He would have to play the part of Arabella, and
write out the notes for the subjects to be "talked of at dinner!"
He lay there, and groaned with rage and disgust.
He could not--he would not go through with it!
But next day the irony of fate fell upon him with heavy hand. He
received the news that Joseph Scroope, his maternal uncle, was dead, not
having produced an heir, so he knew that he would inherit a comfortable
fortune from him.
The noose had, indeed, tightened round his neck,--he could not now
release himself from his engagement to Cecilia Cricklander. Some
instincts of a gentleman still remained with him in full measure. The
hideous, hideous mockery of it all. If he had waited, he would now have
been free to seek his darling, his pure star, Halcyone, in all honor. He
could have taken her dear, tender hand, and led her proudly to the seat
by his side--and crowned her with whatever laurels her sweet spirit
would have inspired him to gain. And it was all too late! too late!
He reviewed the whole chain of events, and perceived how it had been his
own doing--what had happened in each step--and this knowledge added to
the bitterness of his pain.
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