“Then is the horrible surmise too true—too accurate,” said Charles, in a hollow tone, while his face grew ghastly once more; “and it must have been these demons in female shape who caused his death. But on what night, father,” he demanded with abrupt impatience, “did the murder take place?”
“The night before you quitted London,” was the answer.
“Ah! then it is clear—clear—clear, beyond all possibility of doubt!” exclaimed Charles. “Yes—it was on the night in question that my note of hand was discounted by that same Percival—for Perdita has since told me that such was the name of the money-lender,” he continued, in his soul-harrowing musings.
“You have been raising money, then, Charles?” said Mr. Hatfield. “But that is a miserable—a contemptible trifle compared to all the rest! May I however ask you on what security—or on what prospects—you have obtained a loan and given a promissory note?”
“Father, henceforth there must be no secrets between us!” returned the young man, becoming respectful, submissive, and even imploring in his tone and demeanour. “The dreadful revelations of this morning have destroyed all that egotistical confidence in myself and my own wisdom——”
“Yes, Charles,” interrupted Mr. Hatfield, taking his son’s hand and speaking in a kind, commiserating tone; “you have been too susceptible to first impressions—you have formed hasty opinions—you have grasped at shadows—you have revelled in delicious hopes and pleasing aspirations, without ever pausing to reflect that the very foundation-stone of all this castle-building was a mere delusion.”
“I do not comprehend you, father,” said the young man, now surveying his parent with profound surprise: “unless, indeed, you allude to the destruction of all the bright visions which I have conjured up respecting the false—the wicked—the abandoned Perdita.”
“No, my dear son—I am now seeking to direct the conversation into another channel,” responded Mr. Hatfield, with solemn emphasis; “for, alas! I can too well divine the deplorable error which you have adopted and cherished as a substantial truth.”
“An error, father!” repeated Charles, still completely mystified.
“Yes—an error of the most afflicting nature,—afflicting to you—afflicting to me—afflicting to your mother also,” added Mr. Hatfield, his voice becoming low and melancholy. “In a word, Charles, you believe yourself to be that which you are not—your ambition has blinded you—your pride has led you into the most fatal misconceptions——”