet I do not expect it. "

"Then you are determined against marriage with this girl?"

"Of course; until that love comes which I feel not now; but which, nodoubt, will come, when Bess has had the benefit of five or eight yearsmore, unless previously excited by another. "

"All this is strange, Arthur. I have heretofore supposed that youactually loved (I mean with the _marriage-seeking_ passion) your_Bess_. "

"I believe I once did; but it happened at a time when marriage wasimproper; in the life of her father and sister, and when I had neverknown in what female excellence consisted. Since that time my happierlot has cast me among women so far above Eliza Hadwin, --so far above, and so widely different from any thing which time is likely to makeher, --that, I own, nothing appears more unlikely than that I shall everlove her. "

"Are you not a little capricious in that respect, my good friend? Youhave praised your _Bess_ as rich in natural endowments; as having anartless purity and rectitude of mind, which somewhat supersedes the useof formal education; as being full of sweetness and tenderness, and inher person a very angel of loveliness. "

"All that is true. I never saw features and shape so delicatelybeautiful; I never knew so young a mind so quick-sighted and so firm;but, nevertheless, she is not the creature whom I would call my _wife_. My bosom-slave; counsellor; friend; the mother; the pattern; thetutoress of my children, must be a different creature. "

"But what are the attributes of this _desirable_ which Bess wants?"

"Every thing she wants. Age, capacity, acquirements, person, features, hair, complexion, all, all are different from this girl's. "

"And pray of what kind may they be?"

"I cannot portray them in words--but yes, I can:--The creature whom Ishall worship:--it sounds oddly, but, I verily believe, the sentimentwhich I shall feel for my wife will be more akin to worship than anything else. I shall never love but such a creature as I now image tomyself, and _such_ a creature will deserve, or almost deserve, worship. But this creature, I was going to say, must be the exact counterpart, mygood mamma--of _yourself_. "

This was said very earnestly, and with eyes and manner that fullyexpressed my earnestness; perhaps my expressions were unwittingly strongand emphatic, for she started and blushed, but the cause of herdiscomposure, whatever it was, was quickly removed, and she said, --

"Poor Bess! This will be sad news to thee!"

"Heaven forbid!" said I; "of what moment can my opinions be to her?"

"Strange questioner that thou art. Thou knowest that her gentle heart istouched with love. See how it shows itself in the tender and inimitablestrain of this epistle. Does not this sweet ingenuousness bewitch you?"

"It does so, and I love, beyond expression, the sweet girl; but my loveis, in some inconceivable way, different from the passion which that_other_ creature will produce. She is no stranger to my thoughts. I willimpart every thought over and over to her. I question not but I shallmake her happy without forfeiting my own. "

"Would marriage with her be a forfeiture of your happiness?"

"Not absolutely or forever, I believe. I love her company. Her absencefor a long time is irksome. I cannot express the delight with which Isee and hear her. To mark her features, beaming with vivacity; playfulin her pleasures; to hold her in my arms, and listen to her prattle, always musically voluble, always sweetly tender, or artlesslyintelligent--and this you will say is the dearest privilege of marriage;and so it is; and dearly should I prize it; and yet, I fear my heartwould droop as often as that _other_ image should occur to my fancy. Forthen, you know, it would occur as something never to be possessed by me. 

"Now, this image might, indeed, seldom occur. The intervals, at least, would be serene. It would be my interest to prolong these intervals asmuch as possible, and my endeavours to this end would, no doubt, havesome effect. Besides, the bitterness of this reflection would belessened by contemplating, at the same time, the happiness of my belovedgirl. 

"I should likewise have to remember, that to continue unmarried wouldnot necessarily secure me the possession of the _other_ good----"

"But these reflections, my friend, " (broke she in upon me, ) "are of asmuch force to induce you to marry, as to reconcile you to a marriagealready contracted. "

"Perhaps they are. Assuredly, I have not a hope that the _fancied_excellence will ever be mine. Such happiness is not the lot of humanity, and is, least of all, within my reach. "

"Your diffidence, " replied my friend, in a timorous accent, "has notmany examples; but your character, without doubt, is all your own, possessing all and disclaiming all, --is, in few words, your picture. "

"I scarcely understand you. Do you think I ever shall be happy to thatdegree which I have imagined? Think you I shall ever meet with an exactcopy of _yourself_?"

"Unfortunate you will be, if you do not meet with many better. YourBess, in personals, is, beyond measure, _my_ superior, and in mind, allowing for difference in years, quite as much so. "

"But that, " returned I, with quickness and fervour, "is not the object. The very counterpart of _you_ I want; neither worse nor better, nordifferent in any thing. Just such form, such features, such hues. Justthat melting voice, and, above all, the same habits of thinking andconversing. In thought, word, and deed; gesture, look, and form, thatrare and precious creature whom I shall love must be your resemblance. Your----"

"Have done with these comparisons, " interrupted she, in some hurry, "andlet us return to the country-girl, thy Bess. 

"You once, my friend, wished me to treat this girl of yours as mysister. Do you know what the duties of a sister are?"

"They imply no more kindness or affection than you already feel towardsmy Bess. Are you not her sister?"

"I ought to have been so. I ought to have been proud of the relation youascribe to me, but I have not performed any of its duties. I blush tothink upon the coldness and perverseness of my heart. With such means asI possess, of giving happiness to others, I have been thoughtless andinactive to a strange degree; perhaps, however, it is not yet too late. Are you still willing to invest me with all the rights of an eldersister over this girl? And will she consent, think you?"

"Certainly she will; she has. "

"Then the first act of sistership will be to take her from the country;from persons on whose kindness she has no natural claim, whose mannersand characters are unlike her own, and with whom no improvement can beexpected, and bring her back to her sister's house and bosom, to providefor her subsistence and education, and watch over her happiness. 

"I will not be a nominal sister. I will not be a sister by halves. _All_the rights of that relation I will have, or none. As for you, you haveclaims upon her on which I must be permitted to judge, as becomes theelder sister, who, by the loss of all other relations, must occupy theplace, possess the rights, and fulfil the duties, of father, mother, andbrother. 

"She has now arrived at an age when longer to remain in a cold andchurlish soil will stunt her growth and wither her blossoms. We musthasten to transplant her to a genial element and a garden well enclosed. Having so long neglected this charming plant, it becomes me henceforthto take her wholly to myself. 

"And now, for it is no longer in her or your power to take back thegift, since she is fully mine, I will charge you with the office ofconducting her hither. I grant it you as a favour. Will you go?"

"Go! I will fly!" I exclaimed, in an ecstasy of joy, "on pinions swifterthan the wind. Not the lingering of an instant will I bear. Look! one, two, three--thirty minutes after nine. I will reach Curling's gate bythe morn's dawn. I will put my girl into a chaise, and by noon sheshall throw herself into the arms of her sister. But first, shall I not, in some way, manifest my gratitude?"

My senses were bewildered, and I knew not what I did. I intended tokneel, as to my mother or my deity; but, instead of that, I clasped herin my arms, and kissed her lips fervently. I stayed not to discover theeffects of this insanity, but left the room and the house, and, callingfor a moment at Stevens's, left word with the servant, my friend beinggone abroad, that I should not return till the morrow. 

Never was a lighter heart, a gayety more overflowing and more buoyant, than mine. All cold from a boisterous night, at a chilly season, allweariness from a rugged and miry road, were charmed away. I might haveridden; but I could not brook delay, even the delay of inquiring for andequipping a horse. I might thus have saved myself fatigue, and have lostno time; but my mind was in too great a tumult for deliberation andforecast. I saw nothing but the image of my girl, whom my tidings wouldrender happy. 

The way was longer than my fond imagination had foreseen. I did notreach Curling's till an hour after sunrise. The distance was fullthirty-five miles. As I hastened up the green lane leading to the house, I spied my Bess passing through a covered way, between the dwelling andkitchen. I caught her eye. She stopped and held up her hands, and thenran into my arms. 

"What means my girl? Why this catching of the breath? Why this sobbing?Look at me, my love. It is Arthur, --he who has treated you withforgetfulness, neglect, and cruelty. "

"Oh, do not, " she replied, hiding her face with her hand. "One singlereproach, added to my own, will kill me. That foolish, wicked letter--Icould tear my fingers for writing it. "

"But, " said I, "I will kiss them;" and put them to my lips. "They havetold me the wishes of my girl. They have enabled me to gratify herwishes. I have come to carry thee this very moment to town. "

"Lord bless me, Arthur, " said she, lost in a sweet confusion, and hercheeks, always glowing, glowing still more deeply, "indeed, I did notmean----I meant only----I will stay here----I would rather stay----"

"It grieves me to hear that, " said I, with earnestness; "I thought I wasstudying our mutual happiness. "

"It grieves you? Don't say so. I would not grieve you for the world;but, indeed, indeed, it is too soon. Such a girl as I am not yet fitto--live in your city. " Again she hid her glowing face in my bosom. 

"Sweet consciousness! Heavenly innocence!" thought I; "may Achsa'sconjectures prove false!--You have mistaken my design, for I do notintend to carry you to town with such a view as you have hinted; butmerely to place you with a beloved friend, with Achsa Fielding, of whomalready you know so much, where we shall enjoy each other's companywithout restraint or intermission. "

I then proceeded to disclose to her the plan suggested by my friend, andto explain all the consequences that would flow from it. I need not saythat she assented to the scheme. She was all rapture and gratitude. Preparations for departure were easily and speedily made. I hired achaise of a neighbouring farmer, and, according to my promise, by noonthe same day, delivered the timid and bashful girl into the arms of hernew sister. 

She was received with the utmost tenderness, not only by Mrs. Fielding, but by all my friends. Her affectionate heart was encouraged to pourforth all its feeling as into the bosom of a mother. She was reinspiredwith confidence. Her want of experience was supplied by the gentlestadmonitions and instructions. In every plan for her improvementsuggested by her new _mamma_, (for she never called her by any othername, ) she engaged with docility and eagerness; and her behaviour andher progress exceeded the most sanguine hopes that I had formed as tothe softness of her temper and the acuteness of her genius. 

Those graces which a polished education, and intercourse with the betterclasses of society, are adapted to give, my girl possessed, in somedegree, by a native and intuitive refinement and sagacity of mind. Allthat was to be obtained from actual observation and instruction wasobtained without difficulty; and in a short time nothing but theaffectionate simplicity and unperverted feelings of the country-girlbespoke the original condition. 

"What art so busy about, Arthur? Always at thy pen of late. Come, I mustknow the fruit of all this toil and all this meditation. I am determinedto scrape acquaintance with Haller and Linnæus. I will begin this veryday. All one's friends, you know, should be ours. Love has made many apatient, and let me see if it cannot, in my case, make a physician. But, first, what is all this writing about?"

"Mrs. Wentworth has put me upon a strange task, --not disagreeable, however, but such as I should, perhaps, have declined, had not theabsence of my Bess, and her mamma, made the time hang somewhat heavy. Ihave, oftener than once, and far more circumstantially than now, toldher my adventures, but she is not satisfied. She wants a writtennarrative, for some purpose which she tells me she will disclose to mehereafter. 

"Luckily, my friend Stevens has saved me more than half the trouble. Hehas done me the favour to compile much of my history with his own hand. I cannot imagine what could prompt him to so wearisome an undertaking;but he says that adventures and a destiny so singular as mine ought notto be abandoned to forgetfulness like any vulgar and _every-day_existence. Besides, when he wrote it, he suspected that it might benecessary to the safety of my reputation and my life, from theconsequences of my connection with Welbeck. Time has annihilated thatdanger. All enmities and all suspicions are buried with that ill-fatedwretch. Wortley has been won by my behaviour, and confides in myintegrity now as much as he formerly suspected it. I am glad, however, that the task was performed. It has saved me a world of writing. I hadonly to take up the broken thread, and bring it down to the period of mypresent happiness; and this was done, just as you tripped along theentry this morning. 

"To bed, my friend; it is late, and this delicate frame is not half soable to encounter fatigue as a youth spent in the hay-field and thedairy might have been expected to be. "

"I will, but let me take these sheets along with me. I will read them, that I am determined, before I sleep, and watch if you have told thewhole truth. "

"Do so, if you please; but remember one thing. Mrs. Wentworth requestedme to write not as if it were designed for her perusal, but for thosewho have no previous knowledge of her or of me. 'Twas an odd request. Icannot imagine what she means by it; but she never acts without goodreason, and I have done so. And now, withdraw, my dear, and farewell. "

CHAPTER XLVI. 

Move on, my quill! wait not for my guidance. Reanimated with thymaster's spirit, all airy light! A heyday rapture! A mounting impulsesways him: lifts him from the earth. 

I must, cost what it will, rein in this upward-pulling, forward-going--what shall I call it? But there are times, and now is oneof them, when words are poor. 

It will not do--down this hill, up that steep; through this thicket, over that hedge--I have _laboured_ to fatigue myself: to reconcile me torepose; to lolling on a sofa; to poring over a book, to any thing thatmight win for my heart a respite from these throbs; to deceive me into afew _tolerable_ moments of forgetfulness. 

Let me see; they tell me this is Monday night. Only three days yet tocome! If thus restless to-day; if my heart thus bounds till its mansionscarcely can hold it, what must be my state to-morrow! What next day!What as the hour hastens on; as the sun descends; as my hand toucheshers in sign of wedded unity, of love without interval; of concordwithout end!

I must quell these tumults. They will disable me else. They will wearout all my strength. They will drain away life itself. But who couldhave thought! So soon! Not three months since I first set eyes upon her. Not three weeks since our plighted love, and only three days toterminate suspense and give me _all_. 

I must compel myself to quiet; to sleep. I must find some refuge fromanticipations so excruciating. All extremes are agonies. A joy like thisis too big for this narrow tenement. I must thrust it forth; I must barand bolt it out for a time, or these frail walls will burst asunder. The pen is a pacifier. It checks the mind's career; it circumscribes herwanderings. It traces out and compels us to adhere to one path. It everwas my friend. Often it has blunted my vexations; hushed my stormypassions; turned my peevishness to soothing; my fierce revenge toheart-dissolving pity. 

Perhaps it will befriend me now. It may temper my impetuous wishes; lullmy intoxication; and render my happiness supportable; and, indeed, ithas produced partly this effect already. My blood, within the fewminutes thus employed, flows with less destructive rapidity. My thoughtsrange themselves in less disorder. And, now that the conquest iseffected, what shall I say? I must continue at the pen, or shallimmediately relapse. 

What shall I say? Let me look back upon the steps that led me hither. Let me recount the preliminaries. I cannot do better. 

And first as to Achsa Fielding, --to describe this woman. 

To recount, in brief, so much of her history as has come to my knowledgewill best account for that zeal, almost to idolatry, with which she has, ever since I thoroughly knew her, been regarded by me. 

Never saw I one to whom the term _lovely_ more truly belonged. And yetin stature she is too low; in complexion dark and almost sallow; and hereyes, though black and of piercing lustre, have a cast which I cannotwell explain. It lessens without destroying their lustre and their forceto charm; but all personal defects are outweighed by her heart and herintellect. There is the secret of her power to entrance the soul of thelistener and beholder. It is not only when she sings that her utteranceis musical. It is not only when the occasion is urgent and the topicmomentous that her eloquence is rich and flowing. They are always so. 

I had vowed to love her and serve her, and been her frequent visitant, long before I was acquainted with her past life. I had casually pickedup some intelligence, from others, or from her own remarks. I knew verysoon that she was English by birth, and had been only a year and a halfin America; that she had scarcely passed her twenty-fifth year, and wasstill embellished with all the graces of youth; that she had been awife; but was uninformed whether the knot had been untied by death ordivorce; that she possessed considerable, and even splendid, fortune;but the exact amount, and all besides these particulars, were unknown tome till some time after our acquaintance was begun. 

One evening she had been talking very earnestly on the influenceannexed, in Great Britain, to birth, and had given me some examples ofthis influence. Meanwhile my eyes were fixed steadfastly on hers. Thepeculiarity in their expression never before affected me so strongly. Avague resemblance to something seen elsewhere, on the same day, occurred, and occasioned me to exclaim, suddenly, in a pause of herdiscourse, --

"As I live, my good mamma, those eyes of yours have told me a secret. Ialmost think they spoke to me; and I am not less amazed at thestrangeness than at the distinctness of their story. "

"And, pr'ythee, what have they said?"

"Perhaps I was mistaken. I might have been deceived by a fancied voice, or have confounded one word with another near akin to it; but let me dieif I did not think they said that you were--_a Jew_. "

At this sound, her features were instantly veiled with the deepestsorrow and confusion. She put her hand to her eyes, the tears started, and she sobbed. My surprise at this effect of my words was equal to mycontrition. I besought her to pardon me for having thus unknowinglyalarmed and grieved her. 

After she had regained some composure, she said, "You have not offended, Arthur. Your surmise was just and natural, and could not always haveescaped you. Connected with that word are many sources of anguish, whichtime has not, and never will, dry up; and the less I think of pastevents the less will my peace be disturbed. I was desirous that youshould know nothing of me but what you see; nothing but the present andthe future, merely that no allusions might occur in our conversationwhich will call up sorrows and regrets that will avail nothing. 

"I now perceive the folly of endeavouring to keep you in ignorance, andshall therefore, once for all, inform you of what has befallen me, thatyour inquiries and suggestions may be made and fully satisfied at once, and your curiosity have no motive for calling back my thoughts to what Iardently desire to bury in oblivion. 

"My father was indeed a _Jew_, and one of the most opulent of his nationin London, --a Portuguese by birth, but came to London when a boy. He hadfew of the moral or external qualities of Jews; for I suppose there issome justice in the obloquy that follows them so closely. He was frugalwithout meanness, and cautious in his dealings, without extortion. Ineed not fear to say this, for it was the general voice. 

"Me, an only child, and, of course, the darling of my parents, theytrained up in the most liberal manner. My education was purely English. I learned the same things and of the same masters with my neighbours. Except frequenting their church and repeating their creed, and partakingof the same food, I saw no difference between them and me. Hence I grewmore indifferent, perhaps, than was proper, to the distinctions ofreligion. They were never enforced upon me. No pains were taken to fillme with scruples and antipathies. They never stood, as I may say, uponthe threshold. They were often thought upon, but were vague and easilyeluded or forgotten. 

"Hence it was that my heart too readily admitted impressions that morezeal and more parental caution would have saved me from. They couldscarcely be avoided, as my society was wholly English, and my youth, myeducation, and my father's wealth made me an object of much attention. And the same causes that lulled to sleep my own watchfulness had thesame effect upon that of others. To regret or to praise this remissnessis now too late. Certain it is, that my destiny, and not a happydestiny, was fixed by it. 

"The fruit of this remissness was a passion for one who fully returnedit. Almost as young as I, who was only sixteen; he knew as little asmyself what obstacles the difference of our births was likely to raisebetween us. His father, Sir Ralph Fielding, a man nobly born, high inoffice, splendidly allied, could not be expected to consent to themarriage of his eldest son, in such green youth, to the daughter of analien, a Portuguese, a Jew; but these impediments were not seen by myignorance, and were overlooked by the youth's passion. 

"But, strange to tell, what common prudence would have so confidentlypredicted did not happen. Sir Ralph had a numerous family, likely to bestill more so; had but slender patrimony; the income of his officesnearly made up his all. The young man was headstrong, impetuous, andwould probably disregard the inclinations of his family. Yet the fatherwould not consent but on one condition, --that of my admission to theEnglish Church. 

"No very strenuous opposition to these terms could be expected from me. At so thoughtless an age, with an education so unfavourable to religiousimpressions; swayed, likewise, by the strongest of human passions; madesomewhat impatient, by the company I kept, of the disrepute and scorn towhich the Jewish nation are everywhere condemned, I could not beexpected to be very averse to the scheme. 

"My fears as to what my father's decision would be were soon at an end. He loved his child too well to thwart her wishes in so essential apoint. Finding in me no scruples, no unwillingness, he thought it absurdto be scrupulous for me. My own heart having abjured my religion, it wasabsurd to make any difficulty about a formal renunciation. These werehis avowed reasons for concurrence, but time showed that he had probablyother reasons, founded, indeed, in his regard for my happiness, but suchas, if they had been known, would probably have strengthened intoinvincible the reluctance of my lover's family. 

"No marriage was ever attended with happier presages. The numerousrelations of my husband admitted me with the utmost cordiality amongthem. My father's tenderness was unabated by this change, and thosehumiliations to which I had before been exposed were now no more; andevery tie was strengthened, at the end of a year, by the feelings of a_mother_. I had need, indeed, to know a season of happiness, that Imight be fitted to endure the sad reverses that succeeded. One after theother my disasters came, each one more heavy than the last, and in suchswift succession that they hardly left me time to breathe. 

"I had scarcely left my chamber, I had scarcely recovered my usualhealth, and was able to press with true fervour the new and preciousgift to my bosom, when melancholy tidings came. I was in the country, atthe seat of my father-in-law, when the messenger arrived. 

"A shocking tale it was! and told abruptly, with every unpityingaggravation. I hinted to you once my father's death. The _kind_ ofdeath--oh! my friend! It was horrible. He was then a placid, venerableold man; though many symptoms of disquiet had long before beendiscovered by my mother's watchful tenderness. Yet none could suspecthim capable of such a deed; for none, so carefully had he conducted hisaffairs, suspected the havoc that mischance had made of his property. 

"I, that had so much reason to love my father, --I will leave you toimagine how I was affected by a catastrophe so dreadful, sounlooked-for. Much less could I suspect the cause of his despair; yet hehad foreseen his ruin before my marriage; had resolved to defer it, forhis daughter's and his wife's sake, as long as possible, but had stilldetermined not to survive the day that should reduce him to indigence. The desperate act was thus preconcerted--thus deliberate. 

"The true state of his affairs was laid open by his death. The failureof great mercantile houses at Frankfort and Liege was the cause of hisdisasters. 

"Thus were my prospects shut in. That wealth which, no doubt, furnishedthe chief inducement with my husband's family to concur in his choice, was now suddenly exchanged for poverty. 

"Bred up, as I had been, in pomp and luxury; conscious that my wealthwas my chief security from the contempt of the proud and bigoted, and mychief title to the station to which I had been raised, and which I themore delighted in because it enabled me to confer so great obligationson my husband, --what reverse could be harder than this, and how muchbitterness was added by it to the grief occasioned by the violent deathof my father!

"Yet loss of fortune, though it mortified my pride, did not prove myworst calamity. Perhaps it was scarcely to be ranked with evils, sinceit furnished a touchstone by which my husband's affections were to betried; especially as the issue of the trial was auspicious; for mymisfortune seemed only to heighten the interest which my character hadmade for me in the hearts of all that knew me. The paternal regards ofSir Ralph had always been tender, but that tenderness seemed now to beredoubled. 

"New events made this consolation still more necessary. My unhappymother!--She was nearer to the dreadful scene when it happened; had nosurviving object to beguile her sorrow; was rendered, by long habit, more dependent upon fortune than her child. 

"A melancholy, always mute, was the first effect upon my mother. Nothingcould charm her eye, or her ear. Sweet sounds that she once loved, andespecially when her darling child was the warbler, were heard no longer. How, with streaming eyes, have I sat and watched the dear lady, andendeavoured to catch her eye, to rouse her attention!--But I must notthink of these things. 

"But even this distress was little in comparison with what was to come. A frenzy thus mute, motionless, and vacant, was succeeded by fits, talkative, outrageous, requiring incessant superintendence, restraint, and even violence. 

"Why led you me thus back to my sad remembrances? Excuse me for thepresent. I will tell you the rest some other time; to-morrow. "

To-morrow, accordingly, my friend resumed her story. 

"Let me now make an end, " said she, "of my mournful narrative, andnever, I charge you, do any thing to revive it again. 

"Deep as was my despondency, occasioned by these calamities, I was notdestitute of some joy. My husband and my child were lovely andaffectionate. In their caresses, in their welfare, I found peace; andmight still have found it, had there not been----. But why should I openafresh wounds which time has imperfectly closed? But the story must sometime be told to you, and the sooner it is told and dismissed toforgetfulness the better. 

"My ill fate led me into company with a woman too well known in the idleand dissipated circles. Her character was not unknown to me. There wasnothing in her features or air to obviate disadvantageousprepossessions. I sought not her intercourse; I rather shunned it, asunpleasing and discreditable, but she would not be repulsed. Self-invited, she made herself my frequent guest; took unsolicited partin my concerns; did me many kind offices; and, at length, in spite of mycounter-inclination, won upon my sympathy and gratitude. 

"No one in the world, did I fondly think, had I less reason to fear thanMrs. Waring. Her character excited not the slightest apprehension for myown safety. She was upwards of forty, nowise remarkable for grace orbeauty; tawdry in her dress; accustomed to render more conspicuous thetraces of age by her attempts to hide them; the mother of a numerousfamily, with a mind but slenderly cultivated; always careful to saveappearances; studiously preserving distance with my husband, and he, like myself, enduring rather than wishing her society. What could I fearfrom the arts of such a one?

"But alas! the woman had consummate address. Patience, too, that nothingcould tire. Watchfulness that none could detect. Insinuation the wiliestand most subtle. Thus wound she herself into my affections, by anunexampled perseverance in seeming kindness; by tender confidence; byartful glosses of past misconduct; by self-rebukes and feignedcontritions. 

"Never were stratagems so intricate, dissimulation so profound! Butstill, that such a one should seduce my husband; young, generous, ambitious, impatient of contumely and reproach, and surely notindifferent; before this fatal intercourse, not indifferent to his wifeand child!--Yet so it was!

"I saw his discontents; his struggles; I heard him curse this woman, andthe more deeply for my attempts, unconscious as I was of hermachinations, to reconcile them to each other, to do away what seemed acauseless indignation, or antipathy against her. How little I suspectedthe nature of the conflict in his heart, between a new passion and theclaims of pride; of conscience and of humanity; the claims of a childand a wife; a wife, already in affliction, and placing all that yetremained of happiness, in the firmness of his virtue; in the continuanceof his love; a wife, at the very hour of his meditated flight, full ofterrors at the near approach of an event whose agonies demand a doubleshare of a husband's supporting, encouraging love----

"Good Heaven! For what evils are some of thy creatures reserved!Resignation to thy decree, in the last and most cruel distress, was, indeed, a hard task. 

"He was gone. Some unavoidable engagement calling him to Hamburg waspleaded. Yet to leave me at such an hour! I dared not upbraid, norobject. The tale was so specious! The fortunes of a friend depended onhis punctual journey. The falsehood of his story too soon made itselfknown. He was gone, in company with his detested paramour!

"Yet, though my vigilance was easily deceived, it was not so withothers. A creditor, who had his bond for three thousand pounds, pursuedand arrested him at Harwich. He was thrown into prison, but hiscompanion--let me, at least, say that in her praise--would not deserthim. She took lodging near the place of his confinement, and saw himdaily. That, had she not done it, and had my personal condition allowed, should have been my province. 

"Indignation and grief hastened the painful crisis with me. I did notweep that the second fruit of this unhappy union saw not the light. Iwept only that this hour of agony was not, to its unfortunate mother, the last. 

"I felt not anger; I had nothing but compassion for Fielding. Gladlywould I have recalled him to my arms and to virtue; I wrote, adjuringhim, by all our past joys, to return; vowing only gratitude for his newaffection, and claiming only the recompense of seeing him restored tohis family; to liberty; to reputation. 

"But, alas! Fielding had a good but a proud heart. He looked upon hiserror with remorse, with self-detestation, and with the fatal beliefthat it could not be retrieved; shame made him withstand all myreasonings and persuasions, and, in the hurry of his feelings, he madesolemn vows that he would, in the moment of restored liberty, abjure hiscountry and his family forever. He bore indignantly the yoke of his newattachment, but he strove in vain to shake it off. Her behaviour, alwaysyielding, doting, supplicative, preserved him in her fetters. Thoughupbraided, spurned, and banished from his presence, she would not leavehim, but, by new efforts and new artifices, soothed, appeased, and wonagain and kept his tenderness. 

"What my entreaties were unable to effect, his father could not hope toaccomplish. He offered to take him from prison; the creditor offered tocancel the bond, if he would return to me; but this condition herefused. All his kindred, and one who had been his bosom-friend fromchildhood, joined in beseeching his compliance with these conditions;but his pride, his dread of my merited reproaches, the merits anddissuasions of his new companion, whose sacrifices for his sake had notbeen small, were obstacles which nothing could subdue. 

"Far, indeed, was I from imposing these conditions. I waited only till, by certain arrangements, I could gather enough to pay his debts, toenable him to execute his vow: empty would have been my claims to hisaffection, if I could have suffered, with the means of his deliverancein my hands, my husband to remain a moment in prison. 

"The remains of my father's vast fortune was a jointure of a thousandpounds a year, settled on my mother, and, after her death, on me. Mymother's helpless condition put this revenue into my disposal. By thismeans was I enabled, without the knowledge of my father-in-law or myhusband, to purchase the debt, and dismiss him from prison. He set outinstantly, in company with his paramour, to France. 

"When somewhat recovered from the shock of this calamity, I took up myabode with my mother. What she had was enough, as you perhaps willthink, for plentiful subsistence; but to us, with habits of a differentkind, it was little better than poverty. That reflection, my father'smemory, my mother's deplorable state, which every year grew worse, andthe late misfortune, were the chief companions of my thoughts. 

"The dear child, whose smiles were uninterrupted by his mother'safflictions, was some consolation in my solitude. To his instruction andto my mother's wants all my hours were devoted. I was sometimes notwithout the hope of better days. Full as my mind was of Fielding'smerits, convinced by former proofs of his ardent and generous spirit, Itrusted that time and reflection would destroy that spell by which hewas now bound. 

"For some time, the progress of these reflections was not known. Inleaving England, Fielding dropped all correspondence and connection withhis native country. He parted with the woman at Rouen, leaving no tracebehind him by which she might follow him, as she wished to do. She neverreturned to England, but died a twelvemonth afterwards in Switzerland. 

"As to me, I had only to muse day and night upon the possible destiny ofthis beloved fugitive. His incensed father cared not for him. He hadcast him out of his paternal affections, ceased to make inquiriesrespecting him, and even wished never to hear of him again. My boysucceeded to my husband's place in his grandfather's affections, and inthe hopes and views of the family; and his mother wanted nothing whichtheir compassionate and respectful love could bestow. 

"Three long and tedious years passed away, and no tidings were received. Whether he were living or dead, nobody could tell. At length, an Englishtraveller, going out of the customary road from Italy, met withFielding, in a town in the Venaissin. His manners, habits, and language, had become French. He seemed unwilling to be recognised by an oldacquaintance, but, not being able to avoid this, and becoming graduallyfamiliar, he informed the traveller of many particulars in his presentsituation. It appeared that he had made himself useful to a neighbouring_seigneur_, in whose _château_ he had long lived on the footing of abrother. France he had resolved to make his future country, and, amongother changes for that end, he had laid aside his English name, andtaken that of his patron, which was _Perrin_. He had endeavoured tocompensate himself for all other privations, by devoting himself torural amusements and to study. 

"He carefully shunned all inquiries respecting me; but, when my name wasmentioned by his friend, who knew well all that had happened, and mygeneral welfare, together with that of his son, asserted, he showed deepsensibility, and even consented that I should be made acquainted withhis situation. 

"I cannot describe the effect of this intelligence on me. My hopes ofbringing him back to me were suddenly revived. I wrote him a letter, inwhich I poured forth my whole heart; but his answer contained avowals ofall his former resolutions, to which time had only made his adherencemore easy. A second and third letter were written, and an offer made tofollow him to his retreat and share his exile; but all my effortsavailed nothing. He solemnly and repeatedly renounced all the claims ofa husband over me, and absolved me from every obligation as a wife. 

"His part in this correspondence was performed without harshness orcontempt. A strange mixture there was of pathos and indifference; oftenderness and resolution. Hence I continually derived hope, which time, however, brought no nearer to certainty. 

"At the opening of the Revolution, the name of Perrin appeared among thedeputies to the constituent assembly for the district in which heresided. He had thus succeeded in gaining all the rights of a Frenchcitizen; and the hopes of his return became almost extinct; but that, and every other hope respecting him, has since been totally extinguishedby his marriage with Marguerite d'Almont, a young lady of great meritand fortune, and a native of Avignon. 

"A long period of suspense was now at an end, and left me in a statealmost as full of anguish as that which our first separation produced. My sorrows were increased by my mother's death, and, this incidentfreeing me from those restraints upon my motions which before existed, Idetermined to come to America. 

"My son was now eight years old, and, his grandfather claiming theprovince of his instruction, I was persuaded to part with him, that hemight be sent to a distant school. Thus was another tie removed, and, inspite of the well-meant importunities of my friends, I persisted in myscheme of crossing the ocean. "

I could not help, at this part of her narration, expressing my surprisethat any motives were strong enough to recommend this scheme. 

"It was certainly a freak of despair. A few months would, perhaps, haveallayed the fresh grief, and reconciled me to my situation; but I wouldnot pause or deliberate. My scheme was opposed by my friends with greatearnestness. During my voyage, affrighted by the dangers whichsurrounded me, and to which I was wholly unused, I heartily repented ofmy resolution; but now, methinks, I have reason to rejoice at myperseverance. I have come into a scene and society so new, I have had somany claims made upon my ingenuity and fortitude, that my mind has beendiverted in some degree from former sorrows. There are even times when Iwholly forget them, and catch myself indulging in cheerful reveries. 

"I have often reflected with surprise on the nature of my own mind. Itis eight years since my father's violent death. How few of my hourssince that period have been blessed with serenity! How many nights anddays, in hateful and lingering succession, have been bathed in tears andtormented with regrets! That I am still alive, with so many causes ofdeath, and with such a slow-consuming malady, is surely to be wonderedat. 

"I believe the worst foes of man, at least of men in grief, are solitudeand idleness. The same eternally-occurring round of objects feeds hisdisease, and the effects of mere vacancy and uniformity are sometimesmistaken for those of grief. Yes, I am glad I came to America. Myrelations are importunate for my return, and till lately I had somethoughts of it; but I think now I shall stay where I am for the rest ofmy days. 

"Since I arrived, I am become more of a student than I used to be. Ialways loved literature, but never, till of late, had I a mind enough atease to read with advantage. I now find pleasure in the occupation whichI never expected to find. 

"You see in what manner I live. The letters which I brought secured me aflattering reception from the best people in your country; but scenes ofgay resort had nothing to attract me, and I quickly withdrew to thatseclusion in which you now find me. Here, always at leisure, andmistress of every laudable means of gratification, I am not without thebelief of serene days yet to come. "

I now ventured to inquire what were her latest tidings of her husband. 

"At the opening of the Revolution, I told you, he became a champion ofthe people. By his zeal and his efforts he acquired such importance asto be deputed to the National Assembly. In this post he was the adherentof violent measures, till the subversion of monarchy; and then, when toolate for his safety, he checked his career. "

"And what has since become of him?"

She sighed deeply. "You were yesterday reading a list of the proscribedunder Robespierre. I checked you. I had good reason. But this subjectgrows too painful; let us change it. "

Some time after, I ventured to renew this topic; and discovered thatFielding, under his new name of Perrin d'Almont, was among the outlaweddeputies of last year, [1] and had been slain in resisting the officerssent to arrest him. My friend had been informed that his _wife_, Marguerite d'Almont, whom she had reason to believe a woman of greatmerit, had eluded persecution, and taken refuge in some part of America. She had made various attempts, but in vain, to find out her retreat. "Ah!" said I, "you must commission me to find her. I will hunt herthrough the continent from Penobscot to Savannah. I will not leave anook unsearched. "

[Footnote 1: 1793. ]

CHAPTER XLVII. 

None will be surprised that, to a woman thus unfortunate and thusdeserving, my heart willingly rendered up all its sympathies; that, as Ipartook of all her grief, I hailed, with equal delight, those omens offelicity which now, at length, seemed to play in her fancy. 

I saw her often, --as often as my engagements would permit, and oftenerthan I allowed myself to visit any other. In this I was partly selfish. So much entertainment, so much of the best instruction, did herconversation afford me, that I never had enough of it. 

Her experience had been so much larger than mine, and so whollydifferent, and she possessed such unbounded facility of recounting allshe had seen and felt, and absolute sincerity and unreserve in thisrespect were so fully established between us, that I can imagine nothingequally instructive and delightful with her conversation. 

Books are cold, jejune, vexatious in their sparingness of information atone time and their impertinent loquacity at another. Besides, all theychoose to give they give at once; they allow no questions, offer nofurther explanations, and bend not to the caprices of our curiosity. They talk to us behind a screen. Their tone is lifeless and monotonous. They charm not our attention by mute significances of gesture and looks. They spread no light upon their meaning by cadences and emphasis andpause. 

How different was Mrs. Fielding's discourse! So versatile; so bending tothe changes of the occasion; so obsequious to my curiosity, and soabundant in that very knowledge in which I was most deficient, and onwhich I set the most value, the knowledge of the human heart; ofsociety as it existed in another world, more abundant in the varietiesof customs and characters, than I had ever had the power to witness. 

Partly selfish I have said my motives were, but not so, as long as I sawthat my friend derived pleasure, in her turn, from my company. Not thatI could add directly to her knowledge or pleasure, but that expansion ofheart, that ease of utterance and flow of ideas which always wereoccasioned by my approach, were sources of true pleasure of which shehad been long deprived, and for which her privation had given her ahigher relish than ever. 

She lived in great affluence and independence, but made use of herprivileges of fortune chiefly to secure to herself the command of herown time. She had been long ago tired and disgusted with the dull andfulsome uniformity and parade of the play-house and ballroom. Formalvisits were endured as mortifications and penances, by which thedelights of privacy and friendly intercourse were by contrast increased. Music she loved, but never sought it in places of public resort, or fromthe skill of mercenary performers; and books were not the least of herpleasures. 

As to me, I was wax in her hand. Without design and without effort, Iwas always of that form she wished me to assume. My own happiness becamea secondary passion, and her gratification the great end of my being. When with her, I thought not of myself. I had scarcely a separate orindependent existence, since my senses were occupied by her, and my mindwas full of those ideas which her discourse communicated. To meditate onher looks and words, and to pursue the means suggested by my ownthoughts, or by her, conducive, in any way, to her good, was all mybusiness. 

"What a fate, " said I, at the conclusion of one of our interviews, "hasbeen yours! But, thank Heaven, the storm has disappeared before the ageof sensibility has gone past, and without drying up every source ofhappiness. You are still young; all your powers unimpaired; rich in thecompassion and esteem of the world; wholly independent of the claims andcaprices of others; amply supplied with that means of usefulness, called money; wise in that experience which only adversity can give. Past evils and sufferings, if incurred and endured without guilt, ifcalled to view without remorse, make up the materials of present joy. They cheer our most dreary hours with the widespread accents of 'welldone, ' and they heighten our pleasures into somewhat of celestialbrilliancy, by furnishing a deep, a ruefully-deep, contrast. 

"From this moment, I will cease to weep for you. I will call you thehappiest of women. I will share with you your happiness by witnessingit; but that shall not content me. I must some way contribute to it. Tell me how I shall serve you. What can I do to make you happier? Pooram I in every thing but zeal, but still I may do something. What--praytell me, what can I do?"

She looked at me with sweet and solemn significance. What it was exactlyI could not divine, yet I was strangely affected by it. It was but aglance, instantly withdrawn. She made me no answer. 

"You must not be silent; you _must_ tell me what I can do for you. Hitherto I have done nothing. All the service is on your side. Yourconversation has been my study, a delightful study, but the profit hasonly been mine. Tell me how I can be grateful: my voice and manner, Ibelieve, seldom belie my feelings. " At this time, I had almost done whata second thought made me suspect to be unauthorized. Yet I cannot tellwhy. My heart had nothing in it but reverence and admiration. Was shenot the substitute of my lost mamma? Would I not have clasped thatbeloved shade? Yet the two beings were not just the same, or I shouldnot, as now, have checked myself, and only pressed her hand to my lips. 

"Tell me, " repeated I, "what can I do to serve you? I read to you alittle now, and you are pleased with my reading. I copy for you when youwant the time. I guide the reins for you when you choose to ride. Humbleoffices, indeed, though, perhaps, all that a raw youth like me can dofor you; but I can be still more assiduous. I can read several hours inthe day, instead of one. I can write ten times as much as now. 

"Are you not my lost mamma come back again? And yet, not _exactly_ her, I think. Something different; something better, I believe, if that bepossible. At any rate, methinks I would be wholly yours. I shall beimpatient and uneasy till every act, every thought, every minute, someway does you good. 

"How!" said I, (her eye, still averted, seemed to hold back the tearwith difficulty, and she made a motion as if to rise, ) "have I grievedyou? Have I been importunate? Forgive me if I have offended you. "

Her eyes now overflowed without restraint. She articulated, withdifficulty, "Tears are too prompt with me of late; but they did notupbraid you. Pain has often caused them to flow, but nowit--is--_pleasure_. "

"What a heart must yours be!" I resumed. "When susceptible of suchpleasures, what pangs must formerly have rent it!--But you are notdispleased, you say, with my importunate zeal. You will accept me asyour own in every thing. Direct me; prescribe to me. There must be_something_ in which I can be of still more use to you; some way inwhich I can be wholly yours----"

"_Wholly mine!_" she repeated, in a smothered voice, and rising. "Leaveme, Arthur. It is too late for you to be here. It was wrong to stay solate. "

"I have been wrong; but how too late? I entered but this moment. It istwilight still; is it not?"

"No: it is almost twelve. You have been here a long four hours; shortones I would rather say, --but indeed you must go. "

"What made me so thoughtless of the time? But I will go, yet not tillyou forgive me. " I approached her with a confidence and for a purpose atwhich, upon reflection, I am not a little surprised; but the beingcalled Mervyn is not the same in her company and in that of another. What is the difference, and whence comes it? Her words and looks engrossme. My mind wants room for any other object. But why inquire whence thedifference? The superiority of her merits and attractions to all thosewhom I knew would surely account for my fervour. Indifference, if Ifelt it, would be the only just occasion of wonder. 

The hour was, indeed, too late, and I hastened home. Stevens was waitingmy return with some anxiety. I apologized for my delay, and recounted tohim what had just passed. He listened with more than usual interest. When I had finished, --

"Mervyn, " said he, "you seem not be aware of your present situation. From what you now tell me, and from what you have formerly told me, onething seems very plain to me. "

"Pr'ythee, what is it?"

"Eliza Hadwin:--do you wish--could you bear--to see her the wife ofanother?"

"Five years hence I will answer you. Then my answer may be, 'No; I wishher only to be mine. ' Till then, I wish her only to be my pupil, myward, my sister. "

"But these are remote considerations; they are bars to marriage, but notto love. Would it not molest and disquiet you to observe in her apassion for another?"

"It would, but only on her own account; not on mine. At a suitable ageit is very likely I may love her, because it is likely, if she holds onin her present career, she will then be worthy; but at present, though Iwould die to insure her happiness, I have no wish to insure it bymarriage with her. "

"Is there no other whom you love?"

"No. There is one worthier than all others; one whom I wish the womanwho shall be my wife to resemble in all things. "

"And who is this model?"

"You know I can only mean Achsa Fielding. "

"If you love her likeness, why not love herself?"

I felt my heart leap. --"What a thought is that! Love her I _do_ as Ilove my God; as I love virtue. To love her in another sense would brandme for a lunatic. "

"To love her as a woman, then, appears to you an act of folly. "

"In me it would be worse than folly. 'Twould be frenzy. "

"And why?"

"Why? Really, my friend, you astonish me. Nay, you startle me--for aquestion like that implies a doubt in you whether I have not actuallyharboured the thought. "

"No, " said he, smiling, "presumptuous though you be, you have not, to-be-sure, reached so high a pitch. But still, though I think youinnocent of so heinous an offence, there is no harm in asking why youmight not love her, and even seek her for a wife. "

Achsa Fielding _my wife_! Good Heaven!--The very sound threw my soulinto unconquerable tumults. "Take care, my friend, " continued I, inbeseeching accents, "you may do me more injury than you conceive, byeven starting such a thought. "

"True, " said he, "as long as such obstacles exist to your success; somany incurable objections: for instance, she is six years older thanyou. "

"That is an advantage. Her age is what it ought to be. "

"But she has been a wife and mother already. "

"That is likewise an advantage. She has wisdom, because she hasexperience. Her sensibilities are stronger, because they have beenexercised and chastened. Her first marriage was unfortunate. The pureris the felicity she will taste in a second! If her second choice bepropitious, the greater her tenderness and gratitude. "

"But she is a foreigner; independent of control, and rich. "

"All which are blessings to herself, and to him for whom her hand isreserved; especially if, like me, he is indigent. "

"But then she is unsightly as a _night-hag_, tawny as a Moor, the eye ofa gipsy, low in stature, contemptibly diminutive, scarcely bulk enoughto cast a shadow as she walks, less luxuriance than a charred log, fewerelasticities than a sheet pebble. "

"Hush! hush! blasphemer!"--(and I put my hand before his mouth)--"have Inot told you that in mind, person, and condition, she is the type afterwhich my enamoured fancy has modelled my wife?"

"Oh ho! Then the objection does not lie with you. It lies with her, itseems. She can find nothing in you to esteem! And, pray, for what faultsdo you think she would reject you?"

"I cannot tell. That she can ever balance for a moment, on such aquestion, is incredible. _Me! me!_ That Achsa Fielding should think ofme!"

"Incredible, indeed! You, who are loathsome in your person, an idiot inyour understanding, a villain in your morals! deformed! withered! vain, stupid, and malignant. That such a one should choose _you_ for an idol!"

"Pray, my friend, " said I, anxiously, "jest not. What mean you by a hintof this kind?"

"I will not jest, then, but will soberly inquire, what faults are theywhich make this lady's choice of you so incredible? You are younger thanshe, though no one, who merely observed your manners and heard you talk, would take you to be under thirty. You are poor: are these impediments?"

"I should think not. I have heard her reason with admirable eloquenceagainst the vain distinctions of property and nation and rank. They wereonce of moment in her eyes; but the sufferings, humiliations, andreflections of years have cured her of the folly. Her nation hassuffered too much by the inhuman antipathies of religious and politicalfaction; she, herself, has felt so often the contumelies of the rich, the high-born, and the bigoted, that----"

"Pr'ythee, then, what dost imagine her objections to be?"

"Why--I don't know. The thought was so aspiring; to call her _my wife_was a height of bliss the very far-off view of which made my headdizzy. "

"A height, however, to attain which you suppose only her consent, herlove, to be necessary?"

"Without doubt, her love is indispensable. "

"Sit down, Arthur, and let us no longer treat this matter lightly. Iclearly see the importance of this moment to this lady's happiness andyours. It is plain that you love this woman. How could you help it? Abrilliant skin is not hers; nor elegant proportions; nor majesticstature: yet no creature had ever more power to bewitch. Her mannershave grace and dignity that flow from exquisite feelings, delicatetaste, and the quickest and keenest penetration. She has the wisdom ofmen and of books. Her sympathies are enforced by reason, and hercharities regulated by knowledge. She has a woman's age, fortune morethan you wish, and a spotless fame. How could you fail to love her?

"_You_, who are her chosen friend, who partake her pleasures and shareher employments, on whom she almost exclusively bestows her society andconfidence, and to whom she thus affords the strongest of all indirectproofs of impassioned esteem, --how could you, with all that firmness oflove, joined with all that discernment of her excellence, how could youescape the enchantment?

"You have not thought of marriage. You have not suspected your love. From the purity of your mind, from the idolatry with which this womanhas inspired you, you have imagined no delight beyond that of enjoyingher society as you now do, and have never fostered a hope beyond thisprivilege. 

"How quickly would this tranquillity vanish, and the true state of yourheart be evinced, if a rival should enter the scene and be entertainedwith preference! then would the seal be removed, the spell be broken, and you would awaken to terror and to anguish. 

"Of this, however, there is no danger. Your passion is not felt by youalone. From her treatment of you, your diffidence disables you fromseeing, but nothing can be clearer to me than that she loves you. "

I started on my feet. A flush of scorching heat flowed to every part ofmy frame. My temples began to throb like my heart. I was half delirious, and my delirium was strangely compounded of fear and hope, of delightand of terror. 

"What have you done, my friend? You have overturned my peace of mind. Till now the image of this woman has been followed by complacency andsober rapture; but your words have dashed the scene with dismay andconfusion. You have raised up wishes, and dreams, and doubts, whichpossess me in spite of my reason, in spite of a thousand proofs. 

"Good God! You say she loves, --loves _me_!--me, a boy in age; bred inclownish ignorance; scarcely ushered into the world; more thanchildishly unlearned and raw; a barn-door simpleton; a plough-tail, kitchen-hearth, turnip-hoeing novice! She, thus splendidly endowed; thusallied to nobles; thus gifted with arts, and adorned with graces; thatshe should choose me, me for the partner of her fortune; her affections;and her life! It cannot be. Yet, if it were; if your guessesshould--prove--Oaf! madman! To indulge so fatal a chimera! So rash adream!

"My friend! my friend! I feel that you have done me an irreparableinjury. I can never more look her in the face. I can never more frequenther society. These new thoughts will beset and torment me. My disquietwill chain up my tongue. That overflowing gratitude; that innocent joy, unconscious of offence, and knowing no restraint, which have hithertobeen my titles to her favour, will fly from my features and manners. Ishall be anxious, vacant, and unhappy in her presence. I shall dread tolook at her, or to open my lips, lest my mad and unhallowed ambitionshould betray itself. "

"Well, " replied Stevens, "this scene is quite new. I could almost findit in my heart to pity you. I did not expect this; and yet, from myknowledge of your character, I ought, perhaps, to have foreseen it. Thisis a necessary part of the drama. A joyous certainty, on theseoccasions, must always be preceded by suspenses and doubts, and theclose will be joyous in proportion as the preludes are excruciating. Goto bed, my good friend, and think of this. Time and a few moreinterviews with Mrs. Fielding will, I doubt not, set all to rights. "

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

I went to my chamber, but what different sensations did I carry into itfrom those with which I had left it a few hours before! I stretchedmyself on the mattress and put out the light; but the swarm of newimages that rushed on my mind set me again instantly in motion. All wasrapid, vague, and undefined, wearying and distracting my attention. Iwas roused as by a divine voice, that said, "Sleep no more! Mervyn shallsleep no more. "

What chiefly occupied me was a nameless sort of terror. What shall Icompare it to? Methinks, that one falling from a tree overhanging atorrent, plunged into the whirling eddy, and gasping and strugglingwhile he sinks to rise no more, would feel just as I did then. Nay, somesuch image actually possessed me. Such was one of my reveries, in whichsuddenly I stretched my hand, and caught the arm of a chair. This actcalled me back to reason, or rather gave my soul opportunity to roaminto a new track equally wild. 

Was it the abruptness of this vision that thus confounded me? was it alatent error in my moral constitution, which this new conjuncture drewforth into influence? These were all the tokens of a mind lost toitself; bewildered; unhinged; plunged into a drear insanity. 

Nothing less could have prompted so fantastically; for, midnight as itwas, my chamber's solitude was not to be supported. After a few turnsacross the floor, I left the room, and the house. I walked withoutdesign and in a hurried pace. I posted straight to the house of Mrs. Fielding. I lifted the latch, but the door did not open. It was, nodoubt, locked. 

"How comes this?" said I, and looked around me. The hour and occasionwere unthought of. Habituated to this path, I had taken itspontaneously. "How comes this?" repeated I. "Locked upon _me_! but Iwill summon them, I warrant me, "--and rung the bell, not timidly orslightly, but with violence. Some one hastened from above. I saw theglimmer of a candle through the keyhole. 

"Strange, " thought I; "a candle at noonday!"--The door was opened, andmy poor Bess, robed in a careless and hasty manner, appeared. Shestarted at sight of me, but merely because she did not, in a moment, recognise me. --"Ah! Arthur, is it you? Come in. My mamma has wanted youthese two hours. I was just going to despatch Philip to tell you tocome. "

"Lead me to her, " said I. 

She led the way into the parlour. --"Wait a moment here; I will tell heryou are come;"--and she tripped away. 

Presently a step was heard. The door opened again, and then entered aman. He was tall, elegant, sedate to a degree of sadness; something inhis dress and aspect that bespoke the foreigner, the Frenchman. 

"What, " said he, mildly, "is your business with my wife? She cannot seeyou instantly, and has sent me to receive your commands. "

"Your _wife_! I want Mrs. Fielding. "

"True; and Mrs. Fielding is my wife. Thank Heaven, I have come in timeto discover her, and claim her as such. "

I started back. I shuddered. My joints slackened, and I stretched myhand to catch something by which I might be saved from sinking on thefloor. Meanwhile, Fielding changed his countenance into rage and fury. He called me villain! bade me avaunt! and drew a shining steel from hisbosom, with which he stabbed me to the heart. I sunk upon the floor, andall, for a time, was darkness and oblivion! At length, I returned as itwere to life. I opened my eyes. The mists disappeared, and I foundmyself stretched upon the bed in my own chamber. I remembered the fatalblow I had received. I put my hand upon my breast; the spot where thedagger entered. There were no traces of a wound. All was perfect andentire. Some miracle had made me whole. 

I raised myself up. I re-examined my body. All around me was hushed, till a voice from the pavement below proclaimed that it was "past threeo'clock. "

"What!" said I; "has all this miserable pageantry, this midnightwandering, and this ominous interview, been no more than--_a dream_?"

It may be proper to mention, in explanation of this scene, and to showthe thorough perturbation of my mind during this night, intelligencegained some days after from Eliza. She said, that about two o'clock, onthis night, she was roused by a violent ringing of the bell. She wasstartled by so unseasonable a summons. She slept in a chamber adjoiningMrs. Fielding's, and hesitated whether she should alarm her friend; but, the summons not being repeated, she had determined to forbear. 

Added to this, was the report of Mrs. Stevens, who, on the same night, about half an hour after I and her husband had retired, imagined thatshe heard the street door opened and shut; but, this being followed byno other consequence, she supposed herself mistaken. I have little doubtthat, in my feverish and troubled sleep, I actually went forth, postedto the house of Mrs. Fielding, rung for admission, and shortly afterreturned to my own apartment. 

This confusion of mind was somewhat allayed by the return of light. Itgave way to more uniform but not less rueful and despondent perceptions. The image of Achsa filled my fancy, but it was the harbinger of nothingbut humiliation and sorrow. To outroot the conviction of my ownunworthiness, to persuade myself that I was regarded with the tendernessthat Stevens had ascribed to her, that the discovery of my thoughtswould not excite her anger and grief, I felt to be impossible. 

In this state of mind, I could not see her. To declare my feelings wouldproduce indignation and anguish; to hide them from her scrutiny was notin my power; yet, what would she think of my estranging myself from hersociety? What expedient could I honestly adopt to justify my absence, and what employments could I substitute for those precious hourshitherto devoted to her?

"_This_ afternoon, " thought I, "she has been invited to spend atStedman's country-house on Schuylkill. She consented to go, and I was toaccompany her. I am fit only for solitude. My behaviour, in herpresence, will be enigmatical, capricious, and morose. I must not go:yet what will she think of my failure? Not to go will be injurious andsuspicious. "

I was undetermined. The appointed hour arrived. I stood at mychamber-window, torn by a variety of purposes, and swayed alternately byrepugnant arguments. I several times went to the door of my apartment, and put my foot upon the first step of the staircase, but as oftenpaused, reconsidered, and returned to my room. 

In these fluctuations the hour passed. No messenger arrived from Mrs. Fielding, inquiring into the cause of my delay. Was she offended at mynegligence? Was she sick and disabled from going, or had she changed hermind? I now remembered her parting words at our last interview. Werethey not susceptible of two constructions? She said my visit was toolong, and bade me begone. Did she suspect my presumption, and is shedetermined thus to punish me?

This terror added anew to all my former anxieties. It was impossible torest in this suspense. I would go to her; I would lay before her all theanguish of my heart; I would not spare myself. She shall not reproach memore severely than I will reproach myself. I will hear my sentence fromher own lips, and promise unlimited submission to the doom of separationand exile which she will pronounce. 

I went forth to her house. The drawing-room and summer-house were empty. I summoned Philip the footman: his mistress was gone to Mr. Stedman's. 

"How?--To Stedman's?--In whose company?"

"Miss Stedman and her brother called for her in the carriage, andpersuaded her to go with them. "

Now my heart sunk, indeed! Miss Stedman's _brother_! A youth, forward, gallant, and gay! Flushed with prosperity, and just returned fromEurope, with all the confidence of age, and all the ornaments ofeducation! She has gone with him, though pre-engaged to me! Poor Arthur, how art thou despised!

This information only heightened my impatience. I went away, butreturned in the evening. I waited till eleven, but she came not back. Icannot justly paint the interval that passed till next morning. It wasvoid of sleep. On leaving her house, I wandered into the fields. Everymoment increased my impatience. "She will probably spend the morrow atStedman's, " said I, "and possibly the next day. Why should I wait forher return? Why not seek her there, and rid myself at once of thisagonizing suspense? Why not go thither now? This night, wherever I spendit, will be unacquainted with repose. I will go; it is already neartwelve, and the distance is more than eight miles. I will hover near thehouse till morning, and then, as early as possible, demand aninterview. "

I was well acquainted with Stedman's villa, having formerly been therewith Mrs. Fielding. I quickly entered its precincts. I went close to thehouse; looked mournfully at every window. At one of them a light was tobe seen, and I took various stations to discover, if possible, thepersons within. Methought once I caught a glimpse of a female, whom myfancy easily imagined to be Achsa. I sat down upon the lawn, somehundred feet from the house, and opposite the window whence the lightproceeded. I watched it, till at length some one came to the window, lifted it, and, leaning on her arms, continued to look out. 

The preceding day had been a very sultry one: the night, as usual aftersuch a day and the fall of a violent shower, was delightfully serene andpleasant. Where I stood was enlightened by the moon. Whether she saw meor not, I could hardly tell, or whether she distinguished any thing buta human figure. 

Without reflecting on what was due to decorum and punctilio, Iimmediately drew near the house. I quickly perceived that her attentionwas fixed. Neither of us spoke, till I had placed myself directly underher; I then opened my lips, without knowing in what manner to addressher. She spoke first, and in a startled and anxious voice:--

"Who is that?"

"Arthur Mervyn; he that was two days ago your friend. "

"Mervyn! What is it that brings you here at this hour? What is thematter? What has happened? Is anybody sick?"

"All is safe; all are in good health. "

"What then do you come hither for at such an hour?"

"I meant not to disturb you; I meant not to be seen. "

"Good heavens! How you frighten me! What can be the reason of sostrange----"

"Be not alarmed. I meant to hover near the house till morning, that Imight see you as early as possible. "

"For what purpose?"

"I will tell you when we meet, and let that be at five o'clock; the sunwill then be risen; in the cedar-grove under the bank; till when, farewell. "

Having said this, I prevented all expostulation, by turning the angle ofthe house, and hastening towards the shore of the river. I roved aboutthe grove that I have mentioned. In one part of it is a rustic seat andtable, shrouded by trees and shrubs, and an intervening eminence, fromthe view of those in the house. This I designed to be the closing sceneof my destiny. 

Presently I left this spot, and wandered upward through embarrassed andobscure paths, starting forward or checking my pace, according as mywayward meditations governed me. Shall I describe my thoughts?Impossible! It was certainly a temporary loss of reason; nothing lessthan madness could lead into such devious tracks, drag me down to sohopeless, helpless, panicful a depth, and drag me down so suddenly; laywaste, as at a signal, all my flourishing structures, and reduce them ina moment to a scene of confusion and horror. 

What did I fear? What did I hope? What did I design? I cannot tell; myglooms were to retire with the night. The point to which everytumultuous feeling was linked was the coming interview with Achsa. Thatwas the boundary of fluctuation and suspense. Here was the sealing andratification of my doom. 

I rent a passage through the thicket, and struggled upward till Ireached the edge of a considerable precipice; I laid me down at mylength upon the rock, whose cold and hard surface I pressed with mybared and throbbing breast. I leaned over the edge; fixed my eyes uponthe water and wept--plentifully; but why?

May _this_ be my heart's last beat, if I can tell why?

I had wandered so far from Stedman's, that, when roused by the light, Ihad some miles to walk before I could reach the place of meeting. Achsawas already there. I slid down the rock above, and appeared before her. Well might she be startled at my wild and abrupt appearance. 

I placed myself, without uttering a word, upon a seat opposite to her, the table between, and, crossing my arms upon the table, leaned my headupon them, while my face was turned towards and my eyes fixed upon hers. I seemed to have lost the power and the inclination to speak. 

She regarded me, at first, with anxious curiosity; after examining mylooks, every emotion was swallowed up in terrified sorrow. "For God'ssake!--what does all this mean? Why am I called to this place? Whattidings, what fearful tidings, do you bring?"

I did not change my posture or speak. "What, " she resumed, "couldinspire all this woe? Keep me not in this suspense, Arthur; these looksand this silence shock and afflict me too much. "

"Afflict you?" said I, at last; "I come to tell you what, now that I amhere, I cannot tell----" There I stopped. 

"Say what, I entreat you. You seem to be very unhappy--such achange--from yesterday!"

"Yes! From yesterday; all then was a joyous calm, and now all is--butthen I knew not my infamy, my guilt----"

"What words are these, and from you, Arthur? Guilt is to you impossible. If purity is to be found on earth, it is lodged in your heart. What haveyou done?"

"I have dared--how little you expect the extent of my daring! That suchas I should look upwards with this ambition. "

I stood up, and taking her hands in mine, as she sat, looked earnestlyin her face:--"I come only to beseech your pardon. To tell you my crime, and then disappear forever; but first let me see if there be any omen offorgiveness. Your looks--they are kind; heavenly; compassionate still. Iwill trust them, I believe; and yet" (letting go her hands, and turningaway) "this offence is beyond the reach even of _your_ mercy. "

"How beyond measure these words and this deportment distress me! Let meknow the worst; I cannot bear to be thus perplexed. "

"Why, " said I, turning quickly round and again taking her hands, "thatMervyn, whom you have honoured and confided in, and blessed with yoursweet regards, has been----"

"What has he been? Divinely amiable, heroic in his virtue, I am sure. What else has he been?"

"This Mervyn has imagined, has dared--will you forgive him?"

"Forgive you what? Why don't you speak? Keep not my soul in thissuspense. "

"He has dared--But do not think that I am he. Continue to look as now, and reserve your killing glances, the vengeance of those eyes, as forone that is absent. ----Why, what--you weep, then, at last. That is apropitious sign. When pity drops from the eyes of our judge, then shouldthe suppliant approach. Now, in confidence of pardon, I will tell you;this Mervyn, not content with all you have hitherto granted him, hasdared--to _love_ you; nay, to think of you as of _his wife_!"

Her eye sunk beneath mine, and, disengaging her hands, she covered herface with them. 

"I see my fate, " said I, in a tone of despair. "Too well did I predictthe effect of this confession; but I will go--_and unforgiven_. "

She now partly uncovered her face. The hand was withdrawn from hercheek, and stretched towards me. She looked at me. 

"Arthur! I _do_ forgive thee. "--With what accents was this uttered! Withwhat looks! The cheek that was before pale with terror was now crimsonedover by a different emotion, and delight swam in her eye. 

Could I mistake? My doubts, my new-born fears, made me tremble while Itook the offered hand. 

"Surely, " faltered I, "I am not--I cannot be--so blessed. "

There was no need of words. The hand that I held was sufficientlyeloquent. She was still silent. 

"Surely, " said I, "my senses deceive me. A bliss like this cannot bereserved for me. Tell me once more--set my doubting heart at rest. "

She now gave herself to my arms:--"I have not words--Let your own hearttell you, you have made your Achsa----"

At this moment, a voice from without (it was Miss Stedman's) called, "Mrs. Fielding! where are you?"

My friend started up, and, in a hasty voice, bade me begone. "You mustnot be seen by this giddy girl. Come hither this evening, as if by myappointment, and I will return with you. "--She left me in a kind oftrance. I was immovable. My reverie was too delicious;--but let me notattempt the picture. If I can convey no image of my state previous tothis interview, my subsequent feelings are still more beyond the reachof my powers to describe. 

Agreeably to the commands of my mistress, I hastened away, evading pathswhich might expose me to observation. I speedily made my friends partakeof my joy, and passed the day in a state of solemn but confused rapture. I did not accurately portray the various parts of my felicity. The wholerushed upon my soul at once. My conceptions were too rapid and toocomprehensive to be distinct. 

I went to Stedman's in the evening. I found in the accents and looks ofmy Achsa new assurances that all which had lately passed was more than adream. She made excuses for leaving the Stedmans sooner than ordinary, and was accompanied to the city by her friend. We dropped Mrs. Fieldingat her own house, and thither, after accompanying Miss Stedman to herown home, I returned upon the wings of tremulous impatience. 

Now could I repeat every word of every conversation that has since takenplace between us; but why should I do that on paper? Indeed, it couldnot be done. All is of equal value, and all could not be comprised butin many volumes. There needs nothing more deeply to imprint it on mymemory; and, while thus reviewing the past, I should be iniquitouslyneglecting the present. What is given to the pen would be taken fromher; and that, indeed, would be--but no need of saying what it would be, since it is impossible. 

I merely write to allay these tumults which our necessary separationproduces; to aid me in calling up a little patience till the timearrives when our persons, like our minds, shall be united forever. Thattime--may nothing happen to prevent--but nothing can happen. But whythis ominous misgiving just now? My love has infected me with theseunworthy terrors, for she has them too. 

This morning I was relating my dream to her. She started, and grew pale. A sad silence ensued the cheerfulness that had reigned before:--"Whythus dejected, my friend?"

"I hate your dream. It is a horrid thought. Would to God it had neveroccurred to you!"

"Why, surely, you place no confidence in dreams?"

"I know not where to place confidence; not in my present promises ofjoy, "--and she wept. I endeavoured to soothe or console her. Why, Iasked, did she weep?

"My heart is sore. Former disappointments were so heavy; the hopes whichwere blasted were so like my present ones, that the dread of a likeresult will intrude upon my thoughts. And now your dream! Indeed, I knownot what to do. I believe I ought still to retract--ought, at least, topostpone an act so irrevocable. "

Now was I obliged again to go over my catalogue of arguments to induceher to confirm her propitious resolution to be mine within the week. I, at last, succeeded, even in restoring her serenity, and beguiling herfears by dwelling on our future happiness. 

Our household, while we stayed in America, --in a year or two we hie toEurope, --should be _thus_ composed. Fidelity, and skill, and puremorals, should be sought out, and enticed, by generous recompenses, intoour domestic service. Duties which should be light and regular. --Suchand such should be our amusements and employments abroad and at home:and would not this be true happiness?

"Oh yes--if it may be so. "

"It shall be so; but this is but the humble outline of the scene;something is still to be added to complete our felicity. "

"What more can be added?"

"What more? Can Achsa ask what more? She who has not been _only_ awife----"

But why am I indulging this pen-prattle? The hour she fixed for myreturn to her is come, and now take thyself away, quill. Lie there, snugin thy leathern case, till I call for thee, and that will not be verysoon. I believe I will abjure thy company till all is settled with mylove. Yes; I _will_ abjure thee; so let _this_ be thy last office, tillMervyn has been made the happiest of men. 

THE END.