As William Wilson was about to
begin making his revelation to Mr. Gustavus,
a heavy step was heard without
the door. Anny looked through the
dusky glass and exclaimed,

`A man, father! a stranger! Hide
quickly!'

Mr. Gustavus rose to hasten to the
door to see who it was, while the disguised
Wilson concealed himself. His
wife stood trembling and anxious till the
opening of the door showed in the entry
the tall form and honest countenance
of David Dalton. Instantly the expression
of alarm changed to one of
joy and gratitude. Still, she was glad
William had got out of the way; for
she did not like to have his secret known
to another, however good that other
might be.

David was laden down. In one hand
he held a large basket in which, upon
half a bushel of potatoes, were placed
three nice fish, a pieca of fresh veal,
and a large turkey with sundry little
brown paper parcels. Over his shoulder
was slung a bam and a large sack of
wood and charcoal. His face fairly
shone with benevolence and joy.

`I am here, you see, sir,' said he to
Mr. Gustavus. `I hope I have got what
is needed. The turkey will do cold
for two or three meals, and the ham is
a good stand-by in a poor man's house.
Here, ma'am, is a pound of coffee and
a half pound of tea, four pounds of
sugar, and a pound of butter, besides
four loaves of fresh bread. You have
got enough to last you in plenty for a
week. I have brought you back, sir,
two dollars and twenty three cents out
of the five you gave me! There,
me'am!' added David, setting down his
basket and then laying from his shoulder
the sack of wood and charcoal and the
ham. `There, ma'am, you have prosperity
under your roof again, thank
God and Mr. Gustavus. I see your fire
is out, and I'll just take the liberty to
kindle one up and put the pot on to
boil.'

`Oh, sir, you have been too kind
already,' said Mrs. Wilson hardly, able
to articulate her thanks she was so overcome
at the shower of blessings that
were falling upon her. `Anny will do
all—she is very handy and active.'

`But I would rather, ma'am. Your
daughter looks weakly.'

`Yet I am stronger than you think,'
answered Anny pleasantly, and hastening
to gather from the dry wood enough
to set the fire agoing.

`Well, I'll let you do it, Miss. I dare
say you will be happier doing it. I
must'nt forget my own family in looking
after yours, ma'am, so I'll go home.
I saw a neighbour in the market who'll
tell my wife not to be alarmed. I'll
call to-night as I go on my beat to see
how you all do. Food and fire will do
wonders in a day.'

`David Dalton shall be a confidant in
my confession and defence, also, for
there is not a truer man in Boston.
David, remain awhile and hear what I
have to say.'

At these words, spoken so suddenly,
David started and turned round. Upon
beholding a tall female figure just,
emerging from the opening in the
planks, he looked amazed, and more
especially as the voice was that of a
man.

`What can this be?' he exclaimed.

Mrs. Wilson looked terrified; but
Anny said, in an earnest tone and with
a smile,

`Dear mother, do you fear? He
will never betray him!'

`Him? Who is it?' cried David,
looking at William as he advanced towards
the fire-place, after first securing
the door.

`It is me, David Dalton! You
knew me in better days!' As he spoke
he threw back his hood entirely from
his head and revealed a manly but haggard
countenance. He seemed to have
suffered immensely from hunger and
anxiety. His visage was so ghastly

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

that Mr. Gustavus, who had not before
seen it fully revealed, uttered an exclamation
of the deepest commisseration.
David did not recognise him. `Have I
then so altered, David?'

`I do not know you. You are a man
but in woman's gear. Yet I think I
have seen those eyes before.'

`I am William Wilson!'

`Wilson, the murderer?' repeated
David, with a step or two back; and
with looks strongly expressive of his
horror.

`Yes, and the William Wilson you
once knew.

`The carpenter?' asked David, still
standing aloof.

`Yes.'

`And are you the same William Wilson
that killed young Henry Temple?'

`I killed him!'

David stepped back a pace or two
farther, and regarded him a moment in
silence. Mrs. Wilson feared he would
betray him. It was a moment of intense
anxiety to all. At length David
said:

`I have often wondered if the William
Wilson who did that deed, was the
same person who served his time as apprentice
under the same master with
me—I am sorry to find that he is!
You bid fair to turn out better, So,
then, ma'm, this is your husband?'

`Yes, sir; but oh! for my sake—'

`I shall not add to your wretchedness
by informing upon him. It is sorrow
enough to have, in addition to your
poverty, a husband who is pursued by
justice for so great a crime. I don't
wonder you have been driven to poverty.
I wish you had been happier than I see
you are!'

`David Dalton,' said the husband, `I
may seem, in your eyes, to be a very
guilty man! It is an awful thing for a
man to slay his fellow-man; but he who
kills another is not always guilty of murder.
I wish you to hear my defence.
I was about to begin it to Mr. Gustavus
when you came in. He has kindly promised
to hear me impartially.'

`And so will I, William!' answered
David, less severely than he had hitherto
spoken. `Whatever may be said by
you, I shall turn it to no harm. I will
listen, also—for I should like to have
you acquit yourself so far as you can.
Ma'm, I wish you would tell me first
one thing?'

`Well, sir, will you please say what
it is you wish?'

`Was not the old woman I saw here
last night your mother?'

`Yes, sir.'

`That is all I wanted to know. I can
now account for her sudden disappearance
when I entered—I see through it
all now!'

`Mr. Wilson,' said Mr. Gustavus,
`proceed now with what you desire to
make known. We are friends to you
and yours, and be assured that whatever
can be done for you shall not be withheld.
'

`Thanks, sir—thanks for myself and
my poor wife and children!' answered
William. `You shall now learn all the
circumstances connected with the death
of the young man for which I am now
hunted by the laws. I need not inform
you, sir,' said William Wilson, addressing
himself chiefly to Mr. Gustavus,
though glancing often towards David
also,—`I need not inform either of you
that Henry Temple was a young man
who, at the age of twenty-one, came
into the possession of a fortune of
seventy thousand dollars. His parents
had died when he was yet young, and
he had grown up with little or no control,
and in the free indulgence of his
passions and pride. After he came into
the possession of his money, you are
aware that he commenced a course of
extravagant licentiousness;—this the
newspapers have proclaimed to the
world.'

`Yes, I am aware of all this,' answered
Mr. Gustavus. `Proceed.'

`One of the first steps which he took
was to take a splendid suite of apartments
in a fashionable quarter of the
city, and gather around him that class
of young men to be found in all large
cities, who are willing to merge their
own independence in slavish submission
to the whims and arrogant pretensions
of a young man with money. The career
he ran with these is also well known.
His extravagant dinners and suppers,
his expensive equipages, his gaming

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

saloon—these are but lesser features of
his pastime. United to his love of display
and reckless expenditure of his
money, was the low passion of debauchery;
to gratify which he left no means
untried—regarded no expense, however
enormous. No sooner would his lustful
eye fall upon the fair face of an innocent,
unprotected girl, than he would
set to work with the subtlety and guile
of Satan when he plutted the seduction
of Eve, to compass her rein. I need
not say that I am repeating facts well
known to the world, sir.'

`The character of Henry Temple has
been made familiar to the public since
his sudden death; still this cannot excuse
the crime. It is no defence to say
that the man you have killed was a bad
man!'

`True, sir; but I shall show to you
that it was the wickedness of Henry
Temple that brought his death upon
him, though by my hand! After he
had accomplished by fiendish arts the
ruin of three young girls, who are now
living a life of infamy, his baleful eye
fell upon a lovely and innocent maid, as
she was passing homeward from the
shop where she worked as a milliner's
apprentice.

`Anny, dear,' said William Wilson,
addressing the young lame girl his
daughter; `perhaps you had better go
and try to borrow a tea-kettle of Mrs.
Traney in the house down the alley.'

`No, father! I know all you would
tell Mr. Gustavus and Mr. Dalton,' answered
the interesting girl with downcast
eyes. `I can bear all! I prefer
remaining that I may listen to your vindication.
I will cook the breakfast; so
do not heed me!'

`You are a good girl and a blessing
to any father. As I was saying, sir,
Temple's glance fell upon the modest
girl I have spoken of. She was extremely
beautiful, and as modest and
discreet as she was handsome. Her
modesty tempted him to endeavor to
effect her ruin. He followed her home
secretly and found out by the poverty
of her abode that she was a poor girl.
This was in his favor; but the humble
station to which he saw she belonged,
he had experience enough to know
would be a bar to his success if he
pressed his attentions upon her in his
true character and under his own name.
Her face showed she was too pure and
good to listen to one who could only
seek to ruin her; and convinced him
that it would be impossible to make her
acquaintance as Henry Temple. Besides,
too, he found cut that she had a
father who might not like to see a gay
young man of the town prowling about
his lowly sheep-fold.'

`That father, William Wilson, was?—
'

`Myself, Mr. Gustavus.'

`And that maiden, thy daughter?'

`Yes, sir! But not this one! for I
see your eyes are turned upon my poor
and innocent child there. No sirs, it
was her twin sister. Once as pure and
innocent as—as she. Forgive me, sir,
I can't but shed a few tears. It is a
painful subject sir, for me to speak of,
but you must know all.'

`I am deeply interested, Mr. Wilson,'
answered Mr. Gustavus pressing his
hand.

`And so am I, William,' said David
Dalton. `I think I am beginning to see
how it will come out.'

`When you have heard all, judge me,
gentlemen, answered William firmly.
I will bring my story to an end as briefly
as I can in justice to myself and my
conduct. Henry Temple having seen
my daughter and resolved to seek her
ruin proceeded in this manner. He
found a poor shoe-maker who kept a
small boot shop in Hanover street, and
at the same time worked on his bench
with two apprentices in the back shop
Money can accomplish anything. He
went o this man, whom he knew to be
simple and honest, and told him he was
a young man without any trade and
some money; and wished to marry a
young lady whose father objected to the
match because he had no trade wherewith
to support her in case of a reverse
of fortune. Now,' said Temple to him
`I want you to assist me in this affair.
I will purchase your stock-in trade, and
hire you as my head workman. I will
pay you double the price of everything.
All I want is a shop, and for my intended
father-in-law to see me at work in

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

its for I shall work an hour or so, just
so I can say it is my trade.'

`How did you learn so much?' asked
Mr. Gustavus.

`From the shoemaker's own lips, sir.
But you shall hear all. The shoemaker
at once consented to the arrangement,
pledging himself to secrecy, and Henry
Temple at once installed himself into
the shop as a boot and shoe-maker and
seller. He assumed the name of Edward
Carter which he put over the door.
He dressed according to his trade in
plain clothes, appearing at the shop in
the forenoon for three or four days very
regularly. You will now see, sir, the
object of all this. The millinary establishment
in which my daughter industriously
worked, was only two doors
from the shop which Temple occupied,
and which he had chosen from its neighborhood
to my child. He always made
it a point to stand in the door when she
passed and repassed at her meals so as
to attract her attention. On the second
day he even went into the shop where
the worked to make some purchases.
On the third day she passed his door,
when he hastened after her with an elegant
cambric handkerchief, saying politely,
`Miss you have dropped this.'—
She looked up and saw that it was the
handsome young boot-dealer, whose attentive
glances and manner had not
passed unnoticed by her, and doubtless
awakened some interest in her bosom
towards one who appeared to be pleased
with her. But to this moment they had
never spoken. Would to God, it had
been the last. She answered him modestly
that he was mistaken, that the
handkerchief was not hers, and thanking
him for his politeness, she walked
on: but he followed her saying. `It
must be yours if your name is Ann
Wilson, as I believe it is.' `It is my
name, sir, but the handkerchief is not
mine,' she answered. `Here is your
name upon it, Miss,' he said, exhibiting
her name before her eyes upon one
corner of the laced handkerchief. She
was struck with surprise, but answered
as before, that it was not her's, but probably
belonged to some other person of
the same name. In vain he urged her
to take it—she firmly refused, and he
left her. As she returned from dinner
he was standing in his door—the handkerchief
was in his hand. He stepped
out and said to her politely, `Miss Wilson,
I can find no other owner of this
than yourself. Keep it, at least, till an
owner is heard from—mine it is not.
If you refuse it, when your name is
upon it, I shall cast it into the street.'
`Well,' answered my daughter with a
smile, `I will take it and keep it for the
owner, though it is not mine, as you
think.'—Fatal consent!' added Wilson,
with a sigh.