ARTHUR
22

This intelligence made her cry, and it took a while before she was strong enough to continue the conversation. He then asked, "When and where did he die? How did you lose this portrait? It was found wrapped in rough clothes, lying in a stall in a market house, on Saturday night. Two nigger women, servants of one of my friends, strolled the market, found him and took him to their employer, who, recognizing the portrait, sent it to me. Who's that bundle? Is that yours?"

These questions remind me of the painful predicament in which I now stand. I had promised Welbeck to hide from everyone my condition before; but to explain in what way this bundle was lost, and how my sexual relationship with Clavering happened, she said, it is breaking this promise. It was possible, perhaps, to escape from the confession of truth under the pretext of. Falsity was easily found, and might have taken him far from my true condition; but I was not at all accustomed to pretexts. There has never been a lie to my lips. I am not weak enough to be ashamed of my origins. This woman has an interest in the fate of Clavering, and may justly claim all the information I can provide. Yet to forget the compactness I recently made, and the obedience that might have been very beneficial to me and Welbeck; I am willing to abide by it, provided that falsehoods can be avoided.

These thoughts made me quiet. The pain of my shame is almost the same as suffering. I felt the deepest regret at my own outpouring in claiming the image. The value to me is entirely imaginary. The genuine affection of this woman, whatever the source of that affection, will encourage her to appreciate the copy, and, however precious it is in my eyes, she said, I should gladly hand it to him.

In the confusion of my mind, a wise man suggested himself quite unartificial and bold. “True, Mom, what I said. I saw him breathing his last breath. This is his only legacy. If you want it, I'm willing to resign; but this is all I can say now. I was placed in a state that made it inappropriate to say more."

At first he expressed tremendous shock at my behavior. From here he descended to a certain level of asperity. He made a quick allusion to the history of Clavering. He is the son of the man who owns the house where Welbeck lives. He is the object of immeasurable joy and pleasure. He had asked permission to travel, and, being rejected by the unreasonable timidity of his parents, he had twice been frustrated in trying to leave for Europe in secret. They consider his departure to be the third and successful attempt of this kind, and have put on a restless and tireless perseverance in an attempt to track his trail. All their efforts have failed. One of their motives for returning to Europe was the hope of finding some traces of him, for they had no doubt that he had crossed the ocean. Curiosity Mrs. Wentworth being so powerful about his life and death can be easily understood. My rejection only increased this passion.

Finding me refractory to all his efforts, he ended up firing me furiously.