Volume II
from Caroline of Lichtfield
Summary
All my rage instantly vanished. I cast the murderous pistol from me; and, running up to my friend, endeavoured, with my handkerchief, to stop the blood that bubbled from the wound. One ball had struck him in the face,a and, he said, he thought he felt a wound in the knee, but was convinced that neither of them were mortal. I dragged him to the tree, and placed him against it, where I gave him all the succour in my power, for I was so totally beside myself, that I had even forgot the farm which was not forty paces distant. I remembered not so much as the cause of this miserable affair; at that moment of horror the danger of Walstein was all I remembered: I kneeled behind him; he leaned against my breast, and, notwithstanding the universal tremor of my limbs, I bound up his wound with our two handkerchiefs.
No sooner had I finished than recollection suddenly returned. ‘Oh God,’ said I, ‘Wretch! accursed wretch that I am! it is I who have committed this dreadful, this murderous act.’ My groans could not find utterance. I hid my face in the dust, and added nothing but inarticulate cries and exclamations.
‘“Lindorf,” said the poor wounded Walstein, ‘Dear Lindorf, be calm, listen to me. There is one way, still, of repairing your wrongs, of preserving, nay, even, of augmenting my friendship. Yes, dearer shall you be to me than ever, if you will pledge your honour to perform what I am going to request.’
I had no doubt but it was to renounce Louisa, but the atrocious crime I had committed had wrought so instant a revolution in my feelings, that I did not hesitate a moment to promise, by the most sacred oaths, to perform all he should require.
‘Well, then,’ said the most generous of men, I require, absolutely, without reserve, that this affair, for ever, remain a secret between you and me; happily, no one has seen us; let me tell the story my own way; and, beware, Lindorf, how thou contradictest me. Thou hast sworn, and I repeat on this condition, only, can I pardon and love thee still. A sole word will for ever deprive you of my friendship.’b
I would have spoken, but sobs and groans prevented me.
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- Information
- Caroline of Lichtfieldby Isabelle de Montolieu, pp. 79 - 158Publisher: Pickering & ChattoFirst published in: 2014