His own
gratification was the supreme law of his actions. To be subjected to the
necessity of honest labour was the heaviest of all evils, and one from
which he was willing to escape by the commission of suicide. The volume which he sought was mine. It was my duty to restore it to the
rightful owner, or, if the legal claimant could not be found, to employ
it in the promotion of virtue and happiness. To give it to Welbeck was
to consecrate it to the purpose of selfishness and misery. My right,
legally considered, was as valid as his. But, if I intended not to resign it to him, was it proper to disclose
the truth and explain by whom the volume was purloined from the shelf? The first impulse was to hide this truth; but my understanding had been
taught, by recent occurrences, to question the justice and deny the
usefulness of secrecy in any case. My principles were true; my motives
were pure: why should I scruple to avow my principles and vindicate my
actions? Welbeck had ceased to be dreaded or revered. That awe which was once
created by his superiority of age, refinement of manners, and dignity
of garb, had vanished. I was a boy in years, an indigent and uneducated
rustic; but I was able to discern the illusions of power and riches, and
abjured every claim to esteem that was not founded on integrity. There
was no tribunal before which I should falter in asserting the truth, and
no species of martyrdom which I would not cheerfully embrace in its
cause. After some pause, I said, "Cannot you conjecture in what way this volume
has disappeared?" "No," he answered, with a sigh. "Why, of all his volumes, this only
should have vanished, was an inexplicable enigma." "Perhaps," said I, "it is less important to know how it was removed,
than by whom it is now possessed." "Unquestionably; and yet, unless that knowledge enables me to regain the
possession, it will be useless." "Useless then it will be, for the present possessor will never return it
to you." "Indeed," replied he, in a tone of dejection, "your conjecture is most
probable. Such a prize is of too much value to be given up." "What I have said flows not from conjecture, but from knowledge. I know
that it will never be restored to you." At these words, Welbeck looked at me with anxiety and doubt:--"You
_know_ that it will not! Have you any knowledge of the book? Can you
tell me what has become of it?" "Yes. After our separation on the river, I returned to this house. I
found this volume and secured it. You rightly suspected its contents. The money was there." Welbeck started as if he had trodden on a mine of gold. His first
emotion was rapturous, but was immediately chastened by some degree of
doubt:--"What has become of it? Have you got it? Is it entire? Have you
it with you?" "It is unimpaired. I have got it, and shall hold it as a sacred trust
for the rightful proprietor." The tone with which this declaration was accompanied shook the new-born
confidence of Welbeck. "The rightful proprietor! true, but I am he. To
me only it belongs, and to me you are, doubtless, willing to restore
it." "Mr. Welbeck! It is not my desire to give you perplexity or anguish; to
sport with your passions. On the supposition of your death, I deemed it
no infraction of justice to take this manuscript. Accident unfolded its
contents. I could not hesitate to choose my path. The natural and legal
successor of Vincentio Lodi is his sister. To her, therefore, this
property belongs, and to her only will I give it." "Presumptuous boy! And this is your sage decision. I tell you that I am
the owner, and to me you shall render it. Who is this girl? Childish and
ignorant! Unable to consult and to act for herself on the most trivial
occasion. Am I not, by the appointment of her dying brother, her
protector and guardian? Her age produces a legal incapacity of property. Do you imagine that so obvious an expedient as that of procuring my
legal appointment as her guardian was overlooked by me? If it were
neglected, still my title to provide her subsistence and enjoyment is
unquestionable. "Did I not rescue her from poverty, and prostitution, and infamy? Have I
not supplied all her wants with incessant solicitude? Whatever her
condition required has been plenteously supplied. The dwelling and its
furniture was hers, as far a rigid jurisprudence would permit. To
prescribe her expenses and govern her family was the province of her
guardian. "You have heard the tale of my anguish and despair. Whence did they flow
but from the frustration of schemes projected for her benefit, as they
were executed with her money and by means which the authority of her
guardian fully justified? Why have I encountered this contagious
atmosphere, and explored my way, like a thief, to this recess, but with
a view to rescue her from poverty and restore to her her own? "Your scruples are ridiculous and criminal. I treat them with less
severity, because your youth is raw and your conceptions crude. But if,
after this proof of the justice of my claim, you hesitate to restore the
money, I shall treat you as a robber, who has plundered my cabinet and
refused to refund his spoil." These reasonings were powerful and new. I was acquainted with the rights
of guardianship. Welbeck had, in some respects, acted as the friend of
this lady. To vest himself with this office was the conduct which her
youth and helplessness prescribed to her friend. His title to this
money, as her guardian, could not be denied. But how was this statement compatible with former representations? No
mention had then been made of guardianship. By thus acting, he would
have thwarted all his schemes for winning the esteem of mankind and
fostering the belief which the world entertained of his opulence and
independence. I was thrown, by these thoughts, into considerable perplexity. If his
statement were true, his claim to this money was established; but I
questioned its truth. To intimate my doubts of his veracity would be to
provoke abhorrence and outrage. His last insinuation was peculiarly momentous. Suppose him the
fraudulent possessor of this money: shall I be justified in taking it
away by violence under pretence of restoring it to the genuine
proprietor, who, for aught I know, may be dead, or with whom, at least,
I may never procure a meeting? But will not my behaviour on this
occasion be deemed illicit? I entered Welbeck's habitation at midnight,
proceeded to his closet, possessed myself of portable property, and
retired unobserved. Is not guilt imputable to an action like this? Welbeck waited with impatience for a conclusion to my pause. My
perplexity and indecision did not abate, and my silence continued. At
length, he repeated his demands, with new vehemence. I was compelled to
answer. I told him, in few words, that his reasonings had not convinced
me of the equity of his claim, and that my determination was unaltered. He had not expected this inflexibility from one in my situation.