End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
“So much, my dearest Lionel, I have said, wishing to persuade you that
I do right. If you are unconvinced, I can add nothing further by way of
argument, and I can only declare my fixed resolve. I stay here; force
only can remove me. Be it so; drag me away—I return; confine me,
imprison me, still I escape, and come here. Or would my brother rather
devote the heart-broken Perdita to the straw and chains of a maniac,
than suffer her to rest in peace beneath the shadow of His society, in
this my own selected and beloved recess?”—
All this appeared to me, I own, methodized madness. I imagined, that it
was my imperative duty to take her from scenes that thus forcibly
reminded her of her loss. Nor did I doubt, that in the tranquillity of
our family circle at Windsor, she would recover some degree of
composure, and in the end, of happiness. My affection for Clara also
led me to oppose these fond dreams of cherished grief; her sensibility
had already been too much excited; her infant heedlessness too soon
exchanged for deep and anxious thought. The strange and romantic scheme
of her mother, might confirm and perpetuate the painful view of life,
which had intruded itself thus early on her contemplation.
On returning home, the captain of the steam packet with whom I had
agreed to sail, came to tell me, that accidental circumstances hastened
his departure, and that, if I went with him, I must come on board at
five on the following morning. I hastily gave my consent to this
arrangement, and as hastily formed a plan through which Perdita should
be forced to become my companion. I believe that most people in my
situation would have acted in the same manner. Yet this consideration
does not, or rather did not in after time, diminish the reproaches of
my conscience. At the moment, I felt convinced that I was acting for
the best, and that all I did was right and even necessary.
I sat with Perdita and soothed her, by my seeming assent to her wild
scheme. She received my concurrence with pleasure, and a thousand times
over thanked her deceiving, deceitful brother. As night came on, her
spirits, enlivened by my unexpected concession, regained an almost
forgotten vivacity. I pretended to be alarmed by the feverish glow in
her cheek; I entreated her to take a composing draught; I poured out
the medicine, which she took docilely from me. I watched her as she
drank it. Falsehood and artifice are in themselves so hateful, that,
though I still thought I did right, a feeling of shame and guilt came
painfully upon me. I left her, and soon heard that she slept soundly
under the influence of the opiate I had administered. She was carried
thus unconscious on board; the anchor weighed, and the wind being
favourable, we stood far out to sea; with all the canvas spread, and
the power of the engine to assist, we scudded swiftly and steadily
through the chafed element.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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