Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 52: 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. 389 opened; and Captain St. Clair made his appear- | ance. It was the first time he had ever sought me in that box or in the society of the elderly lady who had been an actress in her time: and the idea flashed to my mind that something had happened. A second glance, confirming that suspicion, turned the blood into ice in my veins: St. Clair’s left arm was in a sling! “Good evening, Miss Percy,” he said, with his wonted air of easy politeness, as he proffered me his hand: but at the same time he darted upon me a look which was as muchas to bid me com- mand any emotion that the spectacle uf the sling might have conjured up. “ Will you present me to your friend that I may offer my apologies for intruding into her box P” I know not how I murmured forth the neces- sary words of introduction between Captain St. Clair and my elderly friend: but the latter was infinitely pleased at haying so fashionable a gentle- man in her box; and there was consequently no need for apologies. The worthy lady, however, suspected no doubt that it was not she herself who was the object of St. Clair’s attraction to that box; and after a few ordinary civilities had been interchanged between herself and her new ac- quaintance, she turned to devote herself with redoubled attention to the proceedings of the stage. Meanwhile I had been sitting in the cold torpid state of semi-stupefaction at the idea that a duel had after all taken place on my account, and that St. Clair. had been wounded. Methought, too, that while he was making a few courteous obser- vations to my elderly friend—and assuring her in answer to an inquiry which she put, that he had merely experienced a contusion on the left shoulder by a fall from his horse,—methought, I say, that he was in reality suffering great pain, which with a stoical fortitude he was striving to conceal. The story of a fall from a horse I did not for a single instant believe; and all the time IT sat in that cold torpor of the senses, my looks were fixed with a deep, deep compassion upon St. Clair’s countenance. At length the elderly lady turned towards the stage: St. Clair placed himself next to me; and I said in a low deep whisper, * Tell me—for God’s sake tell me, what has taken place P” “My dear Miss Percy,” he answered, likewise in a whisper, “do not give yourself any uneasi- ness. It is nothing I shall be well in a few days:’’—but at that same instant over his coun- tenance there passed an expression which pained aud afflicted me to behold. “You are suffering at this instant,” I said, with the tears ready to gush out of my eyes; “you are suffering—and I cannot bear to see it !” A glow of pleasure succeeded that of pain upon his countenance—while I felt the blood mantling in crimson upon my own, as the thought struck me that I had been betrayed by my feelings of regret, compassion, and distress, into saying something that might be interpreted in a warmer and more tender sense. * Miss Percy,” continued St. Clair, “ I knew all the time—yesterday—that there must be a duel to- day ; for [ and Bellew had placed ourselves in a position towards each other which rendered a hos- tile encounter absolutely necessary. You must eer neers tap erstereeree not think that because Bellew proved himself to ba a villain towards yourself, he was either debarred from seeking satisfaction from me—or that I was deprived of any right or pretext for demanding such satisfaction from him. ‘The code of honour ” and here St. Clair gave a peculiar smile for an instant—“ is very different! I knew therefore that this duel must take place a “ And yet you pledged yourself,” I said, more than half reproachfully, “that you would ab- stain a “ My dear Ellen,” interrupted St. Clair, “TI am sure you would not have me stand the chance of being branded as a coward. No—never !”—and here his countenance again grew flushed with an animation that rendered him strikingly handsome —handsome though he at all times was, even in his most ordinary moments. “ But knowing that the encounter musé ensue, there was nevertheless no need to distress your mind with the assurance that such was the case. Oh! had you not already suffered enough to render me anxious to save you every additional pang? Ah! and believe me, Ellen, that even when I stood face to face with my enemy, it was sweet—Oh! it was sweet to know that I was daring death on your account ! And as for this wound, I esteem it light—trivial— absolute nothingness, in comparison with all that I would so gladly and cheerfully endure for your sake !” “Captain St. Clair,’ I said, in accents that were scarcely audible, so strong were the emotions of distress, sympathy, and affliction that were agitating within me; “you know not how I am grieved to think that this should have occurred ! Upon my gratitude—upon my friendship—you have everlasting claims: but humble as I am, how can I hope to be enabled to testify either? And now, Captain St. Clair,” I hurriedly added, “I presume that the whole circumstances will become known a * Not so!” interrupted St. Clair; “think you that I was not all along careful of that reputation of yours, Ellen, which as—as—your—your friend your—your—brother for you bave told me I may consider myself so I value infi- nitely more than my own P—and that is speaking with an immensity of emphasis; for asa rule, what can be dearer to a man than his own repute? However, I repeat, I took care of everything that concerned yourself. In a private note I appealed to Bellew’s honour to be silent on the subject; and to our seconds we pretexted a different cause of quarrel—or at least we so altered the main facts that even if the duel itself should become known, public attention cannot be turned towards your self ?”” “Tf feel all the embarrassment, Captain St. Clair,” I said, “ of being compelled to repeat over and over again the expression of my heartfelt gra- titude.” “ Gratitude, Ellen?” said Edwin. St. Clair, in the most melting tones of his voice of manly hez- mony: “wherelore use that word? Ob, if you knew how cheerfully I wouid have died for you;— and, Oh! if you could only conjecture how sin- cerely I shall wish myself dead if your words and looks continue to deny me all hope ¥e “ Captain St. Clair,’ I interrupted him, looking p into his countenance with an expression of the CORNICLOO© ALLL LL LLL LLL CL IE BIEL C SOOT S eet <S Com