Welbeck, knowing these
circumstances, and being desirous of substituting a girl whom he had
moulded for his purpose, in place of the lost youth, in the affections
of the lady while living, and in her testament when dead, endeavoured to
persuade her that the youth had died in some foreign country. For this
end, Mervyn was to personate a kinsman of Welbeck who had just arrived
from Europe, and who had been a witness of her nephew's death. A story
was, no doubt, to be contrived, where truth should be copied with the
most exquisite dexterity; and, the lady being prevailed upon to believe
the story, the way was cleared for accomplishing the remainder of the
plot. "In due time, and after the lady's mind had been artfully prepared by
Welbeck, the pupil made his appearance; and, in a conversation full of
studied ambiguities, assured the lady that her nephew was dead. For the
present he declined relating the particulars of his death, and displayed
a constancy and intrepidity in resisting her entreaties that would have
been admirable in a better cause. Before she had time to fathom this
painful mystery, Welbeck's frauds were in danger of detection, and he
and his pupil suddenly disappeared. "While the plot was going forward, there occurred an incident which the
plotters had not foreseen or precluded, and which possibly might have
created some confusion or impediment in their designs. A bundle was
found one night in the street, consisting of some coarse clothes, and
containing, in the midst of it, the miniature portrait of Mrs.
Wentworth's nephew. It fell into the hands of one of that lady's
friends, who immediately despatched the bundle to her. Mervyn, in his
interview with this lady, spied the portrait on the mantel-piece. Led by
some freak of fancy, or some web of artifice, he introduced the talk
respecting her nephew, by boldly claiming it as his; but, when the mode
in which it had been found was mentioned, he was disconcerted and
confounded, and precipitately withdrew. "This conduct, and the subsequent flight of the lad, afforded ground
enough to question the truth of his intelligence respecting her nephew;
but it has since been confuted, in a letter just received from her
brother in England. In this letter, she is informed that her nephew had
been seen by one who knew him well, in Charleston; that some intercourse
took place between the youth and the bearer of the news, in the course
of which the latter had persuaded the nephew to return to his family,
and that the youth had given some tokens of compliance. The
letter-writer, who was father to the fugitive, had written to certain
friends at Charleston, entreating them to use their influence with the
runaway to the same end, and, at any rate, to cherish and protect him. Thus, I hope you will admit that the duplicity of Mervyn is
demonstrated." "The facts which you have mentioned," said I, after some pause, "partly
correspond with Mervyn's story; but the last particular is
irreconcilably repugnant to it. Now, for the first time, I begin to feel
that my confidence is shaken. I feel my mind bewildered and distracted
by the multitude of new discoveries which have just taken place. I want
time to revolve them slowly, to weigh them accurately, and to estimate
their consequences fully. I am afraid to speak; fearing that, in the
present trouble of my thoughts, I may say something which I may
afterwards regret, I want a counsellor; but you, Wortley, are unfit for
the office. Your judgment is unfurnished with the same materials; your
sufferings have soured your humanity and biassed your candour. The only
one qualified to divide with me these cares, and aid in selecting the
best mode of action, is my wife. She is mistress of Mervyn's history; an
observer of his conduct during his abode with us; and is hindered, by
her education and temper, from deviating into rigour and malevolence. Will you pardon me, therefore, if I defer commenting on your narrative
till I have had an opportunity of reviewing it and comparing it with my
knowledge of the lad, collected from himself and from my own
observation?" Wortley could not but admit the justice of my request, and, after some
desultory conversation, we parted. I hastened to communicate to my wife
the various intelligence which I had lately received. Mrs. Althorpe's
portrait of the Mervyns contained lineaments which the summary detail of
Arthur did not enable us fully to comprehend. The treatment which the
youth is said to have given to his father; the illicit commerce that
subsisted between him and his father's wife; the pillage of money and
his father's horse, but ill accorded with the tale which we had heard,
and disquieted our minds with doubts, though far from dictating our
belief. What, however, more deeply absorbed our attention, was the testimony of
Williams and of Mrs. Wentworth. That which was mysterious and
inscrutable to Wortley and the friends of Watson was luminous to us. The
coincidence between the vague hints laboriously collected by these
inquirers, and the narrative of Mervyn, afforded the most cogent
attestation of the truth of that narrative. Watson had vanished from all eyes, but the spot where rested his remains
was known to us. The girdle spoken of by Williams would not be suspected
to exist by his murderer. It was unmolested, and was doubtless buried
with him. That which was so earnestly sought, and which constituted the
subsistence of the Maurices, would probably be found adhering to his
body. What conduct was incumbent upon me who possessed this knowledge? It was just to restore these bills to their true owner; but how could
this be done without hazardous processes and tedious disclosures? To
whom ought these disclosures to be made? By what authority or agency
could these half-decayed limbs be dug up, and the lost treasure be taken
from amidst the horrible corruption in which it was immersed? This ought not to be the act of a single individual. This act would
entangle him in a maze of perils and suspicions, of concealments and
evasions, from which he could not hope to escape with his reputation
inviolate. The proper method was through the agency of the law. It is to
this that Mervyn must submit his conduct. The story which he told to me
he must tell to the world. Suspicions have fixed themselves upon him,
which allow him not the privilege of silence and obscurity. While he
continued unknown and unthought of, the publication of his story would
only give unnecessary birth to dangers; but now dangers are incurred
which it may probably contribute to lessen, if not to remove. Meanwhile the return of Mervyn to the city was anxiously expected. Day
after day passed, and no tidings were received. I had business of an
urgent nature which required my presence in Jersey, but which, in the
daily expectation of the return of my young friend, I postponed a week
longer than rigid discretion allowed.