ARTHUR
20

After seeing various parts of the city, infiltrating the church, and diving into the alley, I returned. The rest of the day I spent mainly in my room, contemplating my new condition; observing my apartment, the printing press and its closet; and guessing the cause of its appearance.

At dinner and dinner, I was alone. Dare to ask the maid where her master and mistress were, I answered that they were engaged. I did not question her about the nature of their engagement, even though it was a fertile source of curiosity.

The next morning, at breakfast, I met Welbeck and the woman again. The incident was about the same as the previous morning, if not for the woman showing somewhat greater signs of anxiety. When he left us, Welbeck was immersed in meditation. I was confused whether to retire or stay where I am now. However, finally, I almost left the room, as she broke the silence and started a conversation with me.

He asked me a question, the obvious scope is to know my sentiments on moral topics. I have no motive to hide my opinion, and therefore speak it honestly. Finally he introduced allusions to my own history, and made a more specific question in that head. Here I am not equally honest; yet I do not pretend, but only deal with generals. I've acquired this idea of decency in the head, maybe a little fussy. The minute details, respecting our own concerns, tend to exhaust all but the narrator himself. I said so much, and the truth of my statement was eagerly agreed.

With some signs of doubt and after various introductions, my colleague hinted that my own interests, as well as his interests, ordered me to be silent to everyone but himself, about my birth and my early adventures. It is unlikely that, while in his ministry, my circle of acquaintances will be large or my relationship with the world often; but in my communication with others he asked me to talk about others rather than myself. This request, he said, may seem singular to me, but he has reason to make it, which at the moment does not need to be disclosed, though, when I have to get to know them, I have to be ready to acknowledge their validity.

I barely know what to answer. I am willing to obey. I am far from expecting that any urgency will occur, making disclosure my obligation. The work produces more pain than pleasure, and the futile curiosity of seeking knowledge of my past life is no less polite than the useless ingenuity will communicate that knowledge. Therefore, I am ready to promise to obey his advice.

This guarantee gave him real satisfaction; yet it did not seem as much as he wanted. He repeated, in stronger terms, the need for caution. He was far from suspecting I had a brash and talkative disposition, or that, in my desire to explain my own problems, I had to go beyond the bounds of politeness. But this isn't enough. I must organize myself by persuasion that the interests of my friend and myself will be materially affected by my behavior.

I get a little satisfaction from my reflection. Now I began to feel the discomfort that might arise from this sudden promise. Whatever had to happen as a result of me being buried in the room, and losing my clothes and the portrait of my friend, I had tied myself to silence. However, this anxiety is temporary. I believed that this event would go well; but my curiosity now awoke about the motive Welbeck could have to demand from me this concealment. Acting under the guidance of others, and wandering in the darkness, not knowing where my path was headed and what effects might flow from my chosen right, was a new and vexing situation.

From this thought I was reminded by a message from Welbeck. He gave me a folded paper, which he asked me to take to No.—South Fourth Street. "Ask," he said, "to Mrs Wentworth, just to make sure of her house, because you don't have to ask to meet her; just give the letter to the maid and retire. Sorry for forcing this service on you. This is a moment too great to entrust to an ordinary envoy; I usually do it myself, but I am currently involved."

I took the letter and prepared to send it. It is a trivial state, but my mind is full of reflections about the possible consequences flowing from it. I remember the instructions given, but interpret them in a different way, perhaps, from Welbeck's expectations or desires. He had asked me to leave the billet with the servant who happened to answer my call; but did he not say that the message was important, so much so that it could not be entrusted to ordinary people? He has permitted, instead of commanding, I not to see the woman; and this permission I consider dictated simply by regard to my comfort. Therefore, I am obliged to take pains to hand the manuscript over to his own hands.

I got home and knocked. A female servant appeared. "His fortune is on top; he will tell her if I want to meet her," and meanwhile invite me to enter the living room; I do; and the girl retired to tell her employer that someone was waiting for her. I must mention that my departure from the direction I have received is, in some ways, out of curiosity; I crave knowledge, I crave knowledge, and tend to take advantage of any opportunity to observe the interior of the residence and talk to its occupants.

I looked at the walls, the furniture, the pictures. Above the fireplace is a portrait of a woman in oil. He was old and matron-like. Perhaps she is the mistress of this residence, and the person I should introduce immediately. Is that the usual advice, or is there an actual resemblance between the pencil strokes that make this portrait and Clavering? After all, this scene of the image revived my friend's memory and raised the suspicion of the fugitive that this was a production of his craft.

I was busy thinking about this idea when the woman herself came in. It's the same portrait I've been examining. He looked at me closely and strongly. He looked at the superscription of the letter I gave him, and immediately continued his examination of me. I was somewhat embarrassed by the proximity of his observations, and gave signs of this state of mind that did not escape observation. They seemed to instantly remind her that she behaved too little paying attention to modesty.