ARTHUR
50

I put up the stairs. As I approached the door I was looking for, a steam, infectious and deadly, invaded my senses. It doesn't resemble anything I previously thought made sense. Many smells have met, even since my arrival in the city, less supportive than this. It seems I don't smell much more than taste the elements that now surround me. I felt as if I had inhaled a poisonous and delicate liquid, whose strength instantly made my stomach lose all strength. Some fatal influences seemed to overwhelm my vitals, and the work of corrosion and decomposition was about to begin.

For a moment, I doubted whether the imagination had no bearing in producing my sensations; but I had never panicked before; and even now I noticed my own sensations without any mental disturbance. That I have absorbed this disease is unquestionable. So far the odds in my favor have been eliminated. Many diseases are withdrawn.

Whether my case will be mild or malignant, whether I should recover or perish, is left to a future decision. This incident, instead of making me cringe, even tends to strengthen my courage. The danger I feared has come. I may enter indifferently at this theater of pestilence. I may run, without faltering, tasks that may be created by my circumstances. My circumstances are no longer dangerous; and my fate will not be affected at all by my future behavior.

The pain that I first felt, and the urge to vomit for a moment, that it produced, was currently subsiding. My healthy feelings, indeed, did not revisit me, but the strength to continue was restored to me. Effluvia made more sense as I approached the bedroom door. The door opened slightly; and the light inside was felt. My belief that those inside are dead is now refuted by sound, which I initially thought were fast-moving, timid steps across the floor. It stopped, and was replaced by a different but inexplicable import vote.

After entering the apartment, I saw a candle in the fireplace. A table is covered with bottles and other equipment from the sickroom. A bed stood on one side, a curtain lowered on the leg, to hide anyone inside. My eyes are on this object. There are enough signs that a person is lying in bed. Breathing, drawn at long intervals; muttering is almost inaudible; and trembling movements in bed, are frightening and understandable indications.

If my heart wavers, it should not be considered that my doubts arise from any selfish consideration. Wallace alone, the object of my search, was present as I wished. Filled with memories of Hadwin; the suffering they had endured; the despair that would overwhelm the unhappy Susan when her lover's death was to be ascertained; observing the desolate condition of this house, the, where I can only conclude that the sick man has been denied his worthy presence; and is reminded, by the symptoms that arise, that this being is struggling against the suffering of death; the sickness of the heart, the, which was more irresistible than what I had just experienced, possessed me.

My imagination easily illustrates the progress and resolution of this tragedy. Wallace was the first family to get pestilence. Thetford had fled from where he lived. Perhaps as a father and husband, avoiding the dangers he would face was an order of duty. No doubt that behavior will be dictated by selfishness. Wallace is left to perish alone; or, perhaps, (which, indeed, is a presumption somewhat justified by appearances,) he is left to be a poor mercenary; by whom, at this desperate moment, he is left to be, he has been abandoned.

The traits of someone I've seen at a glance like Wallace may not be easy to spot, especially when those traits are shaky and deadly. However, here, the difference is too glaring to mislead me. I saw someone I can't remember who had a resemblance. Despite being hideous and furious, traces of intelligence and beauty were nowhere to be seen. Wallace's life is more precious to the weak individual; but it must be a creature that unfolds before me, and which rushes to its last breath, is precious to thousands.

Wasn't he the one in whose place I was willing to die? The offer is too late. The extremities are cold. Steam, noisy and contagious, floated above it. His heart rate has stopped. Its existence almost closes in the middle of convulsions and soreness.

I pulled my gaze from this object, and walked to a table. I was barely aware of my movements. My mind was filled with contemplation about the series of horrors and calamities that pursued the human race. My daydream was quickly interrupted by the sight of a small closet, whose hinges were broken and the lid half lifted. In my current state of mind, I tend to suspect the worst. Here is a trail of looting. Some ordinary officers or mercenaries not only contributed to hastening the death of the patient, but also robbed his property and fled.

This suspicion, perhaps, will produce mature reflection, if I suffer to contemplate. A moment was about to pass, when several appearances in the mirror, which was hanging on the table, caught my attention. It was a human figure. Nothing could be shorter than the view I set on this apparition; yet there is enough room for a vague conception to show itself, that the dying man had started from his bed and approached me. This belief, at the same time, is refuted, by the survey of her form and dress. One eye, a scar on his cheek, brownish yellow skin, a very disproportionate shape, muscular like Hercules, and wearing a complexion, as if it consisted of parts from one look.

To understand, fear, and face these apparitions mixed into one sentiment. I turned towards him with lightning speed; but my speed was useless for my safety. The blow to my temple was replaced by the oblivion of thoughts and feelings. I was drowning on the floor in prostration and it made no sense.

My insensitivity may be misinterpreted by observers as death, but some parts of this interval are haunted by frightening dreams. I imagined myself lying on the threshold of a hole, which was basically unreachable by the eye. My hands and feet were shackled, in order to paralyze me from fighting against the two gigantic and gloomy figures who bent down to lift me from the earth. Their goal, I thought, was to throw me into this abyss. My terror was unspeakable, and I fought with such force, that my bond broke and I found myself in freedom. At this moment my senses returned, and I opened my eyes.