Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 256: what you’re looking at

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

TE Sc tanta ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS, hind that seat, amidst the evergreens, stood Harry Wakefield; and Ob! never shall I forget the look of despair and agony which his countenance wore as he pressed his hand to his brow, ejaculating, “ My God! my God!” . © Henry! dear Henry!” I exclaimed, in a wild agony of mind; for I was at once smitten with the conviction of what hideous thought had seized upon him: “hear me, I conjure you !” “ Farewell, Ellen!” he exclaimed, in frenzied accents and with a look of kindred madness: “everything is at an end between us!” And it was like one frantic that dashing through the maze of evergreens, he rushed away from the spot. I endeavoured to raiso my voice again— but I could not: my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth—lI felt as if I were choking. A dizzi- ness seized upon me: [ had just sufficient presence of mind to deposit the infant gently upon the seat; and then sank down, deprived of conscious- ness. When next a gleam of reason began to steal into my brain, like the finest thread of light into the depths of a dark dungeon,—I was lying in bed: but I could not for some time reccllect where. Two female forms bent over me: they spoke to me in gestle avd soothing voices—the lips of each were pressed to my cheeks: but I knew not those countenances—I remembered not those voices. Then it appeared to meas if I slept again for some interval of unknown length: but when consciousness once more returned, it was with a broader gleam of light than on the former Occasion ; and again were those two forms there. And now I recognised the countenances that bent down and kissed me: one was that of Mrs, Old- castle—the other that of Mary Glentworth. But Mary Glentworth there /—and in deep mourning! What could itall mean? The truth was gradually and delicately brosen to me: I had been stretched on that bed for seven whole days and nights; and it was the evening before this day of which I am now speaking, that I had obtained that first faint glimmer of returning consciousness. Yes—for a whole week I bad endured all the perils of a severe fever, alternating betwixt intervals of deep trance- like torpor and the ravings of delirium. As for Mary Glentworth—the funeral was over, and she had found a home beneath the roof of Mrs. Old- castle. When I learnt this fact, I took the old lady’s hand and pressed it to my lips in warm tes- timony of my gratitude. In respect to myself, I soon discovered that not @ suspicion was entertained relative to the real cause of my swoon in the garden and my subse- quent illness, It appeared that the nurse had wandered away into the grounds at the rear of the dweliing: but she fancied that she heard a cry, and she sped back to the front garden, There she found the infant lying safe upon the bench, and myself stretched in a fainting fit upon the ground. I was borne into the house—every attention was paid me—Mirs, Oldeastle soon after arrived from her visit to Mary Glentworth — and medical assistance was sent for. The surgeon pronounced me to be in a high state of fever ; and thus, as the reader is already aware, for one whole week did I remain hovering between life and death— at one time plunged into a trance-like torpor, at another raying in delirium. But that my ravings ooo ee 243 had afforded not the slightest clue to the real cause of my swoon, nor had in any way betrayed the visit of Harry Wakefield or the inauspicious cir- cumstances attending if, was evident enough from what Mrs. Oldcastle and Mary Glentworth pro- ceeded to say to me. “You passed an agitated night in the house of death, my dear Ellen,” said the old lady: “you slept not a single wink—your nerves were un- strung by tbe sudden catastrophe which deprived your poor friend of a parent—and thus everything tended to excite you. It was really no wonder that your physical powers should have succumbed beneath such influences!” * Alas, my dear Hilen!” said Mary Glentworth, in a soft voice that was tremulous with emotion, as she bent down and kissed my cheek ; “it was all on my account that this has happened! Ob, how you have suffered for your kindness to me !—and how immeasurably would it have added to my affliction if I had lost you, my best friend !” I begged Mrs. Oldcastle and Mary to leave me a little while to myself,—alleging that I felt the necessity of collecting my scattered ideas. Nor was this indeed a mere pretext: it was the truth ; for never had I greater need fo reflect upon the unfortunate circumstances which had so recently occurred. When left alone, I gave free vent to my tears; for if was shocking to think how Henry had been deceived by circumstantial evidence, and how frightfully I had suffered in his estimation. I remembered how I had been musing aloud for the few minutes previous to that sudden ejaculation which had burst from his lips: I could even recall to my recollection every syllable I had thus ut- tered; and I had no doubt he had remained the while an unseen listener, enduring mental agonies the bare idea of which was sufficient to drive me mad. Oh! doubtless he had sought me in London —he had there learnt that I was at River House, near Doyer—he had sped on the wings of love to this place to find me—and perhaps on arriving at his destination, he had first caught a glimpse of me in the garden, when thinking to afford mea most happy surprise, he had stolen nigh enough to behold a babe in my arms, and to catch all the words I was addressing unto the little innocent. These details did I picture to myself; and I thought too how fearfully every species of circumstantial evidence had combined to ruin me in the estima- tion of Harry Wakefield! When standing amidst the evergreens, listening to the words that were flowing from my lips, numerous ideas must bave flashed to his brain to corroborate the dreadful suspicion which had smitten him. He must have remembered that I had concealed from his mother how I had betaken myself to the stage—and that from him likewise had I withheld the same fact, until his approaching return to England hed at length elicited the avowal from me. And then too, he must have seen that there was subterfuge or duplicity in the little manoeuvres I had adopted to veil from him my sojourn at River House, and to induce him to communicate with me from Paisley, so that I should know at what precise time I might expect to meet him in London. And lastly his prejudice against the theatrical profes- sion must have combined with all other circum- stances to impress him with the very natural —_—wer CORNIECLA@QO CS com