intelligence to gain, and no doubts to solve. What excuse could I make
to the proprietor, should he ever reappear to claim his own, or to
Inglefield for breaking open a receptacle which all the maxims of
society combine to render sacred?

But could not my end be gained without violence? The means of opening
might present themselves on a patient scrutiny. The lid might be raised
and shut down again without any tokens of my act; its contents might be
examined, and all things restored to their former condition, in a few
minutes.

I intended not a theft. I intended to benefit myself without inflicting
injury on others. Nay, might not the discoveries I should make throw
light upon the conduct of this extraordinary man which his own narrative
had withheld? Was there reason to confide implicitly on the tale which I
had heard?

In spite of the testimony of my own feelings, the miseries of Clithero
appeared in some degree fantastic and groundless. A thousand conceivable
motives might induce him to pervert or conceal the truth. If he were
thoroughly known, his character might assume a new appearance; and what
is now so difficult to reconcile to common maxims might prove perfectly
consistent with them. I desire to restore him to peace; but a thorough
knowledge of his actions is necessary, both to show that he is worthy of
compassion, and to suggest the best means of extirpating his errors. It
was possible that this box contained the means of this knowledge.

There were likewise other motives, which, as they possessed some
influence, however small, deserve to be mentioned. Thou knowest that I
also am a mechanist. I had constructed a writing-desk and cabinet, in