_Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_
_London, Grosvenor Street_
Within a week, Oliver, we shall once more meet. What years of
separation may afterward follow is more than I can divine. I surely
need not tell thee that this thought of separation, were it not opposed
by principle, would indeed be painful, and that it is at moments almost
too mighty for principle itself. But we are the creatures of an
omnipotent necessity; and there can be but little need to remind thee
that a compliance with the apparently best should ever be an unrepining
and cheerful act of duty.
I have had a conversation with Sir Arthur, very singular in its kind,
which has again awakened sensations in their full force that had
previously cost me many bitter struggles to allay. I began with
informing him of my intention to go down to Wenbourne-Hill; after which
I proceeded to tell him it was my design to embark for America.
He seemed surprised, and said he hoped not.
I answered I had reflected very fully on the plan, and that I believed
it was scarcely probable any reason should occur which could induce me
to change my purpose.
The thing, he replied, might perhaps not be so entirely improbable as I
supposed. His family had great obligations to me. I had even risked my
life on various occasions for them. They thought my talents very
extraordinary. In fine, Oliver, the good old gentleman endeavoured to
say all the kind and, as he deemed them, grateful things his memory
could supply; and added that, should I leave England without affording
them some opportunity to repay their obligations, they should be much
grieved. There were perhaps two or three very great difficulties in the
way; but still he was not sure they might not be overcome. Not that he
could say any thing positively, for matters were he must own in a very
doubtful state. He was himself indeed very considerably uneasy, and
undetermined: but he certainly wished me exceedingly well, and so with
equal certainty at present did all his family. His daughter, his son,
himself, were all my debtors.
The good old gentleman's heart overflowed, Oliver, and by its
ebullitions raised a tumult in mine, which required every energy it
possessed to repel. What could I answer, but that I had done no more
for his family than what it was my duty to do for the greatest
stranger; and that, if gratitude be understood to mean a remembrance of
favours received, I and my family had for years indubitably been the
receivers?
He still persisted however in endeavouring to dissuade me from the
thought of quitting the kingdom. Not finding me convinced by his
arguments, he hesitated, with an evident desire to say something which
he knew not very well how to begin. All minds on such occasions are
under strong impulses. My own wish that he should be explicit was
eager, and I excited him to proceed. At last he asked if he might put a
question to me; assuring me it was far from his intention to offend,
but that he had some uneasy doubts which he could be very glad to have
removed.
I desired him to interrogate me freely; and to assure himself that I
would be guilty of no dissimulation.
He knew my sincerity, he said; but if when I heard I should think any
thing in what he asked improper, I past dispute had a right to refuse.
I answered that I suspected or rather was convinced I had no such
right, and requested him to begin.
He again stammered, and at last said--I think, Mr. Henley, I have
remarked some degree of esteem between you and my daughter--
He stopped--His desire not to wound my feelings was so evident that I
determined to relieve him, and replied--
I believe, sir, I can now divine the subject of your question. You
would be glad to know if any thing have passed between us, and what?
Perhaps you ought to have been told without asking; but I am certain
that concealment at present would be highly wrong.
I then repeated as accurately as my memory would permit, which is
tolerably tenacious on this subject, all which Anna and I had
reciprocally said and done. It was impossible, Oliver, to make this
recapitulation with apathy. My feelings were awakened, and I assure
thee the emotions of Sir Arthur were as lively as in such a mind thou
couldst well suppose. The human heart seems to be meliorated and
softened by age. He wept, a thing with him certainly not usual, at the
recital of his daughter's heroic resolves in favour of duty, and at her
respect for parental prejudices. Her dread of rendering him unhappy
made him even sob, and burst into frequent interjections of--'She is a
dear girl! She is a heavenly girl! I always loved her! She is the
delight of my life, my soul's treasure! From her infancy to this hour,
she was always an angel!'
After hearing me fully confirm him in his esteem and affection for so
superlative a daughter, he added--You tell me, Mr. Henley, that you
freely informed my daughter you thought it was even her duty to prefer
you to all mankind, even though her father and friends should
disapprove the match.
I did, sir. I spoke from conviction, and should have thought myself
culpable had I been silent.
Perhaps so. But that is very uncommon doctrine.
It was not merely that more felicity would have been secured to
ourselves, but greater good I supposed would result to society.
I have heard you explain things of that kind before. I do not very well
understand them, but give me leave to ask--Are you still of the same
opinion?
I am, sir.--Not that I am so confident as I was--Mr. Clifton has a very
astonishing strength of mind: and, should it be turned to the worthy
purposes of which it is capable, I dare by no means decide positively
in my own favour: and the decision which I now make against him is the
result of the intimate acquaintance which I must necessarily have with
my own heart, added to certain dubious appearances as to his which I
know not how to reconcile. Of myself I am secure.
And of him you have some doubts?
I have: but I ought in duty to add the appearances of their being
unjust are daily strengthened.
Sir Arthur paused, ruminated, and again seemed embarrassed. At last he
owned he knew not what to say: turn which way he would the obstacles
were very considerable. His mind had really felt more distress, within
these two months, than it had ever known before. He could resolve on
nothing. Yet he could not but wish I had not been quite so determined
on going to America. There was no saying what course things might take.
Mrs. Clifton was very ill, and in all probability could not live long.
But again he knew not what to say. He certainly wished me very
well--Very well--I was an uncommon young man. I was a gentleman by
nature, which for aught he knew might be better than a gentleman by
birth. The world had its opinions; perhaps they were just, perhaps
unjust. He had been used to think with the world, but he had heard so
much lately that he was not quite so positive as he had been--[This,
Oliver, reminded me of the power of truth; how it saps the strong holds
of error and winds into the heart, and how incessantly its advocates
ought to propagate it on every occasion.] He was not quite so well
pleased as he had been with my father, but that was no fault of mine;
he knew I had a very different manner of thinking. Still he must say it
was what he very little expected. He hoped however that things would
one way or other go more smoothly; and he concluded with taking my
hand, pressing it very warmly, and adding with considerable
earnestness--'If you can think of changing your American project, pray
do!--Pray do!--'
After which he left me with something like a heavy heart.
And now, Oliver, how ought I to act? The opposing causes of these
doubts and difficulties in his mind are evident. The circumstances
which have occurred in my favour, being aided by the obstinate
selfishness of my father, by his acquired wealth, and as I suppose by
the embroiled state of Sir Arthur's affairs, have produced an unhoped
for revolution in the sentiments of Sir Arthur. But is it not too late?
Are not even the most tragical consequences to be feared from an
opposition to Clifton? Nay, if his mind be what his words and behaviour
speak, would not opposition be unjust? Were it not better with severe
but virtuous resolution to repel these flattering and probably
deceitful hopes, than by encouraging them to feed the canker-worm of
peace, and add new force to the enemy within, who rather stunned than
conquered is every moment ready to revive.
Neither is Sir Arthur master of events. Nor is his mind consistent
enough to be in no danger of change.
My heart is sufficiently prone to indulge opposite sentiments, but it
must be silenced; it must listen to the voice of truth.
Did I but better understand this Clifton, I should better know how to
decide. That he looks up to her with admiration I am convinced. She
seems to have discovered the true key to his understanding as well as
to his affections. Even within this day or two, I have observed
symptoms very much in his favour. How do I know but thus influenced he
may become the first of mankind? The thought restores me to a sense of
right. Never, Oliver, shall self complacency make me guilty of what
cannot but be a crime most heinous! If such a mind may by these means
be gained which would otherwise be lost, shall it be extinguished by
me? Would not an assassination like this outweigh thousands of common
murders? Well may I shudder at such an act! Oliver, I am resolved. If
there be power in words or in reason my father shall comply.
As far as I understand the human mind, there is and even should he
persevere there always must be something to me enigmatical in this
instance of its efforts in Clifton. Persevere however I most sincerely
hope and even believe he will.--But should he not?--The supposition is
dreadful!--Anna St. Ives!--My heart sinks within me!--Can virtue like
hers be vulnerable?--Surely not!--The more pure a woman is in principle
the more secure would she be from common seducers. But, if the man can
be found who possesses the necessary though apparently incompatible
excess of folly and wisdom, there is a mode by which such a woman is
more open to the arts of deceit than any other. And is not that woman
Anna St. Ives? Nay more, if he be not a prodigy of even a still more
extraordinary kind, is not that man Coke Clifton?
He came in the heyday of youthful pride, self-satisfied,
self-convinced, rooted in prejudice but abundant in ideas. Argument
made no impression; for where he ought to have listened he laughed.
The weapons of wit never failed him; and, while he launched them at
others, they recoiled and continually lacerated himself. Of this he
was insensible: he felt them not, or felt them but little. His
haughtiness never slumbered; and to oppose him was to irritate, not
convince. For four months he continued pertinaciously the same; then,
without any cause known to me, suddenly changed. It was indeed too
sudden not to be alarming!
And yet my firm and cool answer to all this is that hypocrisy so
foolish as well as atrocious is all but impossible--
Indeed, Oliver, I do not seek to wrong him: I do not hunt after
unfavourable conjectures, they force themselves upon me: or if I do it
is unconsciously. The passions are strangely perverse: and if I am
deceived, as I hope I am, it is they that misguide me.
Clifton has just been with me. Some correspondent from Paris has
mentioned the visit paid to me instead of him by the Count de Beaunoir,
but in a dark and unintelligible manner, and he came to enquire. I
confess, Oliver, while I was answering his interrogatories, I seemed to
feel that both you and I had drawn a false conclusion relative to
secrecy; and that by concealment to render myself the subject of
suspicion was an unworthy procedure. However as my motives were not
indirect, whatever my silence might be, I answered without reserve and
told him all that had passed; frankly owning my fears of his
irritability as the reason why I did not mention the affair
immediately.
He laughted at the Count's rhodomontade, acknowledged himself obliged
to me, and allowed that at that time my fears were not wholly
causeless. He behaved with ease and good humour, and left me without
appearing to have taken any offence. I shall be with thee on Tuesday.
I know it will be a day of feasting to the family, and I will do my
best endeavour not to cast a damp on the hilarity of benevolence and
friendship.