"No," replied Vizard, dryly, "curse me if I do. Well, I did hope I had outgrown my mania, as I have done the toothache; for this time I had passed the fatal period, the three years. It is nearly four years now since I went through the established process--as fixed beforehand as the dyer's or the cotton-weaver's--adored her, trusted her blindly, suspected her, watched her, detected her, left her. By-the-by, she was my wife, the last; but that made no difference; she was neither better nor worse than the rest, and her methods and idiotic motives of deceit identical. Well, Ned, I was mistaken. Yesterday night I met my Fate once more.""Where? In Frankfort?"
"No: at Homburg; at the opera. You must give me your word not to tell a soul.""I pledge you my word of honor."
"Well, the lady who sung the part of Siebel.""Siebel?" muttered Severne.
"Yes," said Vizard, dejectedly.
Severne fixed his eyes on his friend with a strange expression of confusion and curiosity, as if he could not take it all in. But he said nothing, only looked very hard all the time.
Vizard burst out, "'O miserae hominum mentes, O pectora caeca!' There Isat, in the stalls, a happy man comparatively, because my heart, though full of scars, was at peace, and my reason, after periodical abdications, had resumed its throne, for good; so I, weak mortal, fancied. Siebel appeared; tall, easy, dignified, and walking like a wave; modest, fair, noble, great, dreamy, and, above all, divinely sad; the soul of womanhood and music poured from her honey lips; she conquered all my senses: I felt something like a bolt of ice run down my back. I ought to have jumped up and fled the theater. I wish I had. But I never do. I am incurable. The charm deepened; and when she had sung 'Le Parlate d'Amor' as no mortal ever sung and looked it, she left the stage and carried my heart and soul away with her. What chance had I? Here shone all the beauties that adorn the body, all the virtues and graces that embellish the soul; they were wedded to poetry and ravishing music, and gave and took enchantment. Isaw my paragon glide away, like a goddess, past the scenery, and I did not see her meet her lover at the next step--a fellow with a wash-leather face, greasy locks in a sausage roll, and his hair shaved off his forehead--and snatch a pot of porter from his hands, and drain it to the dregs, and say, 'It is all right, Harry: _that_ fetched 'em.' But I know, by experience, she did; so _sauve qui peut._ Dear friend and fellow-lunatic, for my sake and yours, leave Frankfort with me to-morrow."Severne hung his head, and thought hard. Here was a new and wonderful turn. He felt all manner of strange things--a pang of jealousy, for one.
He felt that, on every account, it would be wise to go, and, indeed, dangerous to stay. But a mania is a mania, and so he could not. "Look here, old fellow," he said, "if the opera were on to-morrow, I would leave my three hundred behind me and sacrifice myself to you, sooner than expose you to the fascinations of so captivating a woman as Ina Klosking.""Ina Klosking? Is that her name? How do _you_ know?""I--I--fancy I heard so."
"Why, she was not announced. Ina Klosking! It is a sweet name;" and he sighed.
"But you are quite safe from her for one day," continued Severne, "so you must be reasonable. I will go with you, Tuesday, as early as you like;but do be a good fellow, and let me have the five hundred, to try my system with to-morrow."Vizard looked sad, and made no reply.
Severne got impatient. "Why, what is it to a rich fellow like you? If Ihad twelve thousand acres in a ring fence, no friend would ask me twice for such a trifling sum."Vizard, for the first time, wore a supercilious smile at being so misunderstood, and did not deign a reply.
Severne went on mistaking his man: "I can give you bills for the money, and for the three hundred you did lend me."Vizard did not receive this as expected. "Bills?" said he, gravely.
"What, do you do that sort of thing as well?""Why not, pray? So long as I'm the holder, not the drawer, nor the acceptor. Besides, they are not accommodation bills, but good commercial paper.""You are a merchant, then; are you?"
"Yes; in a small way. If you will allow me, I will explain."He did so; and, to save comments, yet enable the reader to appreciate his explanation, the true part of it is printed in italics, the mendacious portion in ordinary type.
_"My estate in Huntingdonshire is not very large; and there are mortgages on it,_ for the benefit of other members of my family. I was always desirous to pay off these mortgages; and took the best advice I could. _Ihave got an uncle:_ he lives in the city. He put me on to a good thing. Ibought a share in a trading vessel; she makes short trips, and turns her cargo often. She will take out paper to America, and bring back raw cotton: she will land that at Liverpool, and ship English hardware and cotton fabrics for the Mediterranean and Greece, and bring back currants from Zante and lemons from Portugal. She goes for the nimble shilling.
Well, you know ships wear out: _and if you varnish them rotten, and insure them high, and they go to glory, Mr. Plimsoll is down on you like a hammer._ So, when she had paid my purchase-money three times over, some fellows in the city made an offer for _The Rover_--that was her name. My share came to twelve hundred, and my uncle said I was to take it. _Now Ialways feel bound by what he decides._ They gave me four bills, for four hundred, three hundred, three hundred, and two hundred. The four hundred was paid at maturity. _The others are not due yet._ I have only to send them to London, and I can get the money back by Thursday: but you want me to start on Tuesday.""That is enough," said Vizard, wearily, "I will be your banker, and--""You are a good fellow!" said Severne warmly.