Rose Mortimer; Or, The Ballet-Girl's Revenge — page 105: what you’re looking at

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

——_—_—————— THE BALLET-GIRL’S REVENGE. 99 Behind them at a distance a woman followed with slow and stealthy steps. As they had passed by the garden of the fatal house she had rushed out and watched them. Then dogged their steps. Now they.had arrived at the inn where Rose was to rest. Poor girl! For the first time for many a weary day she felt something like contentment. A tranquillity which had been a stranger to her heart for so long. ‘Good night, Mr. Chowler,” said Rose, “and as for what we have seen—”’ “Hush,” said the manager, looking around him theatrically. ‘* Your finger on your lip—not a word— we shall speak of this to-morrow.’’ ‘Very well.”’ ‘‘ Don’t mention it to anyone.—We might get into trouble about it.” “Very well—’’ “‘To-morrow at ten—rehearsal.’’ ** Yes, sir.” *‘ You'll be punctual ?”’ “Les; SITs? ‘Good. I like to hear that, my dear Miss Mor- timer, for we have a sad irregular lot in our com- pany. Now Miss Wilkins is—” ** Indeed,” said Rose. She feared he was about to indulge in a long his- tory, and felt bound to cut him short. Mr. Chowler lingered long over his good night. Rose, however, had her thoughts crowded with the horrors they had witnessed, and she got off as soon as possible. *‘She’s a charming girl! ’? muttered Chowler as he turned away. ‘‘ A charming girl!” Then he walked off. Not far, however. The sudden shooting at the little manager’s heart was so sharp that he was forced to rest a while upon a low boundary stone. This was by the side of the road and shaded from the moonlight by some tall overhanging trees. There he sat gazing up at the inn which contained the fair Rose. Suddenly a figure—a woman—clothed in light coloured garments passed by him. So close that her dress swept over his boots, But yet lie was unobserved. Her point, also, seemed to be the house where Rose Mortimer was staying. She stepped off the footpath into the road and looked np at the house. A light appeared at one of the windows. The woman was muttering to herself, but Chowler could not hear what. Then she turned abruptly away and hurried back in the direction she had come. “‘There’s something wrong here!” said Chowler. *‘T shall wait and see it out.” CHAPTER XLI. CHOWLER’S LOVE — THE WATCH UNDER DIFFI- CULTIES — THE LANTERN AGAIN — THREE MASKS — THE LADDER—AN ALARM—FLIGHT— THE HEAD AT THE WINDOW — CHOWLER’S RESOLVE —A SHRIEK — THE ABDUCTION — CHOWLER’S FEARS—HIS VISION. Mr. CHOWLER was in love. It is useless attempting to disguise the fact—the worthy little manager was struck desperately hard. ; The object of his passion was Rose Mortimer, his latest acquisition. A LA Rose Mortimer was attached to his excellent thea- trical company. Mr. Chowler was attached to her. So poor Chowler not being able to see the pretty face any longer that night—propriety forbidding it, even in the free-and-easy habit of professional life—he resolved to watch her window all night. The deeds which Chowler and Rose Mortimer had witnessed at the lone house filled them both with horror. The latter’s terrors were to last her through the night to haunt her sleep. Mr. Chowler was happier. The effects of what he had seen in that grim and silent garden were half nullified already by the’sud- den and ardent passion which consumed him. But then the sudden appearance of the woman who watched Rose Mortimer had brought back all his fears. He determined to watch. Ay—to watch, even if his vigil lasted through the night. After a close scrutiny at the window in which the light had appeared the woman turned and left. A sigh of relief burst from Mr. Chowler to see her depart. ** Thank goodness that she’s gone !’”’ said the worthy manager. But had she gone ? A doubt crossed his mind, and he grew uncom- fortable. It was possible that she would yettirn. To be assured of this he must know thé object of the woman’s presence there at that singular hour. No, he could not yet look upon danger as being entirely averted, and he was determined to continue his vigil. He began to look upon it as his duty. It was pleasant to contemplate it in this light to Chowler. Infact, as the thought of it being his duty his left waistcoat began to twitter in an alarming fashion. It was now miserably cold. The season was not the warmest of the year, and it was unusually cold for the time. Chowler shivered. z His teeth chattered and his nose grew blue. But he kept manfully to his self-allotted post for the night. Was it not a labour of love? He struck his hands with a fixed determination to the very bottom of his pockets. His resolution he kept most firmly—for half an hour. At the expiration of this time the cold which he had with much difficulty endured became alarming. It was suffering. He got up, jumped about, cut a double shuffle, and beat himselfin the cruellest (cab-driver’s) fashion. Still he felt that the circulation could never be re- stored. He turned his face towards the inn which con- tained all that he loved in life—as he felt at this precise moment. The light was out. With the extinguishing of this Mr. Chowler’s love seemed to flag. The sharp east wind which he had endured so long had somewhat cooled his ardour. ‘“No, Vl have no more of this,’’ thought the manager. ‘I’m off.” He buttoned up his coat with the very greatest dif- ficulty. His fingers were frozen. Numbed and almost without feeling. ‘‘This is apretty go,’”’ he muttered, his teeth chat a rere AONE NOOKS COM