Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 194: what you’re looking at

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

LL Ss --et s Se ELLEN PERCY ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. ~_ There is a home for you where I dwell; and those kind people who have treated me as their daughter, will receive you with open arms!” “Oh, Ellen,” exclaimed Miss Howard, tears again glittering in her eyes, and her beautifully chiselled lips quivering with emotion; “how kind, how generous are you towards me! And yet you know nothing of me! Under circumstances the most inauspicious—I might even say suspicious — did I seek you out: I have maintained towards you areserve which you may deem ungenerous ; and yet you are all benevolence and goodness towards me! You found me destitute of friends, but seeking a friend in you—a stranger!—you now find me dwelling in a state of abject misery ; und yet your looks alter not towards me—you ask me not whether Iam the victim of any misdeed on my own part or of the most cruel calamity! Ob, you are indeed generous! and would to heaven, Ellen, there were more such beings as yourself on the face of the earth !” “ T have had confidence in you, Frances,” I re- plied, gazing somewhat earnestly upon her; “and I do not think No! I cannot possibly believe that I shall ever have cause to regret the friend- ship which I have proffered you!” “Never! never!” ejaculated Miss Howard, taking my hand and pressing it with fervour. “LI will give you explanations now But, my God} such a horrible history !—Oh, a history so fraught with incredible atrocities —cruelties so hideous, that were heaped upon myself—the living and the dead compelled to hold companionship, until the brain of the former reeled upon the very verge of madness——Just heaven! why did thy thunders sleep ?” Frances clasped her hands together in mingled agony and horror at the recollections which were thus trooping through her brain; and I was ap- p lled—I was shocked—I was even frightened at the language of which she had made use; for it was strange and terrible—it seemed to allude to the wild—the impossible—the most horribly extra- vagant occurrence that could possibly be treated of even in the page of the romancist! She was again deadly pale: she shuddered—she actually writhed as if convulsively beneath the tremendous influ- ence of the thoughts that were agitating in her mind. “You see how it affects me, Ellen,” she at length resumed, in a low and even hollow tone, “to make the slightest reference to that fearful history of mine. Judge then what I should be compelled to endure if I were to deliberately com- mence all its frightful details! But, no! you will not compel me—at least not now! It will be a mercy on your part to grant me a reprieve. Perhaps this very day however you will know everything: for the boon I am about to crave of you is one the re- sult of which may necessitate the fullest of those explanations on my part. Yes—it may be so! For sooner than lose one atom of the good opinion that you have formed of me—sooner than sink in the slightest degree in your estimation—I would tell you everything, even though it were to rend my soul with horror !” “As you have spoken in these terms, my dear Frances,” I said—“ with so much sincerity and warmth——-and Oh, it is impossible to doubt your frankness!——I will not for the world press you a 181 to make the slightest revelation which may en- hance the woe that already fills your heart. Tell me how I may serve you; and I repeat, you shall soon see how zealous I am in my friendship to- wards you,” “The boon I crave shall speedily be explaineé,* replied Miss Howard. ‘Go to the Marchioness of Campanella: you will easily find out from your friend Lady Cecilia Urban where the Marchioness is residing. Tell her ladyship that you come from one who was once very dear to her—and who, though having borne another name, is now passing under that of Frances Howard. Proceed to in- form the Marchioness that this Frances Howard has endured the bitterest privations, and that you yourself have just left her in the wretched cheer- less garret where for weeks and months she has dwelt—the most forlorn, the most wretched of bee ings! Tell the Marchioness that as a last and only resource, Frances Howard is about to appear upon the stage ; and say that she impiores, as the only boon she will ever seek at the hands of her lady. ship, that she will abstain from ever visiting that particular theatre on any night when Frances Howard has to perform. Will you do this for me, Ellen P” “T will,” was my answer. “TI will go at once! But shall I not first of all transfer youto the home which I offer P” “No, no!-~leave me here until you return!” 2xclaimed Miss Howard. “ But promise that you will return, Ellen P—Oh, promise me this much ? i know not what the Marchioness of Campanella may say to you: but in any case you pledge your: self to come back to me? For if you return not, Elien, I shall consider that I have lost the only friend whom I now possess on earth: I shall flee from this city where I have endured so much wretchedness. and where my last hope will have disappeared !” * [ promise you to return, Frances,” I replied: “Oh, I faithfully promise that under any circum: etances I wiil return!” I embraced her, and departed. Seeking the nearest cab-stand, I took my seat in a vehicle and ordered the driver to take me to Lady Cecilia Ur. ban’s house in Grovenor Square. While proceed- ing thither, I reviewed all that had occurred with my unhappy friend; and I felt assured that her history, if ever made known to my ears, would be fraught with a wildly romantic and fearful interest. There was something terribly ambiguous in that awful allusion which she had made to the com- panionship of the living with the dead; and I knew not whether to regard it as a literal fact or as a strange and stupendous allegory ! Grosvenor Square was reached; and I at once Obtained an interview with Lady Cecilia Urban. She welcomed me in the kindest manner; and I could not help thinking it was most singular that I should thus be on terms of even intimate friend. ship with one whom, on the first occasion I ever saw her, I fancied | could never possibly like. I inquired whether she had seen anything more of Lord Frederick Ravenscliffe?—and she answered in the negative. He had made not the slightest endeavour to procure another interview with her, or to obtain her forgiveness—doubtless because he well knew that he had erred to an unpardonable extent, CORNICLAOO cS Com