Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 205: what you’re looking at

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

ge” 192 ingly said, “Can you not come to me to-morrow evening at the theatre? The piece in which I am to perform will be over by ten o’clock: I shall then be in my dressing-room: you can send up any name you think fit—I shall know whom it re- presents—and you will immediately obtain admit- tance to me. Pardon me for suggesting that it would be better perhaps if you were to wear a veil over your countenance——” “T accept the appointment, Miss Perey,” inter- rupted Zarah: “and rest assured I shall come in a manner which will not in any way compromise you, nor engender gossiping surmises concerning the object of such a visit.” “And now, before we pari,” I said, “ permit me to renew the assurance of my deep gratitude for this as well as the former services you have rendered me - “To-morrow evening,” replied Zarab, “TI shall ask you a boon, which will fully acquit you of any obligation towards me. And now follow me.” She opened the door, from which she had so dex- terously wrenched off the lock; and the light of the candle which she still carried in her hand, re- vealed a small passage, with a narrow precipitous staircase leading down to the ground floor. She made a sign for me to descend as gently as pos- sible,—she herself still leading the way. At the bottom of the staircase there was a door, which was merely bolted; and before she opened it, she extinguished the candle. We were thus left in utter darkness; and now I could hear the sounds of voices in some neighbouring room. They were those of the two men who had brought me to the old farm-house. I could likewise hear that Zarah had deposited the candlestick on one of the lower steps of the staircase: then she cautiously drew back the bolt, and opened the door. “Turn the corner to the right,” she hastily whispered: and I stepped across the threshold,— the door instantaneously closing behind me. The reader will have seen that all the details attending this escape of mine, were so well con- trived by Zarah as to have the appearance of being effected by myself alone, without any assistance from a friendly hand. Supposing that I had really found that large nail in my prison-chamber, it would seem as if I had used it to unlock the inner door of the cupboard, so as to be enabled to lift that door off its hinges despite the bolt on the opposite side—that I had next used the nail to wrench off the lock from the door of the adjoining apartment—that having descended the staircase, I had found the door at the bottom, and that I had extinguished the candle ere issuing from the house. . In obedience to Zarah’s direction, I turned the corner of the building : I passed along the side of the house; and a gate in a low paling admitted me into the lane. The evening was dark: but I could perceive lights twinkling at a distance of apparently about half-a-mile; and I sped in that direction. The lane was lonely; and 1 shuddered with apprehension lest, my escape being discovered, I should be pursued by St. Clair’s hired ruffians. I ran forward at the utmost of my speed: but not many minutes had I thus advanced, when the sounds of a gallopping horse’s feet came upon my ears, Fortunately there wasa gate close at hand; and I rushed into the field to whichit lod. Crouch- bP ] ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. ing behind the hedge, I nevertheless remained sut- ficiently near the gate to be enabled to watch the road. The horseman galloped past: and the ob- scurity was not too great to prevent me from dis- cerning that it was Edwin St. Clair. »He was proceeding towards the farm-house; and I thought to myself, “‘ He has decided upon my fate: but, heaven be thanked! he is again baffled and defeated in his intentions, whatsoever they may be.” I did not dare return into the lane: I knew that in a few minutes St. Clair would discover my escape, and a pursuit would be instituted. There was a path across the fields; and as there were many lights glimmering ahead, it led in the direction of some of them. I was not long in reaching an avenue of villa-residences; and a glimpse of a policeman’s uniform suddenly set all my apprehensions at rest; for succour was thus at hand in case of necessity. Assuming an air of composure, I inquired my way to the nearest cab-stand ; whereupon the policeman informed me he had just seen an empty cab at the door of a public-house about a hundred yards along the avenue—but that if I failed to secure it I should most probably have to walk as far as Highbury Gate, which was nearly a mile distant. I thanked him, and hurried on towards the public-house. There I was fortunate enough in obtaining the vehicle to which he had alluded; and I gave the requisite instructions to the driver. It was my intention to proceed first of all to the theatre, in the hope of finding Beatrice there : but I had my misgivings—for I remembered the declaration she had made that if i returned not according to my promise, she should abandon a city where she had known so much misery. Thus during the drive I was so full of anxiety and sus- pense that the agitation of my mind almost com- pletely absorbed the sense of joy and gratitude at my escape from the old farm-house. At length the theatre was reached; and a hasty glance at my watch showed me that it was now nine o’clock, On alighting at the private entrance, I hastily put a question to one of the underlings who was loitering there. “Has Miss Howard made her appearance?” was the query; and I dreaded what the answer might be. “No, Miss,” responded the underling; “ and there was immense disappointment ———” “ But she sent some ietter—some message per- haps P” “ Yes, Miss: and Mr. Richards could not under- stand it. She said that circumstances prevented her from keeping her engagement, which she there- fore begged to decline. This was at about six o’clock—a notice was posted up ——” “ But what did Mr. Richards do?” I inquired, with feverish anxiety, for I was cruelly afflicted. ‘He didn’t know where the lady lived, Miss,” responded the underling: “he sent up to ask you —but you were not at home. Mr, Norman said that you were most likely passing the day with some acquaintance: he named Lady Lilla Essen- dine, I think I know that a message was sent off somewhere—and still you were not to be found. But I am sure, Miss, that Mr. Richards will be glad to see you; for the notice was posted up too late to prevent the crowds irom gathering when CONMEDIOOKS com