He dexterously eluded her
entreaties to be furnished with minuter information, or to introduce
this kinsman to her acquaintance. As soon as Mervyn was ushered into her
presence, she suspected him to be the person to whom Welbeck had
alluded, and this suspicion his conversation had confirmed. She was at a
loss to comprehend the reasons of the silence which he so pertinaciously
maintained. Her uneasiness, however, prompted her to renew her solicitations. On the
day subsequent to the catastrophe related by Mervyn, she sent a
messenger to Welbeck, with a request to see him. Gabriel, the black
servant, informed the messenger that his master had gone into the
country for a week. At the end of the week, a messenger was again
despatched with the same errand. He called and knocked, but no one
answered his signals. He examined the entrance by the kitchen, but
every avenue was closed. It appeared that the house was wholly deserted. These appearances naturally gave birth to curiosity and suspicion. The
house was repeatedly examined, but the solitude and silence within
continued the same. The creditors of Welbeck were alarmed by these
appearances, and their claims to the property remaining in the house
were precluded by Mrs. Wentworth, who, as owner of the mansion, was
legally entitled to the furniture, in place of the rent which Welbeck
had suffered to accumulate. On examining the dwelling, all that was valuable and portable,
particularly linen and plate, was removed. The remainder was distrained,
but the tumults of pestilence succeeded and hindered it from being sold. Things were allowed to continue in their former situation, and the house
was carefully secured. We had no leisure to form conjectures on the
causes of this desertion. An explanation was afforded us by the
narrative of this youth. It is probable that the servants, finding their
master's absence continue, had pillaged the house and fled. Meanwhile, though our curiosity with regard to Welbeck was appeased, it
was obvious to inquire by what series of inducements and events Mervyn
was reconducted to the city and led to the spot where I first met with
him. We intimated our wishes in this respect, and our young friend
readily consented to take up the thread of his story and bring it down
to the point that was desired. For this purpose, the ensuing evening was
selected. Having, at an early hour, shut ourselves up from all intruders
and visitors, he continued as follows. *       *       *       *       *

I have mentioned that, by sunrise, I had gained the distance of many
miles from the city. My purpose was to stop at the first farm-house, and
seek employment as a day-labourer. The first person whom I observed was
a man of placid mien and plain garb. Habitual benevolence was apparent
amidst the wrinkles of age. He was traversing his buckwheat-field, and
measuring, as it seemed, the harvest that was now nearly ripe. I accosted him with diffidence, and explained my wishes. He listened to
my tale with complacency, inquired into my name and family, and into my
qualifications for the office to which I aspired. My answers were candid
and full. "Why," said he, "I believe thou and I can make a bargain. We will, at
least, try each other for a week or two. If it does not suit our mutual
convenience, we can change. The morning is damp and cool, and thy plight
does not appear the most comfortable that can be imagined. Come to the
house and eat some breakfast." The behaviour of this good man filled me with gratitude and joy. Methought I could embrace him as a father, and entrance into his house
appeared like return to a long-lost and much-loved home. My desolate and
lonely condition appeared to be changed for paternal regards and the
tenderness of friendship. These emotions were confirmed and heightened by every object that
presented itself under this roof. The family consisted of Mrs. Hadwin,
two simple and affectionate girls, his daughters, and servants. The
manners of this family, quiet, artless, and cordial, the occupations
allotted me, the land by which the dwelling was surrounded, its pure
airs, romantic walks, and exhaustless fertility, constituted a powerful
contrast to the scenes which I had left behind, and were congenial with
every dictate of my understanding and every sentiment that glowed in my
heart. My youth, mental cultivation, and circumspect deportment, entitled me to
deference and confidence. Each hour confirmed me in the good opinion of
Mr. Hadwin, and in the affections of his daughters. In the mind of my
employer, the simplicity of the husbandman and the devotion of the
Quaker were blended with humanity and intelligence. The sisters, Susan
and Eliza, were unacquainted with calamity and vice through the medium
of either observation or books. They were strangers to the benefits of
an elaborate education, but they were endowed with curiosity and
discernment, and had not suffered their slender means of instruction to
remain unimproved. The sedateness of the elder formed an amusing contrast with the laughing
eye and untamable vivacity of the younger; but they smiled and they
wept in unison. They thought and acted in different but not discordant
keys. On all momentous occasions, they reasoned and felt alike. In
ordinary cases, they separated, as it were, into different tracks; but
this diversity was productive not of jarring, but of harmony. A romantic and untutored disposition like mine may be supposed liable to
strong impressions from perpetual converse with persons of their age and
sex. The elder was soon discovered to have already disposed of her
affections. The younger was free, and somewhat that is more easily
conceived than named stole insensibly upon my heart. The images that
haunted me at home and abroad, in her absence and her presence,
gradually coalesced into one shape, and gave birth to an incessant train
of latent palpitations and indefinable hopes. My days were little else
than uninterrupted reveries, and night only called up phantoms more
vivid and equally enchanting. The memorable incidents which had lately happened scarcely counterpoised
my new sensations or diverted my contemplations from the present. My
views were gradually led to rest upon futurity, and in that I quickly
found cause of circumspection and dread. My present labours were light,
and were sufficient for my subsistence in a single state; but wedlock
was the parent of new wants and of new cares. Mr. Hadwin's possessions
were adequate to his own frugal maintenance, but, divided between his
children, would be too scanty for either. Besides, this division could
only take place at his death, and that was an event whose speedy
occurrence was neither desirable nor probable. Another obstacle was now remembered. Hadwin was the conscientious member
of a sect which forbade the marriage of its votaries with those of a
different communion.