He was desirous of helping the
unfortunate; but he could not think of risking his own life in the cause
of a stranger, when he had a wife and children depending on his
existence and exertions for bread. It gave him pain to refuse, but he
thought his duty to himself and to others required that he should not
hazard his safety by compliance. This plea was irresistible. The mildness of his manner showed that he
might have been overpowered by persuasion or tempted by reward. I would
not take advantage of his tractability; but should have declined his
assistance, even if it had been spontaneously offered. I turned away
from him in silence, and prepared to return to the spot where I had left
my friend. The man prepared to resume his way. In this perplexity, the thought occurred to me that, since this person
was going into the country, he might, possibly, consent to carry Wallace
along with him. I confided greatly in the salutary influence of rural
airs. 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 what
direction and how far he was going. To my unspeakable satisfaction, his
answer informed me that his home lay beyond Mr. Hadwin's, and that this
road carried him directly past that gentleman's door. He was willing to
receive Wallace into his chaise, and to leave him at his uncle's. This joyous and auspicious occurrence surpassed my fondest hopes. I
hurried with the pleasing tidings to Wallace, who eagerly consented to
enter the carriage. I thought not at the moment of myself, or how far
the same means of escaping from my danger might be used. The stranger
could not be anxious on my account; and Wallace's dejection and weakness
may apologize for his not soliciting my company, or expressing his fears
for my safety. He was no sooner seated, than the traveller hurried away. I gazed after them, motionless and mute, till the carriage, turning a
corner, passed beyond my sight. I had now leisure to revert to my own condition, and to ruminate on that
series of abrupt and diversified events that had happened during the few
hours which had been passed in the city: the end of my coming was thus
speedily and satisfactorily accomplished. My hopes and fears had rapidly
fluctuated; but, respecting this young man, had now subsided into calm
and propitious certainty. Before the decline of the sun, he would enter
his paternal roof, and diffuse ineffable joy throughout that peaceful
and chaste asylum. This contemplation, though rapturous and soothing, speedily gave way to
reflections on the conduct which my duty required, and the safe
departure of Wallace afforded me liberty, to pursue. To offer myself as
a superintendent of the hospital was still my purpose. The languors of
my frame might terminate in sickness, but this event it was useless to
anticipate. The lofty site and pure airs of Bush Hill might tend to
dissipate my languors and restore me to health. At least while I had
power, I was bound to exert it to the wisest purposes. I resolved to
seek the City Hall immediately, and, for that end, crossed the
intermediate fields which separated Sassafras from Chestnut Street. More urgent considerations had diverted my attention from the money
which I bore about me, and from the image of the desolate lady to whom
it 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 preclude
an interview between us, and that it was prudent to dispose, in some
useful way, of the money which would otherwise be left to the sport of
chance. The evils which had befallen this city were obvious and enormous. Hunger
and negligence had exasperated the malignity and facilitated the
progress of the pestilence. Could this money be more usefully employed
than 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 should
take. How was this course to be pointed out? How might I place it, so that I
should effect my intentions without relinquishing the possession during
my life? These thoughts were superseded by a tide of new sensations. The weight
that incommoded my brows and my stomach was suddenly increased. My brain
was usurped by some benumbing power, and my limbs refused to support me. My pulsations were quickened, and the prevalence of fever could no
longer be doubted. Till now, I had entertained a faint hope that my indisposition would
vanish of itself. This hope was at an end. The grave was before me, and
my projects of curiosity or benevolence were to sink into oblivion. I
was not bereaved of the powers of reflection. The consequences of lying
in the road, friendless and unprotected, were sure. The first passenger
would notice me, and hasten to summon one of those carriages which are
busy night and day in transporting its victims to the hospital. This fate was, beyond all others, abhorrent to my imagination. To hide
me 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 were
possible to reach it. I made the most strenuous exertions; but they could not carry me forward
more 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. To
go farther, in the present condition of my frame, was impossible. I was
well acquainted with this dwelling. All its avenues were closed. Whether
it had remained unoccupied since my flight from it, I could not decide. It was evident that, at present, it was without inhabitants. Possibly it
might 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 be
fearless of intrusion. This inference was quickly overturned by the obvious supposition that
every avenue was bolted and locked. This, however, might not be the
condition of the bath-house, in which there was nothing that required to
be guarded with unusual precautions. I was suffocated by inward and
scorched by external heat; and the relief of bathing and drinking
appeared inestimable. The value of this prize, in addition to my desire to avoid the
observation 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 soon
as I could reach the well. The effect was, for a time, salutary and delicious. My fervours were
abated, and my faculties relieved from the weight which had lately
oppressed them. My present condition was unspeakably more advantageous
than the former.