Frank Mildmay Part 37

For my own part, I gradually came to my senses, and with difficulty regained my chaise, the driver of which told me I had been gone about an hour. I drove off to town, wholly unaware that I had been observed by anyone, much less by Emily. When she related to her father what she had seen, he either disbelieved or effected to disbelieve it, and treated it as the effect of a distempered mind--the phantom of a disordered imagination; and she at length began to coincide with him.

I started for the Continent a few days afterwards. Talbot, who had seen little of Clara since my rejection by Emily, and subsequent illness, offered my father to accompany me; and Clara was anxious that he should go, as she was determined not to listen to anything he could say during my affliction; she could not, she said, be happy while I was miserable, and gave him no opportunity of conversing with her on the subject of their union.

We arrived at Paris; but so abstracted was I in thought that I neither saw nor heard anything. Every attention of Talbot was lost upon me. I continued in my sullen stupor, and forgot to read the little book which dear Clara had given, and which, for her sake I had promised to read. I wrote to Eugenia on my arrival; and disburthened my mind in some measure, by acknowledging my shameful treatment of her. I implored her pardon, and, by return of post received it. Her answer was affectionate and consoling; but she stated that her spirits, of course, were low, and her health but indifferent.

For many days my mind remained in a state of listless inanity; and Talbot applied, or suffered others to apply, the most pernicious stimulant that could be thought of to rouse me to action. Taking a quiet walk with him, we met some friends of his; and, at their request, we agreed to go to the saloons of the Palais Royal. This was a desperate remedy, and by a miracle only was I saved from utter and irretrievable ruin. How many of my countrymen have fallen victims to the arts practised in that horrible school of vice, I dare not say!

Happy should I be to think that the infection had not reached our own sh.o.r.es, and found patrons among the great men of the land. They have, however, both felt the consequences and been forewarned of the danger.

_They_ have no excuse; _mine_ was, that I had been excluded from the society of those I loved. Always living by excitement, was it surprising that, when a gaming-table displayed its h.o.a.rds before me, I should have fallen at once into the snare?

For the first time since my illness, I became interested, and laid down my money on those abhorred tables. My success was variable; but I congratulated myself that at length I had found a stimulus, and I anxiously awaited the return of the hour when the doors would again be opened, and the rooms lighted up for the reception of company. I won considerably; and night after night found me at the table--for avarice is insatiable; but my good luck left me; and then the same motive induced me to return, with the hope of winning back what I had lost.

Still fortune was unpropitious, and I lost very considerable sums. I became desperate, and drew largely on my father. He wrote to beg that I would be more moderate; as twice his income would not support such an expenditure. He wrote also to Talbot, who informed him in what manner the money had been expended; and that he had in vain endeavoured to divert me from the fatal practice. Finding that no limits were likely to be put to my folly, my father very properly refused to honour any more of my bills.

Maddened with this intimation, for which I secretly blamed Talbot, I drew upon Eugenia's banker, bill after bill, until the sum amounted to more than what my father had paid. At length a letter came from Eugenia: it was but a few lines.

"I know too well, my dearest friend," said she, "what becomes of the money you have received. If you want it all, I cannot refuse you; but remember that you are throwing away the property of your child."

This letter did more to rouse me to a sense of my infamous conduct than the advice of Talbot, or the admonitions of my father. I felt I was acting like a scoundrel, and I resolved to leave off gaming. "One night more," said I, "and then, if I lose, there is an end of it; I go no more." Talbot attended me: he felt he was in some measure the cause of my being first initiated in this pernicious amus.e.m.e.nt: and he watched my motions with unceasing anxiety.

The game was _rouge-et-noir_. I threw a large sum on the red, I won, left the stake, doubled, and won again. The heap of gold had increased to a large size, and still remained to abide the chance of the card.

Again, again, and again, it was doubled. Seven times had the red card been turned up, and seven times had my gold been doubled. Talbot, who stood behind me, implored and begged me earnestly to leave off.

"What may be the consequence of one card against you? Trust no more to fortune; be content with what you have got."

"That," muttered I, "Talbot, is of no use; I must have more."

Again came up the red, to the astonishment of the bystanders; and to their still greater astonishment, my gold, which had increased to an enormous heap, still remained on the table. Talbot again intreated me not to tempt fortune foolishly.

"Folly," said I, "Talbot, has already been committed; and one more card will do the business. It must be done."

The bankers knowing, after eight red cards had been turned up, how great the chance was of regaining all their losses by a double or quits, agreed to the ninth card. Talbot trembled like a leaf. The card was turned; it came up red, and the bank was broken.

Here all play ceased for the night. The losers, of course, vented their feelings in the most blasphemous execrations; while I quietly collected all my winnings, and returned home in a _fiacre_, with Talbot, who took the precaution of requesting the attendance of two _gendarmes_. These were each rewarded with a Napoleon.

"Now, Talbot," said I, "I solemnly swear, as I hope to go to heaven, never to play again." And this promise I have most religiously kept.

My good fortune was one instance in ten thousand, among those who have been ruined in that house. The next morning I refunded all I had drawn upon Eugenia, and all my father had supplied me with, and there still remained a considerable residue.

Determined not to continue in this vortex of dissipation any longer, where my resolution was hourly put to the test, Talbot and myself agreed to travel down to Brest, an a.r.s.enal we were both desirous of seeing.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

_Pal_.

Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow False as thy t.i.tle to her. Friends.h.i.+p, blood, And all the ties between us, I disclaim.

_Arc_.

You are mad.

_Pal_.

I must be, Till thou art worthy, Arcite; it concerns me!

And, in this madness, if I hazard thee And take thy life, I deal but truly.

_Arc_.

Fie, sir!

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

We quitted Paris two days after; and a journey of three days, through an uninteresting country, brought us to the little town of Granville, on the sea-coast, in the Channel. We remained at this delightful place some days; and our letters being regularly forwarded to us, brought us intelligence from England. My father expressed his astonishment at my returning the money drawn for; and trusted, unaccountable as the rest.i.tution appeared, that I was not offended, and would consider him my banker, as far as his expenditure and style of living would permit him to advance.

Eugenia, in her letters, reproached herself for having written to me; and concluded that I had drawn so largely upon her merely to prove her sincerity. She a.s.sured me, that her caution to me was not dictated by selfishness, but from a consideration for the child.

Clara's letter informed me that every attempt, even to servility, had been made in order to induce Emily to alter her determination, but without success; and that a coolness had in consequence taken place, and almost an entire interruption of the intimacy between the families. She also added, "I am afraid that your friend is even worse than yourself; for I understand that he is engaged to another woman, and has been so for years. Now, as I must consider that the great tie of your intimacy is his supposed partiality to me, and as I conceive you are under a false impression with respect to his sincerity, I think it my duty to make you acquainted with all I know. It is impossible that you can esteem the man who has trifled with the feelings of your sister; and I sincerely hope that the next letter from you will inform me of your having separated."

How little did poor Clara think, when she wrote this letter, of the consequences likely to arise from it; that in thus venting her complaints, she was exploding a mine which was to produce results ten times more fatal than anything which had yet befallen us!

I was at this period in a misanthropic state of mind, hating myself and everyone about me. The company of Talbot had long been endured, not enjoyed; and I would gladly have availed myself of any plausible excuse for a separation. True, he was my friend, had proved himself so; but I was in no humour to acknowledge favours. Discarded by her I loved, I discarded every one else. Talbot was a log and a chain, and I thought I could not get rid of him too soon. This letter, therefore, gave me a fair opportunity of venting my spleen; but instead of a cool dismissal, as Clara requested, I determined to dismiss him or myself to another world.

Having finished reading my letter, I laid it down, and made no observation. Talbot, with his usual kind and benevolent countenance, inquired if I had any news? "Yes," I replied, "I have discovered that you are a villain!"

"That is news indeed," said he; "and strange that the brother of Clara should have been the messenger to convey it; but this is language, Frank, which not even your unhappy state of mind can excuse. Retract your words."

"I repeat them," said I. "You have trifled with my sister, and are a villain." (Had this been true, it was no more than I had done myself; but my victims had no brothers to avenge their wrongs.)

"The name of Clara," replied Talbot, "calms me: believe me, Frank, you are mistaken. I love her, and have always had the most honourable intentions towards her."

"Yes," said I, with a sarcastic sneer, "at the time that you have been engaged to another woman for years. To one or the other you must acknowledge yourself a scoundrel: I do not, therefore, withdraw my appellation, but repeat it; and as you seem so very patient under injuries, I inform you that you must either meet me on the sands this evening, or consent to be stigmatised with another name still more revolting to the feelings of an Englishman."

"Enough, enough, Frank," said Talbot, with a face in which conscious innocence and manly fort.i.tude were blended. "You have said more than I ever expected to have heard from you, and more than the customs of the world will allow me to put up with. What must be, must; but I still tell you, Frank, that you are wrong, that you are fatally deluded, and that you will bitterly repent the follies of this day. It is yourself with whom you are angry, and you are venting that anger on your friend."

The words were thrown away on me. I felt a secret malignant pleasure, which blindly impelled me forward, with the certainty of glutting my revenge, by either destroying or being destroyed. My sole preparation for this dreadful conflict was my pistols; no other did I, think of, not even the chances of sending my friend and fellow-mortal, or going myself, into the presence of an Almighty Judge. My mind was absorbed in secret pleasure at the idea of that acute misery which Emily would suffer if I fell by the hand of Talbot.

I repaired to the rendezvous, where I found Talbot waiting. He came up to me, and again said:--

"Frank, I call Heaven to witness that you are mistaken. You are wrong.

Suspend your opinion, at least, if you will not recall your words."

Totally possessed by the devil, and not to be convinced till too late, I replied to his peaceful overture by the most insulting irony: "You were not afraid to fire at a poor boy in the water," said I, "though you do not like to stand a shot in return. Come, come, take your ground, be a man, stand up, don't be afraid."

"For myself," said Talbot, with a firm and placid resignation of countenance, "I have no fears; but for you, Frank, I have great cause of alarm:" so saying, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the loaded pistol, which I threw down to him.

We had no seconds; nor was there any person in sight. It was a bright moonlight, and we walked to the water's edge, where the reflux of the tide had left the sand firm to the tread. Here we stood back to back.

The usual distance was fourteen paces. Talbot refused to measure his, but stood perfectly still. I walked ten paces, and turned round.

"Ready," said I, in a low voice.

We both raised our arms; but Talbot, instantly dropping the muzzle of his pistol, said, "I cannot fire at the brother of Clara!"

"I can at her insulter," answered I; and, taking deliberate aim, fired, and my ball entered his side. He bounded, gave a half-turn round in the air, and fell on his face to the ground.

How sudden are the transitions of the human mind! how close does remorse follow the gratification of revenge! The veil dropped from my eyes; I saw in an instant the false medium, the deceitful vision, which had thus allured me into what the world calls "an affair of honour." "Honour,"

good Heaven! had made me a murderer, and the voice of my brother's blood cried out for vengeance.