He said that all his rooms were full but one, which, in consequence of
the dismission of three persons in the morning, had at present but one
tenant. This person had lately arrived, was sick, and had with him, at
this time, one of his friends. Carlton might divide the chamber with
this person. No doubt his consent would be readily given; though this
arrangement, being the best, must take place whether he consented or
not. 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. I
knocked for admission. It was instantly opened, and I entered. The first
person who met my view was--Arthur Mervyn. I started with astonishment. Mervyn's countenance betrayed nothing but
satisfaction at the interview. The traces of fatigue and anxiety gave
place to tenderness and joy. It readily occurred to me that Mervyn was
the writer of the note which I had lately received. To meet him within
these walls, and at this time, was the most remote and undesirable of
all contingencies. The same hour had thus made me acquainted with the
kindred and unwelcome fate of two beings whom I most loved. I had scarcely time to return his embrace, when, taking my hand, he led
me to a bed that stood in one corner. There was stretched upon it one
whom a second glance enabled me to call by his name, though I had never
before seen him. The vivid portrait which Mervyn had drawn was
conspicuous in the sunken and haggard visage before me. This face had,
indeed, proportions and lines which could never be forgotten or
mistaken. Welbeck, when once seen or described, was easily distinguished
from the rest of mankind. He had stronger motives than other men for
abstaining from guilt, the difficulty of concealment or disguise being
tenfold greater in him than in others, by reason of the indelible and
eye-attracting marks which nature had set upon him. He was pallid and emaciated. He did not open his eyes on my entrance. He
seemed to be asleep; but, before I had time to exchange glances with
Mervyn, or to inquire into the nature of the scene, he awoke. On seeing
me he started, and cast a look of upbraiding on my companion. The latter
comprehended 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 send
for him." Welbeck replied, in a contemptuous and indignant tone, "Thou mistakest
my condition, boy. My disease lies deeper than his scrutiny will ever
reach. I had hoped thou wert gone. Thy importunities are well meant, but
they 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 be
left alone." Mervyn returned, at first, no answer to this address. He was immersed in
perplexity. At length, raising his eyes from the floor, he said, "My
intentions are indeed honest, and I am grieved that I want the power of
persuasion. To-morrow, perhaps, I may reason more cogently with your
despair, or your present mood may be changed. To aid my own weakness I
will entreat the assistance of this friend." These words roused a new spirit in Welbeck. His confusion and anger
increased. His tongue faltered as he exclaimed, "Good God! what mean
you? Headlong and rash as you are, you will not share with this person
your knowledge of me?" Here he checked himself, conscious that the words
he had already uttered tended to the very end which he dreaded. This
consciousness, added to the terror of more ample disclosures, which the
simplicity and rectitude of Mervyn might prompt him to make, chained up
his tongue, and covered him with dismay. Mervyn was not long in answering:--"I comprehend your fears and your
wishes. I am bound to tell you the truth. To this person your story has
already been told. Whatever I have witnessed under your roof, whatever I
have heard from your lips, have been faithfully disclosed to him." The countenance of Welbeck now betrayed a mixture of incredulity and
horror. For a time his utterance was stifled by his complicated
feelings:--

"It cannot be. So enormous a deed is beyond thy power. Thy qualities are
marvellous. Every new act of thine outstrips the last, and belies the
newest calculations. But this--this perfidy exceeds--this outrage upon
promises, this violation of faith, this blindness to the future, is
incredible." There he stopped; while his looks seemed to call upon
Mervyn for a contradiction of his first assertion. "I know full well how inexpiably stupid or wicked my act will appear to
you, but I will not prevaricate or lie. I repeat, that every thing is
known to him. Your birth; your early fortunes; the incidents at
Charleston and Wilmington; your treatment of the brother and sister;
your interview with Watson, and the fatal issue of that interview--I
have told him all, just as it was told to me." Here the shock that was felt by Welbeck overpowered his caution and his
strength. He sunk upon the side of the bed. His air was still
incredulous, and he continued to gaze upon Mervyn. He spoke in a tone
less vehement:--

"And hast thou then betrayed me? Hast thou shut every avenue to my
return to honour? Am I known to be a seducer and assassin? To have
meditated all crimes, and to have perpetrated the worst? "Infamy and death are my portion. I know they are reserved for me; but I
did not think to receive them at thy hands, that under that innocent
guise there lurked a heart treacherous and cruel. But go; leave me to
myself. This stroke has exterminated my remnant of hope. Leave me to
prepare my neck for the halter, and my lips for this last and bitterest
cup." 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, as
you wish; but to-morrow I return; not to vindicate my faith or my
humanity; not to make you recant your charges, or forgive the faults
which I seem to have committed, but to extricate you from your present
evil, 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 assume
a part in it. I looked on with new and indescribable sensations. I
reached the street before my recollection was perfectly recovered. I
then reflected on the purpose that had led me to Welbeck's chamber. This
purpose was yet unaccomplished. I desired Mervyn to linger a moment
while I returned into the house. I once more inquired for the keeper,
and told him I should leave to him the province of acquainting Welbeck
with the necessity of sharing his apartment with a stranger. I speedily
rejoined Mervyn in the street. I lost no time in requiring an explanation of the scene that I had
witnessed. "How became you once more the companion of Welbeck?