“No,” replied Vivian; “it must be finished before to-morrow. I am bound in duty to finish it before to-morrow.”
“If it is a point of duty, I have no more to say,” replied Lady Sarah; “but,” continued she, in a tone of proud humility, “but if I might so far intrude upon your confidence, as to inquire——”
“Make no inquiries, my dear; for I cannot answer any, even of yours,” said Vivian. “And let me beg of you to go to rest; my mind will then be more at ease. I cannot command my thoughts whilst I am anxious about you; and I am anxious—more anxious than ever I was in my life—about you at this moment. You will oblige me if you will go to rest.”
“I CANNOT rest, but I will leave you, since you desire it—I have no idle curiosity—Good night!”
“Good night! and thank you once more, my excellent wife, for all your kindness.”
“There cannot be a better woman!” said Vivian to himself as she retired. “Why have I not loved her as she deserved to be loved? If I live, I will do my utmost to make her happy—if I live, I will yet repair all. And, if I die, she will have but little reason to deplore the loss of such a husband.”
Vivian now executed his will—wrote several letters of business—burnt letters and arranged papers—regretted that Russell, who was to be his executor, was not near him—made many bitter reflections on the past, many good resolutions for the future, in case he should survive; then, overpowered with fatigue of mind, slept for some time, and was awakened by the clock striking seven. By eight o’clock he was at the place appointed—Mr. Wharton appeared a few minutes afterwards. Their seconds having measured out the distance, they took their ground. As Vivian had given the challenge, Wharton had the first fire. He fired—Vivian staggered some paces back, fired his pistol into the air, and fell. The seconds ran to his assistance, and raised him from the ground. The bullet had entered his chest. He stretched out his hand to Mr. Wharton in token of forgiveness, and, as soon as he could speak, desired the seconds to remember that it was he who gave the challenge, and that he thought he deserved to bear the blame of the quarrel. Wharton, callous as he was, seemed struck with pity and remorse: he asked what friends Vivian would wish to have apprised of his situation. A surgeon was in attendance. Vivian, faint from loss of blood, just pronounced Russell’s name, and the name of the hotel where he was to be found, adding “nobody else.” Wharton rode off, undertaking to find Mr. Russell; and Vivian was carried into a little public-house, by the orders of the surgeon, who thought that he could not bear the motion of a carriage. Wharton met Mr. Russell, who was coming from town. He had come to London earlier than he had intended, and, in consequence of Lady Mary Vivian’s note, which he had received immediately on his arrival, had made such inquiries as convinced him that her apprehensions were just; and having discovered the place where the parties were to meet, he had hastened thither, in hopes of preventing the fatal event. The moment he saw Mr. Wharton he knew that he was too late. Without asking any other question than, “Is Vivian alive?” he pressed forwards. The surgeon, who was the next person he saw, gave him no hopes of his friend’s recovery, but said he might last till night, or linger perhaps for a day or two. Vivian had by this time recovered his senses and his speech; but when Russell entered the room where he lay, he was so much struck by the grief in his countenance that he could not recollect any one of the many things he had to say. Russell, the firm Russell, was now quite overcome.
“Yes, my dear friend,” said Vivian; “this is the end of all your care—of all your hopes of me!—Oh, my poor, poor mother! What will become of her! Where can we find consolation for her!—You and Selina Sidney! You know how fond my mother was of her—how fond she was of my mother—till I, the cause of evil to all my friends, separated them. You must reunite them. You must repair all. This hope—this hope of your happiness, my beloved friend, will soothe my last moments!——How much happier Selina will be with you than——”
Russell sobbed aloud.—“Yes, yield to your feelings, for I know how strong they are,” said Vivian: “you, that have always felt more for me than I have ever felt for myself! But it is well for you that my life ends; for I have never been any thing but a torment and a disgrace to you!—And yet I had good dispositions!—but there is no time for regret about myself; I have others to think of, better worth thinking of.”
Vivian called for pen, ink, and paper, had himself raised in his bed, and supported, whilst he wrote to Selina, and to his mother.