 | Randolph |  |
SAME TO SAME.
The plot thickens upon us. John has just left me, and
I must write you by this post. We have had the strangest
conversation in the world. He is in love with Juliet!---
yes, truly, respectfully and tenderly. I am bound to
believe him; he has come to me like a man, and told me
so, I verily believe, the first moment that he knew it himself.
I suspected Jane, for a while; but then, I thought
that he had too much chivalry, in his disposition, for her.
Are we alike, cousin? People say that we are; but it appears
to me that we are not. And who shall judge? Strangers
will see likenesses, a family likeness, between persons
at first sight, who, to them that know both intimately, are
totally unlike. May it not be so in the mind and character?
I think that John has more real extravagance than I, and
less that is artificial---more appearance and less reality,
on many subjects; and I would have added, but for that
last sentence, which, on looking at it again, has utterly
discomfited me!---that I had more modesty!
Mr. Arrinaut has been here, to call Molton to account.
I wish you could hear John describe the meeting.
It almost brought tears into my eyes. He was Molton's
friend!---yes---can any thing under God's heaven, amaze
you, now, Sarah?--After some conversation, in which Mr.
Arrinaut lost all command of himself, while Molton
maintained the most invincible composure, the former
struck the latter. John immediately interfered---but what
did Molton? He smiled. “Leave the room, my friend,”
said he, to my brother; “leave me alone, with this madman:---I
shall find a way to tame him.” My brother
went out---but stood at the door. A singular altercation
on the other, the deep inward tranquillity of a hero--can
he be a coward, Sarah?---but hear me through. All this
appeared but to incense Mr. Arrinaut the more. He had given
a blow---it had been endured---not a muscle stirred in
defence; his lip only writhed and quivered, and his
haughty blue eyes lighted up with a preter natural
brightness---as if he had said---boy, you are no match for
me, even in physical strength. Nay, Mr. Arrinaut had
called him a coward, and a scoundrel. My brother heard
it---his blood boiled, and he looked to see the glitter of
some weapon. But no—there was only the glitter of
the eye;---yet that was deadly. Molton smiled---and it
was then, that my brother shut the door. The most
provoking, insolent language was continued on the part
of Mr. A. and endured by Molton, until my brother lost
pall atience;---at this moment, just as he was on the
point, (you know his impetuosity; and a legion of devils,
at such a moment, would not frighten him)---of bursting
open the door, cursing Molton to his head for a poltron,
and perhaps throwing Mr. A. out of the window---he
heard the names of Maria Howard, and Helen---somebody
—(the last name he did not hear,) pronounced; and, the
next moment, a loud shriek, and the sound of one
dashed against the door where he stood.... He retreated,
stunned, as it opened in his face, and saw a man stagger
against the wall---his cravat stained and torn, and
the blood gushing out of his mouth.
Molton followed;---his hands all red—quivering
like a young lion over his prey; and was only prevented
from completing his work of death, by the interference of
my brother.
But how could he do this? you will ask.—So I asked
John, but he could not answer me. Brother, said he—I
would sooner encounter—anybody—anything—than Edward
Molton, at such a moment. There was nothing
human in his countenance. I had thought him feeble and
sickly; but his arms were now bare—how, I know not—
he was in his dressing gown when I left him; and his
muscles looked as if they would burst through the skin.
You know the size of Mr. A. yet he was dashed to the
and red with his own blood, as if a thunderbolt had
struck him. It was half an hour, before he recovered—
and, when he did, the first object that his dim eyes encountered,
was the face of Molton, who stood over him,
with his brow gathered, and arms folded, so full of mortal
determination, that my brother expected him to fasten
upon his victim's throat, at the first respiration. Verily,
thought my brother, that man hath a devil.
The poor fellow shut his eyes again, with a faint
groan—shivered, and turned away his face.
At this moment, Miss Howard entered the room;—but,
so worn and wasted, that her own brother did not seem to
know her..... She threw herself upon his bosom,
and sobbed aloud. The sound of her voice appeared to
affect him. His eyes lost their intentness of expression—
his brow grew smoother;—he heaved a deep—deep sigh;
his eye-lids quivered—his lips trembled, and he kissed her,
murmuring in her ear, some low sounds of endearment,
in a broken voice.
“What did he, my brother?—what has he done to thee?”
said she. “Helen—ha!—Mary;—forgive me, dear,”
said Molton, as if recollecting himself instantly—“what
done to me?—he profaned thy brother with a blow;—I
bore it—he cursed him—I bore that—he called him
coward--I bore that—but then, poor young man—he named
thee, love, irreverently, and—and—there he lies.”
His voice trembled, as he said this:—and John said
that his countenance softened to a melancholy, beautiful
gentleness, kinder than humanity—far kinder—and he
added, “Mary, his punishment is with thee now. What
shall be done to him?”
“Forgive him,” she answered, putting her hand through
his rich hair, and pulling his forehead to her lips—“forgive
him, and let him go in peace.”
“Forgive him!—never!—but he may go in peace.”
“O, but thou wilt forgive him, dear”—said she;—
“who could have resisted her?” said John.
“No!” was the reply—“No! not if it were my own father;
he has dishonoured thee, Hel—Mary.”
She lifted herself up—raised her head from his bosom;
it forgotten? I hoped never to claim it. I demand
it now.”
“Beware”—said he, solemnly.
“No, Brother. Now is thy time of trial. Hast thou
a great heart? Prove it. Go to the sick man—give him
thy hand—say that thou forgivest him.”
“I thought his spirit would rend his chest,” said John.
He stopped. “Sister, you know not what you demand of
me,” he said—drew one long breath, that you might
have heard in the next room—and obeyed;—obeyed too,
so magnificently! O, it was godlike!——he gave
Mr. A. his hand—Nay, his eyes were wet; for his heart
once touched, would have way.
“I endured much from you, Sir,” he said, in a low
voice; “and I could have endured anything—anything
but that. Sleep quietly; you shall be taken care of, as
my own brother; and, when you are well enough, I will
convince you, that you deserved nothing less than death
—death, here and hereafter, for your blasphemy—but
you are too ill to converse.”
Thus ended the affair. It occurred yesterday morning;
and to-day Mr. A. set off for his farm in Virginia;
and John says, that, when they parted, he and Molton,
they embraced; and Mr. A. said—“Sir, you have forgiven
me, but I shall never forgive myself. I did deserve
death: and any man that ever says to me, of that woman,
what I said to you, shall receive death at my own hands,
or I will receive it at his.”
There, cousin, I have related the whole, as nearly as
I could, in John's own words; and, allowing all that I
think right, for his extravagance, I cannot but add, that
there has been something sublime in the carriage of Molton,
on this occasion. What think you?.... Was
it not, as John calls it, regal?.... He cut me to
the heart in describing it. He cannot be a coward!—no!
we are wrong.
| Randolph | |