ich he lies buried."

"If she be deceived," said I, "it will be impossible to rectify her
error."

"I hope not. An honest front and a straight story will be sufficient."

"How do you mean to act?"

"Visit her, without doubt, and tell her the truth. My tale will be too
circumstantial and consistent to permit her to disbelieve."

"She will not hearken to you. She is too strongly prepossessed against
you to admit you even to a hearing."

"She cannot help it. Unless she lock her door against me, or stuff her
ears with wool, she must hear me. Her prepossessions are reasonable, but
are easily removed by telling the truth. Why does she suspect me of
artifice? Because I seemed to be allied to Welbeck, and because I
disguised the truth. That she thinks ill of me is not her fault, but my
misfortune; and, happily for me, a misfortune easily removed."

"Then you will try to see her?"

"I will see her, and the sooner the better. I will see her to-day; this
morning; as soon as I have seen Welbeck, whom I shall immediately visit
in his prison."

"There are other embarrassments and dangers of which you are not aware.
Welbeck is pursued by many persons whom he has defrauded of large sums.
By these persons you are deemed an accomplice in his guilt, and a
warrant is already in the hands of officers for arresting you wherever
you are found."

"In what way," said Mervyn, sedately, "do they imagine me a partaker of
his crime?"

"I know not. You lived with him. You fled with him. You aided and
connived at his escape."

"Are these crimes?"

"I believe not, but they subject you to suspicion."

"To arrest and to punishment?"

"To detention for a while, perhaps. But these alone cannot expose you to
punishment."

"I thought so. Then I have nothing to fear."

"You have imprisonment and obloquy, at least, to dread."

"True; but they cannot be avoided but by my exile and skulking out of
sight,--evils infinitely more formidable. I shall, therefore, not avoid
them. The sooner my conduct is subjected to scrutiny, the better. Will
you go with me to Welbeck?"

"I will go with you."

Inquiring for Welbeck of the keeper of the prison, we were informed that
he was in his own apartment, very sick. The physician attending the
prison had been called, but the prisoner had preserved an obstinate and
scornful silence; and had neither explained his condition, nor consented
to accept any aid.

We now went alone into his apartment. His se