University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

What other enquiries were to be resolved by our
young friend, we were now, at this late hour, obliged
to postpone till the morrow. I shall pass over the reflections
which a story like this would naturally suggest,
and hasten to our next interview.

After breakfast next morning, the subject of last
night's conversation was renewed. I told him that
something had occurred in his absence, in relation to
Mrs. Wentworth and her nephew, that had perplexed
us not a little. My information is obtained, continued
I, from Wortley; and it is 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 his countenance at these tidings. He looked
at me as if desirous that I should proceed.

It seems, added I, that a letter was lately received
by this lady from the father of Clavering, who is now
in Europe. This latter reports that this son was lately
met with in Charleston, and relates the means which
old Mr. Clavering had used to prevail upon his son to
return home; means, of the success of which he entertained
well grounded hopes. What think you?

I can only reject it, said he, after some pause, as untrue.
The father's correspondent may have been deceived.
The father may have been deceived, 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; but an error it surely is. Clavering is not
alive. I know the chamber where he died, and the
withered pine under which he lies buried.

If she be deceived, said I, it will be impossible to
rectify her error.

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 too circumstantial and consistent to
permit her to disbelieve.

She will not hearken to you. She is too strongly
prepossessed against you to admit you even to an hearing.

She cannot help it. Unless she lock her door against
me, or stuff her ears with wool, she must hear me.
Her prepossessions are reasonable, but are easily removed
by telling the truth. Why does she suspect
me of artifice? Because I seemed to be allied to Welbeck,
and because I disguised the truth. That she
thinks ill of me is not her fault, but my misfortune;
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; this morning; as soon as I have seen
Welbeck, whom I shall immediately visit in 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 a warrant is already in the hands of officers
for arresting you wherever you are found.

In what way, said Mervyn, sedately, do they imagine
me a partaker of his crime?

I know not. You lived with him. You fled with
him. You aided and connived 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 to punishment.

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 of sight—evils infinitely more formidable.
I shall, therefore, not avoid them. The sooner
my conduct be subjected to scrutiny, the better.
Will you go with me to Welbeck?

I will go with you.

Enquiring for Welbeck of the keeper of the prison,
we were informed that he was in his own apartment
very sick. The physician, attending the prison, had
been called, but the prisoner had preserved an obstinate
and scornful silence; and had neither explained his
condition, nor consented to accept any aid.

We now went, alone, into his apartment. His
sensibility seemed fast ebbing, yet an emotion of joy
was visible in his eyes at the appearance of Mervyn.
He seemed likewise to recognize in me his late visitant,
and made no objection to my entrance.

How are you this morning? said Arthur, seating
himself on the bed-side, and taking his hand. The sick
man was scarcely able to articulate his reply—I shall
soon be well. I have longed to see you. I want to
leave with you a few words. He now cast his languid
eyes on me. You are his friend, he continued. You
know all. You may stay.—

There now succeeded a long pause, during which he
closed his eyes, and resigned himself as if to an oblivion
of all thought. His pulse under my hand was scarcely
perceptible. From this in some minutes he recovered,
and fixing his eyes on Mervyn, resumed, in a broken
and feeble accent:

Clemenza! You have seen her. Weeks ago, I left
her in an accursed house: yet she has not been mistreated.
Neglected and abandoned indeed, but not
mistreated. Save her Mervyn. Comfort her. Awaken
charity for her sake.

I cannot tell you what has happened. The tale
would be too long—too mournful. Yet, in justice to
the living, I must tell you something. My woes 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 a newspaper fallen into my hands while
on the eve of embarkation. By that I learned that a
treasure was buried with the remains of the ill-fated
Watson. I was destitute. I was unjust enough to
wish to make this treasure my own. Prone to think I
was forgotten, or numbered with the victims of pestilence,
I ventured to return under a careless disguise.
I penetrated to the vaults of that deserted dwelling by
night. I dug up the 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 destiny overtook me at last. I was recognized by
emissaries of Jamieson, arrested and brought hither, and
here shall I consummate my fate and defeat the rage of
my creditors by death. But first—

Here Welbeck stretched out his left hand to Mervyn,
and, after some reluctance, shewed a roll of lead.

Receive this, said he. In the use of it, be guided by
your honesty and by the same advertisement that furnished
me the clue by which to recover 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 some longer time in his chamber, but our
kind intent availed nothing. He quickly relapsed into
insensibility, from which he recovered not again, but
next day expired. Such, in the flower of his age, was
the fate of Thomas Welbeck.

Whatever interest I might feel in accompanying the
progress of my young friend, a sudden and unforeseen
emergency compelled me again to leave the city. A
kinsman, to whom I was bound by many obligations,
was suffering a lingering disease, and imagining, with
some reason, his dissolution to be not far distant, he besought
my company and my assistance, to sooth, at
least, the agonies of his last hour. I was anxious to
clear up the mysteries which Arthur's conduct had
produced, and to shield him, if possible, from the evils
which I feared awaited him. It was impossible, however,
to decline the invitation of my kinsman, as his residence
was not a day's journey from the city. I was
obliged to content myself with occasional information,
imparted by Mervyn's letters, or those of my wife.

Meanwhile, on leaving the prison, I hasted to inform
Mervyn of the true nature of the scene which had just
passed. By this extraordinary occurrence, the property
of the Maurices was now in honest hands.
Welbeck, stimulated by selfish motives, had done that
which any other person would have found encompassed
with formidable dangers and difficulties. How this attempt
was suggested or executed, he had not informed
us, nor was it desirable to know. It was sufficient
that the means of restoring their own to a destitute
and meritorious family, were now in our possession.

Having returned home, I unfolded to Mervyn all the
particulars respecting Williams and the Maurices,
which I had lately learned from Wortley. He listened
with deep attention, and my story being finished, he
said: In this small compass, then, is the patrimony and
subsistence of a numerous family. To restore it to
them is the obvious proceeding—but how? Where do
they abide?

Williams and Watson's wife live in Baltimore, and
the Maurices live near that town. The advertisements
alluded to by Wortley, and which are to be found in any
newspaper, will inform us; but first, are we sure that
any or all of these bills are contained in this covering?

The lead was now unrolled, and the bills which Williams
had described, were found inclosed. Nothing appeared
to be deficient. Of this, however, we were
scarcely qualified to judge. Those that were the property
of Williams might not be entire, and what would
be the consequence of presenting them to him, if any
had been embezzled by Welbeck?

This difficulty was obviated by Mervyn, who observed
that the advertisement, describing these bills, would
afford us ample information on 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 my power, to their inquietudes.

What! Would you go to Baltimore?

Certainly. Can any other expedient be proper? How shall I otherwise insure 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 be suspected likely to involve you in embarrassments.

What embarrassments? If they receive their own,
ought they not to be satisfied?

The enquiry will naturally be made as to the manner
of gaining possession of these papers. They were
lately in the hands of Watson, but Watson has disappeared.
Suspicions are awake respecting the cause of
his disappearance. These suspicions are connected
with Welbeck, and Welbeck's connection with you is
not unknown.

These are evils, but I see not how an ingenuous and
open conduct is adapted 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 a cause, as he whose cause it is.
I rely upon your skill and address, and shall leave you
to pursue your own way. I must leave you for a time,
but shall expect to be punctually informed of all that
passes. With this agreement we parted, and I hastened
to perform my intended journey.