any one within. I fixed my eyes upon this object. There were sufficient
tokens that some one lay upon the bed. Breath, drawn at long intervals;
mutterings scarcely audible; and a tremulous motion in the bedstead,
were fearful and intelligible indications.

If my heart faltered, it must not be supposed that my trepidations arose
from any selfish considerations. Wallace only, the object of my search,
was present to my fancy. Pervaded with remembrance of the Hadwins; of
the agonies which they had already endured; of the despair which would
overwhelm the unhappy Susan when the death of her lover should be
ascertained; observant of the lonely condition of this house, whence I
could only infer that the sick had been denied suitable attendance; and
reminded, by the symptoms that appeared, that this being was struggling
with the agonies of death; a sickness of the heart, more insupportable
than that which I had just experienced, stole upon me.

My fancy readily depicted the progress and completion of this tragedy.
Wallace was the first of the family on whom the pestilence had seized.
Thetford had fled from his habitation. Perhaps as a father and husband,
to shun the danger attending his stay was the injunction of his duty. It
was questionless the conduct which selfish regards would dictate.
Wallace was left to perish alone; or, perhaps, (which, indeed, was a
supposition somewhat justified by appearances,) he had been left to the
tendance of mercenary wretches; by whom, at this desperate moment, he
had been abandoned.

I was not mindless of the possibility that these forebodings, specious
as they were, might be false. The dying person might be some other than
Wallace. The whispers of my hope were, indeed, faint; but they, at
least, prompted me to snatch a look at the expiring man. For this