Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax

London, Dover-Street

So, Fairfax, you have suffered the lad to escape you; cautioned and entreated as you were! You know, I suppose, by what means; and with whom he is at present?—Well, well!—It is no matter—have quarrels enough on hand, and enemies enough!—I would fain die in peace with somebody!—I forgive you—I suppose you did your best.

It is exceedingly possible that this may be the last letter you will ever receive from me. Remember me now and then. Should Henley and Anna St. Ives survive me, let them know I was not so entirely blind to their worth as they might perhaps suppose. Shew them my letters if you will: I care not who sees them now! Let the truth be told! I shall be deaf enough to censure.

I have just had a visit from the crazy count; a threatening one. A challenge has passed, and we are to meet to-morrow.

So it is agreed; but I doubt whether I shall keep the appointment. If there be one spark of resentment in the soul of Henley, it is possible I may fail. I mean to give him the first chance. It is his by right; and why should not I do right even to him, once in my life? This farrago of folly, this pride of birth, and riches, and I know not what else lumber, is very contemptible!

Fairfax, the present state of my thoughts force more than one truth upon me. But what have I to do with truth, in a world from which I learned so much error that it was impossible for me to exist in it? These wise people should leave us fools to wrangle, be wretched, and cut each other's throats as we list, without inter-meddling: 'tis dangerous. But Truth is a zealot; Wisdom will be crying in the streets; and Folly meeting her seldom fails to deal her blow.

My mind is made up: my affairs are settled, my lawyer has written out my will, and it is signed. You will find yourself mentioned in it, Fairfax. I have nominated my sister my executor, and Anna St. Ives my heir. I have been reading Louisa's letter again: it is full of pathos. She has more understanding than I have been willing to allow, and I have relented. She is not forgotten in my will: I would not have her think of me with everlasting hatred.

I know not how it is, Fairfax, but I feel more compunction, at present, than I ever remember to have felt before. I am grown into self-contempt; and the haughty notions, which were the support of my high and sometimes arrogant conduct, are faded. I could think only of Coke Clifton, and I now know Coke Clifton to be a very wicked dolt!

Be not deceived by my present tone: make no false predictions in favour either of myself or Anna St. Ives. Despair and fate are not more fixed than is my plan. My horse will presently be at the door. I shall mount him the moment I have ended this letter, and shall proceed directly to Anna. There, after all is ended, the enchantment too shall end, and the misventurous lady and her imprisoned knight shall both be set free.

Should Henley, urged by despair to seek revenge, accept my defiance and meet me in the field, the conflict must be fierce, and such as might inspire terror.

To say the truth, were it not to prove myself his equal, perhaps his master and vanquisher, I would not lift my hand against his life. It would be some relief to my soul to fall by his arm. He is a noble fellow, and I have done him wrong. Would he or Anna but charitably strike, I would die blessing them, eased by the expiatory blow. Perhaps they are the only two beings for whom I ever could have had the same admiration; and, if what they tell me be true, admiration continued always ripens into love. They shewed affection toward me, and would, I believe, have loved me. But we did not understand each other, and the mistake has been mutually fatal—Would I had never injured them!—But it is vain!—The die is cast!—We are all fated!—Having accomplished my revenge, and accomplish it I will, they cannot live and not be miserable! They must curse my hated memory, and blaspheme against my honour!—It cannot be otherwise—Let our grave therefore be glorious! They are brave spirits, and will mock my power even to the last. I love their high courage. Perhaps they shall find I have a kindred soul!—Oh would they die forgiving me—!

I know not well whither my thoughts are wandering—They perhaps may refuse to die—They may say it is their duty to live, even though doomed to be wretched—I know them—What they think they will act—Well, well!—Let destiny dispose of events—To me all chances are welcome, all are alike.

As to this count, should Henley refuse vengeance, I owe him no mercy. 'Twas he who prompted me to the frantic act that first made me the debtor of the man I have most injured. I almost contemn a foe so insignificant—Not that he is deficient in bravery, or skill—But what is he?—What are his wrongs?—'Tis lunacy, not anger rankling at his heart!—Or if it were?—The hungry wolf-dog is no fit combatant for the famished lion!

C. CLIFTON

P.S. Fairfax, a new terror has come over me. I told you of the letters of my sister and Anna, and described something of the effect they produced upon me. You may remember I read them previous to my last damned interview with the villain Mac Fane. I recollect having laid the letter of Anna upon the table, and that it continued lying there for some time after his entrance. I had my eye upon it, and meant not to put it in my pocket lest it should be left there, but lock it up as soon as I moved—I forgot it—The letter is lost—I have searched every where, have enquired, have cursed; have threatened unheard-of punishment to my scoundrel, if he have purloined it; but to no effect. He protests he knows nothing of it; and he looks as if he spoke truth—It contained a secret relative to Henley—! Should Mac Fane have taken it up furtively, as I suppose such thieves are always on the watch—? Why, if he should—? Hell hounds!—Blood-thirsty vultures!—If so—! I will be gone this instant!—It is the very era of horror!