When within his chamber, he carefully fastened the door and placed
a packet in my hands.
"This is addressed to you," he said. "I found it on the table
with other papers, and seeing the address, and fearing that if the
jury laid eyes on it, they might insist on knowing its contents, I
thrust it into my pocket and said nothing about it there. Read it
at your leisure, while I smoke a cigar below."
He left me, and I opened the seal with a sense of misgiving and
apprehension for which I could not easily account. The outer packet
was addressed to myself. But the envelope contained several other
papers, one of which was addressed to his father; another--a small
billet, unsealed--bore the name of my wife upon it.
"That," I inly (sic) muttered, "she shall never read!"
An instant after, I trembled with a convulsive horror, as the demon
who had whispered in my ears so long, seemed to say, in mocking
accents:-"Shall not! Ha! ha! She can not! can not!" and then the fiend
seemed to chuckle, and I remembered the insuppressible anguish of
Othello's apostrophe, to make all its eloquence my own. I murmured
audibly:-"My wife! my wife! What wife?--I have no wife!
Oh, insupportable--oh, heavy hour!"
My eyes were blinded. My face sunk down upon the table, and a cold
shiver shook my frame as if I had an ague. But I recovered myself
when I remembered the wrongs I had endured--her guilt and the guilt
of Edgerton. I clutched the papers--brushed the big drops from my
forehead, and read.
"Clifford, I save you guiltless of my death. You would be less
happy were my blood upon your hands, for, though I deserve to die
by them, I know your nature too well--to believe that you would
enjoy any malignant satisfaction at the performance of so sad
a duty. Still, I know that this is no atonement. I have simply
ceased from persecuting you and the angelic woman, your wife. But
how shall I atone for the tortures and annoyances of the past,
inflicted upon you both? Never! never! I perish without hope of
forgiveness, though, here, alone with God, in the extreme of mortal
humility, I pray for it!
"Perhaps, you know all. From what escaped you this morning, it
would seem so. You knew of my madness when in C----; you know that
it pursued you here. Nothing then remains for me to tell. I might
simply say all is true; but that, in the confession of my guilt
and folly, each particular act of sin demands its own avowal, as
it must be followed by its own bitter agony and groan.
"My passion for your wife began soon after your marriage. Until
then I had never known her. You will acquit me of any deliberate
design to win her affections. I strove, as well as I could, to
suppress my own. But my education did not fit me for such a struggle.
The indulgence of fond parents had gratified all my wishes, and
taught me to expect their gratification. I could not subdue my
passions even when they were unaccompanied by any hopes. Without
knowing my own feelings, I approached your wife. Our tastes were
similar, and these furnished the legitimate excuse for frequently
bringing us together. The friendly liberality of your disposition
enlarged the privileges of the acquaintance, and, without meaning
it at first, I abused them. I sought your dwelling at unsuitable
periods. Unconsciously, I did so, just at those periods when you
were most likely to be absent. I first knew that my course was
wrong, by discovering the unwillingness which I felt to encounter
you. This taught me to know the true nature of my sentiments, but
without enforcing the necessity of subduing them. I did not seek
to subdue them long. I yielded myself up, with the recklessness
of insanity, to a passion whose very sweetness had the effect to
madden.