I was not at all sorry to comply with Fitzgerald’s suggestion, to the effect that I should await his return in Brown’s coffeehouse, and end the evening there in his company. My anxiety to learn the issue of the business was such, that I would gladly have done much more to satisfy it. Accordingly, I dropt into that public resort of idleness, while Fitzgerald, having called a coach, rumbled away to his interview with Chadleigh.
“I had sat there for considerably more than an hour, and was beginning to give up all hope of his return, when he entered.
“Well,” said he, when we had established ourselves at a table apart from the rest, “I have had a couple of odd—devilish odd conversations—since I saw you. I don’t know, indeed, whether I am at liberty to tell you the subject of the quarrel.”
I interrupted him by assuring him that I already knew it; and having satisfied him upon this point, he proceeded to detail the particulars, which I shall condense for the benefit of the reader.
He had, it seemed, found Chadleigh still much excited, and quite determined upon a hostile meeting; indeed, so resolute upon the point, that he would not so much as hear of anything to the contrary. His directions were peremptory, and amounted simply to this—that arrangements for a meeting were to be completed without a moment’s delay. All details, of course, were left to the direction of his friend; with respect to the quarrel itself, however, he was not invested with any right of diplomacy. Finding Chadleigh thus implacably resolved, Fitzgerald undertook the affair, which for other parties he had so often filled with singular efficiency, and was duly invested with the important functions of a “second” in the affair. Leaving Chadleigh, however, and being still of opinion that, if possible, the matter ought, for every reason, to be quietly adjusted, he resolved, upon his own responsibility, to make one final effort to prevent a catastrophe which, even if unattended by any more tragical consequences, must, at all events, have the effect of irreparably disgracing Miss Chadleigh. His belief was, that there remained one chance, and one only, of saving the unfortunate young lady, and that was, a private marriage with the author of her shame, accomplished without the delay of a single hour, if possible, so that the public might hear of the elopement and the marriage at one and the same time. Filled with this project, Fitzgerald hurried up the stairs of Jennings’ lodgings. The servant announced him as he entered the drawing-room. Jennings had altered his purpose, and determined, after what had passed, to remain at home. He was still in his dressing-gown, and, when his visitor entered, was sitting before his open desk, the candles burning beside him, and what seemed like a miniature in his hands. He was looking intently upon it, with no very loving aspect, when Fitzgerald entered; but he hastily thrust it, face downward, among the open letters, which lay in multitudinous confusion in the profundity of the old-fashioned desk, and shutting all up quickly, he locked it fast, and rose to receive him. Fitzgerald observed, also, that some torn papers were burning on the fire, and Jennings glanced quickly towards them, to see that they were actually destroyed.
“I have the honour, Captain Jennings, to wait upon you with a communication from Mr. Chadleigh,” said Fitzgerald.
“Pray, sir, take a chair,” said Jennings, coldly, and with a formal bow.
Fitzgerald complied, and resumed—
“I need scarcely, I apprehend, detail the reasons which have induced this step. You have already had an interview with my principal, Mr. Chadleigh.”
“There is certainly no occasion, sir, to say more. I do perfectly understand the nature of your visit, which I have, indeed, been expecting; and have only to say, as Mr. Chadleigh has pushed matters to extremity, I apprehend your instructions are very brief, and that our present business may be quickly arranged; if you will favour me with your card, my friend shall wait upon you at whatever hour you name.
“To say the truth, Mr. Jennings,” replied Fitzgerald, “you are right in supposing that my instructions have been very brief—in a word, they were those of absolute and unconditional hostility; this, however, is a case of such very peculiar delicacy—a case in which forbearance is so eminently important—so imperatively called for by all the circumstances, that I have resolved to take a responsibility upon myself, and endeavour to arrange this matter amicably, if, indeed, it be possible.”
Jennings continued to regard him with earnest attention, but did not speak.
“In short, as far as my influence goes, I would guarantee such an adjustment, upon one condition, which you can have no possible objection in submitting to—that you repair the dishonour you have done Miss Chadleigh, by marrying her, before her present unhappy position becomes public.”
Jennings grew deadly pale, and his features seemed to contract with the intensity of acute suffering, as he gazed for a few seconds upon the speaker, and then, abruptly rising, with a gesture like wringing his hands, he turned towards the fire, and remained standing for a time with his face averted.
“Well, sir,” exclaimed Fitzgerald, after a pause of considerable surprise—for he had expected a prompt and grateful acceptance of his proffered interposition—“what do you say—what am I to understand?”
Jennings heaved a dreary sigh, and said, gloomily and desperately enough—
“What you propose is absolutely out of the question—impracticable.”
“Then, sir, take the consequences,” said Fitzgerald, with irrepressible indignation; “you have, at least, quieted my scruples in acting against you—there is but one way of settling the matter now.”
“Just so, sir,” said Jennings, who had recovered his haughty coldness; “and, as I must leave details to the discretion of my friend, I have only to ask you at what
