ARTHUR
69

Illumination suddenly felt by Welbeck. The cause appears to suggest itself immediately. He turned around, and, marking the paper on which it lay, jumped into place, and extinguished the fire with his feet. Interposition's late. Only enough of them were left to tell him about the nature of the sacrifice.

Welbeck was now standing, with trembling limbs, a stupefied face, and eyes glaring at me. For a while he did not speak. The storm gathered in silence, and finally struck me. With a threatening and loud tone, he exclaimed,

"Suckers! what have you done?"

"I did it fairly. These records are fake. You want to destroy them, so they don't betray innocent people. I commend your purpose, and have saved you from the danger of temptation by destroying it yourself."

"Maniac! The outlaws! Fooled by such filthy trickery! The record is genuine. Their story of counterfeiting is fake and is meant only to snatch it from you. A cruel and evil idiot! Your actions have sealed my destruction. It has sealed yours. You must pay with your blood. I'll kill you a few inches. I'm gonna stretch you, like you did to me, on the shelf."

During this speech, all the frenzy and storm on Welbeck's face and features. Nothing could be expected other than that the scene would end in some bloody calamity. I deeply regret the facilities that have deceived me, and the outpouring of my sacrifices. That action, however pathetic, is inalienable. What is left but to face or bear the consequences with a non-shrinking firmness?

The match was too unbalanced. It is possible that the frenzy that moves Welbeck may quickly subside. Most likely his wish would be satisfied with just my death. This event was hindered by a loud knock on the door of the road, and a call by someone on the sidewalk "Who is inside? Is there anyone inside?"

These voices gave Welbeck new directions. "They're coming," he said. "They will treat you as a sick man and a thief. I can't want you to suffer a worse crime than they're going to inflict. I'm handing you over to your destiny." After saying that, he rushed out of the room.

Despite being perplexed and astonished by this rapid chain of events, I was still able to pursue measures to avoid these hated visitors. First I put out the lights, and then, observing that the quarrels on the street were continuing and getting louder, I sought asylum in the most remote corner of the house. During my previous stay here, I noticed that a trapdoor opened on the third-floor ceiling, where you were carried by a movable ladder or staircase. I assume that this, perhaps, is a gap to a narrow, dark corner formed by the corner of the roof. By going up, pulling the stairs after me, and closing the door, I had to escape the most vigilant quest.

Weakened because of my illness, my resolution made me heavy. I got the topmost room, and, climbing the stairs, found myself at a considerable distance from suspicion. The stairs were hurriedly pulled, and the door was closed. However, within minutes, my new retreat proved to be worse than any retreat that allowed to change it. The air is stuffy, stagnant, and very hot . My breathing became difficult, and I saw that to stay here ten minutes would definitely result in suffocation.

My terror of intruders has blinded me to the consequences of immersing myself in this unpleasant recess. It is my duty to get away as soon as possible. I tried to lift the door. My first attempt was unsuccessful. Every inspiration is faster and harder than the first. As my terror, so my strength and exertion increased. Finally my trembling hand lit a nail that was imperfectly plugged into the wood, and which, by giving me a stronger grip, allowed me to lift it, and breathe air from below.

However, before I got off, I stared inquisitively about this hour of rest. It was large enough to hold a human. The way it was entered was easy to hide. Although narrow and low, it was long, and, if it were possible to make its way into the air, someone diligently hiding might rely on its protection with infinite confidence.

My observation was not perfect because of the dim light coming through the hole; however it was enough to make me float in the sea of new wonders and test my fortitude with new tests.

Here Mervyn paused for a moment in her narrative. A minute passed in silence and seemed hesitant. His confusion gradually disappeared, and he continued:

I have promised to recount important events in my life, and have remained faithful to my enumeration. There is nothing I hate more than doubt and mystery. Perhaps, however, I will now be subjected to some such imputation. I was willing to drop the charges, but admitted that I had no hope of escaping the charges.

I may, indeed, have obstructed your guess and conjecture by omitting to tell you what has befallen me since I left my room until I got it back. I may deceive you by stating that nothing extraordinary happens; but this will be wrong, and every sacrifice is a trivial thing done on the altar of sincerity. In addition, there may come a time when no inconvenience will arise from the small description of the object I am now seeing, and from the reasons and conclusions they suggest for my understanding. At the moment, it seems to be my duty to pass them in silence; but there is no need to hide from you that interval, though short, and scrutiny, though hasty, though hasty, giving things that engulfed my curiosity with unspeakable desires, and from which the consequences could further flow, decided my peace and life.

However, nothing happened that could hold me for long in this place. I once again looked downstairs and threw myself into the bed I had left behind. My mind was filled with images that flowed from my late adventure. My fever gradually increased, and my mind changed shape by inaccuracy and confusion.

My heart did not sink when I returned to my own condition. That I should immediately be deactivated from moving, easy to feel. The foresight of my destiny is firm and clear. To linger for days in this uncomfortable solitude, to ask in vain, not for a strong recovery or a lightening drink, he said, but the water to wet my burning lips and relieve the torment of thirst; finally ending in in inaction or frenzy, is the fate I look forward to; yet I am not afraid. It seems I was sustained by supernatural energy. I felt as if the opportunity to combat such a crime was an enviable privilege, and, although no one would witness my generosity winning, it did, but realizing that praise is my right is all that my ambition requires.

This sentiment is undoubtedly a sign of delirium. The tremendous agony that now ruled my head, and the rope that seemed to be pulled on my chest, and which, as I imagined, was tightened by a few forced hands, with the intention to strangle me, he said, incompatible with consciousness and coherent view.

Thirst is a crime that primarily oppresses me. Means of help are demonstrated by nature and habit. I got up, and was determined to refill my jug at the well. However, it is easier to get down than back. My limbs refused to support me, and I sat on the lower rungs of the ladder. Several hours had passed since I entered this residence, and it was now night.

My imagination now suggests a new way. Medlicote is a generous and fearless spirit. Putting myself under his protection, if I could walk as far as his residence, was the wisest course of action I could take. From this design, my inability to walk this far, and the consequences found on the road, hitherto deter me. These obstacles were now, in my confusion of understanding, ignored or humiliated, and I immediately set out on this hopeless expedition.