The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 357: what you’re looking at

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THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 343 “Why did you just now say,” asked Walpole, ‘that you should be relieved when this interview was over ?” “Because,” replied Hester, “all our mutual explanations are not as yet given “Now, you must not excite yourself,” inter- rupted Walpole, ‘“ with reverting to the past. It is unnecessary——at least, I mean, it is needless reasoned that if you had done well, I might only be compromising you or unsettling your mind by appearing before you, even if I should succeed in | finding you out at all;—and on the other hand, I thought that if it should not be well with you, it would only be dragging you down still more deeply inte the mire to ask you tojoin once again your destinies with mine. And then, too, I will for you to retrospect painfally. Nothing can be! candidly confess that as you never came near me amended—nothing altered !” after my condemnation to the Compter—as you ‘God knows this is trae enough!” murmured | never wrote to me either there or at Parkhurst—I Hester, clasping her hands together, while an ex- pression of anguish swept over her countenance. “Hester! Hester! do not torture yourself Thus!” said Walpole urgently. ‘Ob, believe me, there is happiness in store for vou yes, much happiness! I am not speaking wildly nor at Trandom——” “Listen to me, Edward,” she suddenly inter- rupted him. “TI told you my history down to the very instant when we met the night before last; and you may easily suppose that I am anxious to did entertain the hope that some kind friend had been raised up by heaven to take you by the hand.” The young girl moaned; and Edward Walpole hastened to continue his narrative. ‘« Well then, Hester, for those and other reasons I did not choose to avail myself of the freedom that was offered me. I begged that I should be permitted to falfil my time at Parkhurst, so that I might have a chance of accumulating some little savings if I were allowed a trifling stipend learn what has occurred {@ you since we parted | for instructing the young lads. My prayer was under such cruel circumstances. Good heavens, that parting! And now when we meet, I find you rich and prosperous—and as yet you have given me no explanations on this point; you merely said that circumstances had taken a most wondrous turn in your favour.” “ And if I did not enf€r into fall explanations vesterday, Hester,” responded Walpole, “it was | simply because I feared to excite you by too | much conversation. You had been speaking nearly the whole time that we were permitted to remain together-——” “t Alas, ‘yes! Taurmured the young girl ; a dismal history was it that I had to reveal! But still I did not tell you all! There was one thing I kept back ” “« Does it enter into the thread of those circum- stances which are connected with all the mysteries of your birth ?” “No, no!—it has naught to do with that!” in- terrupted Hester with a visible shudder. “Then, if it be a painfal subject and needless to speak about,” said Walpole, “for heaven's sake do not think of it, Hester—much less allude to it any farther!"—and then with a generous granted—time passed on, until one day I was summoned into the governor’s parlour, and cer- tain questions were put to ue. I was asked if I were really, as I had represented myself to thie chaplain of the Compter in London, the same Thomas Robinson who had fled from a particular workhouse; and to this and other queries I gave truthful answers. Then a tleman was intro- duced into the parlour—he told me that his name was Seymour, and that for certain reasons which he would not then explain, he had become in- terested in my welfare; he proposed to take me “‘and | away with him, and to provide for me in such a manner that I should be thenceforth placed above want. Conceive the effect produced upon me by this announcement! Methought it was a dream: and yet how quickly was it realized! The very next day I was in London, and established in my present lodgings in Hanover Square. Fortune continued to shower its bounties upon me with a hand so lavish that there were actually times when I mistrusted the very source of ail this wonderful prosperity and dreaded lest there might be some sinister and ulterior motive. But no!— everything was real and genuine, and I was considerateness the young man went on to say in | gradually being led on to learn the full extent of hurried accents, “1 will divert your attention from | the happiness that was now to compensate for such subjects as those by entering at once on such details as concern myself Yet my history is short enough, and few are the details which lead to the climax so marvellous and so providential ! You know, Hester, what my sentence was :— four months’ imprisonment in the City Compter, and to be afterwards transferred for a term to the Parkhurst Reformatory in the Isle of Wight. My conduct during my captivity in the Compter was such that I bore a good character with me to the Reformatory ; so that on my arrival there I was appointed under-schoolmaster—and in that situa- tion enjoyed certain advantages and privileges. It was originally ordered that I should be kept there for two years; but at the expiration of a few months I was told that I was free if I chose to avail myself of the pardon thus afforded me. I thought of you, Hester—and I longed to fly back to the metropolis to seek you. But then I asked | myself of what avail it was for me, penniless and characterless, to attempt suth a search? r i long years of neglect, sorrow, and misery. Ina word, Hester, that Mr. Seymour of whom I am speaking proved to be my uncle—my parentage became known to me—it was eminently respect- able—and start not, Hester, nor think that I am exaggerating, when I tell you that I possess a fortune of five thousand a-year.” “Heaven be thanked, Edward,” replied the young girl, “‘ that such prosperity should have overtaken you! But how was it that with a parentage so wealthy and respectable you could have been so cruelly abandoned in your in- fancy ?” Not even to Hester Sereeant would Edward Walpole reveal the secret of his uncle's trea- cherons and infamous conduct towards him: that secret he considered to be a sacred one; and he therefore naturally fell back upon a portion of the tale which Mr. Seymour himself had devised as a means of accounting for the fact. ‘‘T was stolen,” he said, “ by -gipsies in my CONMNICLIOO Colin