I rose from my seat and struggle, with the air of one strengthened

by thoughtful resolution for any act. Prayer could not have

strengthened me more. I felt a singular degree of strength. I can

well understand that of fanaticism from my own feelings. Nothing,

in the shape of danger, could have deterred me from the deed. I

positively had no remaining fear. But, how was it to be done? With

this inquiry in my mind, still unanswered, I took a light, went

into my study, and drew from my escritoir the few small weapons

which I had in possession. These are soon named. One was a neat

little dirk--broad in blade, double-edged, short--sufficient for

all my purposes. I examined my pistols and loaded them--a small,

neat pair, the present of Edgerton himself. This fact determined me

not to use them. I restored them to the escritoir; put the dagger

between the folds of my vest, and prepared to leave the house.

At this moment a heavy knocking was heard at the gate I resumed my

seat in the piazza until the servant should report the nature of

the interruption. He was followed in by my friend Kingsley.

"I am glad to find you home," said he abruptly, grasping my hand;

"home, and not a-bed. The hour is late, I know, but the devil never

keeps ordinary hours, and men, driven by his satanic majesty, have

some excuse for following his example."

This exordium promised something unusual. The manner of Kingsley

betrayed excitement. Nay, it was soon evident he had been taking

a superfluous quantity of wine. His voice was thick, and he spoke

excessively loud in order to be intelligible. There was something

like a defying desperation in his tones, in the dare-devil swagger

of his movement, and the almost iron pressure of his grasp upon my

fingers. I subdued my own passions--nay, they were subdued--singularly

so, by the resolution I had made before his entrance, and was able,

therefore, to appear calm and smooth as summer water in his eyes.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "You seem excited. No evil, I trust?"

"Evil, indeed! Not much; but even if it were, I tell you Ned Clifford,

I am just now in the mood to say, 'Evil be thou my good!' I have

reason to say it; and, by the powers, it will not be said only. I

will make evil my good after a fashion of my own; but how much good

or now little evil, will be yet another question."

I was interested, in spite of myself, by the vehemence and unusual

seriousness of my companion's manner. It somewhat harmonized

with my own temper, and in a measure beguiled me into a momentary

heedlessness of my particular griefs. I urged him to a more frank

statement of the things that troubled him.




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