The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 400: what you’re looking at

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

= “Oa Sp re et ee? EE -ct 886 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. ‘“‘ Well, what has the governor done for me ?” he at length asked, in a snivelling tone and with humbled mien. He has left you fifty-two pounds a year,” re- plied Bulteel, “together with numerous recom- mendations on behalf of a steady and industrious mode of life for the future.” Sylvester made a horrible grimace at this an- nouncement; and then abruptly turning upon his heel, he quitted the apartmert. ‘“‘ There goes one,” said the lawyer, ‘‘ who never will come to any good!” ‘“‘Mr. Bulteel,” said Ashborne, ‘‘I am glad that you happened to be here at this time; but your presence is now no longer necessary. I wish to speak to his lordship in private.” : The attorney made his bow, and withdrew; and Trentham, accosting the young man, said, “ Mr. Ashborne, when you first entered the room it was with an exclamation calculated to inspire me with every hope “ . ‘“‘ Which shall be fulfilled, my Jord!” At this instant the door was heard to open, and Azaline appeared upon the threshold. She thought that her father was alone:—but on perceiving that there was still some one with him, she spoke a few words in apology for the intrusion, and was about to retire—-when Ashborne exclaimed, ‘ If that be your lordship’s daughter, let her enter! There is no need of any reserve or secrecy now.” Azaline accordingly advanced into the room; and Lord Trentham said, ‘Strange things have occurred, my child. This gentleman's name is Mr. Ashborne: he is heir, no matter under what cir- cumstances, to the deceased Mr. Casey's property —and he is therefore my creditor.” ‘“And inasmuch as I have not the honour of being acquainted with your lordship, nor with your lordship’s family,” said Ashborne, ‘ and never should have coveted that honour, nor shall henceforth avail myself of it, it is through no love for you that I am adopting the present course. Indeed, my lord, as a man of the world, you must fully comprehend that one stranger cannot sur- render up sixty thousand pounds to another, unless for very potent reasons. But those reasons exist and now, my lord, behold the results!” Thus speaking, Stephen Ashborne drew forth a number of documents and papers from all his pockets; and flinging them upon the table, he pro- ceeded to tear them across separately and indivi- dually, the nobleman and his daughter looking on with mingled astonishment, delight, and admi- ration. “Good heavens! is this possible?” at length spoke Trentham, gasping under the influence af his emotions. “T can scarcely understand it!” said the be- wildered Azaline. “JT will explain it all,” resumed Ashborne, “T have already told you that it waa not for your sakes I have done this. No—but it ia for the sake of one whom I am now proud to call my sister—for one of the best and purest and noblest- minded of human beings—one whom, if she had possessed the power to save you, my lord—or you, Miss Osborne, from annoyance, persecution, or vulgar tyranny, would most cheerfully have done so! It is she therefore whom you are now to admire—to thank—aye, and to remember in your prayers! It was she who interceded and 4 dear lady was much moved persuaded!—I only am the agent and executor of her generous purposes. My lord, you are no longer a debtor; your estates are free. Miss Os- borne, you need not apprehend that your hand will now be sought by one on whom I feel con- vinced that you would rather die than bestow it! Finally, in one word learn that for all this you have to thank the generous-hearted Selina!” ‘But you, admirable young man!” exclaimed Lord Trentham: and then he stopped short—for Stephen Ashhorne, tarrying to say no more—to hear no more--and to receive no thanks for what he had done, disappeared with ghost-like rapidity from the apartment. We will leave Lord Trentham and Azaline to the wondering discussion of all that had just taken place, and to the pleasing duty of giving ex- planations to Lady Trentham, while we will follow in the footsteps of Stephen Ashborne. On leaving Trentham House, he returned, according to promise, to the mansion where Mr. Ponsford had been so syddenly and so awfully smitten by the arrow of the Angel of Death, and where Stephen expected to receive an answer to the species of overture he had conveyed to his wife through thé medium of the abigail. He reached the house—he alighted from the cab—he knocked at the front door. He was at once struck by the sombre, gloomy, and ominous look of the domestic who answered the summons. Two or three other servants were in the hall as Ashborne entered it; and they also maintained a moody silence. Some- thing new had evidently happened, —something awful and overwhelming—of that fearful nature which prevented voluntary disclosure and checked the officiousness which springs forward to reveal things of an ordinary character. A question must ‘be put ere that sombre silence would be broken. And Ashborne, full of a deep awe-felt mis- giving, did put that question. What had hap- pened? He now soon learnt the worst. Pamela was no more! She had burst a blood-vessel; and in less than an hour she had ceased to exist. Death had advanced with fearfully rapid strides upon its prey, s0 young, so beautiful! But it was no wonder that dissolution should have been so speedy after that last fatal blow which had smitten her, in the death of her father! “‘ She was conscious until almost the last,” said the weeping abigail to Stephen Ashborne, adown whose cheeks the tears were likewise trickling. ‘¢] delivered all your messages, sir—and the poor Yes, she was deeply touchcd! She said she hoped you would come back before she died, that she might assure you of her forgiveness. I don’t know what she meant, siv—but those were her words. Yes!— and then she expressed a fervent wish that you might ex perience happiness in the world——until at last, sir, with her dying breath she repeated the assurance of her forgiveneas, and charged me to tell you that you were fully pardoned.” “(God be thanked !” murmured Ashborne, rais- ing his kerchief to his eyes. ‘ But who will now see after the rites of sepulture for the two who have thus perished—father and daughter ?” ‘Who, sir?” cried the abigail, with some little degree of astonishment. ‘' Why, who should d; so but you, sir?” “‘T ?—I ?”—and Ashborne looked bewildered. “Why, to be aure, sir! You are master here LE AS SE ESTP FS tii ts uence apenas “i conniclooolkks.conn oO