The Count is less in spirits, less extravagant, since this accident. It seems to hang upon his mind, as if he had been out-braved. His anxiety, as might well be expected from such a temper, was excessive, while Clifton was in danger: but he seems to repent now, that he did not follow the mad example. _Parbleu! Madame, je suis Provençal; on dit que j'ai la tête un peu chaude; mais Messieurs les Anglois vont diablement vite aux épreuves! Mes compatriotes même ne sont pas si fous!--Je ne suis pas content de moi--J'aurais du faire le saut--J'aurais sauvé la vie à man rival! Voilà une belle occasion manquée, et beaucoup de gloire à jamais perdue pour moi!_[1] [Footnote 1: 'Sdeath! Madam, I am a native of Provence, and they tell me I am a little crazy: but these Englishmen are in a confounded hurry to come to the proof! My own countrymen are less lunatic!--I am not satisfied with myself. I ought to have leaped after him: I should have saved the life of my rival! It was losing a glorious opportunity; and I have robbed myself of thus much fame for ever!] My mind at present is not entirely tranquil. The recollection of a temper so rash as Clifton's preys upon me. Yet, where there are qualities so high, and powers so uncommon, shall I despair? Shall I shrink from an act of duty? It is a task I have prescribed to myself. Shall I witness the fortitude of Frank, and be myself so easily discomfited? No, Louisa. Clifton shall be ours--_Shall be!_--Shall be the brother of Louisa, the friend of Frank, and the better part of Anna. Yes, I too will be determined! I like Frank will say 'He is not dead! He shall not die!' A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XLVI _The Honourable Mrs. Clifton to Frank Henley_ _Rose-Bank_ Sir, If the praises, prayers, and thanks, of a woman whom disease has robbed of more than half her faculties, could be of any value, if the overflowing heart of a mother could but speak its throbs, if admiration of gifts so astonishing and virtues so divine could be worthy your acceptance, or could reward you for all the good you have done us, I would endeavour to discharge the unexampled and unmerited obligation. But no, sir; you are superior to these. I write not for your sake, but for my own; that I may endeavour to relieve myself of sensations that oppress me. I feel it incumbent on me to write; yet what can I say? I have no words. I despair of any opportunity of retribution: I am aged, infirm, and feeble. I am going down to the grave; but still I have life enough to revive and feel a new existence, at the recital of your virtues! Forgive this short effusion, from the exuberant heart of a mother, who wishes but is wholly unable to say how much she admires you. M. CLIFTON LETTER XLVII _Louisa Clifton to Frank Henley_ _Rose-Bank_ Sir,