ARTHUR
30

"This," I said, "is a Welbeck deed. He entered when I was not in the room; he hid in his room; and, encouraged by an unknown incitement, had caused death to himself!" This idea has a tendency to paralyze my limbs and my mind. Some time passed in painful and tumultuous fluctuations. My aversion to this calamity, instead of the belief that, in that way, was able to prevent or correct the crime, prompted me to try to enter his room. Maybe my guess was wrong.

The door to his room is locked. I knocked; I demanded to enter in in a low voice; I placed my eyes and ears into keyholes and crevices; nothing could be heard or seen. It was inevitable to conclude that there was no one inside; however the effluvia of gunpowder was clearly visible.

Perhaps the room above was once the scene of this catastrophe. I climbed the second ladder. I'm approaching the door. No sound could be captured by my most alert attention. I turned off the light I was carrying, and then could see that there was light in the room. I barely know how to act. For a few minutes I stopped at the door. I spoke, and asked permission to enter. My words were replaced by silence like death. Finally I ventured to pull the bolt, open and advance into the room. Nothing could exceed the horror of my expectations; yet I was struck by the sight I saw.

On a chair, whose back was propped against the front wall, sat Welbeck. My entry did not make him worry, nor did it wake him up from fainting where he fell. He placed his hands on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on something lying, at a distance of several feet in front of him, on the floor. A quick glance was enough to tell me about what nature this object is. It was the body of a man, bloody, horrible, and still showing signs of convulsions and pain!

I would omit to describe the shock communicated by a spectacle like this to my untrained senses. I was almost as panicked and helpless as Welbeck himself. I stared, without the power of speech, at one time, at Welbeck; then I stared fearfully at the distorted features of the dead. Finally, Welbeck, recovering from his daydream, looked up, as if to see who had entered. Not surprisingly, there was no alarm, betrayed by him upon seeing me. He showed no desire or intention to disturb the eerie silence.

My mind wanders in confusion and fear. The first impulse was to fly off the scene; but I could not for long be insensitive to the urgency of the moment. I see that affairs should not be allowed to remain in their current situation. Welbeck's insensitivity or despair required comfort and help. How to communicate my thoughts, or offer my help, I don't know. What caused this deadly doom; who was the body panting before me; what concern Welbeck had in producing his death; still unknown.

Finally he got up from his seat, and first stepped limping, and then with a more steady step, across the floor. This movement seemed to make him master himself. He seems now, for the first time, to recognize my presence. He turned to me, and said, in a loud tone, "What now? What brings you here?"

This rebuke was unexpected. I stuttered, in response, that the reports about the gun had alarmed me, and that I had come to find the cause.

Here managed a new break. His path of thought seemed to now become once again calm. Sadness, rather than anger, spread across his face; and his accent, when he spoke to me, was not wavering, but serious.

"Mervyn," he said, "you don't understand this scene. Your youth and experience make you foreign to a world full of deceit and flashy. You don't know me. It is time for this ignorance to vanish. The action may be useful to you. It may teach you to avoid the herd that corrupts my virtue and peace; but to the rest of humanity it is of no use. The destruction of my fame is, perhaps, irreparable; but the height of my guilt need not be known. I see in you the honesty and the firmness that is worth believing in; promise me, therefore, that not a single syllable of what I tell you will ever come out of your lips."

I recently experienced the discomfort of an appointment; but I am now confused, embarrassed, very curious about the nature of this scene, and do not know the motive that might ensue, he said, to persuade or compel me to express it. The promise he asked for was given. He continued:

"I've kept you in my service, partly for your own benefit, but especially for me. I'm Intending to hurt you and to do good for you. None of these goals I can now achieve, except the lessons my example can instill, will inspire you with fortitude and arm you with care.

“What makes me so, I don't know. I have no lack of understanding. My thirst for knowledge, though irregular, was intense. I can speak and can feel as determined by virtue and justice; yet the purpose of my actions has been uniform. One web of evil and ignorance has become my life; while my mind has become accustomed to enlightened and uninterested principles. The scorn and hatred I have stirred up for myself. Yesterday was remembered with regret. Tomorrow is contemplated with sorrow and fear; yet each day produces the same evil and the same foolishness.

"I was left, by the bankruptcy of my father, (a Liverpool merchant,) without any means of support but like a labor that had to pay me. Anything that can evoke pride, and love independence, is my part. Anything that can incite perseverance is the growth of my condition; yet my inaction is an incurable disease; and no art is too dirty for me to train in.

"I am content to live with the gift of my kinsmen. His family is big, and his income is small. He did not want to reproach me, or even insinuate the propriety of providing for myself; but he empowered me to pursue any liberal or mechanical profession that might suit my taste. I am insensitive to any generous motives. I worked hard to forget my dependency and despicable condition, because memory is a source of sadness, without being able to inspire me with a steady determination to change it.