_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 pa.s.sed, 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 c.o.ke Clifton, and I now know c.o.ke 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 n.o.ble 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 d.a.m.ned 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--? h.e.l.l hounds!--Blood-thirsty vultures!--If so--! I will be gone this instant!--It is the very era of horror!

FRAGMENT[1]

[Footnote 1: Written by Mr. Henley in his confinement, and taken from the wainscot in which it was concealed after the catastrophe.]

Whether what I am about to write may ever be found, or whether I the writer may ever be heard of more, are both very doubtful events. It may be of some use to mankind, should this brief narrative hereafter be read; as it may tend to exemplify the progress of the pa.s.sions, and to shew after having begun in error the excesses of which they are capable. I speak under the supposition that this paper may fall into the hands of persons who know more of Mr. Clifton, and of the affair to which I allude, than even I myself at present know; or, if I did, than I have time and opportunity to relate.

With that hope, and addressing myself to such persons, I will endeavour, as long as I have the means and am able, accurately to recount the particulars of what has befallen me, from the time I was first beset to the latest minute of my remaining where I am; whether my removal happen by death or release; of which, though apparently beyond hope, it would certainly be wrong to despair.

Oh, Anna St. Ives! Should thine eye ever glance over this paper, ignorant as I am of thy destiny, though too well a.s.sured it is a fearful one, think not, while I seem to narrate those incidents only which have happened to myself, that I am attentive to self alone; that I have forgotten the n.o.bler duties of which we have so often sweetly discoursed; or that the memory of thee and thy sufferings has ever been absent from my heart!--But why bid thee be just? To whom didst thou ever do a wilful wrong? Oh pardon me!--Live on, shouldst thou still be permitted to live, and labour with redoubled ardour in the great cause of truth! Despair not! Heave not a sigh, drop not a tear; but sacrifice thy private ills to public good!

Before I begin, it is necessary to notice that I had the sum of eight thousand pounds about me, in bank-bills: for it is this circ.u.mstance which seems to have insured my death. Our walk was to have ended by four o'clock, and the money to have been left at the banker's as we returned. I cannot however acquit myself of neglect. I ought not to have forgotten that money, under our present wretched system, is the grand stimulus to vice; that accidents very little dreamed of daily happen; and that procrastination is always an error.

As I was walking with the lady whose name I have just mentioned, in some fields between Kensington and Brompton, we saw Mr. Clifton pa.s.s on horseback, and I believe in less than a minute a man a.s.sault him, and fire a pistol, with an intent to rob him as I then supposed.

I ran to his aid; and, immediately after the flight of this real or imaginary robber, I was myself attacked, and laid senseless, by a blow I received on the side of my head; which, as there was no person in front able to strike at me, must have come from behind. I saw no more for that time of Mr. Clifton. The blow was very violent, and is still severely felt.

When I recovered my senses, I found my arms confined by a straight waistcoat; such as are used to secure maniacs. I endeavoured to call for a.s.sistance, but the man who had charge of me, for there were several, thrust his thumb in the larynx, forced open my mouth, and gagged me. He has twice had occasion, as he supposed, to use me thus; and both times with such violence as seemingly to require the utmost effort mind could make, to recover respiration; the thrust of his thumb was so merciless, and the sensation of strangling so severe.

They brought me to a house thoroughly prepared for confinement. It is an old but heavy building, walled round, and provided with bars, bolts, chains, ma.s.sy locks, and every precaution to impede escape.

I was led by one pair of stairs, to apartments consisting of two chambers; the one roomy, the other much smaller; in which last is a bed.

As soon as I was safe in the room, the master man among them, who as I have since learned is a professed keeper of the insane, ungagged me, took off the straight waistcoat, and then they all left me.

I stood I know not how long in that stupor of amazement which the scene, and the crowding conjuctures of imagination, necessarily produced.

At length, I roused my mind to more activity. I then set myself to inspect the apartments. In the largest there was a fire place, and a fire; but neither shovel, tongs nor poker; except a small stick as a subst.i.tute for a poker, with which I certainly could not knock a man down. The furniture consisted of a chair, a table, a broken looking-gla.s.s, and an old picture, in panel, of the sacrifice of Isaac, with Abraham's knife at his throat. It stares me now in the face, and is a strong emblem of my own situation; except that my saving angel seems wanting.

In the other room, exclusive of the bed and its appurtenances, there was a second chair, which with an old walnut-tree clothes-press was its whole inventory.

In this room was a closet, with several shelves almost to the ceiling; the topmost of them so high as but just to be reached by me, when standing on a chair. I swept my hand along the shelves, and found them as I thought empty.

I then examined the windows. There were only two, one to each room; the remainder having been walled up; and these each of them provided with thick iron bars, so near to each other as to admit but of a small part of the face pa.s.sing between them. There was a cas.e.m.e.nt to the front room only; and I found a piece of paper tied to the handle of it, on which was written--'You are closely watched: if you attempt to make any signals, or shout, or take any other means to inform persons you are here, your lodging will be changed to one much more disagreeable.'

Having nothing with which I could employ myself except my thoughts, and these flowing in abundance, I sat meditating and undisturbed till it was almost dark. A little before five o'clock as I suppose, perhaps later, for I forgot to say my watch and purse had been taken from me, with a promise that they should be returned, I heard the sound of distant bolts and locks, that belong to the outer gates and doors, and soon afterward of men in loud conversation.

The keeper and two of his a.s.sistants came up to me, and once more brought the straight waistcoat, into which they bade me thrust my arms.

I hesitated, and told them I did not choose to have my arms confined.

To which the keeper replied--'B--- my b---- eyes! None of your jabber, or I'll fetch you another rum one! I'll knock you off the roost again!'

From this speech I conclude it was he who gave me the blow with the bludgeon, when I was first secured.

As he said this, he raised his bludgeon; with which kind of weapon they were all three armed, and had locked the door after them. There was no remedy, and I obeyed.

As soon as they had confined my arms they left me, and remembering the bank-notes which I had in my fob, I began to fear they had come to the knowledge of this circ.u.mstance; though I could not imagine by what means. Some short time afterward, perhaps a quarter of an hour, the bolts and chains of my door again began to rattle, and one person singly came in. It was dark, and I could not distinguish his features, but I recollected his form: it was the gambler Mac Fane; the sound of his voice presently put it beyond a doubt.

Without speaking a word, he came up to me and made a violent blow at me. I perceived it coming, sprang upward, and received it on the tip of my shoulder, his hand driving up to my neck. From his manner, I guess it hurt him at least as much as me; for his pa.s.sion immediately became outrageous, and he began cursing, kicking, spitting at me, and treating me with various other indignities, which are wholly unworthy of remembrance.

His pa.s.sion was so loud and vehement that the keeper, hearing him, came up. Just as he entered Mac Fane struck me again, and with more effect, for he knocked me down; and was proceeding to kick me in a manner that might perhaps have been fatal, had not the keeper interfered.

I said not one word the whole time, nor as I recollect uttered any sound whatever; and it was with difficulty that the keeper, who is even a more powerful man than himself, could get him away.

I was once more left in solitude and darkness; and thus sat, with fresh subjects for reflection, ruminating on this worthless Mac Fane, my rencontre with him and Mr. Clifton, the extreme malignancy of his temper, and all the connecting circ.u.mstances that are allied to events which I cannot now relate.

About eight o'clock my door once more opened, and a little boy of fourteen years of age, as he tells me, brought me a light and some food. The boy imagined me to be mad, and entered the room with great reluctance, his master the keeper standing at the door, cursing him, threatening him with the horse-whip, and obliging him to do as he was bidden! which was to release me from the strait-waistcoat, spread a threadbare half-dirty napkin over the table, set the plates, and wait till I had eaten. The trepidation of the poor boy at setting my arms at liberty was extreme.

The door was not open but ajar, and secured by three chains, between which the boy crept; the keeper standing and looking on, with one arm leaning on the middle chain, and his head only in the chamber.

I observed that the boy had an intelligent countenance, though considerably under the influence of fear; with strong marks of kindness in it, but stronger of dejection.

The furniture, the napkin, knives and forks, and every circ.u.mstance denoted the poverty of the man who is my jailer: and his proceedings proved there scarcely could be any guilt from which he would start, to remove this supposed evil. The thought could not escape me, nor the jeopardy in which I should stand, should the money I had in my possession be discovered.