The words tremble on my pen, my hand refuses to write what my heart
dictates, for fear of incurring your displeasure and contempt, rather
than brook which I would that my hand would paralyse, that I might never
touch pen more; that my lips were sealed that I might never more express
the feelings that rise and crave for utterance, ay that my heart itself
would cease to beat. I can no longer restrain my pen. My eyes fill with
tears as I write. Pardon my temerity. I feel I must speak or die. "Dear Mr. Suds, did you ever imagine that from the very first moment
that you introduced yourself at my father's shop that my heart was no
longer my own? Did you know that the attentions of the odious Jacques
Millefleurs which my vanity only induced me to encourage, from that time
became loathsome to me, and my heart told me too truly the reason why? "Oh! my dearest friend, if you knew how hard it has been to me to
persist in dissimulation for so long, to hide from my father and from
Millefleurs that which was passing in my bosom! "Oh! if you knew the shock I received when I witnessed your arrest and
the deadly hatred that I bore towards Jacques Millefleurs for being the
cause, oh, then my love! then, I say, you would pardon me all, ay, even
the hideous crime I perpetrated for your sake. Know then, my loved one,
that it was I--I,--your Pauline, who accused Jacques to the government
for conspiring against it, even as he had falsely accused you, and
caused him to be arrested and condemned! Know you that whilst your bark
was peacefully crossing the channel that Jacques Millefleurs was taking
your place at the scaffold? You are avenged, and through me, though I
know your noble nature must recoil at such retaliation. Enough, he is
judged; peace be to his soul. "But, alas, evil though he may have been, will his crimes help to wash
out one iota of the stain of my guilt? Shall I ever feel the stings of
remorse less keenly because I committed the rash and mean act in the
very torrent of passion? "Oh! my friend, I feel I have merited your contempt and scorn for having
given way thus to the promptings of my evil nature. I fancy I see you
start and shrink back whilst reading these lines, and saying to
yourself, 'Can Pauline have been guilty of so black a crime?' No wonder
you shrink back in horror and loathing; yet, loathe me as you will, you
cannot loathe me as much as I loathe myself. I thought revenge would be
sweet, but now the bitterness of remorse has filled my heart. The
remembrance of my crime is intolerable to me; it haunts me night and
day. I feel that nothing short of the sacrifice of my whole life can do
aught towards atoning for so black a deed. "Yes, my friend, many and bitter have been the tears of remorse that I
have shed, very bitter the reproaches I have launched against myself. But to what purpose all this? What should your young and innocent soul
know of the torments I bear within? Enough, my resolution is fixed never
to be changed. "Start not, friend, when I tell you that I have renounced the world and
its vanities, and intend to retire into a convent, there to atone by a
lifetime of fasting and prayer for the fell crime that harrows my soul. I was once vain enough to dream of becoming your bride, but now I am
called upon to be the bride of Heaven. Shortly after you receive this I
shall have taken the veil. Think no more of one unworthy to find a place
in your thoughts. Forgive me if you can. Farewell, yours, Pauline." "These, gentlemen, are the words of her letter, as well as I can
recollect. The letter bears no date or address, but it bore the
post-mark, 'Brussels.' As the letter did not appear to crave an answer,
I wrote none and thus the matter dropped." "Poor girl!" broke in Parnassus, with a sigh; "her crime was great, no
doubt; but done in the very heat of passion; and then, her repentance is
extremely touching." "Yes," said Mr. Blackdeed, "she winds up in a manner quite dramatic." The members of the club then expressed, severally, their approbation of
the barber's narrative, upon which the young man bowed and scraped, and
hoped he should be able to satisfy the honourable members as well on a
future occasion, if his services should be required, and then quitted
the inn. In the afternoon our members attended divine service, to a man;
and, after a stroll in the wood, returned home in the evening, which
they spent in their usual jovial manner. *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's note:

    Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Although not present in the original publication, a list of