LOVE AND HATRED.
At first Mr. Moncton refused to see his son; but on the receipt of a
letter from Theophilus, his positive orders on that head were not only
reversed, but the worthy young gentleman was received with marked
attention by his father.
The contents of that letter I did not know then, but got a knowledge of
them in after years. The son had become acquainted with some villainous
transactions of the parent, which he threatened to expose to the world,
if any rigorous measures were adopted towards himself. These
revelations were of such a startling nature, that no alternative
remained to Mr. Moncton but to submit, which he did, and with a
wonderful good grace.
It would be no easy matter to describe the surprise and indignation of
Theophilus Moncton, when he discovered that the despised and insulted
Geoffrey had become a person of some consequence during his absence. I
shall never forget the studied air of indifference, the chilling
coldness, with which he met me on his return, and under the cover of
which he endeavoured to conceal his chagrin.
The long-cherished dislike that I had entertained for him, had lost
much of its bitter character during a separation of many months. I was
willing to believe that I might sometimes have been the aggressor, and
that time, and a more intimate knowledge of the world, might have
produced a favourable change in his surly and morose disposition. I had
still to learn that the world rarely improves the heart, but only
teaches both sexes more adroitly to conceal its imperfections. I could
perceive no alteration in Theophilus which gave the least promise of
mental improvement. After a few minutes spent in his company, I found
him more arrogant and conceited than when he left England. The
affectation of imitating foreign manners, and interlarding his
conversation with French and Italian, rendered him less attractive in
his assumed, than he had been in his natural, character.
I listened for the first week to his long, egotistical harangues, with
tolerable patience, hoping that the theme of self would soon be
exhausted, and the Frenchified dandy condescend to remember that he was
an Englishman; but finding him becoming more arrogant and assuming by
listening to his nonsense, I turned from him with feelings of aversion,
which I could but ill conceal. It must have been apparent even, to
himself, that I considered his company a bore.
The sympathy which exists between kindred minds, all have experienced
at some period of their lives; but the mysterious chords of feeling
which unite hearts formed by nature, to understand and appreciate each
other, are not more electrical in their operation than those which have
their origin in the darker passions of the human breast.
How repugnant to a sensitive mind is a forced association with persons
in whom we can find no affinity; and whose sentiments and pursuits are
at utter variance with our own. I was acutely alive to these impressions,
whenever I encountered the sidelong, watchful glance of my cousin.
There was nothing straightforward in him; he never looked friend or
enemy honestly in the face. We mutually understood each other. Though
he scrupulously avoided addressing his conversation to me, yet it was
chiefly intended for my edification; and was replete with satirical
observations.
I detest this covert manner of attack; it is mean and unfair in the
highest degree, as it deprives the person attacked from taking his own
part, and boldly defending himself. Theophilus was a perfect adept at
this dastardly species of warfare.
I tried to treat his conduct with silent contempt; but his provoking
remarks galled me exceedingly; and often, when I appeared unconscious
of their being levelled against me, and earnestly engaged in the
perusal of some dull law-book, I was listening to every word he
uttered, and quivering with indignation. Theophilus enjoyed my
discomfiture, and I found his powers of tormenting greater than I had
at first imagined.
The second day after his arrival, he sent a message up to my room, to
inform me that he required that apartment for his valet, and I could
remove to a chamber in the next story.
I returned for answer, "That I should not quit the occupation of the
room that had been allotted to my use by his father, until I received
positive orders from him to that effect. But I should only require it a
few days longer, and then he could do as he pleased."
This insolent demand was not seconded by Mr. Moncton, and I took no
further notice of it.
That my uncle had a game of his own to play, when he took me from the
obscurity of the office and introduced me into society, I was now more
than ever convinced. Whilst in the presence of his son he treated me
with marked attention and respect, which rendered my situation far more
trying and irksome, as I mistrusted the designs of the one and detested
the other.
I felt that Mr. Moncton acted thus, on purpose to annoy Theophilus, and
make him feel the weight of the resentment, which for good reasons he
dared not openly express; while he praised my talents and application
to business, on purpose to rouse the envy and hatred of my cousin.
One afternoon, as we were sitting over the dessert, Mr. Moncton as
usual addressed his conversation exclusively to me, which irritated
Theophilus to such a degree, that he turned suddenly to his father, and
exclaimed with much violence:
"You seem, sir, to forget you have a son?"
"Yes, when that son forgot what was due to himself, and to his father's
house."
"You have to thank yourself for _that_," was the insolent reply. "I
have trod too closely in your own footsteps, and followed too strictly
the honest principles of my father." He laughed bitterly. "It seems
strange, that you should be surprised, that such an example should have
produced corresponding effects upon the mind and character of your
son."
Shocked at this horrible speech (for in spite of its awful truth, it
seemed terrible from the mouth of a son,) I looked from Theophilus to
his father, expecting to see the dark eye of the latter alive with the
light of passion. But no--there he sat, mute as a marble statue; it was
frightful to contemplate the glossy stare of his glittering eye, the
rigid immobility of his countenance.
"Heavens!" I mentally exclaimed, "can he be insulted in this manner by
his only son, and remain thus calm?" But calm he was, without even
attempting a reply, whilst his insolent son continued.
"By heaven! if you think that advancing that puppy into my place will
bend me to your purpose, you grossly deceive yourself. I pity the
stupid puppet who can thus sneak to his bitterest enemy, to obtain a
position he could never rise to by his own merit. Silly boy!--I laugh
at his folly, our shallow policy, and his credulity."
The words were scarcely out his mouth, when I sprang from my chair, and
with a well-directed blow levelled him at my feet.
"Thank you, Geoffrey!" exclaimed Mr. Moncton, raising the crest-fallen
hero from the ground: "You have answered both for yourself and me."
"I have been too rash," said I, seeing the blood stream copiously from
my cousin's nose; "but he exasperated me beyond endurance."
"He provoked it himself," returned Mr. Moncton. "I never blame any
person when insulted, for taking his own part. You need be under no
apprehension of a hostile encounter: Theophilus is a cowardly dog--he
can bark and snarl, but dares not fight. Go to your room, Geoffrey, you
will be better friends after this."
He said this in a tone of such bitter irony, that I hardly knew whether
he was pleased with what I had done, or offended, for who could fathom
the mind of such a man? I instantly complied with his request, and
felt, however mortifying to my pride, that Theophilus Moncton had
uttered the truth.
"In another week," I exclaimed, as I strode through the
apartment--"yes, in less than a week, I shall obtain my majority: I
shall be free, and then farewell to this accursed house of bondage for
ever!"
Theophilus had not been home many days, before I perceived a decided
alteration in the once friendly greetings I had been accustomed to
receive from Mr. Moncton's guests. I was no longer invited to their
parties, or treated with those flattering marks of attention which had
been so gratifying to my vanity, and given me such an exalted idea of
my own consequence.
At first I was at a loss to imagine what had produced this sudden
change. One simple sentence at length solved all these unpleasant
doubts, and pressed the unwelcome truth home to my heart. Robert
Moncton had been reconciled to his son, and I was once more regarded as
only a _poor relation_.
The day I made this important discovery, I had been detained at the
office long after our usual dinner-hour, and meeting with a friend on
my way home, I sauntered with him several times up and down Regent
Street, before I returned to my uncle's house.
I was not aware that my uncle expected company that day, until informed
by Saunders in the hall, that a large party were assembled in the
dining-room.
I was a little provoked at not receiving any intimation of the event,
and in being too late for appearing at dinner, the third course having
been placed on the table; but I hurried away to my own apartment to
change my dress, and join the ladies in the drawing-room.
This important duty was scarcely effected, before Saunders entered with
a tray covered with dainties, which he had catered for my benefit.
"I was determined, Mr. Geoffrey, that they should not have all the good
things to themselves. Here is an excellent cut of salmon and
lobster-sauce; the plump breast of a partridge, and a slice of
delicious ham--besides, the sunkets. If you cannot make a good dinner
off these, why, I says, that you deserves to be hungry."
And throwing a snowy napkin over a small table near the fire, he
deposited the tray and its tempting contents thereon, placed my chair,
and stood behind it with beaming eyes, his jolly, rosy face radiant
with good-nature and benevolence.
I thanked him heartily for his attention to my comfort, and being tired
and hungry, did ample justice to the meal he had provided.
"This party has been got up in a hurry, Saunders?"
"Not at all, sir. I carried out the invitations four days ago."
"You surprise me!" said I, dropping my knife and fork. "Four days
ago--and I know nothing about it. That is something new."
"It is young Mr. Moncton's doings, sir. The party is given in honour of
his return. Says Mr. Theophilus to the Guv'nor, says he, 'I shall say
nothing to Geoffrey, about it. What a capital joke it will be, to see
him bolt into the room without studying the Graces for an hour.' I
think it was the Graces, he said, sir; but whether it's a law book, or
a book of fashions, sir, hang me if I can tell."
"But why did not you give me a hint of this, my good fellow?"
"Why, sir," said Saunders, hesitating and looking down, "everybody in
this world has his troubles, and I, sir, have mine. Trouble, sir, makes
a man forget every one's affairs but his own; and so, sir, the thing
slipped quite out of my 'ead."
"And what has happened to trouble such a light heart as yours,
Saunders?"
"Ah, sir!" sighing and shaking his head, "you remember Jemima, the
pretty chamber maid, who lives at Judge Falcon's, across the street; I
am sure you must, sir, for no one that saw Jemima once could forget
her; and it was your first praising her that made me cast an eye upon
her. Well, sir, I looked and loved, and became desperate about her, and
offered her my 'onest 'and and 'eart, sir, and she promised to become
my wife. Yes, indeed, she did; and we exchanged rings, and lucky
sixpences and all that; and I gave master warning for next week; and
took lodgings in a genteel country-looking cottage on the Deptford
road. But I was never destined to find love there with Jemima."
"And what has happened to prevent your marriage?" said I, growing
impatient and wishing to cut his long story down to the basement.
"Many a slip, sir, between the cup and the lip. There's truth in those
old saws howsomever. Mr. Theophilus's French valet, poured such a heap
of flummery into the dear girl's ears, that it turned her 'ead
altogether, and she run off with the haffected puppy last night; but
let him look well after himself, for I swear the first time I catch
him, I'll make cat's meat of him. Ah! sir, the song says, that it's the
men who is so cruelly deceitful, but I have found it the reverse. Never
trust in vimen, sir! I swear I'll hate 'em all from this day, for
Jemima's sake."
"Consider yourself a fortunate fellow," said I. "You have made a very
narrow escape."
"Ah, sir, it's all very well talking, when you don't feel the smart
yourself. I loved that false creter with my 'ole 'art. But there's one
thing," brightening up, "which consoles me under this great
haffliction, the annoyance that it has given to Mr. Theophilus. This
morning, there was no one to dress him--to flatter his vanity and tell
him what a fine gentleman he is: I had to carry up his boots and
shaving-water. It was rare fun to see him stamping and raving about the
room, and vishing all the vimen in the vorld at the devil. But hark!
there's the dining-room bell. More wine. The ladies have just left for
the drawing-room."
The blaze of lights, the gay assemblage of youth and beauty which
arrested my eyes as Saunders threw back the folding-doors, sent a
sudden thrill of joy to my heart. But these feelings were quickly
damped by the cold and distant salutations I received from the larger
portion of the company there assembled. Persons who a few weeks before
had courted my acquaintance and flattered my vanity, by saying and
doing a thousand agreeable things, had not a friendly word to offer.
The meaning glance which passed round the circle when I appeared among
them, chilled the warm glow of pleasure, which the sight of so many
fair and familiar faces had called up.
What could be the meaning of all this? A vague suspicion dashed into my
mind, that my cousin was the direct cause of this change in the aspect
of affairs, and, sick and disgusted with the world, I sat down at a
distant table and began mechanically to turn over a large portfolio of
splendid prints that I had not noticed before, and which I afterwards
discovered, had been brought by Theophilus from Paris.
A half suppressed titter from two young ladies near me, and which I
felt was meant for me, stung my proud heart to the quick. A dark mist
floated between me and the lights; and the next moment I determined to
leave the room in which I felt that my presence was not required, and
where I was evidently regarded as an intruder.
I had just risen from my seat to effect a quiet retreat, when the
folding-doors were again thrown open, and Mrs. Hepburn and Miss Lee
were announced.
What were these strangers to me? The new arrival appeared to make no
small sensation. A general bustle ensued, and my eyes unconsciously
followed the rest.
The blood receded from my cheeks, to flush them again to a feverish
glow, when I instantly recognized the lovely girl and her aunt, whom I
had for so many months sought for, and sought in vain.
Yes, it was she--my adored Catherine--no longer pale and agitated from
recent danger, but radiant in youth and beauty, her lovely person
adorned with costly jewels, and the rich garments that fashion has
rendered indispensable to her wealthy votaries.
"Miss Lee," was whispered among the ladies near me.
"Mr. Moncton's ward?"
"The rich heiress."
"Do you think her handsome?"
"Yes--passable."
"Too short."
"Her figure pretty--but insignificant."
"She is just out."
"So I hear. She will not make any great sensation. Too sentimental and
countrified. As Lord Byron says,--'Smells of bread and butter.'"
This last sneering remark, I considered a compliment. My charming Kate,
looked as fresh and natural as a new-blown rose with the morning dew
still fresh upon its petals. There was nothing studied or affected
about her--no appearance of display--no effort to attract admiration;
she was an unsophisticated child of nature, and the delightful
frankness, with which she received the homage of the male portion of
the company, was quite a contrast to the supercilious airs of the
fashionable belles.
The opinion of the gentlemen with regard to the fair _débutante_, was
quite the reverse of those given by her own sex.
"What a lovely girl!"
"What an easy graceful carriage!"
"Did you ever see a more charming expression--a more bewitching smile?
A perfect lady from head to foot."
"I have lost _my_ heart already."
"By Jove! won't she make a noise in the gay world!"
"The beauty of the season."
"A prize, independent of her large for tune!"
"And doubly a prize with."
And thus the men prated of her among themselves.
The excitement at length subsided; and favoured by the obscurity of my
situation, I could watch at a distance all her movements, and never
tire of gazing upon that beaming face.
By some strange coincidence, I could hardly think it purely accidental,
Mrs. Hepburn and her niece came up to the table upon which I was
leaning.
I rose up in confusion, wondering if they would recognize me, and
offered the elder lady my chair.
In my hurry and agitation, the portfolio fell from my hand, and the
fine prints were scattered over the floor and table.
A general laugh arose at my expense; I felt annoyed, but laughed as
loudly as the rest. Miss Lee, very good-naturedly assisted me in
restoring the prints to their place, then looking earnestly in my face
for a few seconds, she said--"Surely, I am not deceived--you are the
gentleman who rescued me from that frightful situation in Oxford
Street."
"The same," said I, with a smile.
"How delighted I am to meet you once more," she exclaimed, giving me
her hand, and warmly shaking mine; "I was afraid that I should never
see you again. And your name--you must tell me your name."
"Geoffrey Moncton. But, Miss Lee, do not distress me by thinking so
much of a trifling service, which gave me so much pleasure."
"Trifling! do you call it? Sir, you saved my life, and I never can
forget the debt of gratitude I owe you. Aunt," turning to Mrs. Hepburn,
"do you remember this gentleman? How often we have talked that
adventure over, and wondered who my preserver was. It is such a
pleasure to see him here."
The old lady, though not quite so eloquent as her niece, was kind
enough in her way. Wishing to change the subject, I asked Miss Lee if
she drew?
"A little."
"Let us examine these beautiful prints," said I.
I gave her a chair, and leant over her. My heart fluttered with
delight. I forgot my recent mortification. I was near her, and, in the
rapture of the moment, could have defied the malice of the whole world.
"I am no judge of the merits or demerits of a picture," she said, in
her sweet, gentle voice. "I know what pleases me, and suffer my heart
to decide for my head."
"That is exactly my case, Miss Lee. A picture to interest me, must
produce the same effect upon my mind as if the object represented was
really there. This is the reason, perhaps, why I feel less pleasure in
examining those pictures by the ancient masters, though portrayed with
matchless skill, which represent the heathen deities. With Jupiter,
Mars and Venus, I can feel little sympathy, while the truthful and
spirited delineations of Wilkie and Gainsborough, which have beep
familiar from childhood, strike home to the heart."
Before Miss Lee could reply, Theophilus Moncton walked to the table at
which we were talking. He stared at me, without deigning a word of
recognition, and shook hands cordially with Miss Lee and her aunt.
"Happy to see you here, Catherine--was afraid you would be too much
fatigued, after dancing all night, to give us a look in this evening.
Been admiring my prints? Splendid collection, ain't they? By-the-by,
Mr. Geoffrey, I would thank you to be more careful in handling them.
Persons unaccustomed to fine drawings, are apt to injure them by rough
treatment."
A contemptuous glance was my reply, which was returned by a sidelong
withering glare of hate.
"That picture, on the opposite side of the room," continued my
tormentor, anxious to divert Miss Lee's attention from me, "is a fine
portrait, by Sir Thomas Lawrence. You are an admirer of his style; let
us examine the picture nearer; I want to have your opinion of it."
They crossed the room. In a few seconds, a large group gathered before
the picture of which Theophilus and Miss Lee formed the nucleus, and
half a dozen wax-lights were held up to exhibit it to the best
advantage.
Theophilus was eloquent in praising Lawrence's style of painting, and
entertained the company with an elaborate detail of all the celebrated
paintings he had seen abroad; the studios he had visited, and the
distinguished artists he had patronized. He could talk well, when he
pleased, on any subject, and possessed considerable talent and taste
for the arts; yet, I thought him more egotistical and affected than
usual, when standing beside the simple and graceful Catherine Lee.
She listened to him with politeness, until the gratuitous lecture came
to an end, and then quietly resumed her seat at the table by me, with
whom she entered into a lively conversation.
The swarthy glow of indignation mounted to my cousin's wan face. He
drew back, and muttered something inaudibly between his shut teeth,
while I secretly enjoyed his chagrin. When supper was announced I had
the honour of conducting Miss Lee down stairs, leaving my cousin to
take charge of the elder lady. Nor did my triumph end here. Catherine
insisted on taking a seat at the lower end of the table, and I found
myself once more placed by her side.
"I do detest upper seats at feasts," said she; "it exposes you to
observation, while in our pleasant obscurity we can enjoy a little
friendly chat. I never could understand why so many ladies quarrel so
much about taking precedence of each other."
"It is only ambition in a small way," said I.
"Very small, indeed," she continued, laughing. "But tell me, why you
were not at Mrs. Wilton's large party last night?"
"Simply, because I was not invited."
"The Monctons were there, father and son. But, perhaps you mix very
little in the gaieties of the town."
"Since Theophilus returned, I have been very little from home; and have
become a mere cipher with my old friends. A few weeks ago, these
Wilton's courted my acquaintance, and the young men vied with each
other, in paying me attention. To-night, we met as perfect strangers.
To me, the change is unaccountable. I am, however, a perfect novice in
the ways of the world. Such examples of selfish meanness often repeated
will render me a misanthrope."
"You must not condemn all, because you have experienced the unmerited
neglect of a few," said Catherine. "Selfish, interested people are
found in every community. It is a maxim with me, never to judge the
mass by individuals. Many of the persons we meet with in the world do
not live entirely for it, and are incapable of the conduct you deplore.
I have met with warm hearts and kind friends amid the gay scenes you
condemn--young people, who like myself, are compelled by circumstances
to mingle in society, while their thoughts and affections are far
away."
"You have never experienced the frowns of the world," said I; "I can
scarcely allow you to be a competent judge."
"I am prepared to meet them," she replied, quickly--then stopped--and
sighed deeply. I looked up inquiringly.
The expression of her fine face was changed from a cheerful to a
pensive cast. It was not actual sorrow which threw a shade over her
clear brow, but she looked as if she had encountered some unexpected
misfortune, and was prepared to meet it with resignation. She passed
her small white hand slowly across her forehead, and I thought I saw
tears trembling in her eyes. My interest was deeply excited, and I
loved her better for having suffered. I redoubled my attentions, and
before the company rose from table, I fancied that she no longer
regarded me with indifference.
From this happy dream, I too soon awoke to an agonizing consciousness
of my own insignificance. A Counsellor Sabine, who had been conversing
with my uncle during the greater part of the evening, beckoned me over
to a distant part of the room, and I reluctantly obeyed the summons. He
wanted me to settle a dispute between him and Mr. Moncton, relative to
some papers, which he said had been entrusted to my care.
My place by Catherine Lee's side was instantly filled by Theophilus.
Mrs. Hepburn, Catherine's aunt, asked him in a low voice, which,
occupied as I was with other matters, did not fail to reach my ears,
who I was, and the station I held in society, and ended her remarks by
passing sundry encomiums on my person and accomplishments.
"_Accomplishments!_" repeated Theophilus, with a sneer. "I know not how
he should be accomplished, Mrs. Hepburn. He is a poor clerk in my
father's office; and as to his standing in society, that is something
new to me. He is a natural son of my uncle Edward's, whom my father
adopted into the family, and brought him up out of charity. I was
surprised at him, an uninvited guest, daring to address his
conversation to Miss Lee."
It was well for the dastard, that he was protected by the presence of
ladies, and beyond the reach of my arm, or I certainly should have
committed an act of violence.
I restrained my indignation, however, and appeared outwardly
calm--received some instructions from the counsellor and noted them
down with stoical precision. My hand did not tremble, my passion was
too terrible for trifling demonstrations. I think I could have put a
pistol to his head, and seen him bleeding at my feet, without feeling
one pang of remorse.
Miss Lee's carriage was announced. I roused myself from a dream of
vengeance, and offered my arm to conduct her down stairs. She cast upon
me a look of sorrowful meaning, and her aunt refused my services with a
distant bow.
I drew proudly back "This," I thought, "is their gratitude. This is
like the rest of the world."
Mrs. Hepburn gave her hand to Theophilus, and with a grin of triumph he
led them out.
After the company had separated I went up to Theophilus, and demanded
an explanation of his ungentlemanly conduct. The answer I received was
an insolent laugh.
No longer able to restrain my feelings, I poured upon him the boiling
rage of my indignation, and did and said many bitter things, that had
been better unsaid. He threatened to complain of me to his father. I
dared him to do his worst--and left the room in a state of dreadful
excitement.
The next morning, while busy in the office, Mr. Moncton came in, and
closed the door carefully after him.
I rose as he entered and stood erect before him. I knew by the deadly
pallor of his face, that something decisive was about to take place.
"Geoffrey," he said, in a low, hoarse voice, which he vainly
endeavoured to make calm, "you have grossly insulted my son, and spoken
to him in the most disrespectful terms of me, your friend and
benefactor. Without you will make a full and satisfactory apology to me
for such intemperate language, and ask his pardon, you may dread my
just displeasure."
"Ask his pardon!" I cried; almost choking with passion--"for what? For
his treating me like a menial and a slave!--Never, Mr. Moncton, never!"
My uncle regarded me with the same icy glance which froze my blood when
a child, while I recapitulated my wrongs, with all the eloquence which
passion gives--passion which makes even the slow of speech act the part
of an orator.
He listened to me with a smile of derision.
Carried beyond the bounds of prudence, I told him, that I would no
longer be subjected to such degrading tyranny; that his deceitful
conduct had cancelled all ties of obligation between us; that the
favours lately conferred upon me, I now saw had only been bestowed to
effect my ruin; that he had been acting a base and treacherous game
with me to further his own dishonest views; that I was fully aware of
his motives, and appreciated them as they deserved; that he well knew
the story of my illegitimacy was a forgery, that I had the means to
prove it one, and would do it shortly; that the term of my articles
would expire on the following day, and I would then leave his house for
ever and seek my own living.
"You may do so to-day," he replied, in the same cool sarcastic tone;
and unlocking his desk he took out the indentures.
A sudden terror seized me. Something in his look threatened danger: I
drew a quicker breath, and advanced a few paces nearer.
All my hopes were centered in that sheet of parchment, to obtain which,
I had endured seven years of cruel bondage. "No, no," said I, mentally,
"he cannot be such a villain--he dare not do it!"
The next moment the fatal scroll lay torn and defaced at my feet. A cry
of despair burst from my lips: I sprang forward, and with one blow laid
him senseless at my feet, and fled from the house.
I saw Robert Moncton but once again. Recollection shudders when I
recall that dreadful meeting.
I walked rapidly down the street, perfectly unconscious that I was
without my hat, and that the rain was falling in torrents; or that I
was an object of curiosity to the passers-by.
Some one caught my arm.
I turned angrily round to shake off the intruder--it was my friend
Harrison.
"In the name of Heaven! Geoffrey, tell me what has happened? What is
the matter--are you in your right senses? Have you quarrelled with your
uncle? Let me return with you to the house," were questions he asked in
a breath.
"_My uncle!_ he is an infernal scoundrel!" I exclaimed, throwing out my
clenched hand, and hurrying on still faster. "Oh, that I could crush
him with one blow of this fist!"
"Geoffrey, you are mad--do you know what you say?"
"Perfectly well--stand back, and let me kill him!"
He put his arm forcibly round me. "Calm yourself, Geoffrey. What has
caused this dreadful excitement? Good Heavens! how you tremble. Lean
upon me--heavier yet. The arm of a sincere friend supports you--one who
will never desert you, let what will befall."
"Leave me, George, to my fate. I have been shamefully treated, and I
don't care what becomes of me."
"If you are unable to take care of yourself, Geoffrey," he replied,
clasping my hand fervently in his own, and directing my steps down a
less frequented street, "it is highly necessary that some one should,
until your mind a restored to its usual tranquillity. Return with me to
my lodgings; take a composing draught, and go to bed. Your eyes are
bloodshot, and starting from your head for want of sleep."
"Sleep! how is it possible for me to sleep, when the blood is boiling
in my veins, and my brain is on fire, and I am tempted every moment to
commit an act of desperation?"
"This feverish state cannot last, my poor friend; these furious bursts
of passion must yield to exhaustion. Your knees bend under you. In a
few minutes we shall be beyond public observation, and can talk over
the matter calmly."
As he ceased speaking, a deadly faintness stole over me--my head grew
giddy, the surrounding objects swam round me in endless circles and
with surprising rapidity, the heavens vanished from my sight, and
darkness, blank darkness closed me in, and I should have fallen to the
earth, but for the strong arm which held me in its grasp.
When I again opened my eyes, it was in the identical apothecary's shop
into which, some months before, I had carried the fainting Catherine
Lee. The little apothecary was preparing to open a vein in my arm. This
operation afforded me instant relief; my fury began to subside, and
tears slowly trickled down my cheeks.
George, who was anxiously watching every change in my countenance, told
the shop-boy to call a coach, which conveyed me in a few minutes to his
old lodgings in Fleet Street.