Where I landed was at no great
distance from the verge of the town. In a short time I discovered the
glimmering of a distant lamp. To this I directed my steps, and here I
paused to examine the contents of the pocket-book. I found three bank-notes, each of fifty dollars, enclosed in a piece of
blank paper. Besides these were three letters, apparently written by his
wife, and dated at Baltimore. They were brief, but composed in a strain
of great tenderness, and containing affecting allusions to their child. I could gather, from their date and tenor, that they were received
during his absence on his recent voyage; that her condition was
considerably necessitous, and surrounded by wants which their prolonged
separation had increased. The fourth letter was open, and seemed to have been very lately written. It was directed to Mrs. Mary Watson. He informed her in it of his
arrival at Philadelphia from St. Domingo; of the loss of his ship and
cargo; and of his intention to hasten home with all possible expedition. He told her that all was lost but one hundred and fifty dollars, the
greater part of which he should bring with him, to relieve her more
pressing wants. The letter was signed, and folded, and superscribed, but
unsealed. A little consideration showed me in what manner it became me, on this
occasion, to demean myself. I put the bank-notes in the letter, and
sealed it with a wafer; a few of which were found in the pocket-book. I
hesitated some time whether I should add any thing to the information
which the letter contained, by means of a pencil which offered itself to
my view; but I concluded to forbear. I could select no suitable terms in
which to communicate the mournful truth. I resolved to deposit this
letter at the post-office, where I knew letters could be left at all
hours. My reflections at length reverted to my own condition. What was the fate
reserved for me? How far my safety might be affected by remaining in the
city, in consequence of the disappearance of Welbeck, and my known
connection with the fugitive, it was impossible to foresee. My fears
readily suggested innumerable embarrassments and inconveniences which
would flow from this source. Besides, on what pretence should I remain? To whom could I apply for protection or employment? All avenues, even to
subsistence, were shut against me. The country was my sole asylum. Here,
in exchange for my labour, I could at least purchase food, safety, and
repose. But, if my choice pointed to the country, there was no reason
for a moment's delay. It would be prudent to regain the fields, and be
far from this detested city before the rising of the sun. Meanwhile I was chilled and chafed by the clothes that I wore. To change
them for others was absolutely necessary to my ease. The clothes which I
wore were not my own, and were extremely unsuitable to my new condition. My rustic and homely garb was deposited in my chamber at Welbeck's. These thoughts suggested the design of returning thither. I considered
that, probably, the servants had not been alarmed. That the door was
unfastened, and the house was accessible. It would be easy to enter and
retire without notice; and this, not without some waverings and
misgivings, I presently determined to do. Having deposited my letter at the office, I proceeded to my late abode. I approached, and lifted the latch with caution. There were no
appearances of any one having been disturbed. I procured a light in the
kitchen, and hied softly and with dubious footsteps to my chamber. There
I disrobed, and resumed my check shirt, and trowsers, and fustian coat. This change being accomplished, nothing remained but that I should
strike into the country with the utmost expedition. In a momentary review which I took of the past, the design for which
Welbeck professed to have originally detained me in his service occurred
to my mind. I knew the danger of reasoning loosely on the subject of
property. To any trinket or piece of furniture in this house I did not
allow myself to question the right of Mrs. Wentworth; a right accruing
to her in consequence of Welbeck's failure in the payment of his rent;
but there was one thing which I felt an irresistible desire, and no
scruples which should forbid me, to possess, and that was, the
manuscript to which Welbeck had alluded, as having been written by the
deceased Lodi. I was well instructed in Latin, and knew the Tuscan language to be
nearly akin to it. I despaired not of being at some time able to
cultivate this language, and believed that the possession of this
manuscript might essentially contribute to this end, as well as to many
others equally beneficial. It was easy to conjecture that the volume was
to be found among his printed books, and it was scarcely less easy to
ascertain the truth of this conjecture. I entered, not without tremulous
sensations, into the apartment which had been the scene of the
disastrous interview between Watson and Welbeck. At every step I almost
dreaded to behold the spectre of the former rise before me. Numerous and splendid volumes were arranged on mahogany shelves, and
screened by doors of glass. I ran swiftly over their names, and was at
length so fortunate as to light upon the book of which I was in search. I immediately secured it, and, leaving the candle extinguished on a
table in the parlour, I once more issued forth into the street. With
light steps and palpitating heart I turned my face towards the country. My necessitous condition I believed would justify me in passing without
payment the Schuylkill bridge, and the eastern sky began to brighten
with the dawn of morning not till I had gained the distance of nine
miles from the city. Such is the tale which I proposed to relate to you. Such are the
memorable incidents of five days of my life; from which I have gathered
more instruction than from the whole tissue of my previous existence. Such are the particulars of my knowledge respecting the crimes and
misfortunes of Welbeck; which the insinuations of Wortley, and my desire
to retain your good opinion, have induced me to unfold. CHAPTER XIII. Mervyn's pause allowed his auditors to reflect on the particulars of his
narration, and to compare them with the facts with a knowledge of which
their own observation had supplied them. My profession introduced me to
the friendship of Mrs. Wentworth, by whom, after the disappearance of
Welbeck, many circumstances respecting him had been mentioned. She
particularly dwelt upon the deportment and appearance of this youth, at
the single interview which took place between them, and her
representations were perfectly conformable to those which Mervyn had
himself delivered. Previously to this interview, Welbeck had insinuated to her that a
recent event had put him in possession of the truth respecting the
destiny of Clavering. A kinsman of his had arrived from Portugal, by
whom this intelligence had been brought.