The letter to which reference was made at the conclusion of the preceding chapter, and which Lewis received on the day following that on which he visited Mr. Coke, the family solicitor, proved to be from General Grant, and ran as follows:—
“My dear young Friend,—for in that light I must ever consider you, after the many important services you have rendered me,—I am anxious to lose no time in forwarding to your account, at Messrs.—, your salary for the year beginning May 18—; and as you have been compelled by honourable feeling to throw up your appointment so unexpectedly, and may not be fortunate enough to meet immediately with another suited to your wishes, you will, I feel sure, allow me, as some small testimony of the high esteem in which I hold you, to enclose a cheque for £500 instead of,£300. I shall feel hurt if you refuse to accept this token of my regard.”
“Two hundred pounds for giving up his daughter! he would scarcely have bought me off so cheap if I had looked at the matter in a pecuniary point of view,” was Lewis’s ironical comment, as with an inward resolution instantly to return the £200 he continued to peruse the letter.
“You will be glad to hear that Walter bears your absence wonderfully well; your kind consideration in leaving him the dog has produced a very good effect, as the animal serves to amuse him. We have not as yet been able to disabuse him of the notion that you will return, although I have impressed upon my daughter, who appears to possess more influence with him than any other member of the family, the necessity for so doing. The mention of my daughter’s name leads me for the last time to touch upon a subject which I can conceive may be painful even to your well-disciplined mind. During an interview which I held with her yesterday, she expressed her readiness to be guided entirely by my wishes. With her full concurrence, the engagement to Lord Bellefield was formally renewed, and the marriage is to take place as soon as she comes of age. I may add that, as far as I am able to judge upon so delicate a point, I do not doubt that her intended bridegroom possesses her entire affection. You will not think me unnecessarily communicative, or careless of your feelings, in mentioning these facts; but I conceive the knowledge of them may tend sooner to restore your mind to its usually healthy tone. Should you still be in England after my daughter’s marriage, I shall have much pleasure in seeing you either at Broadhurst or in Park Crescent. Convey my remembrances to Mrs. and Miss Arundel,
“And believe me to remain, yours sincerely and faithfully,
“Archibald Grant.”
Lewis read the letter steadily to the end. With trembling lips and starting eyeballs did he reperuse it; he could not avert his gaze, it appeared to possess a species of horrible fascination for him; he felt as if his brain would burst, as if his reason were failing him. Annie loving Lord Bellefield, and allowing the engagement to be formally renewed—oh, it was impossible! he must be going mad—an evil which his worst fears pointed at only as a remote possibility, when time should have effaced his image, and the influence of those around her have conquered her lingering scruples, come to pass ere the rosebud she had given him had withered on its stem. Why was it that the trial had become too great for him to bear—that his selfcontrol had failed—was it only the intensity of his own feelings that he feared? or was it that he hoped, yet dreaded to learn, that he was beloved? Did the sacrifice that he had made consist only of his love for her, or did the belief that he was relinquishing the certainty of winning hers in return add a redoubled bitterness to his self-renunciation? were a thousand remembered words, looks, glances, realities, or the creations of his morbid fancy? He rose and paced the room, as was his wont when deeply excited. Where should he seek a clue to this mystery? could he believe—the thought flashed like lightning through his brain, like lightning, searing as it passed—could he believe that he had again been duped by a coquette? were all women false and heartless alike? could the goodness, and innocence, and purity which rendered beauty such as Annie’s a link between earth and heaven be mere counterfeits, and not the angel-instincts they appeared? Did good exist at all? or was this world an initiatory hell, and the evil principle predominant? Were Annie untrue, truth itself might be but a great and specious falsehood.
From this chaos of passionate distraction a few clearer, but on that account no less painful, ideas began to evolve themselves: his newfound dream of joy had vanished; rank and fortune, valued only because they would bring him nearer to Annie, would become a tie and a burden without her—he would have none of them. For his mother and sister he would still labour; to support them was his first duty: in works which he must perform lay his only refuge against despair, perhaps even against madness. There was something else: some promise he made, what was it? his brain swam, he could recollect nothing clearly; hastily removing his neckcloth he plunged his head and face into a basin of cold water—this precaution in all probability saved him from a brain fever. Having partially dried his streaming locks and resumed his walk up and down the apartment, he remembered his promise to Hardy. Yes, that also was a sacred duty; the girl must be discovered, rescued from a life of ‘infamy, separated for ever from——, and here he stopped abruptly as a new idea occurred to him—Lord Bellefield! the retribution he had vowed to exact from him! he was now free, in a position to demand it! For a moment his eyes flashed, and the fingers of his right hand involuntarily closed as if grasping a weapon, and then many conflicting thoughts crowded upon him, and the eyes sought the ground, and the fingers insensibly relaxed. If he provoked Lord Bellefield to meet him now, at this particular juncture, would not it appear as if he were actuated solely by jealousy of his more fortunate rival, as if his hopeless passion for Annie were the cause of his animosity? This idea was especially repugnant to him for many reasons. In the first place, he had argued himself into the belief that his resentment against Lord Bellefield was a just and reasonable feeling, and that in punishing him for the unmanly insults he had heaped upon him, he was only exacting a due penalty; it was by this subtle argument alone that he could regard the act he contemplated as at all a justifiable one. Again, he considered that it would be completely beneath him to be jealous of Lord Bellefield. If Annie were able to love such a character, she was unworthy his affection. Lastly, although he was himself scarcely aware of the feeling, and although a personal meeting with the object of his hatred, a contemptuous word or insolent look, would in a moment have conquered it, he felt a natural repugnance to take any step which might necessitate shedding a fellow-mortal’s blood. To plan a duel à l’outrance as a distant possibility was one thing, to take measures coolly and deliberately to bring about such an event immediately was quite another affair. So catching at the only grey spot among the blackness that surrounded him, he consoled himself with the reflection that, as Annie would not be of age till the expiration of between two and three years, he might during that period contrive to learn how far her heart was likely to go with her hand in the proposed alliance, and to regulate his conduct accordingly. Shaping his plans for the present in accordance with this resolve, he wrote sundry letters (one to General Grant respectfully declining his present) more or less coherently, and then going to bed in the frame of mind of one who
“Dotes yet doubts, suspects yet fondly loves,”
must have been singularly fortunate if he enjoyed a very good night’s sleep.