E O.
Though Clarence Hervey was not much disposed to see either Virginia or
her father whilst he was in the state of perturbation into which he had
been thrown by his interview with Belinda, yet he did not delay to send
his servant home with a note to Mrs. Ormond, to say that he would meet
Mr. Hartley, whenever he pleased, at his lawyer’s, to make whatever
arrangements might be necessary for proper settlements.
As he saw no possibility of receding with honour, he, with becoming
resolution, desired to urge things forward as fast as possible, and to
strengthen in his mind the sense of the _necessity_ of the sacrifice
that he was bound to make. His passions were naturally impetuous, but
he had by persevering efforts brought them under the subjection of his
reason. His power over himself was now to be put to a severe trial.
As he was going to town, he met Lord Delacour, who was riding in the
park: he was extremely intent upon his own thoughts, and was anxious to
pass unnoticed. In former times this would have been the most feasible
thing imaginable, for Lord Delacour used to detest the sight of Clarence
Hervey, whom he considered as the successor of Colonel Lawless in
his lady’s favour; but his opinion and his feelings had been entirely
changed by the perusal of those letters, which were perfumed with ottar
of roses: even this perfume had, from that association, become agreeable
to him. He now accosted Clarence with a warmth and cordiality in
his manner that at any other moment must have pleased as much as
it surprised him; but Clarence was not in a humour to enter into
conversation.
“You seem to be in haste, Mr. Hervey,” said his lordship, observing his
impatience; “but, as I know your good-nature, I shall make no scruple to
detain you a quarter of an hour.”
As he spoke he turned his horse, and rode with Clarence, who looked as
if he wished that his lordship had been more scrupulous, and that he had
not such a reputation for good-nature.
“You will not refuse me this quarter of an hour, I am sure,” continued
Lord Delacour, “when you hear that, by favouring me with your attention,
you may perhaps materially serve an old, or rather a young, friend of
yours, and one whom I once fancied was a particular favourite--I mean,
Miss Belinda Portman.”
At the name of Belinda Portman, Clarence Hervey became all attention: he
assured his lordship that he was in no haste; and all his difficulty now
was to moderate the eagerness of his curiosity.
“We can take a turn or two in the park, as well as any where,” said his
lordship: “nobody will overhear us, and the sooner you know what I have
to say the better.”
“Certainly,” said Clarence.
The most malevolent person upon earth could not have tired poor
Clarence’s patience more than good-natured Lord Delacour contrived to
do, with the best intentions possible, by his habitual circumlocution.
He descanted at length upon the difficulties, as the world goes, of
meeting with a confidential friend, whom it is prudent to trust in any
affair that demands delicacy, honour, and address. Men of talents were
often, he observed, devoid of integrity, and men of integrity devoid of
talents. When he had obtained Hervey’s assent to this proposition, he
next paid him sundry handsome, but long-winded compliments: then he
complimented himself for having just thought of Mr. Hervey as the
fittest person he could apply to: then he congratulated himself upon his
good luck in meeting with the very man he was just thinking of. At last,
after Clarence had returned thanks for all his kindness, and had given
assent to all his lordship’s truisms, the substance of the business came
out.
Lord Delacour informed Mr. Hervey, “that he had been lately
commissioned, by Lady Delacour, to discover what attractions drew a Mr.
Vincent so constantly to Mrs. Luttridge’s----”
Here he was going to explain who Mr. Vincent was; but Clarence
assured him that he knew perfectly well that he had been a ward of Mr.
Percival’s, that he was a West Indian of large fortune, &c.
“And a lover of Miss Portman’s--that is the most material part of the
story to _me_,” continued Lord Delacour; “for otherwise, you know, Mr.
Vincent would be no more to me than any other gentleman. But in that
point of view--I mean as a lover of Belinda Portman, and I may say, not
quite unlikely to be her husband--he is highly interesting to my
Lady Delacour, and to me, and to you, as Miss Portman’s well-wisher,
doubtless.”
“Doubtless!” was all Mr. Hervey could reply.
“Now, you must know,” continued his lordship, “that Lady Delacour
has, for a woman, an uncommon share of penetration, and can put things
together in a wonderful way: in short, it has come to her (my Lady
Delacour’s) knowledge, that before Miss Portman was at Oakly-park last
summer, and after she left it this autumn, Mr. Vincent was a constant
visitor at Mrs. Luttridge’s, whilst at Harrowgate, and used to play
high (though unknown to the Percivals, of course) at billiards with Mr.
Luttridge--a _man_, I confess, I disliked _always_, even when I carried
the election for them. But no matter: it is not from enmity I speak now.
But it is very well known that Luttridge has but a small fortune, and
yet lives as if he had a large one; and all the young men who like high
play are sure to be well received at his house. Now, I hope Mr. Vincent
is not well received on that footing.
“Since my Lady Delacour and I have been such good friends,” continued
his lordship, “I have dropped all connexion with the Luttridges; so
cannot go there myself: moreover, I do not wish to be tempted to lose
any more thousands to the lady. But you never play, and you are not
likely to be tempted to it now; so you will oblige me and Lady Delacour
if you will go to Luttridge’s to-night: she is always charmed to see
you, and you will easily discover how the land lies. Mr. Vincent is
certainly a very agreeable, open-hearted young man; but, if he game, God
forbid that Miss Portman should ever be his wife!”
“God forbid!” said Clarence Hervey.
“The man,” resumed Lord Delacour, “must, in my opinion, be very superior
indeed who is deserving of Belinda Portman. Oh, Mr. Hervey, you do
not--you cannot know her merit, as I do. It is one thing, sir, to see
a fine girl in a ball-room, and another--quite another--to live in
the house with her for months, and to see her, as I have seen Belinda
Portman, in every-day life, as one may call it. _Then_ it is one can
judge of the real temper, manners, and character; and never woman had
so sweet a temper, such charming manners, such a fair, open, generous,
decided yet gentle character, as this Miss Portman.”
“Your lordship speaks _con amore_,” said Clarence.
“I speak, Mr. Hervey, from the bottom of my soul,” cried Lord Delacour,
pulling in his horse, and stopping short. “I should be an unfeeling,
ungrateful brute, if I were not sensible of the obligations--yes, the
obligations--which my Lady Delacour and I have received from Belinda
Portman. Why, sir, she has been the peacemaker between us--but we will
not talk of that now. Let us think of her affairs. If Mr. Vincent once
gets into Mrs. Luttridge’s cursed set, there’s no knowing where it will
end. I speak from my own experience, for I really never was fond of high
play; and yet, when I got into that set, I could not withstand it. I
lost by hundreds and thousands; and so will he, before he is aware of
it, no doubt. Mrs. Luttridge will look upon him as her dupe, and make
him such. I always--but this is between ourselves--suspected that I
did not lose my last thousand to her fairly. Now, Hervey, you know the
whole, do try and save Mr. Vincent, for Belinda Portman’s sake.”
Clarence Hervey shook hands with Lord Delacour, with a sentiment of real
gratitude and affection; and assured him that his confidence was not
misplaced. His lordship little suspected that he had been soliciting him
to save his rival. Clarence’s love was not of that selfish sort which
the moment that it is deprived of hope sinks into indifference, or is
converted into hatred. Belinda could not be his; but, in the midst of
the bitterest regret, he was supported by the consciousness of his
own honour and generosity: he felt a noble species of delight in the
prospect of promoting the happiness of the woman upon whom his
fondest affections had been fixed; and he rejoiced to feel that he had
sufficient magnanimity to save a rival from ruin. He was even determined
to make that rival his friend, notwithstanding the prepossession which,
he clearly perceived, Mr. Vincent felt against him.
“His jealousy will be extinguished the moment he knows my real
situation,” said Clarence to himself. “He will be convinced that I have
a soul incapable of envy; and, if he suspect my love for Belinda, he
will respect the strength of mind with which I can command my passions.
I take it for granted that Mr. Vincent must possess a heart and
understanding such as I should desire in a friend, or he could never
be--what he is to Belinda.”
Full of these generous sentiments, Clarence waited with impatience for
the hour when he might present himself at Mrs. Luttridge’s. He went
there so early in the evening, that he found the drawing-room quite
empty; the company, who had been invited to dine, had not yet left
the dining-room, and the servants had but just set the card-tables and
lighted the candles. Mr. Hervey desired that nobody should be disturbed
by his coming so early; and, fortunately, Mrs. Luttridge was detained
some minutes by Lady Newland’s lingering glass of Madeira. In the mean
time, Clarence executed his design. From his former observations, and
from the hints that Lord Delacour had let fall, he suspected that
there was sometimes in this house not only high play, but foul play:
he recollected that once, when he played there at billiards, he had
perceived that the table was not perfectly horizontal; and it occurred
to him, that perhaps the E O table might be so contrived as to put
the fortunes of all who played at it in the power of the proprietor.
Clarence had sufficient ingenuity to invent the method by which this
might be done; and he had the infallible means in his possession of
detecting the fraud. The E O table was in an apartment adjoining to
the drawing-room: he found his way to it; and he discovered, beyond a
possibility of doubt, that it was constructed for the purposes of fraud.
His first impulse was to tell this immediately to Mr. Vincent, to
put him on his guard; but, upon reflection, he determined to keep his
discovery to himself, till he was satisfied whether that gentleman had
or had not any passion for play.
“If he have,” thought Clarence, “it is of the utmost consequence to Miss
Portman that he should early in life receive a shock that may leave an
indelible impression upon his mind. To save him a few hours of remorse,
I will not give up the power of doing him the most essential service. I
will let him go on--if he be so inclined--to the very verge of ruin
and despair: I will let him feel all the horrors of a gamester’s fate,
before I tell him that I have the means to save him. Mrs. Luttridge
must, when I call upon her, refund whatever he may lose: she will not
brave public shame--she cannot stand a public prosecution.”
Scarcely had Clarence arranged his scheme, when he heard the voices of
the ladies, who were coming up stairs.
Mrs. Luttridge made her appearance, accompanied by a very pretty,
modish, affected young lady, Miss Annabella Luttridge, her niece. Her
little coquettish airs were lost upon Clarence Hervey, whose eye was
intently fixed upon the door, watching for the entrance of Mr. Vincent.
He was one of the dinner party, and he came up soon after the ladies.
He seemed prepared for the sight of Mr. Hervey, to whom he bowed with
a cold, haughty air; and then addressed himself to Miss Annabella
Luttridge, who showed the most obvious desire to attract his attention.
From all that passed this evening, Mr. Hervey was led to suspect,
notwithstanding the reasons which made it apparently improbable, that
the fair Annabella was the secret cause of Mr. Vincent’s frequent visits
at her aunt’s. It was natural that Clarence should be disposed to this
opinion, from the circumstances of his own situation. During three hours
that he stayed at Mrs. Luttridge’s, Mr. Vincent never joined any of
the parties at play; but, just as he was going away, he heard some one
say--“How comes it, Vincent, that you’ve been idle all night?” This
question revived Mr. Hervey’s suspicions; and, uncertain what report he
should make to Lord Delacour, he resolved to defer making any, till he
had farther opportunities of judging.
When Mr. Hervey asked himself how it was possible that the pupil of Mr.
Percival could become a gamester, he forgot that Mr. Vincent had not
been educated by his guardian; that he had lived in the West Indies
till he was eighteen; and that he had only been under the care of Mr.
Percival for a few years, after his habits and character were in a great
measure formed. The taste for gambling he had acquired whilst he was a
child; but, as it was then confined to trifles, it had been passed over,
as a thing of no consequence, a boyish folly, that would never grow
up with him: his father used to see him, day after day, playing with
eagerness at games of chance, with his negroes, or with the sons of
neighbouring planters; yet he was never alarmed: he was too intent upon
making a fortune for his family to consider how they would spend it;
and he did not foresee that this boyish fault might be the means of his
son’s losing, in a few hours, the wealth which he had been many years
amassing. When young Vincent came over to England, Mr. Percival had not
immediate opportunities of discovering this particular foible in his
ward; but he perceived that in his mind there was that presumptuous
belief in his special good fortune which naturally leads to the love
of gambling. Instead of lecturing him, his guardian appealed to his
understanding, and took opportunities of showing him the ruinous
effects of high play in real life. Young Vincent was touched, and, as
he thought, convinced; but his emotion was stronger than his
conviction--his feelings were always more powerful than his reason.
His detestation of the selfish character of a gamester was felt and
expressed with enthusiasm and eloquence; and his indignation rose
afterwards at the slightest hint that _he_ might ever in future be
tempted to become what he abhorred. Unfortunately he disdained prudence,
as the factitious virtue of inferior minds: he thought that the
_feelings_ of a man of honour were to be his guide in the first and last
appeal; and for his conduct through life, as a man and as a gentleman,
he proudly professed to trust to the sublime instinct of a good heart.
His guardian’s doubts of the infallibility and even of the existence of
this moral instinct wounded Mr. Vincent’s pride instead of alarming his
understanding; and he was rather eager than averse to expose himself to
the danger, that he might prove his superiority to the temptation. How
different are the feelings in different situations! Yet often as
this has been repeated, how difficult it is to impress the truth upon
inexperienced, sanguine minds!--Whilst young Vincent was immediately
under his guardian’s eye at Oakly-park, his safety from vice appeared
to him inglorious; he was impatient to sally forth into the world,
confident rather of his innate than acquired virtue.
When he first became acquainted with Mrs. Luttridge at Harrowgate, he
knew that she was a professed gambler, and he despised the character;
yet without reflecting on the danger, or perhaps for the pleasure of
convincing Mr. Percival that he was superior to it, he continued his
visits. For some time he was a passive spectator. Billiards, however,
was a game of address, not chance; there was a billiard-table at
Oakly-park, as well as at Mr. Luttridge’s, and he had played with his
guardian. Why, then, should he not play with Mr. Luttridge? He did play:
his skill was admired; he betted, and his bets were successful: but he
did not call this gaming, for the bets were not to any great amount, and
it was only playing at billiards. Mr. Percival was delayed in town some
weeks longer than usual, and he knew nothing of the manner in which his
young friend spent his time. As soon as Mr. Vincent heard of his
arrival at Oakly-park, he left half finished his game at billiards;
and, fortunately for him, the charms of Belinda made him forget for
some months that such a thing as a billiard-table existed. All that had
happened at Mr. Luttridge’s passed from his mind as a dream; and whilst
his heart was agitated by his new passion, he could scarcely believe
that he had ever been interested by any other feelings. He was surprised
when he accidentally recollected the eagerness with which he used to
_amuse_ himself in Mr. Luttridge’s company; but he was certain that
all this was passed for ever; and precisely because he was under the
dominion of one strong passion, he thought he could never be under the
dominion of another. Thus persisting in his disdain of reason as a moral
guide, Mr. Vincent thought, acted, and suffered as a man of feeling.
Scarcely had Belinda left Oakly-park for one week when the ennui
consequent to violent passion became insupportable; and to console
himself for her absence he flew to the billiard-table. Emotion of some
kind or other was become necessary to him; he said that not to feel was
not to live; and soon the suspense, the anxiety, the hopes, the fears,
the perpetual vicissitudes of a gamester’s life, seemed to him almost
as delightful as those of a lover’s. Deceived by these appearances, Mrs.
Luttridge thought that his affection for Belinda either was or might
be conquered, and her hopes of obtaining his fortune for her niece
Annabella revived. As Mr. Vincent could not endure Mrs. Freke, she
abstained, at her friend’s particular desire, from appearing at her
house whilst he was there, and Mrs. Luttridge interested him much in her
own favour, by representing her indignation at _Harriot’s_ conduct to
be such that it had occasioned a total breach in their friendship. Mrs.
Freke’s sudden departure from Harrowgate confirmed the probability of
this quarrel; yet these two ladies were secretly leagued together in a
design of breaking off Mr. Vincent’s match with Belinda, against whom
Mrs. Freke had vowed revenge. The anonymous letter, which she hoped
would work her purpose, produced, however, an effect totally unexpected
upon his generous mind: he did not guess the writer; but his indignation
against such base accusations burst forth with a violence that
astounded Mrs. Luttridge. His love for Belinda appeared ten times more
enthusiastic than before--the moment she was accused, he felt himself
her defender, as well as her lover. He was dispossessed of the evil
spirit of gambling as if by a miracle; and the billiard-table, and
Mrs. Luttridge, and Miss Annabella, vanished from his view. He breathed
nothing but love; he would ask no permission, he would wait for none
from Belinda: he declared that instant he would set out in search of
her, and he would tear that infamous letter to atoms in her presence;
he would show her how impossible suspicion was to his nature. The first
violence of the hurricane Mrs. Luttridge could not stand, and thought
not of opposing; but whilst his horses and curricle were getting ready,
she took such an affectionate leave of his dog Juba, and she protested
so much that she and Annabella should not know how to live without poor
Juba, that Mr. Vincent, who was excessively fond of his dog, could
not help sympathizing in their sorrow: reasoning just as well as they
wished, he extended his belief in their affection for this animal
to friendship, if not love, for his master. He could not grant Mrs.
Luttridge’s earnest supplication to leave the dog behind him under her
protection; but he promised--and laid his hand upon his heart when he
promised--that Juba should wait upon Mrs. Luttridge as soon as she went
to town. This appointment being made, Miss Annabella permitted herself
to be somewhat consoled. It would be injustice to omit that she did
all that could be done by a cambric handkerchief to evince delicate
sensibility in this parting scene. Mrs. Luttridge also deserves her
share of praise for the manner in which she reproved her niece for
giving way to her feelings, and for the address with which she wished to
Heaven that poor Annabella had the calm philosophic temper of which Miss
Portman was, she understood, a most uncommon example.
As Mr. Vincent drove toward London he reflected upon these last words;
and he could not help thinking that if Belinda had more faults she would
be more amiable.
These thoughts were, however, driven from his mind, and scarcely left
a trace behind them, when he once more saw and conversed with her. The
dignity, sincerity, and kindness which she showed the evening that he
put the anonymous letter into her hands charmed and touched him, and his
real feelings and his enthusiasm conspired to make him believe that his
whole happiness depended on her smiles. The confession which she made
to him of her former attachment to Clarence Hervey, as it raised in
Vincent’s mind strong emotions of jealousy, increased his passion
as much as it piqued his pride; and she appeared in a new and highly
interesting light when he discovered that the coldness of manner
which he had attributed to want of sensibility arose probably from its
excess--that her heart should have been preoccupied was more tolerable
to him than the belief of her settled indifference. He was so intent
upon these delightful varieties in his love for Belinda that it was not
till he had received a reproachful note from Mrs. Luttridge, to remind
him of his promised visit with Juba, that he could prevail upon himself
to leave Twickenham, even for a few hours. Lady Delacour’s hatred
or fear of Juba, which he accidentally mentioned to Miss Annabella,
appeared to her and to her aunt “the most extraordinary thing upon
earth;” and when it was contrasted with their excessive fondness, it
seemed to him indeed unaccountable. From pure consideration for her
ladyship’s nerves, Mrs. Luttridge petitioned Vincent to leave the dog
with her, that Helena might not be in such imminent danger from
“the animal’s monstrous jaws.” The petition was granted; and as the
petitioners foresaw, Juba became to them a most useful auxiliary.
Juba’s master called daily to see him, and sometimes when he came in the
morning Mrs. Luttridge was not at home, so that his visits were repeated
in the evening; and the evening in London is what in other places is
called the night. Mrs. Luttridge’s nights could not be passed without
deep play. The sight of the E O table at first shocked Mr. Vincent: he
thought of Mr. Percival, and he turned away from it; but to his
active social disposition it was extremely irksome to stand idle and
uninterested where all were busy and eager in one common pursuit; to his
generous temper it seemed ungentlemanlike to stand by the silent
censor of the rest of the company; and when he considered of how little
importance a few hundreds or even thousands could be to a man of his
large fortune, he _could not help feeling_ that it was sordid, selfish,
avaricious, to dread their possible loss; and thus social spirit,
courage, generosity, all conspired to carry our man of feeling to the
gaming-table. Once there, his ruin was inevitable. Mrs. Luttridge,
whilst she held his doom in her power, hesitated only whether it would
be more her interest to marry him to her niece, or to content herself
with his fortune. His passion for Belinda, which she saw had been by
some means or other increased, in spite of the anonymous letter, gave
her little hopes of Annabella’s succeeding, even with the assistance
of Juba and delicate sensibility. So the aunt, careless of her niece’s
disappointment, determined that Mr. Vincent should be _her_ victim; and
sensible that she must not give him time for reflection, she hurried
him on, till, in the course of a few evenings spent at the E O table,
he lost not only thousands, but tens of thousands. One lucky night,
she assured him, would set all to rights; the run could not always be
against him, and fortune must change in his favour, if he tried her with
sufficient perseverance.
The horror, the agony of mind, which he endured at this sudden ruin
which seemed impending over him--the recollection of Belinda, of Mr.
Percival, almost drove him to distraction. He retreated from the E O
table one night, swearing that he never would hazard another guinea. But
his ruin was not yet complete--he had thousands yet to lose, and Mrs.
Luttridge would not thus relinquish her prey. She persuaded him to try
his fortune _once_ more. She now suffered him to regain courage, by
winning back some of his own money. His mind was relieved from the sense
of immediate danger; he rejoiced to be saved from the humiliation of
confessing his losses to Mr. Percival and Belinda. The next day he saw
her with unusual pleasure, and this was the very morning Clarence Hervey
paid his visit. The imprudence of Lady Delacour, joined perhaps to his
own consciousness that he had a secret fault, which ought to lower him
in the esteem of his mistress, made him misinterpret every thing that
passed--his jealousy was excited in the most sudden and violent manner.
He flew from Lady Delacour’s to Mrs. Luttridge’s--he was soothed
and flattered by the apparent kindness with which he was received by
Annabella and her aunt; but after dinner, when one of the servants
whispered to Mrs. Luttridge, who sat next to him, that Mr. Clarence
Hervey was above stairs, he gave such a start, that the fair Annabella’s
lap did not escape a part of the bumper of wine which he was going to
drink to her health. In the confusion and apologies which this accident
occasioned, Mrs. Luttridge had time to consider what might be the cause
of the start, and she combined her suspicions so quickly and judiciously
that she guessed the truth--that he feared to be seen at the E O table
by a person who might find it for his interest to tell the truth to
Belinda Portman. “Mr. Vincent,” said she, in a low voice, “I have such
a terrible headache, that I am fit for nothing--I am not _up_ to E O
to-night, so you must wait for your revenge till to-morrow.”
Mr. Vincent was heartily glad to be relieved from his engagement, and he
endeavoured to escape Clarence’s suspicions, by devoting his whole time
this evening to Annabella, not in the least apprehensive that Mr. Hervey
would return the next night. Mr. Vincent was at the E O table at the
usual hour, for he was excessively anxious to regain what he had lost,
not so much for the sake of the money, which he could afford to lose,
but lest the defalcation in his fortune should lead Mr. Percival to the
knowledge of the means which had occasioned it. He could not endure,
after his high vaunts, to see himself humbled by his rash confidence in
himself, and he secretly vowed, that if he could but reinstate himself,
by one night’s good luck, he would for ever quit the society of
gamblers. A few months before this time, he would have scorned the idea
of concealing any part of his conduct, any one of his actions, from
his best friend, Mr. Percival; but his pride now reconciled him to the
meanness of concealment; and here, the acuteness of his feelings was
to his own mind an excuse for dissimulation: so fallacious is moral
instinct, unenlightened or uncontrolled by reason and religion.
Mr. Vincent was disappointed in his hopes of regaining what he had lost.
This was not the fortunate night, which Mrs. Luttridge’s prognostics
had vainly taught him to expect: he played on, however, with all the
impetuosity of his natural temper; his judgment forsook him; he scarcely
knew what he said or did; and, in the course of a few hours, he was
worked up to such a pitch of insanity, that in one desperate moment he
betted nearly all that he was worth in the world--and lost! He stood
like one stupified: the hum of voices scarcely reached his ear--he saw
figures moving before him; but he did not distinguish who or what they
were.
Supper was announced, and the room emptied fast, whilst he remained
motionless leaning on the E O table. He was roused by Mrs. Luttridge
saying, as she passed, “Don’t you sup to-night, Mr. Hervey?”--Vincent
looked up, and saw Clarence Hervey opposite to him. His countenance
instantly changed, and the lightning of anger flashed through the gloom
of despair: he uttered not a syllable; but his looks said, “How is this,
sir? Here again to-night to watch me?--to enjoy my ruin?--to be ready to
carry the first news of it to Belinda?”
At this last thought, Vincent struck his closed hand with violence
against his forehead; and rushing by Mr. Hervey, who in vain attempted
to speak to him, he pressed into the midst of the crowd on the stairs,
and let himself be carried along with them into the supper-room. At
supper he took his usual seat between Mrs. Luttridge and the fair
Annabella; and, as if determined to brave the observing eyes of Clarence
Hervey, who was at the same table, he affected extravagant gaiety; he
ate, drank, talked, and laughed, more than any of the company. Toward
the end of the supper, his dog, who was an inmate at Mrs. Luttridge’s,
licked his hand to put him in mind that he had given him nothing to eat.
“Drink, Juba!--drink, and never have done, boy!” cried Vincent, holding
a bumper of wine to the dog’s mouth; “he’s the only dog I ever saw
taste wine.” Then snatching up some of the flowers, which ornamented the
table, he swore that Juba should henceforward be called Anacreon, and
that he deserved to be crowned with roses by the hand of beauty. The
fair Annabella instantly took a hothouse rose from her bosom, and
assisted in making the garland, with which she crowned the new Anacreon.
Insensible to his honours, the dog, who was extremely hungry, turned
suddenly to Mrs. Luttridge, by whom he had, till this night, regularly
been fed with the choicest morsels, and lifting up his huge paw, laid
it, as he had been wont to do, upon her arm. She shook it off: he,
knowing nothing of the change in his master’s affairs, laid the paw
again upon her arm; and with that familiarity to which he had long been
encouraged, raised his head almost close to the lady’s cheek.
“Down, Juba!--down, sir, down!” cried Mrs. Luttridge, in a sharp voice.
“Down, Juba!--down, sir!” repeated Mr. Vincent, in a tone of bitter
feeling, all his assumed gaiety forsaking him at this instant: “Down,
Juba!--down, sir, down!” as low as your master, thought he; and pushing
back his chair, he rose from table, and precipitately left the room.
Little notice was taken of his retreat; the chairs closed in; and
the gap which his vacant place left was visible but for a moment: the
company were as gay as before; the fair Annabella smiled with a grace
as attractive; and Mrs. Luttridge exulted in the success of her
schemes--whilst her victim was in the agonies of despair.
Clarence Hervey, who had watched every change of Vincent’s countenance,
saw the agony of soul with which he rose from the table, and quitted the
room: he suspected his purpose, and followed him immediately; but Mr.
Vincent had got out of the house before he could overtake him; which
way he was gone no one could tell, for no one had seen him; the only
information he could gain was, that he might possibly be heard of at
Nerot’s Hotel, or at Governor Montford’s, in Portland-place. The hotel
was but a few yards from Mrs. Luttridge’s. Clarence went there directly.
He asked for Mr. Vincent. One of the waiters said, that he was not yet
come in; but another called out, “Mr. Vincent, sir, did you say? I have
just shown him up to his room.”
“Which is the room?--I must see him instantly,” cried Hervey.
“Not to-night--you can’t see him now, sir. Mr. Vincent won’t let you
in, I can assure you, sir. I went up myself three minutes ago, with some
letters, that came whilst he was away, but he would not let me in. I
heard him double-lock the door, and he swore terribly. I can’t go up
again at this time o’night--for my life I dare not, sir.”
“Where is his own man?--Has Mr. Vincent any servant here?--Mr. Vincent’s
man!” cried Clarence; “let me see him!”
“You can’t, sir. Mr. Vincent has just sent his black, the only servant
he has here, out on some message. Indeed, sir, there’s no use in going
up,” continued the waiter, as Clarence sprang up two or three stairs
at once: “Mr. Vincent has desired nobody may disturb him. I give you my
word, sir, he’ll be very angry; and, besides, ‘twould be to no purpose,
for he’ll not unlock the door.”
“Is there but one door to the room?” said Mr. Hervey; and, as he asked
the question, he pulled a guinea out of his pocket, and touched the
waiter’s hand with it.
“Oh, now I recollect--yes, sir, there’s a private door through a closet:
may be that mayn’t be fastened.”
Clarence put the guinea into the waiter’s hand, who instantly showed him
the way up the back staircase to the door that opened into Mr. Vincent’s
bed-chamber.
“Leave me now,” whispered he, “and make no noise.”
The man withdrew; and as Mr. Hervey went close to the concealed door,
to try if it was fastened, he distinctly heard a pistol cocked. The door
was not fastened: he pushed it softly open, and saw the unfortunate man
upon his knees, the pistol in his hand, his eyes looking up to heaven.
Clarence was in one moment behind him; and, seizing hold of the pistol,
he snatched it from Vincent’s grasp with so much calm presence of mind
and dexterity, that, although the pistol was cocked, it did not go off.
“Mr. Hervey!” exclaimed Vincent, starting up. Astonishment overpowered
all other sensations. But the next instant recovering the power of
speech, “Is this the conduct of a gentleman, Mr. Hervey--of a man of
honour,” cried he, “thus to intrude upon my privacy; to be a spy upon my
actions; to triumph in my ruin; to witness my despair; to rob me of the
only--”
He looked wildly at the pistol which Clarence held in his hand; then
snatching up another, which lay upon the table, he continued, “You are
my enemy--I know it; you are my rival; I know it; Belinda loves you!
Nay, affect not to start--this is no time for dissimulation--Belinda
loves you--you know it: for her sake, for your own, put me out of the
world--put me out of torture. It shall not be called murder: it shall
be called a duel. You have been a spy upon my actions--I demand
satisfaction. If you have one spark of honour or of courage within you,
Mr. Hervey, show it now--fight me, sir, openly as man to man, rival to
rival, enemy to enemy--fire.”
“If you fire upon me, you will repent it,” replied Clarence calmly; “for
I am not your enemy--I am not your rival.”
“You _are_,” interrupted Vincent, raising his voice to the highest pitch
of indignation: “you are my rival, though you dare not avow it! The
denial is base, false, unmanly. Oh, Belinda, is this the being you
prefer to _me_? Gamester--wretch, as I am, my soul never stooped to
falsehood! Treachery I abhor; courage, honour, and a heart worthy
of Belinda, I possess. I beseech you, sir,” continued he, addressing
himself, in a tremulous tone of contempt, to Mr. Hervey, “I beseech you,
sir, to leave me to my own feelings--and to myself.”
“You are not yourself at this moment, and I cannot leave you to such
mistaken feelings,” replied Hervey: “command yourself for a moment, and
hear me; use your reason, and you will soon be convinced that I am your
friend.”
“My friend!”
“Your friend. For what purpose did I come here? to snatch this pistol
from your hand? If it were my interest, my wish, that you were out of
the world, why did I prevent you from destroying yourself? Do you think
_that_ the action of an enemy? Use your reason.”
“I cannot,” said Vincent, striking his forehead; “I know not what to
think--I am not master of myself. I conjure you, sir, for your own sake,
to leave me.”
“For my _own_ sake!” repeated Hervey, disdainfully: “I am not thinking
of myself; nor can any thing you have said provoke me from my purpose.
My purpose is to save you from ruin, for the sake of a woman, whom,
though I am no longer your rival, I have loved longer, if not better,
than you have.”
There was something so open in Hervey’s countenance, such a strong
expression of truth in his manner, that it could not be resisted, and
Vincent, in an altered voice, exclaimed, “You acknowledge that you have
loved Belinda--and could you cease to love her? Impossible!--And, loving
her, must you not detest me?”
“No,” said Clarence, holding out his hand to him; “I wish to be your
friend. I have not the baseness to wish to deprive others of happiness
because I cannot enjoy it myself. In one word, to put you at ease with
me for ever, I have no pretensions, I can have none, to Miss Portman.
I am engaged to another woman--in a few days you will hear of my
marriage.”
Mr. Vincent threw the pistol from him, and gave his hand to Hervey.
“Pardon what I said to you just now,” cried he; “I knew not what
I said--I spoke in the agony of despair: your purpose is most
generous--but it is in vain--you come too late--I am ruined, past all
hope.”
He folded his arms, and his eyes reverted involuntarily to his pistols.
“The misery that you have this night experienced,” said Mr. Hervey, “was
necessary to the security of your future happiness.”
“Happiness!” repeated Vincent; “happiness--there is no happiness left
for me. My doom is fixed--fixed by my own folly--my own rash, headstrong
folly. Madman that I was, what could tempt me to the gaming-table?
Oh! if I could recall but a few days, a few hours of my existence! But
remorse is vain--prudence comes too late. Do you know,” said he, fixing
his eyes upon Hervey, “do you know that I am a beggar? that I have not a
farthing left upon earth? Go to Belinda; tell her so: tell her, that if
she had ever the slightest regard for me, I deserve it no longer. Tell
her to forget, despise, detest me. Give her joy that she has escaped
having a gamester for a husband.”
“I will,” said Clarence, “I will, if you please, tell her what I believe
to be true, that the agony you have felt this night, the dear-bought
experience you have had, will be for ever a warning.”
“A warning!” interrupted Vincent: “Oh, that it could yet be useful to
me!--But I tell you it comes too late--nothing can save me.”
“_I_ can,” said Mr. Hervey. “Swear to me, for Belinda’s sake--solemnly
swear to me, that you will never more trust your happiness and hers
to the hazard of a die--swear that you will never more, directly or
indirectly, play at any game of chance, and I will restore to you the
fortune that you have lost.”
Mr. Vincent stood as if suspended between ecstasy and despair: he dared
not trust his senses: with a fervent and solemn adjuration he made the
vow that was required of him; and Clarence then revealed to him the
secret of the E O table.
“When Mrs. Luttridge knows that I have it in my power to expose her to
public shame, she will instantly refund all that she has iniquitously
won from you. Even among gamblers she would be blasted for ever by this
discovery: she knows it, and if she dared to brave public opinion, we
have then a sure resource in the law--prosecute her. The laws of honour,
as well as the laws of the land, will support the prosecution. But she
will never let the affair go into a court of justice. I will see her
early, as early as I can to-morrow, and put you out of suspense.”
“Most generous of human beings!” exclaimed Vincent; “I cannot express to
you what I feel; but your own heart, your own approbation--”
“Farewell, good night,” interrupted Clarence; “I see that I have made a
friend--I was determined that Belinda’s husband should be my friend--I
have succeeded beyond my hopes. And now I will _intrude_ no longer,”
said he, as he closed the door after him. His sensations at this instant
were more delightful even than those of the man he had relieved from
the depth of despair. How wisely has Providence made the benevolent and
generous passions the most pleasurable!