ARTHUR
61

My design is now done . This room should be the place of my sickness and my protection from the cruelty of my neighbor's charity. My new sensation gave rise to the hope that my helplessness might prove to be a temporary crime. Instead of pestilence or malignant fever, it may be intermittent which is harmless. Time will ascertain its true nature; in the meantime, I will turn the rug into a blanket, fill my jug with water, and give medicine fearlessly, and fearlessly, he said, which is within my reach.

I lay myself on the bed and wrapped my limbs in the folds of the carpet. My mind is restless and restless. I was once again busy pondering on the behavior I had to do with regards to the bank bill. I weigh, with careful attention, any circumstances that might affect my decision. I cannot imagine a more useful application of this property than to serve the poor, in this season of multiplied tribulation; but I consider that, if my death is unknown, my death is not known, the house will not be opened or inspected until the pestilence has ceased, and thus the benefits of this application will be partially or completely hindered.

However, this disease season will replace the season of scarcity. The number and needs of the poor, over the next winter, will be very bad. How many can be saved from hunger and nudity by the wise application of this number!

How should I secure this application? To attach a bill in a letter, addressed to some prominent citizen or public official, is an obvious process. Both of these conditions are met in the person of the current presiding judge. Therefore, for him, the package had to be delivered.

Paper and stationery are necessary for this purpose. Will they be found, I ask, in the upper room? If the apartment, like any other piece I have seen, and the furniture, remains untouched, my task will be doable; but, if the stationery is not immediately obtained, my purpose, my purpose, will be, important and valuable, must be released.

The truth, in this case, is easily and must be ascertained immediately. I got up from the bed I had recently taken, and proceeded to the study room . The entrance and stairs are illuminated by a strong twilight light. The rooms, as a result of each ray released by the shutters, were almost as dark as if it was already midnight. The rooms I had passed were locked, but the key was in every lock. I flatter myself that the entrance to the workspace will be found in similar conditions. The door was closed, but there was no lock in sight. My expectations were greatly muffled by this appearance, but I considered it still possible to enter, because, by chance or by design, the door might not be locked.

My fingers touched the lock, when a bolt-like sound was heard, which was attached to the door on the inside, had been pulled. I am shocked by this incident. It signifies that the room is already occupied by someone else, who wants to exclude visitors. The unobstructed shutter below is remembered, and is associated with this condition. That this house must be entered by the same road, at the same time, and this room must be sought, by two men, is a mysterious agreement.

I began to question whether I had heard clearly. Countless unexplained noises tended to strike the ears in the empty dwellings. The echoes of our steps are unusual and new. This, perhaps, is such a sound. Continuing the courage, I once again applied the key. That door, even though I tried repeatedly, would not open.

My design is too important to let go of it. My curiosity and fear also awakened. The signs of violence, which I saw in the cupboards and cabinets below, seemed to indicate the presence of looters. This is the one who works hard for seclusion and concealment.

Confused by the way I should use, I once again tried the key. The effort did not produce results like the first. Although no information could be obtained in that way, I put my eyes into the keyhole. I found a light that was different from what I usually encounter at this hour. It is not the twilight produced by the sun, which is excluded imperfectly, but shines, as from a lamp; but its luster is dimmer and less obvious than that of a lamp in general.

Is this my first confirmation? The light of a lamp during the day, in a large deserted house, and in a room that has become an unforgettable and disastrous scene, is very unpleasant. As of now, no direct evidence has been given of human existence. How to ascertain its presence, or whether it qualifies in any way to be sure of it, is a point I have not yet covered.

I have no power to negotiate. My curiosity prompted me to call out, "Is there anyone inside? Speak."

These words were barely spoken, as one exclaimed, in a loud but half-stifled voice, "O Lord!"

A deep pause worked. I wait for an answer; for rather which this empathic prayer may be a prelude. Whether his tone showed shock, or pain, or sadness, for a moment, was dubious. Perhaps the motive that brought me to this house indicates the suspicion that is currently replacing my doubt,— that the person inside is disabled due to illness. My own state of affairs removes the impossibility of this belief. Why is it that no one else is persuaded like me to hide himself in this desolate resting place? Could a servant, who was left to take care of the house, an action usually taken by the rich at this time, be deprived of the disease in power? Unable to move, or afraid of being dragged to the hospital, he locked himself in this apartment. The robber, perhaps, who came to plunder, was overtaken and held captive by disease. In either case, detection or infiltration will incite hatred, and will be difficult to avoid.

These thoughts have no tendency to undermine or divert my efforts to gain access to this room. That person is a brother in disaster, which is my duty to help and appreciate with all my might. Again I am speaking:

Who's on the inside? Please, I beg you to answer me. Whatever you are, I want to do good and not hurt you. Open the door and tell me your condition. I'll try to be useful to you."