gering death are sown in my constitution. It is in vain to hope to
escape the malady by which my mother and my brothers have died. We are a
race whose existence some inherent property has limited to the short
space of twenty years. We are exposed, in common with the rest of
mankind, to innumerable casualties; but, if these be shunned, we are
unalterably fated to perish by _consumption_. Why then should I scruple
to lay down my life in the cause of virtue and humanity? It is better to
die in the consciousness of having offered an heroic sacrifice, to die
by a speedy stroke, than by the perverseness of nature, in ignominious
inactivity and lingering agonies.

These considerations determined me to hasten to the city. To mention my
purpose to the Hadwins would be useless or pernicious. It would only
augment the sum of their present anxieties. I should meet with a
thousand obstacles in the tenderness and terror of Eliza, and in the
prudent affection of her father. Their arguments I should be condemned
to hear, but should not be able to confute; and should only load myself
with imputations of perverseness and temerity.

But how else should I explain my absence? I had hitherto preserved my
lips untainted by prevarication or falsehood. Perhaps there was no
occasion which would justify an untruth; but here, at least, it was
superfluous or hurtful. My disappearance, if effected without notice or
warning, will give birth to speculation and conjecture; but my true
motives will never be suspected, and therefore will excite no fears. My
conduct will not be charged with guilt. It will merely be thought upon
with some regret, which will be alleviated by the opinion of my safety,
and the daily expectation of my return.

But, since my purpose was to search out Wallace, I must be previously
furnished with directions to the place of his abode, and a description
of his person. Satisfaction on this head was easily obtained from Mr.
Hadwin; who was prevented from suspecting the motives of my curiosity,
by my questions being put in a manner apparently casual. He mentioned
the street, and the number of the house.

I listened with surprise. It was a house with which I was already
familiar. He resided, it seems, with a merchant. Was it possible for me
to be mistaken?

What, I asked, was the merchant's name?

_Thetford._

This was a confirmation of my first conjecture. I recollected the
extraordinary means by which I had gained access to t