In a chair, whose back was placed against the front wall, sat Welbeck.
My entrance alarmed him not, nor roused him from the stupor into which
he was plunged. He rested his hands upon his knees, and his eyes were
riveted to something that lay, at the distance of a few feet before
him, on the floor. A second glance was sufficient to inform me of what
nature this object was. It was the body of a man, bleeding, ghastly, and
still exhibiting the marks of convulsion and agony!

I shall omit to describe the shock which a spectacle like this
communicated to my unpractised senses. I was nearly as panic-struck and
powerless as Welbeck himself. I gazed, without power of speech, at one
time, at Welbeck; then I fixed terrified eyes on the distorted features
of the dead. At length, Welbeck, recovering from his reverie, looked up,
as if to see who it was that had entered. No surprise, no alarm, was
betrayed by him on seeing me. He manifested no desire or intention to
interrupt the fearful silence.

My thoughts wandered in confusion and terror. The first impulse was to
fly from the scene; but I could not be long insensible to the exigences
of the moment. I saw that affairs must not be suffered to remain in
their present situation. The insensibility or despair of Welbeck
required consolation and succour. How to communicate my thoughts, or
offer my assistance, I knew not. What led to this murderous catastrophe;
who it was whose breathless corpse was before me; what concern Welbeck
had in producing his death; were as yet unknown.

At length he rose from his seat, and strode at first with faltering, and
then with more steadfast steps, across the floor. This motion seemed to
put him in possession of himself. He seemed now, for the first time, to