a tone which left it
doubtful whether a compliment or menace were meant, augmented Mervyn's
confusion. He complied without speaking, and they went out together;--my
wife and I were left to comment upon the scene.
It could not fail to excite uneasiness. They were evidently no strangers
to each other. The indignation that flashed from the eyes of Wortley,
and the trembling consciousness of Mervyn, were unwelcome tokens. The
former was my dearest friend, and venerable for his discernment and
integrity. The latter appeared to have drawn upon himself the anger and
disdain of this man. We already anticipated the shock which the
discovery of his unworthiness would produce.
In a half-hour Mervyn returned. His embarrassment had given place to
dejection. He was always serious, but his features were now overcast by
the deepest gloom. The anxiety which I felt would not allow me to
hesitate long.
"Arthur," said I, "something is the matter with you. Will you not
disclose it to us? Perhaps you have brought yourself into some dilemma
out of which we may help you to escape. Has any thing of an unpleasant
nature passed between you and Wortley?"
The youth did not readily answer. He seemed at a loss for a suitable
reply. At length he said that something disagreeable had indeed passed
between him and Wortley. He had had the misfortune to be connected with
a man by whom Wortley conceived himself to be injured. He had borne no
part in inflicting this injury, but had nevertheless been threatened
with ill treatment if he did not make disclosures which, indeed, it was
in his power to make, but which he was bound, by every sanction, to
withhold. This disclosure would be of no benefit to Wortley. It would
rather operate injuriously than otherwise; yet it was endeavoured to be
wrested from him by the heaviest menaces. There he paused.
We were naturally inquisitive as to the scope of these menaces; but
Mervyn entreated us to forbear any further discussion of this topic. He
foresaw the difficulties to which his silence would subject him. One of
its most fearful consequences would be the loss of our good opinion. He
knew not what he had to dread from the enmity of Wortley. Mr. Wortley's
violence was not without excuse. It was his mishap to be exposed to
suspicions which could only be obviated by breaking his faith. But,
indeed, he knew not whether any degree of explicitness would confute the
charges that were made against him; whether, by t
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