 | CHAPTER XXIII. Arthur Mervyn, or, Memoirs of the year 1793 |  |
23. CHAPTER XXIII.
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were withdrawn from me, on whom they had hitherto been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 an horrible but indistinct significance.
Occasionally he struggled for breath, and his efforts were
directed to remove some choaking 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
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
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—O 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 utterance was choaked 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 dangerons 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 thefe 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
labrynth 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 was arrested at the instant, by
a noise which arose in the street. Foot-steps 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, past 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
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 sanguiness 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 were 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 aghas,
and eyes glaring upon me. For a time he was without speech.
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 theif. 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,
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, propably, was an opening into a narrow and dark-some
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 chearless 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 an human
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 serutiny 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 befel 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. Beside, 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
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 fore-sight of my destiny was stedfast
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 phrenzy, 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 were 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
stair-case. 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,
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 fore-sight 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, and 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 recompence, 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
shewing 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 purpofes.
| CHAPTER XXIII. Arthur Mervyn, or, Memoirs of the year 1793 | |