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.