The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 79: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

16 THE CHIZLD OF WATERLOO. ‘* And who will believe your strange relation ?” “I care not. I know it to be the truth, and it will go far toward proving my innocence.” ‘What no one will believe will prove nothing that you wish to prove, but may engender suspicion. Take my advice; say nothing of what has happened to anybody.” ‘‘ Ay, but I shall; and by their means this man may be se- cured.” ‘‘It is useless. But, Jem—if Jem is your name—you must have another: surely you have no motive in concealing it from ‘* I will conceal it. I shall never be known by any other, and do — intend to reveal to any one what I deem fitting to con- ceal.’ ‘* Are you ashamed of it ?” “T may rather be ashamed of my present condition; but I have said all I shall say about that subject; do not, therefore, ask me questions.” ‘‘ Ask no questions!” said the dame, in an irritable manner. ‘‘Go where none wiil be asked of you; since you cannot even trust me with your name, nor be guided by my advice, seek some other place; my cottage is no place for you.” As she spoke, she threw the pistol and the key into a cu board, which she locked in great anger, and the hostler, with- out any apparent emotion, rose and quitted the cottage. Dame Strangeways paused a moment or two, and muttering some incoherent expressions, evidently in anger, she walked to another cupboard, which she unlocked, and took therefrom a bundle of papers carefully tied up. Then arranging her chair, she sat down in the most convenient position to catch the light and sit at ease. She was soon immersed in the papers before her, and heeded nor thought of aught else. It was strange to see the eagerness and avidity with which she perused the papers she held in her hands. The sharp features of the old woman were concentrated upon one point, and she felt but one sensa- tion. She sat in her chair as though she had been a piece of curious carved work, so still and motionless was she. After some moments spent thus, Dame Strangeways arose from her chair. Her passion had cooled, and she seemed actuated by other feelings, of as strong a character, but of a different aspect; they were of grief and melancholy, so long and so often indulged in, that they appeared to become nearer allied to insanity than the expression of grief and woe of a sorrow- stricken woman, fully informed of all she most feared or most desired should not be true. The papers were flung upon the table, and she buried her face in her hands, as if in an agony of doubt and grief. ‘*No, no, no!” at length she said, with convulsive energy —‘ ‘no, no—it cannot be—I cannot see it—I cannot!” Another pause, and then she traversed the floor of her cot- tage. All was silent; not a sound came upon her ear, save that of her own feet, as she traversed the low, sanded floor of the room. es comicbooks. com