But how was it that the demon of mischief had, with an under-current of irresistible influence, carried him on, in spite of the forceful flow of the above reflections, to the very goal of destruction!
He was in Tavistock Square.
He was at the door of Lady Cecilia Harborough's house.
And now for one minute a terrific conflict again raged within him. It seemed as if he collected all his remaining courage to struggle with the demons in his heart; but he was weak with the protracted contest—and they were more powerful than ever.
"I will see her once more," he said, yielding to the influence of his passions: "I will tell her that I stand upon an abyss—I will implore her to have mercy upon me, and permit me to retreat ere yet it be too late!"
His good genius held him faintly back; but his passions goaded him on: he obeyed the latter impulse; he rushed up the steps and knocked at the door.
"Even now I might retreat," he said to himself: "there is still time! I will—I will!"
He turned, and was already half-way down the steps, when the door was opened.
His good resolutions vanished, and he entered the house.
In a few moments more he was in the presence of Lady Cecilia,—Lady Cecilia—looking more bewitching, more captivating than ever!