Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 300: what you’re looking at

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

ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. Y87 upon Mrs. St. Clair, if you will”—and his lips sent forth the bitter laugh of scorn as he thus alluded to his wife,—‘“call upon her if you will, and ask if she be happy? Perhaps to your ears she will reveal that truth which to the world she must not proclaim. Ob, if there be a heart to be broken beneath my roof, rest assured that such heart is not mine! And as for yourself, the time must come, Ellen, when you will bitterly, bitterly repent that you ever connived at the mischief which has been wrought me!” “ Let me pass, Captain St. Clair,” I said, grow: ing somewhat alarmed—for the obscurity of the evening was deepening around us, in consequence of the mist that rose from the ornamental water, “If you dare detain me, I will appeal to the park: keepers for protection.” “No,” responded Si. Clair firmly: “there are reasons which preyent Miss Percy from clinging to the belief that I am so completely iu her power as some antecedent circumstances may have led her to imagine. She must doubtless experience too strong a feeling of friendship for Mrs, St. Clair to permit her to do that lady’s husband any harm:”’—and here again there was a terrible sarcasm and a withering irony in his tone. ‘“ Be- sides,” continued St. Clair, “you know that I am acquainted with a secret which vitally concerns you ? “Ah! that secret!” I ejaculated, through a feeling of joyousness at the conviction that it could be held in terror over me no longer. “ But let me pass, sir!’ I authoritatively added: “ your conduct is as cowardly as it is insolent thus to de- tain me for the mere purpose of listening to the threats which flow from your lipsi” * One word more—and only one word!” ex- claimed St. Clair. ‘“ You must not leave me with the impression that I am in your power ré “What!” I cried indiguantly; “not in my power when your wickeduesses are so nume- rous i “Tt may be so,” he quietly interrupted me: “but yow will not expose them! I feel convinced that 1 was often frightened by you without a real ground for my apprehensions.” *“Whatsoever you may imagine upon the sub- ject, Captain St. Clair,” I answered, “ will not alter the actual facts. Wherefore do you molest me? 1 have shown immense forbearance towards you; and if you would but pursue your own path- way in the world, rest assured that I should never seek to crossit. Butif you dare revive your fearful machinations against me, on no consideration will I hesitate to wield the numerous weapons which circumstances have placed in my hands. Oh! when I think of all you have done, I am aston. ished at my own leniency towards you! And for the single reason that you have seen how all your intrigues have been baffled, should the conviction strike your mind that heaven in its goodhess gars on my side against you in your wickedness !” * We will not argue the point,” said St. Clair, who had appeared tu be reflecting deeply for the last few moments. “ Pursue your way!” With these words, abruptly spoken, he hastened onward, and was quickly lost to my view amidst the deepening gloom. Knowing the man so well, J telt tolerably certain that he would watch me— that he would follow me stealthily—and that he would trust to the chapter of accidents to place me by some means in his power; so that I was | frightened to proceed: for though I had about me the precious document containing my father’s pardon, yet I was very far from desiring a scene of strife or contention with St. Clair upon the spot where I was to meet my parent. For if such were to arise, there might be exposure in the presence of passers-by. I hesitated to continue my way; and yet I was loth to retreat—my father would be expecting me—the hour of appointment was already past—he micht fancy that some accident had befallen me or that his letter had miscarried. * After all,” I said to myself, “St. Clair can do my father no mischief; and though any scene would be inconvenient, yet I had better risk it than leave my father a prey to doubt and uncer- tainty.” Besides, I reflected that if St. Clair should happen to meet him, he might give him into cus- tody,—my unfortunate father being the while ignorant that his pardon had been obtained. Then there would indeed be a fearful exposure and a terrible publicity in respect to my father’s secret! This idea suddenly gave wings to my feet, and I sped onward. The mist was becoming so thick that objects a few yards distant could not be distinguished. It was therefore impossible for me to conjecture whether 1 was being followed or not: but [ heard not the sounds of footsteps ;— yet it wasin a state of supenseful uncertaixrty that I pursued my way. ‘Is if not astonishing,” I thought to myself, “ that this man who knows that I can reveal so much against him, and who must necessarily imagine that I am better informed in respect to the details of the darkest of his antecedent cir- cumstances than I really am,—is it not astonish- ing that he should have the courage and the daring to level his menaces against me? Yet did he not say that he had latterly begun to think he was less in my power than he had once fancied himself to be? Ah! he supposes that for Zarah’s sake I would never go to extremes with him, and that all my past forbearance must have rested upon very strong motives! And perhaps too, he is resolved,” I added, with an inward shudder, “‘ that the next time he strikes a blow it shall bo a final one, and that my lips shall be silenced for ever at the same moment that his deadly revenge is gratified !” This thought filled me with apprehension; for the deepening mist and the deserted park at that hour seemed to afford an opportunity for any treacherous deed, even the darkest and the blackest. I quickened my pace almost into a run; and in a few moments I reached the spot where I had appointed to meet my father. A form emerged from amidst the gloom; and the next instant I was clasped in the arms of my parent. * Be cautious, dearest father!’ I said; “ be cautious !—for through this deep obscurity lis. teners may steal upon us unawares. Let us walk away from the neighbourhood of these shrubs in the midst of which any one may be concealed.” We accordingly proceeded to a short distance: we stopped in the midst of the gravel-walk close on the brink of the ornamental water, aud with only a railing behind us. (COMMUC 9)(0)) 6S Com