The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 336: what you’re looking at

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

rniiae “ 322 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; ‘““No matter what may be said, uncle — whether much or little,” replied Walpole; ‘ for you may rest assured that I will play my part precisely as ycu wish. Oh, I would do anything for you!” ° “| “Good God, if you knew all!”—anqd Mr. Sey- mour dashed his hand against his forehead in a | sudden paroxysm of feelings that were wfterly | beyond control. “Uncle, uncle! calm yourself!” cried-the young man entreatingly. ‘‘T have been a villain towards you, Edward,” ' said Seymour, with indescribable bitterness of accent. ‘Stop!—do not interrupt me! How can you ever forgive me when you think of all the neglect, sorrow, and misery to which all the best years of your life have been doomed through me? How can you pardon me, I ask? how can you do otherwise than turn round upon me in some moment of rage n “‘ Never, never, uncle !—it is impossible!” .enied Edward vehemently. ‘‘I am no hypogrite—no dissembler: what I say J mean—what ff promise I will fulfil. ‘Therefore believe me—Qh! jbelieve me, when I ‘tell you again and again that the sense of all your present kindnesses and ypounties ; alone occupies my mind!” Mr. Seymour took his nephew's hands and: wrung them with fervour—even *with wiglence: | while in a voice which was broken by sobs, she said, “I must make.a clean -breast of it, Edward —I must tell -you everything! Yes—I would rather acquaint you at once twith the whgle ex- tent of my iniquity, so that when yoy perceive how much you have to forgive, you may j reflect whether you have not promised zaghly ap declaring that you can pardon «me under such cir- | cumstances! But Ah! by this time you must! have suspected it! Well, then, you .can judge how remorse is tearing at my heart! Wes—for I proved a treacherous guardian—i -thonght only of my own necessities—I forgot the vow I made to your mother, my poor sister, on her death-bed —my own affairs were at that time desperate— and—and—the temptation was great—the for-! tune which your father had left for your use was* in my hands——” “Enough, uncle! enough!” interrupted the young man. ‘In the name of heaven do not continue any longer in this strain !’’—and the tears were pouring down his cheeks. ‘‘I must make my tale complete since I have got thus far,” resumed Seymour; “and perhaps it is good for me that I should endure the pre- sent punishment for my great misdeeds I mean that punishment which consists in the humiliation, the pain, the grief, that I now feel!” ‘But what more can you have to tell me? You have already told me too much! I shall banish it all from my recollection !” “Excellent youth! But hear me for a mo- ment. I was telling you that I robbed you of your fortune—I sacrificed you to save myself! The crime was doubly infamous—and I will tell youwhy. I might have possessed myself of your fortune and yet have reared you in the bosom of my own family: I might at least have made this atonement at the time for the wrong that I was doing you. But then I knew that you would grow up in the knowledge that your parents had left wealth behind—and moreover that the day | OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. would come when you would ask me for an account of your fortune ; and I knew not whether di might be in a position to give that account. I Gould wot foresee whether I should be enabled to weplace ¢he funds which I was so dishonestly ap- propriating do my own purposes. And thus I resqived 9 yoake away with you altogether. Not iby murder! Oh, no! no!”—and Seymour Shuddered visibly. ‘No! no!” he repeated; “I was aot go criminal as all that! Base, mean, ang treacherous I was—aye, to the very fullest extant 9 which baseness, meanness, and treachery can reach !” “Uncle, I can endure this no longer !” cried Ed- ward Walpole vehemently. “I tell you that I for- give you! I bless you forthe present: I cannot curse you on account of the past! I beseech that you will say no more upon a topic which wrings my heart! Let us go back to that point whence the conversation so suddenly diverged. You recollect —do you not? Jam to say that I was brought up by an elderly couple named Taylor, and that to a worthy clergyman I am indebted for whatso- ever education I possess. Is there aught more to add? Must I be prepared to explain how it was that you foynd me out?” “Yes,” said dhe contractor, composing his looks as well as he was able after the viglent paroxysms of exqitement ymbich had shaken him as it were Abronghout his entire being; “you must he pre- maton ahat point. I have told my wife and ahildren that drom some information-which I indi- neatly received a little while ago, I caused in- Guigies ¢o sbe instituted—that I followed them up Gigsaly and rapidly, so that the result was that yeu came up from Southmoltgpn in Devonshire shout .a fortnight back; but that I would not in- droduce you at Highbury House until every point of doubt was fully cleared up and your identity as my nephew was established. And now, Ed- ward, you are acquainted with all the details of the narrative which I jhave fabricated to account for the past. In five minutesmore you will be in the presence of your aunt and cousins.” 4 gain and again I declare, dear uncle,” cried Walpole, ‘that nothing shall fall from my lips which can tend to falsify or throw suspicion upon the explanations which you have given.” Once more did Seymour press his nephew’s hand with grateful enthusiasm: and then he said, ‘Having confessed to you, Edward, all that has been bad on my part, I may now in justice to myself revc:! « certain fact which tells a little in my favour—though I am very far from parading it in pride as a set-off against the humiliation which I have experienced ; nor do I look upon it as a complete atonement for the past. Listen, Edward! The fortune of which I robbed you would have produced you about a thousand a-year. I have reckoned that capital ‘in its relative pro- portion to my own ventures and gains; and I have placed in your name in the Bank of England asum that will produce you five thousand a-year ! All the requisite documents shall be handed over to you to-morrow. Nay, not another word, Kd- ward! not another word!” exclaimed the con- tractor, as he placed his ‘hands upon his nephew's lips: ‘‘for here we are |” | Highgate was reached ; and the equipage dashed along a shady avenue up to the front entrance of a handsome dwelling, situated in the midst of: a taemeieeemmmiemcmatnectienentaammerneetiachaea incited ater ee in nities is na eee eee Colin oO Connicloooks