University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.

The boat which bore our hero and his second
from the scene of combat danced merrily over the
tranquil bosom of the noble Hudson, and to one
whose mind was un-oppressed with present or impending
calamity, the rapid and measured strokes
of the slender oars, which swayed almost to the form
of a semi-circle, under the strong pull of the boatmen;
the yo-heave-ho of the stevedores and riggers,
whose rude melody came blithely over the waters
from the quays of the busy city; the fleet of rivercraft,
of every form and size, that spread their
canvass to the breeze; the clouds of smoke that
ascended in spiral wreaths from the numerous
steam-vessels, whose promenade and quarter-decks
were crowded with passengers, and the clinking of
hammers from the foundries that are situated near

the wharves, formed a combination well fitted to
awake an absorbing and delightful interest.

But to all these pleasant features of the scene,
Clifton was insensible; nor did the witticisms with
which his mercurial companion interlarded his conversation
serve to divert his thoughts from the agonizing
reflection that, however the world might
palliate the crime of which he was guilty, or custom
throw over it the mantle of false honour, his conscience
must for ever be oppressed with the conviction,
that unmitigated murder rested on his
soul.

“Away,” said he, mentally, “with the sophistries
of pride and hypocrisy:—to myself, at least, let me
acknowledge that I am neither more nor less than
a murderer! the base son of a guilty sire, I have
now but to consummate my guilt by the commission
of suicide, and the parallel between parent and offspring
will be perfect.”

Absorbed in these painful reflections, he scarcely
perceived that the boat had touched the wharf, until
his companion shouted in his ear:—

“Why, Clifton, what the devil ails you? You
certainly do not mean to float down the stream of
time in a craft three feet by fifteen, more or less?
Allons, allons. Let's be off in a whisk, as the
butcher said to the fly.”

On this sally, Clifton, without reply, leaped on the
wharf, and was met by De Lyle, who, having previously
ascertained where the party were to land,

was in waiting to learn the result of the contest.
That the pleasure with which he received the information
of Ellingbourne's being dangerously
wounded was veiled by an artificial exhibition
of grief, may be readily inferred; but the eye of suspicion
would have detected the latent twinkle of
satisfaction playing on his countenance, as he reflected
that, if indelible ignominy was not now
stamped on his rival, he would, at least, be compelled
to fly the country, while Ellingbourne,
whom he feared, and therefore hated, and whose
services were no longer required, would, he fondly
hoped, be consigned to that grave whose secrets
would never, in this world, rise up in judgment
against him.

“This is indeed disastrous,” said De Lyle, after
Shafton had detailed the result of the contest,
“and will render Mr. Clifton's concealment absolutely
necessary. Although the beau monde good-naturedly
pronounces the death of a principal in an
affair of honour, justifiable, yet judges, and juries
composed of mechanics, and such like canàille, are
not so lenient; and although a halter might not be
the inevitable consequence of a trial and conviction,
still a long and tedious imprisonment would result,
which, I take for granted, our friend is far from
coveting. Under these circumstances, the question
arises, where are we to conceal Clifton until the issue
of this unfortunate business is known?”

Our hero's reflections had, before landing, almost

determined him to await the result of his antagonist's
wound, and submit, voluntarily, to the ordeal
of a trial, if it proved fatal; but the love of life, and
the still, small voice of hope, which was not entirely
silenced in his breast, joined with the persuasions of
Shafton and De Lyle, induced him to reverse this
impolitic resolution.

“I know of no place of concealment,” he replied,
mournfully, “except in the house of my foster-parents.
Although it will break the hearts of this
kind couple, to whom I am so deeply indebted, yet,
as they must finally become acquainted with the
facts, it will perhaps be better for me to communicate
them in person. I will therefore proceed to their
residence, and await your decision as to my future
course, should Mr. Ellingbourne not survive.”

Thus saying, Clifton slowly directed his steps to
his temporary asylum, while De Lyle and Shafton
repaired to Ellingbourne's lodgings, to which
they presumed he would be conveyed, in any event.

That the excellent and amiable lady to whom
Clifton was indebted for the perfection of those moral
impressions which were early instilled in his mind,
was deeply grieved at the unhappy position in which
he was placed by the indulgence of his constitutional
rashness, will be readily imagined; but as
reproof and regret were alike unavailing, she, with
that firmness, affection, and prudence, which were
so happily blended in her character, at once proceeded
to provide for the necessities of our hero,

should he be compelled to seek refuge in a foreign
clime. For this purpose, she immediately despatched
a messenger for her husband, who, in compliance
with her request, conveyed the travelling trunk of
Clifton, and such portion of his wardrobe as was requisite,
from his boarding-house to their residence,
and in an hour from that period, the industry of
Mrs. Clifton had provided every necessary and even
luxury that could be required, for a sea-voyage.

During the progress of these preparations, Clifton
continued to pace the floor in a state of mind that
may be conceived but not portrayed: and the echo
of every foot-fall that was heard near the door of
his temporary abode, was listened to with intense
anxiety, in the expectation of receiving the fatal intelligence
of his opponent's death.

It was about the hour of mid-day that De Lyle
entered the room with the sad information, that although
Ellingbourne was still living, it was next to
impossible that he could survive the day. He also
informed him, that Shafton and himself had procured
a passage for him on board a vessel then lying
in the stream, and bound for Liverpool, which would
sail early on the following morning; stating, that
he had imparted to the captain, in confidence, (who
was his particular friend,) the true cause of Clifton's
departure, and that the captain had promised to use
his best exertions to ensure his safety.

De Lyle then left, after advising our hero to be
ready at a moment's warning, as he would, during

the afternoon, call with a carriage to convey him to
the ship's boat, which would be in waiting at the
wharf to receive him.

On the receipt of this melancholy information,
Clifton immediately addressed the following brief
letter to his adored Julia.

Having finished this epistle, Clifton despatched it
by his foster-father, with instructions if possible to deliver
it into the hands of the person to whom it was
addressed.

On arriving at Mr. Elwell's door, Miss Helen was
descending to the hall, and presuming, from the description,
that she was the person he sought, the
elder Clifton placed it in her hands, and after learning
from the lady that it was rightly delivered, he
left the house. Helen, on receiving the letter, repaired
to her room, and locking the door, pondered
deeply on the course she should pursue; and after
quieting her conscience with the hypocritical reflection
that she was securing Julia's happiness by exercising
a supervision over her correspondence with so
dangerous a person as Clifton, she broke the seal
and eagerly perused the contents of the billet.

Ascertaining that it afforded no clew either to the
writer's innocence or De Lyle's agency in defaming
his character, while it evidently favoured the conclusion
that Ellingbourne was his rival and slanderer,

she re-sealed the letter and handed it to the servant
for Miss Borrowdale. Julia with no little trepidation
devoured its contents; and on realizing its
full import, swooned on the sofa on which she was
reclining, but, fortunately, recovered consciousness
before any person entered the room.

Her first impressions were, on reviving, that her
lover, by his own acknowledgment, was unworthy
of her regard; but, on again perusing the letter, his
solemn asseveration that he was the victim of an
odious conspiracy, satisfied her that the only crime
of which he was guilty was the death of Ellingbourne,
which, although in her estimation a grievous
offence against his fellow-man, yet, by the pernicious
customs of society, the meeting, she was
aware, could not have been declined, except at the
hazard of his being discarded from every respectable
and fashionable circle. The more she reflected on
the subject, the less did she blame her lover for his
rashness, and before the dinner hour arrived her love
had so far warped her judgment that it is questionable
whether, if our hero had stood in her presence,
she would not have pronounced her forgiveness of
all past offences, had the culprit promised reformation.

Near the hour of five o'clock De Lyle and Shafton
called at Clifton's temporary retreat in a carriage,
and the former handed him an evening paper, in
which he read the following paragraph:

On perusing this fatal intelligence, Clifton, with a
heavy heart bade adieu to his kind foster parents,
and was soon seated in the cabin of the ship that
was to convey him to an asylum on the shores of
Europe.