The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 5, May, 1862: Devoted To Literature And National PolicyVarious
History
The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 5, May, 1862: Devoted To Literature And National Policy
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals
''Yes,' said he, 'any excitement is dangerous for one like me. You see
in me a man condemned to death by every member of the faculty that I
have ever consulted. I dare say you mean kindly, and by that look of
incredulity, you would seek to comfort me.'
''Well, doctors are often mistaken,' I said.
''True; but I am convinced their predictions in my case will be
literally fulfilled, for when this terrible disease of the heart once
lays its hold upon a man, it never relaxes its deadly grasp. But,' said
he, raising himself to a sitting posture, 'but I _will_ not die, I
_must_ live. One fixed purpose, one great aim sustains me, and I feel
that till I have accomplished this, the thread of life, frail as I know
it is, strained as I feel it oft to be, still, still I have a firm
presentiment it will hold out.'
''Arthur, dear Arthur!' broke in the voice of Adéle, as she leaned over
his shoulder, 'you know after such a paroxysm, repose is necessary. No
more conversation to-night; strive to calm your nerves, and to enjoy the
tranquil influence of sleep. Do this, I beg, I implore you.'
'With the docility of a petted child he yielded, and reclining his head
upon his pillow, soon sank into a deep sleep. It was now verging upon
three o'clock, and at my solicitation Adéle retired to my apartment,
while I kept watch beside my patient's couch.
'The mysterious individual whose conduct had so puzzled me, and to whom
I had been so strangely introduced, seemed to be a man of about thirty,
decidedly handsome, and of striking mien, of elegant manners, and
evidently accustomed to refined society. His hair, which curled
naturally, was, however, growing thin; a few deep lines were furrowed on
his brow, and the corners of his mouth wore, as it were, unconsciously,
at times, a disdainful air, and as he slept I could trace how the fire
of youthful passion had brought his manhood to premature decay.
'Although the veil of mystery had been rent, my curiosity was only
whetted, by no means gratified. Who could this man be for whose arrival,
according to my hostess' account, he had been waiting with such feverish
impatience? What journey could he have returned from, in such shattered
health; and finally, what was this great purpose, on the successful
issue of which, he seemed to stake his all, on which he declared his
life to hang?
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