I did not believe that it could be improved, till,
casting my eye vaguely over the building, I happened to observe the
shutters of a lower window partly opened. Whether this was occasioned by design or by accident there was no means
of deciding. Perhaps, in the precipitation of the latest possessor, this
window had been overlooked. Perhaps it had been unclosed by violence,
and afforded entrance to a robber. By what means soever it had
happened, it undoubtedly afforded ingress to me. I felt no scruple in
profiting by this circumstance. My purposes were not dishonest. I should
not injure or purloin any thing. It was laudable to seek a refuge from
the well-meant persecutions of those who governed the city. All I sought
was the privilege of dying alone. Having gotten in at the window, I could not but remark that the
furniture and its arrangements had undergone no alteration in my
absence. I moved softly from one apartment to another, till at length I
entered that which had formerly been Welbeck's bedchamber. The bed was naked of covering. The cabinets and closets exhibited their
fastenings broken. Their contents were gone. Whether these appearances
had been produced by midnight robbers, or by the ministers of law and
the rage of the creditors of Welbeck, was a topic of fruitless
conjecture. My design was now effected. This chamber should be the scene of my
disease and my refuge from the charitable cruelty of my neighbours. My
new sensations conjured up the hope that my indisposition might prove a
temporary evil. Instead of pestilential or malignant fever, it might be
a harmless intermittent. Time would ascertain its true nature;
meanwhile, I would turn the carpet into a coverlet, supply my pitcher
with water, and administer without sparing, and without fear, that
remedy which was placed within my reach. CHAPTER XX. I laid myself on the bed and wrapped my limbs in the folds of the
carpet. My thoughts were restless and perturbed. I was once more busy in
reflecting on the conduct which I ought to pursue with regard to the
bank-bills. I weighed, with scrupulous attention, every circumstance
that might influence my decision. I could not conceive any more
beneficial application of this property than to the service of the
indigent, at this season of multiplied distress; but I considered that,
if my death were unknown, the house would not be opened or examined till
the pestilence had ceased, and the benefits of this application would
thus be partly or wholly precluded. This season of disease, however, would give place to a season of
scarcity. The number and wants of the poor, during the ensuing winter,
would be deplorably aggravated. What multitudes might be rescued from
famine and nakedness by the judicious application of this sum! But how should I secure this application? To enclose the bills in a
letter, directed to some eminent citizen or public officer, was the
obvious proceeding. Both of these conditions were fulfilled in the
person of the present chief-magistrate. To him, therefore, the packet
was to be sent. Paper and the implements of writing were necessary for this end. Would
they be found, I asked, in the upper room? If that apartment, like the
rest which I had seen, and its furniture, had remained untouched, my
task would be practicable; but, if the means of writing were not to be
immediately procured, my purpose, momentous and dear as it was, must be
relinquished. The truth, in this respect, was easily and ought immediately to be
ascertained. I rose from the bed which I had lately taken, and proceeded
to the _study_. The entries and staircases were illuminated by a pretty
strong twilight. The rooms, in consequence of every ray being excluded
by the closed shutters, were nearly as dark as if it had been midnight. The rooms into which I had already passed were locked, but its key was
in each lock. I flattered myself that the entrance into the _study_
would be found in the same condition. The door was shut, but no key was
to be seen. My hopes were considerably damped by this appearance, but I
conceived it to be still possible to enter, since, by chance or by
design, the door might be unlocked. My fingers touched the lock, when a sound was heard as if a bolt,
appending to the door on the inside, had been drawn. I was startled by
this incident. It betokened that the room was already occupied by some
other, who desired to exclude a visitor. The unbarred shutter below was
remembered, and associated itself with this circumstance. That this
house should be entered by the same avenue, at the same time, and this
room should be sought, by two persons, was a mysterious concurrence. I began to question whether I had heard distinctly. Numberless
inexplicable noises are apt to assail the ear in an empty dwelling. The
very echoes of our steps are unwonted and new. This, perhaps, was some
such sound. Resuming courage, I once more applied to the lock. The door,
in spite of my repeated efforts, would not open. My design was too momentous to be readily relinquished. My curiosity and
my fears likewise were awakened. The marks of violence, which I had seen
on the closets and cabinets below, seemed to indicate the presence of
plunderers. Here was one who laboured for seclusion and concealment. The pillage was not made upon my property. My weakness would disable me
from encountering or mastering a man of violence. To solicit admission
into this room would be useless. To attempt to force my way would be
absurd. These reflections prompted me to withdraw from the door; but the
uncertainty of the conclusions I had drawn, and the importance of
gaining access to this apartment, combined to check my steps. Perplexed as to the means I should employ, I once more tried the lock. The attempt was fruitless as the former. Though hopeless of any
information to be gained by that means, I put my eye to the keyhole. I
discovered a light different from what was usually met with at this
hour. It was not the twilight which the sun, imperfectly excluded,
produces, but gleams, as from a lamp; yet its gleams were fainter and
obscurer than a lamp generally imparts. Was this a confirmation of my first conjecture? Lamplight at noonday, in
a mansion thus deserted, and in a room which had been the scene of
memorable and disastrous events, was ominous. Hitherto no direct proof
had been given of the presence of a human being. How to ascertain his
presence, or whether it were eligible by any means to ascertain it, were
points on which I had not deliberated. I had no power to deliberate. My curiosity impelled me to call,--"Is
there any one within? Speak." These words were scarcely uttered, when some one exclaimed, in a voice
vehement but half-smothered, "Good God!" --

A deep pause succeeded. I waited for an answer; for somewhat to which
this emphatic invocation might be a prelude. Whether the tones were
expressive of surprise, or pain, or grief, was, for a moment, dubious.