On my way through the town I stopped at the postoffice to get
letters, and received one from Mrs. Delaney--late Clifford--my
wife's exemplary mother, addressed to Julia. I then proceeded to
Edgerton's lodgings. He was not yet up, and I saw him in his chamber.
His flute lay upon the toilet. Seeing it, I recalled, with all its
original vexing bitterness, the scene which took place the night
previous to my departure from my late home. And when I looked on
Edgerton--saw with what effort he spoke, and how timidly he expressed
himself--how reluctant were his eyes to meet the gaze of mine--his
guilt seemed equally fresh and unequivocal. I marked him out,
involuntarily, as my victim. I felt assured, even while conveying
to him the complimentary invitation which I bore, that my hand
was commissioned to do the work of death upon his limbs. Strange
and fascinating conviction! But I did not contemplate this necessity
with any pleasure. No! I would have prayed--I did pray--that the
task might be spared me. If I thought of it at all, it was as the
agent of a necessity which I could not countervail. The fates had
me in their keeping. I was the blind instrument obeying the inflexible
will, against which "Reluctant nature strives in vain."
I felt then, most truly, though I deceived myself, that I had no
power, though every disposition, to save and to spare. I conveyed
my invitation as a message from my wife.
"Edgerton, my wife has planned a little ramble for this afternoon.
She wishes to show you some of the beauties of landscape in our
new abode. She commissions me to ask you to join us."
"Ah! did SHE?" he demanded eagerly, with a slight emphasis on the
last word.
"Ay, did she! Will you come?"
"Certainly--with pleasure!"
He need not have said so much. The pleasure spoke in his bright
eyes--in the tremulous hurry of his utterance. I turned away from
him, lest I should betray the angry feeling which disturbed me.
He did not seek to arrest my departure. He had few words. It was
sufficiently evident that he shrunk from my glance and trembled
in my presence. How far otherwise, in the days of our mutual
innocence--in our days of boyhood--when his face seemed clear
like that of a pure, perfect star, shining out in the blue serene
of night, unconscious of a cloud.
Kingsley was already at my office when I reached it, and soon after
came Mr. Wharton, followed by two of our opponents. We were engaged
with them the better part of the morning. When the business hours
were consumed, our transactions remained unfinished, and another
meeting was appointed for the ensuing day. I invited Wharton as well
as Kingsley to join us in our afternoon rambles, which they both
promised to do. I went home something sooner to make preparations,
and only recollected, on seeing Julia, that I had thrown the letter
from her mother, with other papers, into my desk. When I told her
of the letter, her countenance changed to a death-like paleness
which instantly attracted my notice.