 | Randolph |  |
Bless me—on folding it, I find that the sheet is entirely
covered. What shall I do? It would be a pity to
send a blank envelope; so, I will even delay the whole,
till to morrow, and then try to finish my sermon.—
* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * Well cousin, I have read over
what I wrote last evening; and, I find that there is nothing
material omitted, except the text; and that, you will
be kind enough to bear in mind, is your vanity; not the
vanity of exciting love, and being beloved. Persuade
you that you have made a woman love you, and she may
do what she will with you.
And now, if you please, for the mystery and darkness
complained of. Why have you never told me to what extent
your intimacy with Jane had gone? Why, when
you must have seen the blessed Juliet, the dear suffering
Juliet, so often, have you always spoken of her, as if by
report? Were you afraid to tell the truth? Confess it,
John; you may as well. After all that I have heard you
any view to futurity, sickness, a family, or widowhood,
you were ashamed to tell me, that you were drifting to the
same precipice.
But there is something, yet more serious, to be laid at
your door. After your interview with that Molton;—
that wretch, whose very name is so hateful to me, that
my hand is convulsed, and my frame shivers, as I write
it, you told me that he used “no argument, no expostulation,
no entreaty” to convince you that he was an injured
man. I reply—I demand the particulars—you answer
me. And lo!—this creature of the imagination, instead
of rebuking, in the sublime quiet of a great heart, as you
had represented, all suspicion and doubt, and dishonour;
had really argued the question of his guilt and innocence,
before you, in a masterly style—deliberately—and...
John—dear John—I have no more to say—no, nothing
—except this. Jane has conquered you, by appealing,
adroitly, to your generosity—and he—he (for I will never
write his name again, if I can help it)—has conquered
you, in the same way.
You ask me what he means, by saying that he knows
me. He is a liar. That is a phrase, cousin, that you
never heard me use before;—but he deserves it. He does
not know me.
You ask too, if he has ever seen me. I answer no—I
believe not. I have seen him; but, it was at a distance,
and in a crowd. He was pointed out to me by Juliet herself.
He threatens me too; does he?—well, I do not
tremble. Nay,—if he can make me feel that I have
wronged him, I will go down on my knees before him—
and your prophecies shall be fulfilled. Monstrous!—if
aught could add to the unutterable atrocity of that man
—after his deliberate abuse of the high talent that heaven
hath given him;—after his cold blooded, profligate abandonment,
of the highest and holiest affections of the human
heart—it is this immoveable bearing. But heaven
will not be insulted, forever. I shall live to see him—
perhaps it is now my time to prophesy—, scathed and
riven with the judgment of Him, who shall not be derided
with impunity.
| Randolph | |