ed. I imagined that he approached the bed, and was gazing upon
me. At the same moment, by an involuntary impulse, I threw off my
covering, and, turning my face, fixed my eyes upon my visitant.

It was as I suspected. The figure, lifting in his right hand a candle,
and gazing at the bed, with lineaments and attitude bespeaking fearful
expectation and tormenting doubts, was now beheld. One glance
communicated to my senses all the parts of this terrific vision. A
sinking at my heart, as if it had been penetrated by a dagger, seized
me. This was not enough: I uttered a shriek, too rueful and loud not to
have startled the attention of the passengers, if any had, at that
moment, been passing the street.

Heaven seemed to have decreed that this period should be filled with
trials of my equanimity and fortitude. The test of my courage was once
more employed to cover me with humiliation and remorse. This second
time, my fancy conjured up a spectre, and I shuddered as if the grave
were forsaken and the unquiet dead haunted my pillow.

The visage and the shape had indeed preternatural attitudes, but they
belonged, not to Colvill, but to--WELBECK.

CHAPTER XXI.

He whom I had accompanied to the midst of the river; whom I had imagined
that I saw sink to rise no more, was now before me. Though incapable of
precluding the groundless belief of preternatural visitations, I was
able to banish the phantom almost at the same instant at which it
appeared. Welbeck had escaped from the stream alive; or had, by some
inconceivable means, been restored to life.

The first was the most plausible conclusion. It instantly engendered a
suspicion, that his plunging into the water was an artifice, intended to
establish a belief of his death. His own tale had shown him to be versed
in frauds, and flexible to evil. But was he not associated with Colvill?
and what, but a compact in iniquity, could bind together such men?

While thus musing, Welbeck's countenance and gesture displayed emotions
too vehement for speech. The glances that he fixed upon me were
unsteadfast and wild. He walked along the floor, stopping at each
moment, and darting looks of eagerness upon me. A conflict of passions
kept him mute. At length, advancing to the bed, on the side of which I
was now sitting, he addressed me:--

"What is this? Are you here? In defiance of pestilence, are you actuated
by some demon to haunt me, like the ghost of my offences, and cover me