The guilty man paused, while his whole frame shook, and his teeth chattered as though he had the ague.
"And yet it need not, unless this paltry cowardice of mine betrays me," he again cried, starting wildly up and pacing the room. "How many murderers walk in the open sunshine, in the broad face of day, through the very heart of our most crowded cities, with impunity? It only requires nerve, courage, boldness, to face the worst, and I can defy Satan himself and all his hosts. Others have committed murder before me, without any provocation to excuse them, and it troubled them not. Why, then, should I, who only acted in vindication of my wounded honor—and if ever murder is excusable, surely it was in my case? Why should I tremble, and shrink from my very shadow? Courage, coward soul? These dreams and phantoms of a disordered brain will pass away, with time. When this affair in some degree blows over, I will hasten to London—to Paris; and in the excitement and turmoil of a great city, forget the miserable past. Courage, Edgar Courtney! Thou hast begun a desperate game, and all thy boldness is required to carry thee through! Yes, I will put a bold face on it, and dare the worst. And, now Satan—for on thee alone dare I call now—help me in this extremity, if ever thou didst help me before!"
He paused before the glass, with clenched hands and teeth, and almost started to see the wild, fierce look his ghastly face wore. His long elf-locks fell in wild disorder over his face and neck, and added to the haggard pallor of his countenance.
"This craven face will never do," he said; "I must compose it. And this disheveled hair must not hang thus disordered. She used to twine it round her fingers once," he said, the look of agonizing sorrow and remorse coming back: "but that time long ago passed away. I must not think of it more—let me only think of this man for whose love she forgot she was already a wife."
The thought did bring a sort of fierce composure. Brushing back the heavy black hair off his face and brow, he threw on his now dry cloak, lighted one of the cigars that lay on the table, and then rang a peal that presently brought up one of the servants. When the man entered Courtney was lying back in the pillowy depths of a lounging-chair, his feet extended to the fire, looking, as he smoked—or, rather, trying to look—the very picture of nonchalance. It was a miserable failure after all, as the wildly gleaming eyes still testified.
"Breakfast!" he said, briefly, to the bowing waiter.
"Yes, sir. What will you please to have, sir?"
"Anything—coffee—waffles. I don't care what—only be quick!"
The man disappeared, and presently returned with fragrant coffee, delicious waffles, and eggs.
Courtney seated himself at the table, and drank cup after cup of the strong coffee; but the first morsel he attempted to swallow seemed to choke him.