The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

~_,. 108 ee THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. not meet the looks of the young man who was thus flinging at him all the foulest incidents of the dark dismal past, as if he were pelting him with mud, every slimy morsel of which however inflicted the pain of a sharp flintstone. ‘“‘ Terrified at you,” resumed Ashborne, “ my unfortunate mother fled with me to France; and there she hoped to find herself beyond the reach of your venomous spite. Still representing her- self as a widow, she procured another situation of respectability. You passed through the town— you saw her—you watched her—and again you dealt the blow which was as fatal as it was cow- ardly. Then for six months she was the inmate of a hospital—and I was also indebted to French charity for my support. After a time she returned with me to England; and it then appeared as if fortune had become tired of persecuting her—or as if Satan himself hesitated to place fresh weapons in your hand to be used against’her. She became the housekeeper to an old paralysed gentleman : she was enabled to send me to school—she reared me tenderly—and it is with the most melting feelings I now think of my poor mother’s image. But it is also with a fierce fire raging in my soul that I look upon all her wrongs! My narrative is nearly ended. It takes a leap over years, with the incidents of which you have no concern; for no devilish inspiration guided you to the spot where my poor mother, having at last retired upon a small competency, spent the latter portion of her existence in comparative tranquillity. But her mind was not altogether at’ case; your conduct had left a strong impression on it: she looked upon you as the author of all the miseries she had known in life. Six months ago she lay upon her deathbed ; and when she felt her dissolution ap- proaching, she revealed her entire history to me. I never knew it till then: I had been brought up in complete ignorance of it! But at length, as I have told you, I knew all! My mother died— and I swore to avenge her. Yes—I knelt by the side of her corpse, and I took two oaths. The first was that I would mourn her loss for six months, during which my soul should abandon itself only to the sacredness of its grief without suffering a vindictive thought to interpose: but the second oath was to the effect that so soon as the period of mourning should be ended, I would devote myself to revenge. Yes—I swore that all my mother’s wrongs should be brought home to you in their most poignant intensity— that every tear you at any time made her shed, should be compensated for by a torrent from your eyes—that every painful feeling you made her experience, should be atoned for by placing your own heart and soul upon the rack! And fortune seemed to favour my design so soon as the period arrived when I sought to carry it into execution. J saw your advertisement for a bailiff: it met my eyes on the very day that the six months’ mourning for the loss of my mother expued. I merited good credentials at, the hands of my late master Sir Norton Bridgeman; and he gave them. ITapplied for your situation—and ob- tained it. That very same night became an im- portant one for me!” ‘What mean you?” demanded the Squire, with a look of anxiety and bewilderment: for the blue eyes again flamed upon him. “IT mean that the documents which place my father in your power, fell that night into my hands.” ‘‘ What! was it you who instigated those vil- lains,” cried Ponsford, with increasing perplexity and amazement, “ to——” “Not I. But no matter! The deeds fell into my hands—and I have them now. You cannot suppose that I entertain any extraordinary de- gree of either respect or love for my father who abandoned my mother so cruelly: but at the same time I must not forget that he is the author of my being; and therefore I was well enough pleased to be enabled to rescue him from your power. And then too, whatsoever tends to produce vexation or annoyance unto yourself, is a contribution to the sum of the vengeance that I have to wreak upon you. But Oh! that vengeance—it is already complete!” exclaimed the young man, with a sudden sinister flashing and glaring of his blue ‘No fiend could wish it to be more horrible eyes. than it is!” : “Good God! what mean you ?” said the Squire, terribly frightened. ‘You ravished Adelaide Clarke—you destroyed. her honour She was my mother ‘ ‘‘ Heavens!” ejaculated Ponsford; .“‘ there is my daughter’s horse—riderless — yonder !—with the saddle and bridle on! Some accident may have occurred !” “Tt did occur. Your daughter “Oh, my God! what of her? Do you mean that she is killed?” cried Ponsford, in an agony of wild terror: ‘is it by showing me her mangled corpse that you will wreak yonr vengeance on me.” ‘* She is not dead—she lives,” replied Ashborne. ‘Oh, yes! she lives 7 ‘Where is she? Good God! what does this mean? Your looks frighten me!” ‘Wretched man! I told you that my mother should be revenged———” “But my daughter! my daughter! Oh, my child! what have you done with my child? _ Tell me, tell me! keep me not in this hideous sus- pense!” ‘You ravished Adelaide Clarke, I repeat 7 ‘But my child! Where is my daughter ?”— and the unhappy father, harrowed by the most horrible ideas, literally wrung his hands in sus- pense, almost'in despair. ‘‘My child, I say!” “Your child? Oh, miserable man!” exclaimed Ashborne, in a voice which seemed to pierce like searing lightning into Ponsford’s brain: “ now all your damnable iniquity is coming home unto you! Your daughter—she is there! Yes—yonder ! go seek her—and think of the ravished, polluted, and dishonoured Adelaide Clarke when you behold your ruined Pamela grovelling at your feet !” Such a cry of mortal agony—such a rueful, awful yell as that which burst from the lips of the maddened father, never before smote human ears. And it was still yelling and moaning, and with wildest and mournfullest cries, that he bounded towards the cottage; while Stephen Ashborne, darting away to a little distance, threw himself upon the grass; and burying his face in the long herbage, he endeavoured to stifle the sobs of mingled anguish and remorse, of despair and of oe Slluornaniee, which were rending his very soul, 9 ————_ Oe YN Wn) COMO Colin