University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

As Clifton left the police court, after being bailed
by De Lyle, he proceeded slowly towards the counting-room
of his employers, while the distressing
events which had prostrated his hopes, and rendered
him bankrupt in love and ambition, created a
feeling in his mind which bordered on desperation.

That he was the victim of some deep-laid conspiracy
was evident from the unblushing perjury of
the witness Burchard; but it was in vain that he
attempted to imagine any probable cause for the
malignant feelings which could alone have dictated
so desperate a measure for his destruction. That
De Lyle's teeming brain gave birth to the foul
scheme never entered his thoughts; and after musing
for a long period on the subject, he became satisfied
that, for some cause unknown to himself, he
had incurred the hatred of Ellingbourne, on whom
his suspicions were fixed by the apparent friendship

of Burchard for the fashionable roué, and his eager
anxiety to exempt the latter from suspicion, which
seemed to evince the intimate connexion existing
between them and the unity of their designs.

To what circumstance he should ascribe this
malignant hostility, he at first failed to perceive;
but suddenly the recollection of Ellingbourne's expressed
admiration of Julia Borrowdale, when she
appeared at Mrs. Rainsford's soirée, flashed across
his mind; and he was compelled to believe that
jealousy of his marked attentions to the lovely girl
was the foundation of this desperate expedient to
destroy him. What rendered the agency of Ellingbourne
more certain, was the testimony of Simpkin
and Thompson, both of whom had seemed equally
anxious with Burchard to exculpate him from censure,
while the belief they expressed of his (Clifton's)
being in the company of those who rifled their
pockets at the gaming-table, confirmed him in this
assurance. The only circumstance which tended
to exculpate Ellingbourne, was the fact of his being
arrested with the gamblers; but that might have
occurred through misapprehension of the hour at
which the officers were to enter the room, or from
some other casualty. Having fully satisfied his
mind on this subject, his indignation became so far
excited against Ellingbourne that he determined
without delay to denounce him in language sufficiently
severe to provoke a personal encounter.

That he disliked both the principle and practice

of duelling, is most true; but the natural hastiness
of his temper having in this instance obtained complete
ascendency, he conceived no other method of
avenging so great an injury; and as for his character
that was already lost beyond the hope of recovery.

With these feelings he proceeded to the lodgings
of Ellingbourne, whom he found traversing the
room with marked agitation imprinted on his features.

“Mr. Ellingbourne,” said Clifton, “this visit is
at a rather unseasonable hour; and I have little
doubt that its purport will be considered as inopportune
as the time selected for making it. My message
is brief but comprehensive. Sir, you are a
villain and a coward! The epithets are both applicable
to one who seeks the destruction of his fellow
through the agency of perjured hirelings. Allow
me to repeat the charge, lest your memory should
emulate the treachery of your soul, and fail to remind
you of its tenor. You understand me, sir, to
pronounce you a coward and a villain.”

“Mr. Clifton,” replied Ellingbourne, with mingled
anger and hesitation in his manner, “I fully
comprehend the foul and unjust epithets you have
applied to me. If circumstances had not transpired
to give you seeming cause for this hasty and violent
assault on my character and feelings, no apology or
explanation could prevent me from instantly demanding
personal satisfaction. Briefly, let me advise

you, sir, to withdraw these offensive charges.
If you do not retract within five minutes, we are
mortal foes. The issue is with you.”

“This, sir, is my only reply,” said Clifton, throwing
his card on the centre table, and immediately
leaving the room.

“Infatuated man,” said Ellingbourne, after his
departure, “if he will rush on destruction, how can
I prevent it? Would that the scoundrel De Lyle
were in his stead. That treacherous villain thinks
he has deceived me, as to his agency in procuring
the arrest of Clifton and myself; but the time will
soon arrive when I shall have fleeced him of his all,
and then he will ascertain his mistake. Unfortunately,
I cannot explain to Clifton, even if my
honour would permit, without implicating myself in
the transaction. Well, well, I suppose it is my unhappy
destiny to be compelled to shoot the man
whom I would rescue from infamy, and give the
fraternal hug to the reptile I despise. If the arrest
had not been made, I should have been enabled to
pocket De Lyle's cash, and exonerate Clifton from
all difficulty. But the stars have decreed it otherwise.”

With these philosophical reflections, Ellingbourne
seated himself and despatched a message by a servant
to the room of Matthison, soliciting an immediate
interview. While the messenger is absent, let
us for a moment examine whether most individuals,
like Ellingbourne, do not endeavour to throw the

burden of their own follies or delinquencies on fate,
destiny, or the stars. The merchant hazards his
fortune on the issue of a rash venture, which his
better judgment should at once have denounced: it
fails and he is ruined, and lo! the fates are his
sworn foes: the philosopher broaches a favourite
theory, and when practical application exhibits its
defects, it is his unfortunate destiny: the mechanic
expends his substance in building castles in the air,
instead of brick and mortar habitations on earth,
and as a breath resolves them into their original
elements, the gods have interposed for their destruction;
while the politician, whose selfish views are
evident through professions of regard for the dear
people, charges his defeat to ingratitude and the
stars! Lo! one thing we have observed among
the sons of men, and that is the disposition to deny,
stoutly, that their mishaps ever originate with themselves.

In a few moments Matthison entered Ellingbourne's
apartment, and readily consented to be the
bearer of a hostile message to Clifton.

Meanwhile our hero had proceeded to his boarding-house,
and on reflecting on his interview with
Ellingbourne, he could not disguise from himself
the manifest injustice and imprudence of his course
in refusing him an opportunity for explanation.

While musing on the difficulties by which he was
surrounded, Matthison entered the sitting-room, and

after a courteous salutation, gave him a note, which
he opened and read as follows:—

“Sad business, Mr. Clifton,” said Matthison
when the note was perused. “My friend Ellingbourne
desires particularly to have the matter despatched
to-morrow morning, as he is engaged in
the evening for Mrs. Willford's ball. As, however,
you are the challenged party, the time, distance, and
weapons are, of course, subject to your volition. If
your stomach should be deranged, and the nerves
thereby shaken, we must defer it for a day or
two.”

Clifton's first impulse on reading the note was to
withdraw the charge against Ellingbourne, thereby
giving him an opportunity for explanation; but the
allusion of Matthison to the state of his nerves, and
the nonchalance with which his principal expressed

the desire to attend a ball, prevented him from pursuing
this magnanimous course. He therefore replied
that he was equally anxious with Mr. Ellingbourne,
to bring the unhappy affair to a close, and
concluded by informing Mr. Matthison that he
would instantly procure a friend who would confer
with him without delay. Matthison then withdrew,
and Clifton despatched a note to Shafton, soliciting
his presence on business of importance, that required
immediate attention.

Before Shafton's arrival De Lyle called at Clifton's
room, and was informed of his preparations for
a hostile meeting with Ellingbourne; and while the
former affected to deplore the necessity of such a step,
he yet confessed that he saw no method of honourably
avoiding it, offering, at the same time, to call
on a friend of his, a skilful surgeon, who he was
sure would cheerfully tender his services for such an
emergency.

While they were conversing Shafton entered,
and De Lyle, as he rose to depart, said, “Shafton,
take good care of our friend. Ellingbourne is a dead
shot, and you must see that he has no advantage of
position.”

“Why,” said Shafton, with a look of evident
satisfaction, “I trust I am qualified to discharge
this delicate duty skilfully. My experience in these
matters is greater than falls to the lot of most persons.
In Paris, sir, I was the friend of three principals,
and myself winged my man in a fourth affair.

If Clifton only keeps cool, he shall send his opponent
to that bourne from whence there is no trav
elling. Pretty Good off-hand pun, is it not, De
Lyle? Entirely on the spur of the moment, on my
honour.”

Thus saying, the punster assumed an air of great
importance, and chuckled not a little at this favourable
opportunity of safely affording the New-York
public a well-authenticated specimen of his gallantry
and skill in matters appertaining to the duello. On
De Lyle's leaving the room, Clifton furnished Shafton
with proper credentials, who instantly proceeded to
the lodgings of Matthison, to perfect the necessary
arrangements. In the evening De Lyle called on
our hero, in company with Doctor Searle, who tendered
his professional aid, which was accepted; and
as the seconds had previously selected the following
morning for the meeting, the surgeon promised to
call on Clifton by the dawn of day.