Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

SS o4 I must have fallen asleep through sheer ex- haustion: for on gradually awaking as daylight was stealing in at the window, I found myself seated—or rather half reclining upon the sofa, from the cushion of which I was lifting my aching head. My brows throbbed with the most painful sensation; and there was a strange feverish feeling all over me. Still there was some consolation in the knowledge that the night had passed undis- turbed—that the morning had come—and that the resence of the daylight would perhaps offer some opportunity of escape. Drawing aside the window- draperies, I looked forth, and beheld a garden with green-houses and conservatories. There were seve- ‘ral other dwellings near, all with gardens likewise ; and I could not at first conjecture in what quarter of the metropolis I thus found myself—until my looks, wandering about, settled upon a dome which I recognised to be that of the Colosseum in the Regent’s Park. It was about three-quarters of a mile distant: and therefore I was enabled to form a tolerably accurate idea of the situation of the house to which I had been brought. A glance at the mirror upon the toilet-table shocked me with the pale, careworn, and almost haggard aspect of my countenance. My head was still aching fearfully; and I began to perform my ablutions. For the purposes of the toilet there was, as I have already said, every requisite; and when I had copivusly bathed my throbbing brows, the pain diminished. I however looked amongst the articles on the toilet-table for some volatile salts or pungent essence, which might refresh me still more. I could find nothing that suited. A drawer which stood partially open, contained fragrant cakes of soap; and therefore methought that the other drawers might perhaps bo stored with additional toilet accessories. I opened a second drawer: it was filled with various nick- nacks—but contained not the article which I sought. Iopened a third drawer; and this was empty, save in respect to some few papers which appeared to have been hastily crushed up in the hand and thrust in there. I took them forth. I will confess that I seized upon them greedily: the idea struck me that they might possibly afford some clue as to the ownership of the house, and thus set at rest any uncertainty which I might still entertain upon the point. Feeling myself to be the victim of a foul treachery, I had not the slightest hesitation nor punctilious delicacy in examining these papers. 3 They proved however to be mere scraps, or frag- ments in an incomplete state, One was a portion of a bill from a perfumer’s and was duly receipted, but with a name which I could not read: the head of the bill was missing—and therefore I could not ascertain who was the purchaser nor who the tradesman. Another was a bill—or rather the fragment of one—for hay, corn, and other pro- vender supplied for horses; and a third was a por- tion of an undertaker’s bill for a funeral that had evidently been conducted on a very expensive scale. But still I could glean no names. One fragment alone remained; and this was a portion of a letter written in a beautiful feminine hand, though with a certain degree of tremulousness as if the writer had been labouring under the greatest excitement at the time. This impression too was all the more powerfully conveyed by the fact that many of the ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. words were underlined with three or four dashes, as if to give the most vigorous emphasis possible to the terms which expressed the strong feelings of the writer. Leaving out a few words which were upon the uneven parts of the upper and lower edges of the fragment, the intelligible and consecutive portion would run as follows :— “Wherefore do I bid you an eternal farewell! Yes—it is eternal! Never, never again will you behold the wretched being around whose heart you wove your spells! Never, never again shail you hear of her whom a stupendous infatuation made your victim! Oh, tears—tears for the remainder of my life !—naught, naught but tears! Ah, will they wipe away the stain? May God have mercy upon me! I feel distracted. Iam like a maniac imprisoned and chained in a cell, wanting to do something, but yet not rightly understanding what it is that the soul yearns todo. Ob! is it suicide which is thus sitting like a black shape of vague- ness, yet awful and terrible, amidst the darkness of my thoughts? My soul is harrowed: vyulture- claws are tearing at my brain: serpents are piere- ing my heart with their stings. The talons of the former strike deeper and deeper into that brain: the fiery snakes tighten their coils around that heart. My tongue is parched, as if ashes were in my throat. Oh, for water! No!—tears, tears, tears must be my portion for evermore! Butagain I say, will they wipe away this sense of crime? Oh, the power of love, that it should have made me what Lam! Was there ever sucha love as mine P Thou wast mine idol: I deemed thee an angel until thou didst reveal thyself as a fiend! Good heayens! that when methought I was listening in the soft ecstasy of ineffable tenderness, to the beatific language of passion which you were breath- ing in mine ear, your words should gradually take a different meaning—so that I (unconsciously at first) found myself listening to such an insidious tale as none but Satan’s breath could waft in unto the brain. And yet it was so!—and I yielded— God help me! L yielded! I who was first the vic- tim of love, became the victim of crime! But thou, O man! what art thou now doing in the world? Art thou happy for all this? No, no! Even if thou artracked with one millionth portion of the horrible thoughts, feelings, and sensations which are preying upon me—tearing my brain, stinging my heart, poisoning my very life-blood at its source,—my God! if thou dost experience as much only of all these horrors as a drop is to the illimitable ocean, thou wilt ty Here the contents of the fragment, as appalling as they were strange, abruptly broke off; and the paper fell from my hand. I had read those lines with feelings of the intensest horror; but all of a sudden the idea smote me that they must be the ravings of a maniac; and then asense of immeasur- able compassion took possession of my heart. With that beautiful handwriting, bespeaking the highest refinement of education and of taste, natu- rally became associated an idea of transcending beauty on the part of the authoress. But, Ah? again did a feeling of horror spring up in my mind, as [ thought to myself that she might have been the victim of some treachery ere her intellects were turned. And was not the author of her miseries the same who had rendered me a captive within the walls of that dwelling? ‘The place suddenly CORNIELOOC ¢om