In what scene should I be exempt
from servitude and drudgery? Was my existence embellished with
enjoyments that would justify my holding it, encumbered with hardships
and immersed in obscurity? "There was no room for hesitation. To rush into the stream before me,
and put an end at once to my life and the miseries inseparably linked
with it, was the only proceeding which fate had left to my choice. My
muscles were already exerted for this end, when the helpless condition
of Clemenza was remembered. What provision could I make against the
evils that threatened her? Should I leave her utterly forlorn and
friendless? Mrs. Wentworth's temper was forgiving and compassionate. Adversity had taught her to participate and her wealth enabled her to
relieve distress. Who was there by whom such powerful claims to succour
and protection could be urged as by this desolate girl? Might I not
state her situation in a letter to this lady, and urge irresistible
pleas for the extension of her kindness to this object? "These thoughts made me suspend my steps. I determined to seek my
habitation once more, and, having written and deposited this letter, to
return to the execution of my fatal purpose. I had scarcely reached my
own door, when some one approached along the pavement. The form, at
first, was undistinguishable, but, by coming, at length, within the
illumination of a lamp, it was perfectly recognised. "To avoid this detested interview was now impossible. Watson approached
and accosted me. In this conflict of tumultuous feelings I was still
able to maintain an air of intrepidity. His demeanour was that of a man
who struggles with his rage. His accents were hurried, and scarcely
articulate. 'I have ten words to say to you,' said he; 'lead into the
house, and to some private room. My business with you will be despatched
in a breath.' "I made him no answer, but led the way into my house, and to my study. On entering this room, I put the light upon the table, and, turning to
my visitant, prepared silently to hear what he had to unfold. He struck
his clenched hand against the table with violence. His motion was of
that tempestuous kind as to overwhelm the power of utterance, and found
it easier to vent itself in gesticulations than in words. At length he
exclaimed,--

"'It is well. Now has the hour, so long and so impatiently demanded by
my vengeance, arrived. Welbeck! Would that my first words could strike
thee dead! They will so, if thou hast any title to the name of man. "'My sister is dead; dead of anguish and a broken heart. Remote from her
friends; in a hovel; the abode of indigence and misery. "'Her husband is no more. He returned after a long absence, a tedious
navigation, and vicissitudes of hardships. He flew to the bosom of his
love; of his wife. She was gone; lost to him, and to virtue. In a fit of
desperation, he retired to his chamber and despatched himself. This is
the instrument with which the deed was performed.' "Saying this, Watson took a pistol from his pocket, and held it to my
head. I lifted not my hand to turn aside the weapon. I did not shudder
at the spectacle, or shrink from his approaching hand. With fingers
clasped together, and eyes fixed upon the floor, I waited till his fury
was exhausted. He continued:--

"'All passed in a few hours. The elopement of his daughter,--the death
of his son. O my father! Most loved and most venerable of men! To see
thee changed into a maniac! Haggard and wild! Deterred from outrage on
thyself and those around thee by fetters and stripes! What was it that
saved me from a like fate? To view this hideous ruin, and to think by
whom it was occasioned! Yet not to become frantic like thee, my father;
or not destroy myself like thee, my brother! My friend!--

"'No. For this hour was I reserved; to avenge your wrongs and mine in
the blood of this ungrateful villain.' "'There,' continued he, producing a second pistol, and tendering it to
me,--'there is thy defence. Take we opposite sides of this table, and
fire at the same instant.' "During this address I was motionless. He tendered the pistol, but I
unclasped not my hands to receive it. "'Why do you hesitate?' resumed he. 'Let the chance between us be equal,
or fire you first.' "'No,' said I, 'I am ready to die by your hand. I wish it. It will
preclude the necessity of performing the office for myself. I have
injured you, and merit all that your vengeance can inflict. I know your
nature too well to believe that my death will be perfect expiation. When
the gust of indignation is past, the remembrance of your deed will only
add to your sum of misery; yet I do not love you well enough to wish
that you would forbear. I desire to die, and to die by another's hand
rather than my own.' "'Coward!' exclaimed Watson, with augmented vehemence, 'you know me too
well to believe me capable of assassination. Vile subterfuge! Contemptible plea! Take the pistol and defend yourself. You want not the
power or the will; but, knowing that I spurn at murder, you think your
safety will be found in passiveness. Your refusal will avail you little. Your fame, if not your life, is at my mercy. If you falter now, I will
allow you to live, but only till I have stabbed your reputation.' "I now fixed my eyes steadfastly upon him, and spoke:--'How much a
stranger are you to the feelings of Welbeck! How poor a judge of his
cowardice! I take your pistol, and consent to your conditions.' "We took opposite sides of the table. 'Are you ready?' he cried; 'fire!' "Both triggers were drawn at the same instant. Both pistols were
discharged. Mine was negligently raised. Such is the untoward chance
that presides over human affairs; such is the malignant destiny by which
my steps have ever been pursued. The bullet whistled harmlessly by
me,--levelled by an eye that never before failed, and with so small an
interval between us. I escaped, but my blind and random shot took place
in his heart. "There is the fruit of this disastrous meeting. The catalogue of death
is thus completed. Thou sleepest, Watson! Thy sister is at rest, and so
art thou. Thy vows of vengeance are at an end. It was not reserved for
thee to be thy own and thy sister's avenger. Welbeck's measure of
transgressions is now full, and his own hand must execute the justice
that is due to him." CHAPTER XII. Such was Welbeck's tale, listened to by me with an eagerness in which
every faculty was absorbed. How adverse to my dreams were the incidents
that had just been related! The curtain was lifted, and a scene of guilt
and ignominy disclosed where my rash and inexperienced youth had
suspected nothing but loftiness and magnanimity. For a while the wondrousness of this tale kept me from contemplating the
consequences that awaited us. My unfledged fancy had not hitherto soared
to this pitch. All was astounding by its novelty, or terrific by its
horror. The very scene of these offences partook, to my rustic
apprehension, of fairy splendour and magical abruptness.