Confession; Or, The Blind Heart Part 20

CHAPTER XXVII

KINGSLEY.

THE fiendish suggestion of the mother, against the purity of her own child, almost divested me, for the moment, of my own rancor--almost deprived me of my suspicions! Could anything have been more thoroughly horrible and atrocious! It certainly betrayed how deep was the malignant hatred which she had ever borne to myself, and of which her daughter was now required to bear a portion. What a volume of human depravity was opened on my sight, by that single utterance of this wretched mother.

Guilt and sin! ye are, indeed, the masters everywhere! How universal is your dominion! How ye rage--how ye riot among souls, and minds, and fancies--never utterly overthrown anywhere--busy always--everywhere--sovereign in how many hapless regions of the heart!

Who is pure among men? Who can be sure of himself for a day--an hour?

Precious few! None, certainly, who do not distrust their own strength with a humility only to be won from prayer--prayer coupled with moderate desires, and the presence of a constant thought, which teaches that time is a mere agent of eternity, and he who works for the one only, will not even be secure of peace during the period for which he works. Truly, he who lives not for the future is the very last who may reasonably hope to enjoy the blessings of the present.

But this was not the season, nor was mine the mood, for moral reflections of any sort. My secret was known! That was everything. When the conduct of William Edgerton had become such, as to awaken the notice of third persons, I was justified in exacting from him the heavy responsibility he had incurred. The vague, indistinct conviction had long floated before my mind, that I would be required to take his life.

The period which was to render this task necessary, was that which had now arrived--when it had been seen by others--not interested like myself--that he had pa.s.sed the bounds of propriety. Of course, I was arguing in a circle, from which I should have found it impossible to extricate myself. Thousands might have seen that I was jealous, without being able to see any just cause for my jealousy. It was, however, quite enough for a proud spirit like my own, that its secret fear should be revealed. It did not much matter, after this, whether my suspicions were, or were not causeless. It was enough that they were known--that busy, meddling women, and men about town, should distinguish me with a finger--should say: "His wife is very pretty and--very charitable!"

"Ha! ha! ha!"

I, too, could laugh, under such musings, and in the spirit of Mrs.

Delaney--late Clifford.

"Ha! ha! ha!" The street echoed, beneath the windows of that reputable lady, with my involuntary, fiendish laughter. I stood there--and the music rang through my senses like the cries of exulting demons. She was there--of my wife the thoughts ran thus, she was there, whirling, perchance, in the mazes of that voluptuous dance, then recently become fashionable among us; his arm about her waist--her form inclining to his, as if seeking support and succor--and both of them forgetting all things but the mutual intoxication which swallowed up all things and thoughts in the absorbing sensuality of one! Or, perhaps, still apart, they sat to themselves--her ear fastened upon his lips--her consciousness given wholly to his discourse; and that discourse!--"Ha!

ha! ha!"--I laughed again, as I hurried away from the spot, with gigantic strides, taking the direction which led to my own lonely dwelling.

All was stillness there, but there was no peace. I entered the piazza, threw myself into a chair, and gazed out upon the leaves and waters, trying to collect my scattered thoughts--trying to subdue my blood, that my thoughts might meet in deliberation upon the desolating prospect which was then spread before me. But I struggled for this in vain. But one thought was mine at that hour. But one fearful image gathered in completeness and strength before my mind; and that was one calculated to banish all others and baffle all their deliberations.

"The blood of William Edgerton must be shed, and by these hands! My disgrace is known! There is no help for it!"

I had repeatedly resolved this gloomy conviction in my mind. It was now to receive shape and substance. It was a thing no longer to be thought upon. It was a thing to be done! This necessity staggered me. The kindness of the father, the kindness and long true friendship of the son himself, how could I requite this after such a fashion? How penetrate the peaceful home of that fond family with an arm of such violence, as to tend their proudest offspring from the parental tree, and, perhaps, in destroying it, blight for ever the venerable trunk upon which it was borne? Let it not be fancied that these feelings were without effect.

Let it not be supposed that I weakly, willingly, yielded to the conviction of this cruel necessity--that I determined, without a struggle, upon this seemingly necessary measure! Verily, I then, in that dreary house and hour, wrestled like a strong man with the unbidden prompter, who counselled me to the deed of blood. I wrestled with him as the desperate man, knowing the supernatural strength of his enemy, wrestles with a demon. The strife was a fearful one. I could not suppress my groans of agony; and the cold sweat gathered and stood upon my forehead in thick, clammy drops.

But the struggle was vain to effect my resolution. It had been too long present as a distinct image before my imagination. I had already become too familiar with its aspects. It had the look of a fate to my mind. I fancied myself--as probably most men will do, whose self-esteem is very active--the victim of a fate. My whole life tended to confirm this notion. I was chosen out from the beginning for a certain work, in which, my-self a victim, I was to carry out the designs of destiny in the ease of other victims. I had struggled long not to believe this--not to do this work. But the struggle was at last at an end. I was convinced, finally. I was ready for the work. I was resigned to my fate.

But oh! how grateful once had one of these victims seemed in my eyes!

How beautiful, and still how dear was the other!

I rose from my seat and struggle, with the air of one strengthened by thoughtful resolution for any act. Prayer could not have strengthened me more. I felt a singular degree of strength. I can well understand that of fanaticism from my own feelings. Nothing, in the shape of danger, could have deterred me from the deed. I positively had no remaining fear. But, how was it to be done? With this inquiry in my mind, still unanswered, I took a light, went into my study, and drew from my escritoir the few small weapons which I had in possession. These are soon named. One was a neat little dirk--broad in blade, double-edged, short--sufficient for all my purposes. I examined my pistols and loaded them--a small, neat pair, the present of Edgerton himself. This fact determined me not to use them. I restored them to the escritoir; put the dagger between the folds of my vest, and prepared to leave the house.

At this moment a heavy knocking was heard at the gate I resumed my seat in the piazza until the servant should report the nature of the interruption. He was followed in by my friend Kingsley.

"I am glad to find you home," said he abruptly, grasping my hand; "home, and not a-bed. The hour is late, I know, but the devil never keeps ordinary hours, and men, driven by his satanic majesty, have some excuse for following his example."

This exordium promised something unusual. The manner of Kingsley betrayed excitement. Nay, it was soon evident he had been taking a superfluous quant.i.ty of wine. His voice was thick, and he spoke excessively loud in order to be intelligible. There was something like a defying desperation in his tones, in the dare-devil swagger of his movement, and the almost iron pressure of his grasp upon my fingers. I subdued my own pa.s.sions--nay, they were subdued--singularly so, by the resolution I had made before his entrance, and was able, therefore, to appear calm and smooth as summer water in his eyes.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "You seem excited. No evil, I trust?"

"Evil, indeed! Not much; but even if it were, I tell you Ned Clifford, I am just now in the mood to say, 'Evil be thou my good!' I have reason to say it; and, by the powers, it will not be said only. I will make evil my good after a fashion of my own; but how much good or now little evil, will be yet another question."

I was interested, in spite of myself, by the vehemence and unusual seriousness of my companion's manner. It somewhat harmonized with my own temper, and in a measure beguiled me into a momentary heedlessness of my particular griefs. I urged him to a more frank statement of the things that troubled him.

"Can I serve you in anything?" was the inquiry which concluded my a.s.surance that I was sufficiently his friend to sympathize with him in his afflictions.

"You can serve me, and I need your service. You can serve me in two respects; nay, if you do not, I know not which side to turn for service.

In the first place, then, I wish a hundred dollars, and I wish it to-night. In the next place, I wish a companion--a man not easily scared, who will follow where I lead him, and take part in a 'knock down and drag out,' if it should become necessary, without asking the why and the wherefore."

"You shall have the money, Kingsley."

"Stay! Perhaps I may never pay it you again."

"I shall regret that, for I can ill afford to lose any such sum; but, even to know that would not prevent me from lending you in your need. It is enough that you are in want. You tell me you are."

"I am; but my wants are not such as a pure moralist, however strong might be his friendship, would be disposed to gratify. I shall stake that money on the roll of the dice."

"Impossible! You do not game!"

"True as a gospel! Hark you, Clifford, and save us the homily. I am a ruined man--ruined by the d---d dice and the deceptive cards. I shall pay you back the hundred dollars, but I shall have precious little after that."

"But, surely, I was not misinformed. You were rich a few years ago."

"A few months! But the case is the same. I am poor now. My riches had wings. I am reduced to my tail-feathers; but I will flourish with these to the last. I have fallen among thieves. They have clipped my plumage--close! close! They have stripped me of everything, but some small matters which, when sold, will just suffice to get me horse or halter. Some dirty acres in Alabama, are all I absolutely have remaining of any real value. But there is one thing that I may have, if I stake boldly for it."

"You will only lose again. The hope of a gamester rises, in due degree, with the increasing lightness of his pockets."

"Do not mistake me. I hope nothing from your hundred dollars; indeed, fifty will answer. I propose to employ it only as a pretext. I expect to lose it, and lose it this very night. But it will give me an opportunity to ascertain what I have suspected--too late, indeed, to save myself--that I have been the victim of false dice and figured cards. You say you will let me have the money--will you go with me--Will you see me through?"

He extended his hand as he spoke, I grasped it. He shook it with a hearty feeling, while a bright smile almost, dissipated the cloud from his face.

"You are a man, Clifford; and now, would you believe it, our excellent, immaculate young friend, Mr. William Edgerton, refused me this money."

"Strange! Edgerton is not selfish--he is not mean! From THAT vice he is certainly free."

"By G-d, I don't know that! He refused me the money; refused to go with me. I saw him at eight o'clock, at his own room, where he was rigging himself out for some d---d tea-drinking; told him my straits, my losses, my object and all; and what was his plea, think you? Why, he disapproved of gambling; couldn't think of lending me a sixpence for any such purpose; and, as for going into such a suspected quarter as a gambling-house--wouldn't do it for the world! Was there ever such a puritan--such a humbug!"

I did William Edgerton only justice in my reply;--

"I've no doubt, Kingsley, that such are his real principles. He would have lent you thrice the money, freely, had not your object been avowed."

"But what a devil sort of despotism is that! Can't a friend get drunk, or game, or swagger? may he not depart from the highway, and sidle into an alley, without souring his friend's temper and making him stingy?

I don't understand it at all. I'm glad, at least, to find you are of another sort of stuff."

"Nay, Kingsley, I will lend you the money--go with you, as you desire; but, understand me, I do not, no more than Edgerton, approve of this gambling."

"Tut, tut! I don't want you to preach, though I could hear you with a devilish sight better temper than him. There's a hundred things that one's friend don't approve of, but shall he desert him for all that?

Leave him to be plucked, and kicked, and abandoned; and, moralizing, with a grin over his fain, say, 'I told you so!' No! no! Give me the fellow that'll stand by me--keep me out of evil, if he can, but stand by me, nevertheless, at all events; and not suffer me to be swallowed up at the last moment, when an outstretched finger might save!"

"But, am I to think, Kingsley, that my help can do this?"

"No! not exactly--it may--but if it does not, what then? I shall lose the money, but you shan't. But, truth to speak, Clifford, I do not propose to myself the recovery of what is lost. I know I have been the prey of sharpers. That is to say, I have every reason to believe so, and I have had a hint to that effect. I have a spice of the devil in me, accordingly--a mocking, mortifying devil, that jeers me with my d---d simplicity; and I propose to go and let the swindlers know, in a way as little circuitous as possible, that I am not blind to the fact that they have made an a.s.s of me. There will be some satisfaction, in that. I will write myself down an a.s.s, for their benefit, only to enjoy the satisfaction of kicking a little like one. I invite you on a kicking expedition."

I felt for my dagger in my bosom, as I answered: "Very good! Have you weapons?"

"Hickory! You see! a moderate axe-handle, that'll make its sentiments understood You are warned; you see what you are to expect. I will not take you in. Are you ready for a scratch?"