He turned, and, marking the paper
where it lay, leaped to the spot, and extinguished the fire with his
foot. His interposition was too late. Only enough of them remained to
inform him of the nature of the sacrifice. Welbeck now stood, with limbs trembling, features aghast, and eyes
glaring upon me. For a time he was without speech. The storm was
gathering in silence, and at length burst upon me. In a tone menacing
and loud, he exclaimed,--

"Wretch! what have you done?" "I have done justly. These notes were false. You desired to destroy
them, that they might not betray the innocent. I applauded your purpose,
and have saved you from the danger of temptation by destroying them
myself." "Maniac! Miscreant! To be fooled by so gross an artifice! The notes were
genuine. The tale of their forgery was false and meant only to wrest
them from you. Execrable and perverse idiot! Your deed has sealed my
perdition. It has sealed your own. You shall pay for it with your blood. I will slay you by inches. I will stretch you, as you have stretched me,
on the rack." During this speech, all was frenzy and storm in the countenance and
features of Welbeck. Nothing less could be expected than that the scene
would terminate in some bloody catastrophe. I bitterly regretted the
facility with which I had been deceived, and the precipitation of my
sacrifice. The act, however lamentable, could not be revoked. What
remained but to encounter or endure its consequences with unshrinking
firmness? The contest was too unequal. It is possible that the frenzy which
actuated Welbeck might have speedily subsided. It is more likely that
his passions would have been satiated with nothing but my death. This
event was precluded by loud knocks at the street door, and calls by some
one on the pavement without, of--"Who is within? Is any one within?" These noises gave a new direction to Welbeck's thoughts. "They are
coming," said he. "They will treat you as a sick man and a thief. I
cannot desire you to suffer a worse evil than they will inflict. I leave
you to your fate." So saying, he rushed out of the room. Though confounded and stunned by this rapid succession of events, I was
yet able to pursue measures for eluding these detested visitants. I
first extinguished the light, and then, observing that the parley in the
street continued and grew louder, I sought an asylum in the remotest
corner of the house. During my former abode here, I noticed that a
trap-door opened in the ceiling of the third story, to which you were
conducted by a movable stair or ladder. I considered that this,
probably, was an opening into a narrow and darksome nook formed by the
angle of the roof. By ascending, drawing after me the ladder, and
closing the door, I should escape the most vigilant search. Enfeebled as I was by my disease, my resolution rendered me strenuous. I
gained the uppermost room, and, mounting the ladder, found myself at a
sufficient distance from suspicion. The stair was hastily drawn up, and
the door closed. In a few minutes, however, my new retreat proved to be
worse than any for which it was possible to change it. The air was
musty, stagnant, and scorchingly hot. My breathing became difficult, and
I saw that to remain here ten minutes would unavoidably produce
suffocation. My terror of intruders had rendered me blind to the consequences of
immuring myself in this cheerless recess. It was incumbent on me to
extricate myself as speedily as possible. I attempted to lift the door. My first effort was successless. Every inspiration was quicker and more
difficult than the former. As my terror, so my strength and my exertions
increased. Finally my trembling hand lighted on a nail that was
imperfectly driven into the wood, and which, by affording me a firmer
hold, enabled me at length to raise it, and to inhale the air from
beneath. Relieved from my new peril by this situation, I bent an attentive ear
through the opening, with a view to ascertain if the house had been
entered or if the outer door was still beset, but could hear nothing. Hence I was authorized to conclude that the people had departed, and
that I might resume my former station without hazard. Before I descended, however, I cast a curious eye over this recess. It
was large enough to accommodate a human being. The means by which it was
entered were easily concealed. Though narrow and low, it was long, and,
were it possible to contrive some inlet for the air, one studious of
concealment might rely on its protection with unbounded confidence. My scrutiny was imperfect by reason of the faint light which found its
way through the opening; yet it was sufficient to set me afloat on a sea
of new wonders and subject my fortitude to a new test.--

Here Mervyn paused in his narrative. A minute passed in silence and
seeming indecision. His perplexities gradually disappeared, and he
continued:--

       *       *       *       *       *

I have promised to relate the momentous incidents of my life, and have
hitherto been faithful in my enumeration. There is nothing which I more
detest than equivocation and mystery. Perhaps, however, I shall now
incur some imputation of that kind. I would willingly escape the
accusation, but confess that I am hopeless of escaping it. I might, indeed, have precluded your guesses and surmises by omitting to
relate what befell me from the time of my leaving my chamber till I
regained it. I might deceive you by asserting that nothing remarkable
occurred; but this would be false, and every sacrifice is trivial which
is made upon the altar of sincerity. Besides, the time may come when no
inconvenience will arise from minute descriptions of the objects which I
now saw, and of the reasonings and inferences which they suggested to my
understanding. At present, it appears to be my duty to pass them over in
silence; but it would be needless to conceal from you that the interval,
though short, and the scrutiny, though hasty, furnished matter which my
curiosity devoured with unspeakable eagerness, and from which
consequences may hereafter flow, deciding on my peace and my life. Nothing, however, occurred which could detain me long in this spot. I
once more sought the lower story and threw myself on the bed which I had
left. My mind was thronged with the images flowing from my late
adventure. My fever had gradually increased, and my thoughts were
deformed by inaccuracy and confusion. My heart did not sink when I reverted to my own condition. That I should
quickly be disabled from moving, was readily perceived. The foresight of
my destiny was steadfast and clear. To linger for days in this
comfortless solitude, to ask in vain, not for powerful restoratives or
alleviating cordials, but for water to moisten my burning lips and abate
the torments of thirst; ultimately to expire in torpor or frenzy, was
the fate to which I looked forward; yet I was not terrified. I seemed to
be sustained by a preternatural energy.