Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax

Brompton-House

I am here—At the scene of action—she is in the room above me, and I am ridding myself of reluctance; stringing my nerves for assault. I know not why this should be necessary, but I feel that it is!

I am waiting to question Laura; but I ordered her to be in no haste to come down, when she heard me ring. I would not have my victim suspect me to be here. I would come upon her by surprise, and not when she was armed and prepared for repulse. I will order the old woman to go presently and open and shut the gate; as if she were letting the person out, who came in when I rung.

I expect, nay am certain, her resistance will be obstinate—But unavailing!—I say unavailing!—Neither house nor road are near, and yet I could wish the scene were removed to the dark gloom of a forest; embosomed where none but tigers or hyenas should listen to her shrieks—I know they will be piercing;—Heart-rending!—But—!

I tell you, Fairfax, I have banished all sense of human pity from my bosom: it is an enemy to my purpose, and that must be!—Though the heavens should shake and the earth open, it must!

Yet do not think, Fairfax, bent as I am on the full fruition of love and vengeance, I would use cruelty—Understand me: I mean wanton or unnecessary brutality. I will be as forbearing as she will permit. I fear she will not suffer me to caress her tenderly—But she shall never sleep in the arms of Henley!—She never shall!—I will make sure of that! My mind is reconciled to all chances, that excepted.

As I passed, I called at the mad-house; where I found Mac Fane and the scowling keeper in high divan. They have been horribly alarmed. Henley has attempted an escape, which he was in danger of effecting; but he is brought back, after having led them a short chase.

The apprehensions of these scoundrels concerning future consequences are very great, and swell almost to terror. They talked strangely, asked which way we were to get rid of him at last, and conceive him to be a dangerous enemy. Their thoughts seem tinged with dark lurkings, which they dare not own; and certainly dare not act, without my leave. These fellows are all villainy! A league with demons would be less abominable!—I must close the account, and shake off such pestilential scoundrels!—

Laura comes! I will question her a little, and then—!

Dover-Street

I am returned, and am still tormented by delay!—I cannot help it—I said I would not use wilful cruelty: that were to heap unnecessary damnation!

Laura began by softening my heart with her narrative. Her angel mistress is all resignation, all kindness, all benevolence! She almost forgets herself, and laments only for me! This I could have withstood; but she has been brutally treated, by that intolerable ban dog, Mac Fane, and his blood hounds. Fairfax, how often have I gazed in rapture at the beauteous carnation of her complexion, the whiteness of her hands and arms, and the extreme delicacy of their texture! And now those tempting arms, Laura tells me, nay, her legs too, are in twenty places disfigured and black, with the gripes and bruises she received. Gibbets and racks overtake the wolf-hearted villains! Her shoulder is considerably hurt! It is inflamed, and, as she acknowledges, very painful; yet she does not utter a complaint!

Why did this heroic woman ever injure me? By what fatal influence am I become her foe? Her gentle kindness, her calm, unruffled, yet dignified patience I have experienced—Madman!—Idiot!—Have I not experienced her hatred too, her abhorrence? Did not her own lips pronounce the sentence? And do I not know her? Will she recede? And shall I?—Never!—Never!—No no—It must be.

But I did rightly. This was not the moment. There would have been something barbarously mean, in making her exert the little strength she has with such pain and peril.

I rode to Kensington and procured her a lenitive, with which I returned. The purpose of vengeance excepted, I would feel as generously as herself; and even vengeance, did I know how, I would dignify—But do not surmise that I would retract!—No, by heaven! A thought so weak has never once entered my heart!

I am restless, and must return—Till it be over, earth has no pleasure for me; and after I am sure it will have none. No—No—I have but this single gleam of satisfaction! The light is going out; give me but one full blaze, and I shall then welcome total darkness!

C. CLIFTON