Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 257: what you’re looking at

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a ee Ce SS « ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. conviction that I had ceased to be worthy of hin. But what was I now todo? I was chained to a bed of sickness; and at least another week must elapse before I could hope to be enabled to get out into the fresh air. A fortnight must pass before I should be fit for travelling. Ob, that I were at once able to speed in search of Henry Wakefield —to find him—and to vindicate myself! Ah, but in so doing I must reveal partially if not wholly Juliet’s secret! So strong were the circumstances against me, that I dared not expect my cousin to believe the simple statement that it was the child of another which he had seen in my arms, unless I were to afford him corroborative proof of the tale. But how was I to do this without betraying Juliet? For a long time I reflected upon the painful subject—until at length an idea struck me. What this was, I need not at present state. Fain would I have at once written to my cousin to implore him to suspend his judgment until I could see him: but I was too weak and feeble to hold a pen—and I did not choose to con- fide the history of my sorrows to any other person. I was therefore compelled to wait two or three days until I had just strength sufficient to trace a few lines upon paper. I then implored Henry, by the love which he had borne me, and by that earnest affection which I continued to experience for him, to suspend bis opinion until he had heard me ; for that 1 was innocent, and I could explain everything! I addressed the letter to him under cover to the Paisley manufacturer ; and my mind felt more easy when this task was ac- complished. My health was improving : for being conscious of innocence, and having faith in the justice of heaver, I felt assured that the time must sooner or later come when I could make my guiltlessness apparent to him whom I was deeply anxious to disabuse of the dreadful suspicion. which he enter- tained. I now hadan opportunity of having some conversation with Mrs, Oldcastle in respect to Mary Glentworth. She had taken a liking to the young lady: the more she saw of her, the more she was convinced of her artlessness and purity of mind; and so far from regretting that she had afforded her a home, she would have infinitely re- gretted the denial of an asylum to the orphan girl. She had seen the Duke of Ardleigh—but entertained not the remotest suspicion who he actually was: she believed him to be plain and simple Mr. Gientworth. impressed in his favour; and therefore wondered not that he should seek to throw his daughter upon the friendship of others. He bad promised to allow Mary two or three hundred a-year ; and Mrs. Oldcastle had replied that though she herself should accept of no payment nor reward for affording the young lady an asylum, yet that she should insist upon the fulfilment of that agree- ment as a means of making a future provision for Miss Glentworth. It further appeared that the Duke, having entrusted all the arrangements for the funeral to an undertaker at Dover, had soon afterwards departed from the cottage; so that he fullowed not the remains of his late mistress to the grave. I found that Mary Glentworth was fortified loss of her mother: and I learnt that when after the funeral she had removed to River House, she had been unwearied in her attentions to me, In- deed, the amiable girl displayed towards me as much affectionate solicitude as if she were my own sister. She had of course formed the ac- quaintance of Juliet, whom she only knew how- ever as Mrs. Hall. Mrs. Oldcastle had written to the Normans to tell them that I was ill; but she did not say how very ill I really was, for fear lest they should set off for River House despite her injunctions to the con- trary. The day after I wrote to Harry Wakefield, I penned a few lines to Mrs. Norman, to tran- quillize her mind on my behalf and assure her that I was approaching towards convalescence. At the expiration of a week after my return to consciousness, I was enabled to get down into the garden, supported by the arm of Mary Glent- worth; and at the end of another week I found my health so much improved that I became im- patient to set out on my intended journey in search of my cousin: for alas! I had received no letter from him—no reply was vouchsafed to my few brief lines of earnest appeal; and yet I felt convinced he must have received my note by this time; for even if he had not returned to Paisley, Mr. Macdonald, I conjectured, must be sure to know his address. It was now, as I have said, a fortnight after my return to consciousness—but three whole weeks since the fatal incident in the garden which had produced such dire results. The same medical man who had attended Juliet in her confinement, had been ministering unto me; and I one morn- ing took an opportunity, when we were alone to- gether, to address him upon a particular subject, in pursuance of the idea which I had already formed. “ Mr. Singleton,” I said—for that was his name, — “TI wish you to do me a very particular favour; and likewise to keep the request itself a profound secret.” “Speak, Miss Trafford,’ he answered; “ and you will see how ready I am to serve you if it lie in my power.” I expressed my thanks for this assurance ; and I went on to say, “ You must now be informed that the day on which I was taken so ill, I was seen by an acquaintance of mine fondling Mrs. Hall’s infant in the garden. From that circum: stance scandalous stories may arise; and I wish She had been but little | you to permit me, if requisite, to refer to you as a means of vindicating my own character.” Nothing, Miss Trafford,” responded Mr. Sin- gleton, “can be more proper on your part, and nothing more easy on mine. I see-that the affair is a delicate one—and you may rely upon my dis- cretion.” Again I thanked him; and then I said, “ But I have still another favour to ask of you. Pray do not refuse me! You must immediately recom- mend me change of air; and you yourself must tell Mrs. Oldcastle that it is necessary. I do not conceal from you that I have most urgent reasons for wishing to get away from River House; and Mrs. Oldcastle’s anxiety on account of my health would lead her to detain me here for some time longer, unless-you thus kindly aid me to emanci- with a sweet pious resignation in respect to the' pate myself.” NN Deiat enen Stns itor Satanism CORNIEIOOKS Com