rampling on his sacred
promise, he should not multiply his perils instead of lessening their
number. A difficult part had been assigned to him; by much too
difficult for one young, improvident, and inexperienced as he was.

Sincerity, perhaps, was the best course. Perhaps, after having had an
opportunity for deliberation, he should conclude to adopt it; meanwhile
he entreated permission to retire to his chamber. He was unable to
exclude from his mind ideas which yet could, with no propriety, at least
at present, be made the theme of conversation.

These words were accompanied with simplicity and pathos, and with tokens
of unaffected distress.

"Arthur," said I, "you are master of your actions and time in this
house. Retire when you please; but you will naturally suppose us anxious
to dispel this mystery. Whatever shall tend to obscure or malign your
character will of course excite our solicitude. Wortley is not
short-sighted or hasty to condemn. So great is my confidence in his
integrity that I will not promise my esteem to one who has irrecoverably
lost that of Wortley. I am not acquainted with your motives to
concealment, or what it is you conceal; but take the word of one who
possesses that experience which you complain of wanting, that sincerity
is always safest."

As soon as he had retired, my curiosity prompted me to pay an immediate
visit to Wortley. I found him at home. He was no less desirous of an
interview, and answered my inquiries with as much eagerness as they were
made.

"You know," said he, "my disastrous connection with Thomas Welbeck. You
recollect his sudden disappearance last July, by which I was reduced to
the brink of ruin. Nay, I am, even now, far from certain that I shall
survive that event. I spoke to you about the youth who lived with him,
and by what means that youth was discovered to have crossed the river in
his company on the night of his departure. This is that very youth.

"This will account for my emotion at meeting him at your house; I
brought him out with me. His confusion sufficiently indicated his
knowledge of transactions between Welbeck and me. I questioned him as to
the fate of that man. To own the truth, I expected some well-digested
lie; but he merely said that he had promised secrecy on that subject,
and must therefore be excused from giving me any information. I asked
him if he knew that his master, or accomplice, or whatever was his
relation to him, absconded in my deb