I left him in the Armoury, nor have I entered it since. The wood is all my own again. No figure glides upon me but that my imagination loves to form.
On the day succeeding that in which I found the hermit in the Armoury, I saw Mrs. Valmont walking on the terrace. I went to her, and spoke of the circumstance. She appeared agitated by my words; she grasped my hand, and said the finger of heaven was in it; and she talked further in a strange way, of something that she called it, and it. She would not be me, she said, for worlds. I do fear the disorder has affected her intellects.
But a little interval between me and perfect happiness! I cannot write. You know, Caroline, I love you, but now, indeed, I cannot write.
Dearest Caroline, adieu.
SIBELLA VALMONT
LETTER XIII
FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
TO
ARTHUR MURDEN
'Tis all gone, Murden. The pinnacle of my hopes and expectations is crumbled to the dust. Where shall I turn me, or what consolation shall I ask? Arthur, do not bestow on me that insolent pity which only augments misfortune.
I am not the same Clement Montgomery you formerly knew, brought up in the castle, with homage and respect, afterward introduced into the circles of fashion, as Mr. Valmont's heir, and supported with an allowance equal to that expectation; no, I am only one to whom he gave an accidental kindness, on whom he bestowed temporary favours, and whom he now condemns to the abhorred life of care, and plodding with the lower orders of mankind.