Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 60, No. 369, July 1846

ELINOR TRAVIS

A Tale in Three Chapters

Chapter the Second

So far have I spoken of what I saw and witnessed. Much of what follows came to me, years afterwards, authenticated by the chief performer in the eventful drama which I write, and by others no less worthy of belief. After what has been already narrated, it will not be supposed that I suffered the life of my friend to pass away unnoticed. We corresponded, but fitfully, and at long intervals. Here and there we met, often strangely and by accident, and I became now the depositary of his heart's dearest secrets, now the reluctant adviser, and now the bold and earnest remonstrant. Our intimacy, however, ceased abruptly and unhappily a year or two subsequently to his marriage. Sinclair, it will be seen, then went abroad, and I returned to my duty at the university. I recur to the memoranda of his history which lie before me, and proceed with my text.

It would appear that General Travis overtook the fugitives, but, as good or ill fortune would have it, not until the knot was tied, and his presence profited nothing. I have been told that the desperate father, at one period of the chase, was within an easy stage of the runaways, and, had he been so disposed, might have laid hands on the delinquents without ruinously bribing the postilions, who prudently husbanded their strength in full expectation of additional largess. But, at the very moment of victory, as it were, the general unfortunately was seized with illness, and compelled to pass a day and night under the hands of a village doctor in a roadside inn. He was very angry and rebellious, you may be sure, and oftener than once asserted with an oath – so that there could be no doubt whatever of his sincerity – that he would give the world (if he had it) to be allowed to proceed; at the same time that he unreasonably accused the practitioner, whom he had never seen before, of conspiring with his enemies to bring his gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. The worthy apothecary, guilty of nothing but the venial offence of making the most of a visitation of Providence, merely shook his head dolefully at every exclamation of his patient, hinted at gastric fever, and rubbed his palms, intimating by that act that so he proposed to wash his hands of all responsibility. Whereupon the general prudently gave in, held out his massive fist, was prescribed for, went to bed and put out his candle, just two minutes after he had put out the basket of physic which had been sent to prolong his stay in the inn for at least a week to come.

The interview between the disconsolate parent and the youthful offenders is adverted to in the letter which I received from Rupert Sinclair in London early in the honeymoon. It is many years since it was written: the paper is discoloured, and the ink fading. It is the effusion of a fond and enthusiastic youth; but it looks mournful and dried up, more like the decaying writing on the rolls of a mummy than the ardent outpourings of a recent passion. Alack for the mutability of life! I have no apologies to make for giving the letter as it stands. It speaks for itself: its publication cannot harm the dead.

"Dearest Walter – Congratulate me! wish me joy! But no greater joy than I experience at this hour, with the sunny and smiling heaven above, and in the possession of a treasure of which no man living can rob me: of which I am prouder than Alexander could have been of all his conquered worlds. She is mine! I have ventured much for the prize; yet little – for I feel I could have parted with every thing in life for her who is to me – life, every thing. She is mine! Oh the comprehensiveness of that one little word! Mine whilst existence lasts – mine to cherish and uphold – mine for earth and heaven! We walked this morning to the placid lake which lies hidden in the heart of the mountains, to which we have retreated for a season away from the envious eyes of men. The waters were as calm as at the dawn of the first sabbath! The sky that overarched us looked down upon them in unutterable love. The slightest breath that crept amongst the trees was audible. Her arm was upon mine. Nature had attuned my soul to the surrounding harmony – the gentlest pressure of her confiding hand oppressed me with joy and moved me to tears. Laugh at me if you will. You answer to all this – that I dream. Be it so: – That I must soon awake. It is possible. Nay, I grant you that this foretaste of heaven, now vouchsafed to me, must pass away and leave behind it only the remembrance of this golden epoch. Still the remembrance is mine, the undying memory of a vision unparalleled by all other dreams of life.

"I have written to my father, but he replies not. He has no sympathy for attachments such as mine, and cannot understand the bitterness of life caused by a blighted hope. But he will relent. He has a noble nature, and will take no delight in my unhappiness. My mother's influence is unbounded. She loves me, and will plead my cause with him, when the first paroxysm of anger has passed away, and has left him open to her sway. I will take my Elinor to her; her innocence and beauty would melt a stubborn heart to pity. Shall it not prevail with her whose heart is ours already by the ties of holiest nature? Believe me, I have no fear of Lord Railton's lasting anger.

"The general reached us the day after we were married. Happily for me that he arrived not before. Elinor, as I have told you often, reveres her father, and has a chivalric sense of filial obligations. Had he commanded her to return to his roof whilst the right to command remained with him, she would have deemed it her paramount duty to obey him. His rage was terrible when we met; I had never seen a man so plunged in grief before. He accused me of treachery – of having betrayed his confidence – and taken advantage of his daughter's simplicity and warm affection. The world, he said, would reproach him for an act which he would have moved heaven and earth to prevent, and the reputation of the family would be blasted by the conduct of one, who, but for his own base deed, should have remained for ever a stranger to it. What could I reply to this? For my dear Elinor's sake, I bore his cruel words, and answered not. Her gentle spirit has already prevailed. He quitted us this morning reconciled to our union, and resolved to stand by us in all extremities. There was no resisting the appeal of beauty such as hers. The old man wept like a child upon her neck as he forgave and blest her. Urgent business carries the general abroad for a season, but he returns to England shortly, to make arrangements for the future. Meanwhile, in obedience to his earnest request, I shall seek an interview with my father, and in person entreat his forgiveness and aid. My plans are unsettled, and necessarily depend upon the conduct of Lord Railton. Let me hear from you, dearest Wilson. Once more wish me joy. I ask no better fate for you than happiness such as mine.

"Your faithful and devoted

"Rupert Sinclair."

The honeymoon over, Rupert Sinclair repaired to his father's house. Since his marriage he had received no tidings of his parents: he had written to his father and mother, but from neither came one syllable of acknowledgment or reply. It was strange, but he relied with unshaken confidence upon his power over the fond mother's heart, and upon the magic influence of that loveliness which he himself had found resistless and invincible. The blissful dream was a short one; he was about to be roused from it. Elinor and he were in town: upon the morning of his visit to Grosvenor Square, they sat together in their hotel and weaved their bright and airy plans in syllables more unsubstantial than the gossamer.

"You will love my mother, my dearest Elinor," said Sinclair. "The great world, in which she acts no unimportant part, has not spoiled her affections. She is indulgent and fond almost to a fault."

"I shall love her for your sake, Rupert," answered the lovely wife. "How like she is!" she exclaimed, looking at a miniature which she wore around her neck, and then comparing it with the living countenance that beamed upon her. "Yet," she continued with a sigh, "she owes me no return of love."

"And wherefore?"

"Have I not stolen her most cherished treasure?"

"Have you not added to her treasures? She will rejoice in her new-found daughter. I know her well. She will not even suffer my father to frown upon us. When he would be most stern, she will lead you to him, and melt him into tenderness and pardon."

"I hope, dear Rupert, that it may be so. I would my father were with us!"

"Lord Railton will be a father to you till his return. Trust me for it. You shall find a happy home with him, until arrangements are made for our settlement here or elsewhere."

"Oh, elsewhere, dear Rupert, if it be possible! Let us go abroad; I was never happy in London, and strange to say, never felt at home in England. Yet London was my birth-place."

"You love blue sky, dearest!"

"Yes, and happy people. Men and women who are not mere slaves to form and fashion: who breathe free air and imbibe a sense of freedom. Oh Venice! dear Venice! – we shall go to Venice, shall we not? It is the land of enchantment, dearest Rupert, there is nothing like it in the world – the land of love and of romance."

"You shall visit it, sweetest, and abide there if you wish it. To me all spots are alike that find you happy and at my side. When you are tired of Venice, you shall lead me whithersoever you will."

"Will you always say so?"

"Always. But that our departure may not be delayed, let us attend to the pressing business of the hour. All our movements depend upon my father's sanction. Once reconciled to him, and the world is before us, to minister, sweet Elinor, to your every wish."

"What if he should punish you for my offence?"

"For your offence, dear girl! and what is that? Think not of it. I go to remove your fears and seal our happiness!"

With these and similar words of confidence and hope, the youth departed on his errand. Not without some misgiving and apprehension, however, did he present himself at that door which heretofore had flown open at his approach, always offering to his view the forms of obsequious lackeys, only too willing to anticipate his pleasure. The establishment of Lord Railton in a striking manner represented the sentiments and feelings of the noble proprietor. There was not a servant in the house who did not know, and that most accurately, the opinions, public and private, of "my lord," and the relative regard he had for all who approached his noble person, and who, moreover, did not give evidence of this knowledge in his conduct towards mankind. A stranger might have formed a just opinion of the influence of a visitor by simply remarking the bearing of Mister Brown the butler, as he ushered that visitor into the sublime presence. Smiles of welcome – a sweet relaxation of the features – greeted "the favoured guest;" cold rigidity, withering politeness, if not the stern expression of rebuke itself, were the undisguised acknowledgments of one who was "a bore" in his lordship's study, and consequently "a rejected" in the steward's room. During the boyhood of Rupert Sinclair, and whilst his mamma was known to be affectionately disposed to spoil her offspring by every kind of cruel indulgence, the regard entertained for the young scion, from Mister Brown downwards, was beautiful to contemplate. If he appeared in the hall, one sickening and hollow smile pervaded the cheeks of every individual; the tongue that was still wet with slander and abuse, became, as if by magic, sugary with choice phrases; and not a soul of all the lying crew, but sought to surpass the rest by the profuseness of its palpable and unmeaning flattery. Rupert Sinclair, worldly wise though he was not, would have been stolid indeed had he not gathered from the porter's air something of the reception that awaited him from his offended sire, when the wide portal opened to receive the unforgiven prodigal.

"His lordship?" – began Rupert inquiringly.

"Not at home, sir," said the flunkey, with all imaginable coolness interrupting him.

"Lady Railton?"

"Not at home, sir."

"She is in town?"

"In town, sir? – yes, sir."

"I will wait," said Sinclair, moving towards the inner hall.

He had not spoken before the porter pulled with all his might at a bell-wire that communicated with the steward's room. As though the signals were preconcerted, Mister Brown was in the hall in no time, and confronting the intruder upon the thresh-hold of the sanctuary. "I beg your pardon, Mr Sinclair," said Mister Brown, half respectfully, half confidentially. "Lord Railton is particularly engaged this morning, and has given orders to that effect. It is the painfulest thing to communicate, but I am but an agent."

Rupert coloured up, and hesitated for a moment.

"I must see Lady Railton, then?" he continued hastily.

"Her ladyship is ill, sir – really very ill. She is not suffered to see any body. My lord has forbidden any one to approach her but her maid. I hope no offence, but I heard Doctor Bennett tell her ladyship that it was of the highest consequence to keep Mr Sinclair away for the present."

"Is she really so ill, sir?" asked Rupert, turning pale, and with a quivering lip.

Mister Brown drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and applied it to his eyes.

"She is indeed, sir," said that hoary hypocrite; "we have had a dreadful time of it. I thought his lordship would have blown his brains out. My lady was given over for a week. For my own part, I may say that duty and feeling have struggled in my bosom till I am quite worn out, and it's quite impossible for me to say who will be laid up next."

"I must see my father, Mr Brown," said Sinclair, advancing a step or two, to the great discomfort of the butler, who was evidently sadly perplexed by the conflicting emotions of his mind; for whilst he acknowledged Lord Railton for his master, he respected Mr Sinclair as his heir, and felt how important it was to obey his present lord without declining to serve the youth whom he hoped to make his future lord. "I must see him. Go to him, I beg of you, and tell him I am here."

So saying, Mr Sinclair advanced a few steps further, and found himself unhindered in the dining-room – moreover, to his surprise and agitation, in the presence of his father. Mister Brown vanished. To behold his parent, to fall on his knees before him, and to grasp his hand, was the work of a moment. Lord Railton recoiled as though a serpent, and not his child, had wound about him. He was livid with rage, and an unnatural hate was settled in his cold, yet piercing eye.

"Your pardon, father!" cried the youth.

"Never, so help me" —

"Oh, do not say it, father!" exclaimed the son, interrupting him before the awful word was spoken; "for heaven's sake, do not call that name to witness such a fearful sentence – do not drive me to distraction!"

"You have driven me mad; you have blasted every hope of mine. You have been a traitor and a shame to the name you bear, and of which I would it were in my power to deprive you as easily as it is to attach to it the curse with which you shall receive from me your title and your inheritance. Begone! I never knew what it was to hate till now."

Rupert arose and burst into tears. His father looked at him unmoved except by scorn.

"You have not seen her," exclaimed Rupert, when the first burst of grief had passed away; "you do not know the value of the child whom you reject."

"No, but I have heard. The world has heard of our disgrace. Mark me, you are no longer child of mine. I disown and discard you. I will enter into no particulars. From this moment I will hold no further intercourse with you. At my death you will obtain my name, and all that the law allows you. Until my death, you will receive from my man of business more than a sufficient sum for your support. Let me not hear from you again. I shall struggle to forget you and your ingratitude. Neither in health nor sickness, neither by letter nor in person, let me know any thing of you or yours. You have forsaken your natural ties for new associations. They have made you a traitor to your blood – let them make the most of the adoption."

"Father, you cannot mean it!" cried Rupert in an agony of sorrow.

"Father!" said the old lord, repeating the word; "in virtue of what filial act do you claim such a kindred with me? Call that man father whose bankrupt fortune and reputation have had such marvellous power to wean you from your duty. Mark me, Sinclair – you were the first to violate the tie between us, I will be the last to restore or reunite it. Leave me. I cannot bear to look upon you."

"My mother!" inquired Sinclair, in a voice that dared not rise above a whisper.

"Name not that poor broken-hearted woman," replied Lord Railton: "spare me and her the pang of that inquiry. You have killed her."

"Oh, no, no, impossible!" ejaculated Sinclair. "Let me see her, and obtain her forgiveness, if I am driven afterwards from your door."

"She lies upon a bed of sickness, placed there by yourself. She will never rise again. Your wife must be fair indeed, if her beauty can atone for such a murder."

"Oh, you are unjust, most cruel and unjust!"

"You have taught us such injustice and cruelty as we practise. Begone, sir! As long as we live, we must not meet again. If you remain in England, I shall go abroad. If you travel, I remain in England. The sea shall be between us. I reproach myself with nothing. I denied you nothing. I knew my duty towards you, and performed it. Your mother lived only for your happiness. We have been cursed and disappointed. I forget you from this hour. Had I received intelligence this morning of your death, it would have given me no pain, evoked no sorrow. You are dead to me. Come not again across this threshold and I will endeavour to forget that I was not always childless."

And so saying, Lord Railton put an end to the interview by quitting the apartment. Grief, in the bosom of Rupert, had already given place to offended pride and resentment – such resentment, at least, as his mild nature understood. Whatever might have been his offence, he felt that it did not, could not deserve the vindictive hatred which burned no less in his father's countenance than in his terrible denunciations. What! was it a crime to link one's fate with virtuous innocence and beauty, such as hers who called him husband? If it was a fault to carve one's own way to happiness, did it deserve a harsher condemnation than that apportioned to the felon? The image of Elinor rose for the protection of the youth, and armed him with courage for the trial of that hour. He came a suppliant; but he returned in triumph: he came acknowledging his offence and suing for forgiveness; he returned justified and self-acquitted. Deprived of love and friendship at the hearth and home of his youth, he appreciated at even more than their value the joys that had been created for him in the palace of his own bright home, where a divinity presided as queen. The punishment he received for her dear sake, rendered her, if that were possible, the object still more of his passionate regard. He would have made any sacrifice to appease the anger of his father and the offended pride of his mother – he did not believe in the dangerous illness of the latter – but repulsed like a dog from their side, he deemed himself absolved from further trials of their tenderness, additional exercise of his own forbearance and filial duty.

It was during the day of his visit to Grosvenor Square that Sinclair was honoured with a return visit from the attorney of Lord Railton. That gentleman had received instructions that very morning to pay to the order of Mr Rupert Sinclair the sum of one thousand pounds per annum, in quarterly payments of two hundred and fifty pounds each: "But really," as the legal gentleman said to Rupert, upon breaking the matter to him, "he could not reconcile it to his sense of duty, and to the esteem which it was natural for him to entertain towards every member of Lord Railton's family – to perform his very unthankful office without using all his humble efforts to bring about a reconciliation, which in every respect was so very desirable. God forbid that business should ever prevent him from doing his duty as a Christian."

It need hardly be said that Mr Crawly, the attorney in question, was too keen a judge of things in general to throw dirt in the face of the rising sun, simply because he had worshipped the setting luminary a few hours before. Like all who depended more or less upon the estates of the Railton family for their support, it was of the highest consequence to maintain a good understanding with either party. If Lord Railton fed Mr Crawly now, Rupert Sinclair was expected to feed by and by Crawly's son and heir, who was preparing himself for the paternal stool by a short round of folly and extravagance at the university. Who could tell? Lord Railton might die to-morrow – he had had a squeak or two – and Crawly had been called to make his will: or he might forgive his son – or twenty things might happen to remove present differences, and restore the divided interest to its first integrity. Crawly had boasted to his relations and friends for the first twenty years of his official career, that he had never made one enemy; and when he set up his carriage in the prime of life, he invented his own arms and crest, and assumed for his motto the words, "always agreeable."

"It really is, my dear Sinclair," said Crawly, "a thousand pities that we cannot bring about a more satisfactory state of things; but I do hope that time will do wonders. Some excuses must be made for Lord Railton. Remember his age."

[He had said the same thing to Lord Railton in the morning: "Some excuses must be made for Mr Sinclair, my lord. Remember his youth!"]

"I cannot but think, Mr Crawly," answered Rupert, "that I have been treated with unmerited harshness."

"I cannot say, Mr Sinclair – I do not think it would become me to reply – that you have been treated handsomely."

[Crawly, Crawly! you spoke those words in Grosvenor Square!]

"I accept the allowance, sir, and will make the most of it. You may assure my father that I shall not prefer any further claims upon his bounty, or force myself again into his presence."

"As for bounty, my dear Mr Sinclair, you must permit me to state that the expression is hardly a correct one. The property of his lordship descends to you, and you are perfectly justified in spending freely what is your own."

["Mr Crawly," said Lord Railton, in Grosvenor Square that morning, foaming with rage, "I will deprive him of every shilling that is not his own. I have been economical for his sake; I will be extravagant to spite him."

"My lord," replied Crawly, "you are perfectly justified in spending freely what is your own."]

"May I take the liberty, Mr Sinclair," said the lawyer after a pause, "to inquire what your present views may be?"

"I am undecided, sir. I know not whether I shall remain here or go abroad. My father's reception of me has staggered and confounded me. I would have consulted his wishes had he received me as his son. I have now to satisfy only my own convenience."

"I shall pay your annuity, Mr Sinclair, into your banker's regularly every quarter-day. The first payment will be made in advance. I need not assure you, I trust, that I act in this most painful business rather as a mediator and a friend than a hired agent. There may be a time when an additional advance may be both convenient and acceptable. I have known you long, Mr Rupert. I know you to be a man of honour. I have only to add, that at such times you will confer a favour upon me by making me your banker, and commanding my purse."

I wonder if this was the reason why Mr Crawly suggested to Lord Railton the propriety of grinding Mr Sinclair down to as small a sum as possible. If so, if it were merely to give himself the opportunity of acting like a second father to the castaway, the recommendation cannot be too highly applauded.

"Thank you, sir; I shall not trouble you. I know my income, and I shall take care to keep my ambition within its bounds. I have had but few desires, I have now fewer than ever. A humble cottage and contentment are to be prized far beyond a palace and its harassing cares. I do not want the world to administer to my happiness. I am the happiest of men at home. To have that home invaded by the vulgar pleasures of life, would be to rob me of its charm!"

Now nothing could have been more satisfactory than this sentiment, had it but been responded to by her upon whom not only the annual expenses of Mr Rupert Sinclair's household depended, but his every movement, wish, and thought. Unfortunately for the domestic husband, the wife understood the bliss of love in a cottage no more than a nightingale may be supposed to appreciate the advantages of imprisonment in a cage of gold. She was born, and had been educated, in the world. It was the scene of her triumphs, the home of her affections. She had played no unimportant part in it; her sway had been acknowledged, her beauty had gained its victory there. Home! she had never known any other, and what right had Sinclair to suppose that she was adapted for a narrower? He had met her in dissipation, but had he won her from it? Hardly; since a few days only had intervened between the hour of their meeting, and the still more luckless hour of their union. Was it to be imagined, could it in fairness be expected, that this young creature, all life all fascination and vanity, with her heart attuned to the joys of fashion, with the object of her life attained – with power and position now, and wealth and rank to come, would forego all the advantages within her reach, all the influence that she felt, and all the pleasure that it was simply to ask for, in order to obtain "Love in a cottage?" Rupert Sinclair! pull down the thatch, and build some marble hall for the fairy you have caught – not chained!

Within six months of his marriage, the Honourable Rupert Sinclair was living at the rate of – not one – but five thousand a-year. Persuaded by his wife, (who learnt any thing but quiet submission from the tyranny of Lord Railton, and whose determination to go abroad was relinquished the moment she discovered her absence from England would be agreeable to her husband's family,) Rupert had taken a mansion in town, and Mrs Rupert Sinclair was the admired of all admirers, a leader of fashion, and the proclaimed beauty of her day. Rupert had been dragged into the vortex, with no power to hold back, even had he been willing to interfere with those delights which gained him a smile of approbation, and expressions of gratitude, cheaply purchased at any cost or sacrifice of his. True he was fearfully in debt; true Mr Crawly had been summoned oftener than once to the rescue; true that wily gentleman had advanced heavy sums of money, taking particular care, however, to be amply secured by legal documents, and more than amply repaid by the exaction of illegal interest. It was perhaps natural for Sinclair to believe, as debts accumulated upon debts, that the hour of his estrangement from his parents was drawing rapidly to a close, and that, although his way of living could not but aggrieve and offend his stern and angry father, yet it was impossible nature could suffer him much longer to withhold his paternal and forgiving hand. Mental reasoning of this character is the last resource of the culpable and the self-deluded. Lord Railton, faithful to his threat, went abroad; Lady Railton was sufficiently recovered to accompany him; and both quitted England without deigning to notice the spend-thrifts, whose extravagance and need were soon the common talk of scandalmongers, dissatisfied tradesmen, and spiteful serving-men. Yet there was no flinching on the part of Rupert. A cloud of anxiety might sit temporarily on his brow, a sigh now and then escape him; but he uttered no remonstrance, and took no pains to stem the tide of folly and prodigality that flowed unceasingly within his walls. His love for Elinor had increased rather than diminished since their marriage. He was proud of the homage of mankind, and knew her worthy of the highest. Why should he seek to restrain the innocent pleasures of a woman for whose gratification and happiness he lived? Why curtail the joys in which she had participated almost from infancy? why prevent her from crowning a scene, for the adornment of which she was created and eminently fitted?

And where was General Travis during this brief season of intoxication and wanton waste? At Calais, whither his liabilities had banished him, and were likely to detain him for some time to come. There was no doubt of his ruin. He lived with his melancholy-looking wife and younger daughter, upon a pittance secured upon the life of the former, but hardly sufficient to support them in decency. Yet they maintained, even in their reverses, a style that to a degree reflected on the scene of their exile the brilliancy of their brighter years. Could it be that the substance of poor Rupert Sinclair was ministering here also to the vices of this unhappy family? I fear there is no doubt of it. The general was as huge a braggart as ever. He insisted upon drawing a line midway between the highest and the lowest of the swindling fraternity to which he belonged, and by whom he was surrounded, and suffered intercourse to exist only with the favoured members of the upper class. He was prating for ever of his son-in-law, his connexions, his influence with the ministry through the potent Lord Railton, and was most lavish of his promises of preferment to any credulous individual whom he could persuade to favour him with the eternal loan of a five-pound note. General Travis had, not unaccountably perhaps, acquired much power over the mind of Sinclair. Expelled from his natural counsellors, who, in their best days, had been any thing but faithful advisers, – harassed and tormented by growing cares, it is not to be wondered at, that he should seek counsel and aid from one whom he believed to be a thorough man of the world – who was bound to him by the closest ties, and of whose integrity and honour he had not the remotest suspicion. It was General Travis who instructed Sinclair in the recondite science of raising money – and of staving off the attacks of tradesmen with the weapons of generous usurers: who taught him that still more marvellous art of civilized life, of living upon one thousand a-year more sumptuously than your neighbour with ten; and who day after day persuaded him, by arguments which I cannot attempt to recite, that by forestalling his inheritance in his youth, he would not materially affect the property which must accrue to him in his age. It may be that the arguments would have been more severely tested had they come from any other than Elinor's father – had they not been employed to increase the comforts and desires of Elinor herself. But whether this be so or not, it is certain that Rupert Sinclair, for a long time, was a helpless victim in the hands of a bold and ruthless destroyer.