s; ^ : '5?^'3''v--- ."' 'S&?'"^^&*j&&'*r*. ." X v^- r ^- ? vvp'y7>*'f ;- v .'> 
 
 ^fttf C^^tfv^'-^S^ji^A^;':.-.- c>\fcl 'V^^'C/^^-vv c/ 1 ^<?f' V- : i^ 
 
 ^ jV?^^' 'S' f ^< f^ i^r^.. ^- ^^'f^. Iv^- -5 "^ 
 ^;SLjL ^*t ^y^;- k,-!^ J^ ^aJ5 '; o^KSi . ^ '^ 
 
 iliPi^^Pgj^ 
 
 i^-rJ^f^'x^S^^-. fr.: 
 
;IP^j'$te>^fe^:*^ :? '-^^^i: 
 
 s .'~.v>.I ..i.i/Xi'.^ivjA^ ? V,V^ v - '^-"^r-.v CX\?.:r. V-:.. ^'/^rvv^"..^'i> 
 
RETURN TO 
 
 Tlie Lilora-ry of 
 W. L, ADAMS. 
 
; COlSTFESSIOlSr ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 A DOMESTIC STOKY.J 
 BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, 
 
 AUTHOR OP "GUY RIVERS," "RICHARD HURDIS," "BORDER BEAGLES, 1 ' 
 " BEAUCHAMPE," "KATHARINE WALTON," "THE SCOUT," ETC. 
 
 WAGNER. But of the world the heart, the mind of man, 
 How happy could we know 1 
 
 FAUST. What can we know P 
 
 Who dares bestow the infant his true name ? 
 The few who felt and knew, but blindly gave 
 Their knowledge to the multitude they fell 1 
 Incapable to keep their full hearts in. 
 They, from the first of immemorial time, 
 Were crucified or burnt. 
 
 GOETHE'S FAUST, MS. Version. 
 
 and Kefcfoed Mfion. 
 
 CLEVELAND : 
 THE BURROWS BROTHERS COMPANY. 
 
 1888. 
 
PS 
 
 RETURN TO 
 
 ^ 
 
 W- L. ADAMS. | 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 jT is, no doubt, a departure from the general laws of Kature, 
 when we exhibit, in a work of art, in fiction, the exercise of any 
 one passion exclusively ; when, as in the case of Miss Joanna 
 Baillie, in her " Plays of the Passions," we endeavor to individ- 
 ualize a single passion to the exclusion of all the rest, and 
 seek to build our interest entirely upon the exercise of the one 
 feature, or quality of mind or heart, which we have thus estab- 
 lished in this morbid ascendency. Nature does not usually 
 work after this fashion. The passions dwell in groups and fam 
 ilies, and there is perpetual play and co-operation between 
 them. One of them may, indeed, exercise a predominating 
 power; but the others are still visibly working, as tributaries 
 certainly a portion of them and their presence is to be de- 
 tected in the general agency ; affording that sort of relief to 
 the person in whose fortunes the chief interest lies, without 
 which a passion resolves itself finally into madness. There is 
 little question, indeed, that not only do most madnesses arise 
 from such an absorbed condition of the mind, which thus subju- 
 gates all the energies to a single faculty, and compels them in a 
 single direction, and keeps them intensely exercised and sorely 
 straitened ; but that all intensity, which throws a single passiov 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 into extreme superiority, for any length of time, so as to leave 
 the rest wholly in abeyance, will so impair the intellectual 
 strength as to render of questionable sanity all the perform- 
 ances of the party while in this condition. That this condition 
 does and must exist occasionally, we know ; for we have mad- 
 ness and monomania in the world : but, as it is the policy of 
 neither moralist nor dramatist to select a madman for his hero/ 
 so it is false practice in art, and a great mistake, so to individu- 
 alize a passion until it acts like madness unless, where we 
 make the character wholly subordinate to the fiction, and use 
 it merely as a part of the inferior agency in bringing about 
 results which are requisite for the large conditions of the story ; 
 and even this must be done very judiciously, and without ma- 
 king a too free use of the morbid agency. 
 
 I am not sure that I have not erred against my own rule 
 in the tale which follows ; but I am sure that I have had no 
 purpose to violate it. Indeed, the form of monomania which 
 I have here sought to delineate, I have endeavored tc relieve 
 by shows of other passions nay, by the free exercise of 
 other passions, and strong ones too which would, under 
 other circumstances, in the case of an individual trained by a 
 more indulgent fortune, have fully availed to neutralize the one 
 moral plague-spot, which, let to grow, and stimulated in its 
 growth by external pressure, became finally, in the case of my 
 hero, big enough, not only to cover the whole heart, but to im- 
 pair the vigorous working of an otherwise noble bra : n. Self- 
 esteem is, here, a passion ; ambition, a passion ; love, a passion : 
 there are nice sensibilities, an honorable spirit, great gentle- 
 ness, warm sympathies, and many talents. But the self-esteem, 
 in an ambitious nature, goaded by continual wrong, grows into 
 one of the most jealous of all passions ; and, in the case of one 
 equally endowed with a fine heart and noble faculties, it is apt 
 to put on the most subtle as well as the most fiery form of jeal- 
 ousy. The jealousy of self-estceii), by-the-way, is of far greatei 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 intensity than that which springs from mortified affections alone \ 
 and this is the source of the diseased development which I here 
 delineate. Enough, perhaps, on this head, particularly as my 
 ohject, throughout the tale, has been to make the hero lay bare 
 the secret of his own disease, and, step by step, to exhibit its 
 successive symptoms. 
 
 Portions of the following narrative were among the earliest 
 prose-writings of the author. The materials are gathered from 
 facts, in a domestic history, the sources of which he believes to 
 be unquestionable. Some of the events occurred, indeed, un- 
 der his own observation. Of this early manuscript he had 
 almost lost all recollection, until he happened upon it while 
 exploring the contents of a large mass of similar beginnings of 
 his youth. The reperusal of the fragment possessed his mind 
 so warmly with the subject, that he could not resist the desire 
 to resume it. Attempting to arrange it for the press, he was 
 led away by his own interest in the psychological history ; and 
 the work grew beneath his hands to a size far exceeding his 
 original purpose, which contemplated nothing more than the 
 construction of a rapid magazine article. 
 
 A work so growing, without design, may be strictly legiti- 
 mate, as the natural progress of the author's mind to the solu- 
 tions of his problems, yet fail in every essential, as a work of 
 interest for the reader, or even of art. The mere logical array 
 of facts, distribution and arrangement of the proper relations of 
 parties and events all these, however well done, may yet con- 
 stitute no more claim to art than may be urged in behalf of a 
 well-put law argument. The defect in design will most proba- 
 bly be a loss of warmth and color to the picture, to speak in 
 the language of the studio. Such a process of gradual expan- 
 sion, without heed to the design, is liable to many dangers and 
 objections, in addition to the deficiency already mentioned ; not 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 day by day, to the labors of the anatomist merely to bare 
 the nerves, and sinews, and tissues,, and limbs, which we should 
 prefer to clothe and color is apt to become a somewhat dreary, 
 even when an exciting, performance ; and this is the danger 
 always of one who, in fiction, works under the surface, rejecting 
 those exhibitions of the moods externally which supply the per- 
 formance with its inoidents. We prefer the salient action to 
 the contemplation of the silent agony; would rather behold 
 the action than have it described to us; must see Richard 
 writhing upon his couch, even while we listen to his dream ; 
 and are apt to feel it somewhat wearisome to trace the secret 
 necessity of the soul, even though, in doing so, we are allowed 
 to pierce its most hidden mysteries. We prefer to hear it cry 
 aloud its agonies, rather than take upon ourselves the labor of 
 seeking them where they lie concealed, and watching the secret 
 struggles by which they are subdued. 
 
 To readers, therefore, who are simply in search of incident, 
 and that sort of interest which appeals to the blood rather than 
 the brain, it may be well, by way of caution, and to prevent 
 unreasonable expectation, to say that this " Confession of tho 
 Blind Heart" offers very little encouragement. It partakes of 
 few of the features of that school of Dumas, and Reynolds, and 
 Ainsworth, in which the heart is made to roar out its hopes or 
 sufferings, under incessant provocation and stimuli. It has its 
 " disastrous chances ;" but with few of those " moving accidents 
 by flood and field" those "hair-breadth 'scapes i' the immi- 
 nent deadly breach" which so richly garnish in general the 
 tales of these popular writers. 
 
 Its interest is required to arise from other sources. It con- 
 templates another class of readers The trials and troubles of 
 the hero are not only those of simple, domestic life, but they 
 are of the sensibilities rather than the blood diseased sensi- 
 bilities, where the passions, exciting and erring, develop them- 
 selves in faults, vices, and weaknesses, rather than in crimes ; 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 and where, even when crime occurs, it is motiveless as crime, 
 not purposed as crime, but, under a blind judgment, as justice 
 simply. The attempt is made to analyze the heart in some of 
 its obliquities and perversities ; to follow its toils, pursue its 
 phases, and to trace, if possible, the secret of its self-deceptions, 
 its self-baffling inconsistencies, its seemingly wilful warfare with 
 reason and the sober experience. This is the simple design of 
 the narrative, which, with great unity of plan and purpose, 
 lacks all the usual varieties of art in prose fiction. It belongs, 
 somewhat, to the class of works which the genius of Godwin 
 has made to triumph in " Caleb Williams," even over a per- 
 verse system. 
 
 The writer reviews his work, now that it is finished (and 
 now again when he revises its pages for the last time), with 
 many misgivings. He is not blind to the difficulty of describing 
 the struggles of a blind heart taking that one heart up, almost 
 alone, and making it narrate its own dreary consciousness of 
 wrong-doing, of wrong-enduring, and of equal suffering in both 
 conditions. Perhaps there can be no performance more diffi- 
 cult none less likely to appeal to the merely popular reader 
 less likely to be successful, in common opinion, unless with 
 a small and peculiarly-constituted circle. There is no relief to 
 the picture no background, or it is all background gloomy 
 even with its glare an ominous shadow hanging like a cloud 
 over the whole, and serving as the curtain which, half the time, 
 conceals the sacrifice. Success, of a popular kind, is rarely 
 possible in any work of fiction where events, which naturally 
 speak for themselves, are mostly rejected from use ; where the 
 whole history depends for development upon the silent progress 
 of tho thoughts, and sentiments, and emotions the passions 
 themselves working as under-currents of moods and feelings 
 moods which look, but speak not, and feelings that boil for ever 
 in fiery fountains, but are never suffered to overflow ! A sin- 
 gle soul is here selected from the rest, put in bonds, put to the 
 
 1* 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 torture, and made to declare its dreary experience through iti 
 groans. It is to suffer, not to act. It has no foil, no assistants, 
 there is no chorus ; no other actors are suffered on the scene. 
 Its cry is necessarily a monotone. Its own intensity must sup- 
 ply the absence of exciting action. Can it make itself heard, 
 felt secure justice, compel sympathy by this one cry of 
 agony ? That is the question. In degree with the intensity 
 of its own agony, its own severe simplicity and truth, its own 
 earnest feeling of sincerity, and the injustice of its suffering 
 under the decree of an ingeniously perverse fate, will be the 
 credence we accord to its appeal. It speaks, or not, to the 
 purpose, as one giving evidence. Perhaps, like the frequent 
 witness in other courts, it may speak some nay, much yet 
 not the whole truth. The writer, however, has striven that 
 such should not be the case. He has conducted the cross- 
 examination with a searching scrutiny ; and, if any matters of 
 evidence are left unrevealed, the fault is rather in the lawyer 
 than the witness. The courteous reader will be pleased to per- 
 ceive this fault in neither. In neither we answer for both 
 
 i it wilful. 
 
 W. G. S. 
 
CONFESSION, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Who dares bestow the infant his true name ? 
 The few who felt and knew, but blindly gave 
 Their knowledge to the multitude they fell 
 Incapable to keep their full hearts in, 
 They, from the first of immemorial time, 
 Were crucified or burnt." GOETHE'S Faust. 
 
 THE pains and penalties of folly are not necessarily death. 
 They were in old times, perhaps, according to the text, and he 
 who kept not to himself the secrets of his silly heart was surely 
 crucified or burnt. Though lacking in penalties extreme like 
 these, the present is not without its own. All times, indeed, 
 Lave their penalties for folly, much more certainly than for 
 crime ; and this fact furnishes one of the most human argumentn 
 in favor of the doctrine of rewards and punishments in the fu- 
 ture state. But these penalties are not always mortifications 
 and trials of the flesh. There are punishments of the soul ; the 
 spirit ; the sensibilities ; the intellect which are most usually 
 the consequences of one's own folly. There is a perversity of 
 mood which is the worst of all such penalties. There are tor- 
 tures which the foolish heart equally inflicts and endures. The 
 passions riot on their own nature ; and, feeding as they do upon 
 
12 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 that bosom from which they spring, and in which they flourish, 
 may, not inaptly, be likened to that unnatural brood which 
 gnaws into the heart of the mother-bird, and sustains its exist- 
 ence at the expense of hers. Meetly governed from the be- 
 ginning, they are dutiful agents that bless themselves in their 
 own obedience ; but, pampered to excess, they are tyrants that 
 never do justice, until at last, when they fitly conclude the work 
 of destruction by their own. 
 
 The narrative which follows is intended to illustrate these 
 opinions. It is the story of a blind heart nay, of blind hearts 
 blind through their own perversity blind to their own in- 
 terests their own joys, hopes, and proper sources of delight. 
 In narrating my own fortunes, I depict theirs; and the old 
 leaven of wilfulness, which belongs to our nature, has, in greater 
 or less degree, a place in every human bosom. 
 
 I was the only one surviving of several sons. My parents 
 died while I was yet an infant. I never knew them. I was 
 left to the doubtful charge of relatives, who might as well have 
 been strangers ; and, from their treatment, I learned to doubt 
 and to distrust among the first fatal lessons of my youth. I felt 
 myself unloved nay, as I fancied, disliked and despised. I 
 was not merely an orphan. I was poor, and was felt as burden- 
 some by those connections whom a dread of public opinion, 
 rather than a sense of duty and affection, persuaded to take me 
 to their homes. Here, then, when little more than three years 
 old, I found myself a lonely brat, whom servants might flout 
 at pleasure, and whom superiors only regarded with a frown. 
 I was just old enough to remember that I had once experienced 
 very different treatment. I had felt the caresses of a fond 
 mother I had heard the cheering accents of a generous and a 
 gentle father. The one had soothed my griefs and encouraged 
 my hopes the other had stimulated my energies and prompted 
 my desires. Let no one fancy that, because I was a child, these 
 lessons were premature. All education, to be valuable, must 
 begin with the child's first efforts at discrimination. Suddenly, 
 both of these fond parents disappeared, and I was just young 
 enough to wonder why. 
 
 The change in my fortunes first touched my sensibilities, 
 which it finally excited until they became diseased. Neglected. 
 
THE ORPHAN. 13 
 
 if not scorned, I habitually looked to encounter nothing but 
 neglect or scorn. The sure result of this condition of mind was 
 a look and feeling, on my parr, of habitual defiance. I grew 
 up with the mood of one who goes forth with a moral certainty 
 that he must meet and provide against an enemy. But I am 
 now premature. 
 
 The uncle and aunt with whom I found shelter were what is 
 called in ordinary parlance, very good people. They attended 
 the most popular church with most popular punctuality. They 
 prayed with unction subscribed to all the charities which had 
 publicity and a fashionable list to recommend them helped 
 to send missionaries to Calcutta, Bombay, Owyhee, and other 
 outlandish regions paid their debts when they became due 
 with commendable readiness and were, in all out-of-door re- 
 spects, the very sort of people who might congratulate them- 
 selves, and thank God that they were very far superior to their 
 neighbors. My uncle had morning prayers at home, and my 
 aunt thumbed Hannah More in the evening ; though it must be 
 admitted that the former could not always forbear, coming from 
 church on the sabbath, to inquire into the last news of the 
 Liverpool cotton market, and my aunt never failed, when they 
 reached home, on the same blessed day, to make the house 
 ring with another sort of eloquence than that to which she had 
 listened with such sanctimonious devotion from the lips of the 
 preacher. There were some other little offsets against the per- 
 fectly evangelical character of their religion. One of these 
 the first that attracted my infant consideration was naturally 
 one which more directly concerned myself. I soon discovered 
 that, while I was sent to an ordinary charity school of the 
 country, in threadbare breeches, made of the meanest material 
 their own son a gentle and good, but puny boy, whom their 
 indulgence injured, and, perhaps, finally destroyed was de- 
 spatched to a fashionable institution which taught all sorts of 
 ologies dressed in such choice broadcloth and costly habili- 
 ments, as to make him an object of envy and even odium among 
 all his less fortunate school-fellows. 
 
 Poor little Edgar ! His own good heart and correct natural 
 understanding showed him the equal folly of that treatment to 
 which he was subjected, and the injustice and unkindness which 
 
14 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 distinguished mine. He strove to make amends, so far as I was 
 concerned, for the error of his parents. He was my playmate 
 whenever he was permitted, but even this permission was qual- 
 ified by some remark, some direction or counsel, from one or 
 other of his parents, which was intended to let him know, and 
 make me feel, that there was a monstrous difference between us. 
 
 The servants discovered this difference as quickly as did the 
 objects of it; and though we were precisely of one age, and I 
 was rather the largest of the two, yet, in addressing us, they 
 paid him the deference which should only be shown to superior 
 age, and treated me with the contumely only due to inferior 
 merit. It was " Master Edgar/' when he was spoken to and 
 " you," when I was the object of attention. 
 
 I do not speak of these things as of substantial evils affecting 
 my condition. Perhaps, in one or more respects, they were 
 benefits. They taught me humility in the first place, and made 
 that humility independence, by showing me that the lesson was 
 bestowed in wantonness, and not with the purpose of improve- 
 ment. And, in proportion as my physical nature suffered their 
 neglect, it acquired strength by the very roughening to which 
 that neglect exposed it. In this I possessed a vast advantage 
 over my little companion. His frame, naturally feeble, sunk 
 under the oppressive tenderness to which the constant care of 
 a vain father, a doting mother, and sycophantic friends and ser- 
 vants, subjected it. The attrition of boy with boy, in the half-man- 
 ly sports of schoolboy life its very strifes and scuffles would 
 have brought his blood into adequate circulation, and hardened 
 his bones, and given elasticity to his sinews. But from all these 
 influences, he was carefully preserved and protected. He was 
 not allowed to run, for fear of being too much heated. He could 
 not jump, lest he might break a blood-vessel. In the ball play 
 he might get an eye knocked out ; and even tops and marbles 
 were forbidden, lest he should soil his hands and wear out the 
 knees of his green breeches. If he indulged in these sports it 
 was only by stealth, and at the fearful cost of a falsehood on 
 every such occasion. When will parents learn that entirely to 
 crush and keep down the proper nature of the young, is to pro- 
 duce inevitable perversity, and stimulate the boyish ingenuity 
 to crime? 
 
THE ORPHAN. 15 
 
 With me the case was very different. If cuffing and kicking 
 could have killed, I should have died many sudden and severe 
 deaths in the rough school to which I was sent. If eyes were 
 likely to he lost in the campus, corded balls of India-rubber, or 
 still harder ones of wood, impelled by shinny (goff ) sticks, would 
 have obliterated all of mine though they had been numerous as 
 those of Argus. My limbs and eyes escaped all injury ; my 
 frame grew tall and vigorous in consequence of neglect, even 
 as the forest-tree, left to the conflict of all the winds of heaven ; 
 while my poor little friend, Edgar, grew daily more and more 
 diminutive, just as some plant, which nursing and tendance 
 within doors deprive of the wholesome sunshine and generous 
 breezes of the sky. The paleness of his cheek increased, the 
 languor of his frame, the meagerness of his form, the inability 
 of his nature ! He was pining rapidly away, in spite of that 
 excessive care, which, perhaps, had been in the first instance, 
 the unhappy source of all his feebleness. 
 
 He died and I became an object of greater dislike than 
 ever to his parents. They could not but contrast my strength 
 with his feebleness my improvement with his decline and 
 when they remembered how little had been their regard for me- 
 and how much for him without ascribing the difference of 
 result to the true cause they repined at the ways of Provi- 
 dence, and threw upon me the reproach of it. They gave me 
 less heed and fewer smiles than ever. If I improved at school, 
 it was well, perhaps ; but they never inquired, and I could not 
 help fancying that it was with a positive expression of vexation, 
 that my aunt heard, on one occasion, from my teacher, in the 
 presence of some guests, that I was likely to be an honor to 
 the family. 
 
 " An honor to the family, indeed !" This was the clear ex- 
 pression in that Christian lady's eyes, as I saw them sink im- 
 mediately after in a scornful examination of my rugged frame 
 and coarse garments. 
 
 The family had its own sources of honor, was the calm opin- 
 ion of both my patrons, as they turned their eyes upon their 
 only remaining child a little girl about five years old, who 
 was playing around them on the carpet. This opinion was also 
 mine, even then; and my eyes followed theirs in the same 
 
16 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 direction. Julia Clifford was one of the sweetest little fairies 
 in the world. Tender-hearted, and just, and generous, like the 
 dear little brother, whom she had only known to lose, she was 
 yet as playful as a kitten. I was twice her age just ten 
 at this period ; and* a sort of instinct led me to adopt the little 
 creature, in place of poor Edgar, in the friendship of my boyish 
 heart. I drew her in her little wagon carried her over the 
 brooklet constructed her tiny playthings and in considera- 
 tion of my usefulness, in most generally keeping her in the best 
 of humors, her mother was not unwilling that I should be her 
 frequent playmate. Nay, at such times she could spare a gentle 
 word even to me, as one throws a bone to the dog, who has 
 jumped a pole, or plunged into the water, or worried some other 
 dog, for his amusement. At no other period did my worthy 
 aunt vouchsafe me such unlooked-for consideration. 
 
 But Julia Clifford was not my only friend. I had made another 
 shortly before the death of Edgar ; though, passingly it may be 
 said, friendship-making was no easy business with a nature such 
 as mine had now become. The inevitable result of such treat- 
 ment as that to which my early years had been subjected, was 
 fully realized. I was suspicious to the last degree of all new 
 faces jealous of the regards of the old ; devoting myself where 
 my affections were set and requiring devotion rigid, exclusive 
 devotion from their object in return. There was a terrible 
 earnestness in all my moods which made my very love a thing 
 to be feared. I was no trifler I could not suffer to be trifled 
 with and the ordinary friendships of man or boy can not long 
 endure the exactions of such a disposition. The penalties are 
 usually thought to be and are infinitely beyond the rewards 
 and benefits. 
 
 My intimacies with William Edgerton were first formed under 
 circumstances which, of all others, are most likely to establish 
 them on a firm basis in our days of boyhood. He came to my 
 rescue one evening, when, returning from school, I was beset by 
 three other boys, who had resolved on drubbing me. My 
 haughty deportment had vexed their self-esteem, and, as the 
 same cause had left me with few sympathies, it was taken for 
 granted that the unfairness of their assault would provoke n> 
 censure. They were mistaken. In the moment of my greatest 
 
THE ORPHAN. 17 
 
 difficulty, William Edgerton dashed in among them. My exigen 
 cy rendered his assistance a very singular benefit. My nose was 
 already broken one of my eyes sealed up for a week's holy day ; 
 and I was suffering from small annoyances, of hip, heart, leg, and 
 thigh, occasioned by the repeated cuffs, and the reckless kicks, 
 which I was momently receiving from three points of the compass. 
 It is true that my enemies had their hurts to complain of also ; but 
 the odds were too greatly against me for any conduct or strength 
 of mine to neutralize or overcome ; and it was only by Edgerton's 
 interposition that I was saved from utter defeat and much worse 
 usage. The beating I had already suffered. I was sore from 
 head to foot for a week after ; and my only consolation was 
 that my enemies left the ground in a condition, if anything, 
 something worse than my own. 
 
 But I had gained a friend, and that was a sweet recompense, 
 sweeter to me, by far, than it is found or felt by schoolboys 
 usually. None could know or comprehend the force of my 
 attachment my dependence upon the attachment of which I felt 
 assured ! none but those who, with an earnest, impetuous nature 
 like rny own doomed to denial from the first, and treated with 
 injustice and unkindness has felt the pang of a worse privation 
 from the beginning ; the privation of that sustenance, which is 
 the " very be all and end all" of its desire and its life and the 
 denial of which chills and repels its fervor throws it back in 
 despondency upon itself fills it with suspicion, and racks it 
 with a never-ceasing conflict between its apprehension and its 
 hopes. 
 
 Edgerton supplied a vacuum which my bosom had long felt. 
 He was, however, very unlike, in most respects, to myself. 
 He was rather phlegmatic than ardent slow in his fancies, and 
 shy in his associations from very fastidiousness. He was too 
 much governed by nice tastes, to be an active or performing 
 youth ; and too much restrained by them also, to be a popular 
 one. This, perhaps, was the secret influence which brought us 
 together. A mutual sense of isolation no matter from what 
 cause awakened the sympathies between us. Our ties were 
 formed, on my part, simply because I was assured that I should 
 have no rival ; and on his, possibly, because he perceived in my 
 haughty reserve of character, a sufficient security that his fas- 
 
18 
 
 tidious sensibilities would not be likely to suffer outrage at my 
 hands. In every other respect our moods and tempers were 
 utterly unlike. I thought him dull, very frequently, when he 
 was only balancing between jealous and sensitive tastes; and 
 ignorant of the actual, when, in fact, his ignorance simply arose 
 from the decided preference which he gave to the foreign and 
 abstract. He was contemplative an idealist ; I was impetuous 
 and devoted to the real and living world around me, in which I 
 was disposed to mingle with an eagerness which might have been 
 fatal ; but for that restraint to which my own distrust of all thingg 
 and persons habitually subjected me. 
 
BOY "ASBKWS. 19 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BOY PASSIONS A PROFESSION CHOSEN, 
 
 BETWEEN William Edgerton and Julia Clifford my 
 life and best affections were divided, entirely, if not equally. I 
 lived for no other I cared to seek, to know, no other and 
 yet I often shrunk from both. Even at that boyish period, while 
 the heavier cares and the more painful vexations of life were 
 wanting to our annoyance, I had those of that gnawing nature, 
 which seemed to be born of the tree whose evil growth " br jught 
 death into the world and all our wo." The pang of a nameless 
 jealousy a sleepless distrust rose unbidden to my heart at 
 seasons, when, in truth, there was no obvious cause. When 
 Julia was most gentle when William was most generous 
 even then, I had learned to repulse them with an indifference 
 which I did not feel a rudeness which brought to my heart a 
 pain even greater than that which my wantonness inflicted upon 
 theirs. I knew, even then, that I was perverse, unjust ; and 
 that there was a littleness in the vexatious mood in which I 
 indulged, that was unjust to my own feelings, and unbecoming 
 in a manly nature. But even though I felt all this, as thoroughly 
 as I could ever feel it under any situation, I still could not suc- 
 ceed in overcoming tha' insane will which drove me to its indul- 
 gence. 
 
 Vainly have I striven to account for the blindness of heart 
 for such it is, in all such cases which possessed me. Was there 
 anything in my secret nature, born at my birth and growing 
 with my growth which impelled me to this wilfulness. I can 
 scarcely believe so ; but, after serious reflection, am compelled 
 to think that it was the strict result of moods growing out of the 
 particular treatment to which I had been subjected. It does 
 not seem unnatural that an ardent temper of mind, willing to 
 
iO CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 confide, looking to love and affection for the only aliment which 
 it most and chiefly desires, and repelled in this search, frowned 
 on hy its superiors as if it were something base, will, in time, 
 grow to be habitually wilful, even as the treatment which has 
 schooled it. Had I been governed and guided by justice, I am 
 sure that I should never have been unjust. 
 
 My waywardness in childhood did not often amount to rudeness, 
 and never, I may safely say, where Julia was concerned. In 
 her case, it was simply tlie exercise of a sullenness that repelled 
 her approaches, even as its own approaches had been repelled 
 by others. At such periods I went apart, communing sternly 
 with myself, refusing the sympathy that I most yearned after, 
 and resolving not to be comforted. Let me do the dear child th 
 justice to say that the only effect which this conduct had upon 
 her, was to increase her anedeties to soothe the repulsive spirit 
 which should have offended her. Perhaps, to provoke this 
 anxiety in one it loves, is the chief desire of such a spirit. It 
 loves to behold the persevering devotion, which it yet perversely 
 toils to discourage. It smiles within, with a bitter triumph, as 
 it contemplates its own power, to impart the same sorrow which 
 a similar perversity has already made it feel. 
 
 But, without seeking further to analyze and account for such 
 a spirit, it is quite sufficient if I have described it. Perhaps, 
 there are other hearts equally froward and wayward with my 
 own. I know not if my story will amend perhaps it may 
 not even instruct or inform them I feel that no story, however 
 truthful, could have disarmed the humor of that particular mood 
 of mind which shows itself in the blindness of the heart under 
 which it was my lot to labor. I did not want knowledge of my 
 own perversity. I knew I felt it as clearly as if I hid seen 
 it written in characters of light, on the walls of my chamber. 
 But, until it had exhausted itself and passed away by its own 
 processes, no effort of mine could have overcome or banished it. 
 I stalked apart, under its influence, a gloomy savage scornful 
 and sad stern, yet suffering denying myself equally, in the 
 perverse and wanton denial to which I condemned all otheis. 
 
 Perhaps something of this temper is derived from the yearn- 
 ings of the mental nature. It may belong somewhat to the 
 natural direction of a mind having a decided tendency to imagi- 
 
BOY PASSIONS. 21 
 
 native pursuits. There is a dim, vague, indefinite struggle, for 
 ever going on in the nature of such a person, after an existence 
 and relations very foreign to the world in which it lives ; and 
 equally far from, and hostile to that condition in which it thrives. 
 The vague discontent of such a mind is one of the causes of its 
 activity ; and how far it may be stimulated into diseased inten- 
 sity by injudicious treatment, is a question of large importance 
 for the consideration of philosophers. The imaginative nature 
 is one singularly sensitive in its conditions ; quick, jealous, 
 watchful, earnest, stirring, and perpetually breaking down the 
 ordinary barriers of the actual, in its struggles to ascertain the 
 extent of the possible. The tyranny which drives it from the 
 ordinary resources and enjoyments of the young, by throwing 
 it more completely on its own, impels into desperate activity 
 that daring of the imaginative mood, which, at no time, is want- 
 ing in courage and audacity. My mind was one singularly 
 imaginative in its structure ; and my ardent temperament con- 
 tributed largely to its activity. Solitude, into which I was 
 forced by the repulsive and unkind treatment of my relatives, 
 was also favorable to the exercise of this influence ; and my 
 heart may be said to have taken, in turn, every color and aspect 
 which informed my eyes. It was a blind heart for this very 
 reason, in respect to all those things for which it should have 
 had a color of its own. Books and the woods the voice of 
 waters and of song -7 the dim mysteries of poetry, and the whis- 
 pers of lonely forest-walks, which beguiled me into myself, and 
 mo.re remotely from my fellows, were all, so far as my social 
 relations were concerned, evil influences ! Influences which 
 were only in part overcome by the communion of such gentle 
 beings as William Edgerton and Julia Clifford.- 
 
 With these friends, and these only, I grew up. As my years 
 advanced, my intimacy with the former increased, and with the 
 latter diminished. But this diminution of intimacy did not lessen 
 the kindness of her feelings, or the ordinary devotedness of 
 mine. She was still when the perversity of heart made me 
 not blind the sweet creature to whom the task of ministering 
 was a pleasure infinitely beyond any other which I knew. But, 
 as she grew up to girlhood, other prospects opened upon her 
 eyes, and other purposes upon those of her parents. At twelve 
 
22 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 she was carried by maternal vanity into company sent to 
 the dancing-school provided with teachers in music and paint- 
 ing, and made to understand so far as the actions, looks, and 
 words of all around could teach that she was the cynosure of 
 all eyes, to whom the whole world was bound in deference. 
 
 Fortunately, in the case of Julia, the usual effects of mater- 
 nal folly and indiscretion did not ensue. Nature interposed to 
 protect her, and saved her in spite of them all. She was still 
 the meek, modest child, solicitous of the happiness of all around 
 her unobtrusive, unassuming kind to her inferiors, respect- 
 ful to superiors, and courteous to, and considerate of all other 
 persons. Her advancing years, which rendered these new ac- 
 quisitions and accomplishments desirable, if not necessary, at 
 the same time prompted her foolish mother to another step 
 which betrayed the humiliating regard which she entertained 
 for me. When I was seventeen, Julia was twelve, and when 
 neither she nor myself had a solitary thought of love, the over- 
 considerate mother began to think, on this subject, for us both. 
 The result of her cogitations determined her that it was no 
 longer fitting that Julia should be my companion. Our rambles 
 in the woods together were forbidden ; and Julia was gravely 
 informed that I was a poor youth, though her cousin an orphan 
 whom her father's charity supported, and whom the public 
 charity schooled. The poor child artlessly told me all this, in 
 a vain effort to procure from me an explanation of the mystery 
 (which her mother had either failed or negfected to explain) by 
 which such circumstances were made to account for the new 
 commands which had been given her. Well might she, in her 
 simplicity of heart, wonder why it was, that because I was poor, 
 she should be familiar with me no longer. 
 
 The circumstance opened my eyes to the fact that Julia was 
 a tall girl, growing fast, already in her teens, and likely, under 
 the rapidly-maturing influence of our summer sun, to be soon a 
 woman. But just then just when she first tasked me to solve 
 the mystery of her mother's strange requisitions, I did not think 
 of this. I was too much filled with indignation t/ie mortified 
 self-esteem was too actively working in my bosom to suffer me 
 to think of anything but the indignity with which I was treated, 
 A brief portion of the dialogue betweon the child and my 
 
BOY PASSIONS. 23 
 
 self, will give some glimpses of the blind heart by whi ;h 
 I was afflicted. 
 
 " Oh, you do not understand it, Julia. You do not know, 
 then, that you are the daughter of a rich merchant the only 
 daughter that you have servants to wait on you, and a car 
 riage at command that you can wear fine silks, and have all 
 things that money can buy, and a rich man's daughter desire. 
 You don't know these things, Julia, eh ?" 
 
 " Yes, Edward, I hear you say so now, and I hear mamma 
 often say the same things ; but still I don't see " 
 
 " You don't see why that should make a difference between 
 yourself and your poor cousin, eh ? Well, but it does ; and 
 though you don't see it now, yet it will not be very long before 
 you will see, and understand it, and act upon it, too, as promptly 
 as the wisest among them. Don't you know that I am the 
 object of your father's charity that his bounty feeds me and 
 that it would not be seemly that the world should behold me 
 on a familiar footing of equality or intimacy with the daughter 
 of my benefactor my patron without whom I should prob 
 ably starve, or be a common beggar upon the highway ?" 
 
 " But father would not suffer that, Edward." 
 
 " Oh, no ! no ! he would not suffer it, Julia, simply because 
 his own pride and name would feel the shame and disgrace of 
 such a thing. But though he would keep me from beggary and 
 the highway, Julia, neither he nor your mother would spend a 
 sixpence or make an effort to save my feelings from pain and 
 misery. They protect me from the scorn of others, but they use 
 me for their own." 
 
 The girl hung her head in silence. 
 
 "And you, too," I added "the time will come when you, 
 too, Julia, will shrink as promptly as themselves from being 
 seen with your poor relation. You " 
 
 "No! no! Edward how can you think of such a thing?" 
 she replied with girlish chiding. 
 
 " Think it ! I know it ! The time will soon be here. But 
 obey your mother, Julia. Go 1 leave me now. Begin at 
 once the lesson which, before many days, you will find it very 
 easy to learn." 
 
 This was all very manly, so I fancied at the time ; and theu 
 
24 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 blind with the perverse heart which boiled within me, I felt not 
 the wantonness of my mood, and heeded not the bitter pain 
 which I occasioned to her gentle bosom. Her little hand 
 grasped mine, her warm tears fell upon it ; but I flung away 
 from her grasp, and left her to those childjsh meditations which 
 I had made sufficiently mournful. 
 
 Subsequent reflection, while it showed me the brutality of 
 iny conduct to Julia, opened my eyes to the true meaning of 
 her mother's interdiction ; and increased the pang of those bit- 
 ter feelings, which my conscious dependence had awakened in 
 my breast. It was necessary that this dependence should be 
 lessened; that, as I was now approaching manhood, I should 
 cast about for the future, and adopt wisely and at once the 
 means of my support hereafter. It was necessary that I should 
 begin the business of life. On this head I had already reflected 
 somewhat, and my thoughts had taken their direction from more 
 than one conference which I had had with William Edgerton. 
 His father was an eminent lawyer, and the law had been adopted 
 for his profession also. I determined to make it mine ; and to 
 speak on this subject to rr.y uncle. This I did. I chose an 
 afternoon, the very week in which my conversation had taken 
 place with Julia, and, while the dinner things were undergoing 
 removal, with some formality requested a private interview 
 with him. He looked round at me with a raised brow of in- 
 quiry nodded his head and shortly after rose from the table. 
 My aunt stared with an air of supercilious wonder ; while poor 
 Julia, timid and trembling, barely ventured to give me a single 
 look, which said and that was enough for me "I wish I 
 dared say more." 
 
 My conference with my uncle was not of long duration. I 
 told him it was my purpose my desire to begin as soon as 
 possible to do something for myself. His answer signified that 
 such was his opinion also. So far we were agreed ; but when I 
 told him that it was my wish to study the law, he answered 
 with sufficient, and as I thought, scornful abruptness : 
 
 " The law, indeed ! What puts the law into your head 1 
 What preparations have you made to study the law ? You 
 know nothing of languages which every lawyer should know 
 Latin" 
 
A PEOFESSION CHOSEN. 25 
 
 I interrupted him to say that I had some slight knowledge 
 of Latin sufficient, I fancied, for all legal purposes. 
 
 " Ah ! indeed ! where did you get it ?" 
 
 " A friend lent me a grammar and dictionary, and I studied 
 myself." 
 
 " Oh, you are ambitious ; but you deceive yourself. You were 
 never made for a lawyer. Besides, how are you to live while 
 prosecuting your studies 1 No, no! I have been thinking of some- 
 thing for you, Edward and, just now, it happens fortunately 
 that old Squire Farmer, the bricklayer, wants some apprentices " 
 
 I could scarcely listen thus far. 
 
 " I thank you, sir, but I have no disposition to be a brick- 
 layer." 
 
 " You must do something for yourself. You can not expect to 
 eat the bread of idleness. I have done, and will do for you 
 what I can whatever is necessary; but I have my own 
 family to provide for. I can not rob my own child " 
 
 " Nor do I expect it, Mr. Clifford," I replied hastily, and with 
 some indignation. " It is my wish, sir, to draw as little as pos- 
 sible from your income and resources. I would not rob Julia 
 Clifford of a single dollar. Nay, sir, I trust before many years 
 to be able to refund you every copper which has been spent 
 upon me from the moment I entered your household." 
 
 He said hastily : 
 
 " I wish nothing of that, Edward ; but the law is a study of 
 years, and is expensive and unpromising in every respect. Your 
 clothes already call for a considerable, sum, and such a profes- 
 sion requires, more than almost any other, that a student should 
 be well dressed." 
 
 " I promise you, sir, that my dress shall be such as shall not 
 trespass upon your income. I shall be governed by as much 
 economy " 
 
 He interrupted me to say, that 
 
 " His duty required that his brother's son should be dressed 
 as well as his associates." 
 
 I replied, with tolerable composure : 
 
 " I do not think, sir, that bricklaying will admit of very gen- 
 teel clothing, nor do I think that the vocation will suit me. I 
 
 have flattered myself, sir, that my talents " 
 
 2 
 
26 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 " Oh, you have talents, then, have you 1 Well, it is fortunate 
 that the discovery has been made in season." 
 
 I bore with this, though my cheek was burning, and said 
 with an effort to preserve my voice and temper, in which, though 
 the difficulty was great, I was tolerably successful 
 
 " You have misunderstood me in some things, Mr. Clifford ; 
 and I will try now to explain myself clearly in others. Having 
 resolved, sir, that the law shall be my profession " 
 
 " Ha ! resolved, say you ?** 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well, go on go onP 
 
 " Having resolved to pursue the study of Liw, and seeing that 
 I am burdensome and expensive to you believing, too, that 
 I can relieve you of the burden I have simply requested per- 
 mission of you to make the attempt." 
 
 " Why, how do you propose to do so ? how can you support 
 yourself that is relieve me of the burden of your expenses 
 and study the law at the same time ?" 
 
 " Such things have been done, sir ; and can be done again. I 
 flatter myself I can do it. Industry will enable me to do so. I 
 propose to apply for a clerkship in a mercantile establishment 
 which I know stands in need of assistance, and while there will 
 pursue my studies in such intervals of leisure as the business will 
 afford me." 
 
 " You seem to have the matter ready cut and dry. Why do 
 you come to me, then ? Remember, I can make no advances." 
 
 " I need none, sir. My simple object with you, sir, was to 
 declare my intention, and to request that I may be permitted 
 to refer to you the merchants to whom I mean to apply, for a 
 knowledge of my character and attainments." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, you may for the character ; but as to the 
 attainments" with a sneering smile " of them I ca'i say 
 nothing, and, perhaps, the less said the better. I've no doubt 
 you'll do well enough with the merchants. It does not need 
 much genius or attainment for such situations. But, if you'll 
 take my counsel, you'll go to the bricklayer. We want brick- 
 layers sadly. To be a tolerable lawyer, parts are necessary ; 
 and God knows the country is over-stocked with hosts of 
 lawyers already, whose only parts lie in their impudence. 
 
A PROFESSION CHOSEN. 7 
 
 Better think a little while longer. Speak to old Famer 
 yourself." 
 
 I smiled bitterly thanked him for his counsel, which was 
 only a studied form of insult, and turned away from him without 
 further speech, and with a proud swelling of indignation at my 
 heart. Thus our conference ended. A week after, I was en- 
 econced behind the counter of a wholesale dealer, and my hands 
 at night were already busy in turning over the heavy folios of 
 Ghitty and Blackstoue. 
 
28 CONFESSION, OR THE rfhiir* HEART* 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ADMITTED AMONG THE LAWYER. 
 
 BEHOLD me, then, merchandising by day, and conning "by night 
 the intricate mysteries of law. Books for the latter purpose were 
 furnished by my old friend, William Edgerton, from his father's 
 library. He himself was a student, beginning about the same 
 time with myself; though with the superior privilege of devoting 
 himself exclusively to this study. But if he had more time, I 
 was more indefatigable. My pnde was roused, and emulation 
 soon enabled me to supply the *.\ ant of leisure. My nights were 
 surrendered, almost wholly, to my new pursuit. I toiled with 
 all the earnestness which distinguished my temperament, stimu- 
 lated to a yet higher degree by those feelings of pride and pique, 
 which were resolved to convince my skeptical uncle that I was 
 not entirely without those talents, the assertion of which had so 
 promptly provoked his sneer. Besides, I had already learned 
 that no such scheme as mine could be successfully prosecuted, 
 unless by a stern resolution ; and this implied the constant pres- 
 ence of a close, undeviating method in my studies. I tasked 
 myself accordingly to read understandingly, if possible so 
 many pages every night, making my notes, queries, doubts, &c., 
 en passant. In order to do this, I prescribed to myself a rule, 
 to pass directly from the toils of the day and the store to 
 my chamber, suffering no stoppage by the way, and studiously 
 denying myself the dangerous fascinations of that society which 
 was everywhere at command, in the persons of young men about 
 my own age and condition. The intensity of my character, and 
 the suspiciousness which it induced, helped me in this determi- 
 nation. Perhaps, there is no greater danger to a young man's 
 habits of study and business, than a chat at the street corner, 
 with a merry and thoughtless group, A single half hour con 
 
ADMITTED AMONG THE LAWYERS. 29 
 
 sumed in this manner, is almost always fatal to the remaining 
 hours of the day. It breaks into the circle, and impairs the 
 method without which the passage of the sun becomes a very 
 weary and always an unprofitable progress. If you would be a 
 student or anything, you must plunge headlong into it at the be- 
 ginning bury yourself in your business, and work your way 
 out of your toils, by sheer, dogged industry. 
 
 My labors were so far successful that I could prosecute my 
 studies with independence. I had left the dwelling of my uncle 
 the moment I took employment in the mercantile house. My 
 salary, though small, was ample ; with my habits, it was par- 
 ticularly so. I had few of those vices in which young men are 
 apt to indulge, and which, when they become habits, cease un- 
 happily to be regarded as vices. I used tobacco in no shape, 
 and no ardent spirits. I needed no stimulants, and, by the way, 
 true industry never does. It is only indolence that needs drink ; 
 and indolence does need it ; and the sooner drunkenness kills 
 indolence by the use of drink, the better for society. The only 
 objection to liquors as an agent for ridding the community of a 
 nuisance, is, that it is rather too slow, and too offensive in its 
 detailed operations ; arsenic would be far less offensive, more 
 summary, and is far more certain. You would seek vainly to 
 cure drunkenness, unless you first cure the idleness which is its 
 root and strength, and, while they last, its permanent support. 
 But my object is not homily. 
 
 If I was free from vices such as these, however, I had vices 
 of my own, which were only less odious as they were less 
 obvious. That vexing, self-tormenting spirit of which I have 
 spoken as the evil genius that dogged my footsteps that moral 
 perverseness which I have described as the "blind heart" 
 still afflicted me, though in a far less degree now than when I 
 was the inmate of my uncle's dwelling, and exposed to all the 
 caprices of himself, his wife and servants. I kept on good terms 
 with my employers, for the very natural reason that they saw 
 me attend to my business and theirs, with a hearty cheerfulness 
 that went to work promptly in whatever was to be done, and 
 executed its tasks with steady fortitude, neatness, and rapidity. 
 But, even with them, I had my sulks my humors my stub- 
 born fits of sullenness, that seemed anxious to provoke opposi- 
 
CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 tion, and awaken wrath. These, however, they considerately 
 forgave in consideration of my real usefulness : and as they per- 
 ceived that whatever might have heen the unpleasantness occa- 
 sioned by these specimens of spleen, they were never suffered 
 to interfere with or retard the operations of business. " It's an 
 ugly way he's got," was, probably, the utmost extent of what 
 either of the partners said, and of what is commonly said on 
 such occasions by most persons, who do not care to trouble 
 themselves with a too close inquiry. 
 
 Well, at twenty-one, William Edgerton and myself were ad- 
 mitted to the practice of the law, and that too with considerable 
 credit to ourselves. I had long since been carried by my friend 
 into his family circle ; and Mr. Edgerton, his father, had been 
 pleased to distinguish me with sundry attentions, which were 
 only grateful to me in consequence of the unusual deference 
 with which his manner evinced his regard. His gentle inquiries 
 and persuasive suggestions beguiled me into more freedom of 
 speech than I had ever before been accustomed to ; and his 
 judicious management of my troubled spirit, for a time, stifled 
 its contradictions, and suppressed its habitual tendencies. But 
 it was with some jealousy, and an erectness of manner which 
 was surely ungracious, though, perhaps, not offensive, that I 
 endured and replied to his inquiries into my personal condition, 
 my resources, and the nature of that dependence which I bore 
 to the family of my uncle. When he learned which he did 
 not from me in what manner I had pursued my studies after 
 what toils of the day, and at what late hours of the night 
 when he found from a close private examination, which he had 
 given me, before my admission, that my knowledge of the law 
 was quite as good as the greater number of those who apply 
 for admission he was pleased to express his astonishment at 
 my perseverance, and delight at my success. When, too, in 
 addition to this, he discovered, upon a minute inquiry from my 
 employers and others, that I was abstemious, and indulged in 
 no excesses of any kind, his interest in me increased, as I 
 thought, who had been accustomed to nothing of the sJrt, be- 
 yond all reasonable measure and I soon had occasion to per- 
 ceive that it was no idle curiosity that prompted his considera- 
 tion and inquiry. 
 
ADMITTED AMONG THE LAWYERS. 31 
 
 Without my knowledge, hs paid a visit to my uncle. Thil 
 gentleman, I may be permitted here to say, had been quite as 
 much surprised as anybody else, at my determined prosecution 
 of my studies in spite of the difficulties by which I was sur- 
 rounded. That I was pursuing them, while in the mercantile 
 establishment to which I had gone, he did not believe ; and 
 very frequently when I was at his house for I visited the 
 family, and sometimes, though unfrequently, dined with them 
 en a sabbath he jeered me on my progress the "wonderful 
 progress," as he was pleased to term it which he felt sure I 
 was making with my Coke and Blackstone, while baling blan- 
 kets, or bundling up plains and kerseys. This I bore patiently, 
 sustained as I was by the proud, indomitable spirit within me, 
 which assured me of the ultimate triumph which I felt positive 
 would ensue. ~ snjoyed his surprise a surprise that looked 
 something like consternation when the very day of my ad- 
 mission to the bar, and after that event, I encountered him in 
 the street, and in answer to his usual sarcastic inquiry : 
 
 " Well, Edward, how does the law come on ? How is Sir 
 William Blackstone, Sir Edward Coke, and the rest of the white 
 heads V 
 
 I simply put the parchment into his hands which declared 
 my formal introduction to those venerable gentry. 
 
 " Why, you don't mean ? Is it possible ? So you really are 
 admitted a lawyer, eh ?" 
 
 "You see, sir and that, too, without any Greek." 
 
 " Well, and what good is it to do you 1 To have a profes- 
 sion, Edward, is one thing ; to get business, another !" 
 
 "Yes, sir but I take it, the profession must be had first. 
 One step is gained. That much is sure. The other, I trust, 
 will follow in due season." 
 
 " True, but I still think that the bricklayer would make the 
 more money." 
 
 " Were money-making, sir, the only object of life, perhaps, 
 then, that would be the most desirable business ; but " 
 
 " Oh, I forgot the talents, the talents are to be considered." 
 
 And after the utterance of this sneer, our dialogue as may be 
 supposed, did not much longer continue. 
 
 T did not know of the contemplated visit of Mr. Edgertcn to 
 
82 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 my worthy uncle, nor of its purpose, or I should, most assuredly/ 
 have put my veto upon the measure with all the tenacity of a 
 resentful spirit ; but this gentleman, who was a man of nice 
 sensibility as well as strong good sense, readily comprehended 
 a portion of my secret history from what was known to him 
 He easily conceived that rny uncle was somewhat of a niggard 
 from the manner in which I had employed myself during my 
 preparation for the bar. He thought, however, that my uncle ; 
 though unwilling to expend money in the prosecution of a scheme 
 which he did not approve now that the scheme was so far 
 successful as to afford every promise of a reasonable harvest, 
 could not do less than come forward to the assistance of one 
 who had shown such a determined disposition to assist himself. 
 
 He was mistaken. He little knew the man. His interview 
 with my uncle was a short one. The parties were already ac- 
 quainted, though not intimately. They knew each other as 
 persons of standing in the same community, and this made the 
 opening of Mr. Edgerton's business easy. I state the tenoi of 
 the interview as it came to my knowledge afterward. 
 
 " Mr. Clifford," he said, " you have a nephew a young gen- 
 tleman, who has been recently admitted to the bar Mr. Ed- 
 ward Clifford." 
 
 The reply, with a look of wonder was necessarily affirmative. 
 
 " I have had much pleasure," continued the other, " in know- 
 ing him for some time. He is an intimate of my eldest son, 
 and from what has met my eyes, sir, I should say, you are for 
 tunate in having a nephew of so much promise." 
 
 " Why, yes, sir, I believe he is a clever youth enough," was 
 the costive answer. 
 
 " He is more than that, sir. I regard him, indeed, as & most 
 astonishing young man. The very manner in which he has 
 pursued his studies while engaged in the harassing labors of a 
 large wholesale business house of this city alone establishes 
 this fact." 
 
 The cheeks of my uncle reddened. The last sentence of 
 Mr. Edgerton was unfortunate for his object. It conveyed a 
 tacit reproof, which the niggardly conscience of Mr. Clifford 
 readily appropriated and, perhaps, anticipated He dreaded 
 lest Mr. Edgerton knew all. 
 
ADMITTED AMONG THE LAWYERS. 33 
 
 " You are probablj aware, Mr. Edgerton," he replied with 
 equal hesitancy and haste "you have heard that Edward 
 Clifford is an orphan that he has nothing, and it was there- 
 fore necessary that he should learn to employ himself; though 
 it was against my wish, sir, that he went into a mercantile 
 house." 
 
 There was something suppressed in this a mean evasion 
 for he could not easily have told Mr. Edgerton, without a blush, 
 that, instead of the mercantile establishment, he would have 
 made me a bricklayer's hodman. But this, it seems, Edgerton 
 had found out for himself. His reply, however, was calculated 
 to soothe the jealous apprehensions of Mr. Clifford. He had 
 an object in view, which he thought too important to risk for 
 the small pleasure of a passing sarcasm. 
 
 " Perhaps, it has happened for the best, Mr. Clifford. You 
 were right in requiring the young man to do for himself. Were 
 I worth millions, sir, I should still prefer that my son should 
 learn that lesson that he should work out his own deliver- 
 ance with the sweat of his own brow." 
 
 " I agree with you, sir, perfectly," replied the other, with 
 increased complacency. " A boy learns to value his money as 
 he should, only when he has earned it for himself." 
 
 " Ah ! it is not for this object simply," replied Mr. Edgerton, 
 "that I would have him acquire habits of industry; it is for 
 the moral results which such habits produce the firmness, 
 character, consistency the strength and independence tem- 
 perance, justice all of which arise, and almost only, from 
 obedience to this law. But it is clear that one can not do every- 
 thing by himself, and this young man, though he has gone on 
 in a manner that might shame the best of us, is still not so 
 thoroughly independent as he fancies himself. It will be some 
 time before he will be able to realize anything from his profes- 
 sion, and he will need some small assistance in the meantime." 
 
 "I can not help him," exclaimed Mr. Clifford, abruptly "I 
 have not the means to spare. My own family need everything 
 that I can give. He has himself only to blame. He chose his 
 profession for himself. I warned him against it. He needn't 
 send to me." 
 
 " Do not mistake me, Mr. Clifford," said Mr. Edgerton, calmly. 
 2* 
 
34 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 "Your nephew knows nothing of my present visit. I would 
 be loath that he shouH know. It was the singular independence 
 of his mind that led me to the conviction, that he would sooner 
 die than ask assistance from anybody, that persuaded me to 
 suggest to you in what manner you might afford him an almost 
 necessary help, without offending his sensibility." 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed the other, while a sneer mantled upon 
 his lips. " You are very considerate, Mr. Edgerton ; but the 
 same sensibilities might prompt him to reject the assistance 
 when tendered." 
 
 " No, sir," replied Edgerton, mildly " I think I could man 
 age that." 
 
 " I am sorry, sir, that I can not second your wishes in any 
 material respect," was the answer of my uncle ; " but I will 
 see Edward, and let him know that my house is open to him as 
 it was from the time he was four years old ; and he shall have a 
 seat at my table until he can establish himself more to his satis- 
 faction ; but money, sir, in truth, I have not a cent to spare. My 
 own necessities " 
 
 " Enough, sir," said Mr. Edgerton, mildly ; " I take it for 
 granted, Mr. Clifford, that if you could contribute to the success 
 of your brother's son, you certainly would neither refuse nor 
 refrain to do so." 
 
 "Oh, surely certainly not," replied the other, hastily. 
 "Anything that I could do anything in reason, sir, I should 
 be very happy to do, but " 
 
 And then followed the usual rigmarole about " his own family," 
 and " hard times," and " diminished resources," and all those 
 stereotype commonplaces which are for ever on the lips of stere- 
 otype insincere people. Mr. Clifford did not perceive the dry 
 and somewhat scornful inuendo, which lay at the bottom of Mr. 
 Edgerton's seemingly innocent assumption ; and the latter took 
 his leave, vexed with himself at having made the unsuccessful 
 application but still more angry with the meanness of character 
 which he had encountered in my uncle. 
 
SHE SOOTHED THE MOCK OF OTHERS, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " She still soothed 
 
 The mock of others." 
 
 IT is not improbable that, after a few hours given to calm re- 
 flection, my uncle perceived how obnoxious lie might be mads to 
 public censure for his narrow treatment of my claims ; and the 
 next day he sent for me in order to tender me the freedom of 
 his house a tender which he had made the day before to Mr. 
 Edgerton in my behalf. But his offer had been already antici- 
 pated by that excellent friend that very day. Coming warm 
 and fresh from his interview with my uncle, he called upon me, 
 and in a very plain, direct, business-like, but yet kind and 
 considerate manner, informed me that he stood very much in 
 need of an assistant who would prepare his papers did me the 
 honor to say that he fancied I would suit him better than 
 anybody else he knew, and offered me six hundred dollars for 
 my labors in that capacity for the first year of my service. 
 My engagement to him, he said at the same time, did not imply 
 such entire employment as would incapacitate me for the execu- 
 tion of any business which might be intrusted to my hands indi- 
 vidually. I was permitted the use of a desk in his office, and 
 was also permitted to hang out my own banner from his window 
 I readily persuaded myself that I could be of service to Mr. 
 Edgwton such service as would, perhaps, leave my obligation 
 a light one and promptly acceded to his offer. He had scarce- 
 ly departed when a servant brought a note from Mr. Clifford. 
 Even while meditating what he fancied was a favor, he could not 
 forbear the usual sneer. The following was his communication : 
 
 " DEAR EDWARD : If you can spare a moment from your 
 numerous clients, and are not in a great hurry to make your de- 
 posites, you will suffer me to see you at the office before two o'clock. 
 " Yours affectionately, " J. B. CLIFFORD." 
 
36 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 "Very affectionately!"! exclaimed. Tt might be nothing 
 more than a pleasantry which he intended by the offensive pas- 
 sages in his note ; but the whole tenor of his character and con 
 duct forbade this conviction. 
 
 " No ! no !" I muttered to myself, as the doubt suggested itself 
 to my mind ; " no ! no ! it is the old insolence the insolence of 
 pride, of conscious wealth of power, as he thinks, to crush ! 
 But he is mistaken. He shall find defiance. Let him but repeat 
 those sarcasms and that sneer which are but too frequent on his 
 lips when he speaks to me, and I will answer him, for the first 
 time, by a narration which shall sting him to tho very soul, if 
 he has one!" 
 
 This resolution was scarcely made when the image of Julia 
 Clifford the sweet child a child now no longer the sweet 
 woman interposed, and my temper was subdued of its resolve, 
 though its bitterness remained unqualified. 
 
 And what of Julia Clifford ? I have said but little of her for 
 some time past, but she has not been forgotten. Far from it. 
 She was still sufficiently the attraction that drew me to the dwel- 
 ling of my selfish uncle. In the three years that I had been at 
 the mercantile establishment, her progress, in mind and person, 
 had been equally ravishing and rapid. She was no more the 
 child, but the blooming girl the delicate blossom swelling to 
 the bud the bud bursting into the flower but the bloom, and 
 the beauty, and the innocence the rich tenderness, and the 
 dewy sweet, still remained the same through all the stages of 
 her progress from the infant to the woman. Wealth, and the 
 arrogant example of those about her, had failed to change the nat- 
 urally true and pure simplicity of her character. She was not to 
 be beguiled by the one, nor misguided by the other, from the ex- 
 quisite heart which was still worthy of Eden. When I was ad- 
 mitted to the bar at twenty-one, she was sixteen the age in our 
 .southern country when a maiden looks her loveliest. But I had 
 scarcely felt the changes in the last three years which had been 
 going on in her. I beheld beauties added to beauties, charms 
 to charms ; and she seemed every day to be the possessor of fresh 
 graces newly dropped from heaven ; but there was no change. 
 Increased perfection does not imply change, nor does it suffer it. 
 
 It was my custom, as the condescending wish of my uncle 
 
SHE SOOTHED THE MOCK OP OTHEES. 37 
 
 expressed, that I should take my Sunday dinner with his fami- 
 ly. I complied with this request, and it was no hard matter to 
 do so. But it was a sense of delight, not of duty, that made me 
 comply ; and, but for Julia, I feel certain that I should never 
 have darkened the doors, which opened to admit me only through 
 a sense of duty. But the attraction scarcely known to my 
 self drew me with singular punctuality ; and I associated the 
 privilege which had been accorded me with another. I escorted 
 the ladies to church ; sometimes, too, when the business of my 
 employers permitted, I spent an evening during the week with 
 the family ; and beholding Julia I was not over-anxious to per- 
 ceive the indifference with which I was treated by all others. 
 
 But let me retrace my steps. I subdued my choler so far as 
 to go, with a tolerable appearance of calmness if not humility, to 
 the interview which my uncle had been pleased to solicit. I 
 need not repeat in detail what passed between us. It amounted 
 simply to a supercilious offer, on his part, of lodging and board, 
 until I should be sufficiently independent to open the oyster for 
 myself. I thanked him with respect and civility, but, to his sur- 
 prise, declined to accept his offer. 
 
 " Why, what do you propose to do ?" he demanded. 
 
 " Do what I have been doing for the three past years ; work 
 for myself, and pay my board from the proceeds of my own la- 
 bor." 
 
 " What, you go back to the merchants, do you ? You are wiser 
 than I thought. The law would not give you your bread here 
 for twenty years in this city." 
 
 "You are mistaken, uncle," I said, good humoredly "it is 
 from the law that I propose to get my bread." 
 
 "Indeed! You are even more sanguine than I thought 
 you. But, pray, upon whai do you base your expectations ? 
 the talents, I suppose." 
 
 I felt the rankling of this well-known and offensive sneer, but 
 replied simply to the point : 
 
 " No, sir, upon assurances which you will probably think far 
 more worthy of respect. I have already been employed by Mr. 
 Edgerton as an attorney, at a salary of six hundred dollars." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! Well, you are a fortunate fellow, I must say, to 
 get such a helping hand at the outset. But you may want some 
 
38 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 small amount to begin with you can not draw upon Mr. Edger- 
 ton before services are rendered, and if fifty or a hundred dol 
 lars, Edward " 
 
 " I thank you, sir; so far from wanting money, I should "bz 
 almost able to lend some. I have saved some two hundred fr*m 
 my mercantile salary " 
 
 I enjoyed the ghastly grin which rose to his features. It was 
 evident that he was not pleased that I should be independent. 
 lie had set out with the conviction, when my father died, that 
 my support and education would devolve upon him, and though 
 they did not, yet it was plain enough to me that he was not un- 
 willing that such should be the impression of the community. I 
 had disarmed him entirely by the simplest process, and, mortified 
 at being disappointed, he was disposed to hate the youth who had 
 baffled him. It was the strangest thing in the world that such 
 should be the feeling of any man, and that, too, in reference to 
 so near a relation ; but the case is nevertheless true. I saw it in 
 his looks that moment I felt it in his accents. I knew that 
 such was the real feeling in his soul. There are motives which 
 grow from vanities, piques, rivalries, and the miserable ostenta- 
 tions of a small spirit, which act more terribly upon the passions 
 of man, than even the desire of gain or the love of woman. The 
 heart of Mr. Clifford, was, after its particular fashion, a blind 
 heart, like my own. 
 
 " Well, I am glad you are so well off. You will dine with us 
 on Sunday, I suppose ?" 
 
 My affirmative was a matter of course ; and, on Sunday, the 
 evident gratification of Julia when she saw me, amply atoned 
 for all her father's asperities and injustice. She had heard of my 
 success and though in a sneer from the lips of her father it was 
 not the less productive of an evident delight to her. She met 
 me with the expression of this delight upon all her features. 
 
 " I am so glad, so very glad, and so surprised, too, Cousin 
 Edward, at your success. And yet you kept it all to yourself. 
 You might have told me, at least, that you were studying law. 
 Why was it that I was never allowed to know of your 
 intention?" 
 
 " Your father knew it, Julia." 
 
 * Yes, so lie says now. He says you told him something 
 
SHE SOOTHED THE MOCK OF OTHERS. 39 
 
 about it when you first went into a store ; but he did not think 
 you in earnest." 
 
 " Not in earnest ! He little knew me, Julia." 
 
 " But your telling him, Edward, was not telling me. Why 
 did you not tell me V 
 
 "You might not have kept my secret, Julia. You know 
 what naughty things are said of your sex, touching your inabil 
 ity to keep a secret." 
 
 "Naughty things, indeed naughty and untrue! I'm sure, 
 I should have kept your secret, if you desired it. But why 
 should it be a secret ?" 
 
 "Why, indeed !" I muttered, as the shadow of my perverse 
 ness passed deeply over my heart. " Why, unless to protect 
 myself from the sneers which would stifle my ambition, and the 
 sarcasm which would have stung my heart." 
 
 " But you have no fear of these from me, Cousin Edward," 
 she said gently, and with dewy eyes, while her fingers slightly 
 pressed upon my wrist. 
 
 " I know not that, Cousin Julia, I somehow suspect every- 
 thing and everybody now. I feel very lonely in the world 
 as if there was a destiny at work to make my whole life one 
 long conflict, which I must carry on without sympathy or 
 succor." 
 
 " Oh, these are only notions, Edward." 
 
 "Notions !" I exclaimed, giving her a bitter smile as I spoke, 
 while my thoughts reverted to the three years of unremitting 
 and almost uncheered labor through which I had passed. 
 
 " Yes, notions only, Cousin Edward. You are full of such 
 notions. You every now and then start up with a new one ; 
 and it makes you gloomy and discontented " 
 
 " I make no complaints, Julia." 
 
 " No, that is the worst of it. You make no complaints, I 
 think, because you do not wish to be cured of them. You pre- 
 fer nursing your supposed cause of grief, with a sort of solitary 
 pleasure the gratification of a haughty spirit, that is too proud 
 to seek for solace, nnd to find it." 
 
 Julia had in truth touched npor. tho true nature of my mis- 
 anthropy of that si'.lf-vpxing and self-torturing spirit Tvhidb 
 too effectually blinds the heart. 
 
iO CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 " But could I find it, Julia ?" I asked, looking into her eyes 
 with an expression which I began to feel was something very 
 new to mine. 
 
 "Perhaps I think you could," was the half-tremulous 
 answer, as she beheld the peculiar expression of my glance. 
 The entrance of Mrs. Clifford, was, perhaps, for the first time, 
 rather a relief to us both. 
 
 " And so you are a lawyer, Edward ? Well, who would have 
 thought of it ? It must be a very easy thing to be made a 
 lawyer." 
 
 Julia looked at me with eyes that reddened with vexation. 
 I felt my gorge rising ; but when I reflected upon the ignorance, 
 and the unworthy nature of the speaker, I overcame the dispo- 
 sition to retort, and smilingly replied : 
 
 " It's not such hard work as bricklaying, certainly." 
 
 "Ah," she answered, "if it were only half so profitable. 
 But Mr. Clifford says that a lawyer now is only another name 
 for a beggar a sort of genteel beggar. The town's overrun 
 with them half of them live upon their friends." 
 
 " I trust I shall not add to the number of this class, Mrs. 
 Clifford." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I know you never will, Cousin Edward," exclaimed 
 Julia, with a flush upon her cheeks at her own temerity. 
 
 " Really, Julia," said her mother, " you are very confident. 
 How do you know anything about it '?" 
 
 The sharp glances of rebuke which accompanied this speech 
 daunted the damsel for a moment, and her eyes were suddenly 
 cast in confusion upon the ground ; but she raised them with 
 boldness a moment after, as she replied : 
 
 " We have every assurance, mother, for what I say, in the 
 fact that Cousin Edward has been supporting himself at another 
 business, while actually pursuing the study of law for these 
 three years ; and that very pride about which father spoke to- 
 day, is another assurance " 
 
 " Bless my stars, child, you have grown very pert on a sud- 
 den, to talk about guaranties and assurances? just as if you was 
 a lawyer yourself. The next thing we hear, I suppose, will be 
 that instead of being busy over the ' Seven Champions' and the 
 last fashions, you, too, will be turning over the leaves of big 
 
SHE SOOTHED THE MOCK OP OTHERS. 41 
 
 law-books, and carrying on such studies in secret to surprise a 
 body, as if there was any merit or good in doing such things 
 secretly." 
 
 Julia felt that she had only made bad worse, and she hung 
 her head in silence. For my part, though I suppressed my 
 choler, the pang was only the more keenly felt for the effort to 
 hide it. In my secret soul, I asked, " Will the day never come 
 when I, too, will be able to strike and sting?" I blushed an 
 instant after, at the small and mean appetite for revenge that 
 such an inquiry implied. But I came to the support of Julia. 
 
 " Let me say, Mrs. Clifford, that I think nay, I know that 
 Julia is right in her conjecture. The guaranty which I have 
 given to my friends, by the pride and industry which I have 
 shown, should be sufficient to convince them what my conduct 
 shall be hereafter. I know that I shall never trespass upon 
 their feelings or their pockets. They shall neither blush for 
 nor lose by their relationship with Edward Clifford." 
 
 " Well said ! well spoken ! with good emphasis and proper 
 action. Forrest himself could scarce have done it better!" 
 
 Such was the exclamation of Mr. Clifford, who entered the 
 room at this moment. His mock applause was accompanied by 
 a clamorous clapping of his hands. I felt my cheeks burn, and 
 my blood boil. The truth is, I was not free from the conscious- 
 ness that I had suffered some of the grandiloquent to appear 
 in my manner while speaking the sentence which had provoked 
 the ridicule of my uncle. The sarcasm acquired increase of 
 sting in consequence of its being partially well-merited. I re- 
 plied with some little show of temper, which the imploring 
 glances of Julia did not altogether persuade me to suppress. 
 The " blind heart" was growing stronger within me, from the 
 increasing conviction of my own independence. In this sort of 
 mimic warfare the day passed off as usual. I attended the 
 family to church in the afternoon, took tea, and spent the even- 
 ing with them content to suffer the "stings and arrows" 
 however outrageous, of my exemplary and Christian aunt and 
 uncle, if permitted to enjoy the presence and occasional smiles 
 of the true angel, whose influence could still temper my feelings 
 :nt a humane and patient toleration of influences which they 
 yet burned to trample under foot. 
 
42 CONFESSION. OB THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 DEBUT. 
 
 A BRIEF interval now passed over, after my connection begun 
 with JJJr. Edgerton, in which time the Avorld went on with me 
 more smoothly, perhaps, than ever. My patron for so this 
 gentleman deserves to he called was as indulgent as I could 
 wish. He soon discerned the weaknesses in my character, and 
 with the judgment of an old practitioner, he knew how to sub- 
 due and soften, without seeming to perceive them. I need not 
 say that I was as diligent and. industrious, and not less studious, 
 while in his employ, than I had been in that of my mercantile 
 acquaintance. The entire toils of the desk soon fell upon my 
 shoulders, and I acquired the reputation among my small circle 
 of acquaintance, of being a very good attorney for a young be- 
 ginner. It is, true, I was greatly helped by the continued peru- 
 sal of an admirable collection of old precedents, which a long 
 period of extensive practice had accumulated in the collection 
 of my friend. But to be an attorney, simply, was not the bound 
 of my ambition. I fancied that the forum was, before all others, 
 my true field of exertion. The ardency of my temper, the 
 fluency of my speech, the promptness of my thought, and the 
 warmth of my imagination, all conspired in impressing on ir.e 
 the belief that I was particularly fitted for the arena of public 
 disputation. This, I may add, was the opinion of Mr. Edger- 
 ton also ; and I soon sought an occasion for the display of. iny 
 powers. 
 
 It was the custom at our bar and a custom full of danger 
 for young beginners to take their cases from the criminal 
 docket. Their " 'prentice han'," was usually exercised on some 
 wretch from the stews, just as the young surgeon is permittee 
 to hack the carcass of a tenant of the " Paupers' Field," tkt, 
 
D2SUT. 
 
 better to prepare him for practice on living and more worthy 
 victims. Was there a rascal so notoriously given over to the 
 gallows that no hope could possibly be entertained of his extri- 
 cation from the toils of the evidence, and the deliberations of a 
 jury, he was considered fair game for the young lawyers, "who, 
 on such cases, gathered about him with all the ghostly and keen 
 propensities of vultures about the body of the horse cast out upon 
 the commons. 
 
 The custom was evil, and is now, I believe, abandoned. It 
 led to much irreverence among thoughtless young men to an 
 equal disregard of that solemnity which should naturally attach 
 to the court of justice, and to the life of the prisoner arraigned 
 before it. A thoughtless levity too frequently filled the mind 
 of the young lawyer and his hearers, when it was known that 
 the poor wretch on trial was simply regarded as an agent, 
 through whose miserable necessity, the beginner was to try 
 his strength and show his skill in the art of speech-making. It 
 was my fortune, acting rather in compliance with the custom 
 than my own preference, to select one of these victims and oc- 
 casions for my debut. I could have done otherwise. Mr. Ed- 
 gerton freely tendered to me any one of several cases of his 
 own, on the civil docket, in which to make my appearance ; 
 but I was unwilling to try my hand upon a case in which the 
 penalty of ill success might be a serious loss to my friend's 
 client, and might operate to the injury of his business ; and, 
 another reason for my preference was to be found though not 
 expressed by me in the secret belief .which I entertained that 
 I was peculiarly gifted with the art of appealing to the pas- 
 eions, and the sensibilities of my audience. 
 
 Having made my determination, I proceeded to prepare my- 
 self by a due consideration of the case at large ; the history 
 of the transaction, which involved the life of my client (the 
 allegation was for murder) and of the testimony of the wit- 
 nesses so far as it had been suggested in the exparte examina- 
 tion before the grand jury. I reviewed the several leading 
 principles on the subject of the crime ; its character, the sort 
 of evidence essential to conviction, and certainly, to do myself 
 all justice, as effectually prepared myself for the duties of the 
 trial as probably any y<"ung man of the time and community 
 
41 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 was likely to have done. The case, I need not add, was hope- 
 lessly against me ; the testimony conclusive ; and I had noth- 
 ing to do but to weigh its character with keen examination, 
 pick out and expose its defects and inconsistencies, and suggest 
 as plausible a presumption in favor of the accused, as could be 
 reasonably made out from the possibilities and doubts by which 
 all human occurrences are necessarily attended. Something, 
 too, might be done by judicious appeals to the principle of 
 mercy, assuming for the jury a discretion on this subject which, 
 by the way, they have no right to exercise. 
 
 I was joined in the case by my friend, young Edgerton. So 
 far our boyish fortunes had run together, and he was not un- 
 willing, though against his father's counsel, to take the same 
 occasion with me for entering the world in company. The 
 term began ; the case was one of the last on the criminal 
 docket, and the five days which preceded that assigned for the 
 trial, were days, I am constrained to confess, of a thrilling and 
 terrible agitation to , my mind. I can scarcely now recall the 
 feelings of that week without undergoing a partial return of 
 the same painful sensations. My soul was striving as with it- 
 self, and seeking an outlet for escape. I panted, as if for 
 breath my tongue was parched my lips clammy my 
 voice, in the language of the poet, clove to the roof of my 
 throat. Altogether, I have never felt such emotions either be- 
 fore or since. 
 
 I will not undertake to analyze them, or account for those 
 conflicting sensations which make us shrink, with something 
 like terror, from the very object which we desire. At length 
 the day came, and the man ; attended by his father, William 
 Edgerton, and myself, took our places, and stood prepared for 
 the issue. I looked round me with a dizzy feeling of uncer- 
 tainty. Objects appeared to swim and tremble before my 
 sight. My eyes were of as little service to me then as if they 
 had been gftzing to blindness upon the sun. Everything was 
 confused and imperfect. I could see that the courthouse was 
 filled to overflowing, and this increased my feebleness. The 
 sase was one that had occasioned considerable excitement in 
 tte community, It was one of no ordinary atrocity. This was 
 a sufficient reason why the audience should be large. There 
 
DEBUT. . 45 
 
 was yet another. There were two new debutants. In a com- 
 munity where popular eloquence is, of all others, perhaps the 
 most desirable talent, this circumstance was well calculated to 
 bring many listeners. Besides, something was expected from 
 both Edgerton and myself. We had not reached our present 
 position without making for ourselves a little circle, in which 
 we had friends to approve and exult, and enemies to depreciate, 
 and condemn. 
 
 The proceedings were at length opened by the attorney-gen- 
 eral, the witnesses examined, and turned over to us for cross- 
 examination. This part of the duty was performed by my as- 
 sociate. The business fairly begun, my distraction was les- 
 sened. My mind, driven to a point, made a decisive stand j 
 and the sound of Edgerton's voice, as he proposed his questions, 
 served still more to dissipate my confusion. I furnished him 
 with sundry questions, and our examination was admitted to be 
 quite searching and acute. My friend went 'through his part 
 of the labor with singular coolness. He was in little or no 
 respect excited. He, perhaps, was deficient in enthusiasm. If 
 there was no faltering in what he said, there was no fine 
 phrensy. His remarks and utterance were subdued to the 
 plainest demands of the subject. They were shrewd and sensi- 
 ble, not particularly ingenious, nor yet deficient in the proper 
 analysis of the evidence. He acquitted himself creditably. 
 
 It was my part to reply to the prosecuting attorney ; but 
 when I rose, I was completely confounded. Never shall I 
 forget the pang of that impotence which seemed to overspread 
 my frame, and to paralyze every faculty of thought and speech. 
 I was the victim to my own ardor. A terrible reaction of mind 
 had taken place, and I was prostrated. The desire to achieve 
 greatness the belief that it was expected from me the con- 
 sciousness that hundreds of eyes were then looking into mine 
 with hungering expectation, overwhelmed me ! I felt that I 
 could freely have yielded myself for burial beneath the floor 
 on which I stood. My cheeks were burning, yet my hands were 
 cold as ice, and my knees tottered as with an ague. I strove 
 to speak, however ; the eyes of the judge met mine, and they 
 looked the language of encouragement of pity. But this ex- 
 jj.ression only increased my confusion. I stammered out noth* 
 
46 CONFESSION, Oil THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 ing but broken syllables and incoherent sentences. What 1 
 was saying, I know not how long I presented this melancholy 
 spectacle of imbecility to the eyes of my audience, I know not 
 It may have been a few minutes only. To me it seemed an 
 age ; and I was just endued with a sufficient power of reflec- 
 tion to ask myself whether I had not better sit down at once 
 in irreversible despair, when my wandering and hitherto vacant 
 eyes caught a glance a single glance of a face opposite. 
 
 It was that of my uncle ! He was perched on one of the 
 loftiest benches, conspicuous among the crowd his eyes keen- 
 ly fixed upon mine, and his features actually brightened by a 
 smile of triumphant malice and exultation. 
 
 That glance restored me. That single smile brought me 
 strength. I was timid, and weak, and impotent no longer. 
 Under the presence of habitual scorn, my habitual pride and in- 
 dependence returned to me. The tremors left my limbs. The 
 clammy huskiness which had loaded iny tongue, and made it 
 cleave to the roof of my mouth, instantly departed ; and my 
 whole mind returned to my control as if beneath the command 
 of some almighty voice. I now saw the judge distinctly I 
 could see the distinct features of every juryman ; and with the 
 pride of my restored consciousness, I retorted the smile upon 
 my uncle's face with one of contempt, which was not without 
 its bitterness. 
 
 Then I spoke, and spoke with an intenseness, a directness of 
 purpose and aim a stern deliberateness a fire and a feeling 
 which certainly electrified my hearers with surprise, if witli 
 no more elevated emotions. That one look of hostility had 
 done more for my mind than could have been effected in my 
 behalf by all the kind looks and encouraging voices of all the 
 friends in creation. 
 
 After a brief exordium, containing some general propositions 
 on the subject of human testimony, which meant no more than 
 to suggest the propriety of giving to the prisoner the benefit 
 of what was doubtful and obscure in the testimony which had 
 been taken against him I proceeded to compare and contrast 
 its several parts. There were some inconsistencies in the evi- 
 dence which enable me to make something of a case. The 
 character of the witnesses was something more than doubtful 
 
DEBUT. 47 
 
 And that, too, helped, in a slight degree, my argument. This 
 was rapid, direct, closely wound together, and proved such 
 was the opinion freely expressed by others, afterward that I 
 had the capacity for consecutive arrangement of facts and in- 
 ferences in a very remarkable degree. I closed with an appeal 
 in favor of that erring nature, which, even in our own cases, 
 led us hourly to the commission of sins and errors ; and which, 
 where the individual was poor, wretched, and a stranger, under 
 the evil influences of destitution, vicious associations, and a lot 
 in life, which, of necessity, must be low, might well persuade 
 us to look with an eye of qualified rebuke upon his offences. 
 
 This was, of course, no argument, and was only to be con- 
 sidered the natural close of my labors. Before I was half 
 through I saw my uncle rise from his seat, and hastily leave the 
 court-room ; and then I knew that I was successful that I had 
 triumphed, through that stimulating influence of his hate, over 
 my own fears and feebleness. I felt sure that the speech must 
 be grateful to the rest of my hearers, which he could not stay 
 to hear ; and in this conviction, the tone of my spirits became 
 elevated the thoughts gushed from me like rain, in a natural 
 and unrestrainable torrent of language my voice was clear 
 and full, far more so than I had ever thought it could be made 
 and my action far more animated, perhaps, than either good 
 taste or the occasion justified. The criminal was not acquitted ; 
 but both William Edgerton and myself were judged to have 
 been eminently successful. 
 
 The result of my debut, in other respects, was flattering far 
 beyond my expectations. Business poured in upon me. My 
 old employers, the merchants, were particularly encouraging 
 and friendly. They congratulated me warmly on my success, 
 assured me that they had always thought I was better calcu- 
 lated for the law than trade ; and ended by putting into my 
 hands all their accounts that needed a legal agency for collec- 
 tion. Mr. Edgerton was loud in his approbation, and that very 
 week saw his son and myself united in co-partnership, with the 
 prospect of an early withdrawal of the father from business in 
 rar favor. Indeed, the latter gave us to understand that hia 
 only purpose now was to see us fairly under way, with a suffi- 
 cient knowledge of the practice, and assured of the confidence 
 
48 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 of his own friends, in order to give his years and enfeebled 
 health a respite from the toils of the profession. 
 
 My worthy uncle, true to himself, played a very different 
 part from these gentlemen. He hung back, forbore all words 
 on the subject of my debut, and of the promising auspices 
 under which my career was begun, and actually placed certain 
 matters of legal business into the hands of another lawyer. 
 Of this, he himself gave me the first information in very nearly 
 this language : 
 
 " I have juut had to sue Yardle & Fellows, and a few others, 
 Edward, and I thought of employing you, but you are young, 
 and there may be some legal difficulties in the way : but when 
 you get older, and arrive at some experience, we will see what 
 can be done for you." 
 
 " You are perfectly right, sir," was my only answer, but the 
 smile upon my lips said everything. I saw, then, that he could 
 not smile. He was now exchanging the feeling of scorn which 
 he formerly entertained for one of a darker quality. Hate waa 
 the necessary feeling which followed the conviction of his having 
 done me wilful injustice not to speak of the duties left undone, 
 which were equally his shame. 
 
 There were several things to mortify him in my progress. 
 His sagacity as a man of the world stood rebuked his con- 
 duct as a gentleman his blood as a relation, who had not 
 striven for the welfare and good report of his kin, and who had 
 suffered unworthy prejudices, the result of equal avarice and 
 arrogance, to operate against him. 
 
 There is nothing which a base spirit remembers with so much 
 malignant tenacity as your success in his despite. Even in the 
 small matter just referred to, the appropriation of his law busi- 
 ness, the observant fates gave me my revenge. By a singular 
 coincidence of events, the very firm against which he had 
 brought action the day before were clients of Mr. Edgerton. 
 That gentleman was taken with a serious illness at the ap- 
 proach of the next court, and the business of their defence 
 devolved upon his son and myself; and finally, when it wai 
 disposed of, which did not happen till near the close of that 
 year, it so happened that I argued the case ; and was suc- 
 cessful. 
 
DEBUT. 49 
 
 Mr. Clifford was baffled, and you may judge the feeling with 
 ??hich he now regarded me. He had long since ceased to jest 
 with me and at my expense. He was now very respectful, and 
 I could see that his dislike grew daily in strict degree with his 
 deference. But the deportment of Mi. Clifford springing as 
 it dii from that devil, which each man is supposed to carry at 
 times in his bosom, and of whose presence in mine at seasons I 
 was far from unaware gave me less annoyance than that of 
 aiother of his household. Julia, too, had put on an aspect 
 which, if not that of coldness, was at least, that of a very 
 marked reserve. I ascribed this to the influence of her parents 
 perhaps, to her own sense of what was due to their obvious 
 desires to her own feeling of indifference to any and every 
 cause but the right one. 
 
 There were other circumstances to alarm me, in connection 
 with this maiden. She was, as I have said, singularly beauti- 
 ful ; and, as I thought, until now, singularly meek and consid- 
 erate. Her charms, about which there could be no two opinions, 
 readily secured her numerous admirers, and when these were 
 strengthened by the supposed fortune of which she was to be 
 the heiress, the suitors were, some of them, almost as pressing, 
 after the fashion of the world in which we lived, as those of 
 Penelope. I now no longer secured her exclusive regard at 
 the evening fireside or in our way to church. There were gal- 
 lants on either hand gay, dashing lads, with big whisker* 1 , 
 long locks, and smart ratans, upon w T hom madame, our lady- 
 usother, looked with far more complacency than upon me. The 
 course of Julia, herself, was, however, unexceptionable. She 
 was singularly cautious in her deportment, and, if reserved to me. 
 the most jealous scrutiny -after due reflection never enabled 
 me to discover that she was more lavish of her regards to any 
 other. But the discovery of her position led me to another 
 discovery which the reader will wonder, as I did myself, that 
 I had not made before. This was the momentous discovery 
 that my heart was irretrievably lost to her that I loved her 
 with all the intensity of a first passion, which, like every other 
 passion in my heart, was absorbing during its prevalence. I 
 could name my feelings to myself only when I perceived that 
 such feelings were entertained by others; only when I found 
 
 3 
 
00 CONFESSION, Oli THE P.LJXD J1EA11T. 
 
 that the prize, which I desired beyond all others, was likely 1 3 
 be borne away by strangers, did I know how much it was desi- 
 rable to myself. 
 
 The discovery of this affection instantly produced its_ natural 
 effects as well upon my deportment as upon my feelings ; and 
 that sleepless spirit of suspicion and doubt that true creature 
 and consequence of the habitual distrust which my treatment 
 from boyhood had insiilled into my mind at once rose to 
 strength and authority within me, and swayed me even as the 
 blasts of November sway the bald tops of the slender trees 
 which the gusts have already denuded of all foliage. The 
 change in Julia's deportment, of which I have already spoken, 
 increased the febrile fears and suspicions which filled my soul 
 and overcame my judgment. She too so I fancied had 
 learned to despise and dislike me, under the goading influences 
 tif her father's malice and her mother's silly prejudices. I 
 jumped to the conclusion instantly, that I v/as bound to my* 
 self to assert my superiority, my pride and independence, in 
 such a manner, as most effectually to satisfy all parties tha 
 their hate or love was equally a matter of indifference. 
 
 You may judge what my behavior was after this. For a 
 time, at least, it was sufficiently unbecoming. The deportment of 
 Julia grew more reserved than ever, and her looks more grave. 
 There was a sadness evidently mingled with this gravity which, 
 amid all the blindness of my heart, I could not help but see. 
 She became sadder and thinner every day ; and there was a 
 wo-begone listlessness about her looks and movements wlii^ 
 began to give me pain and apprehension, I discovered, too, 
 after a while, that some apprehensions had also crept into the 
 minds of her parents in respect to her hjalth. Their looks 
 were frequently addressed to her in evident anxiety. They 
 restrained her exercises, watched the weather when she pro- 
 posed to go abroad, strove in every way to keep her from 
 fatigue and exposure ; and, altogether, exhibited a degree of 
 solicitude which at length had the effect of arousing mine. 
 
 Involuntarily, I approached her with more tenderness than 
 my vexing spirit had recently permitted me to show ; but I re- 
 coiled from the effects of my own attentions. I was vexed to 
 perceive that my approaches occasioned a start, a flutter a 
 
DEBUT. 51 
 
 shrinking inward as if my advance had been obtrusive, and 
 lay attempts at familiarity offensive. 
 
 1 was then little schooled in the intricacies of the female 
 heart. I little conjectured the origin of that seemingly para- 
 doxical movement of the mind, which, in the case of one, 
 sensitive and exquisitely delicate, prompts to flight from the 
 very pursuit which it would yet invite ; which dreads to be sus- 
 pected of the secret which it yet most loves to cherish, and 
 seeks to protect, by concealment, the feelings which it may not 
 defend ; even as the bird hides the little fledglings of its care 
 from the hunter, whom it dare not attack. 
 
 Stupid, and worse than stupid, my blind heart saw nothing 
 of this, and perverted what it saw. I construed the conduct 
 of Julia into matter of offence, to be taken in high dudgeon 
 and resolutely resented ; and I drew myself up stiffly when she 
 appeared, and by excess of ceremonious politeness only, avoided 
 the reproach of brutality. Yet, even at such moments, I could 
 see that there was a dewy reproach in her eyes, which should 
 have humbled me, and made me penitent. But the effects of 
 fifteen years of injudicious management were not to be dis- 
 ripated in a few days even by the Ithuriel spells of love. My 
 sense of independence and self-resource had been stimulated to 
 a diseased excess, until, constantly on the qui vive, it became 
 dogged and inflexible. It was a work of time to soften me 
 and make me relent ; and the labor then was one of my own 
 secret thoughts, and unbiased private decision. The attempt 
 to persuade or reason me into a conviction was sure to be a 
 failure. 
 
 Months passed in this manner without effecting any serious 
 change in Julia, or in bringing us a step nearer to one another. 
 Meanwhile, the sphere of my observation and importance in- 
 creased, as the circle of my acquaintance became extended. I 
 was regarded as a rising young man, and one likely to be suc- 
 cessful ultimately in my profession. The social privileges of 
 my friends, the Edgertons, necessarily became mine ; and it 
 soon occurred that I encountered my uncle and his family in 
 circles in which it was somewhat a matter of pride with him to 
 be permitted to move. This, as it increased my importance 
 in his sight, did not diminish his pains. But he treated me 
 
52 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 now with constant deference, though with the same unvarying 
 coldness. When in the presence of others, lie warmed a little, 
 I was then " his nephew ;" and he would affect to speak with 
 great familiarity on the subject of my business, my interests. 
 the last case in which I was engaged, and so forth the object 
 of which was to persuade third persons that our relations weie 
 precisely as they should be, and as people would naturally sup- 
 pose them. 
 
 At all these places and periods, when it was my lot to meet 
 with Julia, she was most usually the belle of the night. A 
 dozen attendants followed in her train, solicitous of all her 
 smiles, and only studious how to afford her pleasure. I, only, 
 stood aloof I, who loved her with a more intense fervor than 
 all, simply because I had none, or few besides to love. The 
 heart which has been evermore denied, will always burn with 
 this intensity. Its passion, once enkindled, will be the all-ab- 
 sorbing flame. Devoted itself, it exacts the most religions 
 devotion ; and, unless it receives it, recoils upon its own re- 
 sources, and shrouds itself in gloom, srmply to hide its sufferings 
 from detection. 
 
 I affected that indifference to the charms f this maiden, 
 which no one of human sensibilities could have felt. Opinions 
 might have differed in respect to her beauty; but there could 
 be none on the score of her virtues and her amiability, and al- 
 most as few on the possessions of her mind. Julia Clifford, 
 though singularly unobtrusive in society, very soon convinced 
 all around her that she had an excellent understanding, which 
 study had improved, and grace had adorned by all the most 
 appropriate modes of cultivation. Her steps were always fol- 
 lowed by a crowd her seat invariably encircled by a group to 
 itself. 1 looked on at a distance, wrapped up in the impene- 
 trable folds of a pride, whose sleeves were momently plucked, 
 as 1 watched, by the nervous fingers of jealousy and suspicion. 
 Sometimes I caught a timid glance of her eye, addressed to th<? 
 spot where I stood, full of inquiry, and, as I could not but be- 
 lieve, of apprehension; and yet, at such moments; I turned 
 perversely from the spot, nor GuiTere4 my eel f i,o steal anotb^r 
 look at one, all of whose temmylae seemed xn/i<le at my ear- 
 pense. 
 
DEBUT. 63 
 
 On one of these occasions we met our eyes and Lands, ac- 
 cidentally ; and, though I, myself, could not help starting back 
 with a cold chill at my heart, I yet fancied there was some^ 
 thing monstrous insulting in the evident recoil of her person 
 from the contact with mine, at the same moment. I was about 
 to turn hurriedly away with a slight bow of acknowledgment, 
 when the touching tenderness of her glance, so full of sweet- 
 ness and sadness, made me shrink with shame from such a rude- 
 ness. Besides, she was so pale, so thin, and really looked so 
 unwell, that my conscience, in spite of that blind heart whose 
 perversity would still have kept me to my first intention, re- 
 buked me, and drove me to my duty. I approached I spoke 
 to her and my words, though few, under the better impulses 
 of the moment, were gentle and solicitous, as they should have 
 been. My tones, too, were softened: wilfully as I still felt, 
 I could not forbear the exercise of that better ministry of the 
 affections which was disposed to make amends for previous mis- 
 conduct. I do not know exactly, what I said I probably did 
 nothing more than utter the ordinary phrases of social compli- 
 ment ; but everything was obliterated from my mind in an 
 instant, by the startling directness of what was said by her. 
 Looking at me with a degree of intentness by which, alone, 
 she was, perhaps, able to preseiye her seeming calmness, she 
 replied by an inquiry as remote from what my observation 
 called for as possible, yet how applicable to me and my conduct ! 
 
 " Why do you treat me thus, Edward ? Why do you neg- 
 lect me as you do as if I were a stranger, or, at least, not 
 a fiiend ? What have I done to merit this usage from one 
 W 1 10 " 
 
 She did not finish the sentence, but her reproachful eyes, full 
 of a dewy suffusion that seemed very much like tears, appeare 3 
 to conclude it thus 
 
 " One who used to love me !" 
 
 So different was this speech from any tliat I looked for 0$ 
 different from what the usage of our conventional world woull 
 have seemed to justify so strange for one so timid, so silent 
 usually on the subject of her own griefs, as Julia Clifford 
 that I was absolutely confounded. Where had she got this cour- 
 age ? By what strong feeling ha-i H been stimulated 1 Had J 
 
i>4 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEAB.T. 
 
 been at that time as well acquainted with the sex as I have 
 grown since, I must have seen that nothing but a deep interest 
 in my conduct and regard, could possibly have prompted the 
 spirit of one so gentle and shrinking, to the utterance of so 
 searching an appeal. And in what way could I answer it ? 
 How could I excuse myself? What say, to justify that cold, 
 rude indifference to a relative, and one who had ever been 
 gentle and kind and true to me. I had really nothing to com- 
 plain of. The vexing jealousies of my own suspicious heart 
 had alone informed it to its perversion ; and there I stood 
 dumb, confused, stupid speaking, when I did speak, some in- 
 coherent, meaningless sentences, which could no more have been 
 understood by her than they can now be remembered by mo. 
 I recovered myself, however, sufficiently soon to say, before we 
 were separated by the movements of the crowd : 
 
 " I will come to you to-morrow, Julia. Will you suffer me 
 to see you in th 3 morning, say at twelve ?" 
 
 " Yes, come ! ' was all her answer ; and the next moment the 
 hnreh accents . f her ever-watchful mother warned us to sask 
 no more. 
 
DENIAL AtfD DEFEAT, 55 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DENIAL AND DEFEAT. 
 
 MY sleep that night was anything but satisfactory. I had 
 feverish dreams, unquiet slumbers, and woke at morning with 
 an excruciating headache. I was in no mood for an explana- 
 tion such as my promise necessarily implied, but I prepared my 
 toilet with particular care spent two hours at my office in a 
 vain endeavor to divert myself, by a resort to business, from the 
 conflicting and annoying sensations which afflicted me, and then 
 proceeded to the dwelling of my uncle. 
 
 I was fortunate in seeing Julia without the presence of her 
 mother. That good lady had become too fashionable to suffer 
 herself to be seen at so early an hour. Her vanity, in this re- 
 spect, baffled her vigilance, for she had her own apprehensions 
 on the score of my influence upon her daughter. Julia was 
 scarcely so composed in the morning as she had appeared on 
 the preceding night. I was now fully conscious of a flutter in 
 her manner, a flush upon her face, an ill-suppressed apprehen- 
 sion in her eyes, which betokened strong emotions actively at 
 work. But my own agitation did not suffer me to know the 
 full extent of hers. For the first time, on her appearance, did 
 I ask myself the question "For what did I seek this inter- 
 view ?" What had I to say what near] How explain my 
 conduct my coldness ? On what imaginary and unsubstantial 
 premises base the neglect in my deportment, amounting to rude- 
 ness, of which she had sufficient reason and a just right to com- 
 plain 1 When I came to review my causes of vexation, how 
 trivial did they seem. The reserve which had irritated me, on 
 her part, now that I analyzed its sources, seemed a very natural 
 reserve, such as was only maidenly and becoming. I now rec- 
 ollected that she was no longer a child no longer the lively 
 
56 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 little fairy whom I could dandle on my knee and fling upon my 
 shoulder, without a scruple or complaint. I stood like a trem- 
 bling culprit in her presence. I was eloquent only through the 
 force of a stricken conscience. 
 
 " Julia !" I exclaimed when we met, " I have come to make 
 atonement. I feel how rude I have been, but that was only 
 because I was very wretched." 
 
 " Wretched, Edward !" she exclaimed with some surprise. 
 " What should make you wretched ?" 
 
 " You you have made me wretched." 
 
 " Me !" Her surprise naturally increased 
 
 " Yes, you, dear Julia, and you only." 
 
 I took her hand in mine. Mine was burning hers was 
 colder than the icicles. Need I say more to those who com- 
 prehend the mysteries of the youthful heart. Need I say that 
 the tongue once loosed, and the declaration of the soul must 
 follow in a rush from the lips. I told her how much I loved 
 her; how unhappy it made me to think that others might 
 bear away the prize ; that, in this way, my rudeness arose from 
 my wretchedness, and my wretchedness only from my love. I 
 did not speak in vain. She confessed an equal feeling, and we 
 were suffered a brief hour of unmitigated happiness together. 
 
 Surely there is no joy like that which the heart feels in the 
 first moment when it gives utterance to its own, and hears the 
 avowed passion of the desired object: a pure flame, the child 
 of sentiment, just blushing with the hues of passion, just bud- 
 ding with the breath and bloom of life. No sin has touched 
 the sentiment; no gross smokes have risen to involve and ob- 
 scure the flame ; the altar is tended by pure hands ; white 
 spirits ; and there is no reptile beneath the fresh blossoming 
 flowers which are laid thereon. The grosser passions sleep, 
 like the fumes at the shrine of Apollo, beneath the spell of that 
 master passion in whose presence they can only maintain a sub^ 
 ordinate existence. I loved ; I had told my love ; and I was 
 loved in return. I trembled with the deep intoxication of that 
 bewildering moment ; and how I found my way back to my 
 office whom I saw on the way, or to whom I spoke, I know 
 not. I loved; I was beloved. He only can conceive the 
 delirium of this sweet knowledge who has passed a life like 
 
DENIAL AND DEFEAT. 57 
 
 mhie who lias felt the frowns and the scorn, and the contempt 
 of those who should have nurtured him with smiles whose 
 soul, ardent and sensitive, has been made to recoil cheerlessly 
 back on itself denied the sunshine of the affections, and al- 
 most forbade to hope. Suddenly, when I believed myself most 
 destitute, I had awakened to fortune to the realization of 
 desires which were beyond my fondest dreams. I, whom no 
 affection hitherto had blessed, had, in a moment, acquired that 
 which seemed to me to comprise all others, and for which all 
 others might have been profitably thrown away. 
 
 I fancied now that henceforth my sky was to be without a 
 cloud. I did not nor did Julia imagine for a moment that any 
 opposition to our love could arise from her parents. What reason 
 now could they have to oppose it ? There was no inequality in 
 our social positions. My blood had taken its rise from the same 
 fountains with her own. In the world's estimation my rank was 
 quite as respectable as that of any in my uncle's circle, and, for 
 my condition, my resources, though small, were improving daily, 
 and I had already attained such a place among my professional 
 brethren, as to leave it no longer doubtful that it must continue to 
 improve. My income, with economy such economy as two 
 simple, single-minded creatures, like Julia and myself, were 
 willing to employ would already yield us a decent support. 
 In short, the idea of my uncle's opposition to the match never 
 once entered my head. Yet he did oppose it. I was confound- 
 ed with his blunt, and almost rugged refusal. ^ 
 
 " Why, sir, what are your objections ?" 
 
 He answered with sufficient coolness. 
 
 " I am sorry to refuse you, Edward, but I have already formed 
 other arrangements for my daughter. I have designed her for 
 another." 
 
 "Indeed, sir may I. ask with whom 1" 
 
 " Young Roberts his father and myeelf have had the matter 
 for some time in deliberation. But do not speak of it, Edward 
 --my confidence in you, alone, induces in 3 to state this fact," 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you. cir ; but you do not sure- 
 ly mean to force ycung Roberts upon Julia, if she is unwil- 
 ling?" 
 
 " Ah, she will not be unwilling. She's a dutiful child, who 
 
58 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 will readily recognise the desires of her parents as the truest 
 wisdom." 
 
 "But, Mr. Clifford you forget that Julia has already admit- 
 ted to me a preference " 
 
 " So you tell me, Edward, and it is with regret that I feel 
 myself compelled to say that I wholly disapprove of your seek- 
 ing my daughter's consent, before you first thought proper to 
 obtain mine. This seems to me very much like an abuse of con- 
 fidence." 
 
 " Really, sir, you surprise me more than ever. Now that you 
 force me to speak, let me say that, regarding myself as of blood 
 scarcely inferior to that of my cousin, I can not see how the privi- 
 lege of which I availed myself in proposing for her hand, can be 
 construed into a breach of confidence. I trust, sir, that you 
 have not contemplated your brother's son in any degrading or 
 unbecoming attitude." 
 
 " No, no, surely not, Edward ; but mere equality of birth 
 docs not constitute a just claim, by itself, to the affections of a 
 lady." 
 
 " I trust the equality of birth, sir, is not impaired on my part 
 by misconduct by a want of industry, capacity by inequal- 
 ities in other respects " 
 
 " And talents !" 
 
 He finished the sentence with the ancient sneer. But I was 
 now a man a strong one, and, at this moment particularly a 
 stern one. 
 
 " Stop, sir," I retorted ; " there must be an end to this. 
 Whether you accede to my application or not, sir, there is noth- 
 ing to justify you in an attempt to goad and mortify my feelings. 
 I have proffered to you a respectful application for the hand of 
 of your daughter, and though I were poorer, and humbler, and 
 less worthy in all respects than I am, I should still be entitled 
 to respectful treatment. At another time, with my sensibilities 
 less deeply interested than they are, I should probably submit, 
 as I have already frequently submitted, to the unkind and ungen- 
 erous sarcasms in which you have permitted yourself to indulge 
 at my expense. But my regard for your daughter alone would 
 prompt me to resent and repel them now. The object of my 
 interview with you is quite too sacred too oolemnly invested 
 
DENIAL AND DEFEAT. 59 
 
 to suffer me to stand silently under the scornful usage even 
 of her father." 
 
 All this may have been deserved by Mr. Clifford, but it was 
 scarcely discreet in me. It gave him the opportunity which, 
 I do not doubt, he desired the occasion which he had in 
 view. It afforded him an excuse for anger, for a regular out- 
 brea 1 ' between us, which, in some sort, yielded him that justi- 
 fication for his refusal, without which he would have found it a 
 very difficult matter to account for or excuse. We parted in 
 mutual anger, the effect of which was to close his doors 
 against me, and exclude me from all opportunities of interview 
 with Julia, unless by stealth. Even then, these opportunities 
 were secured by my artifice, without her privity. As dutiful 
 as fond, she urged me against them ; and, resolute to " honor 
 her father and mother" in obedience to those holy laws with- 
 out a compliance with which there is little hope and no happi- 
 ness, she informed me with many tears that she was now for- 
 bidden to see me, and would therefore avoid every premedi- 
 tated arrangement for our meeting. I did not do justice to her 
 character, but reproached her with coldness with a want of 
 affection, sensibility, and feeling. 
 
 "Do not say so, Edward do not do not ! I cold I in- 
 sensible I wanting in affection for you! How, how can you 
 think so 1" And she threw herself on my bosom and sobbed 
 until I began to fancy that convulsions would follow. 
 
 We separated, finally, with assurances of mutual fidelity 
 assurances which, I knew, from the exclusiveness of all my 
 feelings, my concentrative singleness of character, and entire 
 dependence upon the beloved object of those affections which 
 were now the sole solace of my heart, would not be difficult for 
 me to keep. But I doubted her strength her resolution 
 against the pressing solicitations of parents whom she had never 
 been accustomed to withstand. But she quieted me with that 
 singular earnestness of look and manner which had once before 
 impressed me previous to our mutual explanation. Like vulgar 
 thinkers generally, I was apt to confound weakness of frame 
 and delicacy of organization with a want of courage and moral 
 resources of strength and consolation. 
 
 "Fear nothing for my truth, Edward. Though, in obedience 
 
dO CONFESSION, OK THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 to my parents, I shall not marry against their will, be sur I 
 shall never marry against my own." 
 
 " Ah, Julia, yon think so, but " 
 
 " I know so, Edward. Believe nothing that you hear against 
 me or of ine, which is unfavorable to my fidelity, until you hear 
 it from my own lips." 
 
 "But you will meet me again soon?" 
 
 " No, no, do not ask it, Edward. We must not meet in this 
 manner. It is not right. It is criminal." 
 
 I had soon another proof of the decisive manner in which my 
 uncle seemed disposed to carry on the war between us. Er- 
 ring, like the greater number of our young men, in their ambi- 
 tious desire to enter public life prematurely, I was easily per- 
 suaded to become a candidate for the general assembly. I was 
 now just twenty-five at a time when young men are not yet 
 released from the bias of early associations, and the unavoida- 
 ble influence of guides, who are generally blind guides. Until 
 thirty, there are few men who think independently ; -and, until 
 this habit is acquired which, in too many cases, never is ac- 
 quired the individual is sadly out of place in the halls of 
 legislation. 'It is this premature disposition to enter into pub- 
 lic life, which is the sole origin of the numberless mistakes and 
 miserable inconsistencies into which our statesmen fall ; which 
 cling to their progress for ever after, preventing their perform- 
 ances, and baffling them in all their hopes to secure the confi- 
 dence of the people. They are broken-down political hacks in 
 the prime of life, and just at the time when they should be first 
 entering upon the duties of the public man. Seduced, like the 
 rest, as well by my own vanity as the suggestions of favoring 
 friends, I permitted my name to be announced, and engaged 
 actively in the canvass. Perhaps the feverish state of my mind, 
 in consequence of my relations with Julia Clifford and her pa- 
 rents, made me more willing to adopt a measure, about which, 
 at any other time, I should have been singularly slow and cau- 
 tious. As a man of proud, reserved, and suspicious temper, I 
 had little or no confidence in my own strength with the people ; 
 and defeat would be more mortifying than success grateful to a 
 person of my pride. I fancied, however, that popular life would 
 somewhat subdue the consuming passions which were rioting 
 
DENIAL AND DEFEAT. 61 
 
 within my bosom ; and I threw myself into the thick of tta 
 struggle with all the ardor of a sanguine temperament. 
 
 To my surprise and increased vexation, I found my worthy 
 uncle striving in every possible way, without actually declaring 
 his purpose, in opposing my efforts and prospects. It is true 
 he did not utter my name ; but he had formed a complete ticket, 
 in which my name was not ; and he was toiling with all the 
 industry of a thoroughgoing partisan in promoting its success. 
 The cup which he had commended to my lips was overrunning 
 with the gall of bitterness. Hostility to me seemed really to 
 have been a sort of monomania with him from the first. How 
 else was this ranton procedure to be accounted for ? how, even 
 with this belief, could it be excused 1 His conduct was cer- 
 tainly one of those mysteries of idiosyncracy upon which the 
 moral philosopher may speculate to doomsday without being a 
 jot the wiser. 
 
 If his desire was to baffle me, he was successful. I was de- 
 feated, after a close struggle, by a meagre majority of seven 
 votes in some seventeen hundred ; and the night after the elec- 
 tion was declared, he gave a ball in honor of the successful 
 candidates, in which his house was filled to overflowing. I 
 passed the dwelling about midnight. Music rang from the illu- 
 minated parlor. The merry dance proceeded. All was life, 
 gayety, and rich profusion. And Julia ! even then she might 
 have been whirling in the capricious movements of the dance 
 with my happy rival she as happy unconscious of him who 
 glided like some angry spectre beneath her windows, and al- 
 most within hewing of her thoughtless voice. 
 
 Such weic my gloomy thoughts- such the dark and dismal 
 subjects of my lonely meditations. I did the poor girl wrong. 
 That night she neither sung nor danced; and when I saw her 
 again, I was shocked at the visible alteration for the worse 
 which her appearance exhibited She was now grown thin, 
 almost to meagreness; her cheeks were very wan, her lips 
 whitened, and her beauty greatly faded in coasequence of her 
 suffering health. 
 
 Yet, will it be believed that, in that interview, though such 
 was her obvious condition, my perverse spirit found the Ian- 
 guage of complaint and suspicion more easy than that of devo- 
 
62 . CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 tion and tenderness. I know that it would be easy, and feel 
 that it would be natural, to account for and to excuse this bru- 
 tality, by a reference to those provocations which I had re- 
 ceived from her father. A warm temper, ardent and glowing, 
 it is very safe to imagine, must reasonably become soured and 
 perverse by bad treatment and continual injury. But this for 
 me was no excuse. Julia was a victim also of the same treat- 
 ment, and in far greater degree than myself, as she was far less 
 able to endure it. Mine, however, was the perverseness of im- 
 petuous blood unrestrained, unchecked having a fearful 
 will, an impetuous energy, and, gradually, with success and 
 power, swelling to the assertion of its own unqualified dominion 
 the despotism of the blind heart. 
 
 Julia bore my reproaches until I was ashamed of them. Her 
 submission stung me, and I loved then too ardently not to ar- 
 rive in time at justice, and to make atonement. Would 1 
 had made it sooner ! When I had finished all my reproaches 
 and complainings, she answered all by telling me that the affair 
 with young Roberts had been just closed, and she hoped finally, 
 by her unqualified rejection of his suit, even though backed by 
 all her father's solicitations, complaints, nay, threats and anger. 
 How ungenerous and unmanly, after this statement had been 
 made, appeared all the bitter chidings in which I had indulged ! 
 I need not say what efforts I made to atone for my precipita- 
 tion and injustice ; and how easily I found forgiveness from one 
 who knew not how to harbor unkindness and if she even had 
 the feeling in her bosom, entertained it as one entertains his 
 deadliest foo, and expelled it as soon as its real character was 
 discovered- 
 
TEMPTATION 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 THUS stood the affair between my fair cousin and myself- 
 a condition of things seriously and equally affecting her health 
 and my temper when an explosion took place, of a nature 
 calculated to humble my uncle and myself, if not in equal de- 
 gree, or to the same attitude, at least to a most mortifying ex- 
 tent in both cases. I have not stated before indeed, it was 
 not until the affair which I am now about to relate had actually 
 exploded, that I was made acquainted with any of the facts 
 which produced it that, prior' to my father's death, there had 
 been some large business connections between himself and my 
 uncle. In those days secret connections in business, however 
 dangerous they might be in social, and more than equivocal in 
 moral respects, were considered among the legitimate practices 
 of tradesmen. What was the particular sort of relations exist- 
 ing between 'my father and uncle, I am not now prepared to 
 state, nor is it absolutely necessary to my narrative. It io 
 enough for me to say that an exposure of them took place, in 
 part, in consequence of some discoveries made by my fatherV 
 unsatisfied creditors, by which the obscure transactions of thirty 
 years were brought to light, or required to be brought to light ; 
 and in the development of which, the fair business fame of my 
 uncle was likely to be involved in a very serious degree not 
 to speak of the inevitable effects upon his resources of a discov- 
 ery and proof of fraudulent concealment. The reputation of 
 my father must have suffered seriously, had it not been gener- 
 ally known that he left nothing a fact beyond dispute from 
 the history of my own career, in which neither goods nor chat- 
 tels, lands nor money, were suffered to enure to my advantage, 
 
t)4 CONFESSION, Oil THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 The business was brought to me. The merchant who brougnt 
 it, and who had been busy for some years in tracing out the 
 testimony, so far as it could be procured, gave me to understand 
 that he had determined to place it in my hands for two reasons : 
 firstly, to enable me to release the memory of my father from 
 the imputation under any circumstances discreditable of 
 bankruptcy, by compelling my uncle to disgorge the sums 
 which he had appropriated, and which, as was alleged, would 
 satisfy all my father's creditors ; and, secondly, to give me an 
 opportunity of revenging my own wrongs upon one, of whose 
 course of conduct toward me the populace had already seep 
 enough, during the last election, to have a tolerably correct 
 idea. 
 
 I examined the papers, thanked my client for his friendly 
 intentions, but declined taking charge of the case for two other 
 reasons. My relations to the dead and to the living were either 
 of them sufficient reasons for this determination, I communi- 
 cated the grounds of action, in a respectful letter, to my uncle, 
 and soon discovered, by the alarm which he displayed in con- 
 sequence, that the cause of the complaint was in all probability 
 good. The case belonged to the equity jurisdiction, and the 
 relator soon filed his bill. 
 
 My uncle's tribulation may be conjectured from the fact that 
 he called upon me, and seemed anxious enough to bury the 
 hatchet. He wished me to take part in the proceedings in- 
 sisted, somewhat earnestly, and strove very hard to impress me 
 the conviction that my father's memory demanded that I 
 devote myself to the task of meeting and confounding 
 *Jae creditor who thus, as it were, had set to work to rake up 
 the ashes of the dead ; but I answered all this very briefly and 
 Tery dryly : 
 
 "If my father has participated in this fraud, he has reaped 
 none of its pleasant fruits. He lived poor, and died poor. The 
 public know that ; and it will be difficult to persuade them, with 
 a due knowledge of these facts, that he deliberately perpetrated 
 such unprofitable villany. Besid.es, sir, you do not seem to re- 
 member that, if the claim of Banks, Tressell, & Sons, is good, 
 it relieves my father's memory of the only imputation that now 
 lies against it that of being a bankrupt." 
 
TEMPTATION. 65 
 
 "Ay!" he cried hoarsely, "but it makes Hie one me, yonr 
 uncle." 
 
 "And what reason, sir, have I to remember or to heed thig 
 relationship ?" I demanded sternly, with a glance beneath which 
 he quailed. 
 
 " True, true, Edward, your reproach is a just one. I have 
 not been the friend I should have been ; but let us be friends, 
 now, and hereafter we must be friends. Mrs. Clifford is very 
 anxious that it should be so and and Edward," solemnly, 
 "you must help me out of this business. You must, by Hear- 
 on, you must if you would not have me blow my brains out !" 
 
 The man was giving true utterance to his misery the fruU 
 of those pregnant fears which filled his mind. 
 
 "I would do for you, six, whatever is proper for me to d , but 
 can not meddle in this unless you are prepared to make restitu- 
 tion, which I should judge to be your best course." 
 
 " How can you advise me to beggar my child 1 This dUim, 
 if recognised, will sweep everything. The interest alone is a 
 fortune. I can not think of allowing it. I would rather die !" 
 
 " This is mere madness, Mr. Clifford ; your death would noi 
 lessen the difficulty. Hear me, sir, and face the matter man- 
 fully. You must do justice. If what I understand be true, 
 you have most unfortunately suffered yourself to be blinded to 
 the dishonor of the act which you have committed ; you have 
 appropriated wealth which did not belong to you, and, in thus 
 doing, you have subjected the memory of my father to the re- 
 proach of injustice which he did not deserve. I will not add 
 the reproach which I might with justice add, that, in thus 
 wronging the father's memory, and making it cover your own 
 improper gains, you have suffered his son to want those neces- 
 saries of education and sustenance, which " 
 
 " Say no more, Edward, and it shall all be amended. Listen 
 to me now; but stay close that door for a moment there! 
 Now, look you." 
 
 And, having taken these precautionary steps, the infatuated 
 man proceeded to admit the dishonest practices of which he 
 had been guilty. His object in making the confession, how- 
 ever, was not that he might make reparation. Far from it. It 
 was rather to save from the clutch of his creditors, from the 
 
35 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 grasp of justice, his ill-gotten possessions. I have no patience 
 in revealing the schemes by which this was to be effected ; but, 
 as a preliminary, I was to be made the proprietor of one half 
 of the sum in question, and the possessor of his daughter's hand ; 
 in return for which I was simply to share with him in the per- 
 formance of certain secret acts, which, without rendering his 
 virtue any more conspicuous, would have most effectually eradi- 
 cated all of mine. 
 
 " I have listened to you, Mr. Clifford, and with great diffi- 
 culty. I now distinctly decline your proposals. Not even the 
 bribe, so precious in my sight, as that which you have tendered 
 in the person of your daughter, has power to tempt me into 
 hesitation. I will have nothing to do with you in this matter. 
 Restore the property to your creditors." 
 
 "But, Edward, you have not heard ; your share alone will 
 be twenty odd thousand dollars, without naming the interest !" 
 
 "Mr. Clifford, I am sorry for you, Doubly sorry that you 
 persist in seeing this thing in an improper light. Even were I 
 disposed to second your designs, it is scarcely possible, sir, that 
 you could be extricated. The discovery of those papers, and 
 the extreme probability that Hansford, the partner of the Eng- 
 lish firm of Davis, Pierce, & Hansford, is surviving, and can be 
 found, makes the probabilities strongly against you. My ad- 
 vice to you, is, that you make a merit of necessity ; that you 
 endeavor to effect a compromise before the affair has gone too 
 far. The creditors will make some concessions sooner than 
 trust the uncertainties of a legal investigation, and whether you 
 lose or gain, a legal investigation is what you should particu- 
 larly desire to avoid. If you will adopt this counsel, I will act 
 for you with Banks & Tressel : and if you will give me carte 
 blanche, I think I can persuade them to a private arrangement 
 by which they will receive the principal in liquidation of all de- 
 mands. This may be considered a very fair basis for an ar- 
 rangement, since the results of the speculation could only ac- 
 crue from the business capacities of the speculator, and did not 
 belong to a fund which the proprietor had resolved not to ap- 
 propriate, and which must therefore, have been entirely un- 
 productive. I do not promise you that they will accept, but it 
 is not improbable. They are men of business they need, at 
 
TEMPTATION. 67 
 
 this moment, particularly, an active capital ; and have had too 
 much knowledge of the doubts and delays attending a pro- 
 longed suit in equity, not to listen to a proposition which yields 
 them the entire principal of their claim." 
 
 I need not repeat the arguments and entreaties by which I 
 succeeded in persuading my uncle to accede to the only ar- 
 rangement which could possibly have rescued him from the 
 public exposure which was impending ; but he did consent, and, 
 armed with his credentials, I proceeded to the office of Banks 
 & Tressell, without loss of time. 
 
 Though resolved, if I could effect the matter, that my uncle 
 should liquidate their claim to the uttermost farthing which they 
 required, it was my duty to make the best bargain which I 
 could, in reference to his unfortunate family. Accordingly, 
 without suffering them to know that I had carte blanche, I simply 
 communicated to them my wish to have the matter arranged 
 without public investigation that I was persuaded from a 
 hasty review which I had given to the case, that there were 
 good grounds for action; but, at the same time, I dwelt upon 
 the casualties of such a course the possibility that the chief 
 living witness if he were living might not be found, or 
 might not survive long enough as he was reputed to be very 
 old for the purposes of examination before the commission j 
 the long delays which belonged to a litigated suit, in which 
 the details of a mixed foreign and domestic business of so many 
 years was to be raked up, reviewed and explained ; and the 
 farther chances, in the event of final success, of the property 
 of the debtor being so covered, concealed, or made away with, 
 as to baffle at last all the industry and labors of the creditor. 
 
 The merchants were men of good sense, and estimated the 
 proverb "a bird in hand is worth two in the bush" at its 
 true value. It did not require much argument to persuade 
 them to receive a sum of over forty thousand dollars, and give a 
 full discharge to the defendant ; and I flattered myself that the 
 matter was all satisfactorily arranged, and had just taken a seat 
 at my table to write to Mr. Clifford to this effect, when, to my 
 horror, I receive a note from that gentleman, informing me of 
 his resolve to join issue with the claimants, and " maintain his 
 rights (?) to the last moment." He thanked me, in very cold. 
 
68 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 consequential style, for my "friendly efforts" the "words itali- 
 cised, as I have now written it ; but concluded with informing 
 me that he had taken the opinion of older counsel, which, though 
 it might be Isss correct than mine, was, perhaps, more full of 
 promise for his interests. 
 
 This note justified me in calling upon the unfortunate gentle- 
 man. It is true I had not committed him to Banks & Tressell 
 the suggestions which I had made for the arrangement were 
 all proposed as a something which I might be able to bring 
 about in a future conference with him but I was too anxious 
 to save him from his lamentable folly from that miserable 
 love of money, which, overreaching itself in its blindness, as 
 does every passion was not only about to deliver him to shame 
 but to destitution also. 
 
 I found him in Mrs. Clifford's presence. That simple and 
 silly woman had evidently been made privy to the whole trans- 
 action, so far as my arguments had been connected with it ; 
 fora// the truth is not often to be got out of the man who means 
 or has perpetrated a dishonesty. She had been alarmed at the 
 immense loss of money, and consequently of importance, with 
 which the family was threatened ; and without looking into, or 
 being able to comprehend the facts as they stood, she had taken 
 ground against any measure which should involve such a sacri- 
 fice. Her influence over the weak man beside her, was never 
 so clear to me as now ; and in learning to despise his character 
 more than -jver, I discovered, at the same time, the true source 
 of many of his errors and much of his misconduct. She did 
 not often suffer him to reply for himself yielded me the ul- 
 timatum from her own lips; and condescended to assure me 
 that she could only ascribe the advice which I had given to her 
 husband, to the hostile disposition which I had always enter- 
 tained for herself and family. That I was " a wolf in sheep's 
 clothing, she had long since been able to see, though all others 
 inhappily seemed blind." 
 
 Here she scowled at her husband, who contented himself with 
 talking to and fro, playing with his coatskirts, and feeling, no 
 doubt, a portion of the shame which his miserable bondage to 
 this silly woman necessarily incurred. 
 
 <6 Mr. Clifford has got a lawyer who can do for him what it 
 
TEMPTATION. 69 
 
 seems you can not," was her additional observation. " He 
 promises to get him to dry land, and save him without so much 
 as wetting his shoes, though his own blood relations, who are 
 thought so smart, can not, it appears, do anything." 
 
 Of course I could have nothing to say to the worthy lady, 
 but my expostulations were freely urged to Mr. Clifford. 
 
 " You, at least," said I, " should know the risks which you 
 incur by this obstinacy. Mrs. Clifford can not be expected to 
 know ; and I now warn you, sir, that the case of Banks & 
 Tressell is a very strong one, very well arranged, and so admi- 
 rably hung together, in its several links of testimony, that, 
 even the absence of old Hansford (the chief witness), should his 
 answers never be obtained, would scarcely impair the integrity 
 of the evidence. In a purely moral point of view, nothing can 
 be more complete than it is now." 
 
 " Well, and who would it convict, Mr. Edward Clifford ?" ex- 
 claimed the inveterate lady, anticipating her husband's answer 
 with accustomed interference ; " who would it convict, if not 
 your own father ? It was as much his business as my hus- 
 band's ; and if there's any shame, I'm sure his memory and his 
 son will have to bear their share of it ; and this makes it so 
 much more wonderful to me that you should take sides against 
 Mr. Clifford, instead of standing up in his defence." 
 
 " I would save him, madam, if you and he would let me," I ex- 
 claimed with some indignation. " Your reference to my father's 
 share in this transaction does not affect me, as it is very evident 
 that you are not altogether acquainted with the true part which 
 he had in it. He had all the risk, all the loss, all the blame 
 and your husband all the profit, all the importance. He lived 
 poor, and died so ; without a knowledge of those profitable re- 
 sults to his brother of which the latter has made his own avails 
 by leaving my father's memory to aspersion which he did not 
 deserve, and his son to destitution and reproach which .he 
 merited as little. My father's memory is liable to no reproach 
 when every creditor knows that he died in a state of poverty, 
 in which his only son has ever lived. Neither he nor I ever 
 shared any of the pleasant fruits, for which we are yet to be 
 made accountable." 
 
 "And whose fault was it that you didn't get your share 
 
70 
 
 I'm sure Mr. Clifford made you as handsome an offer yesterday 
 as any man could desire. Didn't he offer you half? But I 
 suppose nothing short of the whole would satisfy so ambitious 
 a person." 
 
 "Neither the half nor the whole will serve me, madam, in 
 such a business. My respect for your husband and his family 
 would, of itself, have been sufficient to prevent my acceptance 
 of his offer." 
 
 "But there was Julia, too, Edward !" said Mr. Clifford, ap- 
 proaching me with a most insinuating smile. 
 
 " It is not yet too late," said Mrs. Clifford, unbending a little. 
 " Take the offer of Mr. Clifford, Edward, and be one of us ; and 
 then this ugly business " 
 
 " Yes, my dear Edward, even now, though I have spoken 
 with young Perkins about the affair, and he tells me there's 
 nothing so much to be afraid of, yet, for the look of the thing, 
 I'd rather that you should be seen acting in the business. As 
 it's so well known that your father had nothing, and you noth- 
 ing, it'll then be easy for the people to believe that nothing was 
 the gain of any of us; and and " 
 
 "Young Perkins may think and say what he pleases, and 
 you are yourself capable of judging how much respect you 
 may pay to his opinion. Mine, however, remains unchanged. 
 You will have to pay this money nay, this necessity will not 
 come alone. The development of all the particulars connected 
 with the transaction will disgrace you for ever, and drive you 
 from the community. Even were I to take part with you, I do 
 not see that it would change the aspect of affairs. So far from 
 your sharing with me the reputation of being profitless in the 
 affair, the public would more naturally suspect that I had shared 
 with you now, if not before and the whole amount involved 
 would not seduce me to incur this imputation." 
 "But my daughter Julia " 
 
 " Do not speak of her in this connection, I implore you, Mr. 
 Clifford. Let her name remain pure, un contaminated by any' 
 considerations, whether of mere gain or of the fraud which the 
 gain is supposed to involve. Freely would I give the sum in 
 question, were it mine, and all the wealth besides that I ever 
 expect to acquire, to make Julia Clifford my wife ; but I can 
 
TEMPTATION. 71 
 
 not suffer myself, in sucli a case as this, to accept her as a bribe, 
 and to sanction crime. Nay, I am sure that she too would be 
 the first to object." 
 
 " And so you really refuse ? Well, the world's coming to a 
 pretty pass. But I told Mr. Clifford, months ago, that you had 
 quite forgot yourself, ever since you had grown so great with 
 the Eclgertons, and the Blakes, and Fortescues, and all them 
 high-headed people. But I'm sure, Mr. Edward Clifford, my 
 daughter needn't go a-begging to any man ; and as for this busi- 
 ness, whatever you may say against young Perkins, I'll take 
 his opinion of the law against that of any other young lawyer 
 in the country. He's as good as the best, I'm thinking." 
 
 " Your opinion is your own, Mrs. Clifford, but I beg to set 
 you right on the subject of mine. I did not say anything 
 against Mr. Perkins." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon ; I'm sure you did. You said he 
 was nothing of a lawyer, and something more." 
 
 Was there ever a more perverse and evil and silly woman ! 
 I contented myself with assuring her that she was mistaken 
 and had very much misunderstood me took pains to repeat 
 what I had really said, and then cut short an interview that had 
 been painful and humbling to me on many grounds. I left the 
 happy pair tete-a-tete, in their princely parlor together, little 
 fancying that there was another argument which had been 
 prepared to overthrow my feeble virtue. But all this had been 
 arranged by the small cunning of this really witless couple. I 
 was left to find my way down stairs as I might ; and just when 
 I was about to leave the dwelling vexed to the heart at the 
 desperate stolidity of the miserable man, whom avarice and 
 weakness were about to expose to a loss which might be averted 
 in part, and an exposure to infamy which might wholly be 
 avoided I was encountered by the attenuated form and wan 
 countenance of his suffering but still lovely daughter. 
 
72 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LOVE FINDS NO SMOOTH WATER IN THE SEA OF LAW 
 
 "JULIA!" I exclaimed, with a start which betrayed, I am 
 sure, quite as much surprise as pleasure. My mood was 
 singularly inflexible. My character was not easily shaken, 
 and, once wrought upon by any leading influence, my mind 
 preserved the tone which it acquired beneath it, long after the 
 cause of provocation had been withdrawn. This earnestness. of 
 character amounting to intensity gave me an habitual stern- 
 ness of look and expression, and I found it hard to acquire, of 
 a sudden, that command of muscle which would permit me to 
 mould the stubborn lineaments, at pleasure, to suit the moment. 
 Not even where my heart was most deeply interested thus 
 aroused could I look the feelings of the lover, which, never- 
 theless, were most truly the predominant ones within my bosom. 
 
 " Julia," I exclaimed, " I did not think to see you." 
 
 " Ah, Edward, did you wish it ?" she replied in very mourn- 
 ful accents, gently reproachful, as she suffered me to take her 
 hand in mine, and lead her back to the parlor in the basement 
 story. I seated her upon the sofa, and took a place at her 
 side. 
 
 " Why should I not wish to see you, Julia ? What should 
 lead you to fancy now that I could wish otherwise ?" 
 
 " Alas !" she replied, " I know not what to think I scarcely 
 know what I say. I am very miserable. What is this they 
 tell me? Can it be true, Edward, that you are acting against 
 my father that you are trying to bring him to shame and 
 poverty 1" 
 
 I released her hand. I fixed my eyes keenly upon hers. 
 
 " Julia, you have your instructions what to say. You are 
 sent here for this. They have set you in waiting to meet me 
 
LOVE AND LAW. 73 
 
 liere, and speak things which you do not understand, and assert 
 things which I know you can not believe." 
 
 " Edward, I believe you /" she exclaimed with emphasis, but 
 with downcast eyes ; " but it does not matter whether I was 
 sent here, or sought you of my own free will. They tell mo 
 other things there is more but I have not the heart to say 
 it, and it needs not much." 
 
 " If you believe me, Julia, it certainly does not need that 
 you should repeat to me what is said of me by enemies, equally 
 unjust to me, and hostile to themselves. Yet I can readily con- 
 jecture some things which they have told you. Did they not 
 tell you that your hand had been proffered me, and that I had 
 refused it ?" 
 
 She hung her head in silence. 
 
 " You do not answer." 
 
 ' Spare me ; ask me not." 
 
 " Nay, tell me, Julia, that I may see how far you hold me 
 worthy of your love, your confidence. Speak to me have 
 they not told you some such story ?" 
 
 " Something of this ; but I did not heed it, Edward." 
 
 " Julia nay ! did you not?" 
 
 "And if I did, Edward" 
 
 " It surely was not to believe it ?" 
 
 "No! no! no! I had no fears of you have none, dear 
 Edward ! I knew that it was not, could not be true." 
 
 "Julia, it was true !" 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " True, indeed ! There was more truth in that than in any 
 other part of the story. Nay, more had they told you all the 
 truth; dearest Julia, that part, strange as it may appear, would 
 liave given you less pain than pleasure." 
 
 " How ! Can it be so ?" 
 
 fc Your hand was proffered me by your father, and I refused 
 it. Nay, look not from me, dearest fear not for my affection 
 fear nothing. I should have no fear that you could suppose 
 me false to you, though the whole world should come and tell 
 you so. True love is always secured by a just confidence in 
 the beloved object ; and, without this confidence, the whole life 
 is a series of long doubts, struggles, griefs, and apprehensions, 
 
74 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 which break down the strength, and lay the spirit in the dust. 
 I will now tell you, in few words, what is the relation in which 
 I stand to your father and his family. He, many years ago, 
 committed an error in business, which the laws distinguish by 
 a harsher name. By this error he became rich. Until recent- 
 ly, the proofs of this error were unknown. They have lately 
 been discovered by certain claimants, who are demanding repa- 
 ration. In the difficulty of your father, he came to me. I ex- 
 amined the business, and have given it as my opinion that he 
 should stifle the legal process by endeavoring to make a private 
 arrangement with the creditors." 
 
 " Could he do this ?" 
 
 " He could. The creditors were willing, and at first he con- 
 sented that I should arrange it with them. He now rejects the 
 arrangement." 
 
 " But why ?" 
 
 " Because it invoivas Jie surrender of the entire amount of 
 property which they claim a sum of forty thousand dollars." 
 
 "But, dear Edward, is it due? does my father owe this 
 money? If he does, surely he can not refuse. Perhaps he 
 thinks that he owes nothing." 
 
 " Nay, Julia, unhappily he knows it, and the offer of your 
 hand, and half of the sum mentioned, was made to me, on the 
 express condition that I should exert my influence as a man, 
 and my ingenuity as a lawyer, in baffling the creditors and sti- 
 fling the claim." 
 
 The poor girl was silent and hung her head, her eyes fixed 
 upon the carpet, and the big tears slowly gathering, dropping 
 from them, ono by one. Meanwhile, I explained, as tenderly 
 as JL could, the evil consequences which threatened Mr. Clifford 
 in consequence of his contumacy. 
 
 "Alas!" she exclaimed, "it is not his fault. He would be 
 wiLing I heard him say as much last night but mother 
 she will not consent. She refused positively the moment father 
 said ic, would be necessary to sell out, and move to a cheaper 
 iiouse Oh, Edward, is there no way that you can save us ? 
 Save my father from shame, though he gives up all the money.* 
 
 " Would I not do this, Julia ? Nay, were I owner of the necas- 
 Bary amount myself, believe nie, it should not be withheld." 
 
LOVE AND LAW. 7ft 
 
 " I do believe you, Edward ; but" and here her voice funk 
 to a whisper "you must try again, try again and again for 
 I think that father knows the danger, though mother does not; 
 and I think I hope he will be firm enough, when you press 
 him, and warn him of the danger, to do as you wish him." 
 
 " I am afraid not, Julia. Your mother " 
 
 "Do not fear; hope hope all, dear Edward; for, to confess 
 to you, I know that they are anxious to have your support 
 they said as much. Nay, why should I hide anything from 
 you? They sent me here to see to speak with you, and " 
 
 " To see what your charms could do to persuade me to be a 
 villain. Julia! Julia! did you think to do this to have me 
 be the thing which they would make me 1" 
 
 "No! no! Heaven forbid, dear Edward, that you should 
 fancy that any such desire had a place, even for a moment, in 
 my mind. No ! I knew not that the case involved any but 
 mere money considerations. I knew not that " 
 
 " Enough ! Say no more, Julia ! I do not think that you 
 would counsel me to my own shame." 
 
 " No ! no ! You do me only justice. But, Edward, you will 
 save my father ! You will try you will see him again " 
 
 " What ! to suffer again the open scorn, the declared doubts 
 of my friendship and integrity, which is the constant language 
 of your mother ? Can it be that you would desire that I should 
 do this nay, seek it?" 
 
 "For my poor father's sake !" she cried, gaspingly. 
 
 But I shook my head sternly. 
 
 " For mine, then for mine ! for mine !" 
 
 She threw herself into my arms, and clung to me until I 
 promised all that she required. And as I promised her, so I 
 strove with her father. I used every argument, resorted to ev- 
 ery mode of persuasion, but all was of no avail. Mr. Clifford 
 was under the rigid, the iron government of his fate ! His 
 wife was one of those miserably silly women born, according 
 to lago 
 
 " To suckle fools and chronicle small beer" 
 
 who, raised to the sudden control of unexpected wealth, be- 
 comes insane upon it. and is blind, deaf, and dumb, to all coun- 
 
76 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEAUT. 
 
 sel or reason which suggests the possibility of its loss. From 
 the very moment when Mr. Clifford spoke of selling out house, 
 horses, and carriage, as the inevitable result which must follow 
 his adoption of my recommendation, she declared herself against 
 it at all hazards, particularly when her husband assured her that 
 " the glorious uncertainties of the law" afforded a possibility of 
 his escape with less loss. The loss of money was, with her, the 
 item of most consideration ; her mind was totally insensible to 
 that of reputation. She was willing to make this compromise 
 with me, as a sort of alternative, for, in that case, there would 
 fee no diminution of attendance and expense no loss of rank 
 and equipage. We should all live together how harmoni- 
 ously, one may imagine but the grandeur and the state would 
 still be intact and unimpaired. Even for this, however, she 
 was not prepared, when she discovered that there was no cer- 
 tainty that my alliance would bring immunity to her husband, 
 flow this notion got even partially into his head, I know not ; 
 unless in consequence of a growing imbecility of intellect, which 
 in a short time after betrayed itself more strikingly. But of 
 this in its own place. 
 
 My attempts to convince my unfortunate uncle were all ren- 
 dered unavailing, and shown to be so to Julia herself in a very 
 short time afterward. The insolence of Mrs. Clifford, when I 
 did seek an interview with her husband, was so offensive and 
 unqualified, that Julia herself, with a degree of indignation 
 which she could not entirely suppress, begged me to quit the 
 house, and relieve myself from such undeserved insult and 
 abuse. I did so, but with no unfriendly wishes for the wretch- 
 ed woman who presided over its destinies, and the no less 
 wretched husband whom she helped to make so ; and my place 
 as consulting friend and counsellor was soon supplied by Mr. 
 Perkins one of those young barristers, to be found in every 
 community, who regard the " penny fee" as the sine qua non, 
 and oboy implicitly the injunction of the scoundrel in the play 
 "Make money honestly if you can, but make money!" 
 He was one of those creatures who set people at loggerheads, 
 goad foolish and petulant clients into lawsuits, stir up commo- 
 tions in little sets, and invariably comfort the suit-bringer with 
 the most satisfactory assurances of success. Tt was the confi- 
 
LOVE AND LAW. 77 
 
 dent assurances of this person which had determined Mr. Clif- 
 ford his wife rather to resist to the last the suit in question. 
 Through the sheer force of impudence, this man had obtained a 
 tolerable share of practice. His clients, as may be supposed, 
 lay chiefly among such persons as, having no power or standard 
 for judging, necessarily look upon him who is most bold and 
 pushing as the most able and trustworthy. The bullies of the 
 law and, unhappily, tne profession has quite too many are 
 very commanding persons among the multitude. Mr. Clifford 
 knew this fellow's mental reputation very well, and was not 
 deceived by the confidence of his assurances; nay, to the last, 
 Le showed a hankering desire to give me the entire control of 
 the subject ; but the hostility of Mrs. Clifford overruled his more 
 prulent if not more honorable purposes ; and, as he was com- 
 pelled to seek a lawyer, the questionable moral standing of 
 Perkins decided his choice. He wished one, in short, to do a 
 certain piece of dirty work ; and, as if in anticipation of the 
 future, he dreaded to unfold the case to any of the veterans, the 
 old-time gentlemen and worthies of the bar. I proposed this to 
 him. I offered to make a supposititious relation of the facts for 
 the opinion of Mr. Edgerton and others nay, pledged myself 
 to procure a confidential consultation anything, sooner than 
 that he should resort to a mode of extrication which, I assured 
 Lim, would only the more deeply involve him in the meshes of 
 disgrace and loss. But there was a fatality about this gentle- 
 man a doom that would not be baffled, and could not be 
 stayed. The wilful mind always precipitates itself down the 
 abyss ; and, whether acting by his own, or under the influence 
 of another's judgment, such was, most certainly, the case with 
 him. He was not to be saved. Mr. Perkins was regularly in- 
 stalled as his defender his counsellor, private and public 
 and I was compelled, though with humiliating reluctance, to 
 admit to the plaintiffs, Banks & Tressell, that there was no 
 longer any hope of compromise. The issue on which hung 
 equally his fortune and his reputation was insanely challenged 
 by my uncle. 
 
78 CONFESSION. OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 C HAPTER IX. 
 
 DUELLO. 
 
 BUT my share in the troubles of this affair was not to end, 
 though I was no longer my uncle's counsellor. An event now 
 took place which gave the proceedings a new and not less un- 
 pleasing. aspect than they had worn before. Mrs. Clifford, it 
 appears, in her communications to her husband's lawyer, did 
 not confine herself to the mere business of the lawsuit. Her 
 voluminous discourse involved her opinions of her neighbors, 
 friends, and relatives ; and, one day, a few weeks after, I was 
 suddenly surprised by a visit from a gentleman one of the 
 members of the bar who placed a letter in my hands from Mr. 
 Perkins. I read this billet with no small astonishment. It 
 briefly stated that certain reports had reached his ears, that I 
 had expressed myself contemptuously of his abilities and char- 
 acter, and concluded with an explicit demand, not for an expla- 
 nation, but an apology. My answer was immediate. 
 
 " You will do me the favor to say, Mr. Carter, that Mr. Per- 
 kins has been misinformed. I never uttered anything in my 
 life which could disparage either his moral or legal reputation." 
 
 " I am sorry to say, Mr. Clifford," was the reply, " that de- 
 nial is unnecessary, and can not be received. Mr. Perkins has 
 his information from the lips of a lady ; and, as a lady is not 
 responsible, she can not be allowed to err. I am required, sii 
 to insist on an apology. I have already framed it, and it 
 only needs your signature." 
 
 He drew a short, folded letter, from his pocket, and placed it 
 before me. There was so much cool impertinence in this pro* 
 ceeding, and in the fellow's manner, that I could with difficulty 
 refrain from flinging the paper in his face. He was one of the 
 little and vulgar clique of which Perkins was a sort of centre 
 
DUELLO. 79 
 
 The whole set were conscious enough of the low estimate 
 which was put upon them by the gentlemen of the bar. Denied 
 caste, they were disposed to force their way to recognition by 
 the bully's process, and stung by some recent discouragements, 
 Mr. Perkins was, perhaps, rather glad than otherwise, of the 
 silly, and no less malicious than silly, tattle of Mrs. Clifford - 
 for I did not doubt that the gross perversion of the truth which 
 formed the basis of his note, had originated with her, which en- 
 abled him to single out a victim, who, as the times went, had 
 suddenly risen to a comparative elevation which is not often 
 accorded to a young beginner. I readily conjectured his object 
 from his character and that of the man he sent. My own na- 
 ture was passionate ; and the rude school through which my 
 boyhood had gone, had made me as tenacious of my position as 
 the grave. That I should be chafed by reptiles such as these, 
 stung me to vexation ; and though I kept from any violence 
 of action, my words did not lack of it. 
 
 " Mr. Perkins is, permit me to say, a very impertinent fel 
 low ; and, if you please, our conference will cease from this 
 moment." 
 
 He was a little astounded rose, and then recovering him- 
 self, proceeded to reply with the air of a veteran martinet. 
 
 " I am glad, sir, that you give me an opportunity of proceed- 
 ing with this business without delay. My friend, Mr. Perkins, 
 prepared me for some such answer. Oblige me, sir, by reading 
 this paper." He handed me the challenge for which his pre- 
 liminaries had prepared me. 
 
 " Accepted, sir ; I will send my friend to you in the coursa 
 of the morning." 
 
 As I uttered this reply, I bowed and waved him to the door. 
 He did not answer, other than by a bow, and took his depart- 
 ure. The promptness which I had shown impressed him with 
 respect. Baffled, in his first spring, the bully, like the tiger, is 
 very apt to slink back to his jungle. His departure gave me a 
 brief opportunity for reflection, in which I slightly turned over 
 in my mind the arguments for and against duelling. But tlies^ 
 were now too late even were they to decide me against tiie 
 practice to affect the present transaction ; and I sallied ojt to 
 eek a friend a friend ! 
 
80 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 Here was the first difficulty. I had precious little choice 
 among friends. My temper was not one calculated to make 01 
 keep friends. My earnestness of character, and intensity of 
 mood, made me dictatorial ; and where self-esteem is a large 
 and active development, as it must be in an old aristocratic com- 
 munity, such qualities are continually provoking popular hos- 
 tility. My friends, too, were not of the kind to whom such 
 scrapes as the present were congenial. I was unwilling to go 
 to young Edgerton, as I did not wish to annoy his parents by 
 my novel anxieties. But where else could I turn ? To him I 
 went. When he heard my story, he began by endeavoring to 
 dissuade me from the meeting. 
 
 " I am pledged to it, William," was my only answer. 
 
 " But, Edward, I am opposed to duelling myself, and should 
 not promote or encourage, in another, a practice which I would 
 not be willing myself to adopt." 
 
 " A good and sufficient reason, William. You certainly should 
 not. I will go to Frank Kingsley." 
 
 " He will serve you, I know ; but, Edward, this duelling is 
 a bad business. It does no sort of good. Kill Perkins, and it 
 does not prove to him, even if he were then able to hear, that 
 Mrs. Clifford spoke a falsehood ; and if he kills you, you are 
 even still farther from convincing him. 
 
 " I have no such desire, William ; and your argument, by 
 the way, is one of those beggings of the question which the 
 opponents of duelling continually fall into when discussing the 
 subject. The object of the man, who, in a case like mine, 
 fights a duel, is not to prove his truth, but to protect himself 
 from persecution. Perkins seeks to bully and drive me out of 
 the community. Public opinion here approves of this mode of 
 protecting one's self; nay, if I do not avail myself of its 
 agency, the same public opinion would assist my assailant in 
 my expulsion. I fight on the same ground that a nation fights 
 when it goes to war. It is the most obvious and easy mode to 
 protect myself from injury and insult. So long as I submit, 
 Perkins will insult and bully, and the city will encourage him, 
 If I resist, I silence this fellow, and perhaps protect othej 
 young beginners. I have not the most distant idea of con- 
 vincing him of my truth by fighting him nay, the idea of 
 
DUELLO. 81 
 
 giving him satisfaction is an idea that never entered my brain. 
 I simply take a popular mode of securing myself from outrage 
 and persecution." 
 
 " But, do you secure yourself? Has duelling this result?" 
 
 "Not invariably, pei haps ; simply because the condition of 
 humanity does not recognise invariable results. If it is shown 
 to be the probable, the frequent result, it is all that can be ex- 
 pected of any human agency or law." 
 
 " But, is it probable frequent?" 
 
 " Yes, almost certain, almost invariable. Look at the general 
 manners, the deportment, the forbearance, of all communities 
 where duelling is recognised as an agent of society. See the 
 superior deference paid to females, the unfrequency of bully- 
 ing, the absence of blackguarding, the higher tone of the 
 public press, and of society in general, from which the public 
 press takes its tone, and which it represents in our country, but 
 does not often inform. Even seduction is a rare offence, and a 
 matter of general exclamation, where this extra-judicial ageni 
 is recognised." 
 
 And so forth. It is not necessary to repeat our discussion o) 
 this vexed question, of its uses and abuses. I did not succeed 
 in convincing him, and, under existing circumstances, it is not 
 reasonable to imagine that his arguments had any influence 
 over me. To Frank Kingsley I went, and found him in better 
 mood to take up the cudgels, and even make my cause his own. 
 He was one of those ardent bloods, who liked nothing better 
 than the excitement of -.men an affair ; whether as principal or 
 assistant, it mattered little. To him I expressed my wish that 
 his arrangements should bring the matter to an issue, if possible, 
 within the next twenty four hours. 
 
 " Prime !" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands. " That's what 
 I like. If you shoot as quickly now, and as much to the point, 
 you may count any button on Perkins's coat." 
 
 He proceeded to confer with the friend of my opponent, 
 while, with a meditative mind, I went to my office, necessarily 
 oppressed with the strange feelings belonging to my situation. 
 In less than two hours after Kingsley brought me the carte, by 
 which I found that the meeting was to take place two miles om 
 
 4* 
 
82 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 of town, by sunrise the day after the one ensuing the weap- 
 ons, pistols distance, as customary, ten paces! 
 
 " You are a shot, of course ?" said Kingsley. 
 
 My answer, in the negative, astonished him. 
 
 " Why, you will have little or no time for practice." 
 
 " I do not intend it. My object is not to kill this man ; but 
 to make him and all others see that the dread of what may be 
 done, either by him or them, will never reconcile me to submit 
 to injury or insult. I shall as effectually secure this object by 
 going out, as I do, without preparation, as if I were the best 
 shot in America. He does not know that I am not ; and a 
 pistol is always a source of danger when in the grasp of a deter- 
 mined man." 
 
 " You are a queer fellow in your notions, Clifford, and I can 
 not say that I altogether understand you ; but you must cer- 
 tainly ride out with me this afternoon, and bark a tree. It will 
 do no hurt to a determined man to be a skilful one also." 
 
 " I see no use in it." 
 
 " Why what if you should wish to wing him ?" 
 
 " I think I can do it without practice. But I have no such 
 desire." 
 
 " Heally you are unnecessarily magnanimous. You may be 
 put to it, however. Should the first shot be ineffectual and he 
 should demand a second, would you throw away that also ?" 
 
 " No ! I should then try to shoot him. As my simple aim is 
 to secure myself from persecution, which is usually the most 
 effectual mode of destroying a young man in this country, I 
 should resort only to such a course as would be likely to yield 
 me this security. That failing, I should employ stronger 
 measures ; precisely as a nation would do in a similar conflict 
 with another nation. One must not suffer himself to be de- 
 stroyed or driven into exile. This is the first law of nature 
 this of self-preservation. In maintaining this law, a man must 
 do any or all things which in his deliberate judgment, will be 
 effectual for the end proposed. Were I fighting with savages, 
 for example, and knew that they regarded their scalps with 
 more reverence than their lives, I should certainly scalp as well 
 as slay." 
 
 " They would call that barbarous ]" 
 
DUELLO. 83 
 
 ' Ay, no doubt ; particularly in those countries where they 
 paid from five to fifty, and even one hundred pounds to one In- 
 dian for the scalp of his brother, until they rid themselves of 
 both. But see you not that the scalping process, as it produces 
 the most terror aud annoyance, is decidedly the most merciful, 
 as being most likely to discourage and deter from war. If the 
 s rt ,alp could bo taken from the head of every Seminole shot 
 down, be sure the survivors never after would have come with- 
 in range of rifle-shot." 
 
 But these discussions gave way to the business before me. 
 Kingsley left me to myself, and though sad and serious with op- 
 pressive thoughts, I still had enough of the old habits, dominant 
 with me, to go to my daily concerns, and arrange my papers 
 with considerable industry and customary method. My profes 
 sional business was set in order, and Edgerton duly initiated Jn 
 the knowledge of all such portions as needed explanation. 
 This done, I sat down and wrote a long farewell letter to Julia, 
 and one, more brief, but renewing the eounsel I had previously 
 given to her father, in respect to the suit against him. These 
 letters were so disposed as to be sent in the event of my falling 
 in the fight. The interval which followed was not so easy to 
 be borne. Conscience and reflection were equally busy, and 
 unpleasantly so. I longed for the time of action which should 
 silence these unpleasant monitors. 
 
 The brief space of twenty -four hours was soon overpassed, 
 and my anxieties ceased as the moment for the meeting with 
 my enemy, drew nigh. My friend called at my lodgings a 
 good hour before daylight it was a point of credit with him 
 that we should not delay the opposite party the sixtieth part 
 of a second. We drove out into the country in a close carriage, 
 taking a surgeon who was a friend of Kingsley along with 
 us. We were on the ground in due season, and some little time 
 before our customers. But they did not fail or delay us. They 
 were there with sufficient promptitude. 
 
 Perkins was a man of coolness and courage. He took his 
 position with admirable nonchalance ; but I observed, when his 
 eyes met mine, that they were darkened with a scowl of anger. 
 His brows were contracted, and his face which was ordinarily 
 red, had an increased flush upon it which betrayed unusual ex- 
 
84 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 citement. He evidently regarded me with feelings of bittei 
 animosity. Perhaps this was 1 natural enough, if he believed the 
 story of Mrs. Clifford and my scornful answer to his friend, 
 Mr. Carter, was not calculated to lessen the soreness. For my 
 part, I am free to declare, I had not the smallest sentiment of 
 unkindness toward the fellow. I thought little of him, but did 
 not hate I could not have hated him. I had no wish to do 
 him hurt ; and, as already stated, only went out to put a stop 
 to the further annoyances of insolents and hullies, hy the only 
 effectual mode precisely as I should have used a hludgeon 
 over his head, in the event of a personal assault upon me. Of 
 course, I had no purpose to do him any injury, unless with tlie 
 view to my own safety. I resolved secretly to throw away my 
 fire. Kingsley suspected me of some such intention, and ear- 
 nestly protested against it. 
 
 " I should not place you at all," he said, " if I fancied you 
 
 could do a thing so d d foolish. The fellow intends to 
 
 shoot you if he can. Help him to a share of the same sauce." 
 
 1 nodded as he proceeded to his arrangements. Here some 
 conference ensued between the seconds : 
 
 " Mr. Carter was very sorry that such a business must pro- 
 ceed. Was it yet too late to rectify mistakes ? Might not the 
 matter be adjusted 1" 
 
 Kingsley, on such occasions, the very prince of punctilio, 
 agreed that the matter was a very lamentable one to be re- 
 gretted, and so forth but of the necessity of the thing, he, 
 Mr. Carter, for his principal, must be the only judge. 
 
 " Mr. Carter could answer for his friend, Mr. Perkins, that he 
 was always accessible to reason." 
 
 '' Mr. Kingsley never knew a man more so than Ms principal." 
 
 " May we not reconcile the parties ?" demanded Mr. Carter. 
 
 " Does Mr. Perkins withdraw his message ?" answered Kings- 
 ley by another question. 
 
 " He would do so, readily, were there any prospect of adjust- 
 ting the matter upon an honorable footing." 
 
 " Mr. Carter will be pleased to name the basis for what he 
 esteems an honorable adjustment." 
 
 "Mr. Perkins withdraws his challenge." 
 
 ** We have no objection to that." 
 
DUELLO. 85 
 
 " He substitutes a courteous requisition upon Mr. Clifford for 
 an explanation of certain language, supposed to be offensive, 
 made to a lady." 
 
 " Mr. Clifford denies, without qualification, the employment 
 of any such language." 
 
 "This throws us back on our old ground," said Carter 
 " there is a lady in question" 
 
 " Who can not certainly be brought into the controversy," 
 said Kingsley " I see no other remedy, Mr. Carter, but that 
 we should place the parties. We are here to answer to your 
 final summons." 
 
 " Very good, sir ; this matter, and what happens, must lie at your 
 door. You are peremptory. I trust you have provided a surgeon." 
 
 " His services are at your need, sir," replied Kingsley with 
 military courtesy. 
 
 "I thank you, sir my remark had reference to your own 
 necessity. Shall we toss up for the word 1" 
 
 These preliminaries were soon adjusted. The word fell to 
 Carter, aixl thus gave an advantage to Perkins, as his ear was 
 more familiar than mine with the accents of his friend. We 
 were placed, and the pistol put into my hands, without my ut- 
 tering a sentence. 
 
 " Coolly now, my dear fellow," said Kingsley in a whisper, 
 as he withdrew from my side ; " wing him at least but don't 
 burn powder for nothing." 
 
 Scarcely the lapse of a moment followed, when I heard the 
 words " one," " two," " three," in tolerably rapid succession, 
 and, at the utterance of the last, I pulled trigger. My antag- 
 onist had done so at the first. His eye was fixed upon mine 
 with deliberate malignity that I clearly saw but it did not 
 affect my shot. This, I purposely threw away. The skill of 
 my enemy did not correspondend with his evident desires. I 
 was hurt, but very slightly. His bullet merely raised the skin 
 upon the fleshy part of my right thigh. We kept our places 
 while a conference ensued between the two seconds. Mr. Per- 
 kins, through his friend, declared himself unsatisfied unless 1 
 apologized, or in less unplrasant language explained. This 
 demand was answered by Kingsley with cavalier indifference. 
 He came to me with a second pistol. His good-humored visaga 
 was now slightly ruffled. 
 
86 CONFESSION, OK THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 " Clifford !" said he, as he put the weapon into my hand, 
 " you must trifle no longer. This fellow abuses your generosity. 
 He knows, as well as I, that you threw away your fire ; and 
 he will play the same game with you, on the same terms, for a 
 month together, Sundays not excepted. I am not willing to 
 stand by and see you risk your life in this manner ; and, unless 
 you tell me that you will give him as good as he sends, I leave 
 you on the spot. Will you take aim this time ?" 
 
 "I will!" 
 
 " You promise me then ?" 
 
 "I do!" 
 
 I was conscious of the increased activity of my organ of 
 destructiveness as I said these words. I smiled with a feeling 
 of pleasant bitterness that spicy sort of malice which you may 
 sometimes rouse in the bosom of the best-natured man in the 
 world, by an attempt to do him injustice. The wound I had 
 received, though very trifling, had no little to do with this de- 
 termination. It was not unlike such a wound as would be 
 made by a smart stroke of a whip, and the effect upon my blood 
 was pretty much as if it had been inflicted by some such instru- 
 ment. I was stung and irritated by it, and the pertinacity of 
 my enemy, particularly as he must have seen that my shot was 
 thrown away, decided me to punish him if I could. I did so ! 
 I was not conscious that I was hurt myself, until I saw him fal- 
 ling ! I then felt a heavy and numbing sensation in the same 
 thigh which had been touched before. A faintness relieved me 
 from present sensibility, and when I became conscious, I found 
 myself in the carriage, supported by Kingsley and the surgeon, 
 on my way to my lodgings. My wound was a flesh wound 
 only ; the ball was soon extracted, and in a few weeks after, 1 
 was enabled to move about with scarcely a feeling of incon- 
 venience. My opponent suffered a much heavier penalty. The 
 bone of his leg was fractured, and it was several months before 
 he was considered perfectly safe. The lesson he got made him 
 a sorer and shorter a wiser, if not a better man; but as I do 
 not now, and did not then, charge myself with the task of 
 bringing about his moral improvement, it is not incumbent upon 
 me to say anything further on this subject. We will Icav 1 . him 
 to get better as he may 
 
HEAD WINDS. 17 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HEAD WINDS. 
 
 THE hurts of Perkins did not, unhappily, delay the progress 
 of my uncle to that destruction to which his silly wife and 
 knavish lawyer had destined him. His business was brought 
 before the court by the claimants, Messrs. Banks & Tressell ; 
 arid a brief period only was left him for putting in his answer. 
 When I thought of Julia, I resolved, in spite of all previous 
 difficulties the sneers of the father, and the more direct, coarse 
 insults of the mother to make one more effort to rescue him 
 from the fate which threatened him. I felt sure that, for the 
 reasons already given, the merchants would still be willing to 
 effect a compromise which would secure them the principal of 
 their claim, without incurring the delay and risk of litigation. 
 Accordingly, I penned a note to Mr. Clifford, requesting permis- 
 sion to wait upon him at home, at a stated hour. To this I re- 
 ceived a cold, brief answer, covering the permission which I 
 sought. I went, but might as well have spared myself the labor 
 and annoyance of this visit. Mrs. Clifford was still in the as- 
 cendant still deaf to reason, and utterly blind to ths base 
 position into which her meddlesome interference in the business 
 threw her husband. She had her answer ready ; and did not 
 merely content herself with rejecting my overtures, but pro- 
 ceeded to speak in the language of one who really regarded m3 
 as busily seeking, by covert ways, to effect the ruin of her 
 family. Her looks and language equally expressed the indig- 
 nation of a mind perfectly convinced of the fraudulent and eTdi 
 purposes of the person she addressed. Those of my uncle were 
 scarcely less offensive. A grin of malicious self-gratulation 
 mantled his lips as he thanked me for my counsel, which, h 
 
88 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 yet remarked, " however wise and good, and well-intended, he 
 did not think it advisable to adopt. He had every confidence 
 in the judgment of Mr. Perkins, who, though without the great 
 legal knowledge of some of his youthful neighbors, had enough 
 for his purposes ; and had persuaded him to see the matter in a 
 very different point of view from that in which I was pleased 
 to regard it." 
 
 There was no doing anything with or for these people. The 
 fiat for their overthrow had evidently been issued. The fatuity 
 which leads to self-destruction was fixed upon them ; and, with 
 a feeling rather of commiseration than anger, I prepared to 
 leave the house. In this interview, I made a discovery, which 
 tended still more to lessen the hostility I might otherwise have 
 felt toward my uncle. I was constrained to perceive that he 
 labored under an intellectual feebleness and incertitude which 
 disconcerted his expression, left his thoughts seemingly without 
 purpose, and altogether convinced me that, if not positively 
 imbecile in mind and memory, there were yet some ugly symp- 
 toms of incapacity growing upon him which might one day 
 result in the loss of both. I had always known him to be a 
 weak-minded man, disposed to vanity und caprice, but the weak- 
 ness had expanded very much in a brief period, and now prc- 
 sentco itself to my view in sundry very salient aspects. It 
 was eas/ now to divert his attention from the business which 
 he had in hand a single casual remark of courtesy or obser- 
 vation would have this effect and then his mind wandered 
 r :.m the subject with all the levity and caprice of a thoughtless 
 damsel. He seemed to entertain now no sort of apprehension 
 of his legal difficulties, and spoke of them as topics already ad- 
 justed Nay, for that matter, he seemed to have no serious 
 cense of any subject, whatever might be its personal or general 
 intarest ; but, passing from point to point, exhibited that insta- 
 bility of mental vision which may net inaptly be compared to 
 that wandering glance which is usually supposed to distinguish 
 and denote, in the physical eye, the presence of insanity. It 
 was not often now that he indulged, while speaking to me, in 
 that manner of Lostility those sneers and sarcastic remarks 
 -which had bten his common habit. This was another proof 
 cf the change which his mental man had undergone. It was 
 
HEAD WINDS. 
 
 not that he was more prudent or more tolerant than before. 
 He was quite as little disposed to be generous toward me. But 
 he now appeared wholly incapable of that degree of intellectual 
 concentration which could enable him to examine a subject to 
 its close. He would begin to talk with me seriously enough, 
 and with a due solemnity, about the suit against him ; but, in a 
 tangent, he would dart off to the consideration of some trifle, 
 some household matter, or petty affair, of which, at any other 
 time, he must have known that his hearers had no wish to hear. 
 Poor Julia confirmed the conjectures which I entertained, but 
 did not utter, by telling me that her father had changed very 
 much in his ways ever since this business had been begun. 
 
 " Mother does not see it, but he is no longer the same man. 
 Oh, Edward, I sometimes think he's even growing childish." 
 
 The fear was a well-founded one. Before the case was tried, 
 Mr. Clifford was generally regarded, among those who knew 
 him intimately, as little better than an imbecile ; and so rapid 
 \vas the progress of his infirmity, that when the judgment was 
 given, as it was, against him, he was wholly unable to under- 
 stand or fear its import. His own sense of guilt had antici- 
 pated its effects, and his intense vanity was saved from public 
 shame only by the substitution of public pity. The decree of 
 the court gave all that was asked ; and the handsome compe- 
 tence of the Cliffords was exchanged for a miserable pittance, 
 which enabled the family to livvi only in the very humblest 
 manner. 
 
 It will readily be conjectured, from what I have stated in 
 respect to myself, that mine was not the disposition to seek 
 revenge, or find cause for exultation in these deplorable events. 
 I had no hostility against my unhappy uncle ; I should have 
 scorned myself if I had. If such a feeling ever filled my bosom. 
 it would have been most effectually disarmed by the sight ot 
 the wretched old man, a grinning, gibbering idict, half-dancing 
 and half-shivering from the cold, over the remnants of a mijiei- 
 able and scant fire in the severest evening in November. Is 
 was when the affair was all over ; when the property of the 
 family was all in the hands of the sheriff; when the mi^h^--- 
 ous counsel of such a person vs Jo^p-lbjn! Psikins, Esquire, 
 do no more harm even to so foolish a person as my uncled 
 
90 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 wife ; and when bis presence, naturally enough withdrawn from 
 a family from which he could derive no further profit, and 
 which he had helped to ruin, was no longer likely to offend 
 mine by meeting him there that I proceeded to renew my 
 direct intercourse with the unfortunate people whom I was not 
 suffered to save. 
 
 The reader is not to suppose that I had kept myself entirely 
 aloof from the family until these disasters had happened. I 
 sought Julia when occasion offered, and, though she refused it, 
 tendered my services and my means whenever they might be 
 bestowed with hope of good. And now, when all was over, 
 and I met her at the door, and she sank upon my bosom, and 
 wept in my embrace, still less than ever was I disposed to show 
 to her mother the natural triumph of a sagacity which had 
 shown itself at the expense of hers. I forgot, in the first glance 
 of my uncle, all his folly and unkindness. He was now a shadow, 
 and the mental wreck was one of the most deplorable, as it was 
 one of the most rapid and complete, that eould be imagined. 
 In less than seven months, a strong man strong in health 
 strong, as supposed, in intellect singularly acute in his deal- 
 ings among tradesmen regarded by them as one of the most 
 shrewd in the fraternity vain of his parts, of his family, and 
 of his fortune solicitous of display, and constant in its indul- 
 gence l that such a man should be stricken down to imbecility 
 and idiotism a meagre skeleton in form pale, puny, timid 
 crouching by the fireplace grinning with stealthy looks, 
 momently cast around him and playing his most constant 
 employment with th& bellows-strings that hung beside him, 
 or the little kitten, that, delighted with new consideration, had 
 learned to take her place constantly at his feet! What a 
 wreck ! 
 
 But the moral man had been wrecked before, or this could 
 not h.ave been. It was only because of his guilt of its expo- 
 sure rather that he sunk. In striving to shake off the rm- 
 pressive burden, he shook off the intellect which had been corn- 
 wallop chiefly tx) fcodwre ik The sense of shame, the conviction 
 or loss, and, possibly, other causes of conscience which lay yet 
 deeper for the progeny of crime is most frequently a litter as 
 numerous as a whelp's puppies helped to crush the mind 
 
HEAD WINDS. 91 
 
 which was neither strong enough to resist temptation at first, 
 nor to bear exposure at last. I turned away with a tear, which 
 I could not suppress, from the wretched spectacle. But I coulc 
 have home with more patience to behold this ruin, than to sub- 
 due the rising reproach which I felt as I turned to encounter 
 Mrs. Clifford. 
 
 This weak woman, still weak, received me coldly, and I could 
 see in her looks that she regarded me as one whom it was natu- 
 ral to suppose would feel some exultation at beholding their down- 
 fall. I saw this, but determined to say nothing, in the attempt to 
 undo these impressions. I knew that time was the best teacher 
 in all such matters, and resolved that my deportment should 
 gradually make her wiser- on the subject of that nature which 
 she had so frequently abused, and which, I well knew, sho 
 could never understand. But this hope I soon discovered to 
 be unavailing. Her disaster had only soured, not subdued her ; 
 and, with the natural tendency of the vulgar mind, she seemed 
 to regard me as the person to whom she should ascribe all her 
 misfortunes. As, to her narrow intellect, it seemed natural 
 that I should exult in the accomplishment of my predictions, so 
 it was a process equally natural that she should couple me with 
 their occurrence ; and, indeed, I was too nearly connected with 
 the event, through the medium of my unconscious father, not 
 to feel some portion of the affliction on his account also though 
 neither his memory nor my reputation suffered from the devel- 
 opment of the affair in the community where we lived. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford did not openly, or in words, betray the feelings 
 which were striving in her soul ; but the general restraint which 
 she put upon herself in my presence, the acerbity of her tone, 
 manner, and language, to poor Julia, and the unvaried queru- 
 lousness of her remarks, were sufficient to apprize me of the 
 spite which she would have willingly bestowed upon myself, 
 had she any tolerable occasion for doing so. A few weeks 
 served still further to humble the conceit and insolence of the 
 unfortunate woman. The affair turned out much more seriously 
 than I expected. A sudden fall in the value of real and per- 
 sonal estate, just about the time when the sheriff's sale too*s 
 place, rendered necessary a second levy, which swept the mis- 
 erable remnant of Mr. Clifford's fortune, leaving nothing- to ray 
 
92* CONFESSION, OE THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 uncle but a small estate which had been secured by settlement 
 to Mrs. Clifford and her daughter, and which the sheriff could 
 not legally lay hands on. 
 
 I came forward at this juncture, and, having allowed them to 
 remove into the small tenement to which, in their reduced con- 
 dition they found it prudent to retire, I requested a private inter- 
 view with Mr3. Clifford, and readily obtained it. 
 
 I was received by the good lady in apparent state. All the 
 little furniture which she could save from the former, was trans- 
 ferred very inappropriately to the present dwelling-house. The 
 one was quite unsuited to the other. The massive damask cur- 
 tains accorded badly with the little windows over which they 
 were now suspended, and the sofa, ten feet in length, occupied 
 an unreasonable share of an apartment twelve by sixteen. The 
 dais of piled cushions, on which so many fashionable groups had 
 lounged in better times, now seemed a mountain, which begot 
 ideas of labor, difficulty, and up-hill employment, rather than 
 ease, as the eye beheld it cumbering two thirds of the miserable 
 area into which it was so untastefully compressed. These, and 
 other articles of splendor and luxury, if sold, would have yielded 
 her the means to buy furniture more suitable to her circumstances 
 and situation, and left her with some additional resources to meet 
 the daily and sometimes pressing exigencies of life. 
 
 The appearance of this parlor argued little in behalf of 
 the salutary effect which such reverses might be expected 
 to produce in a mind even tolerably sensible. They argued, 
 J fancied, as unfavorably for my suit as for the humility of 
 the lady whom I was about to meet. If the parlor of Mrs. 
 Clifford bore such sufficient tokens of her weakness of in- 
 tellect, her own costume betrayed still more. She had made her 
 person a sort of frame or rack upon which she hung every par- 
 ticle of that ostentatious drapery which she was in the habit of 
 v, taring at her fashionable evenings. A year's income was para- 
 ded upon her back, and the trumpery jewels of three generations 
 found a place on every part of her person where it is usual for 
 fashionable folly to display such gewgaws. She sailed into the 
 room in a style that brought to my mind instantly the description 
 which Milton gives of the approach of Delilah to Samson, after 
 the first days of his blind captivity ; - 
 
HEAD WINDS. 93 
 
 "But who is this, what thing of se& or land? 
 Female of sex it seems 
 That so bedecked, ornate and gay, 
 Conies this way sailing, like a stately ship 
 Of Tarsus, bound for the isles 
 Of Javan or Gadire, 
 With all her bravery on and tackle trim, 
 Sails filled, and streamers waving, 
 Courted by all the winds that hold their play, 
 An amber ccent of odorous perfume 
 Her harbinger I" 
 
 No description could have been more just and literal in the case 
 of Mrs. Clifford. I could scarce believe my eyes ; and when 
 forced to do so, I could scarcely suppose that this bravery was 
 intended for my eyes only. Nor was it; but let me not antici- 
 pate. This spectacle, I need not say, sobered me entirely, if any- 
 thing was necessary to produce this effect, and increased the 
 grave apprehensions which were already at my heart. The next 
 consequence was to make the manner of my communication se- 
 rious even to seventy. A smile, which was of that doubtful sort 
 which is always sinister and offensive, overspread her lips as she 
 motioned me to resume the seat from which I had risen at her 
 entrance ; while she threw herself with an air of studied negli- 
 gence upon one part of the sofa. I felt the awkwardness of my 
 position duly increased, as her house, dress, and manner, con- 
 vinced me that she was not yet subdued to hers ; but a conscious 
 rectitude of intention carried me forward, and lightened the task 
 to my feelings. 
 
 " Mrs. Clifford," I said, without circumlocution, " I have pre- 
 sumed to ask your attention this morning to a brief communica 
 tion which materially affects my happiness, and which I trust 
 may not diminish, if it does not actually promote, yours. Before 
 I make this communication, however, I hope I may persuade 
 myself that the little misunderstandings which have occurred 
 between us are no longer to be considered barriers to our mutual 
 peace and happiness " 
 
 ' Misunderstandings, Mr. Clifford ? I don't know what mis- 
 cmderstandings you mean. 1 'm sure I've never misunderstood 
 you." 
 
 I could not misunderstand the insolent tenor of this speech, 
 
94 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 but I availed myself of the equivoque which it involved to ex 
 press my gratification that such was the case. 
 
 " My path will then be more easy, Mrs. Clifford my purpose 
 more easily explained." 
 
 " I am glad you think so, sir," she answered coolly, smoothing 
 down certain folds of her frock, and crossing her hands upon her 
 lap, while she assumed the attitude of a patient listener. There 
 was something very repulsive in all this ; but I saw that the only 
 way to lessen the unpleasantness of the scene, and to get on 
 with her, would be to make the interview as short as possible, 
 and come at once to my object. This I did. 
 
 " It is now more than a year, Mrs. Clifford, since I had the 
 honor to say to my uncle, that I entertained for my cousin Julia 
 such a degree of affection as to make it no longer doubtful to 
 me that I should best consult my own happiness by seeking to 
 make her my wife. I had the pleasure at the same time to in- 
 form him, which I believed to be true, that Julia herself was 
 not unwilling that such should be the nearer tie between us " 
 
 " Yes, yes, Mr. Clifford, I know all this ; but my husband and 
 myself thought better of it, and " she said with fidgetty im- 
 patience. 
 
 " And my application was refused," I said calmly ; thus fin- 
 ishing the sentence where she had paused. 
 
 " Well, sir, and what then ?" 
 
 " At that time, madam, my uncle gave as a reason that he had 
 other arrangements in view." 
 
 " Yes, sir, so we had ; and this reminds me that those arrange- 
 ments were broken off entirely in consequence of the perversity 
 which you taught my daughter. I know it all, sir ; there's no 
 more need to tell me of it, than there is to deny it. You put 
 my daughter up to refusing young Roberts, who would have 
 jumped at her, as his father did and he one of the best families . 
 and best fortunes in the city. I'm sure I don't know, sir, what 
 object you can have in reminding me of these things." 
 
 Here was ingenious perversity. I bore with it as well as I 
 could, and strove to preserve my consideration and calmness. 
 
 " You do your daughter injustice, Mrs. Clifford, and me no less, 
 in this opinion. But I do not seek to remind you >f misunder- 
 standings and mistakes, the memory of which can do no good. 
 
HEAD WISDS. 95 
 
 My purpose now is to renew the offer to you which I originally 
 made to Mr. Clifford. My attachment to your daughter remains 
 unaltered, and I am happy to say that fortune has favored me so 
 far as to enable me to place her in a situation of comparative 
 comfort and independence which I could not offer then " 
 
 " Which is as much as to say that she don't enjoy comfort 
 and independence where she is ; and if she does not, sir, to 
 whom is it all owing, sir, but to you and your father 1 By 
 your means it is that we are reduced to poverty; but you shall 
 see, sir, that we are not entirely wanting in independence. My 
 answer, sir, is just the same as Mr. Clifford's was. I am very 
 much obliged to you for the honor you intend my family, but 
 we must decline it. As for the comfort and independence which 
 you proffer to my daughter, I am happy to inform you that she 
 can receive it at any moment from a source perhaps far more 
 able than yourself to afford both, if her perversity does not 
 stand in the way, as it did when young Roberts made his offers. 
 Mr. Perkins, sir, the excellent young man that you tried to 
 murder, is to be here, sir, this very morning, to see my daugh- 
 ter. Herd's his letter, sir, which you may read, that you may 
 be under no apprehensions that my daughter will ever suffer 
 from a want of comfort and independence." 
 
 She flung a letter down on the sofa beside her, but I simply 
 bowed, and declined looking at it. I did not, however, yield 
 the contest in this manner. I urged all that might properly be 
 urged on the subject, and with as much earnestness as could be 
 permitted in an interview with a lady and such a lady! 
 but, as the reader may suppose, my toils were taken in vain : 
 all that I could suggest, either in the shape of reason or expos- 
 tulation, only served to make her more and more dogged, and 
 to increase her tone of insolence ; and sore, stung with vexation, 
 disappointed, and something more than bewildered, I dashed 
 almost headlong out of the house, without seeing either Julia 
 or her father, precisely *at the moment when Mr. Perkins was 
 about to enter. 
 
CONFESSION. OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 CRISIS. 
 
 THE result of this interview of my rival with the mother of 
 Julia, was afforded me by the latter. The mother had already 
 given her consent to his suit that of Julia alone was to he ob- 
 tained ; and to this end the arts of the suitor and the mother 
 were equally devoted. Her refusal only brought with it new 
 forms of persecution. Her steps were haunted by the swain, 
 to whom Mrs. Clifford gave secret notice of all her daughter's 
 intentions. He was her invariable attendant at church, where 
 I had the pain constantly to behold them, in such close prox- 
 imity, that I at length abandoned the customary house of wor- 
 ship, and found my pew in another, where I could be enabled 
 to endure the forms of service without being oppresssd by for- 
 eign and distracting thoughts and fancies. 
 
 Of the progress of the suit I had occasional intelligence from 
 Julia herself, whom I had, very reluctantly on her part, per- 
 suaded to meet me at the house of a female relative and friend, 
 who favored our desires and managed our interviews. Brief were 
 these stolen moments, but oh, how blissful ! The pleasures 
 they afforded, however, were almost wholly mine. The clan- 
 destine character of our meetings served to deprive her of the 
 joy which they otherwise might have yielded ; and the fear 
 that she v/as not doing right, humbled her spirit and made her 
 tremble with frequent apprehensions. 
 
 At length Mrs. Clifford suspected 'our interviews, and de- 
 tected them. We had a most stormy scene on one occasion, 
 when the sudden entrance of this lady surprised us together, at 
 the house of our friend. The consequence of this was, a rupture 
 between the ladies, which resulted in Julia's being forbidden to 
 visit the house of her relative again. This measure was fol- 
 
CRISIS. 97 
 
 lowed by others of such precaution, that at length I could no 
 longer communicate with her, or even seek her, unless when 
 she was on her way to church. Her appearance then was such 
 as to awaken all my apprehensions. Her form, always slender, 
 was become more so. The change was striking in a single 
 week. Her face, usually pale and delicate, was now haggard. 
 Her walk was feeble, and without elasticity. Her whole appear- 
 ance was wo-begone and utterly spiritless. Days and weeks 
 passed, and my heart was filled with hourly-increasing appre- 
 hensions. I returned to the familiar church, but here I suffered 
 a new alarm. That sabbath the family pew was unoccupied. 
 While I trembled lest something serious had befallen her, I was 
 called on by the family physician. This gentleman had been al- 
 ways friendly. He had been my father's physician, and had 
 been his friend and frequent guest ; he knew my history, and sym- 
 pathized with my fortunes. He now knew the history of Ju- 
 lia's affections. She had made him her confidante so far. and 
 he brought me a letter from her. She was sick, as I expected 
 This letter was of startling tenor : 
 
 " Save me, Edward, if you can. I am now willing to do as 
 you proposed. I can no longer endure these annoyances 
 these cruel persecutions ! My mother tells me that I must sub- 
 mit and many this man, if we would save ourselves from ruin. 
 It seems he nas a claim against the estate for professional ser- 
 vices ; and as we have no other means of payment, without the 
 sale of all that is left, he is base enough to insist upon my hand 
 as the condition of his forbearance. He uses threats now, since 
 entreaties have failed him. Oh, Edward, if you can save me, 
 come! ftr, of a certainty, I can not bear this persecution 
 much long- > and live. I am now willing to consent to do what 
 Aunt Sop' y recommended. Do not think me bold to say 
 so, dear 1 dward if I am bold, it is despair which makes 
 me so." , 
 
 I read ,his letter with mingled feelings of indignation and 
 delight- indignation, because of the cruelties to which the 
 worthle* mother and the base suitor subjected one so dear and 
 innocen delight, since the consent which she now yielded 
 placed e means of saving her at my control. The consent 
 was to flight and clandestine marriage, to which I had, with 
 
 5 
 
98 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 the assistance of our mutual friend, endeavored to persuade her, 
 in several instances, before. 
 
 The question now was, how to effect this object, since we 
 had no opportunities for communication ; but, before I took any 
 steps in the matter, I made it a point of duty to deprive the 
 infamous attorney, Perkins, of his means of power over the un- 
 happy family. I determined to pay his legal charges ; and 
 William Edgerton, at my request, readily undertook this part 
 of the business. They were found to be extortionate, and far 
 beyond anything either warranted by the practice or the fee- 
 bill. Edgerton counselled me to resist the claim ; but the sub- 
 ject was too delicate in all its relations, and my own affair with 
 Perkins would have made my active opposition seem somewhat 
 the consequence of malice and inveterate hostility. I preferred 
 to pay the excess, wnich was done by Edgerton, rather than 
 have any further dispute or difficulty with one whom I so much 
 despised. Complete satisfaction was entered upon the records 
 of the court, and a certified discharge, under the hand of Per- 
 kins himself whicn ne gave with a reluctance full of mortifi- 
 cation was sent in a blank envelope to Mrs. Clifford. She 
 was thus deprived of the only excuse if, indeed, such a wo- 
 man ever needs an excuse for wilfulness for persecuting her 
 nnhappy daughter on the score of the attorney. 
 
 But the possession of this document effected no sort of change 
 in her conduct. She pursued her victim with the same old te- 
 nacity. It was not to favor Perkins that she strove for this 
 object : it was to baffle me. That blind heart, which misguides 
 all of us in turn, was predominant in her, and rendered her to- 
 tally incapable of seeing the cruel consequences to her daughter 
 which her perseverance threatened. Julia was now so feeble 
 as scarcely to leave her chamber ; the physician was daily in 
 attendance ; and, though I could not propose to make use of 
 his services in promoting a design which would subject him to 
 the reproach of the grossest treachery, yet, without counsel, he 
 took it upon him plainly to assure the mother that the disorder 
 of her daughter arose solely from her mental afflictions. He 
 went farther. Mrs. Clifford, whose garrulity was as notorious 
 as her vanity and folly, herself took occasion, when this was 
 told her, to ascribe the effect to me ; and, with her own color 
 
CRISIS. 99 
 
 ing, she continued, by going into a long history of our " course 
 of wooing." The doctor availed himself of these statements to 
 suggest the necessity of a compromise, assuring Mrs. Clifford 
 that I was really a more deserving person than she thought 
 me, and, in short, that some concessions must be made, if it was 
 her hope to save her daughter's life. 
 
 " She is naturally feeble of frame, nervous and sensitive, and 
 these excitements, pressing upon her, will break down her con- 
 stitution and her spirits together. Let me warn you, Mrs. Clif- 
 ford, while yet in season. Dismiss your prejudices against this 
 young man, whether well or ill founded, and permit your daugh- 
 ter to marry him. Suffer me to assure you, Mrs. Clifford, that 
 such an event will do more toward her recovery than all my 
 medicine." 
 
 "What, and see him the master of my house he, the poor 
 beggar-boy that my husband fed in charity, and who turned 
 from him with ingratitude in his moment of difficulty, and left 
 him to be despoiled by his enemies 1 Never ! never ! Daugh- 
 ter of mine shall never be wife of his ! The serpent ! to sting 
 the hand of his benefactor !" 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Clifford, this prejudice of yours, besides being 
 totally unfounded, amounts to monomania. Now, I know some- 
 thing of all these matters, as you should be aware ; and I should 
 be sorry to counsel anything to you or to your family which 
 would be either disgraceful or injurious. So far from this young 
 man being ungrateful, neglectful, or suffering your husband to 
 be preyed on by enemies, I am of opinion that, if his coun- 
 sel had been taken in this late unhappy business, you would 
 probably have been spared all of the misery and nearly one 
 half of the loss which has been incurred by the refusal to 
 do so." 
 
 " And so you, too, are against us, doctor 1 You, too, believe 
 everything that this young man tells you V 
 
 " No, madam ; I assure you, honestly, that I never heard a 
 single word from his lips in regard to this subject. It is spoken 
 of by everybody but himself." 
 
 " Ay ! ay ! the whole town knows it, and from who else but 
 him, I wonder ? But you needn't to talk, doctor, on the sub- 
 ject. My mind's made up. Edward Clifford, while I have 
 
100 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 breath to say ' No,' and a hand to turn the lock of the doot 
 against him, shall never again darken these doors !" 
 
 The physician was a man of too much experience to waste 
 labor upon a case so decidedly hopeless. He knew that no art 
 within his compass could cure so thorough a case of heart-blind- 
 ness, and he gave her up ; but he did not give up Julia. He 
 whispered words of consolation into her ears, which, though 
 vague, were yet far more useful than physic. 
 
 " Cheer up, my daughter ; be of good heart and faith. / am 
 sure that there will be some remedy provided for you, before 
 long, which will do you good. I have given the letter to your 
 aunt, and she promises to do as you wish." 
 
 It may be said, en passant, that the billet sent to me had 
 been covered in another to my female friend and Julia's rela- 
 tive ; and that the doctor, though not unconscious of the agency 
 of this lady between us, was yet guilty of no violation of the 
 faith which is always implied between the family and the phy- 
 sician. He might suspect, but he did not know ; and whatever 
 might have been his suspicions, he certainly did not have the 
 most distant idea of that concession which Julia had made, and 
 of the course of conduct for which her mother's persecutions 
 had now prepared her mind. 
 
 Mr. Perkins, though deprived of his lien upon Mrs. Clifford, 
 by reason of his claim, did not in the least forego his inten- 
 tions. His complaints and threatenings necessarily ceased 
 his tone was something lowered ; but he possessed a hold upon 
 this silly woman's prejudices which was far superior to any 
 which he might before have had upon her fears. His hostility 
 to me was grateful to the hate which she also entertained, and 
 which seemed to be more thoroughly infixed in her after her 
 downfall which, as it has been seen, she ascribed to me; 
 chiefly because of my predictions that such would be the case. 
 In due proportion f,o her hate for me, was her desire to baffle 
 my wishes, even though it might be at the expense of her own 
 daughter's life. But a vain mother has no affections none, at 
 least, worthy of the name, and none which she is not prepared 
 to discard at the first requisition of her dearer self. Her hate 
 of me was so extreme as to render her blind to everything be- 
 sides her daughter's sickness, the counsel of the physician, 
 
CRISIS. 101 
 
 the otherwise obvious vulgarity and meanness of Perkins, and 
 that gross injustice which I had suffered at her hands from the 
 beginning, and which, to many minds, might have amply justi- 
 fied in me the hostile feelings which she laid to my charge. In 
 this blindness she precipitated events, and by her cruelty justi- 
 fied extremities in self-defence. The moment that Julia exhib- 
 ited some slight improvement, she was summoned to an inter- 
 view with Perkins, and in this interview her mother solemnly 
 swore that she should marry him. The base-minded suitor 
 stood by in silence, beheld the loathing of the maiden, heard 
 her distinct refusal, yet clung to his victim, and permitted the 
 violence of the mother, without rebuke that rebuke which the 
 true gentleman might have administered in such a case, and 
 which, to forbear, was the foulest shame the rebuke of his 
 own decided refusal to participate in such a sacrifice. But he 
 was not capable of this ; and Julia, stunned and terrified, was 
 shocked to hear Mrs. Clifford appoint the night of the following 
 Thursday for the forced nuptials. 
 
 " She will consent she shall consent, Mr. Perkins," were 
 the vehement assurances of the mother, as the craven-spirited 
 suitor prepared to take his leave. " I know her better than you 
 do, and she knows me. Do you fear nothing, but bring Mr 
 
 " (the divine) " along with you. We shall put an end to 
 
 this folly." 
 
 " Oh, do not, do not, mother, if you would not drive me mad !" 
 was the exclamation of the destined victim, as she threw her- 
 self at the feet of her unnatural parent. " You will kill me to 
 wed this man! I can not marry him I can not love him. 
 Why would you force this matter upon me why ! why !" 
 
 " Why will you resist me, Julia ? why will you provoke your 
 mother to this degree 1 You have only to consent willingly, 
 and you know how kind I am." 
 
 " I can not consent !" was the gasping decision of the maiden. 
 
 " You shall ! you must ! you will !" 
 
 " Never ! never ! On my knees I say it, mother. God will 
 witness what you refuse to believe. I will die before I consent 
 to marry where I do not give my heart." 
 
 " Oh, you talk of dying, as if it was a very easy matter. But 
 you won't die. It's more easy to say than do. Do you come, 
 
102 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 Mr. Perkins. Don't you mind don't you believe in these 
 denials, and oaths, and promises. It's the way with all young 
 ladies. They all make a mighty fuss when they're going to be 
 married ; but they're all mighty willing, if the truth was known. 
 I ought to know something about it. I did just the same as she 
 when I was going to marry Mr. Clifford ; yet nobody was more 
 willing than I was to get a husband. Do you come and bring 
 the parson ; she'll sing a different tune when she stands up be- 
 fore him, I warrant you." 
 
 "That shall never be, Mr. Perkins!" said the maiden sol- 
 emnly, and somewhat approaching the person whom she ad- 
 dressed. " I have already more than once declined the honor 
 you propose to do me. I now repeat to you that I will sooner 
 marry the grave and the winding-sheet than be your wife ! My 
 mother mistakes me and all my feelings. For your own sake, 
 if not for mine, I beg that you will not mistake them ; for, if 
 the strength is left me for speech, I will declare aloud to the 
 reverend man whom you are told to bring, the nature of those 
 persecutions to which you have been privy. I will tell him of 
 the cruelty which I have been compelled to endure, and which 
 you have beheld and encouraged with your silence." 
 
 Perkins looked aghast, muttered his unwillingness to prose- 
 cute his suit under such circumstances, and prepared to take 
 his leave. His mutterings and apologies were all swallowed 
 up in that furious storm of abuse and denunciation which now 
 poured from the lips of the exemplary mother. These we need 
 not repeat. Suffice it that the deep feelings of Julia her 
 sense of propriety and good taste prevailed to keep her silent, 
 while her mother, still raving, renewed her assurances to th 
 pettifogger that he should certainly receive his wife at hei 
 hands on the evening of the ensuing Thursday. The unmanly 
 suitor accepted her assurances and took leave of mother and 
 daughter, with the expression of a simpering hope, intended 
 chiefly for the latter, that her objections would resolve them- 
 selves into the usual maidenly scruples when the appointed 
 time should arrive Julia mustered strength enough to reply in 
 language which brought down another storm from her mother 
 upon her devoted head. 
 
 " Do not deceive ^erkins do not let the assn- 
 
CRISIS. 103 
 
 ranees of my mother deceive you. She does not know me. I 
 can not and will not marry you. I will sooner marry the grave 
 the winding-sheet the worm!" 
 
 Her strength failed her the moment he left the apartment. 
 She sank in a fainting-fit upon the floor, and was thus saved 
 from hearing the bitter abuse which her miserable and mis- 
 guided parent continued to lavish upon her, even while under- 
 taking the task of her restoration. The evident exhaustion of 
 her frame, her increasing feebleness, the agony of her mind, 
 and the possibly fatal termination of her indisposition, did not 
 in the least serve to modify the violent and vexing mood of 
 this most unnatural woman ! 
 
104 CONFESSION, CR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 "GONE TO BE MARRIED." 
 
 THESE proceedings, the tenor of which was briefly communi- 
 cated to me in a hurried note from Julia, despatched by the 
 hands of the physician, under a cover, to the friendly aunt, ren- 
 dered it imperatively necessary that, whatever we proposed to 
 do should be done quickly, if we entertained any hope to save 
 her. The tone of her epistle alarmed me exceedingly in one 
 respect, as it evidently showed that she could not inucli longer 
 save herself. Her courage was sinking with her spirits, which 
 were yielding rapidly beneath the continued presence of that 
 persecution which had so long been acting upon her. She 
 began now to distrust her own strength her very powers of 
 utterance to declare her aversion to the proposed marriage, if 
 ever the trial was brought to the threatened issue before the 
 holy man. 
 
 "What am I to do what say " demanded her trembling 
 epistle, "should they go so far? Am I to declare the truth] 
 can I tell to strange ears that it is my mother who forces this 
 cruel sacrifice upon me ? I dread I can not. I fear that my 
 soul and voice will equally fail me. I tremble, dear Edward, 
 when I think that the awful moment may find me speechless, 
 and my consent may be assumed from my silence. Save me 
 from this trial, dearest Edward; for I fear everything now 
 aiif fear myself my unhappy weakness of nerve and spirit 
 more than all. Do not leave me to this trial of my strength 
 for I have none. Save me if you can !" 
 
 It may be readily believed that I needed little soliciting to 
 exertion after this. The words of this letter occasioned an 
 alarm in my mind, little less though of a different kind 
 than that which prevailed in hers. I knew the weakness of 
 
GONE TO BE MARRIED. 
 
 hers I knew hers and felt the apprehension that she might 
 fail at the proper moment, even more vividly than she ex 
 pressed it. 
 
 This letter did not take me by surprise. Before it was re- 
 ceived, and soon after the first with which she had favored me, 
 hy the hands of the friendly physician, I had begun my prep- 
 arations with the view to our clandestine marriage. I was only 
 now required to quicken them. The obstacle, on the face of 
 it, was, comparatively, a small one. To get her from a dwel- 
 ling, in which, though her steps were watched, she was not ex- 
 actly a prisoner, was scarcely a difficulty, where the lover and 
 the lady are equally willing. 
 
 Our mode of operations was simple. There was a favorite 
 servant a negro who had been raised in the family, had 
 been a playmate with my poor deceased cousin and myself, and 
 had always been held in particular regard by both of us. He 
 was not what is called a house-servant, but was employed in 
 the yard in doing various offices, such as cutting wood, tending 
 the garden, going of messages, and so forth. This was in the 
 better days of the Clifford family. Since its downfall he had 
 been instructed to look an owner, and, opportunely, at this 
 moment, when I was deliberating upon the process I should 
 adopt for the extrication of his young mistress, he came to me 
 to request that I would buy him. The presence of this servant 
 suggested to me that he could assist me materially in my plans. 
 Without suffering him to know the intention which I had formed, 
 I listened to his garrulous harangue. A negro is usually very 
 copious, where he has an auditor ; and though, from his situa- 
 tion, he could directly see nothing of the proceedings in the 
 house of his ownsr, yet, from his fellow-servants he had con- 
 trived to gather, perhaps, a very correct account of the general 
 condition of things. It appeared from his story that the at- 
 tachment of Miss Julia to myself was very commonly under- 
 stood. The effort of the mother to persuade her to marry Per- 
 kins was also known to him ; but of the arrangement that the 
 marriage should take place at the early day mentioned in her 
 note, he told me nothing, and, in all probability, this part of 
 her proceedings was kept a close secret by the wily dame 
 Peter the name of the negro went on to add, that, loving 
 
 5* 
 
106 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 me, and loving his young mistress, and knowing that we loved 
 one another, and believing that we should one day be married, 
 he was anxious to have me for his future owner. 
 
 " I will buy you, Peter, on one condition." 
 
 " Wha's dat, Mas' Ned ?" 
 
 " That you serve me faithfully on trial, for five days, with- 
 out letting anybody know who you serve that you carry my 
 messages without letting anybody hear them except that per- 
 son to whom you are sent and, if I give you a note to carry, 
 that you carry it safely, not only without suffering anybody to 
 see the note but the one to whom I send it, but without suffer- 
 ing anybody to know or suspect that you've got such a thing as 
 a note about you." 
 
 The fellow was all promises ; and I penned a billet to Julia 
 which, in few words, briefly prepared her to expect my at- 
 tendance at her house at three in the afternoon of the very day 
 when her nuptials were contemplated. I then proceeded to a 
 friend Kingsley the friend who had served me in the meet- 
 ing with Perkins ; a bold, dashing, frank fellow, who loved 
 nothing better than a frolic which worried one of the parties ; 
 and who, I well knew, would relish nothing more than to baffle 
 Perkins in a love affair, as we had already done in one of 
 strife. To him I unfolded my plan and craved his assistance, 
 which was promised instantly. My female friend, the relative 
 of Julia, whose assistance had been already given us, and 
 whose quarrel with Mrs. Clifford in consequence, had spiced her 
 determination to annoy her still further whenever occasion of- 
 fered, was advised of our plans ; and William Edgerton readily 
 undertook what seemed to be the most innocent part of all, to 
 procure a priest to officiate for us, at the house of the lady in 
 question, and at the appointed time. 
 
 My new retainer, Peter, brought me due intelligence of the 
 delivery of the note, in secret, to Julia, and a verbal answer 
 from her made me sanguine of success. The day came, and 
 the hour ; and in obedience to our plan, my friend, Kingsley, 
 jrcceeded boldly to the dwelling of Mrs. Clifford, just as that 
 jfady had taken her seat at the dinner-table, requesting to see 
 and speak with her on business of importance. The interview 
 was vouchsafed him, though not until the worthy lady had in- 
 
GONE TO BE MARRIED. 107 
 
 Btructed the servant to say that she was just then at the dinner- 
 table, and would be glad if the gentleman would call again. 
 
 But the gentleman regretted that he could not call again. 
 Ho was from Kentucky, desirous of buying slaves, and must 
 leave town the next morning for the west. The mention of his 
 occupation, as Mrs. Clifford had slaves to sell, was sufficient to 
 persuade her to lay down the knife and fork with promptness ; 
 and the servant was bade to show the Kentucky gentleman 
 into the parlor. Our arrangement was, that, with the departure 
 of the lady from the table Julia should leave it also descend 
 the stairs, and meet me at the entrance. 
 
 Trembling almost to fainting, the poor girl came to me, and I 
 received her into my arms, with something of a tremor also, i 
 felt the prize would be one that I should be very loath to lose ; 
 and joy led to anxiety, and my anxiety rendered me nervous 
 to a womanly degree. But I did not lose my composure ana 
 when I had taken her into my arms, I thought it would be oniy 
 a prudent precaution to turn the key in the outer door, an 
 leave it somewhere along the highway. This I did, absolute]-* 
 forgetting, that, in thus securing myself against any sudder 
 pursuit, I had also locked up my friend, the Kentucky trader. 
 
 Fortune favored our movements. Our preparations had been 
 properly laid, and Edgerton had the .divine in waiting. In less 
 than half an hour after leaving the house of her parents, Julia 
 and myself stood up to be married. Pale, feeble, sad the 
 poor girl, though she felt no reluctance, and suffered not the 
 most momentary remorse for the steps she had taken, and was 
 about to take, was yet necessarily and naturally impressed with 
 the solemnity and the doubts which hung over the event. 
 Young, timid, artless, apprehensive, she was unsupported by 
 those whom nature had appointed to watch over and protect 
 her ; and though they had neglected, and would have betrayed 
 their trust, she yet could not but feel that there was an incom- 
 pleteness about the affair, which, not even the solemn accents 
 of the priest, the deep requisitions of those pledges which she 
 was called upon to make, and the evident conviction which she 
 now entertained, that what had been done was necessary to be 
 done, for her happiness, and even her life could entirely re- 
 move. There was an awful but sweet earnestness in the sad, 
 
108 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 intense glance of entreaty, with which she regarded me when 
 I made the final response. Her large black eye dilated, even 
 under the dewy suffusion of its tears, as it seemed to say : 
 
 " It is to you now to you alone that I look for that pro- 
 tection, that happiness which was denied where I had best right 
 to look for it. Ah ! let me not look, let me not yield myself to 
 you in vain !" 
 
 How imploring, yet how resigned was that glance of tears 
 love in tears, yet love that trusted without fear ! It was the 
 embodiment of innocence, struggling between hope and doubt, 
 and only strengthened for the future by the pure, sweet faith 
 which grew out of their conflict. I look back upon that scene, 
 I recall tha f glance, with a sinking of the heart which is full of 
 terror and terrible reproach. Ah ! then, then, I had no fear, 
 no thought, that I should see that look, and others, more sad, 
 more imploring still, and see them without a corresponding 
 faith and love ! I little knew, in that brief, blessed hour, how 
 rapidly tlie olindness of the heart comes on, even as the scale 
 over tfee eye. but such a scale as no surgeon's knife can cut 
 away, 
 
BAFFLED FURY. 109 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BAFFLED FURY. 
 
 IN the first gush of my happiness the ceremony being com- 
 pleted, and the possession of my treasure certain I had en- 
 tirely forgotten my Kentucky friend, whom I had locked up, in 
 confidential tete-a-tete with madam, my exemplary mother-in- 
 law. He was a fellow with a strong dash of humor, and could 
 not resist the impulse to amuse himself at the expense of the 
 lady, by making an admirable scene of the proceeding. He 
 began the business by stating that he had heard she had sev- 
 eral negroes whom she wished to sell that he was anxious to 
 buy he did not care how many, and would give the very best 
 prices of any trader in the market. At his desire, all were 
 summoned in attendance some three or four in number, that 
 she had to dispose of all but the worthy Peter, who, under 
 existing circumstances, was quite too necessary to my proceed- 
 ings to be dispensed with. These were all carefully examined 
 by the trader. They were asked their ages, their names* their 
 qualities ; whether they were willing to go to Kentucky, the 
 paradise of the western Indian, and so forth all those ques- 
 tions which, in ordinary cases, it is the custom of the purchaser 
 to ask. They were then dismissed, and the Kentuckian next 
 discussed with the lady the subject of prices. But let the ^ or- 
 thy fellow speak for himself : 
 
 " I was so cursed anxious," he said, " to know whether you 
 had got off and in safety, for I was beginning to get monstrous 
 tired of the old cat, that I jumped up every now and then to 
 take a peep out of the front window. I made an excuse to spit 
 on such occasions though sometimes I forgot to do so and 
 then I would go back and begin again, with something about 
 the bargain and the terms, and whether the negroes were hon- 
 est, and sound, and all that. Well, though I looked out as often 
 
110 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 as I well could with civility, I saw nothing of you, and began 
 to fear that something had happened to unsettle the whole plan ; 
 but, after a while, I saw Peter, with his mouth drawn back and 
 hooked up into his ears, with his white teeth glimmering like 
 so many slips of moonshine in a dark night, and I then con- 
 cluded that all was as it should be. But seeing me look out so 
 earnestly and often, the good lady at length said : 
 
 " ' I suppose, sir, your horses are in waiting. Perhaps you'd 
 like to have a servant to mind them.' 
 
 " ' No, ma'am, I'm obliged to you ; but I left the hotel on 
 foot.' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' said she, but I thought it might be your horses, 
 seeing you so often look out.' 
 
 " I could scarcely keep in my laughter. It did burst out into 
 a sort of chuckle; and, as you were then safe I knew that 
 from Peter's jaws I determined to have my own fun out of 
 the old woman. So I said pretty much in this sort of fashion, 
 for I longed to worry her, and knew just how it could be done 
 handsomest I said : 
 
 " 'The truth is, ma'am pardon me for the slight but re- 
 ally I was quite interested struck, as I may say, by a very 
 suspicious transaction that met my eyes a while ago, when I 
 first got up to spit from the window.' 
 
 " ' Ah, indeed, sir ! and pray, if I may ask, what was it you 
 saw?' 
 
 " ' Really very curious ; but getting up to spit, and looking 
 out before I did so necessary caution, ma'am some persons 
 might be just under the window, you know ' 
 
 " * Yes, sir, yes.' The old creature began to look and talk 
 mighty eager. 
 
 " * An ugly habit, ma'am that of spitting. We Kentucki- 
 ans carry it to great excess. Foreigners, I'm told, count it mon- 
 strous vulgar effect of tobacco-chewing, ma'am a deuced bad 
 habit, I grant you, but 'tis a habit, and there's no leaving it off, 
 even if we would. I don't think Kentuckians, as a people, a 
 bit more vulgar than English, or French, or Turks, or any other 
 respectable people of other countries.' 
 
 " ' No, sir, certainly not ; but the transaction what you 
 
BAFFLED FURY. Ill 
 
 " ' Ah, yes ! beg pardon ; but, as I was sayi.ig, something re- 
 ally quite suspicious ! Just as I was about to spit, when I went 
 to the window, some ten minutes ago perhaps you did not 
 observe, but I did not spit. Good reason for it, ma'am might 
 have done mischief.' 
 
 " ' How, sir V 
 
 " * Ah, that brings me to the question I want to ask : any 
 handsome young ladies living about here, ma'am? here, in 
 your neighborhood V 
 
 " ' Why, yes, sir,' answered the old tabby, with something 
 like surprise; 'there's several there's the Masons, just oppo- 
 site ; the Bagbys, next door to them below, and Mr. Wilford's 
 daughter : all of them would be considered pretty by some per- 
 sons. On the same side with us, there's Mrs. Freeman and her 
 two daughters, but the widow is accounted by many the young- 
 est looking and prettiest of the whole, though, to my thinking, 
 that's saying precious little for any. Next door to us is a Mr. 
 and Mrs. Gibbs, who have a daughter, and she is rather pretty, 
 but I don't know much about them. It might -be a mother's 
 vanity, sir, but I think I may be proud of having a daughter 
 myself, who is about as pretty as any of the best among them ; 
 and that's saying a great deal less for her than might be said.' 
 
 "'Ah, indeed you a daughter, ma'am? But she is not 
 grown-up, of course a mere child?' 
 
 " ' Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,' said the old creature, tickled 
 up to the eyes, and looking at me with the sweetest smiles ; 
 ' though it may surprise you very much, she is not only no 
 child, but a woman grown ; and, what's more, I think she will 
 be made a wife this very night.' 
 
 " ' Egad, then I suspect she's not the only one that's about to 
 be made a wife of. I suspect some one of these young ladies, 
 your neighbors, will be very soon in the same condition.' 
 
 "'Indeed, sir pray, who? how do you know?' and the 
 old tabby edged herself along the sofa until she almost got jam 
 up beside me. 
 
 " ' Well/ said I, ' I don't know exactly, but I'm deucedly 
 suspicious of it, and, more than that, there's some underhand 
 work going on/ 
 
 " This made her more curious than ever ; and her hands and 
 
112 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 feet, and indeed her whole body, got such a fidgeting, that I 
 fancied she began to think of getting St. Vitu's for a bedfellow. 
 Her eagerness made her ask me two or three times what made 
 me think so ; and, seeing her anxiety, I purposely delayed in 
 order to worry her. I wished to see how far I could run her 
 up. When I did begin to explain, I went to work in a round- 
 about way enough something thus, old Kentuck as I began : 
 ''Well, ma'am, this tobacco-chewing, as I said before, carried 
 me, as you witnessed, constantly to the window. I don't know 
 that I chew more than many others, but I know I chew too 
 much for my good, and for decency, too, ma'am.' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir, yes ; but the young lady, and ' 
 
 " * Ah, yob; ma'am. Well, then, going to the window once, 
 twice, or thrice, I could not help but see a young man standing 
 beneath it, evidently in Avaiting very earnest, very watchful 
 seemingly very much interested and anxious, as if waiting 
 for somebody/ 
 
 " ' Is it possible ?' whispered the tabby, full of expectation. 
 
 " ' Yes, very possible, ma'am veVy true. There he stood; 
 I could even hoar his deep-drawn sighs deep, long, as if from 
 the very bottom of his heart.' 
 
 " ' Was he so very near, sir ?' 
 
 " ' Just und^r the window going to and fro very anxious. 
 I was almost afraid 1 had spit on him, he looked up so hard 
 so' 
 
 " ' What, sir, up at you ? at at my windows, sir ?' 
 
 " ' Not exactly, ma'am, that was only my notion, for I thought 
 I might have spit upon him, and so wakened his anger ; but, in- 
 deed, he looked all about him, as, indeed, it was natural that he 
 should, you know, if he meditated anything that wa'n't exactly 
 right. There was a carriage in waiting a close carriage not 
 a hundred yards below, and ' 
 
 " ' Ah, sir, do tell me what sort of a looking young gentleman 
 was it eh?' 
 
 " ' Good-looking fellow enough, ma'am rather tall, slender- 
 ish, but not so slender wore a black frock.' By this time the 
 old creature was up at the window her long, skinny neck 
 stretched out as far as it could go. 
 
 " 'Ah !' said I, 'ma'am, you're quite too late, if yon expecl 
 
BAFFLED FURY. 113 
 
 to see the sport. They're off; I saw the last of them when I 
 took my last spit from the window. They were then ' 
 
 " 'But, sir, did he did you say that this person; the per- 
 son you spit on carried a young lady away with him ?' 
 
 " ' You mistake me, ma'am ' 
 
 " ' Ah !' she drew a mighty long breath as if relieved. 
 
 " ' I did not spit upon him ; I only came near doing it once 
 or twice. If I hadn't looked, I should very probably have 
 divided my quid pretty equally between both of them.' 
 
 " ' Both ! both !' she almost screamed. ' Did she go with him, 
 then? was there in truth a young woman?' 
 
 " You never saw a creature in such a tearing fidget. Her 
 long nose was nearly stuck into my face, and both her hands, 
 all claws extended, seemed ready for my cheeks. I felt a little 
 ticklish, I assure you ; but I kept up my courage, determined to 
 see the game out, and answered very deliberately, after I had 
 put a fresh quid into my jaws : 
 
 " ' Ay, that she did, ma'am, and seemed deuced glad to go, 
 as was natural enough. A mighty pretty girl she was, too ; 
 rather thin, but pretty enough to tempt a clever fellow to do 
 anything. I reckon they're nigh on to being man and wife by 
 this time, let the old people say what they will.' 
 
 " But the old put didn't wait to hear me say all this. Before 
 the words were well out of my mouth, she gave a bounce, to the 
 bell-rope first I thought she'd ha' jerked it to pieces and 
 then to the head of the stairs. 
 
 " ' Excuse me for a moment, sir, if you please,' she said, in a 
 considerable fidget. 
 
 " * Certainly, ma'am,' says I, with a great Kentucky sort of 
 bow and natural civility ; and then I could hear her squalling 
 from the head of the stairs, and at the top of her voice, ' Julia ! 
 Julia! Julia!' but there was no answer from Julia. Then 
 came the servants ; then came the outcry ; then she bounced 
 back into the parlor, and blazed out at me for not telling her at 
 once that it was her daughter who had been carried off, with- 
 out making so long a story of it, and putting in so much talk 
 about tobacco. 
 
 " 'Lord bless you, my lear woman !' says I, innocent enough, 
 was that pretty girl your daughter ? That accounts for the 
 
114 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 fellow looking up at the window so often ; and I to fancy that 
 it was all because I might have given him a quid !' 
 
 " ' You must have seen her then /' 
 
 " ' Well, ma'am,' said I, ' I must come again about the negroes. 
 1 see you've got your hands full.' 
 
 " And, with that, I pushed down stairs, while she blazed out 
 at her husband, whom she called an old fool ; and me, whom 
 she called a young one ; and the negroes, whom she ordered to 
 fly in a hundred ways in the same breath ; and, to make matters 
 worse, she seized her hat and shawl, and bounced down the 
 steps after me. Here we were in a fix again, that made her a 
 hundred times more furious. The street-door was locked on the 
 outside, and the key gone, and I fastened up with the old mad 
 tabby. I tried to stand it while the servants were belaboring 
 to break open, but the storm was too heavy, and, raising a sash, 
 T went through : and, in good faith, I believe she bounced 
 through after me ; for, when I got fairly into the street and 
 looked round, there she went, bounce, flounce, pell-mell, all in 
 a rage, steam up, puffing like a porpoise though, thank Jupi- 
 ter ! she took another course from myself. I was glad to get 
 out of her clutches, I assure you." 
 
 Such was Kingsley's account of his expedition, told in his 
 particular manner ; and endued with the dramatic vitality which 
 he was well able to give it, it was inimitable. It needs but a 
 few words to finish it. Mrs. Clifford, with unerring instinct, 
 made her way to the house of that friendly lady who had as- 
 sisted our proceedings. But she came too late for anything but 
 abuse. Julia was irrevocably mine. Bitter was the clamor 
 which, in our chamber, assailed us from below. 
 
 " Oh, Edward, how shall I meet her ?" was the convulsive 
 speech of Julia, as she heard the fearful sounds of her mother's 
 voice a voice never very musical, and which now, stimulated 
 by unmeasured rage the rage of a baffled and wicked woman 
 poured forth a torrent of screams rather than of human ac- 
 cents. We soon heard the rush of the torrent up stairs, and in 
 the direction of our chamber. 
 
 " Fear nothing, Julia ; her power over you is now at an end 
 Ton are now mine mine only mine irrevocably!" 
 
 " Ah, she is still my mother !" gasped the lovely trembler in 
 
BAFFLED FURY. 
 
 my arms. A moment more, and the old lady was battering at 
 the door. I had locked it within. Her voice, husky but sub 
 dued, now called to her daughter 
 
 " Julia ! Julia ! Julia ! come out !" 
 
 " Who is there ? what do you want ?" I demanded. I was 
 disposed to keep her out, but Julia implored me to open the 
 door. She had really no strength to reply to the summons of 
 the enraged woman ; and her entreaty to me was expressed in 
 a whisper which scarcely filled my own ears. She was weak 
 almost to fainting. I trembled lest her weakness, coupled with 
 her fears, and the stormy scene that I felt might be reasonably 
 anticipated, would be too much for her powers of endurance. I 
 hesitated. She put her hand on my wrist. 
 
 " For my sake, Edward, let her in. Let her see me. We 
 will have to meet her, and better now now, when I feel all 
 the solemnity of my new position, and while the pledges I have 
 just made are most present to my thoughts. Do not fear for 
 me. I am weak and very feeble, but I am resolute. I feel 
 that I am not wrong." 
 
 She could scarcely gasp out these brief sentences. I urged 
 her not to risk her strength in the interview. 
 
 " A you love me, do as I beg you," she replied, with entreat- 
 ing earnestness. " It does not become me to keep my mother, 
 under any circumstances, thus waiting at the door, and asking 
 entrance." 
 
 Meanwhile, the clamors of Mrs. Clifford were continued. Ju- 
 lia's aunt was there also, and the controversy was hot and heavy 
 between them. Annoyed as I was, and apprehensive for Julia, 
 I yet could not forbear laughing at the ludicrousness of my po- 
 bition and the whole scene. I began to think, from the equal 
 violence of the two ancient dames without, that they might 
 finally get to blows. This was also the fear of Julia, and an- 
 other reason why we should throw open the door. I at length 
 did so ; and soon had the doubtful satisfaction of transferring to 
 myself all the wrath of the disappointed mother. She rushed 
 in, the moment the door turned upon its hinges, almost upsetting 
 me in the violence of her onset. Bounding into the apartment 
 with a fury that was utterly beyond her own control, I was led 
 to fear that she might absolutely inflict violence upon her daugh 
 
lib CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 ter, who by this time had sunk, in equal terror and exhaustion, 
 upon a sofa in the remotest corner of the room. I hastily placed 
 myself between them, and did not scruple, with extended hands, 
 to maintain a safe interval of space between the two. I will 
 not attempt to describe the tigress rage or the shrieking violence 
 which ensued on the part of this veteran termagant. It was 
 only closed at length, when, Julia having fainted under the 
 storm, dead to all appearance, I picked up the assailant vi et 
 annis, and, in defiance of screams and scratches for she did 
 not spare the use of her talons resolutely transported her from 
 the chamber. 
 
ONI: DEBT PAID. 117 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ONE DEBT PAID. 
 
 STAGGERING forward under this burden a burden equally 
 active and heavy who should I encounter at the head of the 
 stairs, but the liege lord of the lady my poor imbecile uncle. 
 As soon as she beheld him foaming and almost unintelligible 
 in her rage she screamed for succor cried "murder" "rape," 
 "robbery," and heaven knows what besides. A moment be- 
 fore, though she scratched and scuffled to the utmost, she had 
 not employed her lungs. A momentary imprecation alone had 
 broken from her, as it were, perforce and unavoidably. Now, 
 nothing could exceed the stentorian tumult which her tongue 
 maintained. She called upon her husband to put me to death 
 to tear me in pieces to do anything and everything for the pun- 
 ishing of so dreadful an offender as myself. In thus command- 
 ing him, she did not forbear uttering her own unmeasured opin- 
 ion of the demerits of the man whose performances she required. 
 
 " If you had the spirit of a man, Clifford if you were not 
 a poor shoat you'd never have submitted so long as you have 
 to this viper's insolence. And there you stand, doing nothing 
 absolutely still as a stock, though you see him beating your 
 wife. Ah ! you monster ! you coward! that I should ever 
 have married a man that wasn't able to protect me." 
 
 This is a sufficient sample of her style, and not the worst. I 
 am constrained to confess that some portions of the good lady's 
 language would better have suited the modes of speech common 
 enough among the Grecian housekeepers at the celebration of 
 the Eleusinian mysteries. I have omitted not a few of the bad 
 words, and forborne the repetition of that voluminous eloquence 
 poured out, after the Billingsgate fashion, equally upon myself, 
 her daughter, and husband. During the vituperation she still 
 kicked and scuffled ; my face suffered, and my eyes narrowly et>- 
 caped. But I grasped her firmly ; and when her husband, my 
 worthy uncle, in obedience to her orders, sprang upon me, witb 
 
118 CONFESSION, OR THE BUND HEART. 
 
 the bludgeon which he now habitually carried, I confronted him 
 with the lusty person of his spouse, and regret to say, that the 
 first thwack intended for my shoulders, descended with some 
 considerable emphasis upon hers. This increased her fury, and 
 redoubled her screams. But it did not lesson my determination, 
 or make me change my mode of proceeding. I resolutely push- 
 ed her before me. The husband stood at the head of the stairs 
 and my object was to carry her down to the lower story. The 
 stairs were narrow, and by keeping up a good watch, i contrived 
 to force him to give ground, using his spouse as a sort of batter- 
 ing-raw not to perpetrate a pun at the expense of the genders 
 which, I happened to know, had always been successful in 
 making him give ground on all previous occasions. His habitual 
 deference for the dame, assisted me in my purpose. Step by 
 step, however, he disputed my advance ; but I was finally suc- 
 cessful ; without any injury beyond that which had been inflicted 
 by the talons of the fair lady, and perhaps a single and slight 
 stroke upon the shoulder from the club of her husband, I suc- 
 ceeded in landing her upon the lower flat in safety. Beyond a 
 squeeze or two, which the exigency of the case made something 
 more affectionate than any I should have been otherwise pleased 
 to bestow upon her, she suffered no hurt at my hands. 
 
 But, though willing to release her, she was not so willing her- 
 self to be released. When I set her free, she flew at me with 
 cat-like intrepidity ; and I found her a much more difficult cus- 
 tomer than her husband. Him I soon baffled. A moment suf- 
 ficed to grapple with him and wrench the stick from his hands, 
 and then, with a moderate exercise of agility, I contrived to 
 spring up the stairway which I had just descended, regain tho 
 chamber, and secure the door, before they could overtake or annoy 
 me with their further movements. My wife's aunt, meanwhile, 
 had been busy with her restoratives. Julia was now recovering 
 from the fainting fit ; and I had the satisfaction of hearing from 
 one of the servants that the baffled enemy had gone off in a fury 
 *hat made their departure seem a flight rather than a mere retreat. 
 
 I should have treated the whole event with indifference their 
 rage and their regard equally but for my suffering and sensitive 
 wife. Wronged as she had been, and so persecuted as to render 
 all her subsequent conduct justifiable, she yet forgot none of he* 
 
ONE DEBT PAID. 119 
 
 filial obligations ; and, in compliance with her earnest entreaties, 
 I had already, the very day after this conflict, prepared an elab- 
 orate and respectful epistle to both father and mother, when an 
 event took place of startling solemnity, which was calculated to 
 subdue my anger, and make the feelings of my wife, if possible^ 
 more accessible than ever to the influences of fear and sorrow. 
 Only three days from uu* marriage had elapsed, when her father 
 was stricken speechless in the street. lie was carried home for 
 dead. I have already hinted that, months before, and just after 
 the threatened discovery of those fraudulent measures by which 
 he lost his fortune, his mind had become singularly enfeebled ; 
 his memory failing, and all his faculties of judgment never very 
 strong growing capricious, or elrfe obtuse and unobserving. 
 These were the symptoms of a rapid physical change, the catas- 
 trophe of which was at hand. How far the excitement growing 
 out of his daughter's flight and marriage may have precipitated 
 this result, is problematical. It may be said, in this place, that 
 my wife's mother charged it all to my account. I was pronounced 
 the murderer of her husband. On this head I did not reproach 
 myself. It was necessary, however, that a reconciliation should 
 take place between the father and his child. To this I had, of 
 course, no sort of objection. But it will scarce be believed that 
 the miserable woman, her mother, opposed herself to their meeting 
 with the utmost violence of her character. Nothing but the 
 outcry of the family and all its friends including the excellent 
 physician whose secret services had contributed so much toward 
 my happiness compelled her to give way, though still un- 
 graciously, to the earnest entreaty of her daughter for permission 
 to see her father before he died ! and even then, by the death- 
 bed of the unhappy and almost unconscious man, she recom- 
 menced the scene of abuse and bitter reproach, which, however 
 ample the reader and hearer may have already found it, it 
 appears she had left unfinished. It was in the midst of a 
 furious tirade, directed against myself, chiefly, and Julia, in part, 
 that the spasms of death, unperceived by the mother, passed 
 over the contracted muscles of the father's face. The bitter 
 speech of the blind woman blind of heart was actually fin- 
 ished after death had given the final blow to the victim. Of this 
 she had no suspicion, until instructed by the piercing shrieks of 
 IKT daughter, who fell swooning u^on the corse before her. 
 
120 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HONEYMOON PERIOD. 
 
 IT was supposed by Julia and certain of her friends that an 
 event so solemn, so impressive, and so unexpected, as the death 
 of Mr. Clifford, would reasonably affect the mind of his widow ; 
 and the concessions which I had meditated to address to herr 
 self and her late husband were now so varied as to apply solely 
 to herself. I took considerable pains in preparing my letter, 
 with the view to soften her prejudices and asperities, as well as 
 to convince her reason. There was one suggestion which Julia 
 was disposed to insist on, to which, however, I was singularly 
 averse. In the destitution of Mrs. Clifford, her diminished and 
 still diminishing resources, not to speak of her loneliness, she 
 thought that I ought to tender her a home with us. Had she 
 been any other than the captious, cross-grained creature that 
 she was had her misfortunes produced only in part their 
 legitimate and desirable effects of subduing her perversity 
 I should have had no sort of objection. But I knew her impe- 
 rious and unreasonable nature ; and I may here add, that, by 
 this time, I knew something of my own : I was a man of despotic 
 character. The constant conflicts which I had had from boy- 
 hood, resulting as they had done in my frequent successes and 
 final triumph, had, naturally enough, made me dictatorial. San- 
 guine in temperament, earnest in character, resolute in impulse, 
 I was necessarily arbitrary in mood. It was not likely that 
 Mrs. Clifford would forget her waywardnesses, and it was just 
 as unreasonable that I should submit to her insolences. Be 
 sides, one's home ought to be a very sacred place. It is neces- 
 sary that the peace there should compensate and console for the 
 strifes without. To hope for this in any household where there 
 is more than one master, would be worse than idle. Nay, even 
 if there were peace, the chances are still great that there would 
 
HONEYMOON PERIOD. 121 
 
 oe some lack of propriety. Domestic regulations would become 
 inutile. Children and servants would equally fail of duty and 
 improvement under conflicting authorities; and all the sweet 
 social harmonies of family would be jarred away by misunder- 
 standings if not bickerings, leading to coldness, suspicion, and 
 irremediable jealousies. These things seemed to threaten me 
 from the first moment when Julia submitted to me her desire 
 that her mother should be invited to take up her abode with us. 
 I reasoned with her against it ; suggested all the grounds of ob- 
 jection which I really felt ; and reviewed at length the long his- 
 tory of our connection from my childhood up, which had been 
 distinguished by her constant hostility and hate. "How," I 
 asked, " can it be hoped that there will be any change for the 
 better now ? She is the same woman, I the same man ! It is 
 not reasonable to think that the result of our reunion will be 
 other than it has been." But Julia implored. 
 
 " I know what you say is reasonable is just ; but, dear Ed- 
 ward, she is my mother, and she is alone." 
 
 I yielded to her wishes. Could I else ? My letter to her 
 mother concluded with a respectful entreaty that she would take 
 apartments in our dwelling, and a chair at our table, and lessen, 
 to this extent, the expenses of her own establishment. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the frenzied woman to Julia's aunt, to 
 whom the charge of presenting the communication was commit- 
 ted "what! eat the bread of that insolent and ungrateful 
 wretch ? Never ! never !" 
 
 She flung the epistle from her with disdain ; and, to confess 
 a truth, though, on Julia's account, I should have wished a 
 reconciliation, I was by no means sorry, on my own, that such 
 was her ultimatum. I gave myself little further concern about 
 this foolish person, and was happy to see that in a short time 
 my wife appeared to recover from the sadness and stupor which 
 the death of her father and the temper of her mother had natu- 
 rally induced. The truth is, she had, for so long a period pre- 
 viously to her marriage, suffered from the persecutions of the 
 latter, and moaned over the shamo, and imbecility of the former, 
 that her present situation was one of great relief, and, for a 
 while, of comparative happiness. 
 
 We lived in a pleasant cottage in the suburbs. A broad and 
 
 G 
 
122 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 placid lake spread out before our dwelling ; and its tiny billows, 
 under the pressure of the sweet southwestern breezes, beat al- 
 most against our very doors. Green and shady groves envi- 
 roned us on three sides, and sheltered us from the intrusive 
 gaze of the highway ; and never was a brighter collection of 
 flowers and blossoms clustered around any habitation of hope 
 and happiness before. I rented the cottage on moderate terms, 
 and furnished it neatly, but simply, as became iny resources. 
 All things considered, the prospect was fair and promising be- 
 fore us. Julia had few toils, and ample leisure for painting and 
 music, for both of which she had considerable taste ; for the for- 
 mer art, in particular, she possessed no small talent. 
 
 Our city, indeed, seemed one peculiarly calculated for these 
 arts. Our sky was blue deeply, beautifully blue ; our climate 
 mild and delightful. Our people were singularly endowed with 
 the genius for graceful and felicitous performances. Music was 
 an ordinary attribute of the great mass ; and in no community 
 under the sun was there such an overflow of talent in painting 
 and sculpture. It was the grand error of our wise heads to 
 fancy that our city could be made one of great trade ; and, in a 
 vain struggle to give it some commercial superiority over its 
 neighbor communities, the wealth of the people was thrown 
 away upon projects that yielded nothing; and the arts were 
 left neglected in a region which might have been made and 
 might still be made if not exclusively, at least pre-eminently 
 their own. The ordinary look of the women was beauty, the 
 ordinary accent was sweetness. The soft moonlight evenings 
 were rendered doubly harmonious by the tender tinkling of the 
 wandering guitar, or the tones of the plaintive flute; while, 
 from every third dwelling, rose the more stately but scarcely 
 sweeter melodies stricken by pliant fingers from the yielding 
 soul of the divine piano. The tastes even of the mechanic were 
 refined by this language, the purest in which passion ever 
 speaks; and an ambition the result of the highest tone of 
 aristocratic influence upon society prompted his desires to 
 purposes and a position to which in other regions he is not often 
 permitted to aspire. These influences were assisted by the 
 peculiar location of our city by its suburban freedom from all 
 closeness ; its innumerable gardens, the appanage of every 
 
HONEYMOON PEBIOD. 12S 
 
 household; its piazzas, verandahs, porches; its broad and min- 
 strel-wooing rivers; and the majestic and evergreen forests, 
 which grew and gathered around us on every hand. If ever 
 there was a city intended by nature more particularly than an- 
 other for the abodes and the offices of art, it was ours. It will 
 become so yet : the mean, money-loving soul of trade can not 
 always keep it from its destinies. We may never see it in our 
 day ; but so surely as we live, and as it shall live, will it be- 
 come an Athens in our land a city of empire by the sea, 
 renowned for genius and taste and the chosen retreat of 
 muses, younger and more vigorous, and not less lovely, than 
 the old ! 
 
 Julia was in a very high degree impregnated with the taste 
 and desire for art which seemed so generally the characteristic 
 of our people. I speak not now of the degree of skill which 
 she possessed. Her teacher was a foreigner, and a mere me- 
 chanic; but, while he taught her only the ordinary laws of 
 painting, her natural endowment wrought more actively in favor 
 of her performances. She soon discovered how much she could 
 learn from the little which her teacher knew ; and when she 
 made this discovery, she ceased to have any use for his assist- 
 ance. Books, the study of the old masters, and such of the new 
 as were available to her, served her infinitely more in the pros- 
 ecution of her efforts ; and these I stimulated by all means in 
 my power : for I esteemed her natural endowments to be very 
 high, a*nd very well knew how usual ft is for young ladies, after 
 marriage, to give up those tastes and accomplishments which 
 had distinguished and heightened their previous charms. It 
 was quite enough that I admired the art, and tasked her to its 
 pursuit, to make her cling to it with alacrity and love. We 
 wandered together early in the morning and at the coming on 
 of evening, over all the sweet, enticing scenes which were fre- 
 quent in our suburbs. Environed by two rivers, wide and clear, 
 with deep forests beyond a broad bay opening upon the sea 
 in front lovely islands of gleaming sand, strewn at pleasant 
 intervals, seeming, beneath the transparent moonlight, the cho- 
 sen places of retreat for naiads from the deep and fairies from 
 the grove there was no lack of objects to delight the eye and 
 woo the pencil to its performances. Besides, never was blue 
 
12-1 CONFESSION, OE THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 sky, and gold-and-purple sunset, more frequent, more rich, more 
 shifting in its shapes and colors, from beauty to superior beauty, 
 than in our latitude. The eye naturally turned up to it with a 
 sense of hunger ; the mind naturally felt the wish to record such 
 hues and aspects for the use of venerating love ; and the eager 
 spirit, beginning to fancy the vision wrought according to its 
 own involuntary wish, seemed spontaneously to cry aloud, in 
 the language of the artist, on whom the consciousness of genius 
 was breaking with a sun-burst for the first time, " I, too, am a 
 painter!" 
 
 J ul la's studio was soon full of beginnings. Fragmentary land- 
 scapes were all about her. Like most southrons, she did not 
 like to finish. There is an impatience of toil of its duration 
 at least in the southern mind, which leaves it too frequently 
 unperforming. This is a natural characteristic of an excitable 
 people. People easily moved are always easily diverted from 
 their objects. People of very vivid fancy are also very capri- 
 cious. There is yet another cause for the non-performance of 
 the southern mind its fastidiousness. In a high state of social 
 refinement, the standards of taste become so very exacting, that 
 the mind prefers not to attempt, rather than to offend that criti- 
 cal judgment which it feels to be equally active in its analysis 
 and rigid in its requisitions. Genius and ambition must be in- 
 dependent of such restraints. "Be bold, be bold, be bold!" is 
 the language of encouragement in Spenser ; and when he says, 
 at the end, " Be not too bold," we are to consider the qualifica- 
 tion as simply a quiet caution not to allow proper courage to 
 rush into rashness and insane license. The genius that suffers 
 itself to be fettered by the precise, will perhaps learn how to 
 polish marble, but will never make it live, and will certainly 
 never live very long itself ! 
 
 With books and music, painting and flowers, we passed the 
 happy moments of the honeymoon. I yielded as little of my- 
 self and my mind to my office and clients, in that period, as I 
 possibly could. My cottage was my paradise. My habits, as 
 might be inferred from my history, were singularly domestic. 
 Doomed, as I had been, from my earliest years, to know neither 
 friends nor parents ; isolated, in my infancy, from all those ten- 
 der ties which impress upon the heart, for all succeeding years, 
 
HONEYMOON PERIOD. 125 
 
 tokens of the most endearing affection ; denied the smiles of 
 those who yet filled my constant sight my life was a long 
 yearning for things of love for things to love! While the 
 struggle continued between Julia's parents and myself, though 
 confiding in her love, I had yet no confidence in my own hope 
 to realize and to secure it. Now that it was mine mine, at 
 last I grew uxorious in its contemplation. Like the miser, I 
 had my treasure at home, and I hastened home to survey it 
 with precisely the same doubts, and hopes, and fears, which the 
 disease of avarice prompts in the unhappy heart of its victim 
 To this disease, in chief, I have to attribute all my future sor 
 rows ; but the time is not yet for that. It is my joys now that 
 I have to contemplate and describe. How I dwelt, and how I 
 dreamed ! how I seemed to tread on air, in the unaccustomed 
 fullness of my spirit ! how my whole soul, given up to the one 
 pursuit, I fondly fancied had secured its object! I fancied 
 nay, for the time, I was happy ! Surely, I was happy ! 
 
126 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE HAPPY SEASON. 
 
 SURELY, I then was happy ! I can not deceive myself as tc 
 the character of those brief Eden moments of security and peace. 
 Even now, lone as I appear in the sight of others degraded 
 as I feel myself even now I look back on our low white cot- 
 tage, by the shores of that placid lake its little palings gleam- 
 ing sweetly through its dense green foliage recall those happy, 
 halcyon days, and feel that we both, for the time, had attained 
 the secret the secret worth all the rest of an enjoyment 
 actually felt, and quite as full, flush, and satisfactory, as it had 
 seemed in the perspective. Possession had taken nothing of 
 the gusto from hope. Truth had not impaired a single beauty 
 of the ideal. I looked in Julia's face at morning when I awa- 
 kened, and her loveliness did not fade. My lips, that drank 
 sweetness from hers, did not cease to believe the sweetness to 
 be there as pure, as warm, as full of richness, as when I had 
 only dreamed of their perfections. Our days and nights were 
 pure, and gentle, and fond. One twenty-four hours shall speak 
 for all. 
 
 When we rose at morning, we prepared for a ramble, either 
 into the woods, or along the banks of the lovely river that lay 
 west of, and at a short distance only from, our dwelling. There, 
 wandering, as the sun rose, we imparted to each other's eyes 
 the several objects of beauty which his rising glance betrayed. 
 Sometimes we sat beneath a tree, while she hurriedly sketched 
 a clump of woods, the winding turn of the shore, its occasional 
 crescent form or abrupt headland, as they severally appeared 
 in a new light, and at a happy moment of timo, beneath our 
 vision. The songs of pleasant birds allured us on the sweet 
 scent of pines and myrtle refreshed us ; and a gay, wholesome, 
 hearty spirit was awakened in our mutual bosoms, as thus, 
 
THE HAPPY SEASON. 127 
 
 after day, while, like the day, our hearts were in their first 
 youth, we resorted to the ever- fresh mansions of the sovereign 
 Nature. This hahit produces purity of feeling, and continues 
 the habit in its earliest simplicity. The childlike laws which 
 it encourages and strengthens are those which virtue most loves, 
 and which strained forms of society are the first to overthrow. 
 The pure tastes of youth are those which are always most dear 
 to humanity ; and love is easy of access, and peace not often a 
 stranger to the mind, where these tastes preserve their ascen- 
 dency. 
 
 My profession was something at variance with these tastes 
 and feelings. The very idea of law, which presupposes the 
 frequent occurrence of injustice, engenders, by its practice, a 
 habit of suspicion. To throw doubt upon the fact, and defeat 
 and prevent convictions of the probable, are habits which law- 
 yers soon acquire. This is natural from the daily encounter 
 with bad and striving men men who employ the law as an 
 instrument by which to evade right, or inflict wrong ; and, this 
 apart, the acute mind loves, for its own sake, the very exercise 
 of doubt, by which ingenuity is put in practice, and an adroit 
 discrimination kept constantly at work. 
 
 I was saved, however, from something of this danger. The 
 injustice which I had been subjected to, in my own boyhood, 
 had filled me with the keenest love for the right. The idea of 
 injustice aroused my sternest feelings of resistance. I had 
 adopted the law as a profession with- something of a patriotic 
 feeling. I felt that I could make it an instrument for putting 
 down the oppressor, the wrong-doer for asserting right, and 
 maintaining innocence ! I had my admiration, too, at that 
 period, of that logical astuteness, that wonderful tenacity of 
 hold and pursuit, and discrimination of attribute and subject, 
 which distinguish this profession beyond all others, and seem 
 to confirm the assumption made in its behalf, by which it has 
 been declared the perfection of human reason. It will not be 
 subtracting anything from this estimate, if I express my con- 
 viction, founded upon my own experience, that, though such 
 may be the character of the law as an abstract science, it de- 
 serves no such encomium as it is ordinarily practised. Lawyer* 
 are too commonly profound only in the technicalities of the 
 
128 CONFESSION, OR THE BUND HEART. 
 
 profession ; and a very keen study and acquaintance with these 
 certainly a too great reliance upon them, and upon the dicta 
 of other lawyers leads to a dreadful departure from elemen- 
 tary principles, and a most woful disregard, if not ignorance, of 
 those profouuder sources of knowledge without which laws mul- 
 tiply at the expense of reason, and not in support of it ; and 
 lawyers may be compared to those ignorant captains to whom 
 good ships are intrusted, who rely upon continual sounding to 
 grope their way along the accustomed shores. Let them once 
 leave the shores, and get heyond the reach of their plummets, 
 and the good ship must owe its safety to fortune and the favor 
 of the winds, for further skill is none. 
 
 I did not find the practice of the law affect my taste for do- 
 mestic pleasures ; on the contrary, it stimulated and preserved 
 them. After toiling a whole morning in the courts, it was a 
 sweet reprieve to be allowed to hurry off to my quiet cottage, 
 and hear the one dear voice of my household, and examine the 
 quiet pictures. These never stunned me with clamors ; I was 
 never pestered by them to determine the meum et tuum between 
 noisy disputants, neither of whom is exactly right. There, 
 my eye could repose on the sweetest scenes scenes of beauty 
 and freshness the shady verdure of the woods, the rich va- 
 riety of flowers, and pure, calm, transparent waters, hallowed 
 by the meek glances of the matron moon. No creature could 
 have been more gentle than my wife. She met me with a com- 
 posed smile, equally bright and meek. I never heard a com- 
 plaint from her lips. The evils of which other men complain 
 the complaints about servants, scoldings about delay or din- 
 ner never reached my ears. The kindest solicitude that, in 
 my fatigue, or amid the toils of a business of which wives can 
 know little, and for which they make too little allowance, there 
 should be nothing at home to make me irritable or give me dis- 
 quiet, distinguished equally her sense and her affection. If it 
 became her duty to communicate any unpleasant intelligence 
 any tidings which might awaken anger or impatience she 
 carefully waited for the proper time, when the excitement of 
 my blood was overcome, and repose of blood and brain had nat- 
 urally brought about a kindred composure of mind. 
 
 Our afternoons were usually spent in the shade of the garden 
 
THE HAPPY SEASON. 129 
 
 or piazza. Sometimes, I sat by her while she was sketching. 
 At others, she helped me to dress and train my garden-vines. 
 Now and then we renewed our rambles of the morning, heed- 
 fully observing the different aspects of the same scenes and 
 object, which had then delighted us, under the mellowing 
 smiles of the sun at its decline. With books, music, and chess, 
 our evenings passed away without our consciousness j and day 
 melted into night, and night departed and gave place to the 
 new-born day, as quietly as if life had, in truth, become to us a 
 great instrument of harmony, which bore us over the smooth 
 seas of Time, to the gentle beating of fairy and unseen min- 
 strelsy. Truly, then, we were two happy children. The older 
 children of this world, stimulated by stronger tastes and more 
 lofty indulgences, may smile at the infantile simplicity of such 
 resources and modes of enjoyment. They were childish, but 
 perhaps not the less wise for that. Infancy lies very near to 
 heaven. Childhood is a not unfit study for angels ; and happy 
 were it for us could we maintain the hearts and the hopes of that 
 innocent period for a longer day within our bosoms. In our 
 world we grow too fast, too presumptuously. We live on too 
 rich food, moral and intellectual. The artifices of our tastes 
 prove most fatally the decline of our reason. But, for us we 
 two linked hearts, so segregated from all beside we certainly 
 lived the lives of children for a while. But we were not to 
 live thus always. In some worldly respects, I was still a child : 
 I cared little for its pomps, its small honors, its puny efforts, its 
 tinselly displays. But I had vices of mind vices of my own 
 sufficient to embitter the social world where all seems now 
 so sweet where all, in truth, was sweet, and pure, and worthy 
 and which might, under other circumstances, have been kept 
 BO to the last. I am now to describe a change ! 
 
 6 
 
180 CONFESStON, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE EVIL PRINCIPLE. 
 
 HERETOFORE, I have spoken of the blind hearts of others - 
 of Mr. Clifford and his wilful wife I have yet said little to 
 show the blindness of my own. This task is now before me, 
 and, with whatever reluctance, the exhibition shall resolutely 
 be made. I have described a couple newly wed eminently 
 happy blessed with tolerable independence resources from 
 without and within dwelling in the smiles of Heaven, and 
 not uncheered by the friendly countenance of man. I am to 
 display the cloud, which hangs small at first, a mere speck, but 
 which is to grow to a gloomy tempest that is to swallow up 
 the loveliness of the sky, and blacken with gloom and sorrow 
 the fairest aspects of the earth. I am to show the worm in the 
 bud which is to bring blight the serpent in the garden which 
 is to spoil the Eden. Wo, beyond all other woes, that this ser- 
 pent should be engendered in one's own heart, producing its 
 blindness, and finally working its bane ! Yet, so it is ! The 
 story is a painful one to tell ; the task is one of self-humiliation. 
 But the truth may inform others may warn, may strengthen, 
 may save before their hearts shall be utterly given up to that 
 blindness which must end in utter desperation and irretrievable 
 overthrow. 
 
 If the reader has not been utterly unmindful of certain moral 
 suggestions which have been thrown out passingly in my pre- 
 vious narrative, he will have seen that, constitutionally, I am 
 of an ardent, impetuous temper an active mind, ready, ear- 
 nest, impatient of control seeking the difficult for its own 
 sake, and delighting in the conquest which is unexpected by 
 others. 
 
 Such a nature is usually frank and generous. It believes in 
 
THE EVIL PRINCIPLE. 131 
 
 the affections it depends upon them. It freely gives its own, 
 but challenges the equally free and spontaneous gift of yours 
 in return. It has little faith in the things which fill the hearts 
 of the mere worldlings. Worldly honors may delight it, but 
 not worldly toys. It has no veneration for gewgaws. The 
 shows of furniture and of dress it despises. The gorgeous equi- 
 page is an encumbrance to it ; the imposing jewel it would not 
 wear, lest it might subtract something from that homage which 
 it prefers should be paid to the wearer. It is all selfish 
 thoroughly selfish but not after the world's fashion of selfish- 
 ness. It hoards nothing, and gives quite as much as it asks. 
 What does it ask ? What ? It asks for love devoted attach- 
 ment ; the homage of the loved one and the friends ; the im- 
 plicit confidence of all around it ! Ah ! can anything be more 
 exacting 1 Cruelly exacting, if it be not worthy of that it asks ! 
 
 Imagine such a nature, denied from the beginning ! The 
 parents of its youth are gone! the brother and the sister 
 the father and the friend ! It is destitute, utterly, of these ! 
 It is also destitute of those resources of fortune which are sup- 
 posed to be sufficient to command them. It is thrown upon the 
 protection, the charge of strangers. Not strangers no ! From 
 strangers, perhaps, but little could be expected. It is thrown 
 upon the care of relatives a father's brother ! Could the tie 
 be nearer ? Not well ! But it had been better if strangers had 
 been its guardians. Then it might have learned to endure more 
 patiently. At least, it would have felt less keenly the pangs 
 inflicted by neglect, contumely, injustice. In this situation it 
 grows up, like some sapling torn from its parent forest, its 
 branches hacked off, its limbs lacerated ! It grows up in a 
 stranger-soil. The sharp winds assail it from every quarter. 
 But still it lives it grows. It grows wildly, rudely, ungrace- 
 fully ; but it is strong and tough, in consequence of its exposure 
 and its trials. Its vitality increases with every collision which 
 shakes and rends it ; until, in the pathetic language of relatives 
 unhappily burdened with such encumbrances, " it seems impos- 
 sible to kill it !" 
 
 I will not say that mine tried to kill me, but I do say that 
 they took precious little care that I was not killed. The effect 
 upon my body was good, however the effect of their indiffer- 
 
132 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 ence. This roughening process is a part of physical training 
 which very few parents understand. It is essential should 
 he insisted on hut it must not he accompanied with a moral 
 roughening, which forces upon the mind of the pupil the con- 
 viction that the ordeal is meant for his destruction rather than 
 for his good. There will he a recoil of the heart a cruel 
 recoil from the humanities if such a conviction once fills the 
 mind. It was this recoil which I felt ! With warm affections 
 seeking for objects of love with feelings of hope and venera- 
 tion, imploring for altars to which to attach themselves I was 
 commanded to go alone. The wilderness alone was open to 
 me : what wonder if my heart grew wild and capricious even 
 as that of the savage who dwells only amid their cheerless re- 
 cesses 1 With a smile judiciously bestowed with a kind word, 
 a gentle tone, an occasional voice of earnest encouragement 
 my uncle and aunt might have fashioned my heart at their 
 pleasure. I should have been as clay in the hands of the pot- 
 ter a pliant willow in the grasp of the careful trainer. A na- 
 ture constituted like mine is, of all others, the most flexible ; 
 but it is also, of all others, the most resisting and incorrigible. 
 Approach it with a judicious regard to its affections, and you 
 do with it what you please. Let it but fancy that it is the vic- 
 tim of your injustice, however slight, and the war is an intermi- 
 nable one between you ! 
 
 Thus did I learn the first lessons of suspiciousness. They 
 attended me to the schoolhouse ; they governed and made me 
 watchful there. The schoolhouse, the play-places the very 
 regions of earnest faith and unlimited confidence produced 
 no such effects in me. They might have done so, had I ceased, 
 on going to school, to see my relatives any longer. But the 
 daily presence of my uncle and aunt, with their system of con- 
 tinued injustice, at length rendered my suspicious moods habit- 
 ual. I became shy. I approached nobody, or approached them 
 with doubt and watchfulness. I learned, at the earliest period, 
 to look into character, to analyze conduct, to pry into the mys- 
 terious involutions of the working minds around me. I traced, 
 or fancied that I traced, the performance to the unexpressed and 
 secret motive in which it had its origin. I discovered, or be- 
 lieved that I discovered, that the world was divided into ban- 
 
THE EVIL PRINCIPLE. 133 
 
 ditti and hypocrites. At that day I made little allowance for 
 the existence of that larger class than all, who happen to be the 
 victims. Unless this were the larger class, the other two must 
 very much and very rapidly diminish. My infant philosophy 
 did not carry me very deeply into the recesses of my own heart. 
 Jt was enough that I felt some of its dearest rights to be out-- 
 raged I did not care to inquire whether it was altogether 
 right itself. 
 
 At length, there was a glimpse of dawn amid all this dark 
 ness. The world was not altogether evil. All hearts were not 
 shut against me ; and in the sweet smiles of Julia Clifford, ii 
 her kind attentions, soothing assurances, and fond entreaties, 
 there was opportunity, at last, for my feelings to overflow. 
 Like a mountain-stream long pent up, which at length breaks 
 through its confinements, my affections rushed into the grateful 
 channel which her pliant heart afforded me. They were wild, 
 and strong, and devoted, in proportion to their long denial and 
 restraint. Was it not natural enough that I should love with 
 no ordinary attachment that my love should be an impetuous 
 torrent all-devoted struggling, striving rushing only in 
 the one direction believing, in truth, that there was nont 
 other in the world in which to run ? 
 
 This was a natural consequence of the long sophistication of 
 my feelings. I knew nothing of the world of society. I had 
 shared in none of its trusts ; I had only felt its exactions. Like 
 some country-boy, or country -girl, for the first time brought into 
 the great world, I surrendered myself wholly to the first grati 
 fied impulse. I made no conditions, no qualifications. I set 
 all my hopes of heart upon a single cast of the die, and did noi 
 ask what might be the consequences if the throw was unfoi 
 tunate. 
 
 One of tb.e good effects of a free communication of the youn^ 
 with society is, to lessen the exacting nature of the affections. 
 People who live too much to themselves in their own centre, 
 and for their own single objects become fastidious to disease. 
 They ask too much from their neighbors. Willing to surrendei 
 their own affections at a glance, they fancy the world wanting 
 in sensibility when they find that their readiness in this ~especi 
 fails to produce a corresponding readiness in others. This is 
 
134 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 the natural history of that enthusiasm which is thrown back 
 upon itself and is chilled by denial. The complaint of coldness 
 and selfishness against the world is very common among very 
 young or very inexperienced men. The world gets a bad char- 
 acter, simply because it refuses to lavish its affections along tha 
 highways simply because it is cautious in giving its trusts, and 
 expects proofs of service and actual sympathy rather than pro- 
 fessions. Men like myself, of a warm, impetuous nature, com- 
 plain of the heartlessness of mankind. They fancy themselves 
 peculiarly the victims of an unkind destiny in this respect ; and 
 finally cut their throats in a moment of frenzy, or degenerate 
 into a cynicism that delights in contradictions, in sarcasms, in 
 self-torture, and the bitterest hostility to their neighbors. 
 
 Society itself is the only and best corrective of this unhappy 
 disposition. The first gift to the young, therefore, should be 
 the gift of society. By this word society, however, I do not 
 mean a set, a clique, a pitiable little circle. Let the sphere of 
 movement be sufficiently extended as large as possible- that 
 the means of observation and thought may be sufficiently com- 
 prehensive, and no influences from one man or one family shall 
 be suffered to give the bias to the immature mind and inexpe- 
 rienced judgment. In society like this, the errors, prejudices, 
 weaknesses, of one man, are corrected by a totally opposite 
 form of character in another. The mind of the youth hesitates. 
 Hesitation brings circumspection, watchfulness ; watchfulness, 
 discrimination ; discrimination, choice ; and a capacity to choose 
 implies the attainment of a certain degree of deliberateness and 
 judgment with which the youth may be permitted to go upon 
 his way, supposed to be provided for in the difficult respect of 
 being able henceforward to take care of himself. 
 
 I had no society knew nothing of society saw it at a 
 distance, under suspicious circumstances, and was myself an 
 object of itfl suspicion. Its attractions were desirable to me, 
 but seemed unattainable. It required some sacrifices to obtain 
 its entree, and these sacrifices were the very ones which my 
 independence would not allow me to make. My independence 
 was my treasure, duly valued in proportion to the constant 
 strife by which it was assailed. I had that ! That could not 
 be taken from me. That kept me from sinking into the slave 
 
THE EVIL PRINCIPLE. 135 
 
 tbe tool, the sycophant, perhaps the brute ; tliat prompted me 
 to hard study in secret places ; that strengthened my heart, 
 when, desolate and striving against necessity, I saw nothing of 
 the smiles of society, and felt nothing of the bounties of life. 
 Then came my final emancipation my success my triumph ! 
 My independence was assailed no longer. My talents were no 
 longer doubted or denied. My reluctant neighbors sent in their 
 adhesion. My uncle forbore his sneers. Lastly, and now 
 Julia was mine ! My heart's desires were all gratified as com- 
 pletely as my mind's ambition ! 
 
 Was I happy ? The inconsiderate mind will suppose this 
 very probable will say, I should be. But evil seeds that are 
 planted in the young heart grow up with years not so rapidly 
 or openly as to offend and grow to be poisonous weeds with 
 maturity. My feelings were too devoted, too concentrative, too 
 all-absorbing, to leave me happy, even when they seemed grati- 
 fied. The man who has but a single jewel in the world, is very 
 apt to labor under a constant apprehension of its loss. He who 
 knows but one object of attachment whose heart's devotion 
 turns evermore but to one star of all the countless thousands in 
 the heavens wo is he, if that star be shrouded from his gaze 
 in the sudden overflow of storms ! still more wo is he, when 
 that star withdraws, or seems to withdraw, its corresponding 
 gaze, or turns it elsewhere upon another worshipper ! See you 
 not the danger which threatened me ? See you not that, never 
 having been beloved before never having loved but the one 
 I loved that one with all my heart, with all my soul, with all 
 my strength ; and required from that one the equal love of heart, 
 soul, strength 1 ? See you not that my love linked with impa- 
 tient mind, imperious blood, impetuous enthusiasm, and suspi- 
 cious fear -was a devotion exacting as the grave searching 
 as fever as jealous of the thing whose worship it demands as 
 God is said to be of ours ? 
 
 Mine was eminently a jealous heart ! On this subject of 
 jealousy, men rarely judge correctly. They speak of Othello 
 as jealous Othello, one of the least jealous of all human na- 
 tures ! Jealousy is a quality that needs no cause. It makes 
 its own cause. It will find or make occasion for its exercise, 
 in the most innocent circumstances. The proofs that made 
 
136 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 Othello wretched and revengeful, were sufficient to have de- 
 ceived any jury under the sun. He had proofs. He had a 
 strong case to go upon. It would have influenced any judg- 
 ment. He did not seek or find these proofs for himself. He 
 did not wish to find them. He was slow to see them. His was 
 not jealousy. His error was that of pride and self-esteem. He 
 was outraged in both. His mistake was in being too prompt of 
 action in a case which admitted of deliberation. This was the 
 error of a proud man, a soldier, prompt to decide, prompt to act, 
 and to punish if necessary. But never was human character 
 less marked by a jealous mood than that of Othello. His great 
 self-esteem was, of itself, a sufficient security against jealousy 
 Mine might have been, had it not been so terribly diseased by 
 ill-training. 
 
PRESENTIMENTS. 137 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PRESENTIMENTS. 
 
 WITHOUT apprehending the extent of my own weakness, the 
 forms that it would take, or the tyrannies that it would inflict, 
 I was still not totally uninformed on the subject of my peculiar 
 character ; and, fearing then rather that I might, pain my wife 
 by some of its wanton demonstrations, than that she would ever 
 furnish me with an occasion for them, I took an opportunity, a 
 few evenings after our marriage, to suggest to her the necessity 
 of regarding my outbreaks with an indulgent eye. 
 
 My heart had been singularly softened by the most touching 
 associations. We sat together in our piazza, beneath a flood 
 of the richest and balmiest moonlight, screened only from its 
 silvery blaze by interposing masses of the woodbine, mingled 
 with shoots of oleander, arbor-vitse, and other shrub-trees. The 
 mild breath of evening sufficed only to lift quiveringly their 
 green leaves and glowing blossoms, to stir the hair upon our 
 cheeks, and give to the atmosphere that wooing freshness which 
 seems so necessary a concomitant of the moonlight. The hand 
 of Julia was in mine. There were few words spoken between 
 us ; love has its own sufficing language, and is content with that 
 consciousness that all is right which implores no other assu- 
 rances. Julia had just risen from the piano : we had both been 
 touched with a deeper sense of the thousand harmonies in na- 
 ture, by listening to those of Rossini ; and now, gazing upon 
 some transparent, fleecy, white clouds that were slowly pressing 
 forward in the path of the moonlight, as if in duteous attendance 
 upon some maiden queen, our mutual minds were busied in 
 framing pictures from the fine yet fantastic forms that glowed, 
 gathering on our gaze. I felt the hand of Julia trembling in 
 
138 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 my own. Her head sank upon my shoulder ; I felt a warm 
 drop fall from her eyes upon my hand, and exclaimed 
 
 " Julia, you weep ! wherefore do you weep, dear wife ?" 
 
 " With joy, my husband ! My heart is full of joy. I am sc 
 happy, I can only weep. Ah ! tears alone speak for the true 
 happiness." 
 
 " Ah ! would it last, Julia would it last !" 
 
 " Oh, doubt not that it will last. Why should it not ? What 
 have we to fear V 
 
 Mine was a serious nature. I answered sadly, if not gloom- 
 
 a y! - 
 
 "Because it is a joy of life that we feel, and it must share 
 the vicissitudes of life." 
 
 " True, true, but love is a joy of eternal life as well as of 
 this." 
 
 There was a beautiful and consoling truth in this one little 
 sentence, which my self-absorption was too great, at the time, 
 to suffer me to see. Perhaps even she herself was not fully 
 conscious of the glorious and pregnant truth which lay at the 
 ,ottom of what she said. Love is, indeed, not merely a joy of 
 eternal life : it is the joy of eternal life ! its particular joy 
 a dim shadow of which we Gometimes feel in this pure, last- 
 ing, comparatively perfect, the more it approaches, in its per- 
 formances and its desires, the divine essence, of which it is so 
 poor a likeness. We should so live, so love, as to make the one 
 run into the other, even as a small river runs down, through a 
 customary channel, into the great deeps of the sea. Death 
 should be to the affections a mere channel through which they 
 pass into a natural, a necessary condition, where their streams 
 flow with more freedom, and over which, harmoniously control" 
 ling, as powerful, the spirit of love broods ever with " dovelike 
 wings outspread." I answered, still gloomily, in the customary 
 world commonplaces : 
 
 " We must expect the storm. It will not be moonlight al- 
 ways. We must look for the cloud. Age, sickness, death ! 
 ah ! do these not follow on our footsteps, ever unerring, certain 
 always, but so often rapid ? Soon, how soon, they haunt us in 
 the happiest moments they meet us at every corner! They 
 never altogether leave us." 
 
PRESENTIMENTS. 139 
 
 "Enough, dear husband. Dwell not upon these gloomy 
 thoughts. Ah! why should you now? 1 
 
 " I will not ; but there are others, Julia." 
 
 " What others 1 Evils V 9 
 
 " Sadder evils yet than these." 
 
 "Oh, no! I hope not." 
 
 " Coldness of the once warm heart. The chill of affection ic 
 the loved one. Estrangement indifference ! ah, Julia !" 
 
 " Impossible, Edward ! This can not, must not be, with us, 
 You do not think that I could be cold to you; and you ah! 
 surely you will never cease to love me V 9 
 
 " Never, I trust, never !" 
 
 "No! you must not shall not. Oh, Edward, let me die 
 first before such a fear should fill my breast. You I love, as 
 none was loved before. Without your love, I am nothing. If 
 I can not hang upon you, where can I hang ?" 
 
 And she clung to me with a grasp as if life and death de- 
 pended on it, while her sobs, as from a full heart, were insup- 
 pressible in spite of all her efforts. 
 
 " Fear nothing, dearest Julia : do you not believe that I love 
 you 1" 
 
 " Ah ! if I did not, Edward " 
 
 " It is with you always to make me love you. You are as 
 completely the mistress of my whole heart as if it had acknowl- 
 edged no laws but yours from the beginning." 
 
 " What am I to do, dear Edward ?" 
 
 " Forbear be indulgent pity me and spare me !" 
 
 " What mean you, Edward ?" 
 
 " That heart which is all and only yours, Julia, is yet, I am 
 assured, a wilful and an erring heart ! I feel that it is strange, 
 wayward, sometimes unjust to others, frequently to itself. It 
 is a cross-grained, capricious heart ; you will find its exactions 
 irksome." 
 
 " Oh, I know it better. You wrong yourself." 
 
 "No! In the solemn sweetness of this hour, dear Julia 
 now, while all things are sweet to our eyes, all things dear to 
 our affections I feel a chill of doubt and apprehension come 
 over me. I am so happy so unusually happy that I can 
 not feel sure that I am so that my happiness will continue 
 
140 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 long. I will try, on my own part, to do nothing by which to 
 risk its loss. But I feel that I am too wilful, at times, to he 
 strong in keeping a resolution which is so very necessary to our 
 mutual happiness. You must help you must strengthen me, 
 Julia." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! but how ? I will do anything be anything." 
 
 " I am capricious, wayward ; at times, full of injustice. Love 
 me not less that I am so that I sometimes show this wayward- 
 ness to you that I sometimes do injustice to your love. Bear 
 with me till the dark mood passes from my heart. I have these 
 moods, or have had them, frequently. It may be I trust it 
 will be that, blessed with your love, and secure in its posses- 
 sion, there will be no room in my heart for such ugly feelings. 
 But I know not. They sometimes take supreme possession of 
 me. They seize upon me in all places. They wrap my spirit 
 as in a cloud. I sit apart. I scowl upon those around me. I 
 feel moved to say bitter things to shoot darts in defiance at 
 every glance to envenom every sentence which I speak. 
 These are cruel moods. I have striven vainly to shake them 
 off. They have grown up with my growth have shared in 
 whatever strength I have ; and, while they embitter my own 
 thoughts and happiness, I dread that they will fling their shadow 
 upon yours !" 
 
 She replied with gayety, with playfulness, but there was an 
 effort in it. 
 
 " Oh, you make the matter worse than it is. I suppose all 
 that troubles you is the blues. But you will never have them 
 again. When I see them coming on I will sit by you and sing 
 to you. We will come out here and watch the evening ; or you 
 shall read to me, or we will ramble in the garden or a thou- 
 sand things which shall make you forget that there was ever 
 such a thing in the world as sorrow." 
 
 " Dear Julia will you do this ?" 
 
 "More everything to make you happy." And she drew 
 me closer in her embrace, and her lips with a tremulous, almost 
 convulsive sweetness, were pressed upon my forehead ; and cling- 
 ing there, oh ! how sweetly did she weep ! 
 
 " You will tire of my waywardness of my exactions. Ah 1 
 I shall force you from my side by my caprice." 
 
PRESENTIMENTS. 141 
 
 " You can not, Edward, if you would," she replied, in mournful 
 accents like my own, " I have no remedy against you ! I have 
 nobody now to whom to turn. Have I not driven all from my 
 side all but you?" 
 
 It was my task to soothe her now. 
 
 " Nay, Julia, be not you sorrowful. You must continue glad 
 and blest, that you may conquer my sullen moods, my dark pre- 
 sentiments. When I tell you of the evils of my temper, I tell 
 you of occasional clouds only. Heaven forbid that they should 
 give an enduring aspect to our heavens ! 
 
 She responded fervently to my ejaculation. I continued: 
 
 " I have only sought to prepare you for the management of 
 my arbitrary nature, to keep you from suffering too much, and 
 sinking beneath its exactions. You will bear with me patiently. 
 Forgive me for my evil hours. Wait till the storm has over- 
 blown ; and find me your own, then, as much as before ; and let 
 me feel that you are still mine that the tempest has not sep- 
 arated our little vessels." 
 
 " Will I not ? Ah ! do not fear for me, Edward. It is a hap- 
 piness for me to weep here here, in your arms. When you 
 are sad and moody, I will come as now/' 
 
 " What if I repulse you ?" 
 
 " You will not no, no ! you will not." 
 
 " But if I do ? Suppose " 
 
 " Ah ! it is hard to suppose that. But I will not heed it. I 
 will come again." 
 
 " And again ?" 
 
 "And again!" 
 
 " Then you will conquer, Julia. I feel that you will conquer ! 
 You will drive out the devils. Surely, then, I shall be incor- 
 rigible no longer." 
 
 Such was my conviction then. I little knew myself. 
 
142 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIttD HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DISTRUST. 
 
 I LITTLE knew myself ! This knowledge of one's self is the 
 most important knowledge, which very few of us acquire. We 
 seldom look into our own hearts for other objects than those 
 which will administer to their petty vanities and passing tri- 
 umphs. Could we only look there sometimes for the truth ! 
 But we are blind blind all ! In some respects I was one of 
 the blindest ! 
 
 I have given a brief glimpse of our honeymoon. Perhaps, as 
 the world goes, the picture is by no means an attractive one. 
 Quiet felicity forms but a small item in the sources of happiness, 
 now-a-days, among young couples. Mine was sufficiently quiet 
 and sufficiently humble. One would suppose that he who builds 
 so lowly should have no reason to apprehend the hurricane. 
 Social ambition was clearly no object with either of us. We 
 sighed neither for the glitter nor the regards of fashionable life. 
 Neither upon fine houses, jewels, or equipages, did we set our 
 hearts. For the pleasures of the table I had no passion, and 
 never was young woman so thoroughly regardless of display as 
 Julia Clifford. To be let alone to be suffered to escape in our 
 own way, unharming, unharmed, through the dim avenues of life 
 was assuredly all that we asked from man. Perhaps I say 
 it without cant this, perhaps, was all that we possibly asked 
 from heaven. This was all that I asked, at least, and this was 
 much. It was asking what had never yet been accorded to hu- 
 manity. In the vain assumption of my heart I thought that my 
 demands were moderate. 
 
 Let no man console himself with the idea that his chances of 
 success are multiplied in degree with the insignificance, or seem- 
 ing insignificance, of his aims. Perhaps the very reverse of thi 
 
DISTRUST. 143 
 
 is the truth. He who seeks for many objects of enjoyment 
 whose tastes are diversified has probably the very best prospect 
 that some of them may be gratified. He is like the merchant 
 whose ventures on the sea are divided among many vessels. He 
 may lose one or more, yet preserve the main bulk of his fortune 
 from the wreck. But he who has onljua single bark one freight- 
 age, however costly whose whole estate is invested in the one 
 venture let him lose that, and all is lost. It does not matter 
 that his loss, speaking relatively, is but little. Suppose his 
 shipment, in general estimation, to be of small value. The loss 
 to him is so much the greater. It was the dearer to him because 
 of its insignificance, and being all that he had ; is quite as con- 
 clusive of his ruin, ai would be the foundering of every vessel 
 which the rich merchant sent to sea. 
 
 I was one of these petty traders. I invested my whole capital 
 of the affections in one precious jewel. Did I lose it, or simply 
 fear its loss ? Time must show. But, of a truth, I felt as the 
 miser feels with his hoarded treasure. While I watched its 
 richness and beauty, doubts and dread beset me. Was it safe ? 
 Everything depended upon its security. Thieves might break 
 in and steal. Enough, for the present, to say, that much of my 
 security, and of the security of all who, like me, possess a dear 
 treasure, depends upon our convictions of security. He who 
 apprehends loss, is already robbed. The reality is scarcely 
 worse than the hourly anticipation of it. 
 
 My friends naturally became the visiters of my family. Cer- 
 tain of the late Mrs. Clifford's friends were also ours. Our cir- 
 cle was sufficiently large for those who already knew how to 
 distinguish between the safe pleasures of a small set, and the 
 horse-play and heartless enjoyments of fashionable jams. Were 
 we permitted in this world to live only for ourselves, we should 
 have been perfectly gratified had this been even less. We should 
 have been very well content to have gone on from day to day 
 without ever beholding the shadow of a stranger upon our 
 threshold. 
 
 This was not permitted, however. We had a round of con- 
 gratulatory visits. Among those who came, the first were the 
 old, long-tried friends to whom I cwed so much the Edgertons. 
 No family could have been more truly amiable than this ; and 
 
144 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 William Edgerton was the most amiable of the family. I have 
 already said enough to persuade the reader that he was a very 
 worthy man. He was more. He was a principled one. Not 
 very highly endowed, perhaps, he was yet an intelligent gentle- 
 man. None could be more modest in expression none less ob- 
 trusive in deportment none more generous in service. The 
 defects in his character were organic not moral. He had no 
 vices no vulgarities. But his temperament was an inactive 
 one. He was apt to be sluggish, and when excited was nervous. 
 He was not irritable, but easily discomposed. His tastes were 
 active at the expense of his genius. With ability, he was yet 
 unperforming. His standards were morbidly fastidious. Fearing 
 to fall below them, he desisted until the moment of action was 
 passed for ever ; and the feeling of his own weakness, in this 
 respect, made him often sad, but to do him justice, never 
 querulous. 
 
 With a person so constituted, the delicate tastes and sensibil- 
 ities are like to be indulged in a very high degree. William 
 Edgerton loved music and all the quiet arts. Painting was his 
 particular delight. He himself sketched with great spirit. He 
 had the happy eye for the tout ensemble in a fine landscape. He 
 knew exactly how much to take in and what to leave out, in the 
 delineation of a lovely scene. This is a happy talent for dis- 
 crimination which the ordinary artist does not possess. It is the 
 capacity which, in the case of orators and poets, informs them of 
 the precise moment when they should stop. It is the happiest 
 sort of judgment, since, though the artist may be neither very 
 excellent in drawing, nor very felicitous in color, it enables 
 him always to bestow a certain propriety on his picture which 
 compensates, to a certain degree, for inferiority in other respects. 
 To know how to grasp objects with spirit, and bestow them 
 with a due regard to mutual dependence, is one of the most ex- 
 quisite faculties of the landscape-painter. 
 
 William Edgerton, had he been forced by necessity to have 
 made the art of painting his profession would have made for him- 
 self a reputation of no inferior kind. But amateur art, like ama- 
 teur literature, rarely produces any admirable fruits. Complete 
 success only attends the devotee to the muse. The worship must 
 b exclusive at her altar ; the attendance constant and unremifc 
 
DISTRUST. 145 
 
 ting. There must be no partial, no divided homage. She is a 
 jealous mistress, like all the rest. The lover of her charms, 
 if he would secure her smiles, must be a professor at he* 
 shrine. He can not come and go at pleasure. She resents 
 such impertinence by neglect. In plain terms, the fine arts 
 must be made a business by those who desire their favor. Like 
 law, divinity, physic, they constitute a profession of their own ; 
 require the same diligent endeavor, close study, fond pursuit ! 
 William Edgerton loved painting, but his business was the law. 
 He loved painting too much to love his profession. He gave 
 too much of his time to the law to be a successful painter too 
 much time to painting to be a lawyer. He was nothing ! At 
 the bar he never rose a step after the first day, when, together, 
 we appeared in our mutual maiden case ; and contenting himself 
 with the occasional execution of a landscape, sketchy and bold, 
 but without finish, he remained in that nether-land of public con- 
 sideration, unable to grasp the certainties of either pursuit at 
 which he nevertheless was constantly striving ; striving, how- 
 ever, with that qualified degree of effort, which, if it never could 
 secure the prize, never could fatigue him much with the endeavor 
 to do so. 
 
 He was perfectly delighted when he first saw some of the 
 sketches of my wife. He had none of that little jealousy 
 which so frequently impairs the temper and the worth of am- 
 ateurs. He could admire without prejudice, and praise without 
 reserve. He praised them. He evidently admired them. He 
 sought every occasion to see them, and omitted none in which 
 to declare his opinion of their merits. This, in the first pleasant 
 season of my marriage when the leaves were yet green and 
 fresh upon the tree of love was grateful to my feelings. I 
 felt happy to discover that my judgment had not erred in the 
 selection of my wife. I stimulated her industry that I might 
 listen to my friend's eulogy. I suggested subjects for her pen- 
 cil. I fitted up an apartment especially as a studio for her use. 
 I bought her some fine studies, lay figures, heads in marble and 
 plaster ; and lavished, in this way, the small surplus fur.d which 
 had heretofore accrued from my professional industry, and that 
 personal frugality with which it was accompanied. 
 
 William Edgerton was now for ever at our house. Hd 
 
 7 
 
146 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 brought his own pictures for the inspection of my wife. He 
 sometimes painted in her studio. He devised rural and 
 aquatic parties with sole reference to landscape scenery and 
 delineation ; and indifferent to the law always, he now aban- 
 doned himself almost entirely to those tastes which seemed to 
 have acquired of a sudden, the strangest and the strongest 
 impulse. 
 
 In this at least for a considerable space of time I saw 
 nothing very remarkable. I knew his tastes previously. I had 
 seen how little disposed he was to grapple earnestly with the 
 duties of his profession ; and did not conceive it surprising, that, 
 with family resources sufficient to yield him pecuniary indepen- 
 dence, he should surrender himself up to the luxurious influence 
 of tastes which were equally lovely in themselves, and natural 
 to the first desires of his mind. But when for days he was 
 missed from his office when the very hours of morning which 
 are most religiously devoted by the profession to its ostensible 
 if not earnest pursuit, were yielded up to the easel and when, 
 overlooking the boundaries which, according to the conventional 
 usage, made such a course improper, he passed many of these 
 mornings at my house, during my absence, I began to entertain 
 feelings of disquietude. 
 
 For these I had then no name. The feelings were vague 
 and indefinable, but not the less unpleasant. I did not fancy 
 for a moment that I was wronged, or likely to be wronged, but 
 I felt that he was doing wrong. Then, too, I had my mis- 
 givings of what the world would think ! I did not fancy that 
 he had any design to wrong me ; but there seemed to me a 
 cruel want of consideration in his conduct. But what annoyed 
 me most was, that Julia should receive him at such periods 
 He was thoughtless, enthusiastic in art, and thoughtless, per- 
 haps, in consequence of his enthusiasm. But I expected that 
 she should think for both of us in such a case. Women, alone, 
 can be the true guardians of appearances where they themselves 
 are concerned ; and it was matter of painful surprise to me that 
 she should not have asked herself the question : " What will 
 the neighbors think, during my husband's absence, to see a 
 stranger, a young man, coming to visit me with periodical regu- 
 larity, morning after morning ?" 
 
DISTRUST. 147 
 
 That she did not ask herself this question should have been 
 a very strong argument to show me that her thoughts were all 
 innocent. But there is a terrible truth in what Caesar said of 
 his wife's reputation : " She must be free from suspicion." She 
 ir.ust not only do nothing wrong, but she must not suffer or do 
 anything which might incur the suspicion of wrong-doing. 
 There is nothing half so sensible to the breath of calumny, as 
 female reputation, particularly in regions of high civilization, 
 where women are raised to an artificial rank of respect, which 
 obviates, in most part, the obligations of their dependence upon 
 man, but increases, in due proportion, some of their responsibili- 
 ties to him. Poor Julia had no circumspection, because she 
 had no feeling of evil. I believe she was purity itself; I 
 equally believe that William Edgerton was quite incapable of 
 evil design. But when I came from my office, the first morning 
 that he had thus passed at my house in my absence, and she told 
 me that he had been there, and how the time had been spent, I 
 felt a pang, like a sharp arrow, suddenly rush into my brain. 
 Julia had no reserve in telling me this fact. It was a subject she 
 seemed pleased to dwell upon. She narrated with the earnest, 
 unseeing spirit of a self-satisfied child, the sort of conversation 
 which had taken place between them praised Edgerton's 
 taste, his delicacy, his subdued, persuasive manners, and show* 
 ed herself as utterly unsophisticated as any Swiss mountain-girl 
 who voluntarily yields the traveller a kiss, and tells her mother of 
 it afterward. I listened with chilled manners and a troubled mind. 
 "You are unwell, Edward," she remarked tenderly, ap- 
 proaching and throwing her arms around my neck, as she per- 
 ceived the gradual gathering of that cloud upon my brows. 
 " Why do you think so, Julia ?" 
 
 "Oh, you look so sad almost severe, Edward, and your 
 words are so few and cold. Have I offended you, dear Edward V* 
 I was confused at this direct question. I felt annoyed, 
 ashamed. I pleaded headache in justification of my manner 
 it did ache, and my heart, too, but not with the ordinary pang ; 
 and I felt a warm blush suffuse my cheek, as I yielded to the 
 first suggestion which prompted me to deceive my wife. 
 
 A large leading step was thus taken, and progress was easy 
 afterward. 
 
148 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 Oil ! sweet spirit of confidence, tliou only true saint, more 
 needful than all, to bind the ties of kindred and affection ! why 
 art thou so prompt to fly at the approach of thy cold, dark en- 
 emy, distrust ? Why dost thou yield the field with so little 
 struggle? Why, when the things, dearest to thee of all in the 
 world's gift its most valued treasure, its purest, sweetest, and 
 proudest trophies why, when these are the stake which is to 
 reward thy courage, thy adherence, to compensate thee for trial, 
 to console thee for loss and outrage why is it that thou art so 
 ready to despond of the cause so dear to thee, and forfeit the 
 conquest by which alone thy whole existence is made sweet. 
 This is the very suicide of self. Fearful of loss, we forsake 
 the prize, which we have won ; and hearkening to the counsel 
 of a natural enemy, eat of that bitter fruit which banishes for 
 ever from our Kps the sweet savor which we knew before, and 
 without which, no savor that is left is sweet. 
 
PBOGBESS OF THE EVIL SPIRIT. 149 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 PROGRESS OF THE EVIL SPIRIT. 
 
 IF 1 felt so deeply annoyed at the first morning visit which 
 William Edgerton paid to my wife, what was my annoyance 
 when these visits became habitual. I was miserable but could 
 not complain. I was ashamed of the language of complaint on 
 such a subject. There is something very ridiculous in the idea 
 of a jealous husband it has always provoked the laughter of 
 the world ; and I was one of those men who shrunk from 
 ridicule with a more than mortal dread. Besides, I really felt 
 no alarm. I had the utmost confidence in my wife's virtue. I had 
 not the less confidence in that of Edgerton. But I was jealous 
 of her deference of her regard for another. She was, in 
 my eyes, as something sacred, set apart a treasure exclusively 
 my own ! Should it be that another should come to divide her 
 veneration with me 1 I was vexed that she should derive satis- 
 faction from another source than myself. This satisfaction she 
 derived from the visits of Edgerton. She freely avowed it. 
 
 " How amiable how pleasant he is," she would say, in the 
 perfect innocence of her heart ; " and really, Edward, he has so 
 much talent !" 
 
 These praises annoyed me. They were as so much worm- 
 wood to my spirit. It must be remembered that I was not my- 
 self what the world calls an amiable man. I doubt if any, 
 even of my best friends, would describe me as a pleasant one. 
 I was a man of too direct and earnest a temperament to estab- 
 lish a claim, in reasonable degree, to either of these character- 
 istics. I was, accordingly, something blunt in my address 
 the tones of my voice were loud my manner was all empresse- 
 xient, except when I was actually angry, and then it was cold. 
 
150 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEAET. 
 
 hard, dry, inflexible. I was the last person in the world to 
 pass for an amiable. Now, Julia, on the other hand, was quiet, 
 subdued, timorous the tones of a strong, decided voice startled 
 her she shrunk from controversy yielded always with a 
 happy grace in anticipation of the conflict, and showed, in all 
 respects, that nice, almost nervous organization which attaches 
 the value of principles and morals to mere manners, and would 
 be as much shocked, perhaps, at the expression of a rudeness, 
 as at the commission of a sin. Not that such persons would 
 hold a sin to be less criminal or innocuous than would we our- 
 selves ; but that they regard mere conduct as of so much more 
 importance. 
 
 When, therefore, she praised William Edgerton for those 
 qualities which I well knew I did not possess, I could not resist 
 the annoyance. My self-esteem continually active stimu- 
 lated as it had been by the constant moral strife, to which it 
 had been subjected from boyhood was continually apprehend- 
 ing disparagement. Of the purity of Julia's heart, and the 
 chastity of her conduct, the very freedom of her utterance was 
 conclusive. Had she felt one single improper emotion toward 
 William Edgerton, her lips would never have voluntarily ut- 
 tered his name, and never in the language of applause. On 
 this head I had not then the slightest apprehension. It was 
 not jealousy so much as egdisme that was preying upon me. 
 Whatever it was, however, it could not be repressed as I 
 listened to the eulogistic language of my wife. I strove, but 
 could not subdue, altogether, the evil spirit which was fast be- 
 coming predominant within me. Yet, though speaking under 
 its immediate influence, I was very far from betraying its true 
 nature. My egdisme had not yet made such advances as to be- 
 come reckless and incautious. I surprised her by my answer 
 to her eulogies. 
 
 " I have no doubt he is amiable he is amiable but that is 
 not enough for a man. He must be something more than ami- 
 able, if he would escape the imputation of being feeble some- 
 thing more if he would be anything !" 
 
 Julia looked at me with eyes of profound and dilating aston- 
 ishment. Having got thus far, it was easy to advance. The 
 first step is half the journey in all such cases. 
 
PROGRESS OF THE EVIL SPIRIT. 151 
 
 " William Edgerton is a little too amiable, perhaps, for his 
 own good. It makes him listless and worthless. He will do 
 nothing at pictures, wasting his time only when he should be at 
 his business." 
 
 " But did I not understand you, Edward, that he was a man 
 of fortune, and independent of his profession ?" she answered 
 timidly. 
 
 " Even that will not justify a man in becoming a trifler. No 
 man should waste his time in painting, unless he makes a trade 
 of it." 
 
 " But his leisure, Edward," suggested Julia, with a look of 
 increasing timidity. 
 
 "His leisure, indeed, Julia; but he has been here all day 
 day after day. If painting is such a passion with him, let 
 him abandon law and take to it. But he should not pursue one 
 art while professing another. It is as if a man hankered after 
 that which he yet lacked the courage to challenge and pursue 
 openly.' 
 
 " I don't think you love pictures as you used to, Edward," 
 she remarked to me, after a little interval passed in unusual 
 silence 
 
 " Perhaps it is because I have matters of more consequence 
 to attend to You seem sufficiently devoted to them now to ex- 
 cuse my indifference." 
 
 ' Surely, dear Edward, something I have done vexes you. 
 Tell me s husband. Do not spare me. Say, in what have I 
 offended?" 
 
 I Lad not the courage to be ingenuous. Ah ! if I had ! 
 
 'Nay, you b.-sve not offended," I answered hastily "I am 
 only worried w-fli some unmanageable thoughts. The law, you 
 know, Is full \>f pr v v hing, exciting, irritating necessities." 
 
 She looked at Tie with a kind but searching glance. My soul 
 seemed to shrink from that scrutiny. My eyes sunk beneath 
 her gaze. 
 
 " I wish I kn-dw how to console you, Edward : to make you 
 entirely happy. I pray for it, Edward. I thought we were 
 always to be so happy. Did you not promise me that you 
 would always leave your cares at your office that our cottage 
 should be sacred to love and peace only ?" 
 
152 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 She put her arms about my neck, and looked into my face 
 with such a sweet, strange, persuasive smile half mirth, half 
 sadness that the evil spirit was suhdued within me. I clasped 
 her fervently in my embrace, with all my old feelings of con- 
 fidence and joy renewed. At this moment the servant an- 
 nounced Mr. Edgerton, and with a etart a movement 
 scarcely as gentle as it should have been, I put the fond and 
 still beloved woman from my embrace ! 
 
CHANGES OF HOME. 158 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CHANGES OF HOME. 
 
 PROM this time my intercourse with William Edgerton was, 
 on my part, one of the most painful and difficult constraint. I 
 had nothing to reproach him with ; no grounds whatever for 
 quarrel; and could not, in his case regarding the long inti- 
 macy which I had maintained with himself and father, and the 
 obligations which were due from me to both adopt such a 
 manner of reserve and distance as to produce the result of indif- 
 ference and estrangement which I now anxiously desired. I 
 was still compelled to meet him meet him, too, with an affec- 
 tation of good feeling and good humor, which I soon found it, 
 of all things in the world, the most difficult even to pretend. 
 How much would I have given could he only have provoked 
 me to anger on any ground could he have given me an occa- 
 sion for difference of any sort or to any degree anything 
 which could have justified a mutual falling off from the old inti- 
 macy ! But William Edgerton was meekness and kindness it- 
 self. His confidence in me was of the most unobservant, suspi- 
 cionless character; either that, or I succeeded better than I 
 thought in the effort to maintain the external aspects of old 
 friendship. He saw nothing of change in my deportment. He 
 seemed not to see it, at least ; and came as usual, or more fre- 
 quently than usual, to my house, until, at length, the studio of 
 my wife was quite as much his as hers nay, more ; for, after a 
 brief space, whether it was that Julia saw what troubled me, or 
 felt herself the imprudence of Edgerton's conduct, she almost 
 entirely surrendered it to him. She was not now so often to 
 be seen in it. 
 
 This proceeding alarmed me. I dreaded lest my secret 
 should be discovered. I was shocked lest my wife should sup- 
 pose me jealous. The feeling is one which carries with it a 
 
 7* 
 
154 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 sufficiently severe commentary, in the fact that most men are 
 heartily ashamed to be thought to suffer from it. But, if it 
 vexed me to think that she should know or suspect the truth, 
 how much more was I troubled lest it should be seen or sus- 
 pected by others ! This fear led to new circumspection. I 
 now affected levities of demeanor and remark ; studiously ab- 
 sented myself from home of an evening, leaving my wife with 
 Edgerton, or any other friend who happened to be present ; and, 
 though I began no practices of profligacy, such as are common 
 to young scapegraces in all times, I yet, to some moderate ex- 
 tent, affected them. 
 
 A tone of sadness now marked the features of my wife. 
 There was an expression of anxiety in her countenance, which, 
 amid all her previous sufferings, I had never seen there before. 
 She did not complain ; but sometimes, when we sat alone to- 
 gether, I reading, perhaps, and she sewing, she would drop her 
 work in her lap, and sigh suddenly and deeply, as if the first 
 shadows of the upgathering gloom were beginning to cloud her 
 young and innocent spirit, and force her apprehensions into 
 utterance. This did not escape me, but I read its signification, 
 as witches are said to read the Bible, backward. A gloomier 
 fancy filled my brain as I heard her unconscious sigh. 
 
 "It is the language of regret. She laments our marriage. 
 She could have found another, surely, who could have made 
 her happier. Perhaps, had Edgerton and herself known each 
 other intimately before ! " 
 
 Dark, perverse imagining ! It crushed me. I felt, I can not 
 tell, what bitterness. Let no one suppose that I endured less 
 misery than I inflicted. The miseries of the damned could not 
 have exceeded mine in some of the moments when these cruel 
 conjectures filled my mind. Then followed some such proofs as 
 as these of the presence of the Evil One : 
 
 " You sigh, Julia. You are unhappy." 
 
 " Unhappy ? no, dear Edward, not unhappy ! What makes 
 f ou think so ]" 
 
 " What makes you sigh, then ?" 
 
 " I do not know. I am certainly not unhappy. Did I sigh, 
 Edward?" 
 
 " Yes, a\id seemingly from the very bottom of your lieart, J 
 
CHANGES 0* HOME, 155 
 
 fzar, Julia, that you are not happy ; nay, I am sure you are 
 not ! I feel that I am not the man to make you happy. I am 
 a perverse " 
 
 " Nay, Edward, now you speak so strangely, and your brow 
 is stern, and your tones tremble ! What can it be afflicts you 1 
 You are angry at something, dear Edward. Surely, it can not 
 be with me." 
 
 ''And if it were, Julia, I am afraid it would give you little 
 concern." 
 
 " Now, Edward, you are cruel. You do me wrong. You do 
 yourself wrong. Why should you suppose that it would give 
 me little concern to see you angry 1 So far from this, I should 
 regard it as the greatest misery which I had to suffer. Do not 
 speak so, dearest Edward do not fancy such things. Believe 
 me, my husband, when I tell you that I know nothing half so 
 dear to me as j our love nothing that I would not sacrifice 
 with a pleasure, to secure, to preserve that /" 
 
 " Ah ! would you give up painting 1" 
 
 " Painting ! that were a small sacrifice ! I worked at it only 
 because you used to like it." 
 
 " What, you think I do not like it now V 9 
 
 u I know you do not." 
 
 " But you paint still ?" 
 
 " No ! I have not handled brush or pencil for a week. Mr. 
 Eclgerton was reproaching me only yesterday for my neglect." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! Well, you promised him to resume, did you 
 not 1 He is a rare persuader ! He is so amiable, so mild you 
 could not well resist." 
 
 It was from her face that I formed a rational conjecture of 
 the expression that must have appeared in mine. Her eyes 
 dilated with a look of timid wonder, not unmixed with appre- 
 hension. She actually shrunk back a space ; then, approach- 
 ing, laid her hand upon my wrist, as she exclaimed : 
 
 " God of heaven, Edward, what strange thought is in your 
 bosom 1 what is the meaning of that look ? Look not so again, 
 if you would not kill me !" 
 
 I averted my face from hers, but without speaking. She 
 1 'Tew her arms around my neck. 
 
 "Do not turn away from me, Edward. Do not, do not, J 
 
156 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART, 
 
 entreat you ! You must not no ! not till you tell me what : c 
 troubling you not till I soothe you, and make you love me 
 again as much as you did at first." 
 
 When I turned to her again, the tears hot, scalding tears 
 were already streaming down my cheeks. 
 
 " Julia, God knows I love you ! Never woman yet was mor, 
 devotedly loved by man! I love you too much too deepl} 
 too entirely ! Alas, I love nothing else !" 
 
 " Say not that you love me too much that can not be ! 73 c 
 I not love you you only, you altogether? Should I not have 
 your whole love in return ?" 
 
 "Ah, Julia ! but my love is a convulsive eagerness of soul 
 a passion that knows no limit ! It is not that my heart is en- 
 tirely yours : it is that it is yours with a frenzied desperation. 
 There is a fanaticism in love as in religion. My l.. ve is that 
 fanaticism. It burns it commands where yours would but 
 soothe and solicit." 
 
 "But is mine the less true the less valuable for th's, dear 
 Edward 1" 
 
 " No, perhaps not ! It may be even more true, more valua- 
 ble ; it may be only less intense. But fanaticism, you know, is 
 exacting nothing more so. It permits no half-passion, no mod- 
 erate zeal. It insists upon devotion like its own. Ah, Julia, 
 could you but love as I do !" 
 
 " I love you all, Edward, all that I can, and as it belongs 6 r . 
 my nature to love. But I am a woman, and a timid one, you 
 know. I am not capable of that wild passion which you feal. 
 Were I to indulge it, it would most certainly destroy me. Even 
 as it sometimes appears in you, it terrifies and unnerves me. 
 You are so impetuous !" 
 
 "Ah, you would have only the meek, the amiable \" 
 
 And thus, with an implied sarcasm, our conversation ended. 
 Julia turned on me a look of imploring, which was naturally 
 one of reproach. It did not have its proper influence upon me. 
 I seized my hat, and hurried from the house. I rushed, rather 
 than walked, through the streets ; and, before I knew where I 
 was, I found myself on the banks of the river, under the shade 
 of trees, with the soft evening breeze blowing up< n me, and the 
 placid moon sailing quietly above. I threw myself down upon 
 
CHANGES OF HOME. 157 
 
 the grass, and delivered myself up to gloomy thoughts. Here 
 was I, then, scarcely twenty-five years old ; young, vigorous ; 
 with a probable chance of fortune before me ; a young and 
 lovely wife, the very creature of my first and only choice, one 
 whom I tenderly loved, whom, if to seek again, I should again, 
 and again, and only, seek ! Yet I was miserable miserable 
 in the very possession of my first hopes, my best joys the 
 very treasure that had always seemed the dearest in my sight. 
 Miserable blind heart ! miserable indeed ! For what was there 
 to make me miserable 1 Absolutely nothing nothing that the 
 outer world could give nothing that it could ever take away. 
 But what fool is it that fancies there must be a reason for one's 
 wretchedness 1 The reason is in our own hearts ; in the per- 
 verseness which can make of its own heaven a hell ! not often 
 fashion a heaven out of hell ! 
 
 Brooding, I lay upon the sward, meditating unutterable things, 
 and as far as ever from any conclusion. Of one thing alone I 
 was satisfied that I was unutterably miserable; that my des- 
 tiny was written in sable ; that I was a man foredoomed to wo ! 
 Were my speculations strange or unnatural ! Unnatural in- 
 deed ! There is a class of surface-skimming persons, who pro- 
 nounce all things unnatural which, to a cool, unprovoked, and 
 perhaps unprovokable mind, appear unreasonable : as if a 
 vexed nature and exacting passions were not the most unrea- 
 sonable yet most natural of all moral -agents. My woes may 
 have been groundless, but it was surely not unnatural that I 
 felt and entertained them. 
 
 Thus, with bitter mood, growing more bitter with every mo- 
 ment of its unrestrained indulgence, I gloomed in loneliness 
 beside the banks of that silvery and smooth-flowing river. Cer- 
 tainly the natural world around me lent no color to my fancies. 
 While all was dark within, all was bright without. A fiend was 
 tugging at my heart; while from a little white cottage, a few 
 hundred yards below, which grew flush with the margin of the 
 stream, there itole forth the tender, tinkling strains of a guitar, 
 probably touched by fair fingers of a fair maiden, with some 
 enamored boy, blind and doting, hovering beside her. I, too, 
 had stood thus and hearkened thus, and where am I what 
 ami! 
 
158 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 I started to my feet. I found something offensive in the mu- 
 sic. It came linked with a song which I had heard Julia sing 
 a hundred times ; and when I thought of those hours of confi- 
 dence, and felt myself where I was, alone and how lone ! 
 bitterer than ever were the wayward pangs which were preying 
 upon the tenderest fibres of my heart. 
 
 In the next moment I ceased to be alone. I was met and 
 jostled by another person as I bounded forward, much too rap- 
 idly, in an effort to bury myself in the deeper shadow of some 
 neighboring trees. The stranger was nearly overthrown in the 
 collision, which extorted a hasty exclamation from his lips, not 
 unmingled with a famous oath or two. In the voice I recog- 
 nised that of my friend Kingsley the well-known pseudo- 
 Kentucky gentleman, who had acted a part so important in 
 extricating my wife from her mother's custody. I made myself 
 known to him in apologizing for my rudeness. 
 
 "You here!" said he; "I did not expect to meet you. I 
 have just been to your house, where I found your wife, and 
 where I intended to stop a while and wait for you. But Bill 
 Edgerton, in the meanwhile, popped in, and after that I could 
 hear nothing but pictures and paintings, Madonnas, Ecce Ho- 
 mos, and the like ; till I began to fancy that I smelt nothing 
 but paint and varnish. So I popped out, with a pretty blunt 
 excuse, leaving the two amateurs to talk in oil and water-colors, 
 and settle the principles of art as they please. Like you, I 
 fancy a real landscape, here, by the water, and under the green 
 trees, in preference to a thousand of their painted pictures." 
 
 It may be supposed that my mood underwent precious little 
 improvement after this communication. Dark conceits, darker 
 than ever, came across my mind. I longed to get away, and 
 return to that home from which I had banished confidence ! 
 ah, only too happy if there still lingered hope ! But my friend, 
 blunt, good-humored, and thoughtless creature as he was, toolr 
 for granted that I had come to look at the landscape, to admire 
 water-views by moonlight, and drink fresh draughts of sea- 
 breeze from the southwest ; and, thrusting his arm through mine, 
 he dragged me on, down, almost to the threshold of the cottage, 
 whence still issued the tinkle, tinkle, of the guitar which had 
 first driven me away. 
 
CHANGES OF HOME. 159 
 
 "That girl sings well. Do you know her Miss Davisont 
 She's soon to be married, they say (d n ' they say,' however 
 the neatest scandal-monger, if not mischief-maker and liar, 
 in tlu world !) she is soon to be married to young Trescott 
 a cKver lad who sniffles, plays on the flute, wears whisker and 
 imperial on the most cream-colored and effeminate face you 
 e /or saw ! A good fellow, nevertheless, but a silly ! She is a 
 good fellow, too, rather the cleverest of the twain, and perhaps 
 the oldest. The match, if match it really is to be, none of the 
 wisest for that very reason. The damsel, now-a-days, who mar 
 ries a lad younger than herself, is laying up a large stock of 
 pother, which is to bother her when she becomes thirty for 
 even young ladies, you know, after forty, may become thirty. 
 A sort of dispensation of nature. She sings well, nevertheless. 
 
 I said something it matters not what. Dark images of 
 home were in my eyes. I heard no song saw no landscape 
 The voice of Kingsley was a sort of buzzing in my ears. 
 
 " You are dull to-nigh 4 , but that song ought to soothe you. 
 What a cheery, light-hearted wench it is ! Her voice does 
 seem so to rise in air, shaking its wings, and crying tira-la ! 
 tira-la ! with an enthusiasm which is catching ! I almost feel 
 prompted to kick up my heels, throw a summerset, and, while 
 turning on my axis, give her an echo of tira-la ! tira-la ! tira-la ! 
 after her own fashion." 
 
 " You are certainly a happy, mad fellow, Kingsley !" was my 
 faint, cheerless commentary upon a gayety of heart which 1 
 could not share, and the unreserved expression of which, at 
 that moment, only vexed me. 
 
 "And you no glad one, Clifford. That song, which almost 
 prompts me to dance, makes no impression on you ! By-the- 
 way, your wife used to sing so well, and now I never hear her 
 
 That d d painting, if you don't mind, will make her give 
 
 up everything else ! As for Bill Edgerton, he cares for nothing 
 else out his varnish, trees, and umber-hills, and streaky water. 
 You shouldn't let him fill your wife's mind with this oil-and- 
 varnish spirit giving up the piano, the guitar, and that sweeter 
 instrument than all, her own voice. D n the paintings ! 
 his long talk on the subject almost makes me sick of everything 
 like a picture. I now look upon a beautiful landscape like this, 
 
160 CONFESSION, OU THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 as a tiling that is shortly to be desecrated taken in vain* 
 scratched out of shape and proportion upon a deal-board, and 
 colored after such a fashion as never before was seen in the nat- 
 ural world, upon, or under, or about this solid earth. D n 
 the pictures, I say again! but, for God's sake, Clifford, don't 
 let your wife give up the music ! Make her play, even if she 
 don't like it. She likes the painting best, but I wouldn't allow 
 it ! A wife is a sort of person that we set to do those things 
 that we wish done and can't do for ourselves. That's my defi- 
 nition of a wife. Now, if I were in your place, with my pres- 
 ent love for music and dislike of pictures, I'd put her at the 
 piano, and put the paint-saucers, and the oil, and the smutted 
 canvass, out of the window; and then unless he came to his* 
 senses like other people I'd thrust Bill Edgerton out aftei 
 them ! I'd never let the best friend in the world spoil my wife " 
 
 The effect of this random chatter of my good-natured friend 
 upon my mind may well be imagined. It was fortunate tha* 
 he was quite too much occupied in what he was saying to note 
 my annoyance. In vain, anxious to be let off, was I restrained 
 in utterance cold, unpliable. The good fellow took for granted 
 that it was an act of friendship to try to amuse ; and thus, yearn- 
 ing with a nameless discontent and apprehension to get home. 
 I was marched to and fro along the river-bank, from one scene 
 to another he, meanwhile, utterly heedless of time, and as 
 actively bent on perpetual motion as if his sinews were of stee' 
 and his flesh iron. Meanwhile, the guitar ceased, and the song 
 in the cottage of Miss Davison ; the lights went out in that and 
 all the other dwellings in sight ; the moon waned ; and it was 
 not till the clock from a distant steeple tolled out the houi of 
 eleven with startling solemnity, that Kingsley exclaimed : 
 
 " Well, mon ami, we have had a ramble, and I trust I have 
 somewhat dissipated your gloomy fit. And now to bed what 
 say you ? with what appetite we may !" 
 
 With what appetite, indeed ! We separated. I rushed home- 
 ward, the moment he was out of sight once more stood before 
 my own dwelling. There the lights remained unextinguished 
 and William Edgertou was still a tenant of my parlor ! 
 
SELF-HUMILIATION. JT<OD 
 
 fjtFt ifo\7 'V^w. aJi |:K<;^ ;>u- 
 .a;folJ?,*>frn ooaVHsv^nf lo ijs^fi I ? I^l^h I Jr.J-t o-rr o: J:.oKr*l 
 
 ,ll*f;r: nY/'* Yi'ft if^t!.?;'.'/ 
 
 6HAPTEB XXti.^ 
 
 SELF-HUMILIATION. 
 
 I HAD not the courage to enter my own dwelling ! My heart 
 sank within me. Tt was as if the whole hope of a long life, an 
 intense desire, a keen unremitting pursuit, had suddenly been for 
 ever baffled. Let no one who has not been in my situation ; who 
 has not been governed by like moral and social influences from 
 the beginning ; who knows not my sensibilities, and the organi- 
 zation singular and strange it may be of my mind and body; 
 let no such person jump to the conclusion that there was any 
 thing unnatural, however unreasonable and unreasoning, in the 
 wild passion which possessed me. I look back upon it with 
 some surprise myself. The fears which I felt, the sufferings I 
 endured, however unreasonable, were yet true to my training. 
 That training made me selfish; how selfish let my blindness 
 show ! In the blindness of self I could see nothing but the thing 
 I feared, the one phantom phantom though it were which 
 was sufficient to quell and crush all the better part of man with- 
 in me, banish all the real blessings which were at command 
 around me. I gave but a single second glance through the win- 
 dows of my habitation, and then darted desperately away from 
 the entrance ! I bounded, without a consciousness, through the 
 now still and dreary streets, and found myself, without intending 
 it, once more beside the river, whose constant melancholy chi- 
 dings, seemed the echoes though in the faintest possible degree 
 of the deep waters of some apprehensive sorrow then rolling 
 through all the channels of my soul. 
 
 What was it that I feared I What was it that I sought 1 Was 
 it love 1 Can it be that the strange passion which we call by 
 this name, was the source of that sad frenzy which filled and 
 afflicted my heart 1 And was I not successful in my love 1 Had 
 
162 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 I not found the sought? won the withheld? What was 
 denied to me that I desired ? I asked of myself these questions. 
 I asked them in vain. I could not answer them. I believe that 
 I can answer now. It was sincerity, earnestness, devotion from 
 her, all speaking through an intensity like that which I felt 
 within my own soul. 
 
 Now, Julia lacked this earnestness, this intensity. Accustom- 
 ed to submission, her manner was habitually subdued. Her 
 strongest utterance was a tear, and that was most frequently 
 hidden. She did not respond to me in the language in which 
 my affections were wont to speak. Sincerity she did not lack 
 far from it she was truth itself! It is the keener pang to 
 my conscience now, that I am compelled to admit this conviction. 
 Her modes of utterance were not less true than mine. They 
 were not less significant of truth ; but they were after a different 
 fashion. In a moment of calm and reason, I might have believed 
 this truth ; nay, I knew it, even at those moments when I was 
 most unjust. It was not the truth that I required so much as 
 the presence of an attachment which could equal mine in its 
 degree and strength. This was not in her nature. She was 
 one taught to subdue her nature, to repress the tendencies of her 
 heart, to submit in silence and in meekness. She had invaria- 
 bly done so until the insane urgency of her mother made her 
 desperate. But for this desperation she had still submitted, per- 
 haps, had never been my wife. In the fervent intensity of my 
 own love, I fancied, from the beginning, that there was some- 
 thing too temperate in the tone of hers. Were I to be exam- 
 hied now, on this point, I should say that her deportment was 
 one which declared the nicest union of sensibility and maidenly 
 propriety. But, compared with mine, her passions were feeble, 
 frigid. Mine were equally intense and exacting. Perhaps, had 
 she even responded to my impetuosity with a like fervor, I should 
 have recoiled from her with a feeling of disgust much more rapid 
 and much more legitimate, than was that of my present frenzy . 
 
 Frenzy it was ! and it led me to the performance of those 
 things of which I shame to speak. But the truth, and its honest 
 utterance now, must be one of those forms of atonement with 
 whi^Ji I may hope, perhaps vainly, to lessen, in the sight of 
 Heaven, some of my human offences. I had scarcely reached 
 
SELF-HU.vtiLlATlOS. 163 
 
 the water-side before a new imvnlse drove me back. You will 
 scarcely believe me when I tell you that I descended to the base 
 character of the spy upon my Household. The blush is red on 
 my cheek while I record the shameful error. I entered the gar 
 den, stole like a felon to the lattice of the apartment in which 
 my wife sat with her guest, and looked in with a greedy fear, 
 upon the features of the two ! 
 
 What were my own features then ? What the expression of 
 my eyes ? It was well that I could not see them ; I felt that 
 they must be frightful. But what did I expect to see in this es- 
 pionage ? As I live, honestly now, and with what degree of 
 honesty I then possessed, I may truly declare that when I 
 thought upon the subject at all, I had no more suspicion that my 
 wife would be guilty of any gross crime, than I had of the guilt 
 of the Deity himself. Far from it. Such a fancy never troubled 
 me. But, what was it to me, loving as I did, exclusive, and 
 selfish, and exacting as I was what was it tome if, forbearing 
 all crime of conduct, she yet regarded another with eyes of 
 idolatry if her mind was yielded up to him in deference and 
 regard ; and thoughts, disparaging to me, filled her brain with 
 his superior worth, manners, merits ? He had tastes, perhaps 
 talents, which I had not. In the forum, in all the more ener- 
 getic, more imposing performances of life, William Edgerton, I 
 knew, could take no rank in competition with myself. But I 
 was no ladies' man. I had no arts of society. My manners 
 were even rude. My address was direct almost to bluntness. I 
 had no discriminating graces, and could make no sacrifice, in 
 that school of polish, where the delicacy is too apt to become 
 false, and the performances trifling. It is idle to dwell on this ; 
 still more idle to speculate upon probable causes. It may be 
 that there are persons in the world of both sexes, and governed 
 by like influences, who have been guilty of like follies ; to them 
 my revelations may be of service. My discoveries, if I have 
 made any, were quite too late to be of much help to me. 
 
 To resume, I prowled like a guilty phantom around my own 
 habitation. I scanned closely, with the keenest eyes of jealousy, 
 every feature, every movement of the two within. In the eyes 
 of Edgerton, I beheld I did not deceive myself in this I 
 beheld the speaking soul, devoted, rapt, full of love for the ob- 
 
164 CONFESSION, OR TJE BLIND HEART. 
 
 ject of his survey That he loved her was to me sufficiently 
 clear. His words were few, faintly spoken, timid. His eyes 
 did not encounter hers ; hut when hers were averted, they 
 riveted their fixed glances upon her face with the adhe- 
 rence of the yearning steel for the magnet ! Bitterly did I 
 gnash my teeth bitterly did my spirit risb In rebellion, as I 
 noted these characteristics. But, vainly, with all my perversity 
 of feeling and judgment, did I examine the air, the look, the 
 action, the ^expression, the tones, the words of my wife, to make 
 a like discovery. All was passionless, all seeming pure, in her 
 whole conduct. She was gentle in her manner, kind in her 
 words, considerate in her attentions; but so entirely at ease, so 
 evidently unconscious, as well of improper thoughts in herself 
 as of an improper tendency in him, that, though still resolute to 
 be wilful and imhappy, I yet could see nothing of which I could 
 reasonably complain. Nay, I fancied that there was a touch of 
 llstlessness, amounting to indifference, in her air, as if she really 
 wished him to be gone ; and, for a moment, my heart beat with 
 a returning flood of tenderness, that almost prompted me to rush 
 suddenly into the apartment and clasp her to my arms. 
 
 At length, Edgerton departed. When he rose to do so, I felt 
 the awkwardness of my situation the meanness of which I 
 had been guilty the disgrace which would follow detection. 
 The shame I already felt ; but, though sickening beneath it, the 
 passion which drove me into the commission of so slavish an act, 
 was still superior to all others, and could not then be overcome. 
 I hurried from the window and from the premises while he was 
 taking his leave. My mind was still in a frenzy. I rambled 
 off, unconsciously, to the most secluded places along the suburbs, 
 endeavoring to lose the thoughts that troubled me. I had now 
 a new cause for vexation. I was haunted by a conviction of 
 my own shame. How could I look Julia in the face how meet 
 and speak to her, and hear the accents of her voice and my own 
 after the unworthy espionage which I had instituted upon her ? 
 Would not my eyes betray me my faltering accents, my 
 abashed looks, my flushed and burning cheeks ? I felt that it 
 was impossible for me to escape detection. I was sure that every 
 look, every tone, would sufficiently betray iny secret. Perhaps 
 I should not have felt tliis fear, had I possessed the courage t9 
 
SELF-HUMILIATION. 165 
 
 resolve against the repetition of my error. Could I have de- 
 clared this resolution to myself, to forego the miserable proceed- 
 ing which I had that night begun, I feel that I should then have 
 taken one large step toward my own deliverance from that for- 
 midable fiend which was then raging unmastered in my soul. 
 But I lacked the courage for this. Fatal deficiency ! I felt im- 
 pressed with the necessity of keeping a strict watch upon Ed- 
 gcrton. I had seen, with eyes that could not be deceived, the 
 feeling which had been expressed in his. I saw that he loved 
 her, perhaps, without a consciousness himself of the unhappy 
 truth. I hurried to the conclusion, accordingly, that he must be 
 looked after. I did not so immediately perceive that in looking 
 after him, I was, in truth, looking after Julia ; for what was my 
 watch upon Edgerton but a watch upon her ? I had not the 
 confidence in her to leave her to herself. That was my error. 
 The true reasoning by which a man in my situation should be 
 governed, is comprised in a nutshell. Either the wife is virtuous 
 or she is not. If she is virtuous, she is safe without my espion- 
 age. If she is not, all the watching in the world will not suffice 
 to rrake her so. As for the discovery of her falsehood, he will 
 make that fast enough. The security of the husband lies in his 
 wife's purity, not in his own eyes. It must be added to this ar- 
 gument that the most virtuous among us, man or woman, is still 
 very weak ; and neither wife, nor daughter, nor son, should be 
 exposed to Unnecessary temptation. Do we not daily implore 
 in our own prayers, to be saved from temptation ? 
 
 I need not strive to declare what were my thoughts and feel- 
 ings as I wandered off from my dwelling and place of espionage 
 that night. No language of which I am possessed could embody 
 to the idea of the reader the thousandth part of what I suffered. 
 An insane and morbid resentment filled my heart. A close, 
 heavy, hot stupor, pressed upon my brain. My limbs seemed 
 feeble as those of a child. I tottered in the streets. The stars, 
 bright mysterious watchers, seemed peering down into my face 
 with looks of smiling inquiry. The sudden bark of a watch-dog 
 startled and unnerved me. I felt with the consciousness of a 
 mean action, all the humiliating weakness which belongs to it. 
 
 It took me a goodly hour before I could muster up courage 
 to return home, and it was then m'dnight. Julia had retired to 
 
166 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 her chamber, but not yet to her couch. She flew to me on my 
 entrance to my arms. I shrunk from her embraces; but she 
 grasped me with greater firmness. I had never witnessed so 
 much warmth in her before. It surprised me, but the solution 
 of it was easy. My long stay had made her apprehensive. It 
 was so unusual. My coldness, when she embraced me, was as 
 startling to her, as her sudden warmth was surprising to me. 
 She pushed me from her still, however, holding me in her 
 grasp, while she surveyed me. Then she started, and with 
 newer apprehensions. 
 
 Well she might. My looks alarmed her. My hair was dis- 
 hevelled and moist with the night-dews. My cheeks were very 
 pale. There was a quick, agitated, and dilating fullness of my 
 eyes, which rolled hastily about the apartment, never even 
 resting upon her. They dared not. I caught a hasty glance 
 of myself in the mirror, and scarcely knew my own features. 
 It was natural enough that she should be alarmed. She clung 
 to me with increased fervency. She spoke hurriedly, but clear- 
 ly, with an increased and novel power of utterance, the due 
 result of her excitement. Could that excitement be occasioned 
 by love for me by a suspicion of the truth, namely, that I had 
 been watching her ? I shuddered as this last conjecture passed 
 into my mind. That, indeed, would be a humiliation worse, 
 more degrading, by far, than all. 
 
 " Oh, why have you left me so long, so very long? where 
 have you been ? what has happened ?" 
 
 " Nothing nothing." 
 
 "Ah, but there is something, Edward. Speak! what is it, 
 dear husband ? I see it in your eyes, your looks ! Why do 
 you turn from me? Look on ine ! tell me! You are very 
 pale, and your eyes are so wild, so strange ! You are sick, 
 dear Edward ; you are surely sick : tell me, what has happened ?" 
 
 Wild and hurried as they were, never did tones of more touch- 
 ing sweetness fall from any lips. They unmanned nay, I use 
 the wrong word they manned me for the time. They brought 
 me back to my senses, to a conviction of her truth, to a momen- 
 tary conviction of my own folly. My words fell from me with- 
 out effort few, hurried, husky but it was a sudden heart- 
 gush, which was unrestrainable. 
 
SELF-HUMILIATION. 167 
 
 " Ask me not, Julia ask me nothing ; but love me, only love 
 me, and all will be well all is well." 
 
 " Do I not ah ! do I not love you, Edward ?" 
 " I believe you God be praised, I do believe you !" 
 " Oh, surely, Edward, you never doubted this." 
 "No, no! never!" 
 
 Such was the fervent ejaculation of my lips ; such, in spite 
 of its seeming inconsistency, was the real belief within my soul 
 What was it, then, that I did doubt ? wherefore, then, the mis- 
 ery, the suspense, the suspicion, which grew and gathered, cor- 
 roding in my heart, the parent of a thousand unnamed anxie- 
 ties ? It will be difficult to answer. The heart of man is one 
 of those strange creations, so various in its moods, so infinite in 
 its ramifications, so subtle and sudden in its transitions, as to 
 defy investigation as certainly as it refuses remedy and relief. 
 It is enough to say that, with one schooled as mine had been, 
 injuriously, and with injustice, there is little certainty in any of 
 its movements. It becomes habitually capricious, feeds upon 
 passions intensely, without seeming detriment ; and, after a sea- 
 son, prefers the unwholesome nutriment which it has made vital, 
 to those purer natural sources of strength and succor, without 
 which, though it may still enjoy life, it can never know hap- 
 piness. 
 
168 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEASR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 PROGRESS OF PASSION. 
 
 "BtJT, do not leave me another time not so long, Edward 
 Do not leave me alone. Your business is one thing. That you 
 must, of course, attend to; but hours not of business hours 
 in which you do no business hours of leisure your evenings, 
 Edward these you must share with me- you must give to 
 me entirely. Ah ! will you not 1 will you not promise me ?" 
 
 These were among the last words which she spoke to me ere 
 we slept that night. The next morning, almost at awaking, she 
 resumed the same language. I could not help perceiving that 
 she spoke in tones of greater earnestness than usual an ear- 
 nestness expressive of anxiety for which I felt at some loss to 
 account. Still, the tenor of what she said, at the time, gave me 
 pleasure a satisfaction which I did not seek to conceal, and 
 which, while it lasted, was the sweetest of all pleasures to my 
 soul. But the busy devil in my heart made his suggestions also, 
 which were of a kind to produce any other but satisfying emo- 
 tions. While I stood in my wife's presence in the hearing 
 of her angel-voice, and beholding the pure spirit speaking out 
 from her eyes he lay dormant, rebuked, within his prison- 
 house, crouching in quiet, waiting a more auspicious moment 
 for activity. Nor was he long in waiting ; and then his cold, 
 insinuating doubts his inquiries begot and startled mine ! 
 
 "Very good all very good!" Such was the tone of his 
 wvgsfitiona. " She may well compound for the evenings with 
 you, since ohs gives her whole morning? fr y?w rival." 
 
 Archimedes asked but little for the propulsion cf *" vnAd 
 The jealous spirit a spirit jealous like mine asks still ^tm 
 for the moving of that little but densely-populous world, the 
 human heart. I forgot the sweet tones of my wife's words 
 
PROGRESS OP PASSION. 169 
 
 the pure- souled words themselves tones and words which, 
 while their sounds yet lingered in my ears, I could not have 
 questioned I did not dare to question. The tempter grew in 
 the ascendant the moment I had passed out of her sight; and 
 when I met William Edgerton the next day, he acquired 
 greatly-increased power over my understanding. 
 
 William Edgerton had evidently undergone a change. He 
 no longer met my glances boldly with his own. Perhaps, had 
 he done so, my eyes would have been the first to shrink from 
 the encounter. He looked down, or looked aside, when he 
 spoke to me ; his words were few, timorous, hesitating, but stu- 
 diously conciliatory ; and he lingered no longer in my presence 
 than was absolutely unavoidable. Was there not a conscious- 
 ness in this? and what consciousness? The devil at my heart 
 answered, and answered with truth, "He loves your wife." It 
 would have been well, perhaps, had the cruel fiend said nothing 
 farther. Alas ! I would have pardoned, nay, pitied William 
 Edgerton, had the same chuckling spirit not assured me that 
 she also was not insensible to him. I was continually reminded 
 of the words, " Your business must, of course, be attended to !" 
 "What a considerate wife !" said the tempter; "how very 
 unusual with young wives, with whom business is commonly 
 the very last consideration !" 
 
 That very day, I found, on reaching home, that William 
 Edgerton had been there had gone there almost the moment 
 after he had left me at the office ; and that he had remained 
 there/obviously at work in the studio, until the time drew nigh 
 for my return to dinner. My feelings forbade any inquiries. 
 These facts were all related by my wife herself. I did not ask 
 to hear them. I asked for nothing more than she told. The 
 dread that my jealousy should be suspected made me put on a 
 sturdy aspect of indifference ; and that exquisite sense of deli- 
 cacy, which governed every movement of my wife's heart and 
 conduct, forbade her to say what yet, she certainly desired 
 I should know that, in all that time, she had iiut seen him, 
 nor he her. She had studiously kept aloof in her chamber so 
 long as he remained. Meanwhile, I brooded over their sup- 
 posed long and secret interviews. These I took for granted. 
 The happiness they felt the mutual smile they witnessed 
 
 8 
 
170 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 the unconscious sighs they uttered ! Such a picture of their 
 supposed felicity as my morbid imagination conjured up would 
 have roused a doubly damned and damning fiend in the heart 
 of any mortal. 
 
 What a task was mine, struggling with these images, these 
 convictions ! my pride struggling to conceal, my feeling* strug- 
 gling to endure. Then, there were other conflicts. What friends 
 had the Edgertons been to me father, mother nay, that bon 
 himself, once so fondly esteemed, once so fondly esteeming ! 
 Of course, no ties such as these could have made me patient 
 under wrong. But they were such as to render it necessary 
 that the wrong should be real, unquestionable, beyond doubt, 
 beyond excuse. This I felt, this I resolved. 
 
 " I will wait ! I will be patient ! I will endure, though the 
 vulture gnaws incessant at my heart ! I will do nothing pre- 
 cipitate. No, no : I must beware of that ! But let me prove 
 them treacherous let them once falter, and go aside from the 
 straight path, and then oh, then !" 
 
 Such, as in spoken words, was the unspoken resolution of my 
 soul ; and this resolution required, first of all, that I should 
 carry out the base purpose which, without a purpose, I had 
 already begun. I must be a spy upon their interviews. They 
 must be followed, watched eyes, looks, hands ! Miserable ne- 
 cessity ! but, under my present feelings and determination, not 
 the less a necessity. And I, alone, must do it ; I, alone, must 
 peer busily into these mysteries, the revelation of which can 
 result only in my own ruin seeking still, with an earnest dili- 
 gence, to discover that which I should rather have prayed for 
 eternal an-d unmitigated blindness, that I might not see ! Aline 
 was, indeed, the philosophy of the madman. 
 
 I persevered in it like one. I yielded all opportunities for 
 the meeting of the parties all opportunities which, in yield- 
 ing, did not expose me to the suspicion of having any sinister 
 object. If, for example, I found, or could conjecture, that Wil- 
 liam Edgerton was likely to be at my house this or that even- 
 ing, I studiously intimated, beforehand, some necessity for being 
 myself absent. This carried me frequently from home lone, 
 wandering, vexing myself with the most hideous conjectures, 
 the most self-torturing apprehensions. I sped away, obviously, 
 
PBOGRELS 0* PASSION. 171 
 
 into the city to alleged meetings with friends or clients ; 
 on some pretence or other which seemed ordinary and natural 
 But my course was to return, and, under cover of night, to prowl 
 around my own premises, like some guilty ghost, dcomsd t 
 haunt the scene of former happiness, in its wantonness rendered 
 a scene of ever-during misery. Certainly, no guilty ghost ever 
 suffered in his penal tortures a torture worse than mine at these 
 humiliating moments. It was torture enough to me that I was 
 sensible of all the unhappy meanness of my conduct. On this 
 head, though I strove to excuse myself on tho score of a sup- 
 posed necessity, I could not deceive myself no ! not for the 
 smallest moment. 
 
 Weeks passed in this manner weeks to me of misery of 
 annoyance and secret suffering to my wife. In this time, my 
 espionage resulted in nothing but what has been already shown 
 in what was already sufficiently obvious to me. William 
 Edgerton continued his insane attentions : he sought my dwel- 
 ling with studious perseverance sought it particularly at those 
 periods when he fancied I was absent when he knew it 
 though such were not his exclusive periods of visitation. He 
 came at times when I was at home. His passion for my wife 
 was sufficiently evident to me, though her deportment was such 
 as to persuade me that she did not see it. All that I beheld of 
 her conduct was irreproachable. There was a singular and 
 sweet dignity in her air and manner, when they were together, 
 that seemed one of the most insuperable barriers to any rash or 
 presumptuous approach. While there was no constraint about 
 her carriage, there was no familiarity nothing to encourage 
 or invite familiarity. While ehe answered freely, responding 
 to all the needs of a suggested subject, she herself never seemed 
 to broach one ; and, after hours of nightly watch, which ran 
 through a period of weeks, in which I strove at the shameful 
 occupation of the espial, I was compelled to admit that all her 
 part was as purely unexceptionable as the most jealous husband 
 could have wished it. 
 
 But not so with the conduct of William Edgerton. His atten- 
 tions were increasing. His passion was assuming some of the 
 forms of that delirium to which, under encouragement, it is usu- 
 ally driven in the end. He now passionately watched my wife's 
 
172 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 countenance, and no longer averted his glance when it suddenly 
 encountered hers. His eyes, naturally tender in expression, 
 now assumed a look of irrepressible ardency, from which, I now 
 fancied pleased to fancy that hers recoiled! He would 
 linger long in silence, silently watching her, and seemingly un- 
 conscious, the while, equally of his scrutiny and his silence. At 
 such times, I could perceive that Julia would turn aside, or her 
 own eyes would be marked by an expression of the coldest va- 
 cancy, which, but for other circumstances, or in any other con- 
 dition of my mind, would have seemed to me conclusive of her 
 indignation or dislike. But, when such" became my thought, it 
 was soon expelled by yorne suggestion from the busy devil of 
 my imagination : 
 
 " They may well put on this appearance now ; but are such 
 their looks when they meet, sometimes for a whole morning, in 
 the painting- room ?" Even here, the fiend was silenced by a 
 fact which was revealed to me in one of my nocturnal watches. 
 
 " Clifford not at home?" said Edgerton one evening as he 
 entered, addressing my wife, and looking indifferently around 
 the room. " I wished to tell him about some pictures which 
 are to be seen at 's room really a lovely Guido an in- 
 fant Savior and something, said to be by Carlo Dolce, though 
 I doubt. You must see them. Shall I call for you to-morrow 
 morning 1" 
 
 " I thank you, hut have an engagement for the morning." 
 
 "Well, the next day. They will remain but a few days 
 longer in the city." 
 
 " I am sorry, but I shall not be able to go even the next day, 
 I am so busy." 
 
 "Busy? ah! that reminds me to ask if you haVe given up 
 the pencil altogether ? Have you wholly abandoned the studio ? 
 I never see you now at work in the morning. I had no thought 
 that you had so much of the fashionable taste for morning calls, 
 shopping, and the like." 
 
 " Nor have I," was the quiet answer. "I seldom leave home 
 in the morning." 
 
 "Indeed!" with some doubtfulness of countenance, almost 
 amounting to chagrin "indeed! how is it that I so seldom 
 see you, then ?" 
 
PROGRESS OF PASSION. 173 
 
 " The cares of a household, I suppose, might be my sufficient 
 excuse. While my liege lord works abroad> I find my duties 
 sufficiently urgent to task all my time at home." 
 
 " Really but you do not propose to abandon the atelier en- 
 tirely 1 Clifford himself, with his great fondness for the art, 
 will scarcely be satisfied that you should, even on a pretence 
 of work." 
 
 " I do not know. I do not think that my husband' 1 the last 
 two words certainly emphasized "cares much about it. I 
 suspect that music and painting, however much they delighted 
 and employed our girlhood, form but a very insignificant part 
 of our duties and enjoyments when we get married." 
 
 "But you do not mean to say that a fine landscape, or an 
 exquisite head, gives you less satisfaction than before your mar- 
 riage ?" 
 
 " I confess they do. Life is a very different thing before and 
 after marriage. It seems far more serious it appears to me a 
 possession now, and time a sort of property which has to be 
 economized and doled out almost as cautiously as money. I 
 have not touched a brush this fortnight. I doubt if I have 
 been in the painting-room more than once in all this time." 
 
 This conversation, which evidently discomfited William El- 
 gerton, was productive to me of no small satisfaction. After a 
 brief interval, consumed in silence, he resumed it : 
 
 " But I must certainly get you to see these pictures. Nay, I 
 must also since you keep at home persuade you to look 
 into the studio to-morrow, if it be only to flatter my vanity by 
 looking at a sketch which I have amused myself upon the last 
 three mornings. By-the-way, why may we not look at it to- 
 night r 
 
 " We shall not be able to examine it carefully by night," was 
 the answer, as I fancied, spoken with unwonted coldness and 
 deliberation. 
 
 " So much the better for me," he replied, with an ineffectual 
 attempt to laugh ; " you will be less able to discern its defects." 
 
 " The same difficulty will endanger its beauties," Julia an- 
 swered, without offering to rise. 
 
 " Well, at least, you must arrange for seeing the pictures at . 
 '. They- are to remain but a few days, and I would not 
 
174 CONFESSION, OH THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 have you miss seeing them for the world. Suppose you say 
 Saturday morning ?" 
 
 " If nothing happens to prevent," she said ; " and I will en- 
 deavor to persuade Mr. Clifford to look at them with us." 
 
 " Oh, he is so full of his law and clients, that you will hardly 
 succeed." 
 
 This was spoken with evident dissatisfaction. The arrange- 
 ment, which included me, seemed unnecessary. I need not say 
 that I was better pleased with my wife than I had heen for 
 some time previous ; but here the juggling fiend interposed 
 again, to suggest the painful suspicion that she knew of my 
 whereabouts, of my jealousy, of my espionage; that her words 
 were rather meant for my ears than for those of Edgerton ; or, 
 if this were not the case, her manner to Edgerton was simply 
 adopted, as she had now become conscious of her own feelings 
 feelings of peril feelings which would not permit her to 
 trust herself. Ah ! she feared herself : she had discovered the 
 passion of William Edgerton, and it had taught her the char- 
 acter and tendency of her own. Was there ever more self- 
 destroying malice than was mine ? I settled down upon this 
 last conviction. My wife's coldness was only assumed to pre- 
 vent Edgerton from seeing her weakness ; and, for Edgertort 
 himself, I now trembled with the conviction that I should have 
 to shed his blood. 
 
i75 
 
 Ot AFTER XXIV 
 
 JL: GROUP. 
 
 TH.IS conviction now began to haunt my mind with all the 
 punctuality of a shadow. It came to me unconsciously, uncall- 
 ed for ; mingled with other thoughts and disturbed them all. 
 Whether at my desk, or in the courts ; among men in the crowd- 
 ed mart, or in places simply where the idle and the thoughtless 
 congregate, it was still my companion. It was, however, still 
 a shadow only ; a dull, intangible, half-formed image of the mind ; 
 the crude creature of a fear rather than a desire ; for, of a truth, 
 nothing could be more really terrible to me than the apparent 
 necessity of taking the life of one so dear to me once, and still 
 so dear to the only friends I had ever known. I need not say 
 how silently I strove to banish this conviction. My struggles 
 en this subject were precisely those which are felt by nervous 
 men suddenly approaching a precipice, and, though secure, 
 flinging themselves off, in the extremity of their apprehensions 
 of that danger which has assumed in their imaginations an 
 aspect so absorbing. With such persons, the extreme anxiety 
 to avoid the deed, whether of evil or of mere danger, frequently 
 provokes its commission. I felt that this risk encountered me. 
 I well knew that an act often contemplated may be already con- 
 sidered half-performed ; and though I could not rid myself of the 
 impression that I was destined to do the deed the very idea of 
 which made me shudder, I yet determined, with all the remaining 
 resolution of my virtue, to dismiss it from my thought, as I re- 
 solved to escape from its performance if I could. 
 
 It would have been easy enough for me to have kept this 
 resolution as it was enough for me to make it, had it not clashed 
 with a superior passion in my mind ; but that blindness of heart 
 under which I labored, impaired my judgment, enfeebled my 
 
17* CONFESSION, Ci> THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 resolution, baffled my prudence, defeated all my faculties of 
 self-preservation. I was, in fact, a monomaniac. On one sub- 
 ject, I was incapable of thought, of sane reasoning, of fixed 
 purpose. I am unwilling to distinguish this madness by the 
 word "jealousy." In the ordinary sense of the term it was not 
 jealousy. Phrenologists would call it an undue development 
 of self-esteem, diseased by frequent provocation into an irritable 
 suspiciousness, which influenced all the offices of thought. It 
 was certain, to myself, that in instituting the watch which I did 
 over the conduct of my wife and William Edgerton, I did not 
 erpcct to discover the commission of any gross act which, in the 
 vulgar acceptation of the world, constitutes the crime of infidelity. 
 The pang would not have been less to my mind, though every 
 such act was forborne, if I perceived that her eyes yearned for 
 his coming, and her looks of despondency took note of his ab- 
 sence. If 1 could see that she hearkened to his words with the 
 ears of one who deferred even to devotedness, and found that 
 pleasure in his accents which should only have been accorded to 
 mine. It is the low nature, alone, which seeks for develop- 
 ments beyond these, to constitute the sin of faithlessness. Of 
 looks, words, consideration, habitual deference, and eager atten- 
 tion, I was quite as uxorious as I should have been of the warm 
 kiss, or the yielding, fond embrace. They were the same in my 
 eyes. It was for the momentary glance, the passing word, the 
 forgetful sigh, that I looked and listened, while I pursued the 
 unhappy espionage upon my wife and her lover. That he was 
 her lover, was sufficiently evident how far she was pleased 
 with his devotion was the question to be asked and answered ! 
 
 The self-esteem which produced these developments of jeal- 
 ousy, in my own home, was not unexercised abroad. The same 
 exacting nature was busy among my friends and mere acquaint- 
 ance. Of these I had but few ; to these I could be devoted ; for 
 these I could toil ; for these I could freely have perished ! But 
 I demanded nothing less from them. Of their consideration and 
 regard I was equally uxorious as I was of the affections of my 
 wife. I was an intensifies in all my relations, and was not wil- 
 ling to divide or share my sympathies. I became suspicious 
 when I found any of my acquaintance forming new intimacies, 
 and sunk into reserves which necessarily produced a severance 
 
A GROUP. 177 
 
 of the old ties between us. It naturally followed that my few 
 friends became fewer, and I finally stood alone. But enough of 
 self-analysis, which, in truth, owes its origin to the very same 
 mental quality which I have been discussing the presence and 
 prevalence of egdisme. Let us hurry our progress. 
 
 My wife advised me of the visit which William Edgerton had 
 proposed to the picture collection. 
 
 " I will go," she said, " if you will." 
 
 " You must go without me." 
 
 "Ah, why ? Surely, you can go one morning ?" 
 
 "Impossible. The morning is the time for business. That 
 must be attended to, you know." 
 
 " But you needn't slave yourself at it because it is business, 
 Edward. Bat that I know that you are not a money-loving 
 man, I should suppose, sometimes, from the continual plea of 
 business, that you were a miser, and delighted in filling old 
 stockings to hide away in holes and chinks of the wall. Come, 
 now, Saturday is not usually a busy day with you lawyers ; steal 
 it this once and go with us. I lose half the pleasure of the sight 
 always, when you are not with me, and when I know that you 
 are engaged in working for me elsewhere." 
 
 " Ah, you mistake, Julia. You shall not flatter me into such a 
 faith. You lose precious little by my absence." 
 
 " But, Edward,! do; believe me it is true." 
 
 " Impossible ! No, no, Julia, when you look on the Carlo 
 Dolce and the Guido, you will forget not only the toils of the 
 husband, but that you have one at all. You will forget my harsh 
 features in the contemplation of softer ones." 
 
 " Your features are not harsh ones, Edward." 
 
 "Nay, you shall not persuade me that I am not an Orson 
 a very wild man of the woods. I know I am. I know that I 
 have harsh features; nay, I fancy you know it too, by this time, 
 Julia." 
 
 " I admit the sternness at times, Edward, but I deny the 
 harshness. Besides, sternness, you know, is perfectly compati- 
 ble with the possession of the highest human beauty. I am not 
 sure that a certain portion of sternness is not absolutely neces- 
 sary to manly beauty. It seems to me that I have never yet 
 
 8* 
 
178 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 seen what I call a handsome man, whose features had not a 
 certain sweet gravity, a sort of melancholy defiance, in them 
 which neutralized the effect of any effeminacy which mere 
 beauty must have had ; and imparted to them a degree of char- 
 acter which compelled you to turn again and look, and made you 
 remember them, even when they had disappeared from sight. 
 Now, it may be the vanity of a wife, Edward, but it seems to me 
 that this is the very sort of face which you possess." 
 
 " Ah ! you are very vain of me, I know very !" 
 
 " Proud, fond not vain !" 
 
 " You deceive yourself still, I suspect, even with your dis- 
 tinctions. But you must forego the pleasure of displaying iny 
 ' stern beauties/ as your particular possession, at the gallery 
 You must content yourself with others not so stern, though per- 
 haps not less beautiful, and certainly more amiable. Edgerton 
 will be your sufficient chaperon." 
 
 " Yes, but I do not wish to be troubling Mr. Edgerton so fre- 
 quently j and, indeed, I would rather forego the pleasure of 
 seeing the pictures altogether, than trespass in this way upon 
 his attention and leisure." 
 
 " Indeed, but I am very sure you do not trespass upon either. 
 He is an idle, good fellow, relishes anything better than busi- 
 ness, and you know has such a passion for painting and pictures 
 that its indulgence seems to justify anything to his mind. He 
 will forget everything in their pursuit." 
 
 All this was said with a studious indifference of manner. I 
 was singularly successful in concealing the expression of that 
 agony which was gnawing all the while upon my heart. I could 
 smile, too, while I was speaking while I was suffering ! Look 
 calmly into her face and smile, with a composure, a strength, 
 the very consciousness of which was a source of terrible over- 
 throw to me at last. I was surprised to perceive an air of cha- 
 grin upon Julia's countenance, which was certainly unstudied. 
 She was one of those who do not well conceal or cloak their real 
 sentiments. The faculty of doing so is usually much more 
 strongly possessed by women than by men much more easily 
 commanded but she had little of it. Why should she wear 
 this expression of disappointment chagrin ! Was she really 
 that I should attend her ? I began to think so began 
 
A. GROUP. 179 
 
 to relent, and think of promising that I would go with her, 
 when she somewhat abruptly laid her hand upon my arm. 
 
 " Edward, you leave me too frequently. You stay from me 
 too long, particularly at evening. Do not forget, dear husband, 
 how few female friends I have; how few friends of any sort 
 how small is my social circle. Besides, it is expected of all 
 young people, newly married, that they will be frequently to- 
 gether ; and when it is seen that they are often separate that 
 the wife goes abroad alone, or goes in the company of persons 
 not of the family, it begets a suspicion that all is not well that 
 there is no peace, no love, in the family so divided. Do not think, 
 Edward, that I mean this reproachfully that I mean complaint 
 that I apprehend the loss of your love : oh no ! I dread too 
 greatly any such loss to venture upon its suspicion lightly, but I 
 would guard against the conjectures of others " 
 
 " So, then, it is not that you really wish my company. It is be- 
 cause you would simply maintain appearances." 
 
 " I would do both, Edward. God knows I care as little for 
 mere appearances, so long as the substances are good, as you do ; 
 but I confess I would not have the neighbors speak of me as the 
 neglected wife ; T would not have you the subject of vulgar 
 reproach." 
 
 " To what does all this tend V I demanded impatiently. 
 
 " To nothing, Edward, if by speaking it I make you angry*" 
 
 " Do not speak it, then !" was my stern reply. 
 
 " I will not ; do not turn away do not be angry :" here she 
 sobbed once, convulsively ; but with an effort of which I had not 
 thought her capable, she stifled the painful utterance, and con- 
 tinued grasping my wrist as she spoke with both her hands, and 
 speaking in a whisper 
 
 " You are not going to leave me in anger. Oh, no ! Do not ! 
 Kiss me, dear husband, and forgive me. If I have vexed you, 
 it was only because I was so selfishly anxious to keep you more 
 with me to be more certain that you are all my own !" 
 
 I escaped from this scene with some difficulty. I should be 
 doing my own heart, blind and wilful as it was, a very gross in- 
 justice, if I did not confess that the sincere and natural deport- 
 ment of Julia had rendered me largely doubtful of the good 
 genso cr the good feeling of the course I was pursuing. But the 
 
180 CONFESSION, Oil THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 effects of it were temporary only. The very feeling, tlius forced 
 upon me, that I was, and had been, doing wrong, was a humiliating 
 one ; arid calculated rather to sustain my self-esteem, even though 
 it lessened the amount of justification which my jealousy may 
 have supposed itself possessed of. The disease had been grow- 
 ing too long within my bosom. It had taken too deep root 
 had spread its fibres into a region too rank and stimulating not 
 to baffle any ordinary diligence on the part of the extirpator, 
 even if he had been industrious and sincere. It had been grow- 
 ing with my growth, had shared my strength from the beginning, 
 was a part of my very existence ! Still, though not with that 
 hearty fondness which her feeling demanded, I returned her ea- 
 resses, folded her to my bosom, kissed the tears from her cheek, 
 and half promised myself, though I said nothing of this to her, 
 that I would attend her to the picture exhibition. 
 
 But I did not. Half an hour before the appointed time I re- 
 solved to do so ; but the evil spirit grew uppermost in that brief 
 interval, and suggested to me a course more in unison with its 
 previous counsellings. Under this mean prompting I prepared 
 to go to the gallery, but not till my wife had already gone there 
 under Edgerton's escort. The object of this afterthought was 
 to surprise them there to enter at the unguarded moment, and 
 read the language of their mutual eyes, when they least appre- 
 hended such scrutiny. 
 
 Pitiful as was this design, I yet pursued it. I entered the 
 picture room at a moment which was sufficiently auspicious for 
 my objects. They were the only occupants of the apartment. 
 I learned this fact before I ascended the stairs from the keeper 
 of the gallery, who sat in a lower room. The stairs were carpet- 
 ed. I wore light thin pumps, which were noiseless. I may 
 add, as a singular moral contradiction, that I not only did not 
 move stealthily, but that I set down my feet with greater em- 
 phasis than was usual with me, as if I sought, in this way to 
 lessen somewhat the meanness of my proceeding. My approach, 
 however, was entirely unheard ; and I stood for a few seconds 
 iu the doorway, gazing upon the parties without making them 
 conscious of my intrusion. 
 
 T uUa was sitting, gazing, with hand lifted above her eyes, at 
 9 Vurillo a ragged Spanish boy, true equally to the life and 
 
A GEOUP. 181 
 
 tt> the peculiar characteristics of that artist dark ground- 
 work, keen, arch expression, great vivacity, with an air of 
 pregnant humor which speaks of more than is shown, and 
 makes you fancy that other pictures are to follow in which 
 the same boy must appear in different phases of feeeling and of 
 fortune. 
 
 I need not say that the pictures, however, called for a mo- 
 mentary glance only from me. My glances were following my 
 thoughts, and they were piercing through the only possible 
 avenues, the cheeks, the lips, the tell-tale eyes, deep down into 
 the very hearts of the suspected parties. They were so placed 
 that, standing at the door, and half hidden from sight by a 
 screen, I could see with tolerable distinctness the true exp- 
 sion in each countenance, though I saw but half the face. Ju- 
 lia was gazing upon the pictures, but Edgerton was gazing upon 
 her ! He had no eyes for any other object ; and I fancied, from 
 the abstracted and almost vacant expression of his looks, that I 
 without startling him from his dream. In his features, speak- 
 ing, even in their obliviousness of all without, was one sole, 
 absorbing sentiment of devotion. His eyes were riveted with 
 a strenuous sort of gaze upon her, and her only. He stood 
 partly on one side, but still behind her, so that, without chang- 
 ing her position, she could scarcely have beheld his counte- 
 nance. I looked in vain, in the brief space of time which I 
 employed in surveying them, but she never once turned her 
 head ; nor did he once withdraw his glance from her neck and 
 cheek, a part only of which could have been visible to him 
 where he stood. Her features, meanwhile, were subdued and 
 placid. There was nothing which could make me dissatisfied 
 with her, had I not been predisposed to this dissatisfaction ; and 
 when the tones of my voice were heard, she started up to meet 
 me with a sudden flash of pleasure in her eyes which illumi- 
 nated her whole countenance. 
 
 " Ah ! you are come, then. I am so glad!" 
 
 She little knew why I had come. I blushed involuntarily 
 with the conviction of the base motive which had brought mo. 
 he immediately grasped my arm, drew me to the contempla- 
 tion of those pictures which had more particularly pleased her- 
 
182 
 
 self, absolutely seeming to forget that there was a third person 
 in the room. William Edgerton turned away and busied him- 
 self, for the first time no doubt, in the examination of a land- 
 scape on the opposite wall. I followed his movement with 
 my glance for a single instant, but his face was studiously 
 averted. 
 
THE OLD GOO^E FINDS A YOUNG GANDER. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE OLD GOOSE FINDS A YOUNG GANDER. 
 
 WE will suppose some months to Lave elapsed in this man- 
 ner months, to me, of prolonged torture and suspicion. Cir- 
 cumstances, like petty billows of the sea, kept chafing upon the 
 low places of my heart, keeping alive the feverish irritation 
 which had already done so much toward destroying my peace, 
 and overthrowing the guardian outposts of my pride and honor. 
 How long the strife was to be continued before the ocean-tor- 
 rents should be let in before the wild passions should quite 
 overwhelm my reason was a subject of doubt, but not the less 
 a subject of present and of exceeding fear. In these matters, 
 I need not say that there was substantially very little change 
 in the character of events that marked the progress of my do- 
 mestic life. William Edgerton still continued the course which 
 he had so unwittingly begun. He still sought every opportu- 
 nity to see my wife, and, if possible, to see her alone. He 
 avoided me as much as possible ; seldom came to the office ; 
 absolutely gave up his business altogether ; and, when we met, 
 though his words and manner were solicitously kind, there was 
 a close restraint upon the latter, a hesitancy about the former, 
 a timid apprehensiveness in his eye, and a generally-shown 
 reluctance to approach me, which I could not but see, and could 
 not but perceive, at the same time, that he endeavored with 
 ineffectual effort to conceal. He was evidently conscious that 
 he was doing wrong. It was equally clear to me that he lacked 
 the manly courage to do right. What was all this to end in] 
 The question became momently more and more serious. Sup- 
 pose that he possessed no sort of influence over my wife ? Even 
 suppose his advances to stop where they were at present his 
 course already, so far, was a humiliating indignity, allowing 
 
184 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 that it became perceptible to the eyes of others. That revela 
 tion once made, there could be no more proper forbearance on 
 the part of the husband. The customs of our society, the tone 
 of public opinion nay, outraged humanity itself demanded 
 then the interposition of the avenger. And that revelation was 
 at hand. 
 
 Meanwhile, the keenest eyes of suspicion could behold noth- 
 ing in the conduct of Julia which was not entirely unexception- 
 able. If William Edgerton was still persevering in his pursuit, 
 Julia seemed insensible to his endeavors. Of course, they met 
 frequently when it was not in my power to see them. It was 
 my error to suppose that they met more frequently still that 
 he saw her invariably in his morning visits to the studio, which 
 was not often the case and, when they did meet, that she de- 
 rived quite as much satisfaction from the interview as himself. 
 Of their meetings, except at night, when I was engaged in my 
 miserable watch upon them, I could say nothing. Failing to 
 note anything evil at such periods, my jealous imagination 
 jumped to the conclusion that this was because my espionage 
 was suspected, and that their interviews at other periods were 
 distinguished by less prudence and reserve. And yet, could I 
 have reasoned rightly at this period, I must have seen that, if 
 such were the case, there would have been no such display of 
 empressement as William Edgerton made at these evening visits. 
 Did he expend his ardor in the day, did he apprehend my scru- 
 tiny at night, he would surely have suppressed the eagerness 
 of his glance the profound, all -forgetting adoration which 
 marked his whole air, gaze, and manner. Nor should I have 
 been so wretchedly blind to what was the obvious feeling of 
 discontent and disquiet in her bosom. Never did evenings 
 seem to pass with more downright dullness to any one party in 
 the world. If Edgerton spoke to her, which he did not fre- 
 quently, his address was marked by a trepidation and hesitancy 
 akin to fear a manner which certainly indicated Anything but 
 a foregone conclusion between them ; while her answers, on the 
 other hand, were singularly cold, merely replying, and calcu- 
 lated invariably to discourage everything like a protracted con- 
 versation. What was said by Edgerton was sufficiently harm- 
 less nor harmless merely. It was most commonly mere 
 
THE OLD GOOSE FINDS A YOUNG GANDER. 185 
 
 ordinary commonplace, the feeble effort of one who feels the 
 necessity of speech, yet dares not speak the voluminous pas- 
 sions which alone could furnish him with energetic and manly 
 utterance. Had the scales not been abundantly thick and cal- 
 lous above my eyes, how easily might these clandestine scruti- 
 nies have brought me back equally to happiness and my senses ! 
 But though I thus beheld the parties, and saw the truth as I 
 now relate it, there was always then some little trifling circum- 
 stance that would rise up, congenial to suspicion, and cloud my 
 conclusions, and throw me back upon old doubts and cruel jeal- 
 ousies. Edgerton's tone may, at moments, have been more fal- 
 tering and more tender than usual; Julia's glance might some- 
 times encounter his, and then they both might seem to fall, in 
 mutual confusion, to the ground. Perhaps she sung some little 
 ditty at his instance some ditty that she had often sung for 
 me. Nay, at his departure, she might have attended him to the 
 entrance, and he may have taken her hand and retained his 
 grasp upon it rather longer than was absolutely necessary for 
 his farewell. How was I to know the degree of pressure which 
 he gave to the hand within his own 1 That single grasp, not 
 unfrequently, undid all the better impressions of a whole even- 
 ing consumed in these unworthy scrutinies. I will not seek 
 further to account for or to defend this unhappy weakness. 
 Has not the great poet of humanity said 
 
 " Trifles, light as air, 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
 As proofs of Holy Writ" ? 
 
 Medical men tell us of a predisposing condition of the system 
 for the inception of epidemic. It needs, after this, but the 
 smallest atmospheric changes, and the contagion spreads, and 
 blackens, and taints the entire body of society, even unto death. 
 The history of the moral constitution is not unanalogous to this. 
 The disease, the damning doubt, once in the mind, and the rest 
 is easy. It may sleep and be silent for a season, for years, un- 
 provoked by stimulating circumstances ; but let the moral atmo 
 sphere once receive its color from the suddenly-passing cloud, 
 and the dark spot dilates within the heart, grows active, and 
 rapidly sends its poisonous and poisoning tendrils through all 
 
186 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 the avenues of mind. Its bitter secretions in my soul affected 
 all the objects of my sight, even as the jaundiced man lives 
 only in a saffron element. Perhaps no course of conduct on the 
 part of my wife could have seemed to me entirely innocent. 
 Certainly none could have been entirely satisfactory, or have 
 seemed entirely proper. Even her words, when she spoke to 
 me alone, were of a kind to feed my prevailing passion. Yet. 
 regarded under just moods, they should have been the most con- 
 clusive, not simply of her innocence, but of the devotedness of 
 her heart to the requisitions of her duty. Her love and her 
 sense of right seemed harmoniously to keep together. Gentlest 
 reproaches chided me for leaving her, when she sought for none 
 but myself. Sweetest endearments encountered my return, and 
 fondest entreaties would have delayed the hour of my depart 
 ure. Her earnestness, when she implored me not to leave her 
 so frequently at night, almost reached intensity, and had a 
 meaning, equally expressive of her delicacy and apprehensions, 
 which I was unhappily too slow to understand. 
 
 Six months had probably elapsed from the time of Mr. Clif 
 ford's death, when, returning from my office one day, who should 
 I encounter in my wife's company but her mother ? Of this 
 good lady I had been permitted to see but precious little since 
 my marriage. Not that she had kept aloof from our dwelling 
 entirely. Julia had always conceived it a duty to seek her 
 mother at frequent periods without regarding the ill treament 
 which she received ; and the latter, becoming gradually recon- 
 ciled to what she could no longer prevent, had at length so far 
 put on the garments of Christian charity as to make a visit to 
 her daughter in return. Of course, though I did not encourage 
 it, I objected nothing to this renewed intercourse ; which con- 
 tinued to increase until, as in the present instance, I sometimes 
 encountered this good lady on my return from my office. On 
 these occasions 1 treated her with becoming respect, though 
 without familiarity. I inquired after her health, expressed my- 
 self pleased to see her, and joined my wife in requesting her to 
 stay to dinner. Until now, she usually declined to do so ; and 
 her manner to myself hitherto was that of a spoiled child in- 
 dulging in his sulks. But, this day, to my great consternation* 
 she was all smiles and good humor, 
 
THE OLD GOOSE FINDS A YOUNG GANDER. 187 
 
 A change so sudden portended danger. I looked to my wife, 
 whose grave countenance afforded me no explanation. I looked 
 to the lady herself, my own countenance no doubt sufficiently 
 expressive of the wonder which I felt, hut there was little to be 
 read in that quarter which could give me any clue to the mys- 
 tery. Yet she chattered like a magpie ; her conversation run- 
 ning on certain styles of dress, various purchases of silks, and 
 satins, and other stuffs, which she had been buying a budget 
 of which, I afterward discovered, she had brought with her, in 
 order to display to her daughter. Then she spoke of her teeth, 
 newly filed and plugged, and grinned with frequent effort, that 
 their improved condition might be made apparent. Her chat- 
 ter was peculiarly that of a flippant and conceited girl-child of 
 sixteen, whose head has been turned by premature bringing out, 
 and the tuition of some vain, silly, wriggling mother. I could 
 see, by my wife's looks, that there was a cause for all this, and 
 waited, with considerable apprehension, for the moment when 
 we should be alone, in order to receive from her an explanation. 
 But little of Mrs. Clifford's conversation was addressed to me, 
 though that little was evidently meant to be particularly civil. 
 But, a little before she took her departure, which was soon after 
 dinner, she asked me with some abruptness, though with a con- 
 siderable smirk of meaning in her face, if I " knew a Mr. Pat- 
 rick Delaney." I frankly admitted that I had not this pleas- 
 ure ; and with a still more significant smirk, ending in a very 
 affected simper, meant to be very pleasant, she informed me, as 
 she took her leave, that Julia would make me wiser. I looked 
 to Julia when she was gone, and, with some chagrin, and with 
 few words, she unravelled the difficulty. Her mother the old 
 fool was about to be married, and to a Mr. Patrick Delaney, 
 an Irish gentleman, fresh from the green island, who had only 
 been some eighteen months in America. 
 
 " You seem annoyed by this affair, Julia ; but how does it 
 affect you ?" 
 
 " Oh, such a match can not turn out well. This Mr. Delaney 
 is a young man, only twenty-five, and what can he see in mother 
 to induce him to marry her ? It can only be for the little pit- 
 tance of property which she possesses." 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders while replying;- 
 
188 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 " There must be some consideration in every marriage-con- 
 tract." 
 
 ' " Ah ! but, Edward, what sort of a man can it be to whom 
 money is the consideration for marrying a woman old enough 
 to be his mother ?" 
 
 " And so little money, too. But, Julia, perhaps' he marries 
 her as a mother. He is a modest youth, who knows his juve- 
 nility, and seeks becoming guardianship. But the thing does 
 not concern us at all." 
 
 " She is my mother, Edward." 
 
 " True ; but still I do not see that the matter should concern 
 us. You do not apprehend that Mr. Patrick Delaney will seek 
 to exercise the authority of a father over either of us 1" 
 
 11 No ! but I fear she will repent." 
 
 "Why should that be a subject of fear which should be a 
 subject of gratulation ? For my part, I hope she may repent. 
 We are told she can not be saved else." 
 
 Julia was silent. I continued : 
 
 " But what brings her here, and makes her so suddenly affa- 
 ble with me ? That is certainly a matter which looks threat- 
 ening. Does ghe explain this to you, Julia ?" 
 
 " Not otherwise than by declaring she is sorry for former dif- 
 ferences." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! but her sorrow comes too late, and I very much 
 suspect has some motive. What more 1 the shaft is not yet 
 shot." 
 
 " You guess rightly ; she invites us to the wedding, and in- 
 sists that we must come, as a proof that we harbor no. malice." 
 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
 " All, I believe." 
 
 " She is more considerate than I expected. Well, you prom- 
 ised her ?" 
 
 " No ; I told her I could say nothing without consulting you." 
 
 " And would you wish to go, Julia ?" 
 
 " Oh, surely, dear husband." 
 
 ".We will both go, then." 
 
 A week afterward the affair took place, and we were among 
 the spectators. 
 
THE HEABT-FIEND'S ECHO. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THK HEART-FIEND FINDS AN ECHO FROM THE FIEND WITHOUT. 
 
 AND a spectacle it was ! Mrs. Clifford, about to become Mrs, 
 Delaney, was determined that the change in her situation should 
 be distinguished by becoming eclat. Always a silly woman, 
 fond of extravagance and show, she prepared to celebrate an 
 occasion of the greatest folly in a style of greater extravagance 
 than ever. She accordingly collected as many of her former 
 numerous acquaintances as were still willing to appear within 
 a circle in which wealth was no longer to be found. Her house 
 was small, but, as has been elsewhere stated in this narrative, 
 she had made it smaller by stuffing it with the massive and 
 costly furniture which had been less out of place in her former 
 splendid mansion, and had there much better accorded with her 
 fortunes. She now still further stuffed it with her guests. Of 
 course, many of those present, came only to make merry at 
 her expense. Her husband was almost entirely unknown to 
 any of them ; and it was enough to settle his pretensions in 
 every mind, that, in the vigor of his youth, a really fine-looking, 
 we-11-made person of twenty-five, he was about to connect him- 
 self, in marriage, with a haggard old woman of fifty, whose 
 personal charms, never very great, were nearly all gone ; and 
 whose mind and manners, the grace of youth being no more, 
 were so very deficient in all those qualities which might com- 
 mend one to a husband. So far as externals went, Mr. Delaney 
 was a very proper man. He behaved with sufficient decorum, 
 and unexpected modesty ; and went through the ordeal as com- 
 posedly as if the occurrence had been frequently before familiar; 
 as indeed w, C+sZL d:??*"*" 1 * ; the sequel, was certainly the case. 
 But this does not concern us u^^ 
 
190 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND 112 ART. 
 
 Three rooms were thrown open to the company. We had 
 refreshments in abundance and great variety, and at a certain 
 hour, we were astounded by the clamor of tamborine and fiddle 
 giving due notice to the dancers. Among my few social ac- 
 complishments, this of dancing had never been included. Nat- 
 urally, I should, perhaps, be considered an awkward man. I 
 was conscious of this awkwardness at all times when not ex- 
 cited by action or some earnest motive. I was incapable of 
 that graceful loitering, that flexibleness of mind and body, 
 which excludes the idea of intensity, of every sort, and which 
 constitutes one of the great essentials for success in a ball-room. 
 It was in this very respect that my friend, William Edgerton, 
 may be said to have excelled most young men of our acquain- 
 tance. He was what, in common speech, is called an accom- 
 plished man. Of very graceful person, without much earnest- 
 ness of character, he had acquired a certain fastidiousness of 
 taste on the subjects of costume and manners, which, without 
 Brummollizing, he yet carried to an extent which betrayed a 
 considerable degree of mental feebleness. This somewhat as- 
 similated him to the fashionable dandy. He walked with an 
 air equally graceful, noble, and unaffected. He was never on 
 stilts, yet he was always en regie. He had as little mauvais 
 hontc as mauvais ton. In short, whatever might have been his 
 deficiencies, he was confessedly a very neat specimen of the fine 
 gentleman in its most commendable social sense. 
 
 William Edgerton was among the guests of Mrs. Clifford. 
 There had been no previous intimacy between the Edgerton 
 and Clifford families, yet he had been specially invited. Mrs. 
 C. could have had but a single motive for inviting him so I 
 thought that of making her evening a jam. She had just 
 that ambition of the lady of small fashion, who regards the 
 number rather than the quality of her guests, and would puefer 
 a saloon full of Esquimaux or Kanzas, and would partake of 
 their sea-blubber, rather than lose the triumph of making more 
 noise than her rival neighbors, the Sprigginses or Wigginses. 
 
 William Edgerton did not seek me ; but, when I left the side 
 of my wife to pay my respects to some ladies at the opposite 
 end of the room, he approached her. A keen pang that ren- 
 dered me unconscious of everything I was saying nay, even 
 
THE BEAUT-FIEND'S ECHO. 191 
 
 of the persons to whom I was addressing myself shot through 
 my heart, as I beheld him crossing the floor to the place that I 
 had left. Involuntarily, the gracefulness of his person and 
 carriage provoked in my mind a contrast most unfavorable to 
 me, between him and myself. It was no satisfaction to me at 
 that time to reflect that I was less graceful only because I was 
 more earnest, more sincere. This is usually the case, and is 
 reasonably accounted for. Intensity and great earnestness of 
 character, are wholly inconsistent with a nice attention to forms, 
 carriage, demeanor. But what does a lady care for such distinc- 
 tion? Does she even suspect hi Not often. If she could 
 only fancy for a moment that the well-made but awkward man 
 who traverses the room before her, carried in his breast a soul 
 of such ardency and volume that it subjected his very motion 
 arbitrarily to its own excitements, its own convulsions ; that 
 the very awkwardness which offended her was the result of 
 the most deep and passionate feelings feelings which, like the 
 buried flame in the mountain, are continually boiling up for 
 utterance convulsing the prison-house which retained them 
 shaking the solid earth with their pent throes, that will not al- 
 ways be pent ! Ah ! these things do not move ladies' fancies. 
 There are very few endowed with that thoughtful pride which 
 disdains surfaces. Julia Clifford was one of these few ! But 
 I little knew it then. 
 
 The approach of William Edgerton to my wife was a signal 
 for my torture all that evening. From that moment my mind 
 was wandering. I knew little what I said, or looked, or did. 
 My chat with those around me became, on a sudden, bald and 
 disjointed; and when I beheld the pair, both nobly formed 
 he tall, graceful, manly she, beautiful and bending as a lily 
 a purity beaming, amid all their brightness, front her eyes 
 a piirity which, I had taught myself to believe, was no longer 
 in her heart when I beheld them advance into the floor, con- 
 spicuous over all the rest, in most eyes, as they certainly were 
 in mine I can not describe you may conjecture the cold, 
 fainting sickness which overcame my soul. I could have lain 
 myself down upon the lone, midnight rocks, and surrendered 
 myself to solitude and storm for ever. 
 
 They entered the stately measures of the Spanish dance 
 
192 CONtfKSKION, OR THE BLIND HEAftT. 
 
 But the grace of movement which won the murmuring applausd 
 of all around me, only increased the agony of my afflictions. 
 I saw their linked arms the compliant, willing movements of 
 their mutual forms and dark were the images of guilt and 
 hateful suspicion which entered my brain and grew to vivid 
 forms, in action before me. I fancied the fierce, passionate 
 yearnings in the heart of Edgerton ; I trembled when I con- 
 jectured what fancies filled the heart of Julia. I can not linger 
 over the torturing influence of those moments moments which 
 seemed ages ! Enough that I was maddened with the delirium, 
 now almost as its height, which had been for months preying 
 upon my brain like some corroding serpent. 
 
 The dance closed. Edgerton conducted her to a seat and 
 placed himself beside her. I kept aloof. I watched them from 
 a distance ; and in sustaining this watch, I was compelled to 
 recall my senses with a stern degree of resolution which should 
 save my feelings from the detection of those inquisitive glances 
 which I fancied were all around me. If I was weakest among 
 men, in the disease which destroyed my peace, Heaven knows 
 I was among the strongest of men in concealing its expression 
 at the very moment when every pulsation of my heart was an 
 especial agony. I affected indifference, threw myself into the 
 midst of a group of such people as talk of their neighbor's 
 bonnets or breeches, the rise of stocks, or the fall of rain ; and 
 how Mrs. Jenkins has set up her carriage, and Mr. Higgins 
 has been compelled to set down, and to sell out his. Interest- 
 ing details, perhaps, without which the nine in ten might at 
 well be tongueless or tongue-tied for ever. This stuff I had tc 
 hear, and requite in like currency, while my brain was boiling, 
 and dim, but terrible images of strife, and storm, and agony, 
 were rushing through it with howling and hisses. There I sat, 
 thus seemingly engaged, but with an eye ever glancing covert- 
 ly to the two, who, at that moment, absorbed every thought of 
 my mind, every feeling of my heart, and filled them both with 
 the bitterest commotion. The glances of their mutual eyes, 
 the expression of lip and cheek, I watched with the keenest 
 analysis of suspicion. In Julia, I saw sweetness mixed with a 
 delicate reserve. She seemed to speak but little. Her eyes 
 wandered from her companion frequently to where I pat 
 
HEART TIEND'S ECHO. 193 
 
 but I gave myself due credit, at sucli moments, for the ability 
 with which I conducted my own espionage. My inference 
 equally unjust and unnatural that her timid glances to my- 
 self denoted in her bosom a consciousness of wrong seemed 
 to me the most natural and inevitable inference. And when I 
 noted the ardency of Edgerton's gaze, his close, unrelaxing at- 
 tentions, the seeming forgetfulness of all around which he 
 manifested, I hurried to the conclusion that his words were of 
 a character to suit his looks, and betray in more emphatic ut- 
 terance, the passion which they also betrayed. 
 
 The signal, after a short re.spite, devoted to fruits, ices, &c^ 
 was made for the dancers, and William Edgerton rose. I noted 
 his bow to my wife, saw that he spoke, and necessarily con- 
 cluded, that he again solicited her to dance. Her lips moved 
 she bowed slightly and he again took his seat beside her. 
 I inferred from this that she declined to dance a second time. 
 She was certainly more prudent than himself. I assigned to 
 prudence to policy on her part, what might well have been 
 placed to a nobler motive. I went further. 
 
 " She will not dance with him," said the busy fiend at nw 
 shoulder, " for the very reason that she prefers a quiet seat be- 
 side him. In the dance they mingle with others ; they can not 
 speak with so much ease and safety. Now she has him all to 
 herself." 
 
 I dashed away, forgetful, gloomily, from the knot by which 
 I had been encompassed. I passed into the adjoining room, 
 which was connected by folding doors, with that I left. The 
 crowd necessarily grouped itself around the dancers, and .<". * x*t 
 a window-jamb, I stood absolutely forgetting where I Wa,. 
 alone among the many with my eye stretching over the 
 heads of the flying masses, to the remote spot where my wife 
 still sat with Edgerton. I was aroused from my hateful dream 
 by a slight touch upon my arm. I started with a painful sense 
 of my own weakness with a natural dread that the secret 
 misery under which I labored was no longer a secret. I writhed 
 under the conviction that the cold, the sneering, and the worth 
 less, were making merry with my afflictions. I met the gaac? 
 of the bride the mistress of ceremonies my wife's mother 
 Mrs. Delaney, late OHIToH. I shuddered as I beheld her 
 
 9 
 
194 CONFESSION, OS THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 glance. I could not mistake the volume of meaning in hei 
 smile that wretched smile of her thin, withered lips, brimful 
 of malignant cunning, which said emphatically as such smile 
 coald say : 
 
 " I see you on the rack ; I know that you are writhing; and 
 I enjoy your tortures." 
 
 I started, as if to leave her, with a look of fell defiance, roused, 
 ready to burst forth into utterance, upon my own face. But she 
 gently detained my arm. 
 
 " You are troubled." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ah ! but you are. Stop awhile. You will feel better." 
 
 " Thank you ; but I feel very well." 
 
 " No, no, you do not. You can not deceive me. I know 
 where the shoe pinches ; but what did you expect ? Were you 
 simple enough to imagine that a woman would be true to her 
 husband, who was false to her own mother?" 
 
 " Fiend !" I muttered in her ear. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" was the unmeasured response of the bel 
 da,me, loud enough for the whole house to hear. I darted from 
 her grasp, which would have detained me still, made my way 
 how I know not out of the house, and found myself almost 
 gasping for breath, in the open air of the street. 
 
 She, at least, had been sagacious enough to find out my secret 
 
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 any- 
 thing 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 mas- 
 ters 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 reason- 
 ably 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 Edgertcn had 
 become such, as to awaken the notice of third persons, T was 
 
196 CONFESSION, OK THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 justified in exacting from him the heavy responsibility he had 
 incurred. The vague, indistinct conviction had long floated be- 
 fore 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 inter- 
 ested like myself that he had passed 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 dis- 
 tinguish 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 
 pries 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 aim 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 
 ]ips h er 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 try- 
 Ing to subdue my blood, that my thoughts might meet in delibera- 
 tion ripen the desolating prospect which was then spread before 
 
KINGSLBY. 197 
 
 me. But I struggled for this in vain. But one thought was 
 mine at that hour. But one fearful image gathered in complete- 
 ness arvd strength before my mind ; and that was one calcula- 
 ted 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 1" 
 
 I had repeatedly resolved this gloomy conviction in my mind. 
 1'j 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 kind- 
 ness and long true friendship of the son himself, how could I re- 
 cuite this after such a fashion ? How penetrate the peaceful 
 home of that fond family with an arm of such violence, as to 
 i end their proudest offspring from the parental tree, and, per- 
 haps, in destroying it, blight for ever the venerable trunk upon 
 which it was borne 1 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 neces- 
 sary 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 j and the cold sweat gather- 
 ed 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 10 my fate. But oh ! how grateful once had one of these 
 
198 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 victims seemed in my eyes ! How beautiful, and still kow dear 
 was the other ! 
 
 I rose from my seat and struggle, with the air of one strength- 
 ened 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 ex- 
 ample." 
 
 This exordium promised something unusual. The manner of 
 Kingsley betrayed excitement. Nay, it was soon evident he 
 had been taking a superfluous quantity of wine. His voice 
 was thick, and he spoke excessively loud in order to be intelligi 
 ble. 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 passions nay, they were subdued singularly so, by the 
 resolution^! had made before his entrance, and was aole, there- 
 fore, to appear calm and smooth as summer water in his cyca. 
 
 " What's the matter V I asked. " You seem excited. No evil, 
 I trust ?" 
 
 "Evil, indeed ! Not much; but oven if it were, .. tell yon 
 
-?. 191* 
 
 Ned Clifford; 1 am just now in the Kkooi to aay * Evil be them 
 my good !' I have reasc a io say it ; *nd> by the powers, it will 
 not be said onl 7. I will make e^u my good after a fashion of 
 my own ; tut how much good or how little evil, will be yet an- 
 other 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 V 9 . was the inquiry which con- 
 cluded my assurance that I was sufficiently his friend to sym- 
 pathize 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, how- 
 ever 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 
 yaars ago/' 
 
 14 A few months ! But the case is the same* I am poor now. 
 
200 acrissBsiON OB THE BLIND HEART, 
 
 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 I 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 -Trill 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 noi msan I From 
 that vice he is certainly free." 
 
 " By G-d, I don't know that ! He refused ma the money i, 
 refused to go with me. I saw him at eight o'clock, at his own 
 room, where he was rigging himself out for gome 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 thers 
 ever such a puritan such a humbug !" 
 
 I did William Edgerton only justice in my reply s- 
 
 " 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." 
 
KINGSLEY. 
 
 "But what a devil sort of despotism is that! Oan't a 
 friend get drunk, or game, or swagger ? may lie not depart 
 from the highway, and sidle into an alley, without souring 
 his friend's temper and making him stingy ? I don't under- 
 stand 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 Ed- 
 gerton, 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 swal- 
 lowed up at the last moment, when an outstretched finger 
 might save!" 
 
 " But, am I to think, Kingsley, that my help can do this V 
 
 "No! not exactly it may but if it does not, what then? 
 I shall lose the money, but you sha'n'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 ass of me. There will 
 be some satisfaction, in that. I will write myself down aa 
 ass, for their benefit, only to enjoy the satisfaction of kick- 
 ing a, little like one. I invite you on a kicking expedi- 
 tion." 
 
 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 
 
 9* 
 
202 CONFESSION, (2 THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 you are to expect. I will not take you in. Are you ready for 
 a scratch?" 
 
 "Aliens!" I replied indifferently. The truth is, my bosom 
 was full of a recklessness of a far more sweeping character 
 than his own. I was in the mood for strife. It promised 
 only the more thoroughly to prepare me for the darker trial 
 which was before me, and which my secret soul was medita- 
 ting all the while wiit an imtense sac? gloomy tenacity of 
 purpose^ 
 
MORALS OF ENTERPRISE. 203 
 
 OHA* TEB 
 
 MORALS O/ ENTERPRISE. 
 
 I GOT him the money he reqiaied; and we were about to set 
 forth, when he exclaimed abruptly ; 
 
 " Put money in thy own purse, Clifford. It may be neces- 
 sary to practise a little ruse de guerre. In playing my game* 
 it may be important that you should seem to play one also. 
 You have no scruples to fling the dice or fliit the cards for the 
 nonce." 
 
 " None ! But I should like to know your plans. Tell me, 
 in the first place, your precise object." 
 
 " Simply to detect certain knaves, and save certain fools. 
 The knaves have ruined me, and I make no lamentations ; but 
 there are others in their clutches still, quite as ignorant as my- 
 self, who may be saved before they are stripped entirely. The 
 object is not a bad one ; for the rest, trust to me. I me/an no 
 harm ; a little mischief only ; and, at most, a tweak of one 
 proboscis or more. There's risk, of a certainty, as there is in 
 
 sucking an egg ; but you are a man ! Not like that d d 
 
 milksop, who gives up his friend as soon as he gets poor, and 
 proffers him a sermon by way of telling him precious infor- 
 mation, truly that he's in a fair way to the devil. The toss 
 of a copper for such friendship." 
 
 The humor of Kingsley tallied somewhat with my own. It 
 had in it a spice of recklessness which pleased me. Perhaps, 
 too, it tended somewhat to relieve and qualify the intenseness 
 of that excitement in my brain, which sometimes rose to such 
 a pitch as led me to apprehend madness. That I was i 
 monomaniac has been admitted, perhaps not a moment *-c 80vS 
 
204 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 for tbe Author's candor. The sagacity of the reader made him 
 independent of the admission. 
 
 " Your beggar," said he, somewhat abruptly, " has the only 
 true feeling of independence. Absolutely, I never knew till 
 now what it was to be thoroughly indifferent to what might 
 come to-morrow. I positively care for nothing. I am the first 
 prince Sans Souci. That shall be my title when I get among 
 the Cumanches. I will have a code of laws and constitution 
 to suit my particular humor, and my chief penalties shall be in- 
 flicted upon your fellows who grunt. A sigh shall incur a 
 week's solitary confinement ; a sour look, pillory ; and for a 
 groan, the hypochondriac shall lose his head ! My prime 
 minister shall be the fellow who can longest use his tongue with- 
 out losing his temper ; and the man who can laugh and jest 
 shall always have his plate at my table. Good-humored people 
 shall have peculiar privileges. It shall be a certificate in one's 
 favor, entitling him to so many acres, that he takes the world 
 kindly. Such a man shall have two wives, provided he can 
 keep them peacefully in the same house. His daughters shall 
 have dowries from government. The prince of Sans Souci will 
 himself provide for them." 
 
 I made some answer, half jest, half earnest, in a mood of 
 mocking bitterness, which, perhaps, more truly accorded with 
 the temper of both of us. He did not perceive the bitterness, 
 however. 
 
 "You jest, but mine is not altogether jest. Half-serious 
 glimpses of what I tell you float certainly before my eyes. 
 Such things may happen yet, and the southwest is the world in 
 which you are yet to see many wondrous things. The time 
 must come when Texas shall stretch to Mexico. These mise- 
 rable slaves and reptiles mongrel Spaniards and mongrel In- 
 dians can not very long bedevil that great country. It must 
 fall into other hands. It must be ours; and who, when that 
 time comes, will carry into the field more thorough claims than 
 mine. Master of myself, fearing nothing, caring for nothing; 
 with a gallant steed that knows my voice, and answers with 
 whinny and pricked ears to my encouragement ; with a rifle 
 tha; *,an clip a Mexican dollar or man at a hundred yards, 
 4nc a ae<trt that can defy the devil over his own dish, and with 
 
MORALS OF ENTERPRISE. 205 
 
 but one spoon between us and who so likely to win his prin- 
 cipality as myself? Look to see it, Clifford , I shall be a prince 
 in Mexico ; and when you hear of the prinoe Sans Souci be 
 assured you know the man. Seek me then, and ask what you 
 will. You have carte blanche from this moment." 
 
 " I shall certainly keep it in mind, prince." 
 
 " Do so : laugh as you please ; it is only becoming that yon 
 should laugh in the presence of Sans Souci ; but do not laugh 
 in token of irreverence. You must not be too skeptical. It 
 does not follow because I am a dare-devil that I am a thought- 
 less one. I have been so, perhaps, but from this moment I go 
 to work ! I shall be fettered by fortune no longer. Thank 
 Heaven, that is now done gone lost ; I am free from its in- 
 cumbrance ! I feel myself a prince, indeed ; a man, every inch 
 of me. This night I devote as a fitting finish to my old lifeless 
 existence. 
 
 "Hear me!" he continued; "you laugh again, Clifford 
 very good ! Laugh on, but hear me. You shall hear more of 
 me in time to come. I fancy I shall be a fellow of considerable 
 importance, not in Texas simply, or in Mexico, but here - -here 
 in your own self-opinionated United States. Suppose a few 
 things, and go along with me while I speak them. Thr.t Texas 
 must stretch to Mexico I hold to be certain. A very few year& 
 will do that. It needs only thirty thousand more men from 
 our southern and southwestern States, and the brave old Eng- 
 lish tongue shall arouse the best echoes in the city of Monte- 
 zuma ! That done, and floods of people pour in from all quar- 
 ters. It needs nothing but a feeling of security and peace 
 conviction that property will be tolerably safe, under a tolerably 
 stable government in other words, an Anglo-Saxon govern- 
 ment to tempt millions of discontented emigrants from all quar- 
 ters of the world. Will this result have no results of its own, 
 think you 1 Will the immense resources of Mexico and Texas, 
 represented, as they then will be, by a stern, pressing, per- 
 forming people, have no effect upon these states of yours 1 
 They will have the greatest ; nay, they will become essential 
 to balance your own federal weight, and keep you all in equi- 
 librio. For look you, the first hubbub with Great Britain g : .ve& 
 you Canada, at :he expense of some of your coast-towns, a few 
 
*2U fi CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 millions of treasure, and the loss of fifty thousand men, A 
 I ad exchange for the south ; for Canada will make six ponder- 
 ous Ftates, lr e policy and character of which will he New Eng- 
 land all over To balance this you will have your Florida ter- 
 ritory,* of which two feeble states may be made. Not enough 
 for your purposes. But the same war with England will render 
 it necessary tint your fleet should take possession of Cuba; 
 which, aftei- a civil apology to Spain for taking such a liberty 
 with her possessions, and, perhaps, a few millions by way of 
 hush money, you carve into two more states, and, in this man- 
 ner, try to bolster up your federal relations. How many of her 
 West India islands Great Britain will be able to keep after 
 such a war, is another problem, the solution of which will de- 
 pend upon the relative strength of fleets and success of seaman- 
 chip. These islands, which should of right be ours, and with- 
 out which we can never be sure against any maritime power so 
 great and so arrogant as England, once conquered by our arms, 
 nnd their natural, moral, and social affinities in the southern 
 states entirely ; and, so far, contribute to strengthen you in 
 your congressional conflicts. But these are not enough, for the 
 simple reason that the population of states, purely agricultural, 
 ievcr //lakes that progress which is made in this respect by a 
 Commercial and manufacturing people. With the command of 
 She gulf, the possession of an independent fleet by the Texans, 
 the political characteristics of the states of Carolina, Georgia, 
 Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Arkansas, must 
 undergo certain marked changes, which can only be neutralized 
 ?y the adoption, on the part of these states, of a new policy 
 corresponding with their change of interests. How far the 
 cultivation of cotton by Texas will lead to its abandonment in 
 Carolina and Georgia, is a question which the next ten years 
 must solve. That they will be compelled to abandon it is in- 
 evitable, unless they can succeed in raising the article at six 
 cents ; a probability which no cotton-planter in either of these 
 ctatfts will be willing to contemplate now for an instant. Mean- 
 while, Texas is spreading herself right and left. She conquers 
 the (jumanches, subdues the native mongrel Mexicans. Her 
 HoGBtons and Lamars are succeeded by other and abler men, 
 * Florida, since admitted, but unhappily, as a single state. 
 
MORALS OF ENTERPRISE. 2i>7 
 
 under whose control the evils of government, which follow 3(? 
 the sway of such small animals as the Guerreros, and the Boli 
 vars, the Bustamentes, and Sant' Annas, are very soon eradi 
 cated ; and the country, the noblest that God ever gave to man, 
 in the hands of men, becomes a country ! a great and glorious 
 country stretching from the gulf to the Pacific, and providi* ^ 
 the natural balance, which, in a few years, the southern stale , 
 of this Union will inevitably need, by which alone your grea. 
 confederacy will be kept together. You see, therefore, why I 
 speed to Texas. Should I not, with my philosophy, my horbe, 
 and my rifle not to speak of stout heart and hand reason 
 ably aspire to the principality of Sans Souci? Laugh, if you 
 please, but be not irreverent. You shall have carte blanche, then 
 if you will have a becoming faith now, on the word of a prince 
 I say it, It is written Sans Souci."* 
 
 " Altissimo, excellentissimo, serenissimo!" 
 
 " Bravissimo, you improve ; you will make a courtier but 
 mum now about my projects. We must suppress our dignities 
 here. We are at the entrance of our hell !" 
 
 We had reached the door of a low habitation in a secluded 
 street. The house was of wood an ordinary hovel of twc 
 stories. A cluster of similar fabrics surrounded it, most of which, 
 I afterward discovered though this fact could not be con< 
 jectured by an observer from the street were connected by 
 blind alleys, inner courts, and chambers and passages running' 
 along the ground floors. We stopped an instant, Kingsley 
 having his hand upon the little iron knocker, a single black ring, 
 that worked against an ordinary iron knob. 
 
 " Before I knock," said he, in a whisper, " before I knock, 
 Clifford, let me say that if you have any reluctance " 
 
 " None ! none ! knock J" 
 
 " You will meet with some dirty rascals, and you must not 
 only meet them with seeming civility, but as if you shared in 
 their tastes sought the same objects only the getting of 
 money the only object which alone is clearly comprehensible 
 by their understanding." 
 
 " Go ahead ! I will see you through." 
 
 * All these speculations were written in 1840-'41. I need not remark upon 
 those which have since been verified. 
 
CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 *' A word more ! Get yourself in play at a different table 
 f:om me. You will find rogues enough around, ready to relieve 
 y o u jj your Mexicans. Leave me to my particular enemy ; 
 yea will soon see whose shield I touch but keep an occasion- 
 -.1 ~ye upon us ; and all that I ask farther at your hands, should 
 y yj. see us by the ears, is to keep other fingers from taking hold 
 / m'ns " 
 
 A heavy stroke of the knocker, followed by three light ones 
 and a second heavy stroke, produced us an answer from within. 
 TLe door unclosed, and by the light of a dim lamp, I discover- 
 er before me, as a sort of warden, a little yellow, weather-beaten, 
 si in-dried Frenchman, whom I had frequently before seen at a 
 fruit-shop in another part of the city. He looked at me, how- 
 ever, without any sign of recognition with a blank, dull, in- 
 different countenance; motioned us forward in silence, and 
 reclosing the door, sunk into a chair immediately behind it. I 
 followed my companion through a passage which was unfathom- 
 ably dark, up a flight of stairs, which led us into a sort of 
 refreshment room. Tables were spread, with decanters, glasses, 
 and tumblers upon them, that appeared to be in continual use. 
 In a recess, stood that evil convenience of most American es- 
 tablishments, whether on land or sea, a liquor bar ; its shelves 
 crowded with bottles, all of which seemed amply full, and ready 
 to complete the overthrow of the victim, which the other appli- 
 ances of such a dwelling must already have actively begun. 
 
 " Here you may take in the Dutch courage, Clifford, should 
 you lack the native. This, I know, is not the case with you, 
 and yet the novelty of one's situation frequently overcomes a 
 sensitive mind like fear. Perhaps a julep may be of use." 
 
 "None for me. I need no farther stimulant than the 
 mere sense of mouvement. I take fire, like a wheel, by my 
 own progress." 
 
 " Pretty much the same case with myself. But I have been 
 in the habit of drinking here, of late, and too deeply. To-night, 
 however, as I said before, ends all these habits. If there is 
 honey in the carcass, and strength from the sleep, there is wisdom 
 from the folly, and virtue from the vice. There is a moral as 
 well as a physical recoil, that most certainly follows the over- 
 charge ; and really, speaking according to my sincere conviction 
 
MORALS OF ENTERPRISE. 209 
 
 I never felt myself to be a better man, than just at this moment 
 when I am about to do that which my own sense of morality 
 fails altogether to justify. I do not know that I make you un- 
 derstand my feelings ; I scarcely understand them myself ; but 
 of this sort they are, and I am really persuaded that I never 
 felt in a better disposition to be a good man and a working 
 man than just at the close of a career which has been equally 
 profligate and idle." 
 
 I think my companion can be understood. There seems, in 
 fact, very little mystery in his moral progress. I understood 
 him, but did not answer. I was not anxious to keep up the ball 
 ,f conversation which he had begun with a spirit so mixed up 
 cf contradictions so earnest yet so playful. A deep sense of 
 shame unquestionably lurked beneath his levity; and yet I 
 make no question that he felt in truth, and for the first time, 
 that degree of mental hardihood of which he boasted. 
 
 He advanced through the refreshment-room, to a door which 
 led to an apartment in an adjoining tenement. It was closed, 
 but unfastened. The sound of voices, an occasional buzz, or a 
 Blight murmur, came to our ears from within ; that of rattling 
 dice and rolling balls was more regular and more intelligible. 
 Kingsley laid his hand upon the latch, and looked round to me. 
 His eye was kindled with a playful sort of malicious light. A 
 smile of pleasant bitterness was on his lips. He said to me in 
 a whisper : 
 
 " Stake your money slowly. A Mexican is the lowest stake. 
 Keep to that, and lose as little as possible. You will soon see 
 me sufficiently busy, and I will endeavor to urge my labors 
 forward, so as to make your purgatory a short one. I shall only 
 wait till I feel myself cheated in the game, to begin that which 
 I came for. See that I have fair play in that, mon ami, and I 
 care very little about the other." 
 
 He lifted the latch as he conclude 1, and I followed him into 
 the apartment. 
 
210 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE HELL. 
 
 THE scene that opened upon us was, to me, a painfully 'i'^* :> 
 esting one. It was a mere hell, without any of those attra.< v ,. 
 adjuncts which, in a diseased state of popular refinement, sr i'j 
 as exists in the fashionable atmospheres of London and Pans, 
 provides it with decorations, and conceals its more discouraging 
 and offensive externals. The charms rf music, lovely women, 
 gay lights, and superb drapery and furniture, were here entirely 
 wanting. No other arts beyond the single passion for hazard, 
 which exists, I am inclined to think, in a greater or less degree 
 in every human breast, were here employed to beguile the young 
 and unsuspecting mind into indulgence. The establishment into 
 which I had fallen, seemed to presuppose an acquaintance, al- 
 ready formed, of the gamester with his fascinating vice. It 
 was evidently no place to seduce the uninitiate. The passion 
 must have been already awakened the guardianship of the 
 good angel lulled into indifference or slumber before the young 
 mind could be soon reconciled to the moral atmosphere of such 
 a scene. 
 
 The apartment was low and dimly lighted. Groups of small 
 tables intended for two persons were all around. In the centre 
 of the floor were tables of larger size, which were surrounded 
 by the followers of Pharo. Unoccupied tables, here and there, 
 were sprinkled with cards and domino ; while, as if to render 
 the characteristics of the place complete, a vapor of smoke 
 and a smell of beer assailed our senses as we entered. 
 
 There were not many persons present I conjectured, at a 
 glance, that there might be fifteen; but we heard occasional 
 voices from an inner room, and a small door opening in the rear 
 discovered a retreat like that we occupied, in the dim light of 
 
THE HELL. 211 
 
 which I pe.-.ceived moving faces and shadows, and Kingsley in- 
 "ormod me that there were several rooms all similarly occupied 
 with oure. 
 
 An examination of the persons around me, increased the un- 
 pleasant feelings which the place had inspired. With the excep- 
 tion of a few, the greater number were evidently superior to 
 their employments. Several of them were young men like my 
 con t ^-c-on men not yet lost to sensibility, who looked up with 
 somi annoyance as they beheld Kingsley accompanied by a 
 stranger. Two or three of the inmates were veteran gamesters. 
 V^u could see that in their business-like nonchalance their 
 rigid muscles the manner at once demure and familiar. They 
 were evidently "habitues deVenfer" men to whom cards and 
 dice were as absolutely necessary now, as brandy and tobacco 
 vo the drunkard. These men were always at play. Even the 
 smallest interval found them still shuffling the cards, and look- 
 ing up at every opening of the door, as if in hungering antici- 
 pation of the prey. At such periods alone might you behold 
 any expression of anxiety in their faces. This disappeared en- 
 tirely the moment that they were in possession of the victim. 
 That imperturbable composure which distinguished them was 
 singularly contrasted with the fidgety eagerness and nervous 
 rapidity by which you could discover the latter; and I glanced 
 over the operations of the two parties, as they were fairly 
 shown in several sets about the room, with a renewed feeling o 
 wonder how a man so truly clever and strong, in some things, 
 as Kingsley, should allow himself to be drawn so deeply into 
 such low snares ; the tricks of which seemed so apparent, and 
 the attractions of which, in the present instance, were obviously 
 so inferior and low. I little knew by what inoffensive and 
 gradual changes the human mind, having once commenced its 
 downward progress, can hurry to the base ; nor did I sufficiently 
 allow for that love of hazard itself, in games of chance, which 
 I have already expressed the opinion, is natural to the proper 
 heart of man, belongs to a rational curiosity, and arises, most 
 probably, from that highest property of his intellect, namely, 
 the love of art and intellectual ingenuity. It would be very 
 important to know this fact, since then, instead of the blind 
 hostility which is entertained for sports of this description, by 
 
212 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 certain classes of moralists among us, we might so emp'oy tlirii 
 ministry as to deprive them of their hurtfulness and mj'kc tha-.Ti 
 permanently beneficial in the cause of good education. 
 
 Kingsley seemed to conjecture my thoughts. A sc\:l * of 
 lofty significance expressing a feeling of mixed scorn and 
 humility, rose upm his countenance as if admitting Lis >wn 
 feebleness, Awhile insisting upon his recovered strength A 
 sentence whic h he uttered to me in a whisper, at this m >moi:t, 
 was intended to convey some such meaning. 
 
 " It was only when thrown to the earth, Clifford, that the 
 wrestler recovered his strength." 
 
 "That fable," I replied, " proves thi t he was no god, Rt 
 least. Of the earth, earthy, he found strength only in h?; 
 sphere. The moment he aspired above it the god crushed him 
 I doubt if Hercules could have derived any benefit from t) : 
 same source." 
 
 " Ah ! I am no Hercules, but you will also find that I am no 
 Antseus. I fall, but I rise again, and I am not crushed. This 
 is peculiarly the source of human strength." 
 
 " Better not to fall." 
 
 " Ah ! you are too late from Utopia. But M 
 
 We were interrupted ; a voice at my elbow a soft, clear, 
 insinuating voice addressed my companion : 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur Kingsley, I rejoice to see you." 
 
 Kingsley gave me a single look, which said everything, as 
 he turned to meet the new-comer. The latter continued : 
 
 " Though worsted in that last encounter, you do not despair, 
 I see." 
 
 No ! why should I ?" 
 
 " True, why ? Fortune baffles skill, but what of that ? She 
 is capricious. Her despotism is feminine ; and in her empire, 
 more certainly than any other, it may be said boldly, that, 
 with change of day there is change of doom. It is not always 
 rain/' 
 
 " Perhaps not, but we may have such a long spell of it that 
 everything is drowned. ' It's a long lane,' says the proverb, 
 *that has no turn;' but a man be done up long before he gets 
 to the turning place." 
 
 The other replied by some of the usual commonplaces by 
 
THE HELL. 213 
 
 which, in condescending language, the gamester provokes and 
 stimulates his unconscious victim. Kingsley, however, had 
 reached a period of experience which enabled him to estimate' 
 these phrases at their proper worth. 
 
 " You would encourage me," he said quietly, and in tones 
 which, to the unnoteful ear, would have seemed natural enough, 
 hut which, knowing him as I did, were slightly sarcastic, and 
 containing a deeper signification than they gave out : " but you 
 are the better player. I am now convinced of that. Some- 
 thing there is in fortune, doubtless ; my self-esteem makes me 
 willing to admit that ; and yet I do not deceive myself. You 
 have been too much for me you are !" 
 
 " The difference is trifling, very trifling, I suspect. A little 
 more practice will soon reconcile that." 
 
 '* Ha ! ha ! you forget the practice is to be paid for." 
 
 " True, but it is the base spirit only that scruples at the cost 
 of its accomplishments." 
 
 " Surely, surely !" 
 
 " You are fresh for the encounter to-night 1" 
 
 " Pleasantly put ! Is the query meant for the player or hig 
 purse 1" 
 
 " Good, very good ! Why, truly, there is no necessary affinity 
 between them." 
 
 " And yet the one without the other would scarcely be ? T !e 
 to commend himself to so excellent an artist as Mr. Latour 
 Cleveland. Clifford, let me introduce you to my enemy ; Mr. 
 Cleveland, my friend" 
 
 In this manner was I introduced. Thus was I made ac- 
 quainted with the particular individual whom it was the medi- 
 tated purpose of Kingsley to expose. But, though thus marked 
 in the language of his introduction, there was nothing in the 
 tone or manner of my companion, at all calculated to alarm the 
 suspicions of the other. On the contrary, there was a sort of 
 reckless joviality in the air of abandon, with which he presented 
 me and spoke. A natural curiosity moved me to examine 
 Cleveland more closely. He was what we should call, in com- 
 mon speech, a very elegant young man. He was probably 
 thirty or thirty-five years of age, tall, graceful, rather slender- 
 ish, and of particular nicety in his dress. All his clothes were 
 
21-1 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 disposed with the happiest precision. White kid-gloves covered 
 his taper fingers. Withdrawn, a rich diamond blazed upon ono 
 hand, while a seal-ring, of official dimensions, with characters 
 cut in lava, decorated the ether. His movements betrayed the 
 same nice method which distinguished the arrangement of his 
 dress. His evolutions might all have been performed by trum- 
 pet signal, and to the sound of measured music. He was evi- 
 dently one of t lose persons whose feelings, are too little earnest, 
 ever to affect their policy ; too little warm ever to disparage 
 the rigor of their customary play ; one of those cold, nice men, 
 who, without having a single passion at work to produce one 
 condition of feeling higher than another, are yet the very ideals 
 of the most narrow and concentrated selfishness. His face was 
 thin, pale, and intelligent. His lips were thick, however the 
 eyes bright, like those of a snake, but side-looking, never direct, 
 never upward, and always with a smiling shyness in their glance, 
 in which a suspicious mind like my own would always find suf- 
 ficient occasion for distrust. 
 
 Mr. Cleveland bestowed a single keen glance upon me while 
 going through the ordeal of introduction. But his scrutiny 
 labored under one disadvantage. His eyes did not encounter 
 ix/" 7 !*, ! One loses a great deal, if his object be the study of 
 Luman nature, if he fails in this respect. 
 
 ' Much pleasure in making your acquaintance, Mr. Clifford ; 
 trust, however, you will find me no worse enemy than your 
 friend has done." 
 
 " If he find you no worse, he will find himself no better. 
 He will pay for his enmity, whatever its degree, as I have done, 
 anc 1 be wiser, by reason of his losses." 
 
 " Ah ! you think too much of your ill fortunes. That is bad, 
 It takes from your confidence and so enfeebles your skill. You 
 should think of it less seriously. Another cast, and the tables 
 chirjge. You will have your revenge." 
 
 " I will / " said Kingsley with some emphasis, and a gravity 
 which the other did not see. He evidently heard the words 
 only as he had been accustomed to hear them from the lips 
 of young gamesters who perpetually delude themselves with 
 hopes based upon insane expectations, A benignant smile 
 mantled the cheeks of the gamester. 
 
THE HELL. 215 
 
 " Ah, well ! I am ready ; but if you think me too much for 
 you" 
 
 He paused. The taunt was deliberately intended. It was 
 the customary taunt of the gamester. On the minds of half 
 the number of young men, it would have had the desired effect 
 of goading vanity, and provoking the self-esteem of the con- 
 ceited boy into a sort of desperation, when the powers of sense 
 and caution become mostly suspended, and no unnecessary 
 suspicion or watchfulness then interferes to increase the diffi- 
 culty of plucking the pigeon. I read the smile on Kingsley's 
 lip. It was brief, momentary, pleasantly contemptuous. Then, 
 suddenly, as if he had newly recollected his policy, his counte- 
 nance assumed a new expression one more natural to the 
 youth who has been depressed by losses, vexed at defeat, but 
 flatters himself that the atonement is at hand. Perhaps, some- 
 thing of the latent purpose of his mind increased the intense 
 bitterness in the manner and tones of my companion. 
 
 " Too much for me, Mr. Cleveland ! No, no ! You are wil- 
 ling, I see, to rob good fortune of some of her dues. You crow 
 too soon. I have a shrewd presentiment that I shall be quite 
 too much for you to-night." 
 
 A pleasant and well-satisfied smile of Cleveland answered 
 the speaker. 
 
 " I like that," said he ; " it proves two things, both of which 
 please me. Your trifling losses have not hurt your fortunes, 
 nor the adverse run of luck made you despond of better suc- 
 cess hereafter. It is something of a guaranty in favor of one's 
 performance that he is sure of himself. In such case he is 
 equally sure of his opponent." 
 
 " Look to it, then, for I have just that sort of self-guaranty 
 which makes me sure of mine. I shall play deeply, that I may 
 make the most of my presentiments. Nay, to show you how 
 confident I am, this night restores me all that I have lost, or 
 leaves me nothing more to lose." 
 
 The eyes of the other brightened. 
 
 " That is said like a man. I thank you for your warning. 
 Shall we begin ?" 
 
 "Ready, ay, ready!" was the response of Kingsley, as he 
 turned to one of the tables. Quietly laying down upon it tho 
 
216 CONFESSION, OE THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 short, heavy stick which he carried, he threw off his gloves, and 
 ruhbed his hands earnestly together, laughing the while without 
 restraint, as if possessed suddenly of some very pleasant and 
 ludicrous fancy. 
 
 " They laugh who win," remarked Cleveland, with something 
 of coldness in his manner. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" was the only answer of Kingsley to this 
 remark. The other continued and I now clearly perceived 
 that his purpose was provocation : 
 
 " It is certainly a pleasure to win your money, Kingsley 
 you bear it with so much philosophy. Nay, it seems to give 
 you pleasure, and thus lessens the pain I should otherwise feel 
 in receiving the fruits of my superiority." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" again repeated Kingsley. "Excuse me, 
 Mr. Cleveland. I am reminded of your remark, ' They laugh 
 who win.' I am laughing, as it were, anticipatively. I am so 
 certain that I shall have my revenge to-night." 
 
 Cleveland looked at him for a moment with some curiosity, 
 then called : 
 
 "Philip!" 
 
 He was answered by a young mulatto a tall, good-looking 
 fellow, who approached with a mixed air of equal deference 
 and self-esteem, plaited frills to a most immaculately white 
 shirt-collar, a huge bulbous breastpin in his bosom, chains and 
 seals, and all the usual equipments of Broadway dandyism. 
 The fellow approached us with a smile ; his eyes looking alter- 
 nately to Cleveland and Kingsley, and, as I fancied, with no 
 unequivocal sneer in their expression, as they settled on the 
 latter. A significance of another kind appeared in the look of 
 Cleveland as he addressed him. 
 
 "Get us the pictures, Philip the latest cuts and bring 
 ay, you may bring the ivories." 
 
 In a few moments, the preliminaries being despatched, the 
 two were seated at a table, and a couple of packs of cards were 
 laid beside them. Kingsley drew my attention to the cards. 
 They were of a kind that my experience had never permitted 
 me to see before. In place of ordinary kings and queens and 
 knaves, these figures were represented in attitudes and costumes 
 the most indecent such as the prolific genius of Parisian 
 
THE HELL. 217 
 
 bawdry alone could conceive and delineate. It seems to be a 
 general opinion among rogues that knavery is never wholly 
 triumphant unless the mind is thoroughly degraded; and for 
 this reason it is, perhaps, that establishments devoted to purposes 
 like the present, have, in most countries, for their invariable 
 adjuncts, the brothel and the bar-room. If they are not in the 
 immediate tenement, they are sufficiently nigh to make the 
 work of moral prostitution comparatively easy, in all its ramifi- 
 cations, with the young and inconsiderate mind. Kingsley 
 turned over the cards, and I could see that while afiecting to 
 show me the pictures he was himself subjecting the cards to a 
 close inspection of another kind. This object was scarcely per- 
 ceptible to myself, who knew his suspicions, and could naturally 
 conjecture his policy. It did not excite the alarm of his antagonist. 
 
 The parties sat confronting each other. Kingsley drew forth 
 a wallet, somewhat ostentatiously, which he laid down beside 
 him. The sight of his wallet staggered me. By its bulk I 
 should judge it to have held thousands ; yet he had assured me 
 that he had nothing beside, the one hundred dollars which he had 
 procured from me. My surprise increased as I saw him open 
 the wallet, and draw from one of its pockets the identical roll 
 which I had put into his hands. The bulk of the pocket-book 
 seeemed scarcely to be diminished. My suspicions were begin- 
 ning to be roused. I began to think that he had told me a false- 
 hood ; but he looked up at this instant, and a bright manly 
 smile on his deep purposeful countenance, reassured me. I felt 
 that there was some policy in the business which was not for 
 me then to fathom. The cards were cut. A box of dice was 
 also in the hands of Cleveland. 
 
 " Spots or pictures ?" said Cleveland. 
 
 " Pictures first, I suppose," said Kingsley, " till the blood 
 gets up. The ivories then as the most rapid. But these pic- 
 tures are really so tempting. A new supply, Philip !" 
 - " Just received, sir," said the other. 
 
 "And how shall we begin?" demanded Cleveland, drawing 
 a handful of bills, gold, and silver, from his pocket ; " yellow, 
 white, or brown ?" 
 
 It was thus, I perceived, that gold, silver, and paper money, 
 were described. 
 
 10 
 
218 C05TESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 " Shall it be child's play, or-" 
 
 " Man's, man's !" replied Kingsley, with some impatience, 
 " I am for beginning with a cool hundred," and, to my con- 
 sternation, he unfolded the roll he had of me, counted out the 
 bills, refolded them and placed them in a saucer, where they 
 were soon covered with a like sum by his antagonist. I was 
 absolutely sickened, and stared aghast upon my reckless com- 
 panion. He looked at me with a smile. 
 
 " To your own game, Clifford. You will find men enough for 
 your money in either of the rooms. Should you run short, 
 come to me." 
 
 Thus confidently did he speak ; yet he had actually but the 
 single hundred which he had so boldly staked on the first issue. 
 I thought him lost ; but he better knew his game than I. He 
 also knew his man. The eyes of Cleveland were on the huge 
 wallet in reserve, of which the " cool hundred" might naturally 
 be considered a mere sample. I had not courage to wait for 
 the result, but wandered off, with a feeling not unallied to terror, 
 into an adjoining apartment. 
 
DIG*. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 FALSE IffB 
 
 THOUGH confounded with what I had seen of the proceedings 
 of Kingplcy, I was yet willing to promote, so far as I could, 
 the purpose for which we came. I felt too, that, unless I 
 played, that purpose, or my own, might reasonably incur sus- 
 picion. To rove through the several rooms of a garnbling- 
 house, surveying closely the proceedings of others, without 
 partaking, in however slight a degree, in the common business 
 of the establishment, was neither good policy nor good manners. 
 Unless there to play, what business had I there 1 Accordingly 
 I resolved to play. But of these games I knew nothing. It 
 was necessary to choose among them,. and, without a choice I 
 turned to one of the tables where the genius of Roulette pre- 
 sided. A motley group, none of whom I "knew, surrounded it. 
 I placed my dollar upon one of the spots, red or black, I know 
 not which, and saw it, in a moment after, spooned up with 
 twenty others by the banker. I preferred this form of play to 
 any other, for the simple reason that it did not task my own 
 faculties, and left me free to bestow my glances on the proceed- 
 ings of my friend. But I soon discovered that the contagion 
 of play is irreeistible ; and so far from putting my stake down 
 at intervals, and with philosophic indifference, I found myself, 
 after a little while, breathlessly eager in the results. These, 
 after the first few turns of the machine, had ceased to be un- 
 favorable. I was confounded to discover myself winning. In- 
 stead of one I put down two Mexicans. 
 
 " Put down ten," said one of the bystanders, a dark, sulky- 
 looking little yellow man, who seemed a veteran at these places. 
 " Ton .are in luck make the most of it." 
 
 The master of the ceremonies scowled upon the speaker ; an<5 
 
220 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 this determined me to obey his suggestions. I did BO, and 
 doubled the money ; left my original stake and the winnings on 
 the same spot, and doubled that also ; and it was not long before, 
 under this stimulus of success, and the novelty of my situation, 
 I found myself as thoroughly anxious and intensely interested, 
 as if I had gone to the place in compliance with a natural pas- 
 sion. I know not how long I had continued in this way, but I 
 was still fortunate. I had doubled my stakes repeatedly, and 
 my pockets were crammed with money. 
 
 " Stop now, if you are wise," whispered the same sulky -looking 
 little man who had before urged me to go on more boldly, as he 
 sidled along by me for this object ; " never ride a good horse to 
 death. There's a time to stop just as there's a time to push, 
 You had better stop now. Stake another dollar and you lose 
 all your winnings." 
 
 " Let the gentleman play his own game, Brinckoff. I don't 
 see why you come here to spoil sport." 
 
 Such was the remark of the keeper of the table. He had 
 overheard my counsellor. He felt his losses, and was angry. I 
 saw that, and it determined me. I took the counsel of the 
 stranger. I was the more willing to do so, as I reproached my- 
 self for my inattention to my friend. It was time to see what 
 had been his progress, and I prepared to leave the theatre of 
 my own success. Before doing so, I turned to my counsellor, 
 and thus addressed him : " Your advice has made me win ; I 
 trust I will not offend a gentleman who has been so courteous, 
 by requesting him to take my place upon a small capital." 
 
 I put twenty pieces into his hand. 
 
 " I am but a young beginner," I continued, " and I owe you 
 for my first lesson." 
 
 " You are too good," he said, but his hand closed over the 
 dollars. The keeper of the table renewed his murmurs of dis- 
 content as he saw me turn away. 
 
 " Ah ! bah ! Petit, what's the use to grumble ?" demanded my 
 representative. " Do you suppose I will give up my sport for 
 yours ? When would I get a sixpence to stake, if it were not 
 that I was kind to young fellows just beginning? There; growl 
 go more ; the twenty Mexicans upon the red !" 
 
 The next minute my gratuity was swallowed up in the great 
 
FALSE DICE. 221 
 
 gjioon of the banker. I -was near enough to see the result. I 
 flawed another ten pieces in the hand of the unsuccessful 
 gambler. 
 
 " Very good," said he ; " very much obliged to you ; but. if 
 you please, I will do no more to-night. It's not my lucky night. 
 I've lost every set." 
 
 " As you please when you please." 
 
 " You are a gentleman," he said ; " the sooner you go home 
 the better. A young beginner seldom wins in the small hours." 
 
 This was said in another whisper. I thanked him for his 
 further suggestion, and turned away, leaving him to a side 
 squabble with the banker, who finally concluded by telling him 
 that he never wished to see him at his table. 
 
 " The more fool you, Petit," said Brinckoff; " for the youngster 
 that wins comes back, and he does not always win. You finish 
 him in the end as you finished me, and what more would you 
 have ?" 
 
 The rest, and there was much more, was inaudible to me. I 
 hurried from the place somewhat ashamed of my success, I 
 doubt whether I should have had the like feelings had I lost. 
 As it was, never did possession seem more cumbrous than the 
 mixed gold, paper, and silver, with which my pockets were bur- 
 dened. I gladly thought of Kingsley, to avoid thinking of my- 
 self. It was certain, I fancied, that he had not lost, else how 
 could he have continued to play ? My anxiety hurried me into 
 the room where I had left him. 
 
 They sat together, he and Cleveland, as before. I observed 
 that there was now an expression of anxiety not intense, but 
 obvious enough upon the countenance of the latter. Philip, 
 too, the mulatto, stood on one side, contemplating the proceed- 
 ings with an air of grave doubt and uncertainty in his counte- 
 nance. No such expression distinguished the face of Kingsley. 
 Never did a light-hearted, indifferent, almost mocking spirit, 
 shine out more clearly from any human visage. At times he 
 chuckled as with inward satisfaction. Not unfrequently he 
 laughed aloud, and his reckless " Ha ! ha ! ha !" had more than 
 once reached and startled me in the midst of my own play, in 
 the adjoining room. The opponents had discarded their " pic- 
 tures." They were absolutely rolling dice for their stakes. I 
 
222 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 saw that the wallet of Kingsley lay untouched, and quito \s 
 full as ever, in the spot where he had first laid it down. A pile 
 of money lay open beside him ; the gold and silver pieces keep- 
 ing down the paper. When he saw me approach, he laughed 
 aloud, as he cried out : 
 
 " Have they disburdened you, Clifford ? Help yourself. I 
 am punishing my enemy famously. I can spare it." 
 
 A green, sickly smile mantled the lips of Cleveland. He re- 
 plied in low, soft tones, such as I could only partly hear ; and, 
 a moment after, he swept the stake before the two, to his own 
 side of the table. The amount was large, but the features of 
 Kingsley remained unaltered, while his laugh was renewed as 
 heartily as if he really found pleasure in the loss. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! that is encouraging ; but the end is not yet. 
 The tug is yet to come !" 
 
 I now perceived that Kingsley took up his wallet with one 
 hand while he spread his handkerchief on his lap with the 
 other. Into this he drew the pile of money which he had loose 
 before on his side of the table, and appeared to busy himself in 
 counting into it the contents of the wallet. This he did with 
 such adroitness, that, though I felt assured he had restored the 
 wallet to his bosom with its bulk undiminished, yet I am equal- 
 ly certain that no such conclusion .could have been reached by 
 any other person. This done, he lifted the handkerchief, full 
 as it was, and dashed it down upon the table. 
 
 " There ! cover that, if you be a man !" was his speech of 
 defiance. 
 
 " How much ?" huskily demanded Cleveland. 
 
 " All !" 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Yes, all. I know not the number of dollars, cents, or six- 
 pences, but face it with your winnings : there need be no count- 
 ing. It is loss of time. Stir the stuff with your fingers, and 
 you will find it as good, and as much, as you have here to put 
 against it. On that hangs my fate or yours. Mine for certain f 
 I tell you, Mr. Cleveland, it is all !" 
 
 Cleveland lifted the ends of the handkerchief, as if weighing 
 its contents ; and then, without more scruple, flung into it a pile 
 not unlike it in bulk and quality : a handful of mixed gold 
 
FALSE DICE. "2'2X 
 
 r, and silver. Kingsley grasped the dice before him, anu 
 with a single shake dashed them out upon the table. 
 
 " Six, four, two," cried Philip with a degree of excitement 
 which did not appear in either of the active opponents. Mean 
 while my heart was in my mouth. I looked on Kingsley with 
 a sentiment of wonder. Every muscle of his face was com- 
 posed into the most quiet indifference. He saw my glance, and 
 smilingly exclaimed : 
 
 " I trust to my star, Clifford. Sans Souci remember!" 
 
 No time was allowed for more. The moment was a breath 
 less one. Cleveland had taken up the dice. His manner waa 
 that of the most singular deliberation. His eyes were cast down 
 upon the table. His lips strongly closed together ; and now it 
 was that I could see the "keen, piercing look which Kingsley ad- 
 dressed to every movement of the gambler. I watched him 
 also. He did not immediately throw the dice, and I was con- 
 scious of some motion which he made with his hands before he 
 did so. What that motion was, however, I could neither have 
 said nor conceived. But I saw a grim smile, full of intelligence, 
 suddenly pass over Kingsley's lips. The dice descended upon 
 the table with a sound that absolutely made me tremble. 
 
 " Five, four, six !" cried Philip, loudly, with tones of evident 
 exultation. I felt a sense like that of suffocation, which was 
 unrelieved even by the seemingly unnatural laughter of my 
 companion. He did laugh, but in a manner to render less 
 strange and unnatural that in which he had before indulged. 
 Even as he laughed he rose and possessed himself of the dice 
 which the other had thrown down. 
 
 " The stakes are mine," cried Cleveland, extending his hand 
 toward the handkerchief. 
 
 " No !" said Kingsley, with a voice of thunder, and as he 
 spoke, he handed me the kerchief of money, which I grasped 
 instantly, and thrust with some difficulty into my bosom. This 
 was done instinctively ; I really had no thoughts of what I was 
 doing. Had I thought at all I should most probably have re- 
 fused to receive it. 
 
 " How !" exclaimed Cleveland, his face becoming suddenly 
 pale. " The cast is mine fifteen to twelve 1" 
 
 " Ay, scoundrel, but the game I played for is mine ! As for 
 
224 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 the cast, you shall try another which you shall relish less. Do 
 you see these ?" 
 
 He showed the dice which he had gathered from the table. 
 The gambler made an effort to snatch them from his hands. 
 
 " Try that again," said Kingsley, " and I lay this hickory 
 over your pate, in a way that shall be a warning to it for ever." 
 
 By this time several persons from the neighboring tables and 
 the adjoining rooms, hearing the language of strife, came rash 
 ing in. Kingsley beheld their approach without concern. There 
 were several old gamblers among them, but the greater number 
 were young ones. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Kingsley, " I am very glad to see you. 
 You come at a good time. I am about to expose a scoundrel to 
 you." 
 
 " You shall answer for this, sir," stammered Cleveland, in 
 equal rage and confusion. 
 
 " Answer, shall I ? By Jupiter ! but you shall answer too ! 
 And you shall have the privilege of a first answer, shall you t" 
 
 " Mr. Kingsley, what is the meaning of this V 9 was the de- 
 mand of a tall, dark-featured man, who now made his appear- 
 ance from an inner room, and whom I now learned, was, in fact, 
 the proprietor of the establishment. 
 
 " Ah ! Radeliffe but before another word is wasted put your 
 fingers into the left breeches pocket of that scoundrel there, 
 and see what you will find," 
 
 Cleveland would have resisted. Kingsley spoke again to 
 Radcliffe, and this time in stern language, which was evidently 
 felt by the person to whom it was addressed. 
 
 " Radcliffe, your own credit nay, safety will depend upon 
 your showing that you have no share in this rogue's practice. 
 Search him, if you would not share his punishment." 
 
 The fellow was awed, and obeyed instantly. Himself, with 
 three others, grappled with the culprit. He resisted strenuous- 
 ly, but in vain. He was searched, and from the pocket in 
 question three dice were produced. 
 
 " Very good," said Kingsley ; " now examine those dice, 
 gentlemen, and see if you can detect one of my initials, the let- 
 ter ' K,' which I scratched with a pin upon each of them." 
 
 The examination was made, and the letter was found, very 
 
FALSE DICE. 225 
 
 small and very faint, it is true, but still legible, upon the ace 
 square of each of the dice. 
 
 " Very good," continued Kingsley ; " and now, gentlemen, 
 with your leave " 
 
 He opened his hand and displayed the three dice with which 
 Cleveland had last thrown. 
 
 " Here you see the dice with which this worthy gentleman 
 hoped to empty my pockets. These are they which he last 
 threw upon the table. He counted handsomely by them ! I 
 threw, just before him, with those which you have in your hand. 
 I had contrived to mark them previously, this very evening, in 
 order that I might know them again. Why should he put 
 them in his pocket, and throw with these ? As this question is 
 something important, I propose to answer it to your satisfaction 
 as well as my own ; and, for this reason, I came here, as you 
 see, prepared to make discoveries." 
 
 He drew from his pocket, while he spoke, a small saddler's 
 hammer and steel-awl. Fixing with the sharp point of the awl 
 in the ace spot of the dice, he struck it a single but sudden 
 blow with the hammer, split each of the dice in turn, and dis- 
 closed to the wondering, or seemingly wondering, eyes of all 
 around, a little globe of lead in each, inclining to the lowest 
 numeral, and necessarily determining the roll of the dice so as 
 to leave the lightest section uppermost. 
 
 41 Here, gentlemen," continued Kingsley, " you see by what 
 process I have lost my money. But it is not in the dice alone. 
 Look at these cards. Do you note this trace of the finger-nail, 
 here, and there, and there scarcely to be seen unless it is 
 shown to you, but clear enough to the person that made it, and 
 is prepared to look for it. Radcliffe, your fellow, Philip, has 
 been concerned in this business. You must dismiss him, or 
 your visitors will dismiss you. Neither myself nor my friends 
 will visit you again nay, more, I denounce you to the police. 
 Am I understood?" 
 
 Radcliffe assented without scruple, evidently not so anxious 
 for justice as for the safety of his establishment. But it ap- 
 peared that there Vfere others in the room not so well pleased 
 with the result. A hubbub now took place, in which three or 
 four fellow; made a rush upon Kingsley Cleveland urging 
 
 10* 
 
226 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 and clamoring from the rear, though without betraying muclk 
 real desire to get into the conflict. 
 
 But the assailants had miscalculated their forces. The 
 youngsters in- the establishment, regarding Kingsley's develop- 
 ment as serving the common cause, were as soon at his side as 
 myself. The scuffle was over in an instant. One burly ruffian 
 was prostrated by a blow from Kingsley's club ; I had my share 
 in the prostration of a second, and some two others took t. their 
 heels, assisted in their progress by a smart application from 
 every foot and fist that happened to be convenient enough for 
 such a service. 
 
 Bnt Cleveland alone remained. Why he had not shared the 
 summary fate of the rest it would be difficult to say, unless it 
 was because he had kept aloof from the active struggle to which 
 he had egged them on. Perhaps, too, a better reason he was 
 reserved for some more distinguishing punishment. Why he 
 had shown no disposition for flight himself, was answered as 
 soon as Kingsley laid down his club, which he did with a laugh 
 of exemplary good-nature the moment he had felled with it his 
 first assailant. The flight of his allies left the path open be- 
 tween himself and Cleveland, and, suddenly darting upon him, 
 the desperate gambler aimed a blow at his breast with a dirk 
 which he had drawn that instant from his own. He exclaimed 
 as he struck : 
 
 " Here is something that escaped your search. Take this I 
 this!" 
 
 Kingsley was just lifting up the cap, which he had worn that 
 night, from the table to his brows. Instinctively he dashed it 
 into the face of his assassin, and his simple evolution saved him. 
 The next moment the fearless fellow had grappled with his en- 
 emy, torn the weapon from his grasp, and, seizing him around 
 the body as if he had been an infant, moved with him to an 
 open window looking out upon a neighboring court. The victim 
 struggled, yelled for succor, but before any of us could inter- 
 pose, the resolute and powerful man in whose hold he writhed 
 and struggled vainly, with the gripe of a master, had thrust him 
 through the opening, his heels, in their upward evolutions, shat- 
 tering a dozen of the panes as he disappeared from sight below. 
 We all concluded that he was killed. We were in an upper 
 
FALSE DICE. 227 
 
 chamber, which I estimated to be twenty or thirty feet from 
 the ground. I was too much shocked for speech, and rushed to 
 the window, expecting to behold the mangled and bloody corpse 
 of the miserable criminal beneath. The laughter of Radcliffe 
 half reassured me. 
 
 " He will not suffer much hurt," said he ; " there is something 
 to break his fall." 
 
 I looked down, and there the unhappy wretch was seen squat- 
 ting and clinging to the slippery shingles of an old stable, unhurt, 
 some twelve feet below us, unable to reascend, and very unwil- 
 ling to adopt the only alternative which the case presented 
 that of descending softly upon the rank bed of stable-ordure 
 which the provident care of the gardener had raised up on 
 every hand, the reeking fumes of which were potent enough to 
 oxpel us very soon from our place of watch at the window. 
 Of the further course of the elegant culprit we took no heed. 
 The ludicrousness of his predicament had the effect of turning 
 the whole adventure into merriment among those who remained 
 in the establishment ; and availing ourselves of the clamorous 
 mirth of the parties, we made our escape from the place "with a 
 feeling, on my part, of indescribable relief. 
 
CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEAFT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 HOW THE GAME WAS PLAYED. 
 
 " WELL, we may breathe awhile," said Kingsley, as we found 
 ourselves once more in the pure air, and under the blue sky of 
 midnight. " We have got through an ugly task with tolerable 
 success. You stood by me like a man, Clifford. I need not 
 tell you how much I thank you." 
 
 " I heartily rejoice that you are through with it, Kingsley ; 
 but I am not so sure that we can deliberately approve of every- 
 thing that we may have been required by tne circumstances of 
 the case to do." 
 
 "What! you did not relish the playing] I respect your 
 scruples, but it does not follow that it must become a habit. 
 You played to enable a friend to get back from a knave what 
 he lost as a fool, and to pimish the knavery that he could not 
 well hope to reform. I do not see, considering the amount of 
 possible good which we have done, that the evil is wholly in- 
 excusable." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but this heap of money which I have in my 
 bosom should you have taken it ?" 
 
 " And why not ? Whose should it be, if not mine ?" 
 
 " You took with you but one hundred dollars. I should say 
 you have more than a thousand here." 
 
 " I trust I have," said he coolly. " What of that ? I won 
 it fairly, and he played fairly, until the last moment when 
 everything was at stake. His false dice were then called in 
 and would you have me yield to his roguery what had been 
 the fruits of a fair conflict 1 No ! no ! friend of mine ! no ! no I 
 all these things did I consider well before I took you with me 
 
HOI :S GAME WAS PLAYED. 229 
 
 I a\;e been meditating this business for a week, from 
 the mo 1 - _ t when a friendly fellow hinted to me that I was the 
 victim of knavery." 
 
 " But that wallet of money, Kingsley ? You assured me that 
 you were pennyless." 
 
 "Ah ! that wallet bedevilled Mr. Latour Cleveland, as it 
 seems to have bedevilled you. There, by the starlight, look at 
 the contents of this precious wallet, and see how much further 
 your eyes can pierce into the mystery of my proceedings/ 
 
 He handed me the wallet, which I opened. To my grea* 
 surprise, I found it stuffed with old shreds of newspaper, bit* 
 of rag, even cotton, but not a cent of money. 
 
 " There ! ars you satisfied ? You shall have that wallet, 
 with all its precious contents, as a keepsake from me. It will 
 remind you of a strange scene. It will have a history for you 
 when you are old, which you will tell with a chuckle to your 
 children." 
 
 " Children !" I involuntarily murmured, while my voic* 
 trembled, and a tear started to my eye. That one word recal- 
 led me back, at once, to home, to my particular woes to all 
 tli at I could have wished banished for ever, even in the un- 
 wholesome stews and steams of a gaming-house. But Kings- 
 lay did not suffer me to muse over my own afflictions. He did 
 not seem to hear the murmuring exclamation of my lips. He 
 continued : 
 
 " I have no mysteries from you, and you need, as well as de- 
 serve, an explanation. All shall be made clear to you. The 
 reason of this wallet, and another matter which staggered you 
 quite as much my audacious bet of a cool hundred your 
 own disconsolate hundred as a first stake! I have no doubt 
 you thought me mad when you heard me." 
 
 I confessed as much. He laughed. 
 
 " As I tell you, I had studied my game beforehand, even in 
 its smallest details. By this time, I knew something of the 
 play of most gamblers, and of Mr. Latour Cleveland, in partic- 
 ular. These people do not risk themselves for trifles. They 
 play fairly enough when the temptation is small. They cheat 
 only when the issues are great. I am speaking now of game- 
 sters on the big figure, not of the Betty chapmen who pule over 
 
230 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIM3 JlEAST. 
 
 their pennies and watch the exit of a Mexican, with It : feelinge 
 of one who sees the last wave of a friend's handksreliisf gem* 
 upon the high seas. My big wallet and my hundred collar bet 
 were parts of the same system. The heavy stake at the begin- 
 ning led to the inference that I had corresponding resources 
 My big wallet lying by me, conveniently and ostentatiously, 
 confirmed this impression. The cunning gambler was willing 
 that I should win awhile. His policy was to encourage me ; to 
 persuade me on and on, by gradual stimulants, till all was at 
 stake. Well ! I knew this. All was at stake finally, and I had 
 then to call into requisition all the moral strength of which 1 
 was capable, so that eye and lip and temper should not fail me 
 at those moments when I would need the address and agency 
 of all. 
 
 " The task has been an irksome one ; the trial absolutely 
 painful. But I should have been ashamed, once commencing 
 the undertaking, not to have succeeded. He, too, was not im- 
 pregnable. I found out his particular weakness. He was a 
 vain man ; vain of his bearing, which he deemed aristocratic > 
 his person, which he considered very fine. I played with these 
 vanities. Failing to excite him on the subject of the game, I 
 made himself my subject. I chattered with him freely j so as 
 to prompt him to fancy that I was praising his style, air, appear- 
 ance ; anon, by some queer jibe, making him half suspicious 
 that I was quizzing him. My frequent laughter, judiciously 
 disposed, helped this effect ; and, to a certain extent, I succeed- 
 ed. He became nervous, and was excited, though you may not 
 have seen it. I saw it in the change of his complexion, which 
 became suddenly quite bilious. I found, too, that he could 
 only speak with some effort, when, if you" remember, before 
 we began to play, his tongue, though deliberate, worked pat. 
 enough. I felt my power over him momently increase ; and I 
 sometimes won where he did not wish it. I do verily believe 
 that he ceased to see the very marks which he himself had 
 made upon the cards. Nervous agitation, on moct persons, pro- 
 duces a degree of blindness quite as certainly as it affects the 
 speech. Well, you saw the condition of our funds when you 
 re-appeared. I Jiad determined to bring the business to a close. 
 I had marked the dice, actually before his face, while we took 
 
HOW THE GAME WAS PLAYED. 231 
 
 a spell of rest over a bottle of porter. I had scratched them 
 quietly with a pin which I carried in my sleeve for that pur- 
 pose, while he busied himself with a fidgety shuffling of the 
 cards. My leg, thrown over one angle of the table, partly cov- 
 ered my operations, and I worked upon the dice in my lap. You 
 may suppose the etching was bad enough, doing precious little 
 credit to the art of engraving in our country. But the thing 
 was thoroughly done, for I had worked myself into a rigorous 
 sort of philosophic desperation which made me as cool as a cu- 
 cumber. To seem to empty the contents of the wallet into my 
 lap was my next object, and this I succeeded in, without his 
 suspecting that my movement was a sham only. The purse 
 thus made up, I emphatically told him was all I had this was 
 the truth and then came the crisis. His trick was to be em- 
 ployed now or never. It was employed, but he had become so 
 nervous, that I caught a sufficient glimpse of his proceedings. I 
 saw the slight o'hand movement which he attempted, and you 
 know the rest. I regard the money as honestly mine so far 
 as good morals may recognise the honesty of getting money 
 by gambling ; and thinking so, my dear Clifford, I have no 
 scruple in begging you to share it with me. It is only fit 
 that you, who furnished all the capital you see I say 
 nothing of the wallet which should, however, be priceless 
 in our eyes should derive at least a moiety of the profit. 
 It is quite as much yours as mine. I beg you so to con- 
 sider it." 
 
 I need not say, however, that I positively refused to accept 
 this offer. I would take nothing but the hundred which I had 
 lent him, and placed the handkerchief with all its contents into 
 his hands. 
 
 " And now, Clifford, I must leave you. You have yet to 
 learn another of my secrets. I take the rail-car at day- 
 light in the morning. I am off for Alabama; and con- 
 sidermg my Texan and Mexican projects, I leave you, perhaps, 
 for ever." 
 
 " SO 800^ V 9 
 
 "Yes, everything is ready. There need be no delay. I 
 have no wife nor children to cumber me. My trunks are al- 
 ready packed; my resolve made; my last business transacted 
 
232 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 I have some lands in Alabama which I mean to sell. This 
 done, I am off for the great field of performance, south and 
 southwest. You shall hear of me, perhaps may wish to hear 
 from me. Here is my address, meanwhile, in Alabama. 
 I shall advise you of my further progress, and shall esteem 
 highly a friendly scrawl from you. If you write, do not fail to 
 tell me what you may hear of Mr. Latour Cleveland, and how 
 he got down from the muck-heap. Write me all about it, Clif- 
 ford, and whatever else you can about our fools and knaves, 
 for though I leave them without a tear, yet, d n 'em, I keep 
 'em in my memory, if it's only for the sake of the old city whom 
 they bedevil." 
 
 Enough of our dialogue that night. Kingsley was a fellow 
 of every excellent and some very noble qualities. We did not 
 sympathize in sundry respects, but I parted from him with re- 
 gret; not altogether satisfied, however, that there were not 
 some defects in that reasoning by which he justified our pro- 
 ceedings with the gamblers. I turned from him with a sad, 
 sick heart. In his absence the whole feeling of my domestic 
 doubts and difficulties rushed back upon me freshly and with 
 redoubled force. 
 
 " Children !" I murmured mournfully, as I recalled one of 
 his remarks ; " children ! children ! these, indeed, were bles- 
 sings ; but if we only had love, truth, peace. If that damning 
 doubt were not there ! that wild fear, that fatal, soul-petrify- 
 ing suspicion !" 
 
 I groaned audibly as I traversed the streets, and it seemed 
 as if the pavements groaned hollowly in answer beneath my hur- 
 rying footsteps. In a moment more I had absolutely forgotten 
 the recent strife, the strange scene, the accents of my friend ; 
 all but that one. 
 
 " Children ! children ! These might bind her to me ; might 
 secure her erring affections ; might win her to love the father, 
 when he himself might possess no other power to tempt her to 
 love. Ah ! why has Providence denied me the blessing of a 
 
 child r 
 
 Alas! it was not probable that Julia shciM ever have 
 children. This was the conviction of our piysiciin. Her 
 health and constitution seemed to forbid the hope; and the 
 
HOW THE GAME WAS PLAYED. 233 
 
 gloomy despair under which I suffered was increased by this 
 reflection. Yet, even at that moment, while thus I mused and 
 murmured, my poor wife had heen unexpectedly and prema- 
 turely delivered of an infant son a tiny creature, in whom 
 life was but a passing gleam, as of the imperfect moonlight, 
 and of whom death took possession in the very instant of its 
 birth. 
 
234- CONtfSSIOX. OR THE BLIND HflABT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 SUDDEN LESSON AND NEW SUSPICIONS. 
 
 WHILE I had been wasting the precious hours of midnight 
 in a gaming-house, my poor Julia had undergone the peculiar 
 pangs of a mother ! While I had been reproaching her in my 
 secret soul for a want of ardency and attachment, she had been 
 giving me the highest proof that she possessed the warmest. 
 These revelations, however, were to reach me slowly ; and 
 then, like those of Cassandra, they were destined to encounter 
 disbelief. 
 
 Leaving Kingsley, I turned into the street where my wife's 
 mother lived. But the house was shut up the company gone. 
 I had not been heedful of the progress of the hours. I looked 
 up at the tall, white, and graceful steeple of our ancient church, 
 which towered in serene majesty above us ; but, in the imper- 
 fect light I failed to read the letters upon the dial-plate. At 
 that moment its solemn chimes pealed forth the hour, as if 
 especially in answer to my quest. How such sounds speak to 
 the very soul at midnight! They seem the voice from Time 
 himself, informing, not man alone, but Eternity, of his progress 
 to that lone night, in which his minutes, hours, days, and years, 
 are equally to be swallowed up and forgotten. 
 
 Sweet had been those bells to me in boyhood. Sad were 
 they to me now. I had heard them ring forth merry peals on 
 the holydays of the nation ; and peals on the day of national 
 mourning; startling and terrifying peals in the hour of mid- 
 night danger and alarm; but never till then had they spoken 
 with such deep and searching earnestness to the most hidden 
 places of ray soul. That 'one, two, three, four,' which they 
 
SUDDEN LESSON AND NEW SUSPICIONS. 235 
 
 then struck, as they severally pronounced the thrilling mono- 
 tones, seemed to convey the burden of four impressive acts in 
 a yet unfinished tragedy. My heart heat with a feeling of 
 anxiety, such as overcomes us, when we look for the curtain 
 to rise which is to unfold the mysterious progress of the 
 catastrophe. 
 
 T hat fifth act of mine ! what was it to he ? Involuntarily 
 my lips uttered the name of William Edgerton ! I started as 
 if I had trodden upon a viper. The denouement of the drama 
 at once grew up before my eyes. I felt the dagger in my 
 grasp ; I actually drew it from my bosom. I saw the victim 
 before me a smile upon his lips a fire in his glance ail 
 ardor, an intelligence, that looked like exulting passion ; and my 
 own eyes grew dim. I was blinded ; but, even in the dark- 
 ness, I struck with fatal precision. I felt the resistance, I 
 heard the groan and the falling body ; and my hair rose, with 
 a cold, moist life of its own, upon my clammy and shrinking 
 temples. 
 
 I recovered from the delusion. My dagger had been piercing 
 the empty air ; but the feeling and the horror in my soul were 
 not less real because the deed had been one of fancy only, 
 The foregone conclusion was in my mind, and I well knew that 
 fate would yet bring the victim to the altar. 
 
 I know not how I reached my dwelling, but when there I 
 was soon brought to a sober condition of the senses. I found 
 everything in commotion. Mrs. Delaney, late Clifford, was 
 there, busy in my wife's chamber, while her husband, surly with 
 such an interruption to his domestic felicity, even at the thresh- 
 old, was below, kicking his heels in solemn disquietude in the 
 parlor. The servants had been despatched to bring her and to 
 seek me, in the first moments of my wife's danger. She had 
 consciousness enough for that, and Mrs. Delaney had summoned 
 the physician. He too the excellent old man, who had as- 
 sisted us in our clandestine marriage he too was there; sad, 
 troubled, and regarding me with looks of apprehension and 
 rebuke which seemed to ask why I was abroad at that late 
 hour, leaving my wife under such circumstances. I could not 
 meet his glance with a manly eye. They brought me the dead 
 infant poor atom of mortality no longer mortal; but 5 
 
236 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 turned away from the spectacle. I dared not look upon it. It 
 was the form of a perished hope, ended in a dream ! And such 
 a dream ! The physician gave me a brief explanation of the 
 condition of things. 
 
 " Your wife is very ill. It is difficult to say what will hap- 
 pen. Make up your mind for the worst. She has fever has 
 been delirious. But she sleeps now under the effect of some 
 medicine I have given her. She will not sleep long ; and every- 
 thing will depend upon her wakening. She must be kept very 
 quiet." 
 
 I asked if he could conjecture what should bring about such 
 an event. " Though delicate, Julia was not out of health. She 
 had been well during the evening when I left her." 
 
 " You have left her long. This is a late hour, Mr. Clifford, 
 for a young husband to be out. Notning but matter of neces- 
 sity could excuse " 
 
 I interrupted him with some gravity : 
 
 " Suppose then it was a matter of necessity of seeming 
 necessity, at least." 
 
 He observed my emotion. 
 
 " Do not be angry with me. I assisted your dear wife into 
 the world, Clifford. I would not see her hurried out of it. She 
 is like a child of my own ; I feel for her as such." 
 
 I said something apologetic, I know not what, and renewed 
 my question. 
 
 "She has been alarmed or excited, perhaps; possibly has 
 fallen while ascending the stair. A very slight accident will 
 sometimes suffice to produce such a result with a constitution 
 such as hers. She needs great watchfulness, Clifford ; close 
 attention, much solicitude. She needs and deserves it, Clif- 
 ford." 
 
 I saw that the old man suspected me of indifference and 
 neglect. Alas ! whatever might be my faults in reference to 
 my wife, indifference was not among them. What he had said, 
 however, smote me to the heart. I felt like a culprit. I dared 
 not meet his eye when, at daylight, he took his departure, 
 promising to return in a few hours. 
 
 My excellent mother-in-law was more capable and copious in 
 her details. From her I learned that Julia, though anxious to 
 
SUDDEN LESSON AND NEW SUSPICIONS. 237 
 
 depart for some time before, had waited for my return until the 
 last of her guests were about to retire. Among these happened 
 to be Mr. William Edgerton !" 
 
 " He offered his carriage, but Julia put off accepting for a 
 long time, saying you would soon return. But at last he press- 
 ed her so, and seeing everybody else gone, she concluded to 
 go, and Mr. Delaney helped her into the carriage, and Mr. 
 Edgerton got in too, to see her home ; and off they drove, and 
 it was not an hour after, when Becky (the servant-girl) came 
 to rout us up, saying that her mistress was dying. I hurried 
 on my clothes, and Delaney dear good man he was just 
 as quick; and off we came, and sure enough, we found her in 
 a bad way, and nobody with her but the servants ; and I sent 
 off after you, and after the doctor ; and he just came in time 
 to help her ; but she went on wofully ; was very lightheaded ; 
 talked a great deal about you ; and about Mr. Edgerton ; I 
 suppose because he had just been seeing her home ; but didn't 
 seem to know and doesn't know to this moment what has hap 
 pened to her." 
 
 I have shortened very considerably the long story which 
 Mrs. Delaney made of it. Rambling as it was full of non- 
 sense with constant references to her " dear good man," and 
 her party, the company, herself, her fashion, and frivolities 
 there was yet something to sting and trouble me at the core of 
 her narration. Edgerton and my wife linger to the last 
 Edgerton rides home with her he and she in the carriage, 
 alone, at midnight; and then this catastrophe, which the 
 doctor thought was a natural consequence of some excitement 
 or alarm. 
 
 These facts wrought like madness in my brain. Then, 
 too, in her delirium she raves of him! Is not that signifi 
 cant? True, it comes from the lips of that malicious oil 
 woman! she, who had already hinted to me that my wife 
 her daughter was likely to be as faithless to me as she 
 had been to herself. Still, it is significant, even if it be 
 only the invention of this old woman. It showed what she 
 conjectured what she thought to be a natural result of these 
 practices which had prompted her suspicions as well as mj 
 own. 
 
238 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 How hot was the iron-pressure upon rny brain how keen 
 and scorching was that fiery arrow in my soul, when I took 
 my place of watch beside the unconscious form of my wife, 
 God alone can know. If I am criminal if I have erred with 
 wildest error surely I have struggled with deepest misery. 
 I have been misled by wo, not temptation ! Sore has been my 
 struggle, sore my suffering, even in the moment of my greatest 
 fault and folly. Sore ! how sore f 
 
STILL THE CLOUD. 239 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 STILL THE CLOUD. 
 
 FOR three days and nights did I watch beside the sick bed 
 of my wife. In all this time her fate continued doubtful. I 
 doubt if any anxiety or attention could have exceeded mine ; 
 as it was clear to myself that, in spite of jealousy and suspicion, 
 my love for her remained without diminution. Yet this watch 
 was not maintained without some trials far more severe and 
 searching than those which it produced upon the body. Her 
 mind, wandering and purposeless, yet spoke to mine, and re- 
 newed all its racking doubts, and exaggerated all its nameless 
 fears. Her veins burned with fever. She was fitfully delirious. 
 Words fell from her at spasmodic moments strange, incoherent 
 words, but all full of meaning in my ears. I sat beside the bed 
 on one hand, while, on one occasion, her mother occupied a 
 seat upon that opposite. The eyes of my wife opened upon 
 both of us turned from me, convulsively, with an expression, 
 as I thought, of disgust, then closed while her lips, taking up 
 their language, poured forth a torrent of threats and reproaches. 
 
 I can not repeat her words. They rang in my ears, under- 
 stood, indeed, but so wildly and thrillingly, that I should find 
 it a vain task to endeavor to remember them. She spoke of 
 persecution, annoyance, beyond propriety, beyond her powers 
 of endurance. She threatened me for I assumed myself to 
 be the object of her denunciation with the wrath of some one 
 capable to punish nay, to rescue her, if need be, by violence, 
 from the clutches of her tyrant. Then followed another change 
 in her course of speech. She no longer threatened or de- 
 nounced. She derided. Words of bitter scorn and loathing 
 contempt issued from those bright, red, burning, and always 
 
240 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 beautiful lips, wliicli I Lad never supp3sed could have given 
 forth such utterance, even if her spirit could have been sup- 
 posed capable of conceiving it. Keen was the irony which she 
 expressed irony, which so well applied to my demerits in one 
 great respect, that I could not help making the personal ap- 
 plication. 
 
 " How manly and generous," she proceeded, "was this sort 
 of persecution of one so unprotected, so dependent, so placed, 
 that she must even be silent, and endure without speech 'or 
 complaint, in the dread of dangers which, however, would not 
 light upon her head. Oh, brave as generous !" she exclaimed, 
 with a burst of tremendous delirium, terminating in a shriek ; 
 " oh, brave as generous ! scarcely lion-like, however, for the 
 noble beast rushes upon his victim. He does not prowl, and 
 skulk, and sneak, watching, cat-like, crouching and base, in 
 stealth and darkness. Very noble, but mousing spirit ! Be- 
 ware ! Do I not know you now ! Fear you not that I will 
 show your baseness, and declare the truth, and guide other 
 eyes to your stealthy practice ? Beware ! Do not drive me 
 into madness!" 
 
 Thus she raved. My conscience applied these stinging 
 words of scorn, which seemed particularly fitted to the mean 
 suspicious watch which I had kept upon her. I could have no 
 thought that they were meant for any other ears than my own, 
 and the crimson flush upon my cheeks was the involuntary ac- 
 knowledgment which my soul made of the demerits of my un- 
 manly conduct. I fancied that Julia had detected my espionage, 
 and that her language had this object in reference only. But 
 there were other words ; and, passing with unexpected transi- 
 tion from the language of dislike and scorn, she now indulged 
 in that of love language timidly suggestive of love, as if its 
 utterance were restrained by bashfulness, as if it dreaded to be 
 heard. Then a deep sigh followed, as if from the bottom of her 
 heart, succeeded by convulsive sobs, at last ending in a gushing 
 flood of tears. 
 
 For the space of half an hour I had been an attentive but 
 suffering listener to this wild raving. My pangs followed every 
 sentence from her lips, believing, as I did, that they were re- 
 proachful of myself, and associated with a now unrestrained 
 
STILL THE CLOUD. 241 
 
 f .:683ion of passion for another. Gradually I had ceased, in 
 the deep interest which I felt, to be conscious that Mrc. Dela- 
 ney TV as resent. I leaned across the wv da ; 1 bent my ear 
 down lov/y,rd the lips of the speaker, eager to drink up every 
 feeble sound which might help to elucidate my doubts, and 
 subdue or confirm my suspicions. Then, as the accumulating 
 conviction fo,: ,ed itself, embodied and sharp, like a knife, into 
 my soul, I groaned aloud, and my teeth were gnashed together 
 in the bitterness of my emotion ! In that moment I caught 
 the keen gray eyes of my mother-in-law fixed upon me, with a 
 jibing expression, vhiah BDoke volumes of mockery. They 
 seemed to say, " Ah ! you have it now ! The truth is forced 
 apon you at last ! You can parry it ^o longer. I see the iron 
 in your soul. I behold and enjoy your contortions !" 
 
 Fiend language ! She was something of a fiend ! I started 
 from the bedside, and just then a flood of tears came to the re- 
 lief of my ^ife, and lessened the excitement of her brain. 
 The tears relieved her. The paroxysm passed away. She 
 turned her eyes upon me, and closed them involuntarily, while 
 a deep crimson tint passed over hei 5 cheek, a blush, whick 
 seemed to me to confirm substantially the tenor of that lan- 
 guage in which, while del'rious, she had so constantly indulged. 
 It did not lessen the seeming shame and dislike which her 
 countenance appeared at once to embody, that a soft sweet 
 smile was upon her lips at the same moment, and she extended 
 to me her hand with an air of confidence which staggered and 
 surprised me. 
 
 " What is the matter, dear husband ? And you here, mother? 
 Have I been sick 1 Can it be ?" 
 
 " Hush !" said the mother. " You have been sick ever since 
 the night of my marriage." 
 
 " Ah !" she exclaimed with an air of anxiety and pain, while 
 pressing her hand upon her eyes, " Ah ! that night !" 
 
 A shudder shook her frame as she uttered this simple and 
 short sentei: e. Simple and short as it was, it seemed to possess 
 a strange signification. That it was associated in her mind 
 with some circumstances of peculiar import, was sufficiently 
 obvious. What were these circumstances ? Ah ! that ques- 
 tion ! I ran over in my thought, in a single instant, all that 
 
 11 
 
242 
 
 array of events, on that, fatal night, which cocJcL ^.7 &ny pos- 
 sibility ^stress me, and confirm my suspicLns. That, waltz 
 with Edgerton that long conference between them that 
 lonely ride together from the home of Mrs. Delaney, in a close 
 carnage and the subsequent disaster her unconscious rav- 
 ings, and the strong, strange language which she employed, 
 clearly full of meaning as it was, but in which I could discover 
 one meaning only ! all these topics of doubt and agitation pas- 
 sed through my brain in consecutive order, and with a compact 
 arrangement which seemed as conclusive as any final issue. I 
 said nothing ; but what I might have said> was written in my 
 face. Julia regarded me with a gaze of painful anxiety. What 
 she read in my looks must have been troublously impressive. 
 Her cheeks grew patar as she looked. Her eyes wandered 
 froni me vacantly, and I could see her thin soft lips quivering 
 faintly like rose-leaves which an envious breeze has half sepa- 
 rated from the parent-flower. Mrs. Delaney watched our 
 mutual faces, and I left the room to avoid her scrutiny. I only 
 re-entered it with the physician. He administered medicine to 
 my wife. 
 
 " She will do very well now, I think," he said to ine when 
 leaving the house ; " but she requires to be treated very tender- 
 ly. All causes of excitement must be kept from her. She 
 aeeds soothing, great care, watchful anxiety. Clifford, above 
 all, you should leave her as little as possible. This old woman, 
 her mother, is no fit companion for her scarcely a pleasant 
 one. I do not mean to reproach you ; ascribe what I say to a 
 real desire to serve and make you happy ; but let me tell you 
 that Mrs. Delaney has intimated to me that you neglect your 
 wife, that you leave her very much at night : and she farther 
 intimates, what I feel assured can not well be the case, that you 
 have fallen into other and much more evil habits." 
 
 "The hag!" 
 
 " She is all that, and loves you no better now than before. 
 Still, it is well to deprive such people of their scandal-monger- 
 ing, of the meat for it at least. I trust, Clifford, for your 
 own sake, that you were absent of necessity on Wednesday 
 night." 
 
 " It will be enough for me to think so, sir," was my reply. 
 
STILL THE CLOUD. 243 
 
 " Surely, if you do think so ; but I am too old a man-, and too 
 old a friend of your own and wife's family, to justify you in 
 taking exception to what I say. I hope you do not neglect 
 this dear child, for she is one too sweet, too good, too gentle, 
 Clifford, to be subjected to hard usage and neglect. I think 
 her one of earth's angels a meek creature, who would never 
 think or do wrong, but would rather suffer than complain. I 
 sincerely hope, for your own sake, as well as hers, that you 
 truly estimate her worth." 
 
 I could not answer the good old man, though I was angry 
 with him. My conscience deprived me of the just power to 
 give utterance to my anger. I was silent, and he forbore any 
 further reference to the subject. Shortly after he took his leave, 
 and I re-ascended the stairs. Wearing slippers, I made little 
 noise, and at the door of my wife's chamber I caught a sentence 
 from the lips of Mrs. Delaney, which made me forget everything 
 that the doctor had been saying. 
 
 " But Julia, there must have been some accident something 
 must have happened. Did your foot slip ? perhaps, in getting 
 
 out of the carriage, or in going up stairs, or -. There must 
 
 have been something to frighten you, or hurt you. What 
 was it ]" 
 
 I paused ; my heart rose like a swelling, struggling mass in 
 the gorge of my throat. I listened for the reply. A deep sigh 
 followed ; and then I heard a reluctant, faint utterance of the 
 single word, " Nothing !" 
 
 " Nothing ?" repeated the old lady. " Surely, Julia, there 
 was something. Recollect yourself. You know you rode home 
 with Mr. Edgerton. It was past one o'clock " 
 
 " No more no more, mother. There was nothing nothing 
 that I recollect. I know nothing of what happened. Hardly 
 know where I am now." 
 
 I felt a momentary pang that T had lingered at the entrance. 
 Besides, there was no possibility that she would have revealed 
 anything to the inquisitive old woman. Perhaps, had this 
 been probable, I should not have felt the scruple and the pang. 
 The very questions of Mrs. Delaney were as fully productive 
 of evil in my mind, as if Julia had answered decisively on every 
 topic. I entered the room, and Mrs. Delaney, after some little 
 
244 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 lingering, took her departure, with a promise to return agaic 
 soon. I paced the chamber with eyes bent upon the floor. 
 
 "Come to me, Edward come sit beside me." Such were 
 the gentle words of entreaty which my wife addressed to me. 
 Gentle words, and so spoken so sweetly, so frankly, as if 
 from the very sacredest chamber of her heart. Could it be 
 that guilt also harbored in that very heart that it was the 
 language of cunning on her lips the cunning of the serpent? 
 Ah ! how can we think that with serpent-like cunning, there 
 should be dove-like guilelessness ? My soul revolted at the 
 idea. The sounds of the poor girl's voice sounded like hissing 
 in my ears. I sat beside her as she requested, and almost 
 started, as I felt her fingers playing with the hair upon my 
 temples. 
 
 " You are cold to me, dear husband ; ah ! be not cold. I have 
 narrowly escaped from death. So they tell me so I feel ! Be 
 not cold to me. Let me not think that I am burdensome to 
 you." 
 
 " Why should you think so, Julia ?" 
 
 " Ah ! your words answer your question, and speak for me. 
 They are so few they have no warmth in them; and then, 
 you leave me BO much, dear husband why, why do you 
 leave me ?" 
 
 " You do not miss me much, Julia.!' 
 
 " Do I not ! ah ! you do me wrong. I miss nothing else but 
 you. I have all that I had when we were first married all 
 but my husband !" 
 
 " Do not deceive yourself, Julia ; these fine speeches do not 
 deceive me. I am afraid that the love of woman is a very 
 light thing. It yields readily to the wind. Tt does not keep 
 in one direction long, any more than the vane on the house-top." 
 
 " You do not think so, Edward. Such is not my love. Alas ! 
 I know not how to make it known to you, husband, if it be not 
 already known ; and yet it seems to me that you do not know it, 
 or, if you do, that you do not care much about it. You seem to 
 care very little whether I love you or not." 
 
 I exclaimed bitterly, and with the energy of deep feeling. 
 
 " bare little ! / care little whether you love me or no I Psha ! 
 Julia, you must think me a fool 1" 
 
STILL THE CLOUD. 245 
 
 It did seem to me a sort of mockery, knowing my feelings as 
 / did knowing that all my folly and suffering came from the 
 very intensity of my passion that I should be reproached, ly 
 its object, with indifference ! I forgot, that, as a cover for my 
 suspicion, I had been striving with all the industry of art to 
 put on the appearance of indifference. I did not give myself 
 sufficient credit for the degree of success with which I had 
 .labored, or I might have suddenly arrived at the gratifying con- 
 clusion, that, while I was impressed and suffering with the 
 pangs of jealousy, my wife was trembling with fear that she 
 had for ever lost my affections. My language, the natural utter- 
 ance of my real feelings, was not true to the character I had 
 assumed. It filled the countenance of the suffering woman 
 with consternation. She shrunk from me in terror. Her hand 
 was withdrawn from my neck, as she tremulously replied :-- 
 
 " Oh, do not speak to me in such tones. Do not look CD 
 harshly upon me. What have I done ?" 
 
 *' Ay ! ay !" I muttered, turning away. 
 
 She caught my hand. 
 
 ' Do not go do not leave me, and with such a look! Oh ! 
 husband, I may not live long. I feel that I have had a very 
 narrow escape within these few days past. Do not kill me with 
 cruel looks ; with words, that, if cruel from you, would sooner 
 kill than the knife in savage hands. Oh ! tell me in what have 
 I offended ? What is it you think ? For what am I to blame ? 
 What do you doubt suspect?'' 
 
 These questions were asked hurriedly, apprehensively, with 
 a look of vague terror, her cheeks whitening as she spoke, her 
 eyes darting wildly into mine, and her lips remaining parted 
 after she had spoken. 
 
 " Ah !" I exclaimed, keenly watching her. Her glance e'mk 
 beneath my gaze. I put my hand upon her own. 
 
 "What do I suspect? What should I suspect? Hap 
 Here I arrested myself. My ardent anxiety to know the truth, 
 led me to forget my caution ; to exhibit a degree of eagerness, 
 which might have proved that I did suspect and seriously. To 
 exhibit the possession of jealousy was to place her upon her 
 guard such was the suggestion of that miserable policy by 
 which I had been governed and defeat the impression of that 
 
246 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 feeling of perfect security and indifference, which I had been 
 so long striving to awaken. I recovered myself, with this 
 thought, in season to re-assume this appearance. 
 
 * Your mind still wanders, Julia. What should I suspect ? 
 and whom ? You do not suppose me to he of a suspicious 
 nature, do you ?" 
 
 " Not altogether not always no ! But, of course, there is 
 nothing to suspect. I do not know what I say. I helieve I do 
 wander." 
 
 This reply was also spoken hurriedly, hut with an obvious 
 effoit at composure. The eagerness with which she seized upon 
 my words, insisting upon the absence of any cause of suspicion, 
 and ascribing to her late delirium, the tacit admissions which her 
 look and language had made, I need not say, contributed to 
 strengthen my suspicions, and to confirm all the previous con- 
 jectures of my jealous spirit. 
 
 " Be quiet," I said with an air of sangfroid. " Do not worry 
 yourself in this manner. You need sleep. Try for it, while I 
 leave you." 
 
 " Do not leave me ; sit beside me, dear Edward. I will sleep 
 BO much better when you are beside me." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes, believe me. Ah ! that I could always keep you be- 
 sida me!" 
 
 ' What ! you are for a new honeymoon ?" I said this in a 
 tone of merriment, which Heaven knows, I little felt. 
 
 " Do not speak of it so lightly Edward. It is too serious a 
 matter. Ah ! that you would always remain with me ; that you 
 wxrild never leave me." 
 
 tl Pshaw ! What sickly tenderness is this \ Why, how could 
 I &arn my bread or yours ?" 
 
 " I do not mean that you should neglect your business, but 
 that when business is over, you should give me all your time as 
 you used to. Hemember, how pleasantly we passed the even- 
 ings after our marriage. Ah ! how could you forget ?" 
 
 " I do not, Julia." 
 
 " But you do not care for them. We spend no such evenings 
 now!" 
 
 " No ! but it is no fault of mine !" I said gloomily ; then, in- 
 
STILL THE CLOUD. 247 
 
 terrupting her answer, as if dreading that she might utter 
 some simple but true remark, which might refute the interpreta- 
 tion which my words conveyed, that the fault was hers, I en- 
 joined silence upon her. 
 
 " You scarcely speak in your right mind yet, Julia. Be quiet, 
 therefore, and try to sleep." 
 
 " Well, if you will sit beside me." 
 
 " I will do so, since you wish for it ; but where's the need 1" 
 
 "Ah! do not ask the need, if you still love me," was all eh 3 
 said, and looked at me with such eyes so tearful, bright, so saa, 
 soliciting that, though I did not less doubt, I could no longer 
 deny. I resumed the seat beside her. She again placed hs 
 fingers in my hair, and in a little while sunk into a profound 
 slumber, only broken by an occasional sob, which subsided into 
 a sigh. 
 
 Were she guilty such was the momentary suggestion of the 
 good angel could she sleep thus? thus quietly, confidingly, 
 beside the man she had wronged her fingers still paddling in 
 his hair her sleeping eyes still turning in the direction of his 
 face? 
 
 To the clear, open mind, the suggestion would have had the 
 force of a conclusive argument ; but mine was no longer a clear, 
 open mind. I had the disease of the blind heart upon me, and 
 all things came out upon my vision as through a glass, darkly. 
 The evil one at my elbow jeered when the good angel spoke. 
 
 " Fool! does she not see that she can blind you still!" Then, 
 in the vanity and vexation of my spirit, I mused upon it 
 further, and said to myself: "Ay, but she will find, ere 
 many days, that I am no longer to be blinded !" The scales 
 were never thicker upon my sight than when I boasted in this 
 foolish wise. 
 
248 CONFESSION, OK THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 A FATHER'S GRIEFS. 
 
 ontinued to improve, but slowly. Her organization 
 was always very delicate. Her frame was becoming thin, al- 
 most to meagreness ; and this last disaster, whatever might bo 
 its cause, had contributed still more to weaken a constitution 
 which education and nature had never prepared for much hard 
 encounter. But, though I saw these proofs of feebleness of 
 a feebleness that might have occasioned reasonable apprehen 
 Bions of premature decay, and possibly very rapid decline 
 there were little circumstances constantly occurring looks 
 shown, words spoken which kept up the irritation of my soul, 
 and prevented me from doing justice to her enfeebled condi- 
 tion. My sympathies were absorbed in my suspicions. My 
 heart was the debateable land of self. The blind passion 
 which enslaved it, I need scarce say, was of a nature so potent, 
 that it could easily impregnate, with its own color, all the ob- 
 jects of its survey. Seen through the eyes of suspicion, there 
 is no truth, no virtue ; the smile is that of the snake ; the tear, 
 that of the crocodile ; the assurance, that of the traitor. There 
 is no act, look, word, of the suspected object, however innocent, 
 which, to the diseased mind of jealousy, does not suggest con- 
 jectures and arguments, all conclusive or confirmatory of its 
 doubts and fears. It is not necessary to say that I shrunk from 
 Julia's endearment, requited her smiles with indifference ; and, 
 though I did not avoid her presence I could not, in the few 
 days when her case was doubtful yet exhibited, in all respects, 
 the conduct of one who was in a sort of Coventry. 
 
 But one fact may be stated one of many which seemed to 
 
249 
 
 give a sanction to my suspicions, will help to justify my course, 
 and which, at the time, was terribly conclusive, to my reason, 
 of the things which I feared. She spoke audibly the name of 
 Edgerton, twice, thrice, while she slept beside me, in tones very 
 faint, it is true, but still distinct enough. The faintness of her 
 utterance, gave the tones an emphasis of tenderness which per- 
 haps was unintended. Twice, thrice, that fatal name ; and then, 
 what a sigh from the full volume of a surcharged heart. Let 
 any one conceive my situation with my feelings, intense on all 
 subjects my suspicions already so thoroughly awakened; and 
 then fancy what they must have been on hearing that utterance ; 
 from the unguarded lips of slumber ; from the wife lying beside 
 him ; and of the name of him on whom suspicion already rested. 
 I hung over the sleeper, breathless, almost gasping, finally, in 
 the effort to contain my breath in the hope to hear something, 
 however slight, which was to confirm finally, or finally end my 
 doubts. I heard no more ; but did more seem to be necessary ? 
 What jealous heart had not found this sufficiently conclusive ? 
 And that deep-drawn sigh, sobbing, as of a heart breaking with 
 the deferred hope, and the dream of youth baffled at one sweep- 
 ing, severing blow. 
 
 I rose. I could no longer subdue my emotions to the neces- 
 sary degree of watchfulness. I trod the chamber till daylight. 
 Then, I dressed myself and went out into the street. I had no 
 distinct object. A vague persuasion only, that I must do some- 
 thing^ that something must be done that, in short, it was 
 necessary to force this exhausting drama to its fit conclusion. 
 Of course William Edgerton was my object. As yet, how to 
 bring about the issue, was a problem which my mind was not 
 prepared to solve. Whether I was to stab or shoot him ; 
 whether we were to go through the tedious processes of the duel ; 
 to undergo the fatigue of preliminaries, or to shorten them by 
 sudden rencounter ; these were topics which filled my thoughts 
 confusedly; upon which I had no clear conviction; not because 
 I did not attempt to fix upon a course, but from a sheer in- 
 ability to think at all. My whole brain was on fire ; a chaotic 
 mass, such as rushes up from the unstopped vents of the vol- 
 cano fire, stones, and lava but dense smoke enveloping the 
 whole 
 
250 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 In this frame of mind I hurried through the streets. The 
 shops were yet unopened. The sun was just ahout to rise. 
 There was a humming sound, like that of distant waters mur- 
 muring along the shore, which filled my ears ; hut otherwise 
 everything was silent. Sleep had not withdrawn with night 
 from his stealthy watch upon the household. It seemed to me 
 that I alone could not sleep. Even guilt if my wife were 
 really guilty even guilt could sleep. I left her sleeping, and 
 how sweetly ! as if the dream which had made her sob and sigh, 
 had been succeeded by others, that made all smiles again. I 
 could not sleep, and yet, who, but a few months before, had 
 been possessed of such fair prospects of peace and prosperity ? 
 Fortune held forth sufficient promise; fame so far as fame can 
 be accorded by a small community had done something to- 
 ward giving me an honorable repute; and love had not love 
 been seemingly as liberal and prompt as ever young passions 
 could have desired? I was making money; I was getting 
 reputation ; the only woman whom I had ever loved or sought, 
 was mine ; and mine, too, in spite of opposition and discourage- 
 ments which would have chilled the ardor of half the lovers 
 in the world. And yet I was not happy. It takes so small an 
 amount of annoyance to produce misery in the heart of self- 
 esteem, when united with suspicion, that it was scarcely pos- 
 sible that I should be happy. Such a man has a taste for self- 
 torture ; as one troubled with an irritating humor, is never at 
 rest, unless he is tearing the flesh into a sore ; he may then rest 
 as he may. 
 
 I took the way to my office. It was not often that I went 
 thither before breakfast. But William Edgerton had been in 
 the habit of doing so. He lived in the neighborhood, and his 
 father had taught him this habit during the period when he was 
 employed in studying the profession. It might be that I should 
 find him there on the present occasion. Such was my notion. 
 What farther thought I had I know not ; but a vague suggestion 
 that, in that quiet hour there without eye to see, or hand to 
 interpose, I might drag from his heart the fearful secret I 
 might compel confession, take my vengeance, and rid myself 
 finally of that cruel agony which was making me its miserable 
 puppet. Crude, wild notions these, but very natural. 
 
A FATHER'S GRIEF. 251 
 
 I turned the comer of the street. The window of my office 
 was open. " He is then there," I muttered to myself; and my 
 teeth clutched each other closely. I buttoned my coat. My 
 heart was swelling. I looked around me, and up to the win- 
 dows. The street was very silent the grave not more so. I 
 strode rapidly across, threw open the door of the office which 
 stood ajar, and beheld, not the person whom I sought, but his 
 venerable father. 
 
 The sight of that white-headed old man filled me with a 
 sense of shame and degradation. What had he not done for 
 me ? How great his assistance, how kind his regards, how 
 liberal his offices. He had rescued me from the bondage of 
 poverty. He had put forth the hand of help, with a manly 
 grasp of succor at the very moment when it was most needed j 
 had helped to make me what I was ; and, for all these, I had 
 come to put to death his only son. A revulsion of feeling took 
 place within my bosom. These thoughts were instantaneous 
 a sort of lightning-flash from the* moral world of thought. I 
 stood abashed ; brought to my senses in an instant, and was 
 scarcely able to conceal my discomfiture and confusion. I stood 
 before him with the feeling, and must have worn the look, of a 
 culprit. Fortunately, he did not perceive my confusion. Poor 
 old man ! Cares of his own cares of a father, too completely 
 occupied his mind, to suffer his senses to discharge their duties 
 with freedom. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Clifford, though I did not expect it. 
 Young men of the present day are not apt to rise so early." 
 
 " I must confess, sir, it is not my habit." 
 
 " Better if it were. The present generation, it seems to me, 
 may be considered more fortunate, in some respects, than the 
 past, though they are scarcely wiser. They seem to me exempt 
 from such necessities ae encountered their fathers. Their tasks 
 are fewer their labor is lighter " 
 
 " Are their cares the lighter in consequence ?" I demanded. 
 
 " That is the question, " he replied. " For myself, I think 
 not. They grow gray the sooner. They have fewer tasks, but 
 heavier troubles. They live better in some respects. They 
 have luxuries which, in my day, youth were scarcely permitted 
 to enjoy ; and which, indeed, were not often enjoyed by age 
 
252 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 But they have little peace: and, look at the bankruptcies of 
 our city. They are without number they produce no shame 
 
 do not seem to affect the credit of the parties ; and, certainly, 
 in no respect diminish their expenditures. They live as if the 
 present clay were the last they had to live ; and living thus, 
 they must live dishonestly. It is inevitable. The moral sense 
 is certainly in a much lower condition in our country, than I 
 have ever known it. What can be the reason ?" 
 
 " The facility of procuring money, perhaps. Money is the 
 most clangorous of human possessions." 
 
 " There can be none other. Clifford !" 
 
 " Sir." 
 
 " I change the subject abruptly. Have you seen my son 
 lately, Clifford V 
 
 The question was solemnly, suddenly spoken. It staggered 
 me. What could it mean 1 That there was a meaning in it 
 a deep meaning was unquestionable. But of what nature? 
 Did the venerable man suspect my secret could he by any 
 chance conjecture my purpose ? It is one quality of a mind not 
 exactly satisfied of the propriety of its proceedings, to be sus- 
 picious of all things and persons to fancy that the conscious- 
 ness which distresses itself, is also the consciousness of its 
 neighbors. Hence the blush upon the cheek the faltering 
 accents the tremulousness of limb, and feebleness of move- 
 ment. For a moment after the old man spoke troubled with 
 this consciousness, I could not answer. But my self-esteem 
 came to my relief nay, it had sufficed to cdmceal my disquiet. 
 My looks were subdued to a seeming calm my voice was un- 
 broken, while I answered : 
 
 "I have seen him within a few days, sir a few nights ago 
 we were at Mrs. Delaney's party. But why the question, sir 1 
 
 what troubles you ?" 
 
 " Strange that you have not seen ! Did you not remark the 
 alteration in his appearance ?" 
 
 " I must confess, sir, I did not ; but, perhaps, I did not remark 
 him closely among the crowd." 
 
 " He is altered terribly altered, Clifford. It is very strange 
 that you have not seen it. It is visible to myself his mother 
 
 all the family, and some of its friends, We ti: Bmble for his 
 
A FATHER'S GRIEF. 253 
 
 life. He is a mere skeleton moves without life or animation, 
 feebly liis cheeks are pale and thin, his lips white, and his 
 ey*es have an appearance which, beyond anything besides, dis- 
 tresses me either lifelessly dull, or suddenly flushed up with 
 an expression of wildness, which occurs so suddenly as to dis- 
 tress us with the worst apprehensions of his sanity." 
 
 " Indeed, sir !" I exclaimed with natural surprise. 
 
 " So it appears to us, his mother and myself, though, as it has 
 escaped your eyes, I trust that we have exaggerated it. That 
 we have not imagined all of it, however, we have other proofs 
 to show. His manner is changed of late, and most of his habits. 
 The change is only within the last six months ; so suddenly 
 made that it has been forced upon our sight. Once so frank, he 
 is now reserved and shrinking to the last degree ; speaks little ; 
 is reluctant to converse ; and, I am compelled to believe, not 
 only avoids my glance, but fears it." 
 
 " It is very strange that he should do so, sir. I can think of 
 no reason why he should avoid your glance. Cflfii y<w?.. su ? 
 Have you any suspicions ?" 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Ha ! have you indeed ?" 
 
 The old man drew his chair closer to -&&, and, putting his 
 hand on mine, with eyes in which the tears, big> slow-gathering, 
 began to fill trickling *c length, one by one, through the 
 venerable furrows of his cheeks- he replied in faltering ac- 
 cents : 
 
 " A terrible suspicion, Clifford. I am afraid he drinks ; that 
 he frequents gambling-houses ; that, in short, he is about to bo 
 lost to us, body and soul, for ever." 
 
 Deep and touching was the groan that followed from that old 
 man's bosom. I hastened to relieve him, 
 
 ' I am sure, sir, that you do your son great injustice. I can- 
 not conceive it possiole that he should have fallen into these 
 habits '' 
 
 *' He is cut night / la ,e till near daylight. But two hours 
 a^o he returned home. Let me confess to you, Clifford, what I 
 should be loath to confess to anybody else. I followed him 
 last night. He took the path to the suburbs, and I kept him in 
 sight almost till he reached your dwelling. Then I lost him 
 
254 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 He moved too rapidly then for my old limbs, and disappeared 
 among those groves of wild orange that fill your neighborhood. 
 I searched them as closely as I could in the imperfect starlight, 
 but could see nothing of him. I am told that there are gam- 
 bling-houses, notorious enough, in the suburbs just beyond you. 
 I fear that he found shelter in these that he finds shelter in 
 them nightly." 
 
 I scarcely breathed while listening to the unhappy father's 
 narrative. There was one portion of it to which I need not 
 refer the reader, as calculated to confirm my own previous con- 
 victions. I struggled with my feelings, however, in respect for 
 his. I kept them down and spoke. 
 
 " In this one fact, Mr. Edgerton, I see nothing to alarm you. 
 Your son may have been engaged far more innocently than you 
 imagine. He is young you know too well the practices of 
 young men. As for the drinking he is perhaps the very last 
 person whom I should suspect of excess. I have always thought 
 his temperance unquestionable." 
 
 " Until recently, I should have had no fears myself. But 
 connecting one fact with another his absence all night, nightly 
 the stealthiness with which he departs from home after the 
 i ? f.mily has retired t! ; ie stealthiness with which he returns just 
 before day his visible agitation when addressed and, oh 
 Clifford ! worst of all signs, the shrinking of his eye beneath 
 mine and his mother's the fear to meet, and the effort to 
 avoid us these are the signs which most pain me, and excite 
 my apprehensions But look at his face and figure also. The 
 haggard misery of the one, sign of sleeplessness and late watch- 
 ing the attenuated feebleness of the other, showing the effects 
 of some practices, no matter of what particular sort, which are 
 undermining his constitution, and rapidly tending to destroy 
 liim If you but look in his eye as I have done, marking its 
 wilducss, its wandering, its sensible expression of shame yoL 
 can hardly fail to think with me that something is morally- 
 wrong. He is guilty " 
 
 "He is guilty!" 
 
 I echoed the words of the father, involuntarily. They 
 struck the chord of conviction in my own soul, and seemed to mp 
 the language of a judgment. 
 
A FATHER'S GRIEF. 255 
 
 " Ha ! You know it, then ?" cried the old man. " Speak ! 
 Tell me, Clifford what is his folly? What is the particular 
 guilt and shame into which he has fallen ?" 
 
 I knew not that I had spoken until I heard these words. 
 The agitation of the father was greatly increased. Truly, his 
 sorrows were sad to look upon. I answered him : 
 
 " I simply echoed your words, sir I am ignorant, as I said 
 before ; and, indeed, I may venture, I think, with perfect safety, 
 to assure you that gaming and drink have nothing to do with 
 his appearance and deportment. I should rather suspect him of 
 some improper some guilty connection " 
 
 I felt that, in the utterance of these words, I too had become 
 excited. My voice did not rise, but I knew that it had acquir- 
 ed an intenseness which I as quickly endeavored to suppress. 
 But the father had already beheld the expression in my face, 
 and perhaps the sudden change in my tones grated harshly upon 
 his ear. I could see that his looks became more eager and in- 
 quiring. I could note a greater degree of apprehension and 
 anxiety in his eyes. I subdued myself, though not without 
 some effort. 
 
 "William Edgerton may be erring, sir that I do not deny, 
 for I have seen too little of him of late to say anything of his 
 proceedings ; but I am very confident when I say that excess 
 in liquor can not be a vice of his ; and as for gaming, I should 
 fancy that he was the last person in the world likely to be 
 tempted to the indulgence of such a practice." 
 
 The father shook his head mournfully. 
 
 "Why this shame? this fear? Besides, Clifford, what wo 
 know of our son makes us equally suie tha* ^vcmen hav& 
 nothing to do with his excesses. But these conjectures h ,lp U3 
 nothing. Clifford, I must look to you." 
 
 " What can I do for you, sir ?" 
 
 "He is my son, my only son the care of many sad, sleep- 
 less hours. It was his mother's hope that he would be our 
 solace in the weary and the sad ones. You can not understand 
 yet how much the parent lives in the child how many, of his 
 hopes settle there. William has already disappointed us in our 
 ambition.' He will be nothing that we hoped him to be ; but of 
 this I complain not. But that he should become base, Clifford j 
 
256 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 a night-prowler in the streets ; a hanger-on of stews and gam- 
 ing-houses ; a brawler at an alehouse bar ; a man to skulk through 
 life and society ; down-looking in his father's sight ; despised 
 in that of the community oh ! these are the cruel, the dread- 
 ful apprehensions !" 
 
 " But you know not that he is any of these." 
 
 " True ; but there is something grievously wrong when the 
 sou dares not meet the eye of a parent with manly fearlessness ; 
 when he looks without joyance at the face of a mother, and 
 shrinks from her endearments as if he felt that he deserved 
 them not. William Edgerton is miserable ; that is evident 
 enough. Now, misery does not always imply guilt ; but, 
 ji his case, what else should it imply! He has had no 
 misfortunes. He is independent ; he is beloved by his parents, 
 and by his friends ; he has had no denial of the affections ; 
 in short, there is no way of accounting for his conduct or 
 appearance, but by the supposition that he has fallen into 
 vicious habits. Whatever these habits are, they are killing 
 him. He is a mere skeleton ; his whole appearance is that of a 
 man running a rapid course of dissipation which can only ad- 
 vance in shame, and terminate in death. Clifford, if I have 
 ever served you in the hour of your need, serve me in this of 
 mine. Save my son for me. Bring him back from his folly ; 
 restore him, if you can, to peace and purity. Sec him, will you 
 not ? Seek him out ; see him ; probe his secret ; and tell me 
 what can be done to rescue him before it be too late." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Edgerton, you confound me. What can I 
 do?" 
 
 " I know not. Every thing, perhaps ! I confess I can not 
 counsel you. I can not even suggest how you should begin. 
 You must judge for yourself. You must think and make your 
 approaches according to your own judgment. Remember, that 
 it is not in his behalf only. Think of the father, the mother ! 
 our hope, our all is at stake. I speak to you in the language 
 of a child, Clifford. I am a child in this. This boy has been 
 the apple of our eyes. It is our sight for which I seek yonr 
 help. I know your good sense and sagacity. I know that you 
 can trace out his secret when I should fail. My feelings would 
 blind me to the truth. They might lead me to use language 
 
A FATHER'S GRIEF. 257 
 
 which would drive him from me. I leave it all to you. I know 
 not who else can do for me half so well in a matter of this sort. 
 Will you undertake it ?" 
 
 Could I refuse ? This question was discussed in all its bear- 
 ings, in a few lightning-like progresses of thought. I felt all 
 its difficulties anticipated the annoyances to which it would 
 subject me, and the degree of self-forbearance which it would 
 necessarily require ; yet, when I looked on the noble old gentle- 
 man who sat beside me his gray hairs, his pleading looks, the 
 recollection of the deep debt of gratitude which I owed him 
 I put my hand in his ; I could resist no longer. 
 
 " I will try !" was the brief answer which I made him. 
 
 "God bless, God speed you!" he exclaimed, squeezing my 
 hand with a pressure that said everything, and we separated ,> 
 he for his family, and I for that new task which I had under- 
 taken. How different from my previous purpose ! I was now 
 to seek to save the person whom I had set forth that morning 
 with the purpose (if I had any purpose) to destroy. What & 
 volume mado up of contradictions and inconsistencies, strangely 
 bound together, is the moral world of man \ 
 
258 CONFESSION, OS THE BUND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 AVOCATION OF "THE QUESTION." 
 
 bow to save him ? How to approach him ? How to 
 keep down my own sense of wrong, my own feeling of misery, 
 while representing the wishes and the feelings of that good old 
 man that venerable father ? These were Questions to afflict, 
 to confound me ! Still, I was committed ; I must do what I 
 had promised ; undertake it at least ; and the conviction that 
 euch a task was to be the severest trial of my manliness, was a 
 conviction that necessarily helped to strengthen me to go through 
 with it like a man, 
 
 What I had heard from Mr. Edgerton in relation to his son, 
 though new, and Eomewhat surprising to myself, had not altered, 
 in any respect, my impressions on the subject of his conduct 
 toward, or with, my wife. Indeed- it rather served to confirm 
 them I could have told the old man, that, in losing all traces 
 of his son in the neighborhood of my dwelling the night when 
 he pursued him, he had the most conclusive proofs that he had 
 gone to no gaming-houses. But where did he go ? That was 
 a question for myself. Had he entered my premises, and 
 hidden himself amidst the foliage where I had myself BO 
 often harbored, while my object had been the secret inspec- 
 tion of my household? Could it be that he had loitered 
 there during the last few nights of my wife's illness, in the vain 
 hope of seeing me take my departure? This was the con- 
 clusion which I reached, and with it came the next thought that 
 he would revisit the spot again that night. Ha ! that thought ! 
 "Let him come !" I muttered to myself. " I will endeavor to 
 be in readiness !" 
 
APPLICATION OP THE QUESTION. 259 
 
 But, surely, tlie father was grievously in error ; his parental 
 fear, alone, had certainly drawn the picture of his son's reduced 
 and miserable condition. I had seen nothing of this. I had 
 observed that he was shy, incommunicative seeking to avoid 
 me, as, according to their showing, he had striven to avoid his 
 parents. So far our experience had been the same. But I had 
 totally failed to perceive the marks of suffering or of sin which 
 the vivid feelings of the father on this subject had insisted were 
 so apparent. I had seen in Edgerton only the false friend, the 
 traitor, stealing like a serpent to my bower, to beguile from my 
 side the only object which made it dear to me. I could see in 
 him only the exulting seducer, confident in his ability, artful in 
 his endeavors, winning in his accomplishments, and striving, 
 with practised industry of libertinism, in the prosecution of his 
 cruel schemes. I could see the grace of his bearing, the ease 
 of his manner, the symmetry of his person, the neatness of his 
 costume, the superiority of his dancing, the insinuation of his 
 address. I could see these only ! That he looked miserable 
 that he was thin to meagreness, I had not seen. 
 
 Yet, even were it so, what could this prove, as the father had 
 conclusively shown, but guilt-. Poverty could not trouble him 
 he had never been an unrequited lover. He had gone along 
 the stream of society, indifferent to the lures of beauty, and 
 with a bark that had always appeared studiously to keep aloof 
 from the shores or shoals of matrimony. If he was miserable, 
 his misery could only come from misconduct, not from mis- 
 fortune. It was a misery engendered by guilt, and what was 
 that guilt ? I knew that he did not drink ; and was not his 
 course in regard to Kingsley, as narrated by that person on the 
 night when we went to the gaming-house together was not 
 that sufficient to show that he was no gamester, unless he hap- 
 pened to be one of the most bare faced of all canting hypo- 
 crites, which I could not believe him to be. What remained, 
 but that my calculations were right ? It was guilt that was sink- 
 ing him, body and soul, so that his eye no longer dared to look 
 upward so that his ear shrunk from the sounds of those 
 voices which, even in the language of kindness, were still 
 speaking to him in the severest language of rebuke. And 
 whom did that guilt concern more completely than myself? 
 
260 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 Say that the father was to lose his son, his only son what 
 was my loss, what was my shame ! and upon whom should the 
 curse most fully and finally fall, if not upon the wrong-doer, 
 though it so happened that the ruin of the guilty brought with 
 it overthrow to the innocent scarcely less complete ! 
 
 The extent of that guilt of Edgerton 1 
 
 On this point all was a wilderness, vague, inconclusive, con- 
 fused and crowded within my understanding. I believed that he 
 had approached my wife with evil designs I believed, without 
 a doubt, that he had passed the boundaries of propriety in his 
 intercourse with her ; but I believed not that she had fallen ! 
 No ! I had an instinctive confidence in her purity, that render- 
 ed it apparently impossible that she should lapse into the gross- 
 ness of illicit love. What, then, was my fear ] That she did 
 love him, though, struggling with the tendency of her heart, she 
 had not yielded in the struggle. I believed that his grace, beauty, 
 and accomplishments his persevering attention his similar 
 tastes had succeeded in making an impression upon her soul 
 which had effectually eradicated mine. I believed that his at- 
 tentions were sweet to her that she had not the strength to 
 reject them ; and, though she may have proved herself too virtu- 
 ous to yield, she had not been sufficiently strong to repulse him 
 with virtuous resentment. 
 
 That Edgerton had not succeeded, did not lessen his offence. 
 The attempt was an indignity that demanded atonement that 
 justified punishment equally severe with that which should have 
 followed a successful prosecution of his purpose. Women are 
 by nature weak. They are not to be tempted. He who, 
 knowing their weakness, attempts their overthrow by that 
 medium, is equally cowardly and criminal. I could not doubt 
 that he had made this attempt ; but now it seemed necessary 
 that I should suspend my indignation, in obedience with what 
 appeared to be a paramount duty. A selfish reasoning now 
 suggested compliance with this duty as a mean for procuring 
 better intelligence than I already possessed. I need not say 
 that the doubt was the pain in my bosom. I felt, in the words 
 of the cold devil lago, those " damned minutes" of him " who 
 dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves." 
 
 The shapeless character of my fears and suspicions did not 
 
APPLICATION OP THE QUESTION. 261 
 
 by any means lessen their force and volume. On the contrary 
 it caused them to loom out through the hazy atmosphere of the 
 imagination, assuming aspects more huge and terrible, in con- 
 sequence of their very indistinctness ; as the phantom shapes 
 along the mountains of the Brocken, gathering and scowling in 
 the morning or the evening twilight. To obtain more precise 
 knowledge to be able to subject to grasp and measure the un- 
 certain phantoms which I feared was, if not to reduce their 
 proportions, at least to rid me of that excruciating suspense, in 
 determining what to do, which was the natural result of my 
 present ignorance. 
 
 With some painstaking, I was enabled to find and force an 
 interview with Edgerton that very day. He made an effort to 
 elude me such an effort as he could make without allowing 
 his object to be seen. But I was not to be baffled. Having 
 once determined upon my course, I was a puritan in the invete- 
 racy Avith which I persevered in it. But it required no small 
 struggle to approach the criminal, and so utterly to subdue my 
 awn sense of wrong, my suspicions and my hostility, as to keep 
 in sight no more than the wishes and fears of the father. I 
 have already boasted of my strength in some respects, even 
 while exposing my weaknesses in others. That I could per- 
 suade Edgerton and my wife, equally, of my indifference, even 
 at the moment when I was most agonized by my doubts of 
 their purity, is a sufficient proof that I possessed a certain sort 
 of strength. It was a moral strength, too, which could conceal 
 the pangs inflicted by the vulture, even when it was preying 
 upon the vitals of the best affections and the dearest hopes of 
 the heart. It was necessary that I should put all this strength 
 in requisition, as well to do what was required by the father, as 
 to pierce, with keen eye, and considerate question, to the' secret 
 soul of the witness. I must assume the blandest manner of our 
 youthful friendship : I must say kind things, and say them with 
 a certain frank unconsciousness. I must use the language of a 
 good fellow a sworn companion who is anxious to do justice 
 to my friend's father, and yet had no notion that my friend 
 himself was doing the smallest thing to justify the unmeasured 
 fears of the fond old man. Such was my cue at first. I am 
 not so sure that I pursued it to the end ; but of this hereafter. 
 
262 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 My attention having been specially drawn to the personal 
 appearance of William Edgerton, I was surprised, if not abso- 
 lutely shocked, to see that the father had scarcely exaggerated 
 the misery of his condition. He was the mere shadow of his 
 former self. His limbs, only a year before, had been rounded 
 even to plumpness. They were now sharp and angular. His 
 skin was pale, his looks haggard ; and that apprehensive shrink- 
 ing of the eye, which had called forth the most keen expressions 
 of fear and suspicion from the father's lips, was the prominent 
 characteristic which commanded my attention during our brief 
 interview. His eye, after the first encounter, no longer rose to 
 mine. Keenly did I watch his face, though for an instant only. 
 A sudden hectic flush mantled its paleness. I could perceive a 
 nervous muscular movement about his mouth, and he slightly 
 started when I spoke. 
 
 " Edgerton," I said, with tones of good-humored reproach, 
 " there's no finding you now-a-days. You have the invisible 
 cap. What do you do with yourself ? As for law, that seems 
 destined to be a mourner so far as you are concerned. She sits 
 like a widow in her weeds. You have abandoned her : do you 
 mean to abandon your friends also ?" 
 
 He answered, with a faint attempt to smile : 
 
 " No ; I have been to see you often, but you are never at 
 home." 
 
 " Ah ! I did not hear of it. But if you really wished to see 
 a husband who has survived the honeymoon, I suspect that 
 home is about the last place where you should seek for him. 
 Julia did the honors, I trust ?" 
 
 His eye stole upward, met mine, and sunk once more upon 
 the floor. He answered faintly : 
 
 " Yes, but I have not seen her for some days." 
 
 " Not since Mother Delaney's party, I believe V 1 
 
 The color came again into his cheeks, but instantly after was 
 succeeded by a deadly paleness. 
 
 " What a bore these parties are ! and such parties as those of 
 Mrs. Delaney are particularly annoying to me. Why the d 1 
 couldn't the old tabby halter her hobby without calling in her 
 neighbors to witness the painful spectacle ? You were there, I 
 think?" 
 
APPLICATION OP THE QUESTION. 263 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I left early. I got heartily sick. You know I never like 
 such places ; and, as soon as they began, dancing, I took advan- 
 tage of the fuss and fiddle to steal off. It was unfortunate I 
 did so, for Julia was taken sick, and has had a narrow chance 
 for it. I thought I should have lost her." 
 
 All this was spoken in tones of the coolest imaginable indif- 
 ference. Edgerton was evidently surprised. He looked up 
 with some curiosity in his glance, and more confidence ; and, 
 with accents that slightly faltered, he asked : 
 
 " Is she well again ? I trust she is better now." 
 
 "Yes!" I answered, with the same sang-froid. "But I've 
 had a serious business of watching through the last three nights. 
 Her peril was extreme. She lost her little one." 
 
 A visible shudder went through his frame. 
 
 " Tired to death of the walls of the house, which seems a dun- 
 geon to me, I dashed out this morning, at daylight, as soon as I 
 found I could safely leave her ; and, strolling down to the office, 
 who should I find there but your father, perched at the desk, 
 and seemingly inclined to resume all his former practice ?" 
 
 " Indeed ! my father so early ? What could be the matter 1 
 Did he tell you ?" 
 
 " Yes, i'faith, he is in tribulation about you. He fancies you 
 are in a fair way to destruction. You can't conceive what he 
 fancies. It seems, according to his account, that you are a 
 night-stalker. He dwells at large upon your nightly absences 
 from home, and then about your appearance, which, to say 
 truth, is very wretched. You scarcely look like the same man, 
 Edgerton. Have you been sick? What's the matter with 
 you ?" 
 
 " I am not altogether well," he said, evasively. 
 
 "Yes, but mere indisposition would never produce such a 
 change, in so short a period, in any man ! Your father is dis- 
 posed to ascribe it to other causes." 
 
 " Ah ! what does he think ?" 
 
 I fancied there was mingled curiosity and trepidation in this 
 inquiry. 
 
 " He suspects you of gaming and drinking ; but I assured 
 him, very confidently, that such was not the case. On one of 
 
264 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 these Leads I could speak confidently, for I met Kingsley the 
 other night the night of Mother Delaney's party who was 
 hot and heavy against you because you refused to lend him 
 money for such purposes. I was more indulgent, lent him the 
 money, went with him to the house, and returned home with a 
 pocket full of specie, sufficient to set up a small banking-opera- 
 tion of my own." 
 
 " You ! can it be possible ?" 
 
 " True ; and no such dull way of spending an evening either. 
 I got home in the small hours, and found Julia delirious. I 
 haven't had such a fright for a stolen pleasure, Heaven knows 
 when. There was the doctor, and there my eternal mother-in- 
 law, and my poor little wife as near the grave as could be ! 
 But the circumstance of refusing the money to Kingsley, know- 
 ing his object, made me confident that gaming was not the cause 
 of your night-stalking, and so I told the old gentleman." 
 
 " And what did he say 1" 
 
 11 Shook his head mournfully, and reasoned in this manner : 
 4 He has no pecuniary necessities, has no oppressive toils, and 
 has never had any disappointment of heart. There is nothing 
 to make him behave so, and look so, but guilt GUILT !' " 
 
 I repeated the last word with an entire change in the tone of 
 my voice. Light, lively, and playful before, I spoke that single 
 word with a stern solemnity, and, bending toward him, my eye 
 keenly traversed the mazes of his countenance. 
 
 " He lias it /" I thought to myself, as his head drooped for- 
 ward, and his whole frame shuddered momentarily. 
 
 "But" here my tones again became lively and playful I 
 even laughed " I told the old man that I fancied I could hit 
 the nail more certainly on the head. In short, I said I could 
 pretty positively say what was the cause of your conduct and 
 condition." 
 
 "Ah !" and, as he uttered this monosyllable, he made a fee- 
 ble effort to rise from his seat, but sunk back, and again fixed 
 his eye upon the floor in visible emotion. 
 
 " Yes ! I told him was I not right? that a woman was at 
 the bottom of it all !" 
 
 He started to his feet. His face was averted from me. 
 
 " Ha ! was I not right ? I knew it ! I saw through it from 
 
APPLICATION OF THE QUESTION. 265 
 
 the first ; and, though I did not tell the old man that, I was 
 pretty sure that you were trespassing upon your neighbor's 
 grounds. Ha ! what say you ? Was I not right ? Were you 
 not stealing to forbidden places playing the snake, on a small 
 scale, in some blind man's Eden ] Ha ! ha ! what say you to 
 that 1 I am right, am I not ? eh ?" 
 
 I clapped him on the shoulder as I spoke. His face had been 
 half averted from me while I was speaking ; but now it turned 
 upon me, and his glance met mine, teeming with inquisitive 
 horror. 
 
 " No ! no ! you are not right !" he faltered out ; " it is not so. 
 Nothing is the matter with me! I am quite well quite! I 
 will see my father, and set him right." 
 
 "Do so," I said, coolly and indifferently "do so; tell him 
 what you please: but you can't change my conviction that 
 you're after some pretty woman, and probably poaching on 
 some neighbor's territory. Come, make me your confidante, 
 Edgerton. Let us know the history of your misfortune. Is 
 the lady pliant ? I should judge so, since you continue to spend 
 so many nights away from home. Come, make a clean breast 
 of it. Out with your secret ! I have always been your friend. 
 We could not betray each other, I think /" 
 
 " You are quite mistaken," he said, with the effort of one who 
 is half strangled. " There is nothing in it j I assure you, you 
 were never more mistaken." 
 
 " Pshaw, Edgerton ! you may blind papa, but you can not 
 blind me. Keep your secret, if you please, but, if you provoke 
 me, I will trace it out ; I will unkennel you. If I do not shoTv 
 the sitting hare in a fortnight, by the course of the hunter, tell 
 me I am none myself." 
 
 His consternation increased, but I did not allow it to disarm 
 me. I probed him keenly, and in such a manner as to make 
 him wince with apprehension at every word which I uttered. 
 Morally, William Edgerton was a brave man. Guilt alone 
 made him a coward. It actually gave me pain, after a while, 
 to behold his wretched imbecility. He hung upon my utter- 
 ance with the trembling suspense of one whose eye has become 
 enchained with the fascinating gaze of the serpent. I put my 
 questions and comments home to him, on the assumption that 
 
 12 
 
266 CONFESSION, 'OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 lie was playing the traitor with another's wife ; though taking 
 care, all the while, that my manner should he that of one who 
 has no sort of apprehensions on his own score. My deportment 
 and tone tallied well with the practised indifference which had 
 distinguished my previous overt conduct. It deceived him on 
 that head ; but the truth, like a sharp knife, was no less keen 
 in penetrating to his soul; and, preserving my coolness and 
 directness, with that singular tenacity of purpose which I could 
 maintain in spite of my own sufferings and keep them still 
 unsuspected I did not scruple to impel the sharp iron into 
 every sensitive place within his bosom. 
 
 He writhed visibly before me. His struggles did not please 
 me, but I sought to produce them simply because they seemed 
 BO many proofs confirming the truth of my conjectures. The 
 fiend in my own soul kept whispering, "He has it!" and a 
 fatal spell, not unlike that which riveted his attention to the 
 language which tore and vexed him, urged me to continue it 
 until at length the sting became too keen for his endurance. In 
 very desperation, he broke away from the fetters of that fascina- 
 tion of terror which had held him for one mortal hour to the spot 
 
 "No more! no more !" he exclaimed, with an uncontrollable 
 burst of emotion. " You torture me ! I can stand it no longer I 
 There is nothing in your conjecture ! There is no reason for 
 your suspicions ! She is " 
 
 "She? Ah!" 
 
 I could not suppress the involuntary exclamation. The trutl 
 seemed to be at hand. I was premature. My utterance brought 
 him to his senses. He stopped, looked at me wildly for an in- 
 stant, his eyes dilated almost to bursting. He seemed suddenly 
 to be conscious that the secrets of his soul its dark, uncommis- 
 sioned secrets were about to force themselves into sight and 
 speech; and unable, perhaps, to arrest them in any other way 
 he darted headlong from my presence. 
 
MEDITATED EXILE. 267 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 MEDITATED EXILE. 
 
 WITH his departure sunk the spirit which had sustained me. 
 I had not gone through that scene willingly; I had suffered 
 quite as many pangs as himself. I had made my own misery, 
 though disguised under the supposed condition of another, the 
 subject of my own mockery ; and if I succeeded in driving the 
 iron into his soul, the other end of the shaft was all the while 
 working in mine ! His flight was an equal relief to both of us. 
 The stern spirit left me from that moment My agony found 
 relief, momentary though it was, in a sudden gush of tears. 
 My hot, heavy head sank upon my palms, and I groaned in un- 
 reserved homage to the never-slumbering genius of pain that 
 genius which alone is universal which adopts us from the 
 cradle which distinguishes our birth by our tears, hallows the 
 sentiment of grief to us from the beginning, and maintains the 
 fountains which supply its sorrows to the end. The lamb skips, 
 the calf leaps, the fawn bounds, the bird chirps, the young colt 
 fri.iks ; all things but man enjoy life from its very dawn. He 
 alone is feeble, suffering. His superior pangs and sorrows are 
 the first proofs of his singular and superior destiny. 
 
 Bitter was the gush of tears that rolled from the surcharged 
 fountains of my heart; bitter, but free flowing to my ra"ie, 
 at the moment when my head seemed likely to burs^ witTi A vol- 
 canic volume within it, and when a blistering arrow seen 3d 
 slowly to traverse, to and fro, the most sore and sbriniKng pas- 
 sages of my soul. Had not Edgerton fled, I could not have 
 sustained it much longer. My passions would have hurled 
 aside my judgment, and mocked that small policy under which 
 
2G8 
 
 I acted. I felt that they were about to speak, and rejoiced that 
 he fled. Had he remained, I should most probably have poured 
 forth all my suspicion, all my hate ; dragged by violence from 
 his lips the confession of his wrong, and from his heart the last 
 atonement for it. 
 
 At first I reproached myself that I had not done so. I ac- 
 cused myself of tameness the dishonorable tarneness of sub- 
 mitting to indignity the last of all indignities and of confer- 
 ring calmly, even good-humoredly, with the wrong-doer. But 
 cooler moments came. A brief interval sufficed helped by 
 the flood of tears which rushed, hot and scalding, from my eyes 
 to subdue the angry spirit. I remembered my pledges to 
 the father ; my unspeakable obligations to him ; and when I 
 again recollected that my convictions had not assailed the purity 
 of my wife, and, at most, had questioned her affections only, my 
 forbearance seemed justified. 
 
 But could the matter rest where it was ? Impossible ! What 
 was to be done ? It was clear enough that the only thing that 
 could be done, for the relief of all parties, was to be done by 
 myself. Edgerton was suffering from a guilty pursuit. That 
 pursuit, if still urged, might be successful, if not so at present. 
 The constant drip of the water will wear away the stone ; and 
 if my wife could submit to impertinent advances without de- 
 claring them to her husband, the work of seduction was already 
 half done. To listen is, in half the number of cases, to fall. I 
 must save her ; I had not the courage to put her from me. Be- 
 lieving that she was still safe, I resolved, through the excess 
 of that love which was yet the predominant passion in my soul, 
 in spite of all its contradictions, to keep her so, if human wit 
 could avail, and human energy carry its desires into successful 
 completion. 
 
 To do this, there was but one process. That was flight. I 
 must leave this city this country. By doing so, I remove 
 my wife from temptation, remove the temptation from the un- 
 happy young man whom it is destroying ; and thus, though by 
 a sacrifice of my own comforts and interests, repay the debt of 
 *>T**iitude to my benefactor in the only effective manner. It 
 called for no small exercise of moral courage and forbearance 
 no fc-na** "benevolence to come to this conclusion. It must be 
 
MEDITATED EXILE. 269 
 
 undersft od that my professional business was becoming particu- 
 larly profitable. I was rising in my profession. My clients 
 daily increased in number ; my acquaintance daily increased in 
 value. Besides, I loved my birthplace thrice-hallowed the 
 only region in my eyes 
 
 " The spot most worthy loving 
 Of all beneath the sky." 
 
 But the sacrifice was to be made ; and my imagination immedi- 
 ? tely grew active for my compensation, by describing a wood- 
 land home a spot, remote from the crowd, where I should 
 carry my household gods, and set them up for my exclusive 
 and uninvaded worship. The whole world-wide West was open 
 to me. A virgin land, rich in natural wealth and splendor, it 
 held forth the prospect of a fair field and no favor to every new- 
 comer. There it is not possible to keep in thraldom the fear- 
 less heart and the active intellect. There, no petty circle of 
 society can fetter the energies or enfeeble the endeavors. No 
 mocking, stale conventionalities can usurp the place of natural 
 laws, and put genius and talent into the accursed strait-jacket 
 of routine ! Thither will I go. I remembered the late confer- 
 ence with my friend Kingsley, and the whole course of my rea- 
 soning on the subject of my removal was despatched in half an 
 hour. " I will go to Alabama." 
 
 Such was my resolution. I was the man to make sudden 
 resolutions. This, however, reasoned upon with the utmost cir- 
 cumspection, seemed the very best that I could make. My 
 wife, yet pure, was rescued from the danger that threatened 
 her ; I was saved the necessity of taking a life so dear to my 
 benefactor; and the unhappy young man himself the victim 
 to a blind passion having no longer in his sight the tempta- 
 tion which misled him, would be left free to return to better 
 thoughts, and the accustomed habits of business and society. I 
 had concluded upon my course in the brief interval which fol- 
 lowed my interview with William Edgerton and my return 
 home. 
 
 The next day I saw his father. I communicated the assur- 
 ance of the son, and renewed my own, that neither drunken- 
 ness nor gaming was a vice. What it was that afflicted him 
 
CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 I did not pretend to know, but I ascribed it to want of employ- 
 ment ; a morbid, unenergetic temperament ; the fact that he was 
 independent, and had no rough necessities to make him estimate 
 the true nature and the objects of life; and, at the close, quietly 
 suggested that possibly there was some affair of the heart which 
 contributed also to his suffering. I did not deny that his looks 
 were wretched, but I stoutly assured the old man that his pa- 
 rental fears exaggerated their wretchedness. We had much 
 other talk on the subject. When we were about to separate for 
 the day, I declared my own determination in this manner : 
 
 " I have just decided on a step, Mr. Edgerton, which perhaps 
 will somewhat contribute to the improvement of your son, by 
 imposing some additional tasks upon him. I am about to em- 
 igrate for the southwest." 
 
 " You, Clifford ? Impossible ! What puts that into your 
 head V y 
 
 It was something difficult to furnish any good reason for such 
 a movement. The only obvious reason spoke loudly for iny 
 remaining where I was. 
 
 " This is unaccountable," said he. " You are doing here as 
 few young men have done before you. Your business increas- 
 ing your income already good surely, Clifford, you have not 
 thought upon the matter you are not resolved." 
 
 I could plead little other than a truant disposition for my 
 proceeding, but I soon convinced him that I was resolved. He 
 seemed very much troubled ; betrayed the most flattering con- 
 cern in my interests ; and, renewing his argument for my stay, 
 renewed also his warmest professions of service." 
 
 " I had hoped," he said, " to have seen you and William, 
 closely united, pursuing the one path equally and successfully 
 together. I shall have no hopes of him if you leave us." 
 
 " The probability is, sir, that he will do better with the whole 
 responsibility of the office thrown upon him." 
 
 "No ! no !" said the old man, mournfully. " I have no hope 
 of him. There seems to me a curse upon wealth always that 
 follows and clings to it, and never leaves it, till it works out the 
 ruin of all the proprietors. See the number of our young men, 
 springing from nothing, that make everything out of it rise to 
 eminence and power get fortune as if it were a mere sport t 
 
' MEDITATED EXILE. 271 
 
 command and to secure it ; while, on the other hand, look at the 
 heirs of our proud families. Profligate, reckless, abandoned ; 
 as if, reasoning from the supposed wealth of their parents, they 
 fancied that there were no responsibilities of their own. I saw 
 this danger from the beginning. I have striven to train up my 
 son in the paths of duty and constant employment; and yet- 
 but complaint is idle. The consciousness of having tried my 
 best to have and make it otherwise is, nevertheless, a consola- 
 tion. When do you think to go ?" 
 
 " In a week or two at farthest. I have but to rid myself of 
 my impediments." 
 
 " Always prompt ; but it is best. Once resolved, action is the 
 moral law. Still, I wish I could delay you. I still think you 
 are committing a great error. I can not understand it. You 
 have established yourself. This is not easy anywhere. You 
 will find it difficult in a new country, and among strangers." 
 
 " Nay, sir, more easy there than anywhere else. If a man 
 has anything in him, strangers and a new country are the proper 
 influences to bring it out. Friends and an old community keep 
 it down, suppress, strangle it. This is the misfortune of your 
 son. He has family, friends resources which defeat all the 
 operations of moral courage, and prevent independence. Ne- 
 cessity is the moral lever. Do you forget the saying of one of 
 the wise men 1 ' If you wish your son to become a man, strip 
 him naked and send him among strangers' in other words, 
 throw him upon his own resources, and let him take care of 
 himself. The not doing this is the source of that misfortune 
 which only now you deplored as so commonly following the 
 condition of the select and wealthy. I do not fear the struggle 
 in a new country. It will end in my gaming my level, be that 
 high or low. Nothing, in such a region, can keep a man from 
 that." 
 
 " Ay. but the roughness of those new countries the absence 
 of refinement the absolute want of polish and delicacy." 
 
 "The roughness will not offend me, if it is manly. The 
 world is full of it. To be anything, a man must not have too 
 nice a stomach. Such a stomach will make him recoil from 
 sights of misery and misfortune^ and he who recoils from such 
 eights, will be the last to relieve, to repair them But while I 
 
272 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 admit the roughness and the want of polish among these fron 
 tier men, I deny the want of delicacy. Their habits are rude 
 and simple, perhaps, but their tastes are pure and unaffected, 
 and their hearts in the right place. They have strong affec- 
 tions ; and strong affections, properly balanced, are the true 
 sources of the better sort of delicacy. All other is merely con- 
 ventional, and consists of forms and phrases, which are very apt 
 to keep us from the thing itself which they are intended to rep- 
 resent. Give me these frank men and women of the frontier, 
 while my own feelings are yet strong and earnest. Here, I am 
 perpetually annoyed by the struggle to subdue within the social 
 limits the expression of that nature which is for ever boiling 
 up within me, and the utterance of which is neither more nor 
 less than the heart's utterance of the faith and hope which are 
 in it. We are told of those nice preachers who ' never mention 
 hell to ears polite.' They are the preachers of your highly- 
 refined, sentimental society. Whatever hell may be, they are 
 the very teachers that, by their mincing forbearance, conduct 
 the poor soul that relies on them into its jaws. It is a sort of 
 lie not to use the properest language to express our thoughts, 
 but rather so to falsify our thoughts by a sort of lack-a-daisaical 
 phraseology which deprives them of all their virility. A na- 
 tion or community is in a bad way for truth, when there is a 
 tacit understanding among their members to deal in the diminu- 
 tives of a language, and forbear the calling of things by their 
 right names. An Englishman, wishing to designate something 
 which is graceful, pleasing, delicate, or fine, uses the word ' nice' 
 more fitly applied to bon-bons or beefsteaks, according to the 
 stomach of the speaker. An energetic form of speech is rated, 
 in fashionable society, as particularly vulgar. In our larger 
 American cities, where they have much pretension but little 
 character, a leg must not be spoken of as such. You may say 
 ' limb,' but not ' leg.' The word woman' one of the sweetest 
 in the language is supposed to disparage the female to whom 
 it is applied. She must be called a ' lady,' forsooth ; and this 
 word, originally intended to pacify an aristocratic vanity, has 
 become the ordinary appellative of every member of that gross 
 family which, in the language of Shakspere, is only fit to ' suckle 
 fools and chronicle small beer.' I shall be more free, and feel 
 
MEDITATED EXILE. 273 
 
 more honest in that rough world of the west ; a region in which 
 the dilettantism, such as it is, of our Atlantic cities, is always 
 very prompt to sneer at and disparage ; but I look to see the 
 day, even in our time, when that west shall be, not merely an 
 empire herself, but the nursing mother of great empires. There 
 shall be a genius born in that vast, wide world a rough, un 
 licked genius it may be, but one whose words shall fall upon 
 the hills like thunder, and descend into the valleys like a set- 
 tled, heavy rain, which shall irrigate them all with a new life. 
 Perhaps " 
 
 I need not pursue this. I throw it upon paper with no delib- 
 eration. It streams from me like the rest. Its tone was some- 
 what derived from those peculiar, sad feelings, and that pang- 
 provoking course of thought, which it has been the purpose of 
 this narrative to embody. In the expression of digressive but 
 earnest notions like these, I could momentarily divert myself 
 from deeper and more painful emotions. I had really gone 
 through a great trial: I say a great trial always assuming 
 human indulgence for that disease of the blind heart which led 
 me where I found myself, which makes me what I am. I did 
 not feel lightly the pang of parting with my birthplace. I did 
 not esteem lightly the sacrifice of business, comfort, and distinc- 
 tion which I was making ; and of that greater cause of suffering, 
 supposed or real, of the falling off in my wife's affection, the 
 agony is already in part recorded. It may be permitted to me, 
 perhaps, under these circumstances with the additional knowl- 
 edge, which I yet suppressed, that these sacrifices were to be' 
 made, and these sufferings endured, partly that the son might be 
 saved to speak with some unreserved warmth of tone to the 
 venerable and worthy sire. He little knew how much of my 
 determination to remove from my country was due to my regard 
 for him. I felt assured that, if I remained, two things must hap- 
 pen. William Edgerton would persevere in his madness, and I 
 should murder him in his perseverance ! I banished myself in 
 regard for that old man, and in some measure to requite his 
 benefactions, that I might be spared this necessity. 
 
 When, the next day, I sought William Edgerton himself, and 
 declared my novel determination, he turned pale as death. 1 
 could see that his lins quivered. I watched him closely. H* 
 
274 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 was evidently racked by an emotion which was more obvious 
 from the necessity he was under of suppressing it. With con 
 siderable difficulty he ventured to ask my reasons for this 
 strange step, and with averted countenance repeated those which 
 his father had proffered against my doing so. I could see that 
 he fain would have urged his suggestions more vehemently if 
 he dared. But the conviction that his wishes were the fathers 
 to his arguments was conclusive to render him careful that his 
 expostulations should not put on a show of earnestness. I must 
 lo William Edgerton the justice to say that guilt was not his 
 familiar. He could not play the part of the practised hypocrite. 
 He had no powers of artifice. He could not wear the flowers 
 upon his breast, having the volcano within it. Professionally, 
 he could be no roue. He could seem no other than he was. 
 Conscious of guilt, which he had not the moral strength to coun- 
 teract and overthrow, he had not, at the same time, the art 
 necessary for its concealment. He could use no smooth, subtle 
 blandishments. His cheek and eye would tell the story of his 
 mind, though it strove to make a false presentment. I do him 
 the further justice to believe that a great part of his misery 
 arose from this consciousness of his doing wrong, rather than 
 from the difficulties in the way of his success. I believe that, 
 even were he successful in the prosecution of his illicit purposes, 
 he would not have looked or felt a jot less miserable. I felt, 
 while we conferred together, that my departure was perhaps 
 the best measure for his relief. While I mused upon his char- 
 acter and condition, my anger yielded in part to commiseration. 
 I remembered the morning-time of our boyhood when we 
 stood up for conflict with our young enemies, side by side 
 obeyed the same rallying-cry, recognised the same objects, and 
 were a sort of David and Jonathan to one another. Those 
 days! they soothed and softened me while I recalled them. 
 My tone became less keen, my language less tinctured with 
 sarcasm, when I thought of these things ; and I thought of our 
 separation without thinking of its cause. 
 
 " I leave you, Edgerton, with one regret not that we part; 
 for life is full of partings, and the strong mind must be recon- 
 ciled with them, or it is nothing but that I leave you so un 
 like your former self. I wish I could do something for yoi." 
 
MEDITATED EXILE. 275 
 
 I gave him my hand as as I spoke. He did not grasp he 
 rather shrunk from it. An uncontrollable hurst of feeling 
 seemed suddenly to gush from him as he spoke : 
 
 "Take no heed of me, Clifford I am not worthy of ymar 
 thought." 
 
 " Ha ! What do you mean 7" 
 
 He spoke hastily, in manifest discomfiture : 
 
 " I am worthy of no man's thought." 
 
 " Pshaw ! you are a hypochondriac." 
 
 " Would it were that ! But you go ! when 1" 
 
 " In a week, perhaps." 
 
 "So soon? So very soon? Do you do you carry your 
 family with you at once ?" 
 
 There was great effort to speak this significant inquiry. I 
 perceived that. I perceived that his eyes were on the ground 
 while it was made. The question was offensive to me. It had 
 a strange and painful significance. It recalled the whole cause, 
 the hitter cause of my resolve for exile ; and I could not con- 
 trol the altered tones of my voice in answering, which I did 
 with some causticity of feeling, which necessarily entered into 
 my utterance. 
 
 " Family, surely ! My wife only ! No great charge, I'm 
 thinking, and her health needs an early change. Would you 
 have me leave her ? I have no other family, you know !" 
 
 The dialogue, carried on with restraint before, was shortened 
 by this ; and, after a few business remarks, which were neces- 
 sary to our office concerns, he pleaded an engagement to get 
 away. He left me with some soreness upon my mind, which 
 formed its expression in a brief soliloquy. 
 
 " You would have the path made even freer than before, 
 would you ? It does not content you, these long morning medi- 
 tations these pretended labors of the painting-room, the 
 suspicious husband withdrawn, and the wife, neither scorning 
 nor consenting, willing to believe in that devotion to the art 
 which is properly a devotion to herself? These are not suffi- 
 cient opportunities, eh ? There were more room for landscape, 
 it this Othello wer* ; n Alabama pitching his Biases, ana 
 building his log-cabin for the reception of that divinity, 
 finds the worship very sufficient where she is ! We shall 
 
276 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 appoint you, Mr. Edgerton ! Ah! could I but know all 
 Could I be sure that she did love him ! Could I be sure that 
 she did not ! That is the curse that doubt ! Will it remain 
 BO? No! no! Once removed once in those forest regions, 
 it can not be that she will repine for anything. She must love 
 me then she will feel anew the first fond passion. She will 
 forget these passing fancies. They will pass ! She is young. 
 The image will haunt her no longer -at least, it will no longer 
 haunt me !" 
 
 So I spoke, but I was not so sure of that last. The doubt 
 did not trouble me, however. Sufficient for the day is the evil 
 thereof. But I had another test yet to try. I wished to see 
 how Julia would receive the communication of my purpose. 
 As yet she knew nothing of my contemplated departure. " It 
 will surprise her," I thought to myself. " Tn that surprise she 
 will show how much our removal will distress her!" 
 
 But when I made known to her my intention, the surprise 
 was all my own. The communication did not seemed to distress 
 her at all. Surprise her it did, but the surprise seemed a pleasant 
 one. It spoke out in a sudden flashing of the eye, a gentle 
 smiling of the mouth, which was equally unexpected and grate 
 ful to my heart. 
 
 " I am delighted with the idea I" she exclaimed, putting her 
 arms about my neck. " I think we shall be so happy there. I 
 long to get away from this place." 
 
 " Indeed ! But are you serious 1" 
 
 " To be sure." 
 
 " I was apprehensive it might distress you." 
 
 " Oh 1 no ! no ! I have been dull and tired here, for a long 
 while ; and I thought, when you told me that Mr. Kingsley had 
 gone to Alabama, how delightful it would be if we could go 
 too." 
 
 w But you never told me that." 
 
 No." 
 
 " Nor even looked it, Julia." 
 
 "Surely not I should have been loath to have you think, 
 while your business was so prosperous, and you seemed so well 
 satisfied here, that I had any discontent/ 
 
 " I satisfied !" I said this rather to myeelf than her. 
 
MEDITATED EXILE. 277 
 
 " Yes, were you not ? I had no reason to think otherwise. 
 Nay, I feared you were too well satisfied, for I have seen BO 
 little of you of late. I'm sure I wished we were anywhere, so 
 that you could find your home more to your liking." 
 
 " And have such notions really filled your brain, Julia ?" 
 
 Really." 
 
 "And you have found me a stranger you have mis- 
 sed me V 
 
 11 Ah ! do you not know it, Edward ?" 
 
 " You shall have no need to reproach me hereafter. We will 
 go to Alabama, and live wholly for one another. I shall leave 
 you in business time only, and hurry back as soon as I can." 
 
 " Ah, promise me that ?" 
 
 "I do!" 
 
 " We shall be so happy then. Then we shall take our old 
 rambles, Edward, though in new regions, and I will resume the 
 pencil, if you wish it." 
 
 This was said timidly. 
 
 " To be sure I wish it. But why do you say * resume' 1 Have 
 you not been painting all along ?" 
 
 " No ! I have scarcely smeared canvass in the last two 
 months " 
 
 " But you have been sketching ?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " What employed you then in the studio ? How have yuU 
 passed your mornings ?" 
 
 This inquiry was made abruptly, but it did not disturb her. 
 Her answer was strangely satisfactory. 
 
 " I have scarcely looked in upon the studio in all that time." 
 
 I longed to ask what Edgerton had done with himself, and 
 whether he had been suffered to employ himself alone, in his 
 morning visits, but my tongue faltered I somehow dared not 
 Still, it was something to have her assurance that she had not 
 found her attractions in that apartment in which my jealous 
 fancy had assumed that she took particular delight. She had 
 spoken with the calmness of innocence, and I was too happy to 
 believe her. I put my arms about her waist. 
 
 " Yes, we will renew the old habits, for I suppose that busi- 
 ness there will be less pressing, less exacting?, than I have found 
 
278 CONFJESSION, OE THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 it here. We will take our long walks, Julia, and make up for 
 lost time in new sketches. You have thought me a truant, Julia 
 neglectful hitherto ! Have you not ?" 
 
 "Ah, Edward 1" Her eyes filled with tears, but a smile, like 
 a rainbow, made them bright. 
 
 "Say, did you not ?" 
 
 " Do not be angry with me if I confess I thought you very 
 much altered in some respects. I was fearful I had vexed you." 
 
 " You shall have no more reason to fear. We shall be the 
 babes in the wood together. I am sure we shall be quite happy, 
 left to ourselves. No doubts, no fears nothing but love. And 
 you are really willing to go ?" 
 
 " Willing ! I wish it ! I can get ready in a day." 
 
 " You have but a week. But, have you no reluctance t Is 
 there nothing that you regret to leave ? Speak freely r Julia. 
 Your mother, your friends would you not prefer to rvrnwa 
 with them T 
 
 She placed her hands on my shoulders, laid her head close to 
 my bosom and murmured how softly, how sweetly in the 
 touching language of the Scripture damsel. 
 
 " Entreat me not to leave thee, or to refrain from following 
 after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou 
 lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy 
 God my God !" 
 
 I folded her with tremulous but deep joy in my embrace ; and 
 in that sweet moment of peace, I wondered that I ever should 
 have questioned the faith of such a woman 
 
THE BITTEIl IN THE CUP OF JOY. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 "AND STILL THE BITTER IN THE CUP OF JOY." 
 
 ONCE more I had sunshine. The clouds seemed to depart as 
 suddenly as they had risen, and that same rejoicing and rosy 
 light which had encircled the brow of manhood at its dawn 
 long shrouded, seemingly lost for ever, and swallowed up in 
 darkness came out as softly and quietly in the maturer day, 
 as if its sweet serene had never known even momentary ob- 
 scuration. 
 
 Love, verily, is the purple light of youth. If it abides, bles- 
 sing arid blessed, with the unsophisticated heart, youth never 
 leaves us. Gray brows make not age the feeble step, the 
 wrinkled visage, these indicate the progress of time, but not the 
 passage of youth. Happy hearts keep us in perpetual spring, 
 and the glow of childhood without its weaknesses is ours to the fi- 
 nal limit of seventy. The sense of desolation, the pang of denial, 
 the baffled hope, and the defrauded love, these constitute the 
 only age that should ever give the heart a pang. I can fancy a 
 good man advancing through all the mortal stages from seven- 
 teen to seventy-five, and crowned by the sympathies of cor- 
 responsive affections, simply going on from youth to youth, 
 ending at last in youth's perfect immortality ! 
 
 The hope of this not so much a hope as an instinct is the 
 faith of our boyhood. The boy, as the father of the man, 
 transmits this hope to riper years ; but if the experience of the 
 day correspond not with the promise of the dawn, how rapidly 
 old age comes upon us ! White hairs, lean cheeks, withered 
 muscles, feeble steps, and that dull, dead feeling about the heart 
 that utter abandonment of cheer which would be despair 
 were it not for a certain blunted sensibility a sort of drowsy 
 
280 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 indifference to all things that the day brings forth, which, as it 
 takes from life the excitement of every passion, leaves it free 
 from the sting of any. Yet, were not the tempest better than 
 the calm ? Who would not prefer to be driven before the 
 treacherous hurricane of the blue gulf, than to linger midway 
 on its shoreless waters, and behold their growing stagnation 
 from day to day ] The apathy of the passions is the most terri- 
 ble form in which age makes its approaches. 
 
 With an earnest, sanguine temperament, such as mine, there 
 is little danger of such apathy, The danger is not from leth- 
 argy but madness. I had escaped this danger. It was sur- 
 prising, even to myself, how suddenly my spirits had arisen 
 from the pressure that had kept them down. In a moment, as 
 it were, that mocking troop of fears and sorrows which envi- 
 roned me, took their departure. It seemed that it was only 
 necessary for me to know that I was about to lose the presence 
 of William Edgerton to find this relief. 
 
 And yet, how idle ! With an intense egcfisme, such as mine, 
 I should conjure up an Edgerton in the deepest valleys of our 
 country. We have our gods and devils in our own hearts. 
 The nature of the deities we worship depends upon our own. 
 In a savage state, the Deity is savage, and expects bloody 
 sacrifices ; with the progress of civilization his attributes incline 
 to mercy. The advent of Jesus Christ indicated the advance 
 of the Hebrews to a higher sense of the human nature. It was 
 the advent of the popular principle, which has been advancing 
 steadily ever since and keeping due pace with the progress of 
 Christian education. The people were rising at the expense of 
 the despotism which had kept them down. It does not affect 
 the truth of this te show that the polish of the Jewish nation 
 was lessened at this period. Nay, rather proves it, since the 
 diffusion of a truth or a power must always lessen its intensity 
 In teaching, for the first time, the doctrine of the soul's immor- 
 tality, the Savior laid the foundation of popular rights, in the 
 elevation of the common humanity since he thus showed the 
 equal importance, in the sight of God, of every soul that had 
 ever taken shape beneath his hands. 
 
 The demon which had vexed and tortured me was a demon 
 of my own soliciting of my own creation. But, I knew not 
 
THE BITTER IN THE CUP OP JOY. 281 
 
 this. I congratulated myself on escaping from him. Blind 
 fancy! I little knew the insidious pertinacity of this demon 
 this demon of the blind heart, I .little knew the nature of his 
 existence, and how much he drew his nutriment from the re- 
 cesses of my own nature. He could spare, or seem to spare, 
 the victim of whom he was so sure ; and hy a sort of levity, in 
 no ways unaccountable, since we see it in the play of cat with 
 mouse, could indulge with temporary libsrty, the poor captive 
 of whom he was at any moment certain. I congratulated my- 
 self on my escape ; but I was not so well pleased with the con- 
 gratulations of others. I was doomed to endure those of my 
 exemplary mother-in-law, Mrs. Delaney. That woman had her 
 devil a worse devil, though not more troublesome, I think, 
 than mine. She said to me, when she heard of my purpose of 
 removal : " You are right to remove. It is only prudent. Pity 
 you had not gone some months ago." 
 
 I read her meaning, where her language was ambiguous, in 
 her sharp, leering eyes full of significance an expression of 
 mysterious intelligence, which, mingled with a slight, sinister 
 smile upon her lips, for a moment, brought a renewal of all my 
 tortures and suspicions. She saw the annoyance which I felt, 
 and strove to increase it. I know not I will not repeat the 
 occasional innuendos which she allowed herself to utter in the 
 brief space of a twenty minutes' interview. It is enough to say 
 that nothing could be more evident than her desire to vex me 
 with the worst pangs which a man can know, even though her 
 success in the attempt was to be attained at the expense of her 
 daughter's peace of mind and reputation. I do not believe that 
 she ever hinted to another, what she clearly enough insinuated 
 as a cause of fear to me. Her purpose was to goad me to mad- 
 ness, and in her witless malice, I do believe she was utterly un- 
 conscious of the evil that might accrue to the child of her own 
 womb from her base and cruel suggestions. I wished to get 
 from her these suggestions in a more distinct form. I wished at 
 the same time, to deprive her of the pleasure of seeing that I 
 understood her. I restrained myself accordingly, though the 
 vulture was then again at my vitals. 
 
 " What do you mean, Mrs. Delaney ? Why is it a pity that 
 I hadn't gone months ago 2" 
 
282 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 " Oh ! that's enough for me to know. I have my reasons." 
 
 " But, will you not suffer me to know them I I am conscioui 
 of no evil that has arisen from my not going sooner." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, if you are not, I can only say you're 
 not so keen-sighted a lawyer as I thought you were. That's 
 all." 
 
 " If you think I would have made out better, got more prac- 
 tice, and made more money in Alabama, that, I must tell you, 
 has been long since my own opinion." 
 
 " No ! I don't mean that it has no regard to business and 
 money -making what I mean." 
 
 " Ah ! what can it have regard to ? You make me curious, 
 Mrs. Delaney." 
 
 " Well, that may be ; but I'm not going to satisfy your curios- 
 ity. I thought you had seen enough for yourself. I'm sure 
 you're the only one that has not seen." 
 
 " Upon my soul, Mrs. Delaney, you are quite a mystery." 
 
 Oh ! am I t" 
 
 " I can't dive into such depths. I'm ignorant." 
 
 " Tell those that know you no better. But you can't blind me. 
 I know that you know and more than that, lean guess what's 
 carrying you to Alabama. It's not law business, I know that.'' 
 
 I was vexed enough, as may be supposed, at this malicious 
 pertinacity, but I kept down my struggling gorge with a resolu- 
 tion which I had been compelled often enough to exercise be- 
 fore ; and quietly ended the interview by taking my hat and 
 departure, as I said : 
 
 " You are certainly a very sagacious lady, Mrs. Delaney ; 
 but I must leave you, and wait your own time to make these 
 mysterious revelations. My respects to Mr. Delaney. Good 
 morning." 
 
 " Oh, good morning ; but let me tell you, Mr. Clifford, if you 
 don't see, it's not because you can't. Other people can see 
 without trying." 
 
 TheJezabel! 
 
 My preparations were soon completed. I worked with the 
 spirit of enthusiasm I had so many motives to be active ; and, 
 subordinate among these, but still important, I should get out of 
 tLs reach of this very woman. I could not beat her myselfi 
 
THE BITTER IN THE CUP OP JOY. 283 
 
 but I wished her husband might do it, and not to anticipate my 
 own story, he did so in less than three months after. He was 
 the man too, to perform such a labor with unction and emphasis. 
 A vigorous man with muscles like bolt-ropes, and limLs that 
 would have been respectable in the days of Goliah. I met 
 him on leaving the steps of Mrs. Delaney's lodgings, and 
 thinking of the marital office I wished him to perform I was 
 rejoiced to discover that he was generously drunk in the 
 proper spirit for such deeds in the flesh. 
 
 He seized my hand with quite a burst of enthusiasm, swore 
 I was a likely fellow, and somehow he had a liking for me. 
 
 " Though, to be sure, my dear fellow, it's not Mrs. Delaney 
 that loves any bone in your skin. She's a lady that, like most 
 of the dear creatures, has a way of her own for thinking. She 
 does her own thinking, and what can a woman know about 
 such a business. It's to please her that I sit by and say 
 nothing ; and a wife must be permitted some indulgence while 
 the moon lasts, which the poets tell us, is made out of honey : 
 but it's never a long moon in these days, and a small cloud soon 
 puts an end to it. Wait till that time, Mr. Clifford, and I'll 
 put her into a way of thinking, that'll please you and myself 
 much better." 
 
 I thanked him for his good opinion, and civilly wished him 
 as it was a matter which seemed to promise him so much satisfac- 
 tion that the duration of the honeymoon should be as short 
 as possible. He thanked me affectionately grasped my hand 
 with the squeeze of a blacksmith, ahd entreated that I should 
 go back arid take a drink of punch with him. As an earnest 
 of what he could give me, he pulled a handful of lemons from 
 his pocket which he had bought from a shop by the way. I 
 need not say I expressed my gratitude, though I declined his 
 invitation. I then told him I was about to remove to Alabama, 
 and he immediately proposed to go along with me. I reminded 
 him that he was just married, and it would be expected of him 
 that he would see the honeymoon out. 
 
 " Ah, faith !" he replied, " and there's sense in what you say ; 
 it must be done, I suppose ; but devil a bit, to my thinking, 
 does any moon last a month in this climate ; and the first cloudy 
 weather, d'yo see, and I'm after you." 
 
284 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 It was difficult to escape from the generous embraces of my 
 ardent father-in-law ; and the whole street witnessed them. 
 
 That afternoon I spent in part with the Edgertons. I went 
 soon after my own dinner and found the family at theirs, 
 William Edgerton was present. The old man insisted that I 
 should take a seat at the table and join them in a bottle of wine, 
 which I did. It was a family, bearing apparently all the 
 elements within itself of a happiness the most perfect and pro- 
 found. Particularly an amiable family. Yet there was no in- 
 sipidity. The father has already been made known; the son 
 should be by this time; the mother was one of those strong- 
 minded, simple women, whose mind may be expressed by its 
 most striking characteristic independence. She had that 
 most obvious trait of aristocratic breeding, a quiet, indefinable, 
 easy dignity a seemingly natural quality, easy itself, that puts 
 everybody at ease, .and yet neither in itself nor in others suffer- 
 ed the slightest approach to be made to unbecoming familiarity. 
 A sensible, gentlewoman literally gentle yet so calm, so 
 firm, you would have supposed she had never known one emo- 
 tion calculated to stir the sweet, glass-like placidity of her de- 
 portment. 
 
 And yet, amidst all this calm placidity, with an eye looking 
 benevolence, and a considerateness that took note of your small- 
 est want, she sustained the pangs of one yearning for her first 
 born ; dissatisfied and disappointed in his career, and apprehen- 
 sive for his fate. The family was no longer happy. The worm 
 was busy in all their hearts. They treated me kindly, but it 
 was obvious that they were suffering. A visible constraint 
 chilled and baffled conversation ; and I could see the deepening 
 anxieties which clouded the face of the mother, whenever her 
 eye wandered in the direction of her son. This it did, in spite, I 
 am convinced, of her endeavors to prevent it. 
 
 I, too, could now look in the same quarter. My feelings were 
 less bitter than they were, and William Edgerton shared in the 
 change. I did not the less believe him to have done wrong, but, 
 in the renewed conviction of my wife's purity, I could forgive 
 him, and almost think he was sufficiently punished in enter 
 taining affections which were without hope. Punished he was, 
 whether by hopelessness or guilt, and punished terribly. I 
 
THE BITTER IN THE CUP OP JOY. 285 
 
 could see a difference for the worse in his appearance since I 
 had last conferred with him. He was haggard and spiritless to 
 the last degree. He had few words while we sat at tahle, and 
 these were spoken only after great effort ; and, regarding him 
 now with less temper than before; it seemed to me that his 
 parents had not exaggerated the estimate which they had form- 
 ed of his miserable appearance. He looked very much like 
 one, who had abandoned himself to nightly dissipation, and those 
 excesses of mind and body, which sap from both the saving and ele- 
 vating substance. I did not wonder that the old man ascribed his 
 condition to the bottle and the gaming-table. But that I knew 
 better, such would most probably have been my own conclusion. 
 The conversation was not general confined chiefly to Mr. 
 Edgerton the elder and myself. Mrs. Edgerton remained awhile 
 after the cloth had been withdrawn, joining occasionally in what 
 was said, and finally left us, though with still a lingering, and a 
 last look toward her son, which clearly told where her heart 
 was. William Edgerton followed her, after a brief interval, 
 and I saw no more of him, though I remained for more than an 
 hour. He had said but little. It was with some evident effort, 
 that he had succeeded in uttering some general observation on 
 the subject of the Alabama prairies those beautiful " gardens 
 of the desert," 
 
 " For which the speech of England has no name." 
 
 My removal had been the leading topic of our discourse, and 
 when I declared my intention to start on the very next day, 
 and that the present was a farewell visit, the emotion of the 
 son visibly increased. Soon after he left the room. When I 
 was alone with the father, he took occasion to renew his offer of 
 service, and, in such a manner, as to take from the offer its tone 
 of service. He seemed rather to ask a favor than to suggest one. 
 Money he could spare the repayment should be at my own 
 leisure and my bond would be preferable, he was pleased to 
 say, to that of any one he knew. I thanked him with becom- 
 ing feelings, though, for the present, I declined his assistance. I 
 pledged myself, however, should circumstances make it neceR- 
 sary for me to seek a loan, to turn, in the first instance, to him. 
 He had been emphatically my friend the friend, sole, singular 
 
286 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 never fluctuating in his regards, and never stopping to calcu- 
 late the exact measure of my deserts. I felt that I could not 
 too much forbear in reference to the son, having in view the gen- 
 erous friendship of the father. 
 
 That day, and the night which followed it, was a long period 
 with me. I had to see many acquaintances, and attend to a 
 thousand small matters. I was on my feet the whole day, and 
 even when the night came I had no rest. I was in the city till 
 near eleven o'clock. When I got home I found that my wife 
 had done her share of the tasks. She had completed her prep- 
 arations. Our luggage was all ready for removal. To her 1 
 had assigned the labor of packing up her pictures, her materials 
 for painting, her clothes, and such other matters as she desired to 
 carry with us, to our new place of abode. The rest was to be 
 sold by a friend after our departure, and the proceeds remitted. 
 I knew I should need them all. Most of our baggage was to 
 be sent by water. We travelled in a private carriage, and con- 
 sequently, could take little. Julia, unlike most women, was 
 willing to believe with me that impediments are the true name 
 for much luggage ; and, with a most unfeminine habit, she could 
 limit herself without reluctance to the merest necessities. We 
 had no bandboxes, baskets, or extra bundles, to be stuffed here 
 and there, filling holes and corners, and crowding every space, 
 which should be yielded entirely to the limbs of the traveller. 
 Though sensitive and delicate in a great degree, she had yet 
 that masculine sense which teaches that, in the fewness of our 
 wants lies our truest source of independence; and she could 
 make herself ready for taking stage or steamboat in quite as 
 short a time as* myself. 
 
 Her day's work had exhausted her. She retired, and when 
 I went up to the chamber, she already seemed to sleep. I could 
 not. Fatigue, which had produced exhaustion, had baffled sleep. 
 Extreme weariness becomes too much like a pain to yield readi- 
 ly to repose. The moment that exercise benumbs the frame, 
 makes the limbs ache, the difficulty increases of securing slum- 
 ber. I felt weary, but I was restless also. I felt that it would 
 be vain for me to go to bed. Accordingly, I placed myself be- 
 side the window, and looked out meditatingly upon the broad 
 lake which lay before our dwelling. 
 
THE BITTER IN THE CUP OP JOY. 287 
 
 The night was very calm and beautiful. The waters from 
 the lake were falling. Tide was going out, and the murmuring 
 clack of a distant sawmill added a strange sweetness to the 
 hour, and mingled harmoniously with the mysterious goings on 
 of midnight. The starlight, not brilliant, was yet very soft and 
 touching. Isolated and small clouds, like dismembered ravens' 
 wings, flitted lightly along the edge of the western horizon, 
 shooting out at intervals brief, brilliant flashes of lightning. 
 There was a flickering breeze that played with the shrubbery 
 beneath my window, making a slight stir that did not break 
 the quiet of the scene, and gave a graceful movement to the 
 slender stems as they waved to and fro beneath its pressure. 
 A noble pride of India* rose directly before my eyes to the 
 south its branches stretching almost from within touch of the 
 dwelling, over the fence of a neighbor. The whole scene was 
 fairy-like. I should find it indescribable. It soothed my feel- 
 ings. I had been the victim of a long and painful moral 
 conflict. At length I had a glimmering of repose. Events, in 
 the last few days small events which, in themselves denoted 
 nothing had yet spoken peace to my feelings. My heart 
 was m thai dieamy state of languor, such as the body enjoys 
 under tl-.e gradually growing power of the anodyne, in which 
 the breaxh of the t'uminer wind brings a language of luxury, and 
 the mo i ..GipericU si^Lts and sounds in nature minister to a ca- 
 pacity of enjoy u eat, which is not the less intoxicating and 
 sweet because il id *ibdued. I mused upon my own heart, 
 upon the hea/t which 1 so much loved and had so much dis- 
 trusted upon life, its strange visions, delusive hopes, and the 
 sweet efficacy of mere shadows in promoting one's happiness 
 &t last. Then came, by natural degrees, the thought of that 
 strange mysterious union of light and darkness life and death 
 the shadows that we are; the substances that we are yet to 
 be. The futnre! still it rose before me but the darkness 
 upon it alone showed me it was there. It did not offend me, 
 however, for my heart was glowing in a present starlight. It 
 was the hour of hopes rather than of fears ; and in the mere 
 
 * China tree ; the melia azcdaracha of botanists. A tree peculiar to th 
 south, of singular beauty, and held in high esteem as a shade-tree. 
 
288 CONFESSION, Oil THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 prospect of transition to the new such is the elastic nature of 
 youth I had agreed to forget every pang whether of idea of 
 fact, which had vexed and tortured me in the perished past. 
 My musings were all tender yet joyful they partook of that 
 "joy of grief of which the bard of Fingal tells us. I felt a 
 big tear gathering in my eye, I knew not wherefore. I felt my 
 heart growing feeble, with the same delight which one would 
 feel at suddenly recovering a great treasure which -had been 
 supposed for ever lost. I fancied that I had recovered my treas- 
 ure, and I rose quietly, went to the bed where Julia lay 
 sleeping peacefully, and kissed her pale but lovely cheeks. 
 She started, but did not waken a gentle sigh escaped her lips, 
 and they murmured with some indistinct syllables which I failed 
 to distinguish. At that moment the notes of a flute rose softly 
 from the grove without. 
 
RENEWED AGONIES. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 RENEWED AGONIES. 
 
 IN that same moment my pangs were all renewed ; my repose of 
 mind departed ; once more my heart was on fire, my spirit filled 
 with vague doubts, grief, and commotion. The soft, sweet, pre- 
 luding note of the player had touched a chord in my soul as 
 utterly different from that which it expressed, as could by any 
 possibility be conceived. Heart and hope were instantly para- 
 lyzed. Fear and its train, its haunting spectres of suspicion, 
 took possession of the undefended- cftadel, and established guard 
 upon its deserted outposts. I tottered to the window which I 
 had left I shrouded myself in the folds of the curtain, and as 
 the strains rose, renewed and regular, I struggled to keep in my 
 breath, listening eagerly, as if the complaining instrument could 
 actually give utterance to the cruel mystery which I equally 
 dreaded and desired to hear. 
 
 The air which was played was such as I had never heard be- 
 fore. Indeed, it could scarcely be called an air. It was the 
 most capricious burden of mournfulness that had ever had its 
 utterance from wo. Fancy a mute one bereft of the divine 
 faculty of speech, by human, not divine ministration. Fancy such 
 a being endowed with the loftiest desires, moved by the acutes* 
 sensibilities, having already felt the pleasures of life, yet doom- 
 ed to a denial of utterance, denied the language of complaint, 
 and striving, struggling through the imperfect organs of his voice 
 to give a name to the agony which works within him. That 
 flute seemed to me to moan, and sob, and shiver, with some sucli 
 painful mode of expression as would be permitted to the " half 
 made-up" mortal of whom I have spoken. Its broken tones, 
 
 13 
 
290 CONFESSION, Oh, THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 striving and struggling, almost rising at times into a shriek, seem- 
 ed of all things to complain of its own voicelessness. 
 
 And yet it had its melody melody, to me, of the most vex- 
 ing power. I should have called the strain a soliloquizing one, 
 It certainly did not seem addressed to any ears. It wanted the 
 continuance of apostrophe. It was capricious. Sometimes the 
 burden fell off suddenly broken wholly interrupted as if 
 the vents had been all simultaneously and suddenly stopped. 
 Anon, it rose again soul-piercing if not loud so abruptly, 
 and with an utterance so utterly gone with wo, that you felt 
 sure the poor heart must break with the next breath that came 
 from the laboring and inefficient lungs. A " dying fall" succeed- 
 ing, seemed to afford temporary relief. It seemed as if tears 
 must have fallen upon the instrument, Its language grew more 
 methodical, more subdued, but not less touching. I fancied, I 
 felt, that, entering into the soul of the musician, I could give 
 the very words to the sentiment which his instrument vainly 
 strove to speak. What else but despair and utter self-abandon- 
 ment was in that broken language ? The full heart over-burden- 
 ed, breaking, to find a vent for the feelings which it had no 
 longer power to contain. And yet, content to break, breaking 
 with a melancholy sort of triumph which seemed to say 
 
 " Such a death has its own sweetness ; love sanctifies the 
 pang to its victim. It is a sort of martyrdom. He who loves 
 truly, though he loves hopelessly, has not utterly loved in vain. 
 The devoted heart finds a joy in the offering, though the Deity 
 withholds his acceptance though a sudden gust from heaven 
 scatters abroad the rich fruits which the devotee has placed 
 upon the despised and dishonored altar." 
 
 Such, I fancied, was the proud language of that melancholy 
 music. Had I been other than I was nay, had I listened tc 
 the burden under other circumstances and in another place I 
 should most probably have felt nothing but sympathy for the 
 musician. As it was, I can not describe my feelings. All my 
 racking doubts and miseries returned. The tone of triumph 
 which the strain conveyed wrought upon me like an indignity. 
 It seemed to denote that " foregone conclusion" which had been 
 my cause of apprehension so long. Could it be then that Julia 
 was really guilty ? Could she have given William Edgerton so 
 
RENEWED AGONIES. 291 
 
 much encouragement that triumph and exultation should still 
 mingle with his farewell accents of despair] Ah! what fan- 
 tasies preyed upon my soul ; haunted the smallest movements 
 of my mind ; conjured up its spectres, and gave bitterness to its 
 every beverage 1 When I thought thus of Julia, I rose cau- 
 tiously from my seat, approached the bed where she was lying, 
 and gazed steadily, though with the wildest thrill of emotion, 
 into her face. I verily believe had she not been sleeping at 
 that moment sleeping beyond question she would have 
 shared the fate of 
 
 " The gentle lady wedded to the Moor." 
 
 I was in the mood for desperate things. 
 
 But she slept her cheek upon her arm pale, but oh! how 
 beautiful ! and looking, oh ! how pure ! Her breathing was as 
 tranquil and regular as that of an infant. I felt, while I gazed, 
 that hers must be the purity of an infant also. I turned from 
 beholding her, as the renewed notes of the musician once more 
 ascended to the chamber. I again took my seat at the window 
 and concealed myself behind the curtain. Here I had been 
 concealed but a few moments, when I heard a rustling in the 
 branches of the tree. Meanwhile, the music again ceased. I 
 peered cautiously from behind the drapery, and fancied I be- 
 held a dark object in the tree. It might be one of its branches, 
 but I had not been struck by it before. I waited in breathless 
 watchfulness. I saw it move. Its shape was that of a man. 
 An exulting feeling of violence filled my breast. I rose stealth- 
 ily, went into the dressing-room, and took up one of my pistols 
 which lay on the toilet, and which I had that afternoon prepar- 
 ed with a travelling charge. 
 
 " A brace of bullets," I muttered to myself, " will bring out 
 another sort of music from this rare bird." 
 
 With this murderous purpose I concealed myself once more 
 behkid the curtain. The figure was sufficiently distinct for aim. 
 The window was not more than twelve or fourteen paces from 
 the tree. My nerves were now as steady as if I had been about 
 to perform the most ordinary action. What then prevented 
 me ? What stayed my arm ? A single thought a momentary 
 recollection of an event which' had taken place in my boyhood. 
 
292 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 What a providence that it should have occurred to me at that 
 particular moment. The circumstance was this. 
 
 When first sent to school I had been frequently taken at ad- 
 vantage by a bigger boy. He had twice my strength he took 
 a strong dislike for me perhaps, because I was unwilling to 
 pay him that deference, which, as school-bully, he extorted from 
 all others; and lie drubbed me accordingly, whenever an op- 
 portunity occurred. My resistance was vain, and only stimulated 
 him to increased brutality. One day he was lying upon the 
 grass, beneath an oak which stood in the centre of a common 
 on which we usually played. It happened that I drew near 
 him unperceived. In approaching him I had no purpose of as- 
 sault or violence. But the circumstance of my n earing him 
 without being seen, suggested to my mind a sudden thought of 
 revenging all my previous injuries. I felt bitterness and hate 
 enough, had I possessed the strength, to have slain a dozen. I 
 do not know that I had any design to slay him to revenge 
 myself was certainly my wish. Of death probably I had no idea. 
 I looked about me for the agent of my vengeance. A pile of 
 old brick which had formed the foundations of a dwelling which 
 had stood on the spot, and which had been burned, convenient- 
 ly presented itself to my eye. I possessed myself of as large 
 a fragment as my little hand could grasp ; I secured a second as 
 a dernier resort. Slowly and slily I may add, basely I ap- 
 proached him from behind, levelled the brick at his head, and 
 saw the blood fly an instant after the contact. He was stunned 
 by the blow, staggered up, however, with his eyes blinded by 
 blood, and moved after me like a drunken man. I receded 
 olowly, lifting the remaining fragment which I held, intending, 
 if he approached me, to repeat the blow. 
 
 On a sudden he fell forward sprawling. Then I thought him 
 dead, and for the first time the dreadful consciousness of my 
 crime in its true character, came to my mind. I can not de- 
 scribe the agony of fear and horror which filled my soul. He 
 did not die, but he was severely hurt. 
 
 The recollection of that event of what I then suffered 
 came to me involuntarily, as I was about to perform a second 
 gimilar crime. I shuddered with the recollection of the past, 
 and shrunk, under the equal force of shame and conscie/ice, 
 
RENEWED AGONIES. 293 
 
 from the performance of a deed which, otherwise, 1 should prob- 
 ably have committed in the brief time which I employed for 
 reflection. With a feeling of nervous horror I put the weapon 
 aside, and sinking once more into the chair beside the window 
 I bore with what fortitude I might, the renewal of the accursed 
 but touching strains" that vexed me. 
 
 William Edgerton was a master of the flute. Often before, 
 when we were the best friends, had I listened with delight, 
 while he compelled it into discourse of music wild and some- 
 what incoherent still : his present performance had now attained 
 more continuousness and character. It was still mournful, but 
 its sorrows rose and fell naturally, in compliance with the laws 
 of art. I listened till I could listen no longer. Human pa- 
 tience must have its limits. My wife still slept. I descended 
 the stairs, opened the door with as much cautiousness as possi- 
 ble, and prepared to grapple the musician and haul him into 
 the light. 
 
 It might be Edgerton or not. I was morally sure it was. 
 By grappling with him, in such a situation, I should bring the 
 affair to a final issue, though it might not be a murderous one. 
 But of that I did not think; I went forward to do something 
 what that something waj to be, it was luft for tun* and chance 
 to determine. But, suddenly, as I opened the door, the music 
 ceased. Stepping into the yard, I heard the sound as of a fall- 
 ing bcdy. I naturally concluded that he had heard the open- 
 ing of the door, and had suffered himself to drop down to tie 
 ground. I took for granted that he had descended on t'ne oppo- 
 site side of the yard and within the enclosure of a neighbor. I 
 leaped the fence, hurried to the tree, traversed the grounds, ac d 
 found nobody. I returned, reached my own premises, and 
 found the gate o^en which opened upon the street. He had 
 gone then in that direction. I turned into tad street, postci 
 with all speed to the corner of the eoiuare. and met only tho 
 watchman. I asked> but he had seen nobody. The street was 
 perfectly quiet, I returned, reascendcd to my chamber, found 
 Julia now awake, aud evidently much agitated. She had arisen 
 in my absence, and was only about to re-enter the bed whea J 
 rushed up stairs. 
 
 What was I to think ? What fear ? I was too conscious of 
 
294 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 the suspicious nature of my thoughts and fears to suffer myself 
 to ask any questions and she, unhappily for both of us she 
 said nothing. Had she but spoken had she but uttered the 
 natural inquiry " Did you hear that strange music, husband ?" 
 how much easier had been her extrication. But she was 
 silent, and I was again let loose upon a wide sea of fears and 
 doubts and damnable apprehensions. Once more, and now with 
 a feeling which would not have made me forbear the use of any 
 weapon, however deadly, I re-examined my own enclosure, but 
 in vain. The horrible thought which possessed me was that he 
 had even penetrated the dwelling while I was seeking him in 
 the street ; that they had met ; and how was I to know the de- 
 gree of tenderness which had marked tfeek meeting end given 
 sweetness to their adieus ! 
 
THE NEW HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE NEW HOME. 
 
 WITH these revived suspicions, half etifled* tut stQJ 5trag 
 gling in my bosom, did i commence my journey for the West. 
 My arrangements were comprehensive, but simple. I had pro- 
 cured a second-hand travelling carriage and fine pair of horses 
 from an acquaintance, at a very moderate price a price which, 
 I well knew, I should easily get for them again on reaching my 
 place of destination. I was my own driver. I had no money to 
 spare in purchasing what might be dispensed with. A single trunk 
 contained all the necessary luggage of my wife and self. What 
 was not absolutely needed by the wayside was sent on by water. 
 This included my books, desks, Julia's painting materials, and 
 such other articles of -the household, as were of cost and not 
 bulky. I had previously written as I may have stated al- 
 ready to my friend Kingsley. He was to procure me tem- 
 porary lodgings in the town of M . I left much to his 
 
 judgment and experience. He had once before been in Alabama 
 and having interests there, had made himself familiar with every- 
 thing in that region, necessary to be known. T put myself very 
 much in his hands. I was too anxious to get away to urge any 
 difficulties or make any troublesome requisitions. He was sim- 
 ply to procure me an abiding-place in some private family if 
 possible in the suburbs until I should be able to look about 
 me. Economy was insisted upon. I had precious little money 
 to spare, and even the spoils of my one night's visit to the gam- 
 ing-house, were of no small help in suctaimngi: 3 in my determi- 
 nation to remove. I had not applied them previously. I con- 
 fess to a feeling of shame when I was compelled by necessity at last 
 
296 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 to use them. I had saved something already from my profes 
 sional income, and I procured an advance on my furniture 
 which was left for sale. I had calculated my expenses in re- 
 moving and for one year's residence in M , and was pre- 
 pared, so far as poor human foresight may prepare itself, to keep 
 want from our doors at least for that period. I trusted to good 
 fortune, my own resources, and the notorious fact that, at that 
 
 day, there were few able lawyers in M , to secure me an 
 
 early and valuable practice. I carried with me letters from the 
 best men in the community I had left. But I carried with me 
 what was of more value than any letters, even though they be 
 written in gold. I carried with me methodical habits and an 
 energy of character which would maintain iny resolution, and 
 bear me through, to a safe conclusion, in any plan which I 
 should contemplate. Industry and perseverance are the giants 
 that cast down forests, drain swamps, level mountains, and create 
 empires. I flattered myself that with these I had other and 
 crowning qualities of intellect and culture. Perhaps it may 
 be admitted that I had. But of what avail were all when 
 coupled with the blind heart ? Enough I must not anticipate. 
 
 Filled with the exciting fancies engendered by the affair of 
 the last night, I commenced my journey. The day was a fine 
 one ; the sun cheery and bright without being oppressive ; and 
 soon, gliding through the broad avenues; lined with noblest trees, 
 which conducted us from the city to the forests, we had tho 
 pleasant carol of birds, and the lively chirp of hopping insects. 
 
 I was always a lover of the woods ; green shady dells, and 
 winding walks amidst crowding foliage. . I cared little for mero 
 flowers. A garden was never a desire in my mind. I could be 
 pleased to see and to smell, but I had no passion for its objects. 
 But the trees the big, venerable oaks, like patriarchs and 
 priests ; the lofty and swaggering pines in their green helmets, 
 like warriors of the feudal ages these were forms that I could 
 worship. I may say, I loved trees with a real passion. Flow 
 ers, and the taste for flowers seemed to me always petty ; but 
 my instincts led me to behold a speaking, and most impressive 
 grandeur, in these old Jords of lha f rest, that had been the first, 
 rising from the mighty moth, r to attest the wondrous strength 
 of her resources, and the teeming glories of her womb. 
 
THE NEW HOME. 297 
 
 Now, however, they did not fill my soul with earnest reach- 
 ings, as had ever heen the case before. They soothed me some- 
 what, but the eyes of my mind were turned within. They 
 looked only at the prostration of that miserable heart which 
 was torturing itself with vague, wild doubts guessing and con- 
 jecturing with an agonizing pain, and without the least hope of 
 profit. I could not drive from my thoughts, the vexing circum- 
 stances of the last night in the city ; and, for the first day of our 
 journey, the hours moved with oppressive slowness. Objects 
 which I had formerly loved to contemplate and always found 
 sweet and refreshing, now gave me little pleasure and exacted 
 little of my attention ; and I reached our stopping-place for the 
 night with a sense of weariness and stupor which no mere 
 fatigue of body, I well knew, could ever have occasioned. 
 
 But this could not last. The elasticity of my nature, joined 
 with the absence of that one person whom I had now learned 
 to regard as my evil genius, soon enabled me to shake off the 
 oppressive doubts and sadness which fettered and enfeebled me. 
 Once more I began to behold the forests with all the eyes of 
 former delight and affection, and I was conscious, after the prog- 
 ress of a day or two, of periods in which I entirely lost sight 
 of William Edgerton and all my suspicions in the sweet warmth 
 of a fresh and pleasing contemplation. 
 
 Something of this nay, perhaps, the most of it, was due to 
 my wife herself. There was a change in her air and mannei 
 which sensibly affected my heart. I had treated her coldly at 
 first, but she had not perceived it ; at least she had not suffered 
 it to influence her conduct ; and I was equally pleased and sur- 
 prised to behold in her language, looks, and deportment, a degree 
 of life and buoyant animation, which reminded me of the very 
 champagne exuberance and spirit of her youth. Her eyes 
 flashed with a sense of freedom. Her voice sounded with the 
 silvery clearness of one, who, long pent up in the limits of a 
 dungeon, uses the first moment of escape into the forests to de- 
 light himself with song. She seemed to have just thrown off 
 a miserable burden; and, as for any grief any sign of regret 
 at leaving home and ties from which she would not willingly 
 part there was not the slightest appearance of any such feel- 
 ing in her mind, look, or manner. Kindly, considerately, and 
 
 13* 
 
298 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 sweetly, and with a cheery smile in her eyes, and a springing 
 vigor in the accents of her voice, she strove to enliven the way 
 and to expel the gloom which she soon perceived had fastened 
 itself upon my soul. Her own cares, if she had any, seemed to 
 be very slight, and were utterly lost in mine. She spoke of our 
 new abiding- place with a hearty confidence ; that it would be at 
 once a home of prosperity and peace ; and, altogether convinced 
 me for the time that the sacrifice must be comparatively very 
 small, which she had made on leaving her birth-place. I very 
 soon wondered that I should have fancied that William Edgerton 
 was ever more to her than the friend of her husband. 
 
 Our journey was slow but not tedious. Had our progress 
 been only half so rapid, I should have been satisfied. It was 
 love alone that my heart wanted. I craved for nothing but the 
 just requital of my own passion. I had no complaint, no afflic- 
 tion, when I could persuade myself that I had not thrown away 
 my affections upon the ungrateful and undeserving. Assured 
 now of the love of the beloved one, all the intense devotion of 
 my soul was re-awakened ; and the deepest shadows of the 
 forest, gloomy and desolate as they were, along the waste tracts 
 of Georgia and Alabama in that earlier day enlivened by 
 the satisfied spirit within, seemed no more than so many places 
 of retreat, where security and peace, combining in behalf of 
 Love, had given him an exclusive sovereignty. 
 
 The rude countryman encountered us, and his face beamed 
 with cheerfulness and good humor. The song of the black soft- 
 ened the toils of labor, in the unfinished clearings ; and even 
 the wild red man, shooting suddenly from out the sylvan covert, 
 wore in his visage of habitual gravity, an air of resignation which 
 took all harshness from his uncouth features. 
 
 Such, under the tuition of well-satisfied hearts, was our 
 mutual experience of the long journey which we had taken 
 when we reached the end of it. This we did in perfect safet^. 
 We found our friend, Kingsley, prepared for and awaiting us. 
 He had procured us pleasant apartments in a neat cottage in 
 the suburbs, where we were almost to ourselves. Our landlady 
 was an ancient widow, without a family. She occupied but a 
 single apartment in her house, and left the use of the rest to 
 her lodgers. This was an arrangement with which I was par- 
 
THE NEW HOME. 299 
 
 ticularly gratified. Her cottage lay half way up on the side of 
 a hill which was crowned with thick clumps of the noblest 
 trees. Long, winding, narrow foot-paths, carried us picturesque- 
 ly to the summit, where we had a bird's-eye view of the town 
 below, the river beyond now darting out from the woods and 
 now hiding securely beneath their umbrage and fair, smooth, 
 lawn-looking fields, which glowed at the proper season with the 
 myriad green and white plnmes of corn and cotton. At the 
 foot of the cottage lay a delightful shrubbery, which almost 
 covered it up from sight. It was altogether such a retreat as a 
 hermit would desire. It reminded me somewhat of the lovely 
 spot which we had left. A pleasant walk of a mile lay between 
 it and the town where I proposed to practice, and this furnished 
 a necessity for a certain degree of exercise, which, being un- 
 avoidable, was of the most valuable kind. Altogether, Kingsley 
 had executed his commission with a taste and diligence which 
 left me nothing to complain of. 
 
 He was delighted at my coming. 
 
 " You are nearer to me now," he said ; " will be nearer at 
 least when I get to Texas ; and I do not despair to see you 
 making tracks after me when I go there." 
 
 " But when go you 1" 
 
 " Not soon. I am in some trouble here. I am pleading and 
 being impleaded. You are just come. in season to take up the 
 cudgels for me. My landrights are disputed my titles. You 
 will have something of a lawsuit to begin upon at your earliest 
 leisure." 
 
 " Indeed ! but what's the business ?" 
 
 He gave me a statement of his affairs, placed his papers in 
 my hands, and I found myself, on inspecting them, engaged in 
 a controversy which was likely to give me the opportunity which 
 I desired, of appearing soon in cases of equal intricacy and in- 
 terest. Kingsley had some ten thousand dollars in land, the 
 greater part of which was involved in questions of title and pre- 
 emption, presenting some complex features, and likely to occa- 
 sion bad blood among certain trespassers whom it became our 
 first duty to oust if possible. I was associated with a spirited 
 young lawyer of the place ; a youth of great natural talent, 
 keen, quick intellect, much readiness of resource, yet little ex 
 
300 CONFESSION, Oil THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 perience and less reading. Like the great mass of our western 
 men, however, lie was a man to improve. He had no self-con- 
 ceit did not delude himself with the idea that he knew as 
 much as his neighbor ; and, consequently, was pretty certain to 
 increase in wisdom with increase of years. He had few preju- 
 dices to get over, and though he knew his strength, he also 
 knew his weakness. He felt the instinct of natural talent, but 
 he did not deceive himself on the subject of his deficient knowl- 
 edge. He was willing to learn whenever he could find a teach- 
 er. His name was Wharton. I took to him at once. He was 
 an ardent, manly fellow r frank as a boy could laugh and 
 weep m the same hour, and yet was as firm in his principles, as 
 if he could neither laugh nor weep. As an acquaintance he 
 was an acquisition. 
 
 Kingsley was delighted to see me, though somewhat wonder- 
 ing that I should give up the practice at home, where I was 
 doing so well, to break ground in a region where I was utterly 
 unknown. He gave me little trouble, however, in accounting 
 to him for this movement. It was not difficult to persuade him 
 nay, he soon persuaded himself that something of my pres- 
 ent course was due to his own counsel and suggestion. To a 
 man, like himself, to whom mere transition was pleasure, it 
 needed no argument to show that my resolve was right. 
 
 " Who the d 1," he exclaimed, " would like always to be in 
 the same place 1 Such a person is a mere cipher. We estab 
 lish an intellectual superiority when we show ourselves superior 
 to place. A genuine man is always a citizen of the world. It 
 is your vegetable man that can not go far without grumbling, 
 finding fault with all he sees, talking of comforts and such small 
 matters, and longing to get home again. Such a man puts me 
 in rnind of every member of the cow family that I ever knew. 
 He is never at peace with himself or the world, but always 
 groaning and thrusting out his horns, until he can get back to 
 his old range, and revel in his native marsh, joint-grass, and 
 cane-tops. Englishmen are very much of this breed. They 
 go abroad, grumble as they go, and if they can not carry their 
 cane-tops with them, afflict the whole world with their lamen- 
 tations. I take it for granted, Clifford, that this step to 
 Alabama, is simply a step toward Texas. Your next will 
 
THE NEW HOME. 301 
 
 be to New Orleans, and then, presto, we shall see yon on the 
 
 Sabine." 
 
 " I hope not," said my wife. " You have got us into such 
 comfortable quarters here, Mr. Kingsley, that I hope you will 
 do nothing to tempt my husband farther. Go farther and fare 
 worse, you know. Let well enough alone." 
 
 " Oh, I beseech you ! two proverbs at a time will be fatal 
 to one or other of us. Perhaps both. But he can not fare worse 
 by going to Texas." 
 
 " He will do well enough here." 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " Recover your lands, for example, as a beginning." 
 
 " Ah ! now you would bribe me. That is certainly a sugges- 
 tion to make me keep my tongue, at least until the verdict 
 is rendered. 'Till then, you know, I shall make no permanent 
 remove myself." 
 
 " But do you mean to go before the trial ?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes, for a couple of months or so. I should only get into 
 some squabble with my opponents by remaining here ; and I 
 may be preparing for all of us by going in season. I will look 
 out for a township, Mrs. Clifford, on the edge of some beautiful 
 prairie, and near some beautiful river. Your husband has a 
 passion for water prospects, I can tell you, and would become 
 a misanthrope without them. I am doubtful if he will be happy, 
 indeed, if not within telescope distance from the sea itself. I 
 don't think that a river will altogether satisfy him." 
 
 " Oh yes, this must ;" and as she spoke she pointed to the 
 fair glassy surface of the Alabama, as it stretched away, at in- 
 tervals, in broad glimpses before our eyes. 
 
 " Well, we shall see ; but I will make my preparations, nev- 
 ertheless, precisely as if he were not likely to be content. I 
 have formed to myself a plan for all of you. I must make a 
 dear little colony of our own in Texas. We shall have a nest 
 of the sweetest little cottages, each with its neat little garden. 
 In the centre we shall have a neat little playground for our 
 neat little children; on the hill a neat little church; in the 
 grove a neat little library ; on the river a neat little barge ; 
 and over this neat little empire, you, Lady Clifford, shall be 
 the neat little empress." 
 
302 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 " Dear me ! what a neat little establishment !" 
 
 " It shall be all that, I assure you ; and it shall have other 
 advantages. You shall have a kingdom free from taxes and 
 wars. There shall be no law-givers but yourself. We shall 
 have no elections except when we elect our wives, and the 
 women shall be the only voters then. We shall have no cus- 
 tomhouses everything shall be free of duty; we shall have 
 no banks everything shall be free of charge; we shall have 
 no parson, for shall we not be sinless V 9 
 
 " But what will you do with the neat little church ?" 
 
 " Oh ! that we shall keep merely to remind us of what is 
 necessary in less fortunate communities." 
 
 " Very good ; but how, if you have no parsons; will you per- 
 form the marriage ceremony V 9 
 
 " That shall be a natural operation of government. The 
 voters having given their suifrages, you shall determine and 
 declare with whom the majority lies, and give a certificate to 
 that effect. The first choice will lie with the damsel having 
 the highest number of votes; the second with the next; and 
 so on to the end of the chapter ; and then elections are to take 
 place annually among the unmarried the ladies being the 
 privileged class as I said before. You will keep a record of 
 these events, the names of parties, and so forth ; and this record 
 shall be proof, conclusive to conviction, against any party falling 
 off from his or her duties." 
 
 " Quite a system. I do not deny that our sex will have some 
 new privileges by this arrangement." 
 
 " Unquestionably. But you have not heard all. We shall 
 have no doctors, for we shall have no diseases in the beautiful 
 world to which I shall cany you. We shall have no lawyers, 
 for we shall have no wrangling." 
 
 " Indeed ; but what is my husband to do then V 9 
 
 " Why, he is your husband. What should he do ? He takes 
 rank from you. You are queen, you know. He will have no 
 need of law " 
 
 " There's reason in that ; but how will you prevent wrang- 
 ling where there are men and women ?" 
 
 " Oh, by giving the women their own way. The government 
 
THE NEW HOME. 803 
 
 is a despotism you are queen surely you will make no fur- 
 ther objection to so admirable a system ?" 
 
 In good-humored chat like this, in which our landlady, Mrs. 
 Porterfield a lady who, though fully sixty-five years of age, 
 was yet of a cheery and chatty disposition took considerable 
 part, our first evening passed away. Though fatigued, we sat 
 up until a tolerably late hour, enlivened by the frank spirit of 
 our friend, Kingsley, and inspired ty the natural feeling of cu- 
 riosity which our change of situation inspired. It was midnig it 
 before we solicited the aid of sleep 
 
804 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE BLACK DOG ONCE MORE UPON THE SCENE. 
 
 THE next day was devoted to an examination of our premises 
 and the neighborhood. The resnlt of this examination was 
 such as to render us hetter satisfied with the change that we had 
 made. We were still young enough to be sensible to the love- 
 liness of novelty. Everything wore that purple light which 
 the eye of youth confers upon the object. And then there was 
 repose. That harassing strife of the " blind heart" was at rest. 
 I had no more suspicions ; and my wife looked and spoke as if 
 she had never had either doubts of me, or fears of herself, within 
 her bosom. I was happiness itself, when, by the unreserved 
 ease and gayety of her deportment she persuaded me that she 
 suffered no regrets. I little fancied how much the change in 
 my wife's manner had arisen from the involuntary change which 
 had been going on in mine. I now looked the love which I 
 felt ; and she felt, in the improvement of my looks, the renewal 
 of that foud passion which I had never ceased to feel, but which 
 I had only too much ceased to show while suffering from the 
 " blind heart." She resumed her old amusements with new 
 industry. Our little parlor received constant accessions of new 
 pictures. All our leisure was employed ;n exploring the see- 
 nery of the neighborhood ; and not a bit of forect, or patch of 
 hill, or streak of rivulet or stream, to whish the genius of art 
 could lend loveliness, but she picked up, in these happy iam- 
 bics, and worked into fitting places upon our cottage walls. 
 
 Our good old hostess became attached to us. She virtually 
 surrendered the management of the household to my wife. She 
 was old and quite infirm ; and was frequently confined for days 
 
THE BLACK DOG ONCE MORE UPON THE SCENE. 305 
 
 to her chamber ; which must have been a solitary place enough 
 before our coming. My wife became a companion to her in 
 these periods of painful seclusion, and thus provided her with a 
 luxury which had been long denied her. Under these circum- 
 stances we had very much our own way. The old lady had 
 few associates, and these were generally very worthy people. 
 They soon became our associates also, and under the influence 
 of better feelings than had governed me for a long time past, I 
 now found myself in a condition of comfort, cheerfulness, and 
 peace, which I fancied I had forfeited for ever. 
 
 Two weeks after our arrival, Kingsley took his departure for 
 Texas, on a visit. He proposed to be absent two months. His 
 object, as he had described it before, in some pleasant exagger- 
 ations, was to select some favorable spots for purchase, which 
 should combine as nearly as possible the three prime requisites 
 of salubrity, fertility, and beauty. His object was to speculate ; 
 " and this was to be done," he said, " at an early hour of the 
 day." " The Spanish proverb," he was wont to say, " which 
 regulates the eating of oranges, is not a bad rule to govern a 
 man in making his speculations. Speculations (oranges) are 
 gold at morning, silver at noon, and lead at night. It is your 
 wise man," he added, " who buys and sells early ; your merely 
 sensible man who does so at midday ; while your dunce, wait- 
 ing for an increased appetite at evening, swallows nothing but 
 lead." 
 
 I was in some respects a very fbrtunate man. If I had been 
 a wise one ! It has been seen that I was singularly successful 
 in business at my first beginning in my native city. I had not 
 
 been long in the town of M , before I began to congratulate 
 
 myself on the prospect of like fortune attending me there. The 
 affairs of Kingsley brought me into contact with several men 
 of business. My letters of introduction made me acquainted* 
 with many more ; not simply of the town, but of the neighbor- 
 ing country. My ardency of temper was particularly suited to 
 a frank, confiding people, such as are most of the southwestern 
 men ; and one or two accidental circumstances yielded me pro- 
 fessional occupation long before I expected to find it. I had 
 occasion to appear in court at an early day, and succeeded in 
 making a favorable impression upon my hearers. To be a good 
 
806 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 speaker, in the south and southwest, is to be everything. Elo 
 quence implies wisdom at least all the wisdom which is sup- 
 posed to be necessary in making lawyers and law-makers a 
 precious small modicum of a material by no means precious. I 
 was supposed to have the gift of the gab in moderate perfection^ 
 and my hearers were indulgent. My name obtained circulation, 
 and, in a short time, I discovered that, in a professional as well 
 as personal point of view, I had no reason to regret the change 
 of residence which I had made. Business began to flow in upon 
 me. Applications reached me from adjoining counties, and 
 though my fees, like the cases which I was employed in, 
 were of moderate amount, they promised to be frequent, while 
 my clients generally were very substantial persons. 
 
 It will not need that I should dwell farther on these topics. 
 It will be sufficient to show that, in worldly respects, I was as 
 likely to prosper in my new as in my past abode. In social 
 respects I had still more reason to be gratified. The days went 
 by with me as smoothly as with Thalaba. My wife was all 
 that I could wish. She was the very Julia whom I had mar- 
 ried. Nay, she was something more something better. Her 
 health improved, and with it her spirits. She evidently had 
 no regrets. A sigh never escaped her. Her content and cheer- 
 fulness were wonderful. She had none of that vague, vain 
 yearning which the feeble feel, called " home-sickness." She 
 convinced me that I was her home the only home that she 
 desired. It was evident that she thought less of our ancient 
 city than I did myself. I am sure that if either of us, at any 
 moment, felt a desire to look upon it again, the person was my- 
 self. I maintained a correspondence with the place received 
 the newspapers, groped over them with persevering industry 
 nay missed not the advertisements, and was disappointed and 
 a discontent on those days when the mail failed. My wife had 
 no such appetite. She sometimes read the papers, but she ap- 
 peared to have no curiosity ; and, with the exception of an oc- 
 casional letter which she received from her mother, she had no 
 intercourse whatever with her former home. 
 
 All this was calculated to satisfy me. But this was not all. 
 If gentleness, sweetness, cheerfulness, and a sleepless consider- 
 ation of one's wants and feelings, could convince any mortal of 
 
THE BLACK I>OG ONCE MORE UPON THE SCENE. 307 
 
 the love of another I must have been satisfied. We resumed 
 moBt of the habits which began with our marriage, but which 
 Lad dsn so long disc ntinued. We roee with the sun, and 
 wen 1 ; tbrcL'?. ' Ci'<x his example. Like him we rose to the hill- 
 tops, an: iLen escended into the valleys. We grew familiar 
 with ta ., deepest shades of wood and forest while the dewdrops 
 were yet beading the bosoms of the wild flowers ; and we fol- 
 lowed th-s meandering course of the Alabama, long before the 
 smoking steamer vexed it with her flashing paddles. My pro- 
 fessional toils from breakfast to dinner-time for this interval 
 I studiously gave to my office, even if I had little to do there 
 occasioned the only interregnum which I knew in the posi- 
 tive pleasure? which I enjoyed. In the afternoon our enjoy- 
 ments were renewed. Our ccttage was so sweetly secluded, 
 that we did not need to go far in order to find the Elysian grove 
 which we desired. At the top of our hill we were surrounded 
 by a natural temple of proud pines guarding the spot from 
 any but that sort of divine and religious light which streams 
 through the painted windows of the ancient cathedral. The 
 gay glances of the sun came gliding through the foliage in 
 drops, and lay upon the grass in little pale, fanciful gleams, 
 most like eyes of fairies peeping upward from its velvety tufts. 
 Here we read together from the poets sometimes Julia sung, 
 even while sketching. Not unfrequently, Mrs. Porterfield carno 
 with us, and, at such times, our business was to detect distant 
 glimpses of barge, or steamboat, as they successively darted 
 into sight, along such of the glittering patches of the Alabama 
 as were revealed to us in its downward progress through the 
 woods. 
 
 Our evenings were such as hallow and make the luxury of 
 cottage life evenings yielded up to cheerfulness, to content 
 and harmony. Between music, and poetry, and painting, my 
 heart was subdued to the sweetest refinements of love. With- 
 out the immorality, we had the very atmosphere of a Sybarite 
 indulgence. I was enfeebled by the excess of sweets ; and 
 the happiness which I felt expressed itself in signs. These de- 
 noted my presentiments.- My apprehensions were my sole 
 cause of doubt and Borrow. How could such enjoyments last ? 
 Was it possible, with any, that they should last 1 Was it 
 
308 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEAKT. 
 
 possible that they should last with me ] I should have been 
 mad to think it. 
 
 But, in the sweet delirium which their possession inspired, I 
 almost forgot the past. The soti of man is the most elastic 
 thing in nature. Those harassing tortures of the h&art which I 
 had been suffering for months those weary days of exhaust- 
 ing doubt those long nights of torturing suspicion the shame 
 and the fear, the sting of jialousy, and the suffering I had 
 almost forgotten in the absorbing pleasures of my new exist- 
 ence. If I remembered them it was only to smile ; if I thought 
 of William Edgerton it was only to pity; and, as for Julia, 
 deep was the crimson shadow upon my cheek, whenever the re- 
 proachful memory reminded me of the tortures which I had in- 
 flicted upon her gentle heart while laboring under the tortures 
 of my own -when I thought of the unmanly espionage which 
 I had maintained over conduct which I now felt to be irre- 
 proachable. 
 
 But, just at the moment when I thus thought and felt when 
 I no longer suffered and no longer inflicted pain when my 
 wife was not only virtue in my sight, but love, and beauty, and 
 grace, and meekness all that was good and all that was dear 
 besides; when my sky was without a cloud, and the evening 
 star shone through the blue sky upon the green tops of our cot- 
 tage trees, with the serene lustre of a May-divinity just then 
 a thunderbolt fell upon my dwelling, and blackened the scene 
 for ever. 
 
 I had now been three months a resident in M , and never 
 
 had I been more happy never less apprehensive on the score 
 of my happiness when I received a letter from my venerable 
 friend and patron, the father of William Edgerton. 
 
 " My son," he wrote, " is no better than when you left us. 
 We have every reason to believe him worse. He has a cough, 
 he is very thin, and there is a flushed spot upon his cheek which 
 seems to his mother and myself the indubitable sign of vital 
 decay. His frame is very feeble, and our physician advises 
 travel. Under this counsel he set off with a favorite servant on 
 Wednesday of last week. He will make easy stages through 
 Tennessee to the Ohio, will descend into Mississippi, and return 
 home by way of Alabama. He contemplates paying you a 
 
THE BLACK DOG ONCE MORE UPON THE SCENE. 309 
 
 brief visit. I need not say, dear Clifford, how grateful I shall 
 be for any kindness which you can show to niy poor boy. His 
 mother particularly invokes it. I should not have deemed it 
 necessary to say so much, but would have preferred leaving it 
 to William to make his own communication, were it not that she 
 so particularly desires it. It may be well to add, that on one 
 subject we are both very much relieved. We now have reason 
 to believe that our apprehensions on the score of his morals 
 were without foundation. It is our present belief that he neither 
 gamed nor drank. This is a consolation, dear Clifford, though 
 it brings us no nigher to our wish. It is something to believe 
 that the object of our love is not worthless ; though it adds to 
 the pang that we should feel in the event of losing him. Our 
 parting would be less easy. For my own part, I have little 
 hope that his journey will do him any material benefit. It may 
 prolong his clays, but can not, I fear, have any more decided in- 
 fluence upon his disease. His mother, however, is more san- 
 guine, and it is perhaps well that she should be so. I know 
 that when William reaches your neighborhood, you will make 
 it as cheerful and pleasant to him as possible. The talent of 
 your young and sweet wife her endowments in painting and 
 music have always been a great solace to him. His tastes 
 you know are very much like hers. I trust she will exercise 
 them, and be happy in ministering to the comfort of one, who 
 will not, I fear, trespass very long upon any earthly ministry. 
 My dear Clifford, I know that you will do your utmost in be- 
 half of your earliest friend, and I will waste no more words in 
 unnecessary solicitation." 
 
 Such was the important portion of the letter. In an instant, 
 as I read it, I saw, with the instinct of jealousy, the annihila- 
 tion of all my hopes of happiness. All my dreams were in the 
 dust all my fancies scattered my schemes and temples 
 overthrown. Bitter was the pang I felt on reading this letter. 
 It said more- -much more in the very language, of solicita- 
 tion .vhich fciicj good old father professed to believe unnecessary. 
 He poured fori'h the language of a father's grief and entreaty. 
 I felt for tha venerable man the true friend in spite of my 
 own miserable apprehensions. I felt for him, but what could I 
 do ? What would he have me do ? I had no house in which 
 
310 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 to receive his son. He would lodge, perhaps, for a time, in the 
 community. It could not be supposed that he would remain 
 long. The letter of the father spoke only of a brief visit 
 Our neighborhood had no repute, as a place of resort, for con- 
 sumptive patients. I consoled myself with the reflection that 
 William Edgerton could, on no pretence, linger more than a 
 week or two among us. I will treat him kindly give him the 
 freedom of the house while he remains. A dying man, if so he 
 be, must have reached a due sense of his situation, and will not 
 be likely to trespass upon the rights of another. His passions 
 must be subdued by this time. Ah ! but will not his condition 
 be more likely to inspire sympathy ? 
 
 The fiend of the blind heart prompted that last suggestion. 
 It was the only one that I remembered. When I returned 
 home that day to dinner, I mentioned, as if casually, the letter 
 I had received, and the contents. My eye narrowly watched 
 that of my wife while I spoke. Hers sunk beneath my glance 
 Her cheeks were suddenly flushed then, as suddenly, grew 
 pale, and I observed, that, though she appeared to eat, but few 
 morsels of food were carried into her mouth that day. She 
 soon left the table, and, pleading headache declined joining me 
 in our usual evening rambles. 
 
TBIAL THE WOMAN GROWS STRONG, 311 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 TRIAL THE WOMAN GROWS STRONG. 
 
 THUS, then, I was once more at sea, rudderless not yet 
 companionless perhaps, soon to be so. My relapse was as 
 sudden as my thought. It seemed as if every past misery of 
 doubt and suspicion were at once revived within me. All my 
 day-dreams vanished in an instant. William Edgerton would 
 again behold would again seek my wife. They must meet; 
 I owed that to the father ; and, whatever the condition of the 
 son might be, it was evident that his feelings toward her must 
 be the same as ever; else, why should he seek her out? why 
 pursue our footsteps and haunt my peace ? I must receive him 
 and treat him kindly for the father's sake ; but that one bitter 
 thought, that he was pursuing us, the deadly enemy to my peace 
 and now, evidently, a wilful one gave venom to the bitter 
 feeling with which I had so long regarded his attentions. 
 
 It was evident, too, whatever may have been its occasion, 
 that the knowledge of his coming awakened strange emotions 
 in the bosom of my wife. That blush that sudden paleness 
 of the cheek what was their language? I fain would have 
 struggled against the conviction, that it denoted a guilty con- 
 sciousness of the past a guilty feeling of the future. But the 
 mocking demon of the blind heart forced the assurance upon 
 me. What was to be done ? Ah ! what ? This was the ques- 
 tion, and there was no variation in the reply which my jealous 
 spirit made. There was but one refuge. I must pursue the 
 same insidious policy as before. I must resort to the same subter- 
 fuge, meet them with the same smiles, disguise once more the true 
 features of my soul ; seem to shut my eyes, and afford them the 
 
312 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 same opportunities as before, in the torturing hope (fear ?) that 
 I should finally detect them in some guilty folly which would 
 he sufficient to justify the final punishment. I must put on the 
 aspect of indifference, the better to pursue the vocation of 
 the spy. 
 
 Base necessity, but still, as I then fancied, a necessity not 
 the less. Ah I was I not a thing to be pitied ? Was ever any 
 case more pitiable than mine ? I ask not this question with 
 any hope that an answer may be found to justify my conduct. 
 It is not the less pitiable nay, it is more that no such an- 
 swer can be found. My folly is not the less a thing of pity, 
 because it is also a thing of scorn. That was the pity and 
 yet, I was most severely tried. Deep were my sufferings ! 
 Strong was that demon within me I care not how engendered, 
 whether by the fault and folly of others, or by my own still 
 it was strong. If I was guilty base, blind was I not also 
 suffering ? Never did I inflict on the bosom of Julia Clifford, 
 so deep a pang as I daily nay, hourly, inflicted upon my own. 
 She was a victim, true but was I less so! But she was in- 
 nocently a victim, therefore, less a sufferer, whatever her suffer- 
 ings, than me ! Let none condemn or curse me, till they have 
 asked what curse I have already undergone. I live! they 
 will say. Ah ! me ! They must ask what is the value of life, 
 not to themselves, but to a crushed, a blasted heart, like mine ! 
 But I hurry forward with my pangs rather than my story. 
 
 Instantly, a barrier seemed to rise up between Julia Clifford 
 and myself. She had her consciousness, evidently, no less than 
 I. What was that consciousness ? Ah ! could I have guessed 
 that, there would have been no barrier all might have been 
 peace again. But a destiny was at work which forbade it all ; 
 and we strove ignorantly with one another and against ourselves. 
 There was a barrier between us, which our mutual blindness of 
 heart made daily thicker, and higher, and less liable to over- 
 throw. A coldness overspread my manner. I made it a sort 
 of shelter. The guise of indifference is one of the most conve- 
 nient for hiding other and darker feelings. Already we ceased 
 to ramble by river and through wood. Already the pencil was 
 discarded. We could no longer enjoy the things which so lately 
 made us happy, because we no longer entertained the same con- 
 
TRIAL THE WOMAN GROWS STRONG. 313 
 
 fidence in one another. Without this confidence there is no 
 communion sweet. And all this had been the work of that let- 
 ter. The name of William Edgsrton had done it all his name 
 and threatened visit ! 
 
 But and I read the letter again and again it would be 
 some time before he might be expected. The route, as laid 
 down for him by his father, was a protracted one. " Through 
 Georgia, Tennessee, Mississippi, then homeward, by way of 
 Alabama." " He can not be here in lies than six weeks. He 
 must travel slowly. He must make frequent rests.' * 
 
 And there was a further thought a hope which, though 
 it filled my mind, I did not venture to express in words. " He 
 may perish on his route : if he be so feeble, it is by no means 
 improbable !" 
 
 At all events, I had six weeks' respite perhaps more. Such 
 was my small consolation then. But even this was false. In 
 less than a week from that time, William Edgerton etood at the 
 door of our cottage ! 
 
 Instead of going into Tennessee, he had ;hot straight forward, 
 through Georgia, into Alabama. 
 
 Though surprised, I was not confounded by his presence. 
 Under the policy which I had resolved upon, I received him 
 with the usual professions of kindness, and a manner as nearly 
 warm and natural as the exercise of habitual art could make it 
 He certainly did look very miserable, ilis features wore an 
 expression of uniform despair. The}' brightenai up, when he 
 beheld my wife, as the cloud brightens suddenly beneath the 
 moonlight. His eyes were riveted upon her. He was almost 
 speechless, but he advanced and took her hand, which I observed 
 was scarcely extended to him. He sat the evening with us, 
 and a chilly, dull evening it was. He himself spoke little 
 my wife less ; and the conversation, such as it was, was carried 
 on chiefly between old Mrs. Porterfield and myself. But I 
 could see that Edgerton employed his eyes in a manner which 
 fully compensated for the silence of his tongue. They were 
 seldom withdrawn from the quarter of the apartment in which 
 my wife sat. When withdrawn, it was but for an instant, and 
 they soon again reverted to the spot. He had certainly ac- 
 quired a degree of boldness, which, in this respect he had not 
 
 14 
 
314 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 before possessed. I keenly analyzed his looks without provo- 
 king his attention. It was not possible for me to mistake the unre- 
 served admiration that his glance expressed. There was a strange 
 spiritual expression in his eyes, which was painful to the spec- 
 tator. It was that fearful sign which the soul invariably makes 
 when it begins f . exert itself at the expense of the shell which 
 contains it. It was the sign of death already written. But ha 
 might linger for months. His cough did not seem to me op- 
 pressive. The flush was not so obvious upon his cheek. Per- 
 haps, looking through the medium of my peculiar feelings, his 
 condition was not half so apparent as his designs. At least, I 
 felt my sympathies in his behalf small as they were before 
 become feebler with every moment of his stay that night. 
 
 " Edgerton does not appear to me to look so badly," I said to 
 Julia, after his departure for the evening. 
 
 "I don't know," she answered; "he looks very pale and 
 miserable." 
 
 " Quite interesting !" I added, with a smile which might have 
 been a sneer. 
 
 "Painfully so. He can not last very long his cough is 
 very troublesome." 
 
 " Indeed ! I scarcely heard it. He is certainly a very fine- 
 looking fellow still, consumption or no consumption." 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " A very grr-ceful fellow : very generous and with accom- 
 plishments such " are possessed by few. I have often envied 
 him his person and accomplishments." 
 
 " You?" she exclaimed, with something like an expression of 
 incredulity. 
 
 "Yes! that is to say, when I was a youth, and when 1 
 thought more of commending myself to your eyes, than of any- 
 thing besides." 
 
 "Ah !" she replied with an assuring smile, "you never need- 
 ed qualities other than your own to commend yourself to me." 
 
 " Pleasant hypocrite ! And yet, Julia, would you not be 
 better pleased if I could draw and color, and talk landscape 
 with you by the hour ?" 
 
 " No ! I have never thought of your doing anything of tho 
 kind." 
 
TRIAL THE WOMAN GROWS STRONG. 315 
 
 a Like begets liking." 
 
 " It may be, but I do not think so. I do not think we love 
 people so much for what they can do, as for what they are." 
 
 " Ah, Julia, that is a great mistake. It is a law in moials, 
 that the qualities of men should depend upon their performances 
 What a man is, results from what he does, and so we judge of 
 persons. Edgerton is a noble fellow ; his tastes are very fine. 
 I suspect he can form as correct an opinion of a fine picture aa 
 any one perhaps, paint it as finely." 
 
 She was silent. * 
 
 " Do you not think so, Julia ?" 
 
 " I think he paints very well for an amateur." 
 
 " He is certainly a man of exquisite taste in most matters of 
 taste and elegance. I have always thought his manners partic- 
 ularly easy and dignified. His carriage is at once manly and 
 graceful ; and his dancing do you not think he dances with 
 admirable flexibility ?" 
 
 " Really, Edward, I can scarcely regard dancing as a manly 
 accomplishment. It is necessary that a gentleman should dance, 
 perhaps, but it appears to me that he should do so simply be- 
 cause it is necessary ; and to pass through the measure without 
 ostentation or offence should be his simple object." 
 
 " These are not usually the opinions of ladies, Julia." 
 
 "They are mine, however." 
 
 "You are not sure. You will think otherwise to-morrow. 
 At all events, I think there can be little doubt that Edgerton 
 is one of the best dancers in the circle we have left ; he has the 
 happiest taste in painting and poetry ; and a more noble gentle- 
 man and true friend does not exist anywhere. I know not to 
 whom I could more freely confide life, wealth, and honor, than 
 to him." 
 
 She was silent. I fancied there was something like distress 
 apparent in her countenance. I continued : 
 
 " There is one thing, Julia, about which I am not altogether 
 satisfied." 
 
 " Ah !" with much anxiety ; " what is that ?" 
 
 " I owe so much to his father, that, in his present condition* 
 I fancv we ought to receive him in our house. We should not 
 
316 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 let him go among strangers, exposed to the noise and neglect 
 of a hotel." 
 
 There was some abruptness in her answer : 
 
 " I do not see how you can bring him here. You forget that 
 we are mere lodgers ourselves ; indebted for our accommodation 
 to the kindness of a lady upon whom we should have no right 
 to press other lodgers. Such an arrangement would crowd the 
 nouse, and make all parties uncomfortable. Besides, I suppose 
 
 Mr. Edgerton will scarcely remain long enough in M co 
 
 make it of much importance where he lodges, and when he finds 
 the tavern uncomfortable he will take his departure." 
 
 " But should he get sick at the tavern ?" 
 
 " Such a chance would follow him wherever he went. That 
 is the risk which every man incurs when he goes abroad. He 
 has a servant with him no doubt a favorite servant." 
 
 " Should he get sick, Julia, even a favorite servant will not 
 be enough. It will be our duty to make other provision for 
 him. I owe his father much ; the old man evidently expects 
 much from me by his last letter. I owe the son much. He 
 has been a true friend to me. I must do for him as if he were 
 a brother, and should he get sick, Julia, you must be his nurse." 
 
 "Impossible, Mr. Clifford !" she replied, with unwonted en- 
 ergy, while a deep, dark flush settled over her otherwise 
 placid features, which were now not merely discomposed but 
 ruffled. " It is impossible that I should be what you require. 
 Suffer me, in this case, to determine my duties for myself. Do 
 for your friend what you think proper. You can provide a 
 nurse, and secure by money, the best attendance in the town. 
 I do not think that I can do better service than a hundred others 
 whom you may procure ; and you will permit me to say, with- 
 out seeking to displease you, that I will not attempt it." 
 
 I was not displeased at what she said, but it was not my pol- 
 icy to admit this. With an air almost of indignation, I replied : 
 
 " And you would leave my friend to perish ?" 
 
 " I trust he will not perish I sincerely trust he will continue 
 in health while he remains here. I implore you, dear husband, 
 to make no requisition such as this. I can not serve your friend 
 in this capacity. I pray that he may not need it" 
 
 " But should he ?" 
 
TEIAL THE WOMAN GBOWS STBONG. 817 
 
 " I can not serve him." 
 
 * Julia, you are a cold-hearted woman you do not love me." 
 
 "Cold-hearted, Edward, cold-hearted? Not love you, Ed- 
 ward? Oh, surely, you can not mean it. No! no! you can 
 not!" 
 
 She threw herself into my arms, clasped me fondly in herg, 
 and the warm tears from her eyes gushed into m/ bosom. 
 
 " Love me, love my dog at least my friend !" I exclaimed, 
 in austere accents, but without repulsing her. I could not re- 
 pulse her. I had not strength to put her from me. The em- 
 brace was too dear ; and the energy with which she rejected a 
 suggestion in which I proposed only to try and test her, maia 
 her doubly dear at that moment to my bosom. Alas i how, La 
 the attempt to torture others, do we torture ourselves ! If * 
 afflicted Julia in this scene, I am very sure that my own suffer- 
 ings were more intense. One thing alone would have made 
 them so. The one quality of evil, of the bad spirit which min- 
 gled in with my feelings, and did not trouble hers. But, just 
 then I did not think her innocent altogether. I still had my 
 doubts that her resistance to my wishes was simply meant to 
 conceal that tendency in her own, the exposure of which she 
 had naturally every reason to dread. The demon of the blind 
 heart, though baffled f&r awhile, was still busy. Alas ! he was 
 not always to be baffled 
 
CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEA&T, 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 L'UK?0'JB8, 
 
 passed and still William Edgerton was a resident of 
 M -, and s, constant guest at onr little cottage. He had, in 
 tms time, effectually broken up the harmony and banished the 
 peace which had previously prevailed there. The unhappy young 
 man pursued the same insane course of conduct which had been 
 productive of so much bitterness and trouble to us all before ; 
 and, under the influence of my evil demon, I adopted the same 
 blind policy which had already been so fruitful of misery to my- 
 self and wife. I gave them constant opportunities together. 
 I found my associates, and pursued my pastimes pastimes in- 
 deed away from home. Poetry and song were given up 
 we no longer wandered by the river-side, and upon the green 
 heights of our sacred hill. My evenings were consumed in 
 dreary rambles, alone with my own evfl thoughts, and miserable 
 fancies, or consumed with yellow-eyed watching, from porch or 
 tree, upon those privacies of the suspected lovers, in which I 
 had so shamefully indulged before. I felt the baseness of this 
 vocation, but I had not the strength to give it up. I know 
 there is no extenuation for it. I know that it was base ! base ! 
 base ! It is a point of conscience with me, not only to declare 
 the truth, but to call things by the truest and most characteristic 
 names. Let me do my understanding the justice to say that, 
 even when I practised the meanness, I was not ignorant not 
 insensible of its character. It was the strength only the 
 courage to do right, and to forbear the wrong in which I was 
 deficient. It was the blind heart, not the unknowing head to 
 which the shame was attributable, though the pang fell not un- 
 equally upon heart and head. 
 
CROSS PURPOSES. 319 
 
 Meanwhile, Kingsley returned from Texas. He became my 
 principal companion. We strolled together in my leisure hours 
 by day. We sat and smoked together in his chamber by night. 
 My blind fortitude may be estimated, when the reader is told 
 that Kingsley professed to find me a very agreeable companion. 
 He complimented me on my liveliness, my wit, my humor, and 
 what not and this, too, when I was all the while meditating, 
 with the acutest feeling of apprehension, upon the very last 
 wrong which the spirit of man is found willing to endure ; 
 when I believed that the ruin of my house was at hand ; when 
 I believed that the ruin of my heart and hope had already taken 
 place : and when, hungering only for the necessary degree of 
 proof which justice required before conviction, I was laying my 
 gins and snares with the view to detecting the offenders, and 
 consummating the last terrible but necessary work of vengeance ! 
 But Kingsley did not confine himself altogether to the language 
 of compliment. 
 
 " Good fellow and good companion as you are, Clifford and 
 loath as I should be to give up these pleasant evenings, still 
 I think you very wrong in one respect. You neglect your 
 wife." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! what an idea ! You are not serious ?" 
 
 " As a judge." 
 
 " Psha ! She does not miss me." 
 
 "Perhaps not," he answered gravely "but for your own 
 Bake if not for hers, it seems to me you should pursue a more 
 domestic course." 
 
 " What mean you ]" 
 
 " You leave your wife too much to herself! nay let me be 
 frank not too much to herself, for there would be little danger 
 in that, but too much with that fellow Edgerton." 
 
 " What ? You would not have me jealous, Kingsley ?" 
 
 " No ! Only prudent." 
 
 " You dislike Edgerton, Kingsley." 
 
 " I do ! I frankly confess it. I think he wants manliness of 
 character, and such a man always lacks sincerity. But I do 
 not speak of him. I should utter the same opinion with respect 
 to any other man, in similar circumstances. A wife is a depen- 
 dent creature apt to be weak ! If young, she is susceptible 
 
320 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 equally susceptible to the attentions of another and to the 
 neglect of her husband. I do not say that such is the case 
 with your wife. Far from it. I esteem her very much as a re- 
 markable woman. But women were intended to be dependents. 
 Most of them are governed by sensibilities rather than by 
 principles. Impulse leads them and misleads. The wife finds 
 herself neglected by the very man who, in particular, owes her 
 duty. She finds herself entertained, served, watched, tended 
 with sleepless solicitude, by another ; one, not wanting either in 
 personal charms and accomplishments, and having similar tastes 
 ai<d talents. What should be the result of this ? Will she not 
 become indifferent where she finds indifference devoted 
 where she finds devotion ? A cunning fellow, like Edgerton, 
 may, under these circumstances, rob a man of his wife's affec- 
 tions. Mark me, I do not say that he will do anything positive- 
 ly dishonorable, at least in the world's acceptation of the term. 
 I do not intimate I would not willingly believe that she 
 would submit to anything of the sort. I speak of the affections, not 
 of the virtues. There is shame to the man in his wife's dishonor ; 
 but the misfortune of losing her affections is neither more nor 
 less than the suffering without the shame. Look to it. I do 
 not wish to prejudice your mind against Edgerton. Far from 
 it. I have forborne to speak hitherto because I knew that my 
 own mind was prejudiced against him. Even now I say nothing 
 against him. What I say has reference to your conduct only. 
 I do not think Edgerton a bad man. I think him a weak one. 
 Weak as a woman governed, like her, by impulse rather than 
 by principle easily led away incapable of resisting where 
 his affections are concerned repenting soon, and sinning, in 
 the same way, as fast as he repents. He is weak, very weak 
 
 washy-weak he wants stamina, and, wanting that, wants 
 principle !" 
 
 " Strange enough, if you should be right ! How do you 
 reconcile this opinion with his refusal to lend you money to game 
 upon ? He was governed in that by principle." 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! He was governed by habit. He knew 
 nothing of gambling had heard his father always preaching 
 against it it was not a temptation with him. His tastes were 
 of another sort. He could not be tried in that way. The very 
 
CROSS PURPOSES. 821 
 
 fact that he was susceptible, in particular, to the charms of 
 female society, saved him from the passion for gaming, as it 
 would save him from the passion for drink. But the very tastes 
 that saved him from one passion make him particularly suscepti- 
 ble to another. He can stand the temptation of play, but not 
 that of women. Let him be tried there, and he falls ! his prin- 
 ciple would not save him would not be worth a straw to a 
 drowning man." 
 
 "You underrate undervalue Edgerton. He has always 
 been a true, generous friend of mine." 
 
 " Be it so ! with that I have nothing to do. But friendship 
 has its limits which it can not pass. Were Edgerton truly your 
 friend, he would advise you as I have done. Nay, a proper 
 sense of friendship and of delicacy would have kept him from 
 paying that degree of attention to the wife which must be an 
 hourly commentary on the neglect of her husband. I confess 
 to you it was this very fact that made me resolve to speak to 
 you." 
 
 " I thank you, my dear fellow, but I have nothing to fear. 
 Poor Edgerton is dying music and painting are his solace 
 they minister to his most active tastes. As for Julia, she is im- 
 maculate." 
 
 " I distrust neither ; but you should not throw away your 
 pearl, because you think it can not suffer stain." 
 
 " I do not throw it away." 
 
 " You do not sufficiently cherish it." 
 
 "What would you have me do wear it constantly in my 
 bosom ?" 
 
 " No ! not exactly that ; but at least wear nothing else there 
 so frequently or so closely as that." 
 
 " I do not. I fancy I am a very good husband. You shall 
 not put me out of humor, Kiugsley, either with my wife or my- 
 self. You shall not make me jealous. I am no Othello I 
 have no visitations of the moon." 
 
 And I laughed laughed while speaking thus though the 
 keen pang was writhing at that moment like a burning arrow 
 through my brain. 
 
 " I have no wish to make you jealous, Clifford, and I very 
 much admire your superiority and strength. I congratulate you 
 
322 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 on your singular freedom from this unhappy passion. But you 
 may become too confident. You may lose your wife's affections 
 by your neglect, when you might not lose them by treachery." 
 
 " You are grown a croaker, Kingsley, and I will leave you. 
 I will go home. I will show you what a good husband I am, 
 or can become." 
 
 " That's right ; but smoke another cigar before you go." 
 
 " There it is !" I exclaimed, laughingly. " You blow hot and 
 cold. You would have me go and stay." 
 
 " Take the cigar, at least, and smoke it as you go. My ad- 
 vice is good, and that it is honest you may infer from my re- 
 luctance to part with you. I will see you at the office at nine 
 in the morning. There is some prospect of a compromise with 
 Jeffords about the tract in Dallas, and he is to meet Wharton 
 and myself at your law-shop to-morrow. It is important to 
 make an arrangement with Jeffords his exampls will be felt 
 by Brownsell and Gibbon. We may escape a long-winded law- 
 suit, after all, to your great discomfiture and my gain. But 
 you do not hear me !" 
 
 " Yes, yes, every word you spoke of Jeffords, and Wharton, 
 and Gibbon yes, I heard you." 
 
 " Now I know that you did not hear me not understanding- 
 ly, at least. I should not be surprised if I have made you jeal- 
 ous. You look wild, mon ami /" 
 
 "Jealous, indeed! what nonsense!" and I prepared to de- 
 part when I had thus spoken. 
 
 " Well, at nine you must meet us at the office. My business 
 must not suffer because you are jealous." 
 
 " Come, no more of that, Kingsley !" 
 
 " By heavens, you are touched." 
 
 He laughed merrily. I laughed also, but with a choking ef- 
 fort which almost cost me a convulsion as I left the tavern. The 
 sport of Kingsley was my death. What he had said previously 
 sunk deep into my soul. Not rightly not as it should have 
 sunk showing me the folly of my own course without assu- 
 ming, as I did, the inevitable wilfulness of the course of others ; 
 but actually confirming me in my fears nay, making them 
 grow hideous as things and substantive convictions. It seemed 
 to me, from what Kingsley said that I was already dishonored 
 
CROSS PURPOSES. 323 
 
 that the world already knew my shame; and that he, as my 
 friend, had only employed an ambiguous language to soften tha 
 sting and the shock which his revelations must necessarily oc 
 casion. With this new notion, which occurred to me after leav- 
 ing the house, I instantly returned to it. It required a strong 
 effort to seem deliberate in what I spoke. 
 
 " Kingsley," I said, " perhaps I did not pay sufficient heed 
 to your observations. Do you mean to convey to my mind th i 
 idea that people think Edgerton too familiar with my wife ? 
 Do you mean to say that such a notion is abroad ? That thertv 
 is anything wrong ?" 
 
 " By no means." 
 
 " Ah ! then there is nothing in it. I see no reason for sus- 
 picion. I am not a jealous man; but it becomes necsnsary 
 when one's neighbors find occasion to look into one's business, 
 to look a little into it one's self." 
 
 " One must not wait for that," said Kingsley ; " but where is 
 your cigar ?" 
 
 The question confused me. I had dropped it in the agitation 
 of my feelings, without being conscious of its loss. 
 
 " Take another," said he, with a smile, " and let your cares 
 end in smoke as you wend homeward. My most profound 
 thoughts come from my cigar. To that I look for my philoso- 
 phy, my friendship, my love almost my religion. A cigar is 
 a brain-comforter, verily. You should smoke more, Clifford. 
 You will grow better, wiser cooler" 
 
 " I take your cigar and counsel together," was my reply. 
 " The one shall reconcile me to the other. "Bon repos /" And 
 so I left him. 
 
 I was not likely to have Ion repos myself. I was troubled. 
 Kingsley suspects me of being jealous. Such an idea was very 
 mortifying. This is another weakness of the suspicious nature. 
 It loathes above all things to be suspected of jealousy. I hur- 
 ried home, vexed with my want of coolness doubly vexed at 
 the belief that other eyes than my own were witnesses of the 
 attentions of Edgerton to my wife. 
 
 I stopped at the entrance of our cottage. He was there as 
 usual. Mrs. Porterfield was not present. The candle waa 
 burning dimly. He sat upon the sofa. Julia was seated upon 
 
S CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 : chaii at a little distrnce. Her features wore an expression of 
 3xc ceding- gravity. Jlis were pale and sad, but his eyes burnt 
 *.i'.h an eager inter sity that betrayed the passionate feeling in 
 \is heart Thuo they sat she looking partly upon the floor 
 he looking at hsr. I observed them for more than ten min- 
 .iteS; and in all that time I do not believe they exchanged two 
 
 '* Surely," I thought, " this must be a singularly sufficing pas- 
 sion Avhich can enjoy itself in this manner without the help of 
 language." 
 
 Of course, this reflection increased the strength of my suspi- 
 cions. I became impatient, and entered the cottage. The eyes 
 of Julia seemed to brighten at my appearance, but they were 
 also full of sadness. Edgerton soon after rose and took his de- 
 parture. I believe, if I had stayed away till midnight, he would 
 have lingered until that time ; but I also believe that if I had 
 returned two hours before, he would have gone as soon. His 
 passion for the wife seemed to produce an antipathy to the hus- 
 band, quite as naturally as that which grew up in my bosom in 
 regard to him. When he was gone, my wife approached mc r 
 almost vehemently exclaiming 
 
 " Why, why do you leave me thus, Clifford ? Surely you 
 can not love me." 
 
 " Indeed I do ; but I was with Kingsley. I had business, 
 and did not suppose you would miss me." 
 
 " Why suppose otherwise, Edward ? I do miss you. I beg 
 that you will not leave me thus again." 
 
 " What do you mean ? You are singularly earnest, Julia. 
 What has happened? What has offended you? Was not 
 Edgerton with you all the evening ?" 
 
 My questions, coupled with my manner, which had been 
 somewhat excited, seemed to alarm her. She replied hur- 
 riedly : 
 
 " Nothing has happened ! nothing has offended me ! But I 
 feel that you should not leave me thus. It does not look welL 
 It looks as if you did not love me." 
 
 " Ah ! but when you know that I do !" 
 
 " I do not know it. Oh, show me that you do, Edward. 
 Stay with me as you did at first when we first came here 
 
CROSS PURPOSES. 325 
 
 when we were first married. Then we were so so hap- 
 P y!" 
 
 " You would not say that you are not happy now 1" 
 
 "lam not! I do not see you as I wish when I wish! 
 You leave me so often leave me to strangers, and seem so in- 
 different. Oh ! Edward, do not let me think that you care for 
 me no longer." 
 
 " Strangers ! Why, how you talk ! Good old Mrs. Porter- 
 field seems to me like my own grandmother, and Edgerton has 
 been my friend " 
 
 Did I really hear her say the single word, 
 
 " Friend !" and with such an accent ! The sound was a very 
 slight one it may have been my fancy only ; and she turned 
 away a moment after. What could it mean? I was bew 1 "'- 
 dered. I followed her to the chamber. I endeavored to reneiv 
 the subject in such a manner as not to offend her suspicions, 
 but she seemed to have taken the alarm. She answered me i& 
 monosyllables only, and without satisfying the curiosity whicii 
 that single word, doubtfully uttered, had so singularly awake^jri, 
 
 "Only love me love me, Edward, and keep with me, asii 
 I will not complain. But if you leave ma if 70^. noi53i ma 
 I am desolate!" 
 
CONFESSION. OB THE BLIND HEART 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 ACCIDENT AND MORE AGONIES. 
 
 THEAK was something very unaccountable in all this. I say 
 unaccountable, with the distinct understanding that it was unac- 
 countable only to that obtuse condition of mind which is pro- 
 duced by the demon of the blind heart. My difficulties of judg- 
 ing 1 were only temporary, however. The sinister spirit made 
 his whisper conclusive in the end. 
 
 " This vehemence," it suggested, " which is so unwonted with 
 her, is evidently unnatural. It is affected for an object. What 
 is that object ? It is the ordinary one with persons in the wrong, 
 who always affect one extreme of feeling when they would con- 
 ceal another. She fears that you will suspect that she is very 
 well satisfied in your absence ; accordingly she strives to con- 
 vince you that she was never so dissatisfied. Of course you 
 can not" believe that a man so well endowed as Edgerton, so 
 graceful, having such fine tastes and accomplishments, can prove 
 other than an agreeable companion ! What then should be 
 your belief?" 
 
 , There was a devilish ingenuity in this sort of perversion. It 
 lad its effect. I believed it; and believing it, revolted, with a 
 feeling 1 of hate and horror, at the supposed loathsome hypocrisy 
 of that fond embrace, and those earnest pleadings, which, in the 
 moment of their first display, had seemed so precious to my soul. 
 In the morning, when I was setting forth from home, she put 
 her arm on my shoulder : - 
 
 ' Come home soon, Edward, and let us go together on the 
 hill. Lot nobody know. Suroly we shall be company enough 
 
ACCIDENT AND MOEE AGONIES. 82J 
 
 for each other. I will sketch you a view of the river while 
 you read Wordsworth to me." 
 
 "Now," whispered my demon in my ears, "that is ingenious. 
 Let nobody know ; as if. having a friend in the neighborhood 
 on a visit he sick and in bad spirits you should propose to 
 yourself a pleasure trip of any kind without inviting him to par- 
 take of it ? She knows that to be out of the question, and that 
 you must ask Edgerton if you resolve to go yourself." 
 
 Such was the artful suggestion of my familiar. My resolve 
 
 still recognising the cruel policy by which I had been so long 
 governed was instantly taken. This was to invite Edgerton 
 and Kingsley both. 
 
 " I will give them every opportunity. While Kingsley and 
 myself ramble together, well leave this devoted pair to their own 
 cogitations, taking care, however, to see what comes of them." 
 
 I promised Julia to be home in season, but said nothing of 
 my intention to ask the gentlemen. She thanked me with a 
 look and smile, which, had I not seen all things through eyes 
 of the most jaundiced green, would have seemed to me that of 
 an angel, expressive only of the truest love. 
 
 "Ah! could I but believe!" was the bitter self-murmur of 
 niy soul, as I left the threshold. 
 
 On my way through the town I stopped at the postoffice to 
 get letters, and received one from Mrs. Delaney late Clifford 
 my wife's exemplary mother, addressed to Julia. I then 
 proceeded to Edgerton's lodgings. He was not yet up, and I 
 saw him in his chamber. His flute lay upon the toilet. Seeing 
 it, I recalled, with all its original vexing bitterness, the scene 
 which took place the night previous to my departure from my 
 late home. And when I looked on Edgerton saw with what 
 effort he spoke, and how timidly he expressed himself how 
 reluctant were his eyes to meet the gaze of mine his guilt 
 seemed equally fresh and unequivocal. I marked him out, in- 
 voluntarily, as my victim. I felt assured, even while convey- 
 ing to him the complimentary invitation which I bore, that my 
 hand was commissioned to do the work of death upon his limbs. 
 Strange and fascinating conviction ! But I did not contemplate 
 this necessity with any pleasure. No ! I would have prayed 
 
 I did pray that the task might be spared me. If I thought 
 
328 CONFESSION, OK THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 of it at all, it was as the agent of a necessity which I could not 
 countervail. The fates had me in their keeping. I was the 
 blind instrument obeying the inflexible will, against which 
 
 " Reluctant nature strives in vain." 
 
 I felt then, most truly, though I deceived myself, that I had no 
 power, though every disposition, to save and to spare. I con- 
 veyed my invitation as a message from my wife. 
 
 " Edgerton, my wife has planned a little ramble for this after- 
 noon. She wishes to show you some of the beauties of land- 
 scape in our new abode. She commissions me to ask you to 
 join us." 
 
 " Ah ! did she ?" he demanded eagerly, with a slight empha- 
 sis on the last word. 
 
 " Ay, did she ! Will you come 1" 
 
 " Certainly with pleasure !" 
 
 He need not have said so much. The pleasure spoke in his 
 bright eyes in the tremulous hurry of his utterance. I turned 
 away from him, lest I should betray the angry feeling which 
 disturbed me. He did not seek to arrest my departure. He 
 had few words. It was sufficiently evident that he shrunk from 
 my glance and trembled in my presence. How far otherwise, 
 in the days of our mutual innocence in our days of boyhood 
 when his face seemed clear like that of a pure, perfect star, 
 shining out in the blue serene of night, unconscious of a cloud. 
 
 Kingsley was already at my office when I reached it, and 
 soon after came Mr. Wharton, followed by two of our opponents. 
 We were engaged with them the better part of the morning. 
 When the business hours were consumed, our transactions re- 
 mained unfinished, and another meeting was appointed for the 
 ensuing day. I invited Wharton as well as Kingsley to join 
 us in our afternoon rambles, which they both promised to do. 
 I went home something sooner to make preparations, and only 
 recollected, on seeing Julia, that I had thrown the letter from 
 her mother, with other papers, into my desk. When I told her 
 of the letter, her countenance changed to a death-like paleness 
 which instantly attracted my notice. 
 
 "What is the matter are you sick, Julia?" 
 
 " No ! nothing. But the letter where is it ?" 
 
ACCIDENT AND MORE AGONIES. 329 
 
 " I threw it on my table, or in my desk, with other papers, 
 to have them out of the way ; and hurrying home sooner than 
 usual, forgot to bring it with me. I suppose there's nothing in 
 it of any importance ?" 
 
 " No, nothing, I suppose," she answered faintly. 
 
 I told her what I had done with respect to our guests. 
 
 " I am very sorry," she answered, " that you have done so. 
 I do not feel like company, and wished to have you all to my- 
 self." 
 
 " Oh, selfish ; but of this I will believe moderately ! As for 
 company, with the exception of Wharton, they are old friends ; 
 and it would not do to take a pleasure ramble, with poor Edger- 
 ton here, and not make him a party." 
 
 There was an earnest intensity of gaze, almost amounting to 
 a painful stare, in Julia's eyes, as I said these words. She re- 
 ally seemed distressed. 
 
 " But really, Edward, our pleasure ramble is not such a one 
 as would make it a duty to invite your friends. How difficult 
 it seems for you to understand me. Could not we two stroll a 
 piece into the woods without having witnesses ?" 
 
 " Why, is that all 1 Why then should you have made a for 
 mal appointment for such a purpose ? Could we not have gone 
 as before without premeditation?" 
 
 The question puzzled her. She looked anxious. Had she 
 answered with sincerity with truth and could I have be- 
 lieved her to have been sincere, how easy would it have been 
 to have settled our difficulties. Had she said "I really wish 
 to avoid Mr. Edgerton, whose presence annoys me who will 
 be sure to come when you are sure to be gone and whom I 
 have particular reasons to wish not to meet not to see." 
 
 This, which might be the truth, she did not dare to speak. 
 She had her reasons for her apprehension. This, which was 
 reasonable enough, I could not conjecture ; for the demon of the 
 blind heart was too busy in suggesting other conjectures. It 
 was evident enough that she had secret motives for her course, 
 which she did not venture to reveal to me ; and nothing could 
 be more natural, in the diseased state of my mind, than that 1 
 should give the worst colorings to these motives in the conjee- 
 
330 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 tures which I made upon them. We were destined to play at 
 cross-purposes much longer, and with more serious issues. 
 
 Our friends came, and we set forth in the pleasant part of 
 the afternoon. We ascended our hill, and resting awhile upon 
 the summit, surveyed the prospect from that position. Then I 
 conducted the party through some of our woodland walks, which 
 Julia and myself had explored together. But I soon gave up 
 the part of cicerone to Wharton, who was to the " manor born." 
 He was a native of the neighborhood, boasted that he knew 
 every " bosky dell of this wild wood" and certainly conducted 
 us to glimpses of prettiest heights, and groves, and far vistas, 
 where the light seemed to glide before us in an embodied gray 
 form, that stole away, and peeped backward upon us from long 
 allies of the darkest and most solemn-sighted pines. 
 
 'But there is a finer spot just below us," he said " a creek 
 that is like no other that I have ever met with in the neighbor* 
 hood. It is formed by the Alabama is as deep in some places, 
 and so narrow, at times, that a spry lad can easily leap across 
 it." 
 
 " Is it far ?" 
 
 "No a mile only." 
 
 " But your wife may be fatigued, Clifford V was the sngges 
 tion of Kingsley. She certainly looked so ; but I answered for 
 her, and insisted otherwise. I met her glance as I spoke, but, 
 though she looked dissatisfaction, her lips expressed none. I 
 could easily conjecture that she felt none. She was walking 
 with Edgerton and while all eyes watched the scenery, he 
 watched her alone. I hurried forward with Kingsley, but he 
 immediately fell behind, loitered on very slowly, and left Whar- 
 ton and myself to proceed together. I could comprehend the 
 meaning of this. My demon made his suggestion. 
 
 " Kingsley suspects them he sees what you are unwilling 
 to see he is not so willing to leave them together." 
 
 We reached the stream, and wandered along its banks. It 
 had some unusual characteristics. It was sometimes a creek, 
 deep and narrow, but clear ; a few steps farther and it became 
 what, in the speech of the country, is called a branch ; shallow, 
 purling soft over a sand-bed, limpid yellow, and with a playful 
 prattle that put one in mind of the songs of thoughtless chil- 
 
ACCIDENT AND MORE AGONIES. 331 
 
 dren, humming idly as they go. The shrubbery along ila w-l^-se 
 seemed to follow its changes. Where the bluffs were higls, L--.; 
 foliage was dense and the trees large. The places where its 
 waters shallowed, were only dotted with shrub trees and wila 
 vines, which sometimes clambered across the stream and wedded 
 the opposing branches, in bonds as hard to break as those of 
 matrimony. The waters were sinuous, and therefore slow. 
 They seemed only to glide along, like some glittering serpent, 
 who trails at leisure his silvery garments through the woods, 
 quietly and slow, as if he had no sort of apprehension. 
 
 When we had reached a higher spot of bluff than the rest, 
 Wharton, who was an active rather than an athletic man, chal- 
 lenged me to follow him. He made the leap having little space 
 to spare. I had not done such a thing for some years. But my 
 boyhood had been one of daring. The school in which I had 
 grown up had given me bodily hardihood and elasticity ; at all 
 events I could not brook defiance in such a matter, and, with 
 moderate effort, succeeded in making a longer stride. I looked 
 back at this moment and saw Julia, still closely attended by 
 Edgerton, just about emerging into view from a thick copse that 
 skirted the foot of a small hill over which our course had brought 
 us. I could not distinguish their features. They were, however, 
 close together. Kingsley was on their right, a little in advance 
 of them, but still walking slowly. I pointed my finger toward 
 a shallow and narrow part of the stream as that which they 
 would find it most easy to cross. A tree had been felled at the 
 designated point, and just below it, in consequence of the 
 obstructions which its limbs presented to the easy passage of 
 the water, several sand bars had been made, by which, stepping 
 from one to the other, one might cross dryshod even without 
 the aid of the tree. Kingsley repeated my signal to those be- 
 hind him, and led the way. I went on with Wharton, without 
 again looking behind me. 
 
 But few minutes had elapsed after this, when I heard Julia 
 scream in sudden terror. I looked round, but the foliage had 
 thickened behind me, and I could no longer see the parties. I 
 bounded backward, with no enviable feelings. My apprehen- 
 sions for my wife's safety made me forgetful of my suspiciona 
 I reached the spot in time to discover the cause of her alarm. 
 
332 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 She was in tlie nrdst o: the stream, standing upon one of the 
 sandflats, steadying herself with difficulty, while she supported 
 the *vhole form of William Edgerton, who lay, seemingly life- 
 loss, and half huried in one of the sluices of water which ran 
 between the sandrifts. I had just time to see this, and to feel 
 all the pangs of my jealousy renewed, when Kingsley rushed 
 into the water to his rescue. He lifted him out to the hanks as 
 if he had been an infant, and laid him on the shore. I went to 
 the relief of Julia, who, trembling like a leaf, fainted in my 
 arms the moment she felt herself in safety. 
 
 The whole affair was at that time unaccountable to rne. It 
 necessarily served to increase my pangs. Had I not seen her 
 with my own eyes tenderly supporting the fainting frame of the 
 man whom I believed to be my rival whom I believed she 
 loved ? Had I not heard her scream of terror announcing her 
 interest in his fate her apprehensions for his safety? His 
 danger had made her forgetful of her caution such was the 
 assurance of my demon and in the fullne s of her heart her 
 voice found utterance. Besides, how was I to know what endear- 
 ments what fond pressure of palms had been passing be- 
 tween them, making them heedless of their course, and con- 
 sequently, making them liable to the accident which had oc- 
 curred. For, it must be remembered, that the general impression 
 was that Edgerton's foot had slipped, and, falling into the stream 
 while endeavoring to assist Julia, he had nearly pulled her in 
 after him. His fainting afterward we ascribed to the same 
 nervous weakness which had induced that of Julia. On this 
 head, however, Kingsley was better informed. He told me, in 
 a subsequent conversation, that he had narrowly observed the 
 parties that, until the moment before he fell, the hands of the 
 two had not met that then, Edgerton offered his to assist my 
 wife over the stream, and scarcely had their fingers touched, 
 when Edgerton sank down, like a stone, seemingly lifeless, and 
 falling into the water only after he had become insensible. 
 
 All was confusion. Mine, however, was not confusion. It 
 was commotion commotion which I yet suppressed a vol- 
 cano smothered, but smothered only for a time, and ready to 
 break forth with superior fury in consequence of the restraint 
 put upon it. This one event, with the impressive spectacle of 
 
ACCIDENT AND MORE AGONIES. 383 
 
 the parties in such close juxtaposition, seemed almost to render 
 every previous suspicion conclusive. 
 
 Julia was soon recovered ; but the swoon of Edgerton was of 
 much longer duration. We sprinkled him with water, subjected 
 him to fanning and friction, and at length aroused him. His 
 mind seemed to wander at his first consciousness he murmur- 
 ed incoherently. One or two broken sentences, however, which 
 he spoke, were not without significance in my ears. 
 
 " Closer ! closer ! leave me not now not yet." 
 
 I bent over him to catch the words. Kingsley, as if he fear- 
 ed the utterance of anything more, pushed me away, and addres- 
 sing Edgerton sternly, asked him if he felt pain. 
 
 " What hurts you, Mr. Edgerton ? Where is your pain ?" 
 
 The harsh and very loud tones which he employed, had the 
 effect which I have no doubt he intended. The other came to 
 complete consciousness in a moment. 
 
 " Pain !" said he" no ! I feel no pain. I feel feeble only." 
 
 And he strove to rise from the ground as he spoke. 
 
 "Do not attempt it," said Kingsley "you are not able. 
 Wharton, my good fellow, will you run back to town, and bring 
 a carriage ?" 
 
 " It will not need," said Edgerton, striving again to rise, and 
 staggering up with difficulty. 
 
 " It will need. You must not overtask yourself. The walk 
 is a long one before us." 
 
 Meantime, Wharton was already on his way. It was a tedious 
 interval which followed, before his return with the carnage, 
 which found considerable difficulty m picking a track through 
 t!ue woods. Julia, after recovery, had wandered off abont a 
 hundred yards from the party. She betrayed no concern ^o 
 uneasiness made no inquiries after Edgerton, of whose condi- 
 tion she knew nothing and, by this very course, convinced me 
 that she was conscious of too deep an interest in his fate to 
 trust her lips in referring to it. All that she said to me was, 
 that " she had been so terrified on seeing him fall, that she did 
 not even know that she had screamed." 
 
 " Natural enough !" said my demon. " Had she been able to 
 have controlled her utterance, she would have taken precious 
 
334 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 good care to have maintained tha silence of the grave. Bat her 
 feelings were too strong for her policy." 
 
 And I took this reasoning for gospel. 
 
 The carriage came. Edgerton was put into it, but Julia posi- 
 tively refused to ride. She insisted that she was perfectly equal 
 to the walk and walk she would. I was pleased with this de- 
 termination, but not willing to appear pleased. I expostulated 
 with her even angrily, but found her incorrigible. Chagrin and 
 disappointment were obvious enough on the face of William 
 Edgerton 
 
 I took my seat beside him, and left Kingsley and Wharton to 
 escort my wife home. We had scarcely got in motion before a 
 rash determination seized my mind. 
 
 " You must go home with me, Edgerton. It will not do, while 
 you are in this feeble state, to remain at a public tavern." 
 
 He said something very faintly about crowding and incon- 
 veniencing us. 
 
 " Pshaw room enough and Julia can be your nurse." 
 
 His eyes closed, he sunk back in the carriage, and a deep 
 sigh escaped him. I fancied that he had a second time fainted ; 
 but I soon discovered that his faiutness was simply the sudden 
 sense of an overcoming pleasure. I knit my teeth spasmodical- 
 ly together ; I cursed him in the bitterness of my heart, but 
 said nothing. It was a feeling of desperation that had prompt- 
 ed the rash resolution which I had taken. 
 
 " At least," I muttered to myself, " it will bring these dam- 
 ning doubts to a final trial. If they have been fools heretofore, 
 opportunity will serve to madden them. We shall see ws 
 shall know all very soon; and then! " 
 
 Ay, then ! 
 
THE DAMNING LETTER. 835 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 THE DAMNING LETTER. 
 
 MR 3. PORTERFIELD, good old lady, half blind, half deaf, in- 
 firm and gouty, but very good natured, easily complied with my 
 request to accommodate my friend. My friend ! She soon put 
 one of her bed-rooms in order, and Edgerton was in quiet 
 possession of it sometime before the pedestrians came home. 
 When my wife was told of what I had done, she was perfectly 
 aghast. Her air of chagrin was well put on and excellently 
 worn. But she said nothing. Kingsley wore a face of unusual 
 gravity. 
 
 " You are either the most wilful or the most indifferent hus- 
 band in the world," was his whispered remark to me as he bade 
 me good night, refusing to remain for supper. 
 
 I said something to my wife about tending Edgerton seeing 
 to his wants nursing him if he remained unwell, and so forth 
 She looked at me with a face of intense sadness, but made 
 no reply. 
 
 " She is too happy for speech," said my demon ; " and such 
 faces are easily made for such an occasion." 
 
 I went in to Edgerton after a brief space ; I found him feeble, 
 complaining of chill. His hands felt feverish. I advised quiet 
 and sent off for a physician. I sat with him until the physician 
 came, but I observed that my presence seemed irksome to him. 
 He answered me in monosyllables only ; his eyes, meanwhile, 
 being averted, his countenance that of one excessively weary 
 and impatient for release. The physician prescribed and left 
 him, as I did myself. I thought he needed repose and desired to 
 be alone. To my great surprise he followed me in less than 
 half an hour into the supper -room, where he stubbornly sat out 
 
336 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART, 
 
 the evening. He refused to take tlie physic prescribed for him 
 and really did not now appear to need it. His eyes were light- 
 ed up with unusual animation, his cheeks had an improved 
 color, and without engaging very actively in the conversation, 
 what he said was said with a degree of spirit quite uncommon 
 with him during the latter days of our intimacy. 
 
 Mr. Wharton spent the evening with us, and the hall of talk 
 was chiefly sustained by him and myself. My wife said little, 
 nothing save when spoken to, and wore a countenance of great- 
 er gravity than ever. It seemed that Edgerton made some 
 effort to avoid any particularity in his manner, yet seldom did I 
 turn my eyes without detecting his in keen examination of my 
 wife's countenance. At such times, his glance usually fell to the 
 ground, but toward the close of evening, he almost seemed to 
 despise observation, or which was more probable was not 
 conscious of it for his gaze became fixed with a religious 
 earnestness, which no look of mine could possibly divert or un- 
 fix. He solicited my wife to play on the guitar, but she de- 
 clined, until requested by Mrs. Porterfield, when she took up 
 the instrument passively, and sung to it one of those ordinary 
 negro-songs which are now so shockingly popular. I was sur- 
 prised at this, for I well knew that she heartily detested the 
 taste and spirit in which such things were conceived. Under 
 the tuition of my demon, I immediately assumed this to be 
 another proof of the decline of her delicacy. And yet, though 
 I did not think of this at the time, she might have employed 
 the coarse effusion simply as an antidote against the predomi- 
 nance of a morbid sentimentalism. There is a moment in the 
 history of the heart's suffering, when the smallest utterance of 
 the lips, or movement of the form, or expression of the eye, is 
 prompted by some prevailing policy some motive which the 
 excited sensibilities deem of importance to their desires. 
 
 She retired soon. Her departure was followed by that of Ed- 
 gerton first, and next of Wharton. Mrs. Porterfield had already 
 gone. I was alone at the entrance of our cottage. Not alone ! 
 My demon was with me suggestive of his pangs as ever full 
 of subtlety, and filling me with the darkest imaginings. The 
 destroyer of my peace was in my dwelling. My wife may or 
 may not be innocent. Happy for her if she is, but how can that 
 
THE DAMNING LETTER. 337 
 
 be known ? It mattered little to me in the excited mood whicb 
 possessed me. Let any man fancy, as I did, that one, partaking 
 of his hospitality, lying in the chamber which adjoined his own, 
 yet meditated the last injury in the power of man to inflict 
 against the peace and honor of his protector. Let him fancy 
 this, and then ask what would be his own feelings what his 
 course * 
 
 Still, there is a sentiment of justice which is natural to every 
 bosom with whom education has not been utter perversion. I 
 Deiieved much against Edgerton ; I suspected my wife ; I had 
 seen much to offend my affections ; much to alarm my fears ; 
 yet I knew nothing which was conclusive. That last event, the 
 occurrence of the afternoon, seemed to prove not that the two 
 were guilty, but that my wife loved the man who meditated 
 guilt. This belief, doubtful so long, and against which I had 
 really striven, seemed now to be concluded. I had heard her 
 scream ; I had seen her tenderly sustaining his form ; I had felt 
 her emotions, when, the danger being over, her feminine nature 
 gained the ascendancy and she fainted in my arms. I could no 
 longer doubt, that if she was still pure in mind, she was no longer 
 insensible to a passion which must lessen that purity with 
 every added moment of its permitted exercise. Still, even with 
 this conviction, something more was necessary to justify me in 
 what I designed. There must be no doubt. I must see. I 
 must have sufficient proof, for, as my vengeance shall be un- 
 sparing, my provocation must be complete. That it might be 
 so I had brought Edgerton into the house. Something more 
 was necessary. Time and opportunity must be allowed him. 
 This I insisted on, though, more than once, as I walked under 
 the dark whispering groves which girdled our cottage, and 
 caught a glimpse of the light in Edgerton's chamber, my demon 
 urged me to go in and strangle him. I had strength to resist 
 this suggestion, but the struggle was a long one. 
 
 I did not soon retire to rest. When I did, I still remained 
 sleepless. But Julia slept. In her sleep she threw herself on 
 my bosom, and seemed to cling about and clasp me as if with 
 Borne fear of separation. Had I not fancied that this close em- 
 brace was meant for another than myself, I had been more in- 
 dulgent to the occasional meanings of distress that escaped her 
 
 16 
 
338 
 
 lips. But, thinking as I did, I forced her from me, and in dclng 
 so she wakened. 
 
 " Edward," she exclaimed on wakening, " is it you V 
 
 "Who should it be?" I demanded all my tjusp: ;ioL.o re- 
 newed by her question. 
 
 " I am so glad. I have had such a dream. Oh ! Edward, 
 I dreamed that you were killing me !" 
 
 " Ha ! what could have occasioned such a dream ?" 
 
 My demon suggested, at this moment, that her draam had 
 been occasioned by a consciousness of what her guilty fancies 
 deserved. But she replied promptly : 
 
 " Nay, I know not. It was the strangest fancy. I thought 
 that you pursued me along the river that my foot slipped and 
 I fell among the bushes, where you caught me, and it was juot 
 when you were strangling me that I wakened." 
 
 " Your dream was occasioned by the affair of the afternoon. 
 Was nobody present but ourselves ?" 
 
 "Yes there was a man at a little distance beycnd ne, and 
 he seemed to be running from you also." 
 
 " A man ! who was he ?" 
 
 " I don't know exactly his back wr? turned, but it seemed 
 as if it was Mr. Edgerton." 
 
 "Ha! Mr. Edgerton !" 
 
 A deep silence followed. She had spoken her reply firmly, 
 but so slowly as to convince me of the mental reluctance which 
 she felt in uttering this part of the dream. When the imagina- 
 tion is excited, how small are the events that confirm its ascen- 
 dency, and stimulate its progress. This dream seemed to me as 
 significant as any of the signs that informed the ancient augurs, 
 It bore me irresistibly forward in the direction of my previous 
 thoughts. I began to see the path dark, dismal perhaps 
 bloody which lay before me. I began to feel the deed, al- 
 ready in my soul, which destiny was about to require me to 
 perform. A crime, half meditated, is already half committed. 
 This is the danger of brooding upon the precipice of evil 
 thoughts. A moment's dizziness a single plunge and all ia 
 over ! * 
 
 I doubt whether Julia slept much the remainder of the night, 
 I know that I did not. She had her consciousness as well as 
 
TEE DAMNING LETTER. 389 
 
 mine. That I now know. The question "washer conscious- 
 ness a guilty one?" That was the only question which re- 
 mained for me ! 
 
 Thfl next morning I saw Edgerton. He looked quite as well 
 as on the previous night, but professed to feel otherwise de- 
 clined coming forth to breakfast, and begged me to send the 
 physician to him on my way to the office. T immediately con- 
 jectured that this was mere practice, for he had not taken the 
 medicine which had been prescribed. 
 
 He must keep sick to keep here" said my demon. " He 
 can have no pretext, otherwise, to stay !" 
 
 When I was about to leave the house Julia followed me to 
 the door. 
 
 " Don't forget to bring mother's letter with you," was her 
 parting direction. I had not been half an hour at the office be- 
 fore a little servant-girl, who tended in the house, came to me 
 with a message from her, requesting that the letter might be 
 sent by her. 
 
 This earnestness struck me with surprise. I remembered the 
 expression in my wife's face the day before when I told her the 
 letter had been received. I now recalled to mind the fact, that, 
 on no occasion, had she ever shown me any of her mother's, let- 
 ters ; though nothing surely would have seemed more natural, 
 as she knew how keen was my anxiety to hear at all times from 
 the old maternal city. 
 
 My suspicions began to warm, and I resolved upon another 
 act of baseness in obedience to the counsel of my evil spirit. I 
 pretended to look awhile for the letter, but finally dismissed the 
 girl, saying that I had mislaid it, but would bring it home with 
 me when I came to dinner. The moment she had gone I ex- 
 amined this precious document. It was sealed with one of those 
 gum wafers which are stuck on the outside of the envelope. In 
 turning it over, as if everything was prepared to gratify my 
 wish, I discovered that one section of the wafer had nearly 
 parted from the paper. To the upper section of the fold 
 it adhered closely. To the lower it was scarcely attached 
 at all, and seemed never to have been as well fastened as the 
 upper. 
 
 The temptation was irresistible. A very slight effort enabled 
 
840 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 me to complete the separation without soiling the paper or frac- 
 turing the seal. This was all done within my desk, the leaf of 
 the desk being raised and resting upon my head. In this posi- 
 tion I could easily close the desk, in the event of any intrusion, 
 without suffering the intruder to see in what I had been en- 
 gaged. Thus guarded I proceeded to read the precious epistle, 
 which I found very much what I should have expected from 
 such a woman. It said a great deal about her neighbors and 
 her neighbors' dresses ; and how her dear Delaney was some- 
 times " obstropolous," though in the end a mighty good man ; 
 and much more over which I hurried with all the rapidity of 
 disgust. But there was matter that made me linger. One or 
 two sentences thrown into the postscript contained a volume. 
 I read, with lifted hair and a convulsed bosom, the following 
 passage : 
 
 " Delaney tells me that Bill Edgerton has gone to travel. He 
 says to Tennessee. But I know better. I know he can't keep 
 from you, let him try his best. But be on your guard, Julia. 
 Don't let him get too free. Tour husband's a jealous man, 
 and if he was once to dream of the truth, he'd just as 
 leave shoot him as look at him. I thought at one time 
 he'd have guessed the truth before. So far you've played 
 your cards nicely, but that was when I was by you, to tell 
 you how. I feel quite ticklish when I think of you, and re- 
 member you've got nobody now to consult with. All I can - 
 say is, keep close. It would be the most terrible thing if Clif- 
 ford should find out or even suspect. He wouldn't spare either 
 of you. It's better for a woman in this country to drag on and 
 be wretched, than to expose herself to shame, for no one cares 
 for her after that. Be sure and burn this the moment you've 
 read it. I would not have it seen for the world. I only write 
 it as a matter of duty, for I can't forget that I'm your mother, 
 though I must say, Julia, there were times when you have not 
 acted the part of a daughter." 
 
 Precious, voluminous postscript ! Considerate mother ! " Be 
 on your guard, Julia. Don't let him get too free !" Prudent, 
 motherly counsel ! " You've played your cards nicely." Nice 
 lady ! " I feel quite ticklish !" Elegant sensibilities ! 
 
 Enough ! The evil was done. Here was another piece Q 
 
THE DAMPING LETTER. 
 
 damning testimony, indirect but conclusive, to shew that I was 
 bedevilled. I refolded the letter, but I could not place my lips 
 to the wafer. The very letter seemed to breathe of poison. 
 Faugh ! I put it from me, went to the basin, and wetting the 
 end of my finger, sufficiently softened the gum to make it more 
 effectually fasten the letter than when I had received it. This 
 done, I proceeded to the business of the day with what appetite 
 was left me. 
 
S42 CONFEflPTON. OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 VERGE OF THE PRECIPICE. 
 
 I DO not know how I got through with the business of that 
 day. Even in my weakness I was possessed of a singular de- 
 gree of strength. I saw Kingsley, Wharton, and all of the par- 
 ties whom we met the day before. We came to a final decision 
 on the subject of Kingsley's claims ; I took down the heads of 
 several papers which were to be drawn up; the terms of sale 
 and transfer, bounds and characteristics of the land to be con- 
 veyed ; and engaged in the discussion of the various topics which 
 were involved in these transactions, with as keen a sense of 
 business, I suspect, as any among them. The habit of suppres- 
 sing my feelings availed me sufficiently under the present cir- 
 cumstances. Kingsley said nothing on the subject of yester- 
 day's adventure, nor was I in the mood to refer to it. With 
 some effort I was cheerful ; spoke freely of indifferent topics, 
 and pleased myself with the idea of my own firmness, while per- 
 suading my hearers of my good humor and my legal ability. I 
 do not deny that I paid for these proofs of stoicism. Who does 
 not 1 There is no such thing as suppressing passions which are 
 already in action at least, there is no such thing as suppres- 
 sing them long. If the summer tempest keeps off to-day it will 
 come to-morrow, and its force and volume is always in due pro- 
 portion to the delay in its utterance. The solitudes of the for- 
 est heard my groans and agonies when man did not and the 
 venom which I kept from my lips, overflowed and poisoned the 
 very sources of life and happiness within my heart. 
 
 I gave the letter to Julia without a word. She did -not Jook 
 
VERGE OF THE PRECIPICE. 343 
 
 at me while extending the Land to receive it, and hurried to her 
 chamber without breaking the seal. I watched her departing 
 form with a vague, painful emotion of inquiry, such as would 
 possess the bouc:2i o? one, looking on a dear object, with whom 
 he felt that a disruption was hourly threatened of every earthly 
 tie. That day she ate no dinner. Her brow was clouded 
 throughout the meal. Edgerton was present, seemingly as well 
 as at his first arrival. I had learned casually from Mrs. Porter- 
 field that he h&d been in our little parlor all the morning ; while 
 another remark from the good old lady gave me a new idea of 
 the employment of my wife. 
 
 " This writing/' said she, addressing the latter, " does your 
 eyes no good. Indeed tLey look as if you had been crying 
 over your task." 
 
 " What writing 1" I asked, looking at Julia, She blushed, 
 but said nothing, and the blush passed off, leaving the sadness 
 more distinct than ever. 
 
 " Oh, she has been writing whole sheets for the last two morn- 
 ings. I v76ut in this morning to bring her out to assist me in 
 entertaining Mr. Edgerton, who looked so lonesome ; and I do 
 assure you I thought at first, from the quantity of writing, that 
 you had given her some of your law-papers to do. The table 
 was covered with it." 
 
 "Indeed!" said I "this must be looked into. It will not 
 do ibr the wife to take the husband's business from him. It 
 looks mischievous, Mrs. Porterfield there's something wrong 
 about it." 
 
 " Indeed there must be, Mr. Clifford, for only see how very 
 sad it makes her. I declare, she looks this last few weeks like 
 a very different woman. She does nothing now but mope. 
 When she first came here she seemed to me so cheerful and 
 happy." 
 
 All this was so much additional wormwood to my bitter. The 
 change in Julia, which had even struck this blind old lady, cor- 
 responded exactly with the date of Edgerton's arrival. When 
 I saw the earnest tenderness in his countenance as he watched, 
 her, while Mrs. Porterfield was speaking, I ceased to feel any 
 sympathy for the intense sadness which I yet could not but see 
 in hers. I turned away, and leaving the table soon after, weni 
 
844 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEAEi. 
 
 to our chamber, but the traces of writing wsre no longer to be 
 seen. The voluminous manuscripts had all been carefully re- 
 moved. I was about to leave the chamber when Julia met me 
 at the door. 
 
 " Come back ; sit with me," she said. " "Why do you go off 
 in such a hurry always 1 Once it was not so, Edward." 
 
 " What ! are you for the honeymoon again ?" 
 
 " Do not smile so, and speak so irreverently !" cha eaid, with 
 a reproachful earnestness that certainly seemed to me very 
 strange, thinking of her as I did. My evil spirit was silent. 
 He lacked readiness to account for it. But he was not miadroit, 
 and moved me to change the ground. 
 
 " But what long writing is this, Julia I" 
 
 " Ah ! you are curious ?" 
 
 "Scarcely." 
 
 " Tell me that you are 1" 
 
 " What ! at the expense of truth V 9 
 
 " No ! but to gratify my desire. I hoped you were ; bat, cu- 
 rious or not, it is for you." 
 
 " Let me see it, then." 
 
 " Not yet ; it is not ready." 
 
 " What ! shall there be more of it I" 
 
 " Yes, a good deal." 
 
 " Indeed ! but why take this labor ? Why not tell me what 
 you have to say V 9 
 
 " I wish I could, but I can not. Tou do not encourage me." 
 
 " What encouragement do you wish to speak to your hus- 
 band 1" 
 
 " Oh, much ! Stay with me, dear husband." 
 
 " That will keep you from your writing." 
 
 " Ah ! perhaps it will render it unnecessary." 
 
 " At all events it will keep me from mine ;" and I prepared 
 to go. She put her hand upon my shoulder looked into my 
 eyes pleadingly hers were dewy wet and spoke: 
 
 "Do not go stay with me dear husband, do stay. Stay 
 jonly for half an hour." 
 
 Why did I not stay ? I should ask that question of myself 
 in vain. When the heart grows perverse, it acquires a taste for 
 wilfulness. I, myself, longed to stay ; could I have been per 
 
VERGE OP THE PRECIPICE. 345 
 
 Buaded that she certainly desired it, I should have found my 
 sweetest pleasure in remaining. But there was the rub that 
 douht ! all that she said, looked, did, seemed, through the me- 
 dium of the blind heart, to be fraudulent. 
 
 " She would disguise her anxiety, that you should be gone. 
 Leave her, and in twenty minutes she and Edgerton will be 
 together." 
 
 Such was the whisper of my demon. I did leave her. I 
 went forth for an hour into the woods returned suddenly and 
 found them together ! They were playing chess, Mrs. Porter- 
 field, with all her spectacles, watching the game. I did not 
 ask, and did not know, till afterward, that the express solicita- 
 tion of the old lady had drawn her from her chamber, and placed 
 her at the table. The conjecture of the evil spirit proved so far 
 correct, and this increased my confidence in his whispers. Alas ! 
 liow readily do we yield our faith to the spirit of hate ! how 
 slow to believe the pure and gentle assurances of love ! 
 
 Three days passed after this fashion. Edgerton no longer 
 expressed indisposition, yet he made no offer to depart. I took 
 care that neither word nor action should remind him of his tres- 
 pass. I gave the parties every opportunity, and exhibited the 
 manner of an indifference which was free from all disquiet all 
 suspicion. The sadness, meanwhile, increased upon the coun- 
 tenance of Julia. She gazed at me in particular with a look of 
 earnestness amounting to distress. This I ascribed to the 
 strength of her passions. There was even at moments a harsh- 
 ness in her tones when addressing me now, which was unusual 
 to her. I found some reason for this, equally unfavorable to 
 her fidelity. After dinner I said to Edgerton : 
 
 " You are scarcely strong enough for a bout at the bottle. I 
 take wine with Kingsley this afternoon. He has commissioned 
 me to ask you." 
 
 " I dare not venture, but that should not keep you away." 
 
 " It will not," I said indifferently. 
 
 ' Thank him for me, if you please, but tell him it will not do 
 for one so much an invalid as myself." 
 
 " Very good !" and I left him, and joined Kingsley. The 
 business of this friend being now in a fair train for final adjust- 
 ment, he was preparing for his return to Texas. He had not 
 
 15* 
 
346 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 been at my lodgings since Edgerton's arrival in M , but we 
 
 had seen each other, nevertheless, almost every day at his or at 
 my office. Our afternoon was rather merry than cheerful. 
 Heaven knows I was in no mood to be a Ion compagnon, but I 
 took sufficient pains that Kingsley should not suspect I had any 
 reasons for being otherwise. I had my jest I emptied my 
 oottle I said my good things, and seemed to say them without 
 effort. Kingsley, always cheerful and strong-minded, was in 
 his best vein, and mingling wit and reflection happily together, 
 maintained the ball of conversation with equal ease and felicity. 
 He had the happy knack of saying happy things quietly of 
 waiting for, and returning the ball, without running after it. 
 At another time, I should have been content simply to have 
 provoked him. Now, I was quite too miserable not to seek em- 
 ployment ; and to disguise feelings, which I should have been 
 ashamed to expose, I contrived to take the lead and almost grew 
 voluble in the frequency of my utterance. Perhaps, if Kingsley 
 failed in any respect as a philosopher, it was in forbearing to 
 look with sufficient keenness of observation into the heart of his 
 neighbor. He evidently did not see into mine. He was de- 
 ceived by my manner. He credited all my fun to good faith, 
 and gravely pronounced me to be a fortunate fellow. 
 
 " How ?" I demanded with a momentary cessation of the jest. 
 His gravity and to me the strange error in such an obser- 
 vation excited my curiosity 
 
 " In your freedom from jealousy." 
 
 " Oh ! that, eh 1 But why should I be jealous ?" 
 
 " It is not exactly why a man should be jealous but why, 
 knowing what men are, usually, that you are not. Nine men 
 in ten would be so under your circumstances T* 
 
 " How, what circumstances ?" 
 
 "With Edgerton in your house evidently fond of your 
 wife, you leave them utterly to themselves. You bring him into 
 your house unnecessarily, and give him every opportunity. I 
 still think you risk everything imprudently. You may pay 
 for it." 
 
 I felt a strange sickness at my heart. I felt that the flame 
 was beginning to boil up within me. The perilous turning-point 
 of passion the crisis of strength and endurance was at hand. 
 
VERGE OF THE PRECIPICE. 347 
 
 My eyes settled gloomily upon the table. I was silent longei 
 than usual. I felt that, and 1 coked up. The keen glance of 
 Kingsley was upon me. It would not do to snffer him to read 
 my feelings. I replied with scms precipitation : 
 
 " I see, Kingsley, you are not cured of your prejudices against 
 Edgerton." 
 
 " I am not I have eeen nothing to cure me. But my preju- 
 dice against him, has nothing to do with, xny opinion of your 
 prudence. Were it any other man, the case would be the 
 same." 
 
 " Well, but I do not tLink it so clear that Edgerton loves my 
 wife more than is natural and proper." 
 
 "Of the naturalress of his love I say nothing perhaps, 
 nothing could b? more natural. But that he does love her, and 
 loves her as no married woman should be loved, by ancthar than 
 her husband, is cUar enough." 
 
 " Suppose, then, it be as you say ! So long as he does noth- 
 ing improperly, there is nothing to be said. There is no evil." 
 
 " Ah, but there is evil. There is danger." 
 
 " How 1 I do not see." 
 
 " Suppose your wife makes the same discovery which other 
 persons have made 1 Suppose she finds out that Edgerton loves 
 her r 
 
 "Well what then?" 
 
 " She can not remain uninfluenced by it. It will affect her 
 feelings sensibly in some way. No creature in the world can 
 remain insensible to the attachment of another." 
 
 " Indeed ! Why, agreeable to that doctrine, there could be 
 no security from principle. There could be no virtue certain 
 nay, not eve^i love." 
 
 " Do not nnetaka me. When I say she would be influenced 
 I do not mean to eay that she would be so influenced as to 
 requite the illicit sentiment. Far from it. But she must pity 
 or she must scorn. She may despise or she may deplore. In 
 either case her feelings would be aroused, and in either case 
 would produce uneasiness if not unhappiness. I know, Clifford, 
 that your wife perceives the passion of Edgerton I am confi- 
 dent, also, that it has influenced her feelings. What may be 
 the sentiment produced by this influence I do not pretend to 
 
848 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 say. I would not insinuate that it is more than would be natu- 
 ral to the breast of any virtuous woman. She may pity or she 
 may scorn she may despise or she may deplore. I know not. 
 But, in either case, I regard your bringing Edgerton into the 
 house and conferring upon him so many opportunities, as being 
 calculated either to make yourself or your wife miserable. In 
 either event you have done wrong. Look to it remedy it as 
 soon as you can," 
 
 My face burned like fire. My eyes were fixed upon the table. 
 I dared not look upon my companion. When I spoke, I felt a 
 choking difficulty in my utterance which compelled me to speak 
 loud to be understood, and which yet left my speech thick, 
 husky, and unnatural. 
 
 " Say no more, Kingsley. What you have said disturbs me 
 Nay, I acknowledge, I have been disturbed before. Perhaps, 
 indeed, I know more than yourself. Time will show. At all 
 events, be sure of one thing. These opportunities, if what you 
 Bay be true, afford an ordeal through which it is necessary that 
 the parties should now go if it be only to afford the necessary 
 degree of relief to my mind. Enough has been seen to excite 
 suspicion enough has been done, you yourself think, to awaken 
 the feelings of my wife. Those feelings must now be tried. 
 Opportunity will do this. She must go through the trial. I 
 am not blind as you suppose. Nay, I am watchful, and I tell 
 you, Kingsley, that the time approaches when all my doubts 
 must cease one way or the other." 
 
 "But I still think, Clifford " he began. 
 
 " No more, Kingsley. I tell you, matters must go on. Ed- 
 gerton can now only be driven from my house by my wife. If 
 she expels him, I shall be too happy not to forgive him. But 
 if she makes it necessary that ths expulsion shall be effected by 
 my hands, and with violence G-cd have mercy upon both of 
 them, for I shall not. Good nigLt!" 
 
 " But why will you go ? Stay awhile longer. Be not rash 
 do nothing precipitately, Clifford." 
 
 I smiled bitterly in leplying: 
 
 " You need not foar me. Have I not proved myself patient 
 patient until you pronounced me cold and indifferent 1 ? Why 
 should you s-ippose that, having waited and forborne so long. 
 
OF THE PRECIPICE 349 
 
 I should be guilty of rashness now ? No, Kingsley ! My wife 
 is very dear to me how dear I will not say; I will be delib- 
 erate for her sake for my own. I will be sure, very sure 
 quite sure; but, once sure! Good night." 
 
 Kingsley followed me to the door. His last injunctions ex- 
 horted me to forbearance and deliberation. I silenced them by 
 a significant repetition of the single words, " Good night good 
 night !" and hurried, with every feeling of anxiety and jealousy 
 awakened, in the direction of my cottage. 
 
350 CONFESSION^ OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE UNBRIDLED MADNESS. 
 
 THE night did not promise to be a good one. The clouds 
 were scudding wildly from east to west. The air was moist 
 and chill. There was no light from moon or stars, and I strode 
 with difficulty, though still rapidly, through the unpaved streets. 
 I was singularly and painfully excited by the conversation with 
 Kingsley. My own experience before, had prepared me to be- 
 come so, with the slightest additional provocation. Facts were 
 rapidly accumulating to confirm my fears, and lessen my doubts. 
 That dark, meaning letter of Mrs. Delaney ! The adventure 
 in the streamlet. The scream the look the secrecy ! What 
 a history seemed to be compressed in these few topics. 
 
 I hurried forward I was now among the trees. I had al- 
 most to grope my way, it was so dark. I was helped forward 
 by some governing instincts. My fiend was busy all the while. 
 I fancied, now, that there was something exulting in his tone. 
 But he drove me forward without forbearance. I felt that these' 
 clouds in the sky this gloom and excitement in my heart 
 were not for nothing. Every gust of wind brought to me some 
 whisper of fear ; and there seemed a constant murmur among 
 the trees one burden whose incessant utterance was only 
 shame and wo. How completely the agony of one's spirit 
 sheds its tone of horror upon the surrounding world. How the 
 flowers wither as our hearts wither how sickly grows sunlight 
 and moonlight, in our despair how lonely and utter sad is the 
 breath of winds, when our bosoms are about to be laid bare 
 of hope and sustenance by the brooding tempest of our 
 sorrows. 
 
 I had a terrible prescience of some dreadful experience 
 which awaited me as I drove forward. Obstructions of tree 
 and shrub, and tangled vines, encountered me, but did not long 
 
THE UNBRIDLED MADNESS. 61 
 
 arrest, and I really felt them not. I put tLesn aside without a 
 consciousness. 
 
 At length a glimmering light informed me I was near the 
 cottage. I could see the heavy dark masses of foliage that 
 crowded before the entrance. The light was in the parlor. 
 There was also one in the room of Mrs. Porterfield. Ours, 
 which was on the same floor with hers, was *in darkness. I 
 never experienced sensations more like those of a drunken man 
 than when, working my way cautiously among the trees, I ap- 
 proached the window The glasses were down, possibly in 
 consequence of the violence of the gust. But there was one 
 thing unusual. The curtains were also down at both windows. 
 These curtains were half-curtains cnl.y. They fell from the 
 upper edge of the lower sash, and wars simply meant to protect 
 the inmates from the casual glance of persons in front. The 
 house was on an elevation of two or three feet from the ground. 
 It was impossible to see into the apartment unless I could raise 
 rayself at least that much above my own stature. I looked 
 around me for a stump, bench, block anything; but iLe^ts 
 was nothing, or in the darkness I failed to find it. Tt: Camber 
 up against the side of the house would have disturbed the in- 
 mates. I ascended a tree, and buriscl within its leaves, looked 
 directly into the apartment. 
 
 They were together! alone ! at the eternal chess! Julia 
 sat upon the sofa. Edgerton in front of her. A small table 
 stood between tlum. I had arrived at an opportune moment. 
 Julia's hand was extended to the board. I saw the very piece 
 it rested upon. It was the white queen ; but, just at that mo- 
 ment nothing could be more clearly visible the hand of 
 Edgerton was laid upon hers. She instantly withdrew it, and 
 looked upward. Her face was the color of carnation flushed 
 so said my demon, with the overwhelming passions in her 
 breast. The next ?.on..snt the table was thrust aside the 
 chess-men tumbled Lpon the floor, and Edgerton kneeling be- 
 fore my wife had grasped her about the waist, and was drag- 
 ging her to his knee. 
 
 I saw no more. A sudden darkness passed over my eyes. A 
 keen, quick, thrilling pang went through my whole frame, and I 
 fell from the tree, upon the earth below, in utter unconsciousness 
 
352 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 FATAL SILENCE. 
 
 B and cruel destiny ! When everything depended 
 r.pon my firmness, I was overwhelmed by feebleness. It seemed 
 as if I had not before believed that this terrible moment of 
 confirmation would come. And yet, if anybody could have 
 been prepared for such a discovery, I should have been. I had 
 biooded ever it for months. A thousand times had my imagi- 
 nation pictured it to me in the most vivid and fearful aspect. 
 I fancied that I should have been steeled Ly conviction against 
 every other feeling but that of vengeance. But in reality, my 
 hope was so sanguine, i^y love for Julia so fervent, I did not, 
 amidst all my fears, really believe that such a thing could ever 
 prove true. All my boasted planning and preparation, and es- 
 pionage, had only deceived myself. I believed, at worst, that 
 Julia might be brought to love William Edgerton, but that he 
 would presume to give utterance to his L ve, and that she would 
 submit to listen, was not truly within my belief. I had not 
 been prepared for this, however much, in my last interview with 
 Kingsley, I had professed myself to be. 
 
 But had she submitted 1 That was still a question. I had 
 seen nothing beyond what I have stated. His audacious hand 
 had rested upon hers his impious arm had encircled her waist, 
 and then my blindness and darkness followed, I was struck as 
 completely senseless, and fell from the tree with >,g little seem- 
 ing life, as if a sudden bullet had traversed my heart. 
 
 In this state I lay. How long I know not it must have 
 been for several hours. I was brought to consciousness by a 
 
FATAL SILENCE. 353 
 
 sense of cold. I was benumbed a steady rain was falling, 
 and from the condition of my clothes, which were completely 
 saturated, must have been falling for some time previous. I 
 rose with pain and difficulty to rny feet. I was still as one 
 stunned and stupified, by one of those extremes of suffering for 
 which the overcharged heart can find no sufficient or sufficient- 
 ly rapid method of relief. When I rose, the light was no longer 
 in the parlor. The parties were withdrawn. 
 
 Horrible thought ! That I should have failed at that trying 
 moment. I knew everything I knew nothing. It was still 
 possible that Julia had repulsed him. I had seen his audacity 
 only was it followed by her guilt ? How shall that be known 1 
 I could answer this question as Kingsley would have answered it. 
 
 " If your wife be honest, she must now reveal the truth. 
 She can no longer forbear. The proceeding of Edgerton hns 
 been too decided, and she shares his guilt if she longer keeps it 
 secret. The wife who submits to this form of insult, without 
 seeking protection where alone it may be found, clearly shows 
 that the offence is grateful to her that she deems it no insult." 
 
 That, then, shall be the test ! So I determined. Edgerton 
 must be punished. There is no escape. But for her if she 
 does not seek the earliest occasion to reveal the truth, she is 
 guilty beyond doubt doomed beyond redemption. 
 
 I entered the house with difficulty. I was as feeble as if I 
 had been under the hands of the physician for weeks. A light 
 was burning on the staircase. I took it and went into the par- 
 lor, which I narrowly examined. There were no remaining 
 proofs of the late disorder. The table was set against the wall. 
 The chess-men were all gathered up, and neatly put away in 
 the box, which stood upon the mantel. 
 
 " There is proof of coolness and deliberation here !" I mut- 
 tered to myself, as I took my way up-stairs. When I entered 
 my chamber, I felt a pang, the fore-runner of a spasm. I had 
 been for several years afflicted with these spasms, in great or 
 small degree. They marked every singular mental excitement 
 under which I labored. It was no doubt one of these spasms 
 which had seized and overpowered me while I sat within the 
 tree. Never before had I suffered from one so severe ; but the 
 violence of this was naturnlly due to the extreme of agony as 
 
354 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 sudden as it was terrible which seized upon my soul. My 
 physician had provided me with a remedy against these attacks 
 to which I was accustomed to resort. This, though a potent 
 remedy, was also a potent poison. It was a medicine called 
 the hydrocyanic or prussic acid. Five minims was a dose, hut 
 two drops were death. I went to the medicine-case which 
 stood beneath the head of the bed, with the view to getting out 
 the vial ; but my wife started up eagerly as I approached, and 
 with trembling accents, demanded what was the matter. She 
 saw me covered with mud and soaking with water. I told her 
 that I had got wet coming homeward and had slipped down 
 the hill. 
 
 "Why did you stay so late why not come home sooner, 
 dear husband ?" 
 
 " Hypocrite !" I muttered while stooping down for the chest, 
 
 'You are sick you have your spasms!" she now said, 
 rising from the bed and offering to measure the medicine. This 
 she had repeatedly done before ; but I was not now willing to 
 trust her. Doubts of her fidelity led to other doubts. 
 
 " If she is prepared to dishonor, she is prepared to destroy 
 you !" said my familiar. 
 
 This suggestion seized upon my brain, and while I measured 
 out the minims, the busy fiend reminded me that I grasped the 
 bane as well as the antidote in my hand. A stern, a terrible 
 image of retributive justice presented itself before my thoughts. 
 The feeling of an awful necessity grew strong within me. 
 " Shall the adulterer alone perish ? Shall the adultress escape?" 
 The fiend answered with tremulous but stern passion "She 
 shall surely die !" 
 
 " If she reveals not the truth in season," I said in my secret 
 soul ; " if she claims not protection at my hands against the 
 adulterer, she shall share his fate !" and with this resolve, even 
 at the moment when I was measuring the antidote for myself, I 
 resolved that the same vial should furnish the bane for her ! 
 
 The medicine relieved me, though not with the same prompt- 
 ness as usual. I looked at the watch and found it two o'clock. 
 My wife begged me to come to bed, but that was impossible. 
 I proceeded to change my garments. By the time that I had 
 finished, the rain ceased, the stars came out, the morning prom- 
 
THE FATAL SILENCE. 355 
 
 ised to be clear. I determined to set forth from my office. I 
 had no particular purpose ; hut I felt that I could not meditate 
 where she was. She continually spoke to me always tenderly 
 and with great earnestness. 1 pleaded my spasms as a reason 
 for not lying down. But I lingered. I was as unwilling to go 
 as to stay. I longed to hear her narrative ; and, once or twice, 
 I fancied that ehe wished to tell me something. But she did 
 not. I waited till near daylight, in order that she should have 
 every opportunity, but she said little beyond making profes- 
 sions of love, and imploring me to come to bed. 
 
 In sheer despair, at last, I went out, taking my pistol-case, 
 unperceived by her, under my arm. I went to my office where 
 I locked it up. There I seated myself, brooding in a very 
 whirlwind of thought, until after daylight. 
 
 When the sun had risen, I went to a man in the neighbor- 
 hood who hired out vehicles. I ordered a close carriage to be 
 at my door by a certain hour, immediately after breakfast. I 
 then despatched a note to Kingsley, saying briefly that Edger- 
 ton and myself would call for him at nine. I then returned 
 home. My wife had arisen, but had not left the chamber. She 
 pleaded headache and indisposition, and declined coming out to 
 breakfast. She seemed very sad and unhappy, not to say 
 greatly disquieted appearances which I naturally attributed 
 to guilt. For still she said nothing. I lingered near her on 
 various small pretences in the hope to hear her speak. I even 
 made several approaches which, I fancied, might tend to pro- 
 voke the wished-for revelation. Indeed, it was wished for as 
 ardently as over soul wished for the permission to live prayed 
 for as sinceiely as the dying man prays for respite, and the tem- 
 porary remission of his doom. 
 
 In vain ! My wife said little, and nothing to the purpose. 
 The moments became seriously short. Could she have anything 
 to say 1 Was it possible that, being innocent, she should still 
 lock up the guilty secret in her bosom ? She could not be in- 
 nocent to do so ! This conclusion seemed inevitable. In order 
 that she should have no plea of discouragement, I spoke to her 
 with great tenderness of manner, with a more than usual display 
 of feeling. It was no mere show. I felt all that I said and 
 looked. I knew that a trying and terrible event was at hand 
 
356 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEAR?. 
 
 an event painful to us both and all my love for her revived 
 with tenfold earnestness. Oh ! how I longed to take her into 
 my arms, and warn her tenderly of the consequences of her er- 
 ror ; but this, of course, was impossible. But, short of this, I 
 did everything that I thought likely to induce her confidence. 
 I talked familiarly to her, and fondly, with an effort at childlike 
 simplicity and earnestness, in the hope that, by thus renewing 
 the dearest relations of ease and happiness between us, she 
 should be beguiled into her former trusting readiness of speech. 
 She met my fondnesses with equal fondness. It seemed to give 
 her particular pleasure that I should be thus fond. In her em- 
 brace, requiting mine, she clung to me ; and her tears dropping 
 warm upon my hands, were yet attended by smiles of the most 
 hearty delight. A thousand times she renewed the assurances 
 of her love and attachment nay, she even went so far as ten- 
 derly to upbraid me that our moments of endearment were so 
 few ; yet, in spite of all this, she still forbore the one only 
 subject. She still said nothing ; and as I knew how much 
 she could say and ought to say, which she did not say, I could 
 not resist the conviction that her tears were those of the croco- 
 dile, and her assurances of love the glozing commonplaces of 
 the harlot. 
 
 In silence she suffered me to leave her for the breakfast-table. 
 She looked, it is true but what had I to do with looks, how- 
 ever earnest and devoted 1 I went from her slowly. When 
 on the stairs, fancying I had heard her voice, I returned, but 
 she had not called me. She was still silent. Full of sadness I 
 left her, counting slowly and sadly every step which I took 
 from her presence. 
 
 Edgerton was already at table. He looked very wretched 
 I observed him closely. His eye shrunk from the encounter of 
 mine. His looks answered sufficiently for his guilt. I said to 
 him : 
 
 " I have to ride out a little ways in the country this morning, 
 and count upon your company. I trust you feel well enough to 
 go with me 1 Indeed, it will do you good." 
 
 Of course, my language and manner were stripped of every- 
 thing that might alarm his fears. He hesitated, but complied. 
 The carriage was at the door before we had finished breakfast ; 
 
THE FATAL SILENCE. 357 
 
 and with no other object than simply to afford her another op- 
 portunity for the desired revelation, I once more went up to my 
 wife's chamber. Here I lingered fully ten minutes, affecting to 
 search for a paper in trunks where I knew it could not be found. 
 While thus engaged I spoke to her frequently and fondly. She 
 did not need the impulse to make her revelation, except in her own 
 heart. The occasion was unemployed. She suffered me once 
 more to depart in silence ; and this time I felt as if the word of 
 utter and inevitable wo had been spoken. The hour had gone 
 by for ever. I could no longer resist the conviction of her 
 shameless guilt. All her sighs and tears, professions of love and 
 devotion, the fond tenacity of her embrace, the deep-seated 
 earnestness and significance in her looks all went for nothing 
 in her failure to utter the one only, and all-important communi- 
 cation. 
 
 Let no woman, on any pretext, however specious, deceive 
 herself with the fatal error, that she can safely harbor, unspoken 
 to her husband, the secret of any insult, or base approach, of 
 another to herself! 
 
358 CONFESSION, OE THE BLIND HEABT. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 TOO LATE ! 
 
 EDGERTON announced himself to be in readiness, and, at the 
 same time, declared his intention to withdraw at once from 
 our hospitality and return to his old lodging-house. He had 
 already given instructions to his servant for the removal of 
 his things. 
 
 "What!" I said with a feeling of irony, which did not 
 make itself apparent in my speech " you are tired of our 
 hospitality, Edgerton ? We have not treated you well, I am 
 afraid." 
 
 " Yes," he muttered faintly, " too well. I have every reason 
 to be gratified and grateful. No reason to complain." 
 
 He forced himself to say something more by way of ac- 
 knowledgment ; bnt to this I gave little heed. We drove first 
 to Kingsley's, and took him up ; then, to my office, where I got 
 out, and, entering the office, wrapped up my pistol-case care- 
 fully in a newspaper, so that the contents might not be conjec- 
 tured, and bringing it forth, thrust it into the boot of the car 
 riage. 
 
 " What have you got there ?" demanded Kingsley. 
 
 " Something for digestion," was my reply. " We may be 
 kept late." 
 
 " You are wise enough to be a traveller," said Kingsley ; and 
 without further words we drove on. I fancied that when I put 
 the case into the vehicle, Edgerton looked somewhat suspicious. 
 That he was uneasy was evident enough. He could not well 
 be otherwise. The consciousness of guilt was enough to make 
 
TOO LATH! 359 
 
 him so ; and then there was but little present sympathy between 
 himself and Kingsley, 
 
 I had already given the driver instructions. He carried us 
 
 into the loneliest spot of woods some four miles from M , and 
 
 in a direction very far from the beaten track. 
 
 " What brings you into this quarter ?" demanded Kingsley. 
 " What business have you here 1" 
 
 " We stop here," I said as the carriage drove up. " I have 
 some land to choose and measure here. Shall we alight, 
 gentlemen ?" 
 
 I took the pistol-case in my hands and led the way. They 
 followed me. The carriage remained. We went on together 
 several hundred yards until I fancied we should be quite safe 
 from interruption. We were in a dense forest. At a little dis- 
 tance was a small stretch of tolerably open pine land, which 
 seemed to answer the usual purposes. Here I paused and con- 
 fronted them. 
 
 " Mr. Kingsley," I said without further preliminaries, " I have 
 taken the liberty of bringing you here, as the most honorable 
 man I know, in order that you should witness the adjustment 
 of at affair of honor between Mr. Edgerton and myself." 
 
 As I spoke I unrolled the pistol-case. Edgerton grew pale 
 as death, but remained silent. Kingsley was evidently aston- 
 ished, but not so much so as to forbear the obvious answer. 
 
 "How! an affair of honor? Is this inevitable necessary, 
 Clifford 1" 
 
 "Absolutely!" 
 
 " In no way to be adjusted 1" 
 
 " In but one ! This man has dishonored me in the dearest 
 relations of my household." 
 
 "Ha! can it be?" 
 
 " Too true ! There is no help for it now. I am dealing with 
 him still as a man of honor. I should have been justified in 
 shooting him down like a dog as one shoots down the reptile 
 that crawls to the cradle of his children. I give him an equal 
 chance for life." 
 
 " It is only what I feared !" said Kingsley, looking at 4 Edger- 
 ton as he spoke. 
 
 The latter had staggered back against a tree. Big drops of 
 
360 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 sweat stood upon his brows. His Lead hung down. Still lie 
 was silent. I gave the weapons to Kingsley, who proceeded to 
 charge them. 
 
 "I will not fight you, Clifford!" exclaimed the criminal with 
 husky accents. 
 
 "You must!" 
 
 "I can not I dare not I will not! You may shoot me 
 down where I stand. I have wronged you. I dare not lift 
 weapon at your breast." 
 
 " Wretch ! say not this !" I answered. " You must make the 
 atonement." 
 
 " Be it so ! Shoot me ! You are right ! I am ready to die." 
 
 " No, William Edgerton, no ! You must not refuse me the 
 only atonement you can make. You must not couple that atone- 
 ment with a sting. Hear me ! You have violated the rites of 
 hospitality, the laws of honor and of manhood, and grossly 
 abused all the obligations of friendship. These offences would 
 amply justify me in taking your life without scruple, and with- 
 out exposing my own to any hazard. But my soul revolts at 
 this. I remember the past our boyhood together and the 
 parental kindness of your venerated parent. These deprive 
 me of a portion of that bitterness which would otherwise have 
 moved me to destroy you. Take the pistol. If life is nothing 
 to you, it is as little to me now. Use the privilege which I give 
 you, and I shall be satisfied with the event." 
 
 He shook his head while he repeated : 
 
 " No ! I can not. Say no more, Clifford. I deserve death !" 
 
 I clapped the pistol to his head. He folded his arms, lifted 
 his eyes, and regarded me more steadily than he had done for 
 months before. Kingsley struck up my arm, as I was cocking 
 the weapon. 
 
 " He must die 1" I exclaimed fiercely. 
 
 " Yes, that is certain !" replied the other. " But I am not 
 willing that I should be brought here as the witness to a mur- 
 der. If he will fight you, I will see you through. If he will 
 not fight you, there needs no witness to your shooting him. 
 You have no right, Clifford, to require this of me." 
 
 " You are not a coward, William Edgerton ?" 
 
 " Coward !" he exclaimed, and his form rose to its fullest 
 
TOO LATBJ 361 
 
 height, and his eye flashed out the fires of a manhood, which 
 of late he had not often shown. 
 
 " Coward ! No ! Do I not tell you shoot 1 I do not fear 
 death. Nay, let me say to you, Clifford, I long for it. Life 
 has been a long torture to me is still a torture. It can not 
 now be otherwise. Take it you will see me smile in the 
 death agony." 
 
 " Hear me William Edgerton, and submit to my will. You 
 know not half your wrong. You drove me from my home 
 my birthplace. When I was about to sacrifice you for your 
 
 previous invasion of my peace in C , I looked on your old 
 
 father, I heard the story of his disappointment his sorrows 
 and you were the cause. I determined to spare you to banish 
 myself rather, in order to avoid the necessity of taking your 
 life. You were not satisfied with having wrought this result. 
 You have pursued me to the woods, where my cottage once 
 more began to blossom with the fruits of peace and love. You 
 trample upon its peace you renew your indignities and per- 
 fidies here. You drive me to desperation and fill my habitation 
 with disgrace. Will you deny me then what I ask ? Will 
 you refuse me the atonement any atonement which I may 
 demand ?" 
 
 " No, Clifford !" he replied, after a pause in which he seemed 
 subdued with shame and remorse. ** You shall have it as you 
 wish. I will fight you. I am all that you declare. I am 
 guilty of the wrong you urge against me. I knew not, till 
 
 now, that I had been the cause of your flight from C . Had 
 
 I known that I" 
 
 Kingsley offered him the pistol. 
 
 " No !" he said, putting it aside. " Not now ! I will give you 
 this atonement this afternoon. At this moment I can not. I 
 must write. I must make another atonement. Your claim for 
 justice, Clifford, must not preclude my settlement of the claims 
 of others." 
 
 " Mine must have preference !" 
 
 " It shall ! The atonement which I propose to make shall 
 be one of repentance. You would not deny me the melancholy 
 privilege of saying a few last words to my wretched parents t" 
 
 "No! no! no!" 
 
 16 
 
362 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 " I thank you, Clifford. Come for me at four to my lodgings 
 bring Mr. Kingsley with you. You will find me ready to 
 atone, and to save you every unnecessary pang in doing so." 
 
 This ended our conference. Kingsley rode home with him, 
 while, throwing myself upon the ground, I surrendered myself 
 to such meditations as were natural to the moods which govern- 
 ed me. They were dark and dismal enough. Edgerton had 
 avowed his guilt. Could there be any doubt on the subject of 
 my wife's ? He had made no sort of qualification in his avow- 
 al of guilt, which might acquit her. He had evidently made 
 his confession with the belief that I was already in possession 
 of the whole truth. One hope alone remained that my wife's 
 voluntary declaration would still be forthcoming. To that I 
 clung as the drowning man to his last plank. When Kingsley 
 and Edgerton first left me, I had resolved to waste the hours 
 in the woods and not to return home until after my final meet- 
 ing in the afternoon with the latter. It might be that I should 
 not return home then, and in such an event I was not unwilling 
 that my wife should still live, the miserable thing which she had 
 made herself. But, with the still fond hope that she might 
 speak, and speak in season, I now resolved to return at the 
 usual 'dinner hour; and, timing myself accordingly, I prolonged 
 my wanderings through the woods until noon. I then set 
 forward, and reached the cottage a little sooner than I had ex- 
 pected. 
 
 I found Julia in bed. She complained of headache and fever. 
 She had already taken medicine I sat beside her. I spoke 
 to her in the tenderest language. ' I felt, at the moment when I 
 feared to lose her for ever, that I could love nothing half so well. 
 I spoke to her with as much freedom as fondness ; and, moment- 
 ly expecting her to make the necessary revelation, I hung upon 
 her slightest words, and hung upon them only to be disappointed. 
 
 The dinner hour came. The meal was finished. I returned 
 to the chamber, and once more resumed my place beside her on 
 the couch. I strove to inspire her with confidence to awaken 
 her sensibilities to beguile her to the desired utterance, but 
 in vain. Of course I could give no hint whatsoever of the 
 knowledge which I had obtained. After that, her confession 
 
TOO LATE! 363 
 
 would have been no longer voluntary, and could no longer have 
 been credited. 
 
 Time sped too rapidly as I thought. Though anxious for 
 vengeance, I loved her too fondly not to desire to delay the 
 minutes in the earnest expectation that she would speak at 
 last. She did not. The hour approached of my meeting with 
 Edgerton ; and then I felt that Edgerton was not the only 
 criminal. 
 
 Mrs. Porterfield just then brought in some warm tea, and 
 placed it on the table at the bed head. After a few moments' 
 delay, she left us alone together. The eyes of my wife were 
 averted. The vial of prussic acid stood on the same table with 
 the tea. I rose from the couch, interposed my person between 
 it and the table and, taking up the poison, deliberately pour- 
 ed three drops into the beverage. I never did anything more 
 firmly. Yet I was not the less miserable, because I was most 
 firm. My nerve was that of the executioner who carries out a 
 just judgment. This done, I put the vial into my pocket. 
 Julia then spoke to me. I turned to her with eagerness. I was 
 prepared to cast the vessel of tea from the window. It was 
 my hope that she was about to speak, though late, the neces- 
 sary truths. But she only called to me to know if I had been 
 to my office during the morning. 
 
 " Not since nine o'clock," was my answer. " Why ?" 
 
 "Nothing. But are you going to your office now, dear 
 husband?" 
 
 " Not directly. I shall possibly be there in the course of the 
 afternoon. What do you wish 1 Why do you ask ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing," she replied ; " but I will tell you to-morrow 
 why I ask." 
 
 " To-morrow 1 tell me now, if it be anything of moment. 
 Now S now is the appointed time !" The serious language of 
 Scripture became natural to me in the agonizing situation in 
 which I stood. 
 
 " No ! no ! to-morrow will do. I will not gratify your curi- 
 osity. You are too curious, husband ;" and she turned from 
 me, smiling, upon the couch. 
 
 I felt that what she might tell me to-morrow could have 
 nothing to do with the affair between herself ani 
 
864 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 That could be no object for jest and merriment. I turned 
 from her slowly, with a feeling at my heart which was nat ex- 
 actly madness for I knew then what I was doing but it was 
 just the feeling to make me doubtful how long I should be se- 
 cure from madness. 
 
 " To-morrow will not do," I muttered to myself as I descend- 
 ed the stairs. " Too late ! too late !" 
 
SUICIDE. 365 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 SUICIDE. 
 
 FROM the cottage I proceeded to Kingsley's. He was in 
 readiness, and waiting me. We drove directly to Edgerton's 
 lodging-house, the appointed hour of four being at hand. 
 Kingsley only alighted from the carriage, and entered the 
 dwelling. He was absent several minutes. When he returned, 
 he returned alone. 
 
 " Edgerton is either asleep or has gone out. His room-door 
 is locked. The landlord called and knocked, but received no 
 answer. He lacks manliness, and I suspect has fled. The 
 steamboat went at two." 
 
 "Impossible!" I exclaimed, leaping from the carriage. "I 
 know Edgerton better. I can not think he would fly, after the 
 solemn pledge he gave me." 
 
 " You have only thought too well of him always," said the 
 other, as we entered the house. 
 
 " Let us go to the room together," I said to the landlord. " I 
 fear something wrong." 
 
 " Well, so do I," responded the publican. " The poor gentle- 
 man has been looking very badly, and sometimes gets into a 
 strange wild taking, and then he goes along seeing nobody. 
 Only last Saturday I said to my old woman, as how I thought 
 everything warn't altogether right here" and the licensed 
 sinner touched his head with his fore-finger, himself looking 
 the very picture of well-satisfied sagacity. We said nothing; 
 but leaving the eloquence to him, followed him up to Edgerton'i 
 chamber. I struck the door thrice with the butt end of my 
 whip, then called his name, but without receiving any answer. 
 
#66 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 Endeavoring to look through the key -hole, I discovered the key 
 on the inside, and within the lock. I then immediately conjec- 
 tured the truth. William Edgerton had committed suicide. 
 
 And so it was. We burst the door, and found him suspended 
 by a silk handkerchief to a beam that traversed the apartment. 
 He had raised himself upon a chair, which he had kicked over 
 after the knot had been adjusted. Such a proceeding evinced 
 the most determined resolution. 
 
 We took him down with all despatch, but life had already 
 been long extinct. He must have been hanging two hours, 
 His face was perfectly livid his eyeballs dilated his mouth 
 distorted but the neck remained unbroken. He had died by 
 suffocation. I pass over the ordinary proceedings the conster- 
 nation, the clamor, the attendance of the grave-looking gen- 
 tlemen with lancet and lotion. They did a great deal, of course, 
 in doing nothing. Nothing could be done. Then followed 
 the " crowner's" inquest. A paper, addressed to the landlord, 
 was submitted to them, and formed the burden of their report. 
 
 " I die by my own hands," said this document, " that I may 
 lose the sense of pain, bodily and mental. I die at peace with 
 the world. It has never wronged me. I am the source of my 
 own sorrows, as I am the cause of my own death. I will not 
 say that I die sane. I am doubtful on that head. I am sure 
 that I have been the victim of a sort of madness for a very 
 long time. This has led me to do wrong, and to meditate wrong 
 has made me guilty of many things, which, in my better mo- 
 ments of mind and body, I should have shrunk from in horror. 
 I write this that nobody may be suspected of sharing in a deed 
 the blame of which must rest on my head only." 
 
 Then followed certain apologies to the landlord for having 
 made his house the scene of an event so shocking. The same 
 paper also conveyed certain presents of personal stuff to the 
 same person, with thanks for his courtesy and attention. An 
 adequate sum of money, paying his bill, and the expenses of his 
 funeral, was left in his purse, upon the paper. 
 
 Kingsley assumed the final direction of these affairs ; and 
 having seen everything in a fair way for the funeral, which was 
 appointed to take place the next morning, he hurried me away 
 to his lodging-house. 
 
fJOEFESSION OP 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 CONFESSION OF EDGERTON. 
 
 WHEN within his chamber, he carefully fastened the door 
 and placed a packet in my hands. 
 
 "This is addressed to you," he said. "I found it on the 
 table with other papers, and seeing the address, and fearing 
 that if the jury laid eyes on it, they might insist on knowing 
 its contents, I thrust it into my pocket and said nothing about 
 it there. Eead it at your leisure, while I smoke a cigar below." 
 
 He left me, and I opened the seal with a sense of misgiving 
 and apprehension for which I could not easily account. The 
 outer packet was addressed to myself. But the envelope con- 
 tained several other papers, one of which was addressed to hia 
 father; another a small billet, unsealed bore the name of 
 my wife upon it. 
 
 " That," I inly muttered, " she shall never read !" 
 
 An instant after, I trembled with a convulsive horror, as the 
 demon who had whispered in my ears so long, seemed to say, 
 in mocking accents : 
 
 "Shall not! Ha! ha! She can not! can not !" and then 
 the fiend seemed to chuckle, and I remembered the insuppiessi- 
 :le anguish of Othello's apostrophe, to make all its eloouence 
 my own. I murmured audibly : 
 
 " My wife ! my wife ! What wife ? I have no wife ! 
 Oh, insupportable oh, heavy hour 1" 
 
 My eyes were blinded. My face sunk down upon the table, 
 and a cold shiver shook my frame as if I had an ague. But I 
 recovered myself when I remembered the wrongs I had endur- 
 ed her guilt and the guilt of Edgerton. I clutched the papers 
 brushed the big drops from my forehead, and read as follows 
 
368 
 
 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 " Clifford, I save you guiltless of my death. You would be 
 less happy were my blood upon your hands, for, though I de- 
 serve to die by them, I know your nature too well to believe 
 that you would enjoy any malignant satisfaction at the perform- 
 ance of so sad a duty. Still, I know that this is no atonement. 
 I have simply ceased from persecuting you and the angelic 
 woman, your wife. But how shall I atone for the tortures and 
 annoyances of the past, inflicted upon you both ? Never ! 
 never ! I perish without hope of forgiveness, though, here, alone 
 with God, in the extreme of mortal humility, I pray for it ! 
 
 "Perhaps, you know all. From what escaped you this 
 morning, it would seem so. You knew of my madness when in 
 C ; you know that it pursued you here. Nothing then 
 remains for me to tell. I might simply say all is true ; but that, 
 in the confession of my guilt and folly, each particular act of 
 sin demands its own avowal, as it must be followed by its own 
 bitter agony and groan. 
 
 "My passion for your wife began soon after your marriage. 
 Until then I had never known her. You will acquit me of any 
 deliberate design to win her affections. I strove, as well as I 
 could, to suppress my own. But my education did not fit me 
 for such a struggle. The indulgence of fond parents had grati- 
 fied all my wishes, and taught me to expect their gratification. 
 I could not subdue my passions even when they were unac- 
 companied by any hopes. Without knowing my own feelings, 
 I approached your wife. Our tastes were similar, and these 
 furnished the legitimate excuse for frequently bringing us to- 
 gether. The friendly liberality of your disposition enlarged 
 the privileges of the acquaintance, and, without meaning it at 
 first, I abused them. I sought your dwelling at unsuitable 
 periods. Unconsciously, I did so, just at those periods when 
 you were most likely to be absent I first knew that my course 
 was wrong, by discovering the unwillingness which I felt to en- 
 counter you. This taught me to know the true nature of my 
 sentiments, but without enforcing the necessity of subduing 
 them. I did not seek to subdue them long. I yielded myself 
 up, with the recklessness of insanity, to a passion whose very 
 sweetness had the effect to madden. 
 
 " My fondness for your wife was increased by pity. You 
 
CONFESSION OF EDGERTON 
 
 ^.er I was at first indignant and hated you accor- 
 dingly. I3ut i became glad of your neglect for two reasons 
 It gave me the opportunities for seeing her which I desired ; 
 and I felt persuaded with a vain folly, that nothing could bb 
 more natural than that she would make a comparison, favorable 
 of course to myself, between my constant solicitude and atten- 
 tion and your ungenerous abandonment. But I was mistaken. 
 The steady virtue of the wife revenged the wrong which, with- 
 out deliberately intending it, I practised against the .husband. 
 When my attentions became apparent, she received me with 
 marked coolness and reserve ; and finally ceased to frequent the 
 atelier, which, while art alone was my object, yielded, I think, 
 an equal and legitimate pleasure to us both. 
 
 " I saw and felt the change, but had not the courage to dis- 
 continue my persecutions. My passion, and the tenacity with 
 which it enforced its claims, seemed to increase with every 
 difficulty and denial. The strangeness of your habits facili- 
 tated mine. Almost nightly I visited your house, and though I 
 could not but see that the reserve of your wife now rose into 
 something like hauteur, yet my infatuation was so great that I 
 began to fancy this appearance to be merely such a disguise as 
 Prudence assumes in order to conceal its weaknesses, and dis- 
 courage the invader whom it can no longer baffle. With this 
 impression I hurried on to the commission of an offence, the 
 results of which, though they did not quell my desires, had the 
 effect of terrifying them, for some time at least, into partial 
 submission. Would to God, for all our sakes, that their sub- 
 mission had been final ! 
 
 " You remember the ball at Mrs. Delauey's marriage ? 1 
 waltzed once with your wife that evening. She refused to 
 waltz a second time. The privileges of this intoxicating dance 
 are such as could be afforded by no other practice in social com- 
 munion the lady still preserving the reputation of virtue. I 
 need not say with what delight I employed these privileges. 
 The pressure of her arm and waist maddened me ; and when 
 the hour grew late, and you did not appear, Mrs. Delaney coun- 
 selled me to tender my carriage for ihe purpose of conveying 
 her home. I cLd so ; it was refused : but, through the urgent 
 uggestions of ner mother, it was finally accepted. I assisted 
 
 10* 
 
370 
 
 her to the carriage, immediately followed, and took my place 
 beside her. She was evidently annoyed, and drew herself up 
 with a degree of lofty reserve, which, under other circumstances, 
 and had I been less excited than I was, by the events of the 
 evening, w r ould have discouraged my presumption. It did not. 
 I proceeded to renew those liberties which I had taken during 
 the dance. I passed my arm about her waist. She repulsed 
 me with indignation, and insisted upon my setting her down 
 where we were, in the unfrequented street, at midnight. This 
 I refused. She threatened me with your anger; and when, still 
 deceiving myself on the subject of her real feelings, I proceed- 
 ed to other liberties, she dashed her hand through the windows 
 of the coach, and cried aloud for succor. This alarmed me. I 
 promised her forbearance, and finally set her down, very much 
 agitated, at the entrance of your dwelling. She refused rny 
 assistance to the house, but fell to the ground before reaching 
 it. That night her miscarriage ensued, and my passions for a 
 season were awed into inactivity, if not silence. 
 
 " Still I could not account for her forbearance to reveal every- 
 thing to you. You were still kind and affectionate to me as 
 ever. I very well knew that had she disclosed the secret, you 
 were not the man to submit to such an indignity as that of which 
 I had been guilty. It seems so I infer from what you said 
 this morning that you knew it all. If you did, your forbear- 
 ance was equally unexpected and merciful. Believing that she 
 had kept my secret, my next conclusion was inevitable. 'She is 
 not altogether insensible to the passion she inspires. Her 
 strength is in her virtues alone. Her sympathies are clearly 
 mine !' These conclusions emboldened me. I haunted your 
 house nightly with music. Sheltered beneath your trees, I 
 poured forth the most plaintive strains which I could extort 
 from my flute. Passion increased the effect of art. I strove 
 at no regular tunes; I played as the mood prompted; and felt 
 myself, not unfrequently, weeping over my own strange irreg- 
 ular melodies. 
 
 "Your sudden determination to remove prevented the renew- 
 al of my persecutions. I need not say how miserable I was 
 made, and how much I was confounded by such a determination. 
 Explained by yourself this morning, it is now easily understood; 
 
CONFESSION OF EDGERTON. I 
 
 but, ignorant then of the discoveries you had made - ignorant 
 of your merciful forbearance toward my unhappy parents for 
 I can regard your forbearance with respect to myself as arising 
 only from your consideration of them it was unaccountable 
 that you should give up the prospect of fortune and honors, 
 which success, in every department of your business, seemed 
 certainly to secure you. 
 
 " The last night the eve of your departure from C , I 
 
 resumed my place among the trees before your dwelling. Here 
 I played and wandered with an eye ever fixed upon your win- 
 dows. While I gazed, I caught the glimpse of a figure that 
 buried itself hurriedly behind, the folds of a curtain. I could 
 suppose it to be one person only. I never thought of you. 
 Urged by a feeling of desperation, which took little heed of con- 
 sequences, I clambered up into the branches of a pride of India, 
 which brought me within twenty feet of the window. I dis- 
 tinctly beheld the curtain ruffled by the sudden motion of some 
 one behind it. I was about to speak to say no matter what. 
 The act would have been madness, and such, doubtless, would 
 have been the language. I fortunately did not speak. A few 
 moments only had elapsed after this, when I heard a few brief 
 words, spoken in her voice, from the same window. The words 
 were few, and spoken in tones which denoted the great agitation 
 of the speaker. These apprized me of my danger. 
 
 " ' Fly, madman, for your life ! My husband is on the stairs.' 
 " Her person was apparent. Her words could not be mistaken 
 though spoken in faint, feeble accents. At the same moment I 
 heard the lower door of the dwelling unclose, and without 
 knowing what I did or designed, I dropped from the tree to the 
 ground. To my great relief, you did not perceive me. I was 
 fortunately close to the fence, and in the deepest shadow of the 
 tree. You hurried by, within five steps of me, and jumped the 
 fence, evidently thinking to find me in the next enclosure. 
 Breathing freely and thankfully after this escape, I fled im- 
 mediately to the little boat in which I usually made my ap- 
 proaches to your habitation on such occasions ; and was in the 
 middle of the lake, and out ^f sight, long before you had given 
 over your fruitless pursuit. The next day you left the city 
 and I remained, the wasted and wasting monument of pas 
 
372 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 sions which had been as profitlessly as they were criminally 
 exercised. 
 
 " You were gone ; you had borne with you the object of my 
 devotion ; but the passion remained and burnt with no less 
 frenzy than before. You were not blind to the effect of this 
 frenzy upon my health and constitution. You saw that I was 
 consuming with a nameless disease. Perhaps you knew the 
 cause and the name, and your departure may have been prompt- 
 ed by a sentiment of pity for myself, in addition to that which 
 you felt for my unhappy parents. If this be so and it seems 
 probable it adds something to the agony of life it will as- 
 sist me in the work of atonement it will better reconcile me 
 to the momentary struggle of death. 
 
 " My ill health increased with the absence of the only object 
 for whom health was now desirable. To see her again to the 
 last for I now knew that that last could not be very remote 
 was the great desire of my mind. Besides, strange to say, a 
 latent hope was continually rising and trembling in my soul. 
 I still fancied that I had a place in the affections of your wife. 
 You will naturally ask on what this hope was founded. I 
 answer, on the supposition that she had concealed from you the 
 truth on the subject of my presumptuous assault upon her ; and 
 on those words of warning by which she had counselled me to 
 fly from your pursuit on that last night before you left the city. 
 These may not be very good reasons for such a hope, but the 
 faith of the devotee needs but slight supply of aliment ; and the 
 fanaticism of a flame like mine needs even less. A whisper, a 
 look, a smile nay, even a frown has many a time prompted 
 stronger convictions than this, in wiser heads, and firmer hearts 
 than mine. 
 
 " My father counselled me to travel, and I was only too glad 
 to obey his suggestions. He prescribed the route, but I deceived 
 him. Once on the road, I knew but one route that could do me 
 good, or at least afford me pleasure. I pursued the object of 
 my long devotion. Here your conduct again led me astray. 1 
 found you still neglectful of your wife. Still, you received me 
 as if I had been a brother, and thus convinced me that Julia 
 had kept my secret. In keeping it thus long I now fancied it 
 had become hers. I renewed my devotions, but with as little 
 
CONFESSION OF EDGERTON. 873 
 
 profit as before. She maintained the most rigid distance, and I 
 grew nervous and feeble in consequence of the protracted 
 homage which I paid, and the excitement which followed from 
 this homage. You had a proof of this nervousness and excite- 
 ment in the incident which occurred while crossing the stream 
 let. I extended her my hand to assist her over, and scarcely 
 had her fingers touched mine, when I felt a convulsion, and 
 sunk, fainting and hopelessly into the stream.* Conscious of 
 nothing besides, I was yet conscious of her screams. This 
 tender interest in my fate increased my madness. It led to a 
 subsequent exhibition of it which at length fully opened my 
 eyes to the enormity of my offence. 
 
 " You blindly as I then thought, took me to your dwelling as 
 if I had been a brother. Ah ! why ? If I was mad, Clifford, 
 your madness was not less than mine. It was the blindest 
 madness if not the worst. The progress of my insanity was 
 now more rapid than ever. I fancied that I perceived signs of 
 something more than coldness between yourself and wife. I 
 fancied that you frowned upon her ; and in the grave, sad, 
 speaking looks which she addressed to you, 1 thought I read 
 the language of dislike and defiance. My own attentions to 
 her were redoubled whenever an opportunity was afforded me ; 
 but this was not often. I saw as little of her while living in 
 your cottage as I had seen before, and, but for the good old lady, 
 Mrs. Porterfield, I should probably have been even less blessed 
 by her presence. She perceived my dullness, and feeble health, 
 and dreaming no ill, insisted that your wife should assist in be- 
 guiling me of my weariness. She set us down frequently at 
 chess, and loved to look on and watch the progress of the game, 
 
 " She did not always watch, and last night, while we played 
 together, in a paroxysm of madness, I proceeded to those liber- 
 ties which I suppose provoked her to make the revelation which 
 she had so long forborne. My impious hands put aside the 
 board, my arms encircled her waist ; while, kneeling beside her, 
 I endeavored to drag her into my embrace. She repulsed me j 
 smote me to her feet with her open palm ; and spurning me 
 
 * An incident somewhat similar to this occurs in the Life of Petrarch, as 
 given by Mrs. Dobson, but the precise facts are not remembered, and I hare 
 not the volume by inc. 
 
374 
 
 where I lay grovelling, retired to her chamber. I know not what 
 I said I know not what she answered yet the tones of her 
 voice, sharp with horror and indignation, are even now ringing 
 in my ears ! 
 
 " Clifford, I have finished this painful narration. I have cursed 
 your home with bitterness, yet I pray you not to curse me ! Let 
 me implore you to ask for merciful forbearance from her, to 
 whom I feel I have been such a sore annoyance too happy if I 
 have not been also a curse to her. What I have written is the 
 truth sadly felt solemly spoken God alone being present 
 while I write, while death lingers upon the threshold impatient 
 till I shall end. I leave a brief sentence, which you may or 
 may not, deliver to your wife. You will send the letter to my 
 father. You will see me buried in some holy inclosure ; and if 
 you can, you will bury with my unconscious form, the long 
 strifes of feeling which I have made you endure, and the just 
 anger which I have awakened in your bosom. Farewell! and 
 may the presiding spirit of your home hereafter, be peace and 
 love ! " 
 
DOUBTS SUMMONS. 375 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 DOUBTS SUMMONS. 
 
 . THE billet which was addressed to my wife was in the following 
 language : 
 
 "Lady, on the verge of the grave, having sincerely repented of 
 the offense I have given you, I implore you to pity and to pardon. 
 A sense of guilt and shame weighs me down to earth. You 
 can not apply a harsher judgment to my conduct than I feel 
 it deserves ; but I am crushed already. You will not trample the 
 prostrate. In a few hours my body will be buried in the dust. 
 My soul is already there. But, though writhing, I do not curse ; and 
 still loving, I yet repent. In my last moments I implore you to for- 
 give ! forgive ! forgive ! " 
 
 This was all, and I considered the two documents with keen 
 and conflicting feelings. There was an earnestness a sincer- 
 ity about them, which I could not altogether discredit. He had 
 freely avowed his own errors ; but he "had not spoken for hers. 
 I did not dare to admit the impression which he evidently 
 wished to convey of her entire innocence, not only from the 
 practices, but the very thoughts of guilt. It is in compliance 
 with a point of honor that the professed libertine yet endeavors 
 to excuse and save the partner of his wantonness. In this light 
 I regarded all those parts of his narrative which went to exten- 
 uate her conduct. There was one part of her conduct, indeed, 
 which, as it exceeded his ability to account for, was beyond his 
 ability to excuse namely, her strange concealment of his in- 
 solence. This was the grand fault which, it appeared to me, was 
 conclusive of all the rest. It was now my policy to believe in this 
 fault wholly. If I did not, where was I ? what was my condition ? 
 my misery ? 
 
 I sat brooding, with these documents open before me on the 
 table, when Kingsley tapped at the door, I bade him enter, 
 
76 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 LX a put the papers in his hands. He read them in silence, laid 
 them down without a word, and looked me with a grave com- 
 9osure in the face. 
 
 " What do you think of it ?" I demanded. 
 
 " That he speaks the truth/' he replied. 
 
 " Yes, no doubt so far as he himself is concerned." 
 
 " I should think it all true." 
 
 " Indeed ! I think not." 
 
 " Why do you doubt, and what ?" 
 
 " I doubt those portions in which he insists upon my wife's 
 integrity." 
 
 " Wherefore ?" 
 
 " There are many reasons ; the principal of which is her sin- 
 gular concealment of the truth. She suffers a strange man to 
 offend her virtue with the most atrocious familiarities, and says 
 nothing to her husband, who, alone, could have redressed the 
 wrong and remedied the impertinence." 
 
 " That certainly is a staggering fact." 
 
 " According to his own admission, she warns him to fly from 
 the wrath of her husband, to which his audacity had exposed 
 him warns him, in her night-dresB, and from the window of 
 her chamber." 
 
 " True, true ! I had forgotten that." 
 
 " Look at all tue circumstances. He haunts the house ac- 
 cording to his own showing, persecutes her with attentions, 
 which are so marked, that, when he finds her husband ignorant 
 of them, leads him to the conclusion which is natural that 
 they are not displeasing to the wife. He avails himself of the 
 privileges of the waltz, at the marriage of Mrs. Delaney, to 
 gratify his lustful anticipations. He presses her arm and waist 
 
 with his d d fingers. Hides home with her, and, according 
 
 to his story, takes othei4iberties, which she baflles and sets 
 aside. But, mark the truth. Though she requires him to set 
 her down in the street though she makes terms for his for- 
 bearance a wife making terms with a libertine yet he evi- 
 dently sees her into the house, and when she is taken sick, hur- 
 ries for the mother and the physician. He tells just enough of 
 the story to convict himself, but suppresses everything which 
 may convict her. How know I that this resistance in the car- 
 
DOUBTS SUMMONS. BT7 
 
 riage was more than a sham ? How know I that he did not 
 attend her in the house 1 That they did not dabble together 
 on their way through the dark piazza along the stairs'? 
 Nay, what proof is there that he did not find his way, with pol- 
 luting purpose, into the very chamber? that chamber, from 
 which, not three weeks after, she bade him fly to avoid my 
 wrath! What makes her so precious of his life the life of 
 one who pursues her with lust and dishonor if she does not 
 burn with like passions ? But there is more." 
 
 Here I told him of the letter of Mrs. Delaney, in which that 
 permanent beldame counsels her daughter, less against the pas- 
 sion itself, than against the imprudent exhibition of it. It was 
 clear that the mother had seen what had escaped my eyes. It was 
 clear that the mother was convinced of the attachment of the 
 daughter for this man. Now, the attachment being shown, what 
 followed from the concealment of the indignities to which Ed- 
 gerton had subjected her, but that she was pleased with them, 
 and did not feel them to be such. These indignities are perse- 
 vered in are frequently repeated. Our footsteps are followed 
 from one country to another. The husband's hours of absence 
 are noted. His departure is the invariable signal for them to 
 meet. They meet. His hands paddle with hers; his arms 
 grasp her waist. True, we are told by him, that she resists ; 
 but it is natural that he should make this declaration. Its truth 
 is combated by the fact that, of these insults, she says nothing. 
 That fact is everything. That one fact involves all the rest. 
 The woman who conceals such a history, shares in ita guilt. 
 
 Kingsley assented to these conclusions. 
 
 " Yet," he said, " there is an air of truthfulness about these 
 papers this narrative that I should be pleased to believe, 
 even if I could not ; that I should believe for your sake, Clif- 
 ford, if for no other reason. Honestly, after all you have said 
 and shown with all the unexplained and perhaps unexplaina- 
 ble particulars before me, making the appearances so much 
 against her I can not think your wife guilty. I should be 
 sorry to think so." 
 
 " I should now be sorry to think otherwise," I said huskily, 
 I thought of that poisonous draught. I thought with many mis- 
 givings, and trembled where I sat. 
 
9 '78 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 " You surprise me to hear you speak so. Surely, Clifford, 
 >ou love your wife 1" 
 
 " Love her S" I exclaimed ; I could say no more. My sob* 
 choked my utterance. 
 
 " Nay, do not give up," he said tenderly. " Be a man. All 
 will go well yet. The facts are anything but conclusive. These 
 papers have a realness about them, which have their weight 
 against any suspicions, however strong. Remember, these are 
 the declarations of a dying man ! Surely, all minor considera- 
 tions of policy would give way at such a moment to the all-im 
 portant necessity of speaking the truth. Besides, there is one 
 consideration alone, to which we have made no reference, which 
 yet seems to me full of weight and value. Edgerton could 
 scarcely have been successful in his designs upon your wife. 
 He was in fact dying of the disappointment of his passions. 
 They could not have been gratified. Success takes an exulting 
 aspect. He was always miserable and wo-begone always de- 
 sponding, sad, unhappy, from the first moment when this pas- 
 sion began, to the last." 
 
 " Guilt, guilt, nothing but guilt !" 
 
 "No, Clifford, no! The guilt that works so terribly upon 
 conscience as to produce such effects upon the frame, inevitably 
 leads to repentance. Now, we find that Edgerton pursued his 
 object until he was detected." 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Do not steel yourself against probabilities, my dear fellow," 
 said Kingsley. 
 
 " Proofs against probabilities always !" 
 
 " No ! none of these are proofs except the papers you have 
 in your hands, and the imperfect events which you witnessed. 
 I am so much an admirer of your wife myself, that I am ready 
 to believe this statement against the rest ; and to believe that, 
 however strange may have been her conduct in some respects, 
 it will yet be explained in a manner which shall acquit her of 
 misconduct. Believe me, Clifford, think with me " 
 
 " No ! no ! I can not dare not ! She is a" 
 
 " Do not ! Do not f No harsh words, even were it so ! She 
 has been your wife. She should still be sacred in your eyes, 
 as one who has slept upon your bosom." 
 
DOUBTS SUMMONS. 379 
 
 "A traitress all the while, dreaming of the embraces of an- 
 other." 
 
 "Clifford, what can this mean? You are singularly invet- 
 erate." 
 
 "Should I not be so? Am I not lost abandoned wrecked on 
 the high seas of my hope my fortunes scattered to the winds my 
 wealth, the jewel which I prized beyond all beside, which was worth 
 the whole, gone down, swallowed up, and the black abyss closed 
 over it for ever? " 
 
 " We are not sure of this/' 
 
 "I am!" 
 
 "No! no!" 
 
 " I am! Though she be innocent, who shall rid me of the doubt, 
 the fear, the ineradicable suspicion! That blackens all my sunlight; 
 that poisons all my peace. I can never know delight. Nay, though 
 you proved her innocent, it is now too late. Kingsley, by this time 
 I have no wife!" 
 
 "Ha! Surely, Clifford, you have not " 
 
 "Hark! Some one knocks! Again! again! I understand it. 
 I know what it means. They are looking for me. She is dead or 
 dying. I tell you it is quite in vain that you should argue. Above 
 all, do not seek to prove her innocent." 
 
 The knocking without increased. He seized my arm as I was 
 going forward, and prevented me. 
 
 "Compose yourself," he said, thrusting me into a chair. " lie- 
 main here till I return. I will see what is wanted." 
 
 But I followed him, and reached the door almost as soon as him- 
 self. It was as I expected. I had been sent for. My wife was 
 dangerously ill. Such was the tenor of the message. More I could 
 not learn. The servant had been an hour in search of me. Had 
 sought me at the office and in other places which I had been accus- 
 tomed to frequent; and I felt that after so long a delay, there was no 
 longer need for haste. Still, I was about to depart with hasty foot- 
 steps. The servant was already dismissed. Kingsley grasped my 
 arm. 
 
 " I will go along with you." he said; and as we went, he spoke, in 
 low accents, to the following effect: 
 
 "I know not what you have done, Clifford; and there is no 
 need that I should know. Keep your secret, I do not think 
 
380 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 the worse of you that you have been maddened to crime. Let 
 the same desperation nerve you now to sufficient composure. 
 Beware of what you say, lest these people suspect you." 
 
 " And what if they do 1 Think you, Kingsley, that I fear ? 
 No ! no ! Life has nothing now. I lost fear, and hope, and 
 everything in her." 
 
 " But may she not live ?" 
 
 " No, I think not ; the poison is most deadly. Though, even 
 if she lives, my loss would not he less. She ceased to live fsr 
 me the moment that she began to live for another I" 
 
DEATH. 381 
 
 CHAPTEE LII. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 NOTHING more was said until we reached the cottage. Mrs. Por- 
 terfield and the physician met us at the entrance. We had corne too 
 late! 
 
 She was dead. They had found her so when they despatched the 
 servant in quest of me; but they were not certain of the fact, and the 
 servant was instructed to say she was only very ill. The physician 
 was called in as soon as possible ; but had declared himself, as soon as 
 he came, unable to do anything for her. He had bled her; 
 and, before our arrival, had already pronounced upon her disease. 
 It was apoplexy! 
 
 "Apoplexy!" I exclaimed, involuntarily. Kingsley gave me a 
 look. 
 
 "Yes, sir, apoplexy," continued the learned gentleman. "She 
 must have had several fits. It is evident that she was conscious after 
 the first, for she appears to have endeavored to reach the door. She 
 was found at the entrance, lying upon the floor. When I saw her, 
 she must have been lifeless a good hour." * 
 
 He added sundry reasons, derived from her appearance, which 
 he assured us were conclusive on this subject; but to these I 
 gave little heed. I did not stop to listen. I hurried to the 
 chamber, closed the door, and was alone with my victim, with 
 my wife! 
 
 My victim! my wife I 
 
 * The reader will be reminded of the melancholy details in the case of 
 Miss Landon L. E. L. whose fate is still a mystery. 
 
882 CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEAHT. 
 
 I stood above her inanimate form. How lovely in death 
 but, oh ! how cold ! I looked upon her pale, transparent cheeks 
 and forehead, through which the blue lines of veins, that were 
 pulseless now, gleamed out, showing the former avenues of the 
 sweet and blessed life. I was disarmed of my anger while I 
 gazed. I bent down beside her, took the rigid fingers of her 
 hand in mine, and pressed [my lips upon the bloodless but still 
 beautiful forms of hers. 
 
 I remembered her youth and her beauty the glowing prom- 
 ise of her mind, and the gentle temper of her heart. I remem- 
 bered the dear hours of our first communion how pure were 
 our delights how perfect my felicity. How we moved to- 
 gether as with one being only beside the broad streams of our 
 birthplace under the shelter of shady pines morning, and noon, 
 and in the star-lighted night never once dreaming that an hour 
 like this would come! 
 
 And she seemed so perfect pure, as she was so perfect lovely! 
 Never did I hear from her lips sentiment that was not not 
 only virtuous, but delicate and soft not only innocent but true 
 not only true but fond! Alas! so to fall so too yield her- 
 self at last! To feel the growth of rank passions to surren- 
 der her pure soul and perfect form to the base uses of lust to 
 be no better than the silly harlot, that, beguiled by her eager 
 vanity, surrenders the precious jewel in her trust, to the first 
 cunning sharper that assails her with a smiling lie! 
 
 Oh God! how these convictions shook my frame! I had no 
 longer strength for thought or action. I was feebler than the 
 child, who, lost in the woods, struggles and sinks at last, through 
 sheer exhaustion, into sobbing slumber at the foot of the unfeel- 
 ing tree. I did not sob. I had no tears. But at intervals, 
 the powers of breathing becoming choked, and my struggles for 
 relief were expressed in a groan which I vainly endeavored to 
 keep down. The sense of desolation was upon me much more 
 strongly than that of either crime or death. I did not so much 
 feel that she was guilty, as that I was alone! That, henceforth, 
 I must for ever be alone. This was the terrible conviction; 
 and oh! how lone! To lessen its pangs, I strove to recall the 
 fault for which she perished to renew the recollection of those 
 thousand small events, which, thrown together, had seemed to 
 
DEATH 383 
 
 me mountains of rank and reeking evidence against her. But 
 even my memory failed me in this effort. All this was a blank. 
 The few imperfect and shadowy facts whch I could recall seem- 
 ed to me wholly unimportant in establishing the truth of what 
 I sought to believe; and I shuddered with the horrible doubt 
 that she might be innocent ! If she were indeed innocent, 
 what am I ? 
 
 With the desperate earnestness of the cast-away, who strives, 
 in mid-ocean, for the only plank which can possibly retard his 
 doom, did I toil to re-establish in my mind that conviction of her 
 guilt which the demon in my soul had made so certain by his 
 assurances before. Alas ! I had not only lost the wife of my 
 bosom, but its fiend also. Vainly now r did I seek to summon 
 him back. Vainly did I call upon him to renew his arguments 
 and proofs! He had fled fled for ever ; and I could fancy 
 that I heard him afar off, chuckling with hellish laughter, over 
 the triumphant results of his malice. 
 
 I know not how long I hung over that silent speaker. Her 
 pale, placid countenance her bloodless lips, that still seemed 
 to smile upon me as they had ever done before ; and that 
 eye of speaking beauty only half closed oh ! what conclu- 
 sive assurances did they seem to give of that innocence which 
 it now seemed the worst impiety to doubt ! I would have given 
 worlds alas ! how impotent is such a speech ! Death sets his seal 
 upon hope, and love, and endeavor ; and the regrets of that child- 
 ish precipitation which has obeyed the laws of passion only, are 
 only so many mocking memorials of the blind heart, that jaundiced 
 the face of truth, and distorted all the aspects of the beautiful. 
 
 Once more I laughed a vain hysterical laugh the ex- 
 pression of my conviction that I was self -doomed and desperate ; 
 and, writhing beside the inanimate angel whom I then would 
 have recalled though with all her guilt assuming all of it to 
 have been true to the arms that wantonly cast her off for ever 
 I grasped the cold senseless limbs in my embrace, and placed 
 the drooping head once more upon the bosom where it could not 
 long remain ! What a weight ! The pulsation in my own 
 heart ceased, and, with a shudder, I released the chilling form 
 from my grasp, and found strength barely to compose the limbs 
 once more in the bed beside me. 
 
384 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 I pass over the usual and unnecessary details. There was ft 
 show of inquiry of course ; but the one word of the learned 
 young gentleman in black silenced any further examination. It 
 was shown to the mquest by Mrs. Porterfield that my wife had 
 been sick that she was suddenly found dead. The physician 
 nirnishcd the next necessary fact. I was not examined at all, 
 I stAod by in silence. I heard the verdict "Death by apo- 
 plexy"- -with a smile. I was not unwilling to state the truth. 
 Had I been called upon I should have done so. At first I was 
 about to proffer my testimony, but a single sentence from the 
 lips of Kingsley, when I declared to him my purpose, silenced 
 me : 
 
 " If you are not afraid to declare your own act, you should 
 at least scruple to denounce her shame ! She died your wife. 
 Let. that seal your tongue. The shame would be shared be- 
 tween you ! Tov could only justify your crime by exposing 
 kers !" 
 
 With the stern strength of desperation I stood above the 
 grave, and heard the heavy clod ring hollowly upon the coffin. 
 And there closed two lives in one. My hopes were buried 
 there as effectually as her unconscious form. 
 
 Life is not breath simply. Not the capacity to move, and 
 breathe, to act, eat, drink, sleep, and say, " Thank God ! we 
 have ate, drank, and slept !" The life of humanity consists in 
 hope, love, and labor. In the capacity to desire, to affect, ant 
 to struggle. I had now nothing for Trhich I could hope, nothing 
 to love, nothing to struggle for ! 
 
 Yes ! life has something more : endurance ! This is a par! 
 of the allotment. The conviction of this renewed my strength 
 But it was the strength of desolation ! I had taken courage 
 from despair ! 
 
BEVELATIOX THE LETTER OF JULIA. 385 
 
 CHAPTEK LIII. 
 
 REVELATION THE LETTER OF JULIA. 
 
 IT must be remembered, that, in all this time amidst all 
 my agonies my feelings of destitution and despair I had 
 few or no doubts of the guilt of Julia Clifford. My sufferings 
 arose from the love which I had felt the defeat of my hopes 
 and fortune the long struggle of conflicting feelings, mortified 
 pride, and disappointed enjoyment. Excited by the melancholy 
 spectacle before me beholding the form of her, once so beauti- 
 ful still so beautiful whom I had loved with such an absorb- 
 ing passion whom I could not cease to love suddenly cut 
 off from life her voice, which was so musical, suddenly hushed 
 for ever the tides of her heart suddenly stopped and all the 
 sweet waters of hope dried up in her . bosom, and turned into 
 bitterness and blight in mine the force of my feelings got the 
 better of my reason, and cruel and oppressive doubts of the 
 justness of her doom overpowered my soul. But, with the 
 subsiding of my emotions, under the stern feeling of resolve 
 which came to my relief, and which my course of education en- 
 abled me to maintain, my persuasions of her guilt were resumed, 
 and I naturally recurred to the conclusions which had originally 
 justified me to myself, in inflicting the awful punishment of 
 death upon her. But I was soon to be deprived of this justi- 
 fication to be subjected to the terrible recoil of all my feelings 
 of justice, love, honor and manliness, in the new and over- 
 whelming conviction, not only that I had been premature, but 
 that she was innocent ! innocent, equally of thought and deed, 
 which could incur the reproach of impurity, or the punishment 
 of guilt. 
 
 17 
 
3tb CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 Three days had elapsed after her burial, when I re-opened 
 and re-appeared in my office. I did not re-open it with any in- 
 tention to resume my business. That was impossible in a place, 
 where, at every movement, the grave of my victim rose, always 
 green, in my sight. My purpose was to put my papers in order, 
 transfer them to other parties, dispose of my effects, and depart 
 with Kiwgsley to the new countries, of which he had succeeded 
 in impressing upon me some of his own opinions. Not that 
 these furnished for me any attractions. I was not persuaded by 
 any customary arguments held out to the ambitious and the 
 enterprising. It was a matter of small moment to me where I 
 went, so that I left the present scene of my misery and over- 
 throw. In determining to accompany him to Texas, no part of 
 my resolve was influenced by the richness of its soil, or the 
 greatness of its probable destinies. These, though important 
 in the eyes of my friend, were as nothing in mine. ID taking 
 that route my object was simply, to go with him. He had 
 sympathized with me, after a rough fashion of his own, the sin- 
 cerity of which was more, dear to me than the rougbress was 
 repulsive. He had witnessed my cares he knew rcy guilt 
 and my griefs this knowledge endeared him to me more 
 strongly than ever, and made him now more necessary to my 
 affections than any other living object. 
 
 I re-opened my office and resumed my customary seat at the 
 table. But I sat only to ruminate upon things and thoughts 
 which, following the track of memory, diverted my sight as well 
 as my mind, from all present objects. I saw nothing before me, 
 except vaguely, and in a sort of shadow. I had a hazy outline 
 of books against the wall ; and a glimmering show of papers 
 and bundles upon the table. I sat thus for some time, lost in 
 painful and humiliating revery. Suddenly I caught a glimpse 
 of a packet on the table, which I did not recollect to have seen 
 before. It bore my name. I shuddered to behold it, for it was 
 in the handwriting of my wife. This, then, was the writing 
 upon which she had been secretly engaged, for so many days, 
 and of which Mrs. Porterfield had given me the first intimation. 
 I remembered the words of Julia when she assured me that it 
 was intended for me when she playfully challenged my cnri- 
 esity, and implored me to acknowledge an anxiety to know *lie 
 
REVELATION THE LETTEK OF JULIA. 38 Y 
 
 contents. The pleading tenderness of her speech and manner 
 now rose vividly to my recollection. It touched me more now 
 now that the irrevocable step had been taken far more than 
 it ever could have affected me then. Then, indeed, I remained 
 unaffected save by the caprice of .my evil genius. The demon 
 of "the blind heart was then uppermost. In vain now did I sum- 
 mon him to my relief. Where was he ? Why did he not come ? 
 
 I took up the packet with trembling fingers. My nerves 
 almost failed me. My heart shrank and sank with painful pre- 
 sentiments. What could this writing mean ? Of what had 
 Julia Clifford to write ? Her whole world's experience was con- 
 tained, and acquired, in my household. The only portion of 
 this experience which she might suppose unknown to me was 
 her intercourse with Edgerton. The conclusion, then, was 
 natural that this writing related to this matter; but, if natural, 
 why had I not conjectured it before? Why, when I first heard 
 of it, had the conclusion not forced itself upon me as directly as 
 it did now? Alas! it was clear to me now that I was then 
 blind ; and, with this clearness of sight, my doubts increased ; 
 but they were doubts of myself, rather than doubts of her. 
 
 It required an effort before I could recover myself sufficiently 
 to break the seal of the packet. First, however, I rose and re- 
 closed the office. Whatever might be the contents of the paper, 
 to me it was the language of a voice - from the grave. It con- 
 tained the last words of one I never more should hear. The 
 words of one whom I had loved as I could never love again. 
 It was due to her, and to my own heart, that she should be 
 heard in secret; that her words whether in reproach or re- 
 pentence whether in love or scorn should fall upon mine 
 ear without witness, in a silence as solemn as was that desolate 
 feeling which now sat, like a spectre, brooding among the ruins 
 of my heart. 
 
 My pulses almost ceased to beat my respiration was impeded 
 my eyes swam my senses reeled in dismay and confusion 
 as I read the following epistle. Too late 1 too late 1 Blind, 
 blind heart ! And still I was not mad ! No ! no ! that would 
 have been a mercy which I did not merit ! that would have 
 been forgetfulness utter oblivion of the woe which I can never 
 cease to feel. 
 
388 CONFESSION, OK THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 THE LAST LETTER OP JULIA. 
 
 c ' HUSBAND, DEAR HUSBAND ! 
 
 " I write to you in fear and trembling. I have striven to 
 speak to you, more than once, but my tongue and strength have 
 failed me. What I have to tell you is so strange and offensive, 
 and will be to you so startling, that you will find it hard to 
 believe me ; and yet, dear husband, there is not a syllable of it 
 which is not true ! If I knew that I were to die to-morrow I 
 could with perfect safety and confidence make the same confes- 
 sion which I make now. But I do not wish you to take what I 
 say on trust ; look into the matter yourself not precipitately 
 above all, not angrily and you will see that I say nothing 
 here which the circumstances will not prove. Indeed, my 
 wonder is that so much of it has remained unknown to 
 you already. 
 
 "Husband, Mr. Egerton deceives you he has all along de- 
 ceived you he is neither your friend nor mine. I would call 
 him rather the most dangerous enemy; for he comes by stealth, 
 and abuses confidence, and, like the snake in the fable, seeks to 
 sting the very hand that has warmed him. I know how much 
 this will startle you, for I know how much you think of him, and 
 love him, and how many are the obligations which you owe to his 
 father. But hear me to the end, and you will be convinced, as 
 I have been, that, so far from your seeking his society and per- 
 mitting his intimacy in our household, you would be justified in 
 the adoption of very harsh measures for his expulsion at least, it 
 would become your duty to inform him that you can no longer suffer 
 his visits. 
 
 "To begin, then, dear husband, Mr. Egerton has been bold 
 enough to speak to me in such language, as was insulting in 
 him to utter, and equally painful and humiliating for me to hear. 
 He has done this, not once, nor twice, nor thrice, but many 
 times. You will ask why I have not informed you of this be- 
 fore ; but I had several reasons for forbearing to do so, -which I 
 will relate in the proper places. I fancied that I could effectu- 
 ally repel insult of this sort without making you a party to it, 
 for I feared the violence of your temper, and dreaded that the 
 consequences might be bloodshed. I am only prompted to take 
 
REVELATION THE LETTER OF JTJLIA. 389 
 
 a different course now, as I 'find that I was mistaken in this impres- 
 sion and perceive that there is no hope of a remedy against the 
 impertinence but by appealing to you for protection. 
 
 "It was not long after our marriage before the attentions of 
 Mr. Edgerton became so particular as to annoy me ; and I con- 
 sulted my mother on the subject, but she assured me that such 
 were customary, and so long as you were satisfied I had no 
 reason to be otherwise. I was not quite content with this assur- 
 ance, but did not know what other course to take, and there 
 was nothing in the conduct of Mr. Edgerton so very marked 
 and offensive as to justify me in making any communication to 
 you. What offended me in his bearing was his fixed and con- 
 tinued watchfulness the great earnestness of his looks the 
 subdued tones of his voice when he spoke to me, almost falling 
 to a whisper, and the unusual style of his language, which 
 seemed to address itself to such feelings only as do not belong 
 to the common topics of discourse. The frequency of his visits 
 to the studio afforded him opportunities for indulging in these 
 practices ; and your strange indifference to his approaches, and 
 your equally strange and most unkind abandonment of my society 
 for that of others, increased these opportunities, of which he 
 scrupled not to take constant advantage. I soon perceived 
 that he sought the house only at the- periods when you were 
 absent. He seemed alwaj^s to know when this was the case ; 
 and Ir noted the fact, particularly, that, if on such occasions, you 
 happened to arrive unexpectedly he never remained long after- 
 ward, but took his departure with an abruptness that, it seemed 
 wonderful to me you should not have perceived. Conduct so 
 strange as this annoyed rather than alarmed me ; and it made 
 me feel wretched, perhaps beyond any necessity for it, when I 
 found myself delivered up, as it were, to such persecution, by 
 the very person whose duty it was to preserve me, and whose 
 own presence, which would have been an effectual protection, 
 was so dear to me always. Do not suppose, dear Edward, that 
 I mean to reproach you. I do not know what may have been 
 your duties abroad, and the trials which drew you so much 
 from home, and from the eyes of a wife who knows no dearer 
 object of contemplation than the form of her husband. Men 
 in business, I know, have a thousand troubles out of doors, 
 
390 CONFESSION, OK THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 which a generous sensibility makes them studious never to bring 
 home with them ; and, knowing this, I determined to think 
 lovingly of you always to believe anything rather than that 
 you would willingly neglect me; and, by the careful exercise 
 of my thoughts and affections, as they should properly be exercised, 
 so to protect my own dignity and your honor, as to spare you any 
 trouble or risk in asserting them, and, at the same time, to save both 
 from reproach. 
 
 " But, though I think I maintained the most rigid reserve, as 
 well of looks as of language, this unhappy young man con- 
 tinued his persecutions. In order to avoid him, I abandoned 
 my usual labors in the studio. From the moment when I saw 
 that he was disposed to abuse the privileges of friendship, I 
 yielded that apartment entirely to him, and invariably declined 
 seeing him when he visited the house in the mornings. But I 
 could not do this at evening ; and this became finally a most 
 severe trial, for it so happened, that you now adopted a habit 
 which left him entirely unrestrained, unless in the manner of his 
 reception by myself. You now seldom remained at home of an 
 evening, and thus deprived me of that natural protector whose 
 presence would have spared me much pain with which I will 
 not distress you. Ah ! dearest husband, why did you leave me 
 on such occasions ? "Why did you abandon me to the two-fold 
 affliction of combating the approaches of impertinence, at the 
 very moment when I was suffering from the dreadful apprehen- 
 sion that I no longer possessed those charms which had won me the 
 affections of a husband. Forgive me! My purpose is not to reproach, 
 but to entreat you. 
 
 "I need not pass over the long period through wtiich this 
 persecution continued. Your indifference seemed to me to give 
 stimulus to the perseverance of this young man. Numberless 
 little circumstances combined to make me think that, from this 
 cause, indeed, he drew something like encouragement for his 
 audacious hopes. The strength of your friendship for him 
 blinded you to attentions which, it seemed to me, every eye 
 must have seen but yours. I grew more and more alarmed ; 
 and a second time consulted with my mother. Her written 
 answer you will find, marked No. 1, with the rest of the enclo- 
 sures in this envelope. She laughed at my apprehensions, in 
 
REVELATION THE LETTER OF JULIA. 391 
 
 sisted that Mr. Edgerton had not transcended the customary 
 privileges, and intimated, very plainly as you will see, that a 
 wife can suffer nothing from the admiration of a person, not her 
 husband, however undisguised this admiration may be pro- 
 vided she herself shows none in return ; an opinion with which 
 I could not concur, for the conclusive reason that, whatever the 
 world may think on such a subject, the object of admiration, if 
 she has any true sensibilities, must herself suffer annoyance, as 
 I did, from the special designation which attends such peculiar 
 and marked attention as that to which I was subjected. My 
 mother took much pains, verbally and in writing, as the within 
 letters will show you, to relieve me from the feeling of disquiet 
 under which I suffered, but without effect ; and I was further 
 painfully afflicted by the impression which her general tone of 
 thought forced upon me, that her sense of propriety was so loose 
 and uncertain that I could place no future reliance upon her 
 councils in relation to this or any other kindred subject. Ah, Ed- 
 ward ! little can you guess how lonely and desolate I felt, when, 
 unable any longer to refer to her, I still did not dare to look 
 to you. 
 
 " One opinion of hers, however, had very much alarmed me. 
 You will find it expressed in the letter marked No. 3, in this 
 collection. When I complained to her of the approaches of 
 Mr. Edgerton, and declared my purpose of appealing to you if 
 they were continued, she earnestly and expressly exhorted me 
 against any such proceeding. She assured me that such a 
 step would only lead to violence and bloodshed reminded 
 me of your sudden anger your previous duel and insisted 
 that nothing more was necessary to check the impertinence 
 than my own firmness and dignity. Perhaps this would 
 have been enough, were it always practicable to maintain the 
 reserve and coldness which was proper to effect this object, 
 and, indeed, I could not but perceive that the effect was pro- 
 duced in considerable degree by this course. Mr. Edgerton 
 visited the house less frequently ; grew less impressive in his 
 manner, and much more humble, until that painful and humili- 
 ating night of my mother's marriage. That night he asked me 
 to dance with him. I declined ; but afterward he came to me 
 accompanied by my mother, She whispered in my ears that I 
 
592 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 was harsh in my refusal, and called my attention to his wretch 
 ed appearance. Had I reflected upon it then, as I did after- 
 ward, this very allusion would have been sufficient to have 
 determined me not to consent j but I was led away by her 
 suggestions of pity, and stood up with him for a cotillion. But 
 the music changed, the set was altered, and the Spanish dance 
 was substituted in its place. In the course of this dance, I 
 could no* deceive myself as to the degree of presumption which 
 my partner displayed ; and, but for the appearance of the thing, 
 and because I did not wish to throw the room into disorder, I 
 would have stopped and taken my seat long before it was over. 
 When I did take my seat, I found myself still attended by him, 
 and it was with difficulty that I succeeded finally in defeating 
 his perseverance, by throwing myself into the midst of a set of 
 elderly ladies, where he could no longer distinguish me with 
 his attentions. In the meantime you had left the room. You 
 had deserted me. Ah ! Clifford, to what annoyance did your 
 absence expose me that night ! To that absence, do we owe 
 that I lost the only dear pledge of love that God had ever vouch- 
 safed us and you know how greatly my own life was perilled. 
 Think not, dearest, that I speak this to reproach you ; and yet 
 could you have remained! could you have loved, and 
 longed to be and remain with me, as most surely did I long for 
 your presence only and always ah! how much sweeter had 
 been our joys how more pure our happtness our faith with 
 now perhaps, even now the dear angel whom we then lost, 
 living and smiling beneath our eyes, and linking our mutual 
 hearts more and more firmly together than before ! 
 
 " That night, when it became impossible to remain longer 
 without trespassing when all the other guests had gone I 
 consented to be taken home in Mr. Edgerton's carriage. Had 
 I dreamed that Mr. Edgerton was to have been my companion, 
 I should have remained all night before I would have gone with 
 him, knowing what I knew, and feeling the mortification which 
 I felt. But my mother assured me that I was to have the car- 
 riage to myself it was she who had procured it; and it was 
 not until I was seated, and beheld him enter, that I had th' 
 least apprehension of such an intrusion. Edward ! it is with a 
 feeling: almost amounting: to horror, that I am constrained to 
 
BEVELATION THE LETTER OF JULU. S93 
 
 think that my mother not only knew of his intension tj ai- 
 company me, but that she herself suggested it. This, I say to 
 you ! You will find the reasons for my suspicions in the letters 
 which I enclose. It is a dreadful suspicion at the expense of 
 cna'c own mother ! I dare not believe in the dark malice which 
 it implies. I strive to think that she meant and fancisd only 
 soma pleasant mischief. 
 
 *' I shudder to declare the rest ! This man, your friend he 
 whom you sheltered in your bosom, and trusted beyond all 
 others whom you have now taken into your house with a 
 blindness that looks more like a delusion of witchcraft than of 
 friendship this impious man, I say, dared to wrap me in big 
 embrace dared to press his lips upon mine ! 
 
 " My cheek even now burns as I write, and I must lay down 
 tlis pen because of my trembling I struggled from his grasj 
 I broke the window by my side, and cried for help from tba 
 wayfarers. I cried for you ! 3u< you did not answer ! Ob, 
 husband ! where were you ? Why, why did you exposo zna ta 
 such indignities ? 
 
 "He was alarmed. He prcrrJsed me forbearance ; and, con- 
 vulsed with fright and fear, I found mysolf within our enclosure, 
 I knew not how ; but before I reached the cottage I became in- 
 sensible, and knew nothing more until the pangs of labor 
 subdued the more lasting pains of thought and recollection. 
 
 "You resolved to leave our home to go abroad among 
 strangers, and Oh ! how I rejoiced at your resolution. It seem- 
 ed to promise me happiness ; at least it promised me rescue and 
 *cief. I eLnuld at all events be free from the persecution of 
 this man, I dreaded the consequences, either to you or to him- 
 *sAf, of the exposure of his insolence. I had resolved oa 
 *n*king ft ; and on".y hesitated, day by day, as my mother dwelt 
 tho ian^ers which would follow. And when you deter- 
 L on removal, it seemed to me the most fortunate provi- 
 ** "^ it promised to spare me the necessity of making this 
 r3 relation at aT.. Surely, I thought, and my mother 
 
 ?3, *& this will put an effictral stop to his presumption, there 
 Hill te no need to narrate what is already past. The only mo- 
 &te in telling it at all w:>uld be to prevent, not to punish : if 
 tfo prev .-lirr. is effected by oth^r means, it is charity only tc 
 
394: CONFESSION, OB THE BLIND HEART. 
 
 forbear the relation of matters which would breed hatred, and 
 probably provoke strife. This made me silent; and, fall 
 of new hope ike hope that having discarded all your o!5 
 Ebdociates and removed from all your old haunts, you wcuJc 1 
 become mine entirely I felt a new strength in my fraro 
 a new life in my breast, and a glow upon my cheeks as wU' 
 in my soul, which seemed a guaranty for a long and ha,; / 
 term of that love which had begun in my boscm with the .r:t 
 moments of its childish consciousness and confidence. 
 
 " But one painful scene and hour I was yet compelled to en- 
 dure the night before our departure. Mr. Edgerton came to 
 play his flute under our window. I say Mr. Edgerton, but it 
 was only by a sort of instinct that I fixed upon him as the 
 musician. Perhaps it was because I knew not what other per- 
 son to suspect. Frequently, before this night, had I heard tV,j 
 music ; but on this occasion he seemed to have approached more 
 nearly to the dwelling ; and, inleed, I finally discovered that In 
 was actually beneath the China-tree that stood on the sou^i 
 front of the cottage. I was asleej when the music began. H* 
 must have been playing for some time before I awakened. HOT 
 I was awakened I know not ; but something disturbed me, and 
 I then saw you about to leave the room stealthily. I heard 
 your feet upon the stairs, and in the next moment I discovered 
 one of your pistols lying upon the window-sill, just beneath my 
 eyes. This alarmed me ; a thousand apprehensions rushed into 
 my brain ; all the suggestions of strife and bloodshed trhich my 
 mother had ever told me, filled my mind ; and without ktt ~a Ing 
 exactly what I did or said, I called out to the musician to S 
 with all possible speed. He did so ; and after a delay whic 
 was to me one of the most cruel apprehension, you returned in 
 Bafety. Whether you suspected, and what, I could not conjee 
 lure ; but if you had any suspicions of me, you did not seem tz 
 entertain any of him, for you spoke of him afterward with tte 
 same warm tone of friendship as before. 
 
 " That something in my conduct had not pleased yon, I could 
 see from your deportment as we travelled the next rooming 
 You were sad, and very silent and abstracted. This disa^, 
 peared, however, and, day by day, my happiness, my hope, my 
 sonfidence in you, in myself, in nil things, increased and I 
 
REVELATION THE LETTER OP JULIA. 8* 
 
 felt assured of realizing that perfect idea of felicity which I pix, 
 posed to myself from the moment when you declared your pur- 
 pose to emigrate. Were we not happy, husband so happy at 
 
 M , for weeks, for months always, morning, noon, anc! 
 
 night until the reappearance of this false friend of yoursl 
 Then, it seemed to me as if everything changed. Then, that 
 other friend of yours who, though he never treated me with 
 aught hut respect, I yet can call no friend of mine Mr, 
 Kingsley, drew you away again from your home carried you 
 with him to his haunts detained you late and long, by night 
 and day and I was left once more exposed to the free and 
 frequent familiarity of Mr. Edgerton. He renewed his former 
 habits ; his looks were more presuming, and his attentions more 
 direct and loathsome than ever. More than once I strove to 
 Bpeak with you on this hateful subject ; but it was so shocking, 
 and you were so fond of him, and I still had my fears ! At 
 length, moved by compassion, you brought him to our house. 
 Blind and devoted to him with a blindness and devotion be- 
 yond that which the noblest friendship would deserve, but which 
 renders tenfold more hateful the dishonest and treacherous 
 parson upon whom it is thrown away you command me to 
 meet him with kindness to tend his bed of sickness to 
 soothe his moments of sadness and despondency to expose 
 ryself to his insolence ! 
 
 * Husband . my soul revolts at this charge ! I have dis- 
 . ; sysd it and you ; and I must justify myself in this my dis- 
 
 cusnce. I must at length declare the truth. I have striven 
 ,c >o so in the preceding narrative. This narrative I began 
 <v er you brought thie false friend into our dwelling. He must 
 
 ;?av3 it. You must command his departure. Do not think me 
 mo fed by any unhappy or unbecoming prejudices against him 
 aid y antipathies have arisen solely from his presumption and 
 iii&conduct. I esteemed him nay, I even liked him before. 
 L liked his taste for the arts, hie amiable manners, his love of 
 music and poetry, and all those graces of the superior mind and 
 vlueation, which dignify humanity, and indicate its probable 
 But when he showed me how false he was to a 
 so free and confiding as was yours when he abused 
 and ears with expressions unbecoming in him, and in- 
 
396 CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART 
 
 suiting and ungenerous to me I loathed and spurned him. 
 While he is in your house I will strive and treat him civilly, 
 but do not tax me further. For your sake I have borne much ; 
 for the sake of peace, and to avoid strife and crime, I have 
 been silent perhaps too long. The strange, improper letters, 
 of niy mother, which I enclose, almost make me tremble to 
 think that I have paid but too much defference to her opinion. 
 But, in the expulsion of this miserable man from your dwelling, 
 there needs no violence, there needs no crime ! A word will 
 overwhelm him with shame. Remember, dear husband, that he is 
 feeble and sick; it is probable he has not long to live. Perform 
 your painful duty privily, and with all the forbearance which is 
 consistent with a proper firmness. In truth, he has done us no 
 real harm. Let us remember that! If anything, he has only 
 made me love you the more, by showing so strongly how 
 generous is the nature which he has so infamously abused. 
 Once more, dear husband, do no violence. Let not our future 
 days be embittered by any recollections of the present. Com- 
 mand, compel his departure, and come home to me, and keep with 
 me always. " Your own true wife, 
 
 " JULIA CLIFFOHD." 
 
 ''Postscript. I had closed this letter yesterday, thinking to 
 send it to your office in the afternoon. I had hoped that there 
 would be nothing more ; but last night, this madman for 
 such I must believe him to be committed another outrage 
 upon my person! He has a second time seized me in his arms 
 and endeavored to grasp me in his embrace. O husband ! 
 why, why do you thus expose me ? Do you indeed love me ? 
 I sometimes tremble with a fear lest you do not. But I dare 
 not think so. Yet, if you do, why am I thus exposed thus 
 deserted thus left to a companionship which is equally loath- 
 some to me and dishonoring to you ? I implore you to open 
 your eyes to believe me, and discard this false friend from your 
 Swelling and your confidence. But, oh, be merciful, . dear 
 husband 1 Strike no sudden blow ! Send him forth with scorn 
 but remember his feebleness, his family, and spare his life. I 
 send this by Emma. Let no one see the letters of my mother but 
 burn them instantly. "Your own 
 
BEVELATION THE LETTER OP JULIA. 397 
 
 And this was the writing which had employed her time for 
 lays before the sad catastrophe ! And it was for this reason 
 'hat she asked, with so much earnestness, if I had been to my 
 office on the day wheji I drove Edgerton out into the woods for 
 ,he adjustment of our issue? No wonder that she was anxious 
 it that moment. How much depended upon that simple and 
 ordinary proceeding. Had I but gone that day to my office aa 
 usual ! 
 
 There were no longer doubts. There could bo none. There 
 * -p.e now no mystery. It was all clear. The most ambiguous 
 
 *tions of her conduct had been as easily and simply explained 
 
 e rest. But it availed nothing ! The blow had fallen. I 
 
 7&J an accursed man truly accursed, and miserably desolate. 
 
 I still sat, stolid, seemingly, as the insensible chair which sus- 
 tained me, when Kingsley came in. He took the papers from 
 uiy unresisting ",ands. He read them in silence. I heard but 
 
 . i sentence from Lis lips, and it came from them unconscious- 
 f : - 
 
 r oor, poor gir*. j ;; 
 
 J locked rondel and etartel to my feet. The tears were on 
 ."air -nanly checks I I a I shed nor?**. My yes were dry ! The 
 foantains of tears seemed shut up, &r*d and . iiiety. 
 
 "I must make atonement!" I exclaimed. "I must delivei 
 myself up to justice !" 
 
 " This is madness," said he, seizing my arm as I was about 
 to leave the room. 
 
 " No : retribution only ! I have destroyed her. I must 
 make the only atonement which is in my power. I must die ! f 
 
 "What you 'design is none," he said solemnly. "Your 
 death will atone nothing. It is by living only that you can 
 atone !" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "By repentance! This is the grand the only sovereign 
 atonement wnieh the spirit of man can ever make. There ia 
 no other mode provided in nature. The laws, which would 
 take your life, would deprive you of the means of atonement. 
 This is due to God ; it can be performed only by living and 
 Life is a duty because it is an ordeal You must 
 
CONFESSION, OR THE BLIND HEART, 
 
 preserve life, as a sacred trust, for this reason. Even if you 
 were a felon one wilfully resolving and coldly executing crime 
 you were yet bound to preserve life ! Throw it away, and 
 though you comply with the demand of sogial laws, you forfeit 
 the only chance of making atonement to those which are far 
 superior. Rather pray that life may be spared you. It was 
 with this merciful purpose that God not only permitted Cain to 
 live, but commanded that none should slay him. You must live 
 for this !" 
 
 "Yet I slew her /" 
 
 He did with me as he pleased. Three days after beheld us 
 on our way to the rich empire of Texas its plains, rich but 
 barren unstocked, wild running to waste with its tangled 
 weeds needing, imploring the vigorous hand of cultivation 
 Even such, at that moment, was my heart ! Rich in fertile 
 affections, yet gone to waste ; waiting, craving, praying for the 
 hand of the cultivator ! Yet who now was that cultivator ? 
 
 To this question the words of Kingsley, which were those of 
 truth and wisdom, were a sufficient answer ; and evermore an 
 echo arose as from the bottom of my soul ; and my lips repeated 
 it to my own ears only ; and but one word was spoken ; and 
 that word was " ATONEMENT !" 
 
 TBI 
 
^^Ksmmm&i^ 
 
 ;a, 
 
 u 
 
 <o2 
 
 CXL 
 LU -J 
 > < 
 
 01 
 LU 
 
 Z 
 
 
 d> 
 o 
 
 ^_- 
 
 
 .. 
 
 
 : ^ 
 
 f^^ 
 
ilfltll^ 
 
I