Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 199: what you’re looking at

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_ *-* PA : » ute” 86 ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. a frightful rumour reached the ears of the{becalled! I promised to return to her; and I Marquis and myself. The Count of Carboni; shall doso. She may be guilty—but she is not had acquired unmistakable proofs that he was | the less a fellow-creature! Besides, I shall hear dishonoured in his wife, for that she had re-| from her lips whatsoever explanations she may newed her acquaintance with Angelo Marano. The | have to'give; and despite the strongest evidence report came to us in so vague a manner that we | on the one hand, I am not without a hope on the knew not what to think of it. We hastened to | other Florence for the purpose of ascertaining additional | “ My dear Miss Trafford,” exclaimed the Mars particulars there, through the medium of some of | chioness of Campanella, “my mind is made up ‘the Count Carboni’s friends; for I trembled to| how to act! It is perhaps all the more fortunate write to Beatrice under the circumstances. At | that Beatrice has resolved to go upon the stage; Florence we were informed that it was indeed all for the idea of any such public appearance would Sioinctlitnis in her behalf. With all his good availing himself of the right—though a teriible qualities, he has a certain pride; and I know that one—of an outraged husband, he had slain thie “he ‘would Hot. for the world have it whispered that young lieutenant on the spot. The tidings affected | one so ndirly connected with myself has been me so cruelly that I was thrown upon a sick bed; abandoned ‘by her family and forced to adopt such and for some weeks I remained unconscious of all mé@ns for “a livelihood. It is this same pride on that was passing in the world around me. When |. his part which revolted so strongly against the I began to recover, my husband ‘gradually broke | bare thought of the disgrace which Beatrice had to me the result of the deplorable ‘dranfa, The | brought upon herself, and by reflection upon the guilty Beatrice had fled froth ‘the chateau of Car- | family to which she belongs. Yes!—something boni—nobody knew whither. The Count hiniself| shall be done for the unhappy Beatrice! My remained there in compléte seclusion, rendering husband will return shortly—I will plead my himself inaccessible to the friends who ¢alled from | sister’s catise—I have no doubt of success! Would the neighbourhood or journeyed thither from Flo- | it be asking ‘too much, my dear Miss Trafford, to rence to sympathize with him. The catastrophe bee that ‘you will return again presently—in a occurred, as I have told you, Miss Trafford, in | couple of hours—and, Oh! doubtless then I shall September last: it is mow verging towards the end be enabled to accompany you to the abode of her of February ; and diiring that interval of betwéen | whom I long to strain in my arms, despite her five and six months I have not again seen the | errors!” Count of Carboni—nor ‘had I heard any tidings of | “Nothing will afford me greater pleasure,” I Beatrice until this day.” answered, “than to be your ladyship’s companion The Marchioness ceased. She had been speak- | for such a purpose. In the meanwhile I will ing in a voice that was profoundly mournful, and | hasten and prepare Beatrice for a change in her her narrative was frequently interrupted by an/| circumstances: I will not promise too much at outburst of tears. When the tale was ended, a | first—I will not tell her that she may expect to silence of some minutes reigned between us. I | behold her sister—for fear lest by any possibility meditated on all that I had heard; and at length | there should be a disappointment.” T said—but hesitatingly, and With mistrust in the “T leave everything to your judgment and dis. supposition that I myself was advancing,—“ May | cretion,” replied the Marchioness of Campanella; it not be possible, ‘after all, that your sister the | “and accept, my dear Miss Trafford, the assurance Countess of Carboni was really innocent — that | of my deep and lasting gratitude for your noble some little levity may have been taken for crimi- | conduct towards my poor erring sister !” nality—and that circumstantial evidence may have The noble lady wrung my hand with much combined against her P” emotion; and I took my departure. On issuing “ Would to heaven that I could think so!” said | forth from Mivart’s Hotel, I found the cab wait- the Marchioness mournfully. “But no, Miss | ing for me, as I had directed: but the driver him- Trafford !—it is impossible to blind myself to the self was not immediately to be seen. A ragged nature of the facts which constitute so crushing | urchin was holding the horse’s head; and I asked an amount of evidence against my unfortunate | him where the cabman was? But scarcely was sister! And I perceive by your look that you|the question put, when the individual himself yourself do not believe in the hypothesis which | emerged from round the corner of the street ; and from the kindest and most charitable motives you | hastening towards me, he apologized for his tem- have put forward.” porary absence. I bade him take me to the “ And now what will you do, my lady?” I in- | neighbourhood of Clare Market; and I entered quired. “Granting that your sister has erred, is | the vehicle. The man mounted his box; and the she to remain for ever unforgiven ? Consider the | cab drove away. I was plunged in profound re- circumstances of the case—her own blighted affec- | flection upon everything I had heard from the lips tions—a mother’s cruel coercion — the bitter | of the Marchioness of Campanella; and I won- punishment which Beatrice has since experienced | dered whether it were possible that Beatrice could ——poverty even to starvation 4° successfully vindicate herself against the charges “No, no! tell me not,” almost shrieked forth | which pressed so heavily. I confess that I did the Marchioness, “that she has known distress so | not see how she could do so: but still there was dire as that!” the hope in my mind—and thus I did not alto- “Tt is too true, my lady!” I emphatically | gether prejudge her. exclaimed. “Not more than two hours have I was startled from my reverie by the sudden elapsed since I left your unhappy sister in her | stopping of the cab; and I found that it was ina miserable home—if a home such a tenement can | narrow, ill-looking street where it had thus halted. Angelo Marino in the apartment of Beatrice ; anid. a nr a ” — ~ es —uey oh } ECORNICLIOOKS CO