Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 146: what you’re looking at

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ee NC TR ER RN ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. after all I had now ceased to be in his power—or at least that he dared not betray me, for fear lest I should turn round and accuse him of an offence which carries the severest penalties. You say that he has produced a certificate P” “Tt is here!” I answered: and I showed the document to my father. “It is Lord Frederick’s own handwriting, most craftily disguised,” he rejoined. “ Receiving no answer to my letter, he may have fancied that I had left Embledon; or he may have suspected the truth, and have seen by my silence that I was re- solved to commit myse!f no further in his iniqui- tous proceedings. Therefore has he evidently forged that certificate to appease and satisfy the mind of Juliet for the present. As for the future, he doubtless trusts to the chapter of accidents to relieve him from the entanglement in which his villany has placed him. Perhaps he thinks that when discovery takes place sooner or later—or when becoming tired of his victim, he means ruth- lessly to abandon her—the secret will be hushed up for the sake of her character and reputation P But he is one of those young men who are pre- cociously bold in the perpetration of villany, as well as astute in the combination of its details: he has confidence in his own resources of iniquity ; and he cares but little for the future, so long as he obtains a present means of gratifying his passions. Now, Ellen, I have told you everything: but I should not have revealed all these things to you to-day were it not for the most urgent reasons. In the first place, if ever the hand of justice shall be again laid upon me, I would not have my daughter, unconscious of her own parentage, be the one to surrender me up; and in the second _ place, after all.you had told me of the threats held out by the villain Parks, I made up my mind that it was better you should hear the statement of by- gone cvents from my lips, than perhaps receive a garbled history from his own.” So eo CHAPTER XXV. POOR JULIET. THERE was an interval of silence—during which both my father and myself reflected profoundly, and painfully likewise. At length he said, “O Ellen! this is a miserable, miserable day for you!” “It is miserable for me to know that I possess a father who is unhappy,” I replied, inwardly con- vulsed with sobs, and the tears trickling down my cheeks. “What can I do for you? Can we not henceforth live together ?” “ Ellen, it is impossible!” he exclaimed. “ You would blush for your sire; and I could not bear to look you constantly in the face and to know how utterly unworthy I am of your filial love! No, no —wmy mind is now made up how to act! If since my escape from the penal colony, I have hitherto remained in England, it has doubtless been be- cause my heart has felt a yearning to be upon the same soil and breathe the same atmosphere with yourself, Ellen: but now that all is known, and that there are no secrets between us, I will con- sult my safety—perhaps more for your sake than | 133 my own. I will proceed to France. Haply I may be enabled to earn my livelihood: but if not, I know that my daughter from her own wealth will spare her father a pittance.” “All, all shall be your’s!” I vehemently ex- claimed. * Not so, Ellen,” rejoined my father. ‘“ Rest assured that from this moment I am an altered man. -Not for worlds would I deprive you of that which, thank heaven! by your brilliant talents you aresearning. At the same time, as I can never more receive one shilling from the hand of the vil- lain Parks, I shall accept from my daughter a sufficiency to give me bread. Yes, HKllea—we shall presently separate, to meet no more. Do not attempt to divert me from my purpose. e- member, it is my safety which I am consulting, and which I am about to ensure! No more, therefore, upon that subject!—In reference to the one which has brought you to Embledon, you must use your own discretion. This will be taxed to the very utmost; and I dare not conjecture what the issue will be.” “Trouble not yourself on that point, my dear father,” I answered: “the task is indeed a diffi- cult one; for poor Juliet must know the truth that she is not a wedded wife However,” 1 suddenly checked myself, being anxious to avoid afflicting my father’s mind, “I have no doubt that everything may be made to progress without ex- posure. When will you leave Embledon? Oh! come with me, dear father cj “No, Ellen,” interrupted Mr. Croft resolutely, but not harshly : “ the moment for separation must come;—why therefore postpone itP Take your departure! Within an hour I likewise shall leave. Come, Ellen—one last embrace — and then ‘% I threw myself into my sire’s arms; and for some minutes he strained me to his breast. I wept plenteously—I sobbed convulsively. Yor- gotten were all his misdeeds: I only recollected that I had found a father—that he was unhappy— and that I was about’to leave him. I know not 1 how I at length tore myself away—or rather how I suffered him to compel me to depart. But I at length recollected the absolute necessity of ro- straining my feelings, when the door of his room had closed behind me and I was descending the stairs. On issuing from the house, I did not im- mediately return to the little inn: I struck into a neighbouring field; and there I sat upon the step of a stile, reflecting upon all that I had heard, and again giving free vent to my tears. At length I repaired to the public-house, and ordered the post-chaise to be gotten in readiness; for I had retained the equipage there. My journey was speedily resumed; and: it was about one in the afternoon when I thus quitted Embledon. For some time I lay back in the vehicle, think- ing of all the mysteries that within the few last hours had been cleared up to my knowledge; and thinking likewise with equal painfulness of the ter- rible blow which on my return to London I should be compelled to deal at the heart of my unhappy friend Juliet. I aroused myself from these medi- tations as I approached the cottage occupied by the old gipsy and her grand-daughter; and I won- dered how St. Clair had acted when on the pre- ceding night he discovered my escape. The equi- re en ee eet rr i ag PT I FS Pa a a a ae a a a — —— | Com Ghboo SS Com