The assassin, perceiving that
his pistol had been ineffectual, muttered, in an enraged tone, "This
shall do your business!" At the same time, he drew a knife forth from
his bosom. I was able to distinguish this action by the rays of a distant lamp,
which glistened on the blade. All this passed in an instant. The attack
was so abrupt that my thoughts could not be suddenly recalled from the
confusion into which they were thrown. My exertions were mechanical. My
will might be said to be passive, and it was only by retrospect and a
contemplation of consequences that I became fully informed of the nature
of the scene. If my assailant had disappeared as soon as he had discharged the pistol,
my state of extreme surprise might have slowly given place to resolution
and activity. As it was, my sense was no sooner struck by the reflection
from the blade, than my hand, as if by spontaneous energy, was thrust
into my pocket. I drew forth a pistol. He lifted up his weapon to strike, but it dropped from his powerless
fingers. He fell, and his groans informed me that I had managed my arms
with more skill than my adversary. The noise of this encounter soon
attracted spectators. Lights were brought, and my antagonist discovered
bleeding at my feet. I explained, as briefly as I was able, the scene
which they witnessed. The prostrate person was raised by two men, and
carried into a public house nigh at hand. I had not lost my presence of mind. I at once perceived the propriety of
administering assistance to the wounded man. I despatched, therefore,
one of the bystanders for a surgeon of considerable eminence, who lived
at a small distance, and to whom I was well known. The man was carried
into an inner apartment and laid upon the floor. It was not till now
that I had a suitable opportunity of ascertaining who it was with whom I
had been engaged. I now looked upon his face. The paleness of death
could not conceal his well-known features. It was Wiatte himself who was
breathing his last groans at my feet! The surgeon, whom I had summoned, attended; but immediately perceived
the condition of his patient to be hopeless. In a quarter of an hour he
expired. During this interval, he was insensible to all around him. I
was known to the surgeon, the landlord, and some of the witnesses. The
case needed little explanation. The accident reflected no guilt upon me. The landlord was charged with the care of the corpse till the morning,
and I was allowed to return home, without further impediment. Chapter VIII. Till now my mind had been swayed by the urgencies of this occasion. These reflections were excluded, which rushed tumultuously upon me the
moment I was at leisure to receive them. Without foresight of a previous
moment, an entire change had been wrought in my condition. I had been oppressed with a sense of the danger that flowed from the
existence of this man. By what means the peril could be annihilated, and
we be placed in security from his attempts, no efforts of mind could
suggest. To devise these means, and employ them with success, demanded,
as I conceived, the most powerful sagacity and the firmest courage. Now
the danger was no more. The intelligence in which plans of mischief
might be generated was extinguished or flown. Lifeless were the hands
ready to execute the dictates of that intelligence. The contriver of
enormous evil was, in one moment, bereft of the power and the will to
injure. Our past tranquillity had been owing to the belief of his death. Fear and dismay had resumed their dominion when the mistake was
discovered. But now we might regain possession of our wonted confidence. I had beheld with my own eyes the lifeless corpse of our implacable
adversary. Thus, in a moment, had terminated his long and flagitious
career. His restless indignation, his malignant projects, that had so
long occupied the stage and been so fertile of calamity, were now at an
end! In the course of my meditations, the idea of the death of this man had
occurred, and it bore the appearance of a desirable event. Yet it was
little qualified to tranquillize my fears. In the long catalogue of
contingencies, this, indeed, was to be found; but it was as little
likely to happen as any other. It could not happen without a series of
anterior events paving the way for it. If his death came from us, it
must be the theme of design. It must spring from laborious circumvention
and deep-laid stratagems. No. He was dead. I had killed him. What had I done? I had meditated
nothing. I was impelled by an unconscious necessity. Had the assailant
been my father, the consequence would have been the same. My
understanding had been neutral. Could it be? In a space so short, was it
possible that so tremendous a deed had been executed? Was I not deceived
by some portentous vision? I had witnessed the convulsions and last
agonies of Wiatte. He was no more, and I was his destroyer! Such was the state of my mind for some time after this dreadful event. Previously to it I was calm, considerate, and self-collected. I marked
the way that I was going. Passing objects were observed. If I adverted
to the series of my own reflections, my attention was not seized and
fastened by them. I could disengage myself at pleasure, and could pass,
without difficulty, from attention to the world within, to the
contemplation of that without. Now my liberty, in this respect, was at an end. I was fettered,
confounded, smitten with excess of thought, and laid prostrate with
wonder! I no longer attended to my steps. When I emerged from my stupor,
I found that I had trodden back the way which I had lately come, and had
arrived within sight of the banker's door. I checked myself, and once
more turned my steps homeward. This seemed to be a hint for entering into new reflections. "The deed,"
said I, "is irretrievable. I have killed the brother of my patroness,
the father of my love." This suggestion was new. It instantly involved me in terror and
perplexity. How shall I communicate the tidings? What effect will they
produce? My lady's sagacity is obscured by the benevolence of her
temper. Her brother was sordidly wicked,--a hoary ruffian, to whom the
language of pity was as unintelligible as the gabble of monkeys. His
heart was fortified against compunction, by the atrocious habits of
forty years; he lived only to interrupt her peace, to confute the
promises of virtue, and convert to rancour and reproach the fair dame of
fidelity. He was her brother still. As a human being, his depravity was never
beyond the health-restoring power of repentance. His heart, so long as
it beat, was accessible to remorse. The singularity of his birth had
made her regard this being as more intimately her brother, than would
have happened in different circumstances. It was her obstinate
persuasion that their fates were blended. The rumour of his death she
had never credited. It was a topic of congratulation to her friends, but
of mourning and distress to her.