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Brown, Charles Brockden, 1771-1810 [1827], The Novels... (S. G. Goodrich, Boston) [word count] [eaf033d].
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CHAPTER XXVIII.

It was not in my power to release my friend by the payment
of his debt; but, by contracting with the keeper of the
prison for his board, I could save him from famine; and, by
suitable exertions, could procure him lodging as convenient
as the time would admit. I could promise to console and
protect his sisters, and, by cheerful tones and frequent visits,
dispel some part of the evil which encompassed him.

After the first surprise had subsided, he inquired by what
accident this meeting had been produced. Conscious of my
incapacity to do him any essential service, and unwilling to
make me a partaker in his miseries, he had forborne to inform
me of his condition.

This assurance was listened to with some wonder. I
showed him the billet. It had not been written by him.
He was a stranger to the penmanship. None but the attorney
and officer were apprized of his fate. It was obvious
to conclude, that this was the interposition of some friend,
who, knowing my affection for Carlton, had taken this mysterious
method of calling me to his succor.

Conjectures, as to the author and motives of this interposition,
were suspended by more urgent considerations. I
requested an interview with the keeper, and inquired how
Carlton could be best accommodated.

He said, that all his rooms were full but one, which, in
consequence of the dismission of three persons in the morning,
had at present but one tenant. This person had lately
arrived, was sick, and had with him, at this time, one of his
friends. Carlton might divide the chamber with this person.

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No doubt his consent would be readily given; though this
arrangement, being the best, must take place whether he
consented or not.

This consent I resolved immediately to seek, and, for
that purpose, desired to be led to the chamber. The door
of the apartment was shut. I knocked for admission. It
was instantly opened, and I entered. The first person who
met my view was—Arthur Mervyn.

I started with astonishment. Mervyn's countenance betrayed
nothing but satisfaction at the interview. The traces
of fatigue and anxiety gave place to tenderness and joy. It
readily occurred to me that Mervyn was the writer of the
note which I had lately received. To meet him within
these walls, and at this time, was the most remote and undesirable
of all contingencies. The same hour had thus made
me acquainted with the kindred and unwelcome fate of two
beings whom I most loved.

I had scarcely time to return his embrace, when, taking
my hand, he led me to a bed that stood in one corner.
There was stretched upon it one whom a second glance
enabled me to call by his name, though I had never before
seen him. The vivid portrait which Mervyn had drawn was
conspicuous in the sunken and haggard visage before me.
This face had, indeed, proportions and lines which could
never be forgotten or mistaken. Welbeck, when once seen or
described, was easily distinguished from the rest of mankind.
He had stronger motives than other men for abstaining from
guilt, the difficulty of concealment or disguise being tenfold
greater in him than in others, by reason of the indelible and
eye-attracting marks which nature had set upon him.

He was pallid and emaciated. He did not open his eyes
on my entrance. He seemed to be asleep; but, before I
had time to exchange glances with Mervyn, or to inquire
into the nature of the scene, he awoke. On seeing me he
started, and cast a look of upbraiding on my companion.
The latter comprehended his emotion and endeavored to
appease him.

This person said he is my friend. He is likewise a physician;
and, perceiving your state to require medical assistance,
I ventured to send for him.

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Welbeck, replied, in a contemptuous and indignant tone,
thou mistakest my condition, boy. My disease lies deeper
than his scrutiny will ever reach. I had hoped thou wert
gone. Thy importunities are well meant, but they aggravate
my miseries.

He now rose from the bed, and continued, in a firm and
resolute tone, you are intruders into this apartment. It is
mine, and I desire to be left alone.

Mervyn returned at first, no answer to this address. He
was immersed in perplexity. At length, raising his eyes from
the floor, he said, my intentions are indeed honest, and I am
grieved that I want the power of persuasion. Tomorrow,
perhaps, I may reason more cogently with your despair, or
your present mood may be changed. To aid my own
weakness I will entreat the assistance of this friend.

These words roused a new spirit in Welbeck. His confusion
and anger increased. His tongue faltered as he exclaimed,
good God! what mean you? Headlong and rash
as you are, you will not share with this person your knowledge
of me? Here he checked himself, conscious that
the words he had already uttered tended to the very end
which he dreaded. This consciousness, added to the terror
of more ample disclosures, which the simplicity and
rectitude of Mervyn might prompt him to make, chained
up his tongue, and covered him with dismay.

Mervyn was not long in answering.—I comprehend your
fears and your wishes. I am bound to tell you the truth.
To this person your story has already been told. Whatever
I have witnessed under your roof, whatever I have heard
from your lips, have been faithfully disclosed to him.

The countenance of Welbeck now betrayed a mixture of
incredulity and horror. For a time his utterance was stifled
by his complicated feelings.

It cannot be. So enormous a deed is beyond thy power.
Thy qualities are marvellous. Every new act of thine outstrips
the last, and belies the newest calculations. But this—
this perfidy exceeds—this outrage upon promises, this
violation of faith, this blindness to the future is incredible.
There he stopped; while his looks seemed to call upon
Mervyn for a contradiction of his first assertion.

I know full well how inexpiably stupid or wicked my

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act will appear to you, but I will not prevaricate or lie. I
repeat, that every thing is known to him. Your birth; your
early fortunes; the incidents at Charleston and Wilmington;
your treatment of the brother and sister; your interview
with Watson, and the fatal issue of that interview—I have
told him all, just as it was told to me.

Here the shock that was felt by Welbeck overpowered
his caution and his strength. He sunk upon the side of the
bed. His air was still incredulous, and he continued to
gaze upon Mervyn. He spoke in a tone less vehement.

And hast thou then betrayed me? Hast thou shut every
avenue to my return to honor? Am I known to be a seducer
and assassin? To have mediated all crimes, and to have
perpetrated the worst?

Infamy and death are my portion. I know they are reserved
for me; but I did not think to receive them at thy
hands, that under that innocent guise there lurked a heart
treacherous and cruel. But go; leave me to myself. This
stroke has exterminated my remnant of hope. Leave me
to prepare my neck for the halter, and my lips for this last,
and bitterest cup.

Mervyn struggled with his tears and replied, all this was
foreseen, and all this I was prepared to endure. My friend
and I will withdraw, as you wish; but tomorrow I return;
not to vindicate my faith or my humanity; not to make you
recant your charges, or forgive the faults which I seem to
have committed, but to extricate you from your present evil,
or to arm you with fortitude.

So saying he led the way out of the room. I followed
him in silence. The strangeness and abruptness of this
scene left me no power to assume a part in it. I looked on
with new and indescribable sensations. I reached the
street before my recollection was perfectly recovered. I
then reflected on the purpose that had led me to Welbeck's
chamber. This purpose was yet unaccomplished. I desired
Mervyn to linger a moment while I returned into the
house. I once more inquired for the keeper, and told him
I should leave to him the province of acquainting Welbeck
with the necessity of sharing his apartment with a stranger.
I speedily rejoined Mervyn in the street.

I lost no time in requiring an explanation of the scene

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that I had witnessed. How became you once more the
companion of Welbeck? Why did you not inform me by
letter of your arrival at Malverton, and of what occurred
during your absence? What is the fate of Mr. Hadwin and
of Wallace?

Alas! said he, I perceive, that, though I have written,
you have never received my letters. The tale of what has
occurred since we parted is long and various. I am not only
willing but eager to communicate the story, but this is no
suitable place. Have patience till we reach your house. I
have involved myself in perils and embarrassments from
which I depend upon your counsel and aid to release me.

I had scarcely reached my own door, when I was over-taken
by a servant, whom I knew to belong to the family
in which Carlton and his sisters resided. Her message,
therefore, was readily guessed. She came, as I expected,
to inquire for my friend, who had left his home in the morning
with a stranger, and had not yet returned. His absence
had occasioned some inquietude, and his sister had
sent this message to me, to procure what information respecting
the cause of his detention I was able to give.

My perplexity hindered me, for some time, from answering.
I was willing to communicate the painful truth with
my own mouth. I saw the necessity of putting an end to
her suspense, and of preventing the news from reaching
her with fallacious aggravations or at an unseasonable time.

I told the messenger, that I had just parted with Mr.
Carlton, that he was well, and that I would speedily come
and acquaint his sister with the cause of his absence.

Though burning with curiosity respecting Mervyn and
Welbeck, I readily postponed its gratification till my visit to
Miss Carlton was performed. I had rarely seen this lady; my
friendship for her brother, though ardent, having been lately
formed, and chiefly matured by interviews at my house. I
had designed to introduce her to my wife, but various accidents
had hindered the execution of my purpose. Now
consolation and counsel was more needed than ever, and
delay or reluctance in bestowing it would have been, in a
high degree, unpardonable.

I therefore parted with Mervyn, requesting him to await
my return, and promising to perform the engagement which

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compelled me to leave him, with the utmost despatch. On
entering Miss Carlton's apartment, I assumed an air of as
much tranquillity as possible. I found the lady seated at
a desk, with pen in hand and parchment before her. She
greeted me with affectionate dignity, and caught from my
countenance that cheerfulness of which on my entrance she
was destitute.

You come, said she, to inform me what has made my
brother a truant to day. Till your message was received
I was somewhat anxious. This day he usually spends in
rambling through the fields, but so bleak and stormy an
atmosphere, I suppose, would prevent his excursion. I pray,
sir, what is it detains him?

To conquer my embarrassment, and introduce the subject
by indirect and cautious means, I eluded her question,
and casting an eye at the parchment, How now? said I;
this is strange employment for a lady. I knew that my
friend pursued this trade, and lived by binding fast the bargains
which others made, but I knew not that the pen was
ever usurped by his sister.

The usurpation was prompted by necessity. My brother's
impatient temper and delicate frame, unfitted him for this
trade. He pursued it with no less reluctance than diligence,
devoting to the task three nights in the week, and the whole
of each day. It would long ago have killed him, had I not
bethought myself of sharing his tasks. The pen was irksome
and toilsome at first, but use has made it easy, and
far more eligible than the needle, which was formerly my
only tool.

This arrangement affords my brother opportunities of
exercise and recreation, without diminishing our profits;
and my time, though not less constantly, is more agreeably,
as well as more lucratively employed than formerly.

I admire your reasoning. By this means provision is
made against untoward accidents. If sickness should disable
him, you are qualified to pursue the same means of
support.

At these words the lady's countenance changed. She
put her hand on my arm, and said, in a fluttering and hurried
accent, is my brother sick?

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No. He is in perfect health. My observation was a
harmless one. I am sorry to observe your readiness to
draw alarming inferences. If I were to say, that your
scheme is useful to supply deficiencies, not only when
your brother is disabled by sickness, but when thrown, by
some inhuman creditor, into jail, no doubt you would perversely
and hastily infer that he is now in prison.

I had scarcely ended the sentence, when the piercing
eyes of the lady were anxiously fixed upon mine. After a
moment's pause, she exclaimed:—The inference, indeed, is
too plain. I know his fate. It has long been foreseen and
expected, and I have summoned up my equanimity to meet
it. Would to Heaven he may find the calamity as light as
I should find it; but I fear his too irritable spirit.

When her fears were confirmed, she started out into no
vehemence of exclamation. She quickly suppressed a few
tears which would not be withheld, and listened to my narrative
of what had lately occurred, with tokens of gratitude.

Formal consolation was superfluous. Her mind was indeed
more fertile than my own in those topics which take
away its keenest edge from affliction. She observed that it
was far from being the heaviest calamity which might have
happened. The creditor was perhaps vincible by arguments
and supplications. If these should succeed, the disaster
would not only be removed, but that security from future
molestation be gained, to which they had for a long time
been strangers.

Should he be obdurate, their state was far from being
hopeless. Carlton's situation allowed him to pursue his profession.
His gains would be equal, and his expenses would
not be augmented. By their mutual industry they might
hope to amass sufficient to discharge the debt at no very
remote period.

What she chiefly dreaded was the pernicious influence of
dejection and sedentary labor on her brother's health. Yet
this was not to be considered as inevitable. Fortitude
might be inspired by exhortation and example, and no condition
precluded us from every species of bodily exertion.
The less inclined he should prove to cultivate the means
of deliverance and happiness within his reach, the more

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necessary it became for her to stimulate and fortify his
resolution.

If I were captivated by the charms of this lady's person
and carriage, my reverence was excited by these proofs of
wisdom and energy. I zealously promised to concur with
her in every scheme she should adopt for her own or her
brother's advantage; and after spending some hours with
her, took my leave.

I now regretted the ignorance in which I had hitherto
remained respecting this lady. That she was, in an eminent
degree, feminine and lovely, was easily discovered; but
intellectual weakness had been rashly inferred from external
frailty. She was accustomed to shrink from observation,
and reserve was mistaken for timidity. I called on Carlton
only when numerous engagements would allow, and when
by some accident, his customary visits had been intermitted.
On those occasions, my stay was short, and my attention
chiefly confined to her brother. I now resolved to atone for
my ancient negligence, not only by my own assiduities, but
by those of my wife.

On my return home, I found Mervyn and my wife in
earnest discourse. I anticipated the shock which the sensibility
of the latter would receive from the tidings which I
had to communicate respecting Carlton. I was unwilling,
and yet perceived the necessity of disclosing the truth. I
desired to bring these women, as soon as possible, to the
knowledge of each other, but the necessary prelude to this
was an acquaintance with the disaster that had happened.

Scarcely had I entered the room, when Mervyn turned
to me, and said, with an air of anxiety and impatience—
Pray, my friend, have you any knowledge of Francis
Carlton?

The mention of this name by Mervyn, produced some
surprise. I acknowledged my acquaintance with him.

Do you know in what situation he now is?

In answer to this question, I stated by what singular
means his situation had been made known to me, and the
purpose, from the accomplishment of which, I had just
returned. I inquired, in my turn, whence originated this
question?

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He had overheard the name of Carlton in the prison.
Two persons were communing in a corner, and accident
enabled him to catch this name, though uttered by them in
a half whisper, and to discover that the person talked about
had lately been conveyed thither.

This name was not now heard for the first time. It was
connected with remembrances that made him anxious for
the fate of him to whom it belonged. In discourse with
my wife, this name chanced to be again mentioned, and his
curiosity was roused afresh. I was willing to communicate
all that I knew, but Mervyn's own destiny was too remarkable
not to absorb all my attention, and I refused to discuss
any other theme till that were fully explained. He postponed
his own gratification to mine, and consented to relate
the incidents that had happened from the moment of our
separation till the present.

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Brown, Charles Brockden, 1771-1810 [1827], The Novels... (S. G. Goodrich, Boston) [word count] [eaf033d].
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