Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

j iieeneenenenneeeteenereenseeemner ie ienteeeenen EE eeeee—eeeeeEeEeEeEeEeEEEEEEeE—————e—eee 122 —_ which had thrown us into the same train, would Conceiving it to be most probable that St. Clair—if he had indeed come all the way to Birmingham—would go to the principal hotel, I desired to be driven to a second- There I ordered some refreshment, and inquired whether I could have a vehicle to take me The reply was I partook slightly of the dinner that was served up; and I then entered the chaise not carry us to the same inn, rate one, that same evening to Embledon P in the affirmative. which was by this time in readiness. It was about seven o’clock in the evening when T thus started in a one-horse chaise; and I regretted that I had not specified an equipage of two horses, Embledon, as the reader will remember, was twenty tiles from Bir- mingham ; and I could not possibly hope to achieve that distance in less than two hours at the very inasmuch as time was precious. least. However, if I should arrive at my desti- nation shortly after nine o’clock, I might inquire for Mr. Croft that same evening, and leave early on the following morning. Such were my reflections during the commence- ment of the journey; and in Addition thereto I congratulated myself on having escaped the notice of Edwin St. Clair. I then gradually fell into a train of meditation in respect to Juliet and the mission on which I was bent. us passed the time until we reached @ small village, where the driver stopped to bait his horse. Here wasa delay of twenty minutes; and during that interval I re- mained seated in the chaise: for the December night was raw and damp, and the inn or rather public-house was by no means sufficiently inviting for me to enter it. While thus ensconced in the vehicle, I heard the hostler tellin the fly that a post-chaise and pair from Birming- ham had passed along 4 short while back. The journey was resumed at the expiration of the twenty minutes ; and the darkness grew 80 in- tense that I wondered the man could sec his way sufficiently to guide the horse; for the vehicle had no lamps. All of a sudden there was @ crash, instantaneously followed by the fall of the driver into the road, and the toppling over of the chaise to one side. A scream burst from my lips: but the vehicle was not completely upset. I put forth my hand; and opening the door, descended. Through the deep darkness were my _ glances plunged; and I speedily became aware of the nature of the accident. The chaise had come in contact witha mile-stone; and the springs or some portion of the gear beneath the box, had broken or given way—thus disabling the vehicle. The shafts too had become detached with the violence of the sudden resistance offered to the progress of the horse : but the animal was remaining quietly at a little distance. As for the driver, he was lying perfectly motionless in the road ; and the horrible thought struck me that he must be dead. Such was the nature of the accident, the details of which were more quickly embraced by my vision, even amidst the darkness of the evening, than they have occupied in their narration. I must confess that it was with a shuddering sensation of awe and horror that I bent down over the driver to ascertain if life were really extinct. I had reason to suppose however that he still lived. I raised him up, and unfastened his neckcloth: I pillowed his head on the cushions taken from the the driver of ELLEN PERCY 5; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. vehicle: but still he did not recover. I examined both sides of the road to see if there were any water —but there was none. I flung my eyes around me in a species of despair: but joy sprang up in my heart wheo I caught a glimpse of a light ata distance. I watched it earnestly for a few mo- ments, in the dread lest it should only prove to be a will-’o-the-wisp and escape me altogether. But no!—it burnt steadily; and as near as I could conjecture, it was about half a mile farther along the road. Again I examined the driver to see whether he gave any signs of returning animation: but he lay torpid as before~—though I still had reason to hope that life was not extinct. Now, therefore, as the only alternative, I sped forward in the direction of the light, for the purpose of obtaining assistance. A few minutes brought me near enough to ascer- tain that the light shone from a window; and on a still nearer approach, I discovered that the place was a small cottage standing back a few yards from the road, with & low paling skirting a little front garden, or enclosure of some kind. _ I soon found the gate; and opening it, hastened to the cottage-door, I knocked with my hand as loudly as I could: but nearly two minutes elapsed before my summons produced any effect. I was on the point of repeating it, when the door was opened by a female carrying a light in her hand; and to my astonishment I at once recognised that old gipsy whom I had seen in the neighbourhood of Lady Lilla Essendine’s residence, and who had summoned her ladyship to an interview through the medium of a wild rosé. The old crone recog- nised me as quickly as I knew her; and she ex- claimed in astonishment, “ What! sweet young lady, is is you—alone—in ‘this part of the country —at such an hour too P” “An accident has happened, T hastily cried, to @ chaise in which I was "i rayelling: the driver was thrown off his box—I fear that he is very seriously hurt! Pray come or send -——” “One moment! one moment!” said the old crone; “and you shall have assistance. Remain here.” She opened a door in the little passage where she had made her appearance ; and she passed into the room with which it communicated,—closing it behind her. I remained on the threshold of the front door; and a vague fear arose in my mind. I did not like that old gipsy’s look; and it seemed strange that she should thus return into the room in a manner as if to speak to somebody whom she did not wish me to see, or else that I should not overhear her words. I was alone, in the darkness of the evening: the place itself was lonely; and thus it was scarcely to be wondered at if I felt somewhat afraid. In about a minute the old gipsy reappeared; and coming completely out of the house, she closed the front door behind her. “One moment, my sweet young lady!” she cried: “one moment, Miss—and my grand. daughter Zarah shall accompany you to the spot where the accident has occurred !—Now you can walk in,”’ she added, as if Sufficient time had been allowed for some one to leave the ground-floor room while the front door was closed. “T will wait for your grand-daughter here,” I answered, not liking to set foot within the cot- tage. CONnMEDIOOKS €oim