Arthur Mervyn; Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793 Read online

  CHAPTER XX.

  I laid myself on the bed and wrapped my limbs in the folds of thecarpet. My thoughts were restless and perturbed. I was once more busy inreflecting on the conduct which I ought to pursue with regard to thebank-bills. I weighed, with scrupulous attention, every circumstancethat might influence my decision. I could not conceive any morebeneficial application of this property than to the service of theindigent, at this season of multiplied distress; but I considered that,if my death were unknown, the house would not be opened or examined tillthe pestilence had ceased, and the benefits of this application wouldthus be partly or wholly precluded.

  This season of disease, however, would give place to a season ofscarcity. The number and wants of the poor, during the ensuing winter,would be deplorably aggravated. What multitudes might be rescued fromfamine and nakedness by the judicious application of this sum!

  But how should I secure this application? To enclose the bills in aletter, directed to some eminent citizen or public officer, was theobvious proceeding. Both of these conditions were fulfilled in theperson of the present chief-magistrate. To him, therefore, the packetwas to be sent.

  Paper and the implements of writing were necessary for this end. Wouldthey be found, I asked, in the upper room? If that apartment, like therest which I had seen, and its furniture, had remained untouched, mytask would be practicable; but, if the means of writing were not to beimmediately procured, my purpose, momentous and dear as it was, must berelinquished.

  The truth, in this respect, was easily and ought immediately to beascertained. I rose from the bed which I had lately taken, and proceededto the _study_. The entries and staircases were illuminated by a prettystrong twilight. The rooms, in consequence of every ray being excludedby the closed shutters, were nearly as dark as if it had been midnight.The rooms into which I had already passed were locked, but its key wasin each lock. I flattered myself that the entrance into the _study_would be found in the same condition. The door was shut, but no key wasto be seen. My hopes were considerably damped by this appearance, but Iconceived it to be still possible to enter, since, by chance or bydesign, the door might be unlocked.

  My fingers touched the lock, when a sound was heard as if a bolt,appending to the door on the inside, had been drawn. I was startled bythis incident. It betokened that the room was already occupied by someother, who desired to exclude a visitor. The unbarred shutter below wasremembered, and associated itself with this circumstance. That thishouse should be entered by the same avenue, at the same time, and thisroom should be sought, by two persons, was a mysterious concurrence.

  I began to question whether I had heard distinctly. Numberlessinexplicable noises are apt to assail the ear in an empty dwelling. Thevery echoes of our steps are unwonted and new. This, perhaps, was somesuch sound. Resuming courage, I once more applied to the lock. The door,in spite of my repeated efforts, would not open.

  My design was too momentous to be readily relinquished. My curiosity andmy fears likewise were awakened. The marks of violence, which I had seenon the closets and cabinets below, seemed to indicate the presence ofplunderers. Here was one who laboured for seclusion and concealment.

  The pillage was not made upon my property. My weakness would disable mefrom encountering or mastering a man of violence. To solicit admissioninto this room would be useless. To attempt to force my way would beabsurd. These reflections prompted me to withdraw from the door; but theuncertainty of the conclusions I had drawn, and the importance ofgaining access to this apartment, combined to check my steps.

  Perplexed as to the means I should employ, I once more tried the lock.The attempt was fruitless as the former. Though hopeless of anyinformation to be gained by that means, I put my eye to the keyhole. Idiscovered a light different from what was usually met with at thishour. It was not the twilight which the sun, imperfectly excluded,produces, but gleams, as from a lamp; yet its gleams were fainter andobscurer than a lamp generally imparts.

  Was this a confirmation of my first conjecture? Lamplight at noonday, ina mansion thus deserted, and in a room which had been the scene ofmemorable and disastrous events, was ominous. Hitherto no direct proofhad been given of the presence of a human being. How to ascertain hispresence, or whether it were eligible by any means to ascertain it, werepoints on which I had not deliberated.

  I had no power to deliberate. My curiosity impelled me to call,--"Isthere any one within? Speak."

  These words were scarcely uttered, when some one exclaimed, in a voicevehement but half-smothered, "Good God!"--

  A deep pause succeeded. I waited for an answer; for somewhat to whichthis emphatic invocation might be a prelude. Whether the tones wereexpressive of surprise, or pain, or grief, was, for a moment, dubious.Perhaps the motives which led me to this house suggested the suspicionwhich presently succeeded to my doubts,--that the person within wasdisabled by sickness. The circumstances of my own condition took awaythe improbability from this belief. Why might not another be inducedlike me to hide himself in this desolate retreat? Might not a servant,left to take care of the house, a measure usually adopted by the opulentat this time, be seized by the reigning malady? Incapacitated forexertion, or fearing to be dragged to the hospital, he has shut himselfin this apartment. The robber, it may be, who came to pillage, wasovertaken and detained by disease. In either case, detection orintrusion would be hateful, and would be assiduously eluded.

  These thoughts had no tendency to weaken or divert my efforts to obtainaccess to this room. The person was a brother in calamity, whom it wasmy duty to succour and cherish to the utmost of my power. Once more Ispoke:--

  "Who is within? I beseech you answer me. Whatever you be, I desire to doyou good and not injury. Open the door and let me know your condition. Iwill try to be of use to you."

  I was answered by a deep groan, and by a sob counteracted and devouredas it were by a mighty effort. This token of distress thrilled to myheart. My terrors wholly disappeared, and gave place to unlimitedcompassion. I again entreated to be admitted, promising all the succouror consolation which my situation allowed me to afford.

  Answers were made in tones of anger and impatience, blended with thoseof grief:--"I want no succour; vex me not with your entreaties andoffers. Fly from this spot; linger not a moment, lest you participate mydestiny and rush upon your death."

  These I considered merely as the effusions of delirium, or the dictatesof despair. The style and articulation denoted the speaker to besuperior to the class of servants. Hence my anxiety to see and to aidhim was increased. My remonstrances were sternly and pertinaciouslyrepelled. For a time, incoherent and impassioned exclamations flowedfrom him. At length, I was only permitted to hear strong aspirations andsobs, more eloquent and more indicative of grief than any language.

  This deportment filled me with no less wonder than commiseration. Bywhat views this person was led hither, by what motives induced to denyhimself to my entreaties, was wholly incomprehensible. Again, thoughhopeless of success, I repeated my request to be admitted.

  My perseverance seemed now to have exhausted all his patience, and heexclaimed, in a voice of thunder, "Arthur Mervyn! Begone. Linger but amoment, and my rage, tiger-like, will rush upon you and rend you limbfrom limb."

  This address petrified me. The voice that uttered this sanguinary menacewas strange to my ears. It suggested no suspicion of ever having heardit before. Yet my accents had betrayed me to him. He was familiar withmy name. Notwithstanding the improbability of my entrance into thisdwelling, I was clearly recognized and unhesitatingly named!

  My curiosity and compassion were in no wise diminished, but I foundmyself compelled to give up my purpose. I withdrew reluctantly from thedoor, and once more threw myself upon my bed. Nothing was morenecessary, in the present condition of my frame; than sleep; and sleephad, perhaps, been possible, if the scene around me had been lesspregnant with causes of wonder and panic.

  Once more I tasked memory in order to discover, in the persons with whomI had hit
herto conversed, some resemblance, in voice or tones, to himwhom I had just heard. This process was effectual. Gradually myimagination called up an image which, now that it was clearly seen, Iwas astonished had not instantly occurred. Three years ago, a man, byname Colvill, came on foot, and with a knapsack on his back, into thedistrict where my father resided. He had learning and genius, andreadily obtained the station for which only he deemed himself qualified;that of a schoolmaster.

  His demeanour was gentle and modest; his habits, as to sleep, food, andexercise, abstemious and regular. Meditation in the forest, or readingin his closet, seemed to constitute, together with attention to hisscholars, his sole amusement and employment. He estranged himself fromcompany, not because society afforded no pleasure, but because studiousseclusion afforded him chief satisfaction.

  No one was more idolized by his unsuspecting neighbours. His scholarsrevered him as a father, and made under his tuition a remarkableproficiency. His character seemed open to boundless inspection, and hisconduct was pronounced by all to be faultless.

  At the end of a year the scene was changed. A daughter of one of hispatrons, young, artless, and beautiful, appeared to have fallen a preyto the arts of some detestable seducer. The betrayer was graduallydetected, and successive discoveries showed that the same artifices hadbeen practised, with the same success, upon many others. Colvill was thearch-villain. He retired from the storm of vengeance that was gatheringover him, and had not been heard of since that period.

  I saw him rarely, and for a short time, and I was a mere boy. Hence thefailure to recollect his voice, and to perceive that the voice of himimmured in the room above was the same with that of Colvill. Though Ihad slight reasons for recognising his features or accents, I hadabundant cause to think of him with detestation, and pursue him withimplacable revenge, for the victim of his acts, she whose ruin was firstdetected, was--_my sister_.

  This unhappy girl escaped from the upbraidings of her parents, from thecontumelies of the world, from the goadings of remorse, and the anguishflowing from the perfidy and desertion of Colvill, in a voluntary death.She was innocent and lovely. Previous to this evil, my soul was linkedwith hers by a thousand resemblances and sympathies, as well as byperpetual intercourse from infancy, and by the fraternal relation. Shewas my sister, my preceptress and friend; but she died--her end wasviolent, untimely, and criminal! I cannot think of her withoutheart-bursting grief; of her destroyer, without a rancour which I knowto be wrong, but which I cannot subdue.

  When the image of Colvill rushed, upon this occasion, on my thought, Ialmost started on my feet. To meet him, after so long a separation,here, and in these circumstances, was so unlooked-for and abrupt anevent, and revived a tribe of such hateful impulses and agonizingrecollections, that a total revolution seemed to have been effected inmy frame. His recognition of my person, his aversion to be seen, hisejaculation of terror and surprise on first hearing my voice, allcontributed to strengthen my belief.

  How was I to act? My feeble frame could but ill second my vengefulpurposes; but vengeance, though it sometimes occupied my thoughts, washindered by my reason from leading me, in any instance, to outrage oreven to upbraiding.

  All my wishes with regard to this man were limited to expelling hisimage from my memory, and to shunning a meeting with him. That he hadnot opened the door at my bidding was now a topic of joy. To look uponsome bottomless pit, into which I was about to be cast headlong, andalive, was less to be abhorred than to look upon the face of Colvill.Had I known that he had taken refuge in this house, no power should havecompelled me to enter it. To be immersed in the infection of thehospital, and to be hurried, yet breathing and observant, to my grave,was a more supportable fate.

  I dwell, with self-condemnation and shame, upon this part of my story.To feel extraordinary indignation at vice, merely because we havepartaken in an extraordinary degree of its mischiefs, is unjustifiable.To regard the wicked with no emotion but pity, to be active inreclaiming them, in controlling their malevolence, and preventing orrepairing the ills which they produce, is the only province of duty.This lesson, as well as a thousand others, I have yet to learn; but Idespair of living long enough for that or any beneficial purpose.

  My emotions with regard to Colvill were erroneous, but omnipotent. Istarted from my bed, and prepared to rush into the street. I wascareless of the lot that should befall me, since no fate could be worsethan that of abiding under the same roof with a wretch spotted with somany crimes.

  I had not set my feet upon the floor before my precipitation was checkedby a sound from above. The door of the study was cautiously and slowlyopened. This incident admitted only of one construction, supposing allobstructions removed. Colvill was creeping from his hiding-place, andwould probably fly with speed from the house. My belief of his sicknesswas now confuted. An illicit design was congenial with his characterand congruous with those appearances already observed.

  I had no power or wish to obstruct his flight. I thought of it withtransport, and once more threw myself upon the bed, and wrapped myaverted face in the carpet. He would probably pass this door,unobservant of me, and my muffled face would save me from the agoniesconnected with the sight of him.

  The footsteps above were distinguishable, though it was manifest thatthey moved with lightsomeness and circumspection. They reached the stairand descended. The room in which I lay was, like the rest, obscured bythe closed shutters. This obscurity now gave way to a light, resemblingthat glimmering and pale reflection which I had noticed in the study. Myeyes, though averted from the door, were disengaged from the folds whichcovered the rest of my head, and observed these tokens of Colvill'sapproach, flitting on the wall.

  My feverish perturbations increased as he drew nearer. He reached thedoor, and stopped. The light rested for a moment. Presently he enteredthe apartment. My emotions suddenly rose to a height that would not becontrolled. I imagined that he approached the bed, and was gazing uponme. At the same moment, by an involuntary impulse, I threw off mycovering, and, turning my face, fixed my eyes upon my visitant.

  It was as I suspected. The figure, lifting in his right hand a candle,and gazing at the bed, with lineaments and attitude bespeaking fearfulexpectation and tormenting doubts, was now beheld. One glancecommunicated to my senses all the parts of this terrific vision. Asinking at my heart, as if it had been penetrated by a dagger, seizedme. This was not enough: I uttered a shriek, too rueful and loud not tohave startled the attention of the passengers, if any had, at thatmoment, been passing the street.

  Heaven seemed to have decreed that this period should be filled withtrials of my equanimity and fortitude. The test of my courage was oncemore employed to cover me with humiliation and remorse. This secondtime, my fancy conjured up a spectre, and I shuddered as if the gravewere forsaken and the unquiet dead haunted my pillow.

  The visage and the shape had indeed preternatural attitudes, but theybelonged, not to Colvill, but to--WELBECK.