This scene lasted I know not how long. Insensibly the passions and
reasonings of Welbeck assumed a new form. A grief, mingled with
perplexity, overspread his countenance. He ceased to contend or to
speak. His regards were withdrawn from me, on whom they had hitherto
been fixed; and, wandering or vacant, testified a conflict of mind
terrible beyond any that my young imagination had ever conceived.
For a time he appeared to be unconscious of my presence. He moved to and
fro with unequal steps, and with gesticulations that possessed a
horrible but indistinct significance. Occasionally he struggled for
breath, and his efforts were directed to remove some choking impediment.
No test of my fortitude had hitherto occurred equal to that to which it
was now subjected. The suspicion which this deportment suggested was
vague and formless. The tempest which I witnessed was the prelude of
horror. These were throes which would terminate in the birth of some
gigantic and sanguinary purpose. Did he meditate to offer a bloody
sacrifice? Was his own death or was mine to attest the magnitude of his
despair or the impetuosity of his vengeance?
Suicide was familiar to his thoughts. He had consented to live but on
one condition; that of regaining possession of this money. Should I be
justified in driving him, by my obstinate refusal, to this fatal
consummation of his crimes? Yet my fear of this catastrophe was
groundless. Hitherto he had argued and persuaded; but this method was
pursued because it was more eligible than the employment of force, or
than procrastination.
No. These were tokens that pointed to me. Some unknown instigation was
at work within him, to tear away his remnant of humanity and fit him for
the office of my murderer. I knew not how the accumulation of guilt
could contribute to his gratification or security. His actions had been
partially exhibited and vaguely seen. What extenuations or omissions had
vitiated his former or recent narrative; how far his actual performances
were congenial with the deed which was now to be perpetrated, I knew
not.
These thoughts lent new rapidity to my blood. I raised my head from the
pillow, 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. My
last confession must be made. To die, and leave behind me this train of
enormous perils, must not be.
"O Clemenza! O Mervyn! Ye have not merited that I should leave you a
legacy of persecution and death. Your safety must be purchased at what
price my malignant destiny will set upon it. The cord of the
executioner, the note of everlasting infamy, is better than to leave you
beset by the consequences of my guilt. It must not be."
Saying this, Welbeck cast fearful glances at the windows and door. He
examined every avenue and listened. Thrice he repeated this scrutiny.
Having, as it seemed, ascertained that no one lurked within audience, he
approached the bed. He put his mouth close to my face. He attempted to
speak, but once more examined the apartment with suspicious glances.
He drew closer, and at length, in a tone scarcely articulate, and
suffocated with emotion, he spoke:--"Excellent but fatally-obstinate
youth! Know at least the cause of my importunity. Know at least the
depth of my infatuation and the enormity of my guilt.
"The bills--surrender them to me, and save yourself from persecution and
disgrace. Save the woman whom you wish to benefit, from the blackest
imputations; from hazard to her life and her fame; from languishing in
dungeons; from expiring on the gallows!
"The bills--oh, save me from the bitterness of death! Let the evils to
which 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 were
again darted at the windows and door. The silence was uninterrupted,
except by far-off sounds, produced by some moving carriage. Once more he
summoned resolution, and spoke:--
"Surrender them to me--for--_they are forged_!
"Formerly I told you, that a scheme of forgery had been conceived. Shame
would 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 Lodi
saved me from the dangerous experiment. I enclosed them in that volume,
as the means of future opulence, to be used when all other and less
hazardous resources should fail.
"In the agonies of my remorse at the death of Watson, they were
forgotten. They afterwards recurred to recollection. My wishes pointed
to the grave; but the stroke that should deliver me from life was
suspended only till I could hasten hither, get possession of these
papers, and destroy them.
"When I thought upon the chances that should give them an owner; bring
them into circulation; load the innocent with suspicion; and lead them
to trial, and, perhaps, to death, my sensations were fraught with agony;
earnestly as I panted for death, it was necessarily deferred till I had
gained 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 of
mischiefs which they could not but generate."
This disclosure was strange. It was accompanied with every token of
sincerity. How had I tottered on the brink of destruction! If I had made
use of this money, in what a labyrinth of misery might I not have been
involved! My innocence could never have been proved. An alliance with
Welbeck could not have failed to be inferred. My career would have found
an ignominious close; or, if my punishment had been transmuted into
slavery and toil, would the testimony of my conscience have supported
me?
I shuddered at the view of those disasters from which I was rescued by
the miraculous chance which led me to this house. Welbeck's request was
salutary to me and honourable to himself. I could not hesitate a moment
in compliance. The notes were enclosed in paper, and deposited in a fold
of my clothes. I put my hand upon them.
My motion and attention were arrested, at the instant, by a noise which
arose in the street. Footsteps were heard upon the pavement before the
door, and voices, as if busy in discourse. This incident was adapted to
infuse the deepest alarm into myself and my companion. The motives of
our trepidation were, indeed, different, and were infinitely more
powerful in my case than in his. It portended to me nothing less than
the loss of my asylum, and condemnation to an hospital.
Welbeck hurried to the door, to listen to the conversation below. This
interval was pregnant with thought. That impulse which led my
reflections from Welbeck to my own state passed away in a moment, and
suffered me to meditate anew upon the terms of that confession which had
just been made.
Horror at the fate which this interview had enabled me to shun was
uppermost 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's
return. He continued at the door; stooping, with his face averted, and
eagerly attentive to the conversation in the street.
All the circumstances of my present situation tended to arrest the
progress of thought and chain my contemplations to one image; but even
now there was room for foresight and deliberation. Welbeck intended to
destroy these bills. Perhaps he had not been sincere; or, if his
purpose had been honestly disclosed, this purpose might change when the
bills were in his possession. His poverty and sanguineness of temper
might prompt him to use them.
That this conduct was evil, and would only multiply his miseries, could
not 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 of
mankind.
The means of destruction was easy. A lighted candle stood on a table, at
the distance of a few yards. Why should I hesitate a moment to
annihilate so powerful a cause of error and guilt? A passing instant was
sufficient. A momentary lingering might change the circumstances that
surrounded me, and frustrate my project.
My languors were suspended by the urgencies of this occasion. I started
from my bed and glided to the table. Seizing the notes with my right
hand, 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 it
appeared to suggest itself as soon. He turned, and, marking the paper
where it lay, leaped to the spot, and extinguished the fire with his
foot. His interposition was too late. Only enough of them remained to
inform him of the nature of the sacrifice.
Welbeck now stood, with limbs trembling, features aghast, and eyes
glaring upon me. For a time he was without speech. The storm was
gathering in silence, and at length burst upon me. In a tone menacing
and loud, he exclaimed,--
"Wretch! what have you done?"
"I have done justly. These notes were false. You desired to destroy
them, that they might not betray the innocent. I applauded your purpose,
and have saved you from the danger of temptation by destroying them
myself."
"Maniac! Miscreant! To be fooled by so gross an artifice! The notes were
genuine. The tale of their forgery was false and meant only to wrest
them from you. Execrable and perverse idiot! Your deed has sealed my
perdition. 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 and
features of Welbeck. Nothing less could be expected than that the scene
would terminate in some bloody catastrophe. I bitterly regretted the
facility with which I had been deceived, and the precipitation of my
sacrifice. The act, however lamentable, could not be revoked. What
remained but to encounter or endure its consequences with unshrinking
firmness?
The contest was too unequal. It is possible that the frenzy which
actuated Welbeck might have speedily subsided. It is more likely that
his passions would have been satiated with nothing but my death. This
event was precluded by loud knocks at the street door, and calls by some
one on the pavement without, of--"Who is within? Is any one within?"
These noises gave a new direction to Welbeck's thoughts. "They are
coming," said he. "They will treat you as a sick man and a thief. I
cannot desire you to suffer a worse evil than they will inflict. I leave
you to your fate." So saying, he rushed out of the room.
Though confounded and stunned by this rapid succession of events, I was
yet able to pursue measures for eluding these detested visitants. I
first extinguished the light, and then, observing that the parley in the
street continued and grew louder, I sought an asylum in the remotest
corner of the house. During my former abode here, I noticed that a
trap-door opened in the ceiling of the third story, to which you were
conducted by a movable stair or ladder. I considered that this,
probably, was an opening into a narrow and darksome nook formed by the
angle of the roof. By ascending, drawing after me the ladder, and
closing the door, I should escape the most vigilant search.
Enfeebled as I was by my disease, my resolution rendered me strenuous. I
gained the uppermost room, and, mounting the ladder, found myself at a
sufficient distance from suspicion. The stair was hastily drawn up, and
the door closed. In a few minutes, however, my new retreat proved to be
worse than any for which it was possible to change it. The air was
musty, stagnant, and scorchingly hot. My breathing became difficult, and
I saw that to remain here ten minutes would unavoidably produce
suffocation.
My terror of intruders had rendered me blind to the consequences of
immuring myself in this cheerless recess. It was incumbent on me to
extricate myself as speedily as possible. I attempted to lift the door.
My first effort was successless. Every inspiration was quicker and more
difficult than the former. As my terror, so my strength and my exertions
increased. Finally my trembling hand lighted on a nail that was
imperfectly driven into the wood, and which, by affording me a firmer
hold, enabled me at length to raise it, and to inhale the air from
beneath.
Relieved from my new peril by this situation, I bent an attentive ear
through the opening, with a view to ascertain if the house had been
entered or if the outer door was still beset, but could hear nothing.
Hence I was authorized to conclude that the people had departed, and
that I might resume my former station without hazard.
Before I descended, however, I cast a curious eye over this recess. It
was large enough to accommodate a human being. The means by which it was
entered were easily concealed. Though narrow and low, it was long, and,
were it possible to contrive some inlet for the air, one studious of
concealment might rely on its protection with unbounded confidence.
My scrutiny was imperfect by reason of the faint light which found its
way through the opening; yet it was sufficient to set me afloat on a sea
of new wonders and subject my fortitude to a new test.--
Here Mervyn paused in his narrative. A minute passed in silence and
seeming indecision. His perplexities gradually disappeared, and he
continued:--
* * * * *
I have promised to relate the momentous incidents of my life, and have
hitherto been faithful in my enumeration. There is nothing which I more
detest than equivocation and mystery. Perhaps, however, I shall now
incur some imputation of that kind. I would willingly escape the
accusation, but confess that I am hopeless of escaping it.
I might, indeed, have precluded your guesses and surmises by omitting to
relate what befell me from the time of my leaving my chamber till I
regained it. I might deceive you by asserting that nothing remarkable
occurred; but this would be false, and every sacrifice is trivial which
is made upon the altar of sincerity. Besides, the time may come when no
inconvenience will arise from minute descriptions of the objects which I
now saw, and of the reasonings and inferences which they suggested to my
understanding. At present, it appears to be my duty to pass them over in
silence; but it would be needless to conceal from you that the interval,
though short, and the scrutiny, though hasty, furnished matter which my
curiosity devoured with unspeakable eagerness, and from which
consequences may hereafter flow, deciding on my peace and my life.
Nothing, however, occurred which could detain me long in this spot. I
once more sought the lower story and threw myself on the bed which I had
left. My mind was thronged with the images flowing from my late
adventure. My fever had gradually increased, and my thoughts were
deformed by inaccuracy and confusion.
My heart did not sink when I reverted to my own condition. That I should
quickly be disabled from moving, was readily perceived. The foresight of
my destiny was steadfast and clear. To linger for days in this
comfortless solitude, to ask in vain, not for powerful restoratives or
alleviating cordials, but for water to moisten my burning lips and abate
the torments of thirst; ultimately to expire in torpor or frenzy, was
the fate to which I looked forward; yet I was not terrified. I seemed to
be sustained by a preternatural energy. I felt as if the opportunity of
combating such evils was an enviable privilege, and, though none would
witness my victorious magnanimity, yet to be conscious that praise was
my due was all that my ambition required.
These sentiments were doubtless tokens of delirium. The excruciating
agonies which now seized upon my head, and the cord which seemed to be
drawn across my breast, and which, as my fancy imagined, was tightened
by some forcible hand, with a view to strangle me, were incompatible
with sober and coherent views.
Thirst was the evil which chiefly oppressed me. The means of relief was
pointed out by nature and habit. I rose, and determined to replenish my
pitcher 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 the
staircase. Several hours had elapsed since my entrance into this
dwelling, and it was now night.
My imagination now suggested a new expedient. Medlicote was a generous
and fearless spirit. To put myself under his protection, if I could walk
as far as his lodgings, was the wisest proceeding which I could adopt.
From this design, my incapacity to walk thus far, and the consequences
of being discovered in the street, had hitherto deterred me. These
impediments were now, in the confusion of my understanding, overlooked
or despised, and I forthwith set out upon this hopeless expedition.
The doors communicating with the court, and, through the court, with the
street, were fastened by inside bolts. These were easily withdrawn, and
I issued forth with alacrity and confidence. My perturbed senses and the
darkness hindered me from discerning the right way. I was conscious of
this difficulty, but was not disheartened. I proceeded, as I have since
discovered, in a direction different from the true, but hesitated not
till my powers were exhausted and I sunk upon the ground. I closed my
eyes, and dismissed all fear, and all foresight of futurity. In this
situation I remained some hours, and should probably have expired on
this spot, had not I attracted your notice, and been provided, under
this roof, with all that medical skill, that the tenderest humanity
could 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 to
heighten the gratification which must flow from reflection on your
conduct:--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, to
mischievous or contemptible purposes.
END OF VOL I.
ARTHUR MERVYN;
OR,
MEMOIRS OF THE YEAR 1793.
VOL. II.
ARTHUR MERVYN.