CHAPTER XXIV.
FREDERICK HOLDFAST'S STATEMENT.
The extraordinary story which has appeared in the columns of the_Evening Moon_, and the dreadful intelligence it conveys to me of themurder of my dear father, render it imperatively necessary that I shouldplace upon permanent record certain particulars and incidents relatingto my career which will incontestibly prove that the Romance in RealLife which is now being inserted in every newspaper in the kingdom isan infamous fabrication. I am impelled to this course by two strongreasons. First,--Because I wish to clear myself in the eyes of thewoman I love, from whom I have concealed my real name and position.Second,--Because life is so uncertain that I might not be able to doto-morrow what it is in my power to do to-day. I pledge myself, in thename of my dear mother, whose memory I revere, that I will set down herenothing but the truth--that I will not strive to win pity or grace bythe faintest glossing of any particulars in which I may not appear toadvantage--that I will not swerve by a hair's breadth from my honestintention to speak of the matters treated herein in a plain, unvarnishedstyle. The dear one who will be the first to peruse these lines is asprecious to me as ever woman was to man, but I will not retain her loveby subterfuge or pretence, although it would break my heart to lose it.To her I am known as Frederick Maitland. To a number of persons I am--inconnection with the murder of my father--known as Antony Cowlrick. Mytrue name is Frederick Holdfast.
Between myself and my father existed--until shortly after he married asecond wife--feelings of respect and affection. During my boyhood hislove for me was exhibited in every tender form which occurs to the mindof an affectionate father, and I entertained for him a love as sincereas his own. The death of my mother affected him powerfully. Theirmarried life had been a happy one, and they lived in harmony. My motherwas a woman with no ambition but that of making those around her happy.She compassed her ambition, the entire depth and scope of which wasbounded by the word Home. After her death my father, never a man of muchanimation and conversation, became even quieter and more reserved inmanner, but I am convinced his love for me was not lessened. He was aman of strong determination, and he had schooled himself to keep hispassions and emotions in complete control. He was intense in his likesand dislikes--unobtrusively chivalrous and charitable--disposed togo to extremes in matters of feeling--thorough in friendship as inenmity--just in his dealings--and seldom, if ever, forgiving where hisconfidence was betrayed, or where he believed himself to be deceived.Such a man is apt to form wrong judgments--as my father did; to receivefalse impressions--as my father did; to be much deceived by cunning--asmy father was. But if he was hasty to condemn, he was eager to makeatonement when he discovered himself to be in the wrong. Then it wasthat the chivalry of his nature asserted itself.
He was a successful merchant, and was proud of his successes, and proudalso that his money was made by fair and honourable means. He said to meonce, "I would rather see you compelled to gain a living by sweeping aroad than that it should come to my knowledge that you have been guiltyof a dishonourable action." I was his only child, and he had his viewswith respect to my future. He wished me to enter public life, and hegave me an education to fit me for it. While I was at Oxford he mademe a handsome allowance, and once, when I found myself in debt there,he did not demur to settling them for me. Only once did this occur,and when my debts were discharged, he said, "I have increased yourallowance, Frederick; it could not have been liberal enough, as youcontracted debts you were unable to pay." He named the amount of myincreased allowance, and asked me if it was sufficient. I replied thatit was, and then he told me that he considered it a dishonourable actfor a man to consciously contract an obligation he did not see hisway to meet out of his own resources. "The scrape you got into withyour creditors was an error," he said; "you did not sufficientlyconsider. You are wiser now, and what was an error in the past would bedishonourable in the future." I never had occasion to ask him to pay mydebts again. I lived not only within my allowance, but I saved out ofit--a fortunate circumstance, as I afterwards found. The result wasobtained without my being penurious, or depriving myself of any of thepleasures of living indulged in by my friends and companions. I was nota purist; I was fond of pleasure, and I have no doubt I did many foolishthings; but no sin lies at my door. I was never false to a friend, and Inever betrayed a woman.
Among my friends was a young man named Sydney Campbell. He is notliving now, and nothing restrains me from speaking of him candidly andhonestly. He was a man of brilliant parts, brilliant in scholarship, indebate, in social accomplishments. He affected to be a fop, and wouldassume an effeminacy which became him well--as everything became himwhich he assumed. He was as brave as a lion, and a master of fence;lavishly prodigal with his money, and ready, at any moment, for anyextravagance, and especially for any extravagance which would serveto hide the real nobility of his nature. He would hob-a-nob with thelowest and vilest, saying, "Human nature is much of a muchness; whygive ourselves airs? I am convinced I should have made an admirablepickpocket." But Sydney Campbell was never guilty of a meanness.
He was the admiration of our set, and we made him the fashion. Though heaffected to disdain popularity he was proud of the position we assignedto him, and he played us many extravagant tricks. He led us into nodanger of which he did not court the lion's share, and he held out nowand then an example of kindness to those in need of kindness which wasproductive of nothing but good. It would be to some men most difficultto reconcile with each other the amazing inconsistencies of his actions;now profound, now frivolous, now scholar-like and dignified, nowboisterous and unrestrained; but I knew more of his inner nature thanmost of his acquaintances, and I learnt to love as well as admire him.He had large ideality, and a fund of animal spirits which he sometimesfound it impossible to control; he had large veneration, and a sense ofthe ridiculous so strong that he would laugh with tears in his eyesand tenderness in his heart. I am particular in my description of him,because I want you to thoroughly understand him, and because it was hewho brought me into acquaintanceship with the woman who has made metaste something worse than the bitterness of death.
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