ARTHUR
62

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."

I was answered by a deep groan, and by a sobbing that was resisted and swallowed as if by a vigorous effort. This sign of distress rattled my heart. My terror is completely gone, and gives place to infinite compassion. I once again begged to be accepted, promising all the help or consolation that my situation allowed me to pay.

Answers are made in a tone of anger and impatience, mixed with sadness: "I don't want help; don't bother me with your pleas and offers. Fly from this place; do not linger, lest you participate in my destiny and rush your death."

This I regard only as the effusion of delirium, or the command of despair. The style and articulation showed the speaker to be superior to the servant class. Therefore, my anxiety to see and help him increased. My refusal was firmly and firmly rejected. For a moment, an indistinct and fiery cry flowed from him. Finally, I was only allowed to hear strong aspirations and sobs, be more eloquent and show more sadness than any language.

This behavior filled me with no less wonder than sympathy. With what view this man was brought here, by what motive was driven to deny himself to my supplication, utterly incomprehensible. Again, although there was no hope of success, I repeated my request to be accepted.

My perseverance now seemed to have exhausted all of his patience, and he exclaimed, with a thunderous voice, "Arthur Mervyn! Go awayl. Linger but briefly, and my anger, like a tiger, will invade you and tear you from your limbs. ."

This address scares me. The voice that uttered this sanguinary threat was strange in my ears. It shows there was no suspicion of ever hearing it before. But my accent has betrayed me to him. He's familiar with my name. Despite the impossibility of me getting into this residence, I am clearly recognizable and without a doubt named!

My curiosity and compassion did not diminish, but I found myself forced to give up my purpose. I reluctantly retreated from the door, and once again laid myself on the bed. There is nothing more important, in the present condition of my skeleton; than sleep; and sleep, perhaps, might happen, if the scenery around me does not contain too much of a cause of astonishment and panic.

His demeanor was gentle and simple; his habits, such as sleep, eating, and exercise, were frugal and regular. Meditation in the forest, or reading in his closet, seems, along with attention to his scholars, to be his only entertainment and work. He secluded himself from the company, not because society gave him no pleasure, but because diligent seclusion gave him ultimate satisfaction.

Nothing is more idolized by his unsuspecting neighbor. His scholars adored him as a father, and made under his guidance his extraordinary prowess. His character seemed open to unlimited scrutiny, and his behavior was declared by everyone as flawless.

At the end of the year, the view changes. A daughter of one of her protectors, young, artless, and beautiful, seems to have fallen prey to the art of a disgusting seductress. Traitors were gradually detected, and successive discoveries showed that the same intelligence had been practiced, with equal success, in many others. Colvill is the main villain. He retired from the storm of revenge that had gathered on him, and had not been heard from since that period.

I rarely saw him, and for a short time, and I was just a boy. Therefore, the failure to remember his voice, and to understand that his voice hidden in the room above was the same as that of Colvill . Although I had little reason to recognize his features or accent, I had plenty of reason to think about it with hatred, and pursue him with harsh revenge, because of the victim of his actions, he said, he whose destruction was first detected, was my sister.

This unhappy girl escapes the reproof of her parents, from the cruelty of the world, from the impulse of regret, and the grief that flows from Colvill's betrayal and desertion, in voluntary death. She's innocent and beautiful. Before this evil, my soul was connected to it by a thousand semblance and sympathy, as well as by an eternal relationship from infancy, and by a fraternal relationship. She was my sister, my guide and friend; but she died ultimately cruel, not timely, and criminal! I cannot think of it without its heart-wrenching sorrow; of its destroyer, without the grudges that I know to be wrong, but which I cannot conquer.

When the shadow of Colvill appeared, on this occasion, in my mind, I almost started to stand up. Meeting him, after so many years of separation, here, and under such circumstances, was an event so unexpected and sudden, and revived a tribe of hateful impulses and painful memories, so that a total revolution seemed to have taken place within me. His confession of my personality, his reluctance to be seen, his ejaculation of terror and his shock upon first hearing my voice all contributed to strengthening my beliefs.

How should I act? My weak body cannot support my purpose of revenge; but revenge, though it sometimes fills my mind, is hindered by my reason for leading me, in any case, to my cause, to make you angry or even to denounce.

All my desires in relation to this man are limited to removing his image from my memory, and to avoid meeting with him. That he did not open the door at my request is now a topic of excitement. Looking into the bottomless pit, where I would be thrown, and alive, was less hated than seeing Colvill's face . Had I known that he had taken refuge in this house, no force would have forced me to enter it. Drowning in a hospital infection, and rushing, yet breathing and jelly, into my grave, was a more supportive fate.