This eBook was produced by David Widger
By Edward Bulwer-Lytton
Friday.—Julia is here, and so kind! She has not mentioned his name, butshe sighed so deeply when she saw my pale and sunken countenance, that Ithrew myself into her arms and cried like a child. We had no need ofother explanation: those tears spoke at once my confession and myrepentance. No letter from him for several days! Surely he is not ill!how miserable that thought makes me!
Saturday.—A note has just been brought me from him. He is comeback-here! Good heavens! how very imprudent! I am so agitated that Ican write no more.
Sunday.—I have seen him! Let me repeat that sentence—I have seen him.Oh that moment! did it not atone for all that I have suffered? I darenot write everything he said, but he wished me to fly with him—him—whathappiness, yet what guilt, in the very thought! Oh! this foolish heart—would that it might break! I feel too well the sophistry of hisarguments, and yet I cannot resist them. He seems to have thrown a spellover me, which precludes even the effort to escape.
Monday.—Mr. Mandeville has asked several people in the country to dinehere to-morrow, and there is to be a ball in the evening. Falkland is ofcourse invited. We shall meet then, and how? I have been so littleaccustomed to disguise my feelings, that I quite tremble to meet him withso many witnesses around. Mr. Mandeville has been so harsh to me to-day;if Falkland ever looked at me so, or ever said one such word, my heartwould indeed break. What is it Alfieri says about the two demons to whomhe is for ever a prey? "La mente e il cor in perpetua lite." Alas!at times I start from my reveries with such a keen sense of agony andshame! How, how am I fallen!
Tuesday.—He is to come here to-day and I shall see him!
Wednesday morning.—The night is over, thank Heaven! Falkland came lateto dinner: every one else was assembled. How gracefully he entered! howsuperior he seemed to all the crowd that stood around him! He appearedas if he were resolved to exert powers which he had disdained before. Heentered into the conversation, not only with such brilliancy, but withsuch a blandness and courtesy of manner! There was no scorn on his lip,no haughtiness on his forehead—nothing which showed him for a momentconscious of his immeasurable superiority over every one present. Afterdinner, as we retired, I caught his eyes. What volumes they told! andthen I had to listen to his praises, and say nothing. I felt angry evenin my pleasure. Who but I had a right to speak of him so well!
The ball came on: I felt languid and dispirited. Falkland did not dance.He sat: himself by me—he urged me to—O God! O God! would that I weredead!
How are you this morning, my adored friend? You seemed pale and ill whenwe parted last night, and I shall be so unhappy till I hear something ofyou. Oh, Emily, when you listened to me with those tearful and downcastlooks; when I saw your bosom heave at every word which I whispered inyour ear; when, as I accidentally touched your hand, I felt it tremblebeneath my own; oh! was there nothing in those moments at your heartwhich pleaded for me more eloquently than words? Pure and holy as youare, you know not, it is true, the feelings which burn and madden in me.When you are beside me, your hand, if it trembles, is not on fire, yourvoice, if it is more subdue