This is that very youth. "This will account for my emotion at meeting him at your house; I
brought him out with me. His confusion sufficiently indicated his
knowledge of transactions between Welbeck and me. I questioned him as to
the fate of that man. To own the truth, I expected some well-digested
lie; but he merely said that he had promised secrecy on that subject,
and must therefore be excused from giving me any information. I asked
him if he knew that his master, or accomplice, or whatever was his
relation to him, absconded in my debt? He answered that he knew it well;
but still pleaded a promise of inviolable secrecy as to his
hiding-place. This conduct justly exasperated me, and I treated him with
the severity which he deserved. I am half ashamed to confess the
excesses of my passion; I even went so far as to strike him. He bore my
insults with the utmost patience. No doubt the young villain is well
instructed in his lesson. He knows that he may safely defy my power. From threats I descended to entreaties. I even endeavoured to wind the
truth from him by artifice. I promised him a part of the debt if he
would enable me to recover the whole. I offered him a considerable
reward if he would merely afford me a clue by which I might trace him to
his retreat; but all was insufficient. He merely put on an air of
perplexity and shook his head in token of non-compliance." Such was my friend's account of this interview. His suspicions were
unquestionably plausible; but I was disposed to put a more favourable
construction on Mervyn's behaviour. I recollected the desolate and
penniless condition in which I found him, and the uniform complacency
and rectitude of his deportment for the period during which we had
witnessed it. These ideas had considerable influence on my judgment, and
indisposed me to follow the advice of my friend, which was to turn him
forth from my doors that very night. My wife's prepossessions were still more powerful advocates of this
youth. She would vouch, she said, before any tribunal, for his
innocence; but she willingly concurred with me in allowing him the
continuance of our friendship on no other condition than that of a
disclosure of the truth. To entitle ourselves to this confidence we were
willing to engage, in our turn, for the observance of secrecy, so far
that no detriment should accrue from this disclosure to himself or his
friend. Next morning, at breakfast, our guest appeared with a countenance less
expressive of embarrassment than on the last evening. His attention was
chiefly engaged by his own thoughts, and little was said till the
breakfast was removed. I then reminded him of the incidents of the
former day, and mentioned that the uneasiness which thence arose to us
had rather been increased than diminished by time. "It is in your power, my young friend," continued I, "to add still more
to this uneasiness, or to take it entirely away. I had no personal
acquaintance with Thomas Welbeck. I have been informed by others that
his character, for a certain period, was respectable, but that, at
length, he contracted large debts, and, instead of paying them,
absconded. You, it seems, lived with him. On the night of his departure
you are known to have accompanied him across the river, and this, it
seems, is the first of your reappearance on the stage. Welbeck's conduct
was dishonest. He ought doubtless to be pursued to his asylum and be
compelled to refund his winnings. You confess yourself to know his place
of refuge, but urge a promise of secrecy. Know you not that to assist or
connive at the escape of this man was wrong? To have promised to favour
his concealment and impunity by silence was only an aggravation of this
wrong. That, however, is past. Your youth, and circumstances, hitherto
unexplained, may apologize for that misconduct; but it is certainly your
duty to repair it to the utmost of your power. Think whether, by
disclosing what you know, you will not repair it." "I have spent most of last night," said the youth, "in reflecting on
this subject. I had come to a resolution, before you spoke, of confiding
to you my simple tale. I perceive in what circumstances I am placed, and
that I can keep my hold of your good opinion only by a candid
deportment. I have indeed given a promise which it was wrong, or rather
absurd, in another to exact, and in me to give; yet none but
considerations of the highest importance would persuade me to break my
promise. No injury will accrue from my disclosure to Welbeck. If there
should, dishonest as he was, that would be a sufficient reason for my
silence. Wortley will not, in any degree, be benefited by any
communication that I can make. Whether I grant or withhold information,
my conduct will have influence only on my own happiness, and that
influence will justify me in granting it. "I received your protection when I was friendless and forlorn. You have
a right to know whom it is that you protected. My own fate is connected
with the fate of Welbeck, and that connection, together with the
interest you are pleased to take in my concerns, because they are mine,
will render a tale worthy of attention which will not be recommended by
variety of facts or skill in the display of them. "Wortley, though passionate, and, with regard to me, unjust, may yet be
a good man; but I have no desire to make him one of my auditors. You,
sir, may, if you think proper, relate to him afterwards what particulars
concerning Welbeck it may be of importance for him to know; but at
present it will be well if your indulgence shall support me to the end
of a tedious but humble tale." The eyes of my Eliza sparkled with delight at this proposal. She
regarded this youth with a sisterly affection, and considered his
candour, in this respect, as an unerring test of his rectitude. She was
prepared to hear and to forgive the errors of inexperience and
precipitation. I did not fully participate in her satisfaction, but was
nevertheless most zealously disposed to listen to his narrative. My engagements obliged me to postpone this rehearsal till late in the
evening. Collected then round a cheerful hearth, exempt from all
likelihood of interruption from without, and our babe's unpractised
senses shut up in the sweetest and profoundest sleep, Mervyn, after a
pause of recollection, began. CHAPTER II. My natal soil is Chester county. My father had a small farm, on which he
has been able, by industry, to maintain himself and a numerous family. He has had many children, but some defect in the constitution of our
mother has been fatal to all of them but me. They died successively as
they attained the age of nineteen or twenty, and, since I have not yet
reached that age, I may reasonably look for the same premature fate. In
the spring of last year my mother followed her fifth child to the grave,
and three months afterwards died herself. My constitution has always been frail, and, till the death of my mother,
I enjoyed unlimited indulgence.