Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 90: what you’re looking at

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ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. 77 lable on the subject; nor had the circumstances at the death-bed been made the topic of discourse between us. Iwas therefore undecided how to act at the time when Mr. Macdonald called and made the proposals which I have described. I should here perhaps add that although Henry aud his deceased mother were acquainted with the fact that I was living with a family named Norman, it had evidently never struck them that Mr. and Mrs. Norman were the well-known actors: and as for Juliet, to whom they believed I was a sort of companion, she had been publicly known only as Mademoiselle Delessert. Besides, they seldom saw the London papers; and even when they did catch a glimpse of them, they had been by no means likely to study the theatrical intelligence. I now return to the thread of my narrative. Henry sought me immediately after his interview with Mr. Macdonald; and he told me all that had taken place. I listened with the deepest atten- tion; and in conclusion he said, “ Now tell me, my dear Ellen,—how shall I act P” I deliberated without immediately responding to his query; and he proceeded to add with mingled kindness and diffidence, “ But unless you yourself, Ellen, are happy in your home in the metropolis, I will not think of leaving this country. No, not for worlds! This home shall be your’s— and it would be a pleasure for me to toil for us both !” “Believe me, dear Henry—believe me,” I said, with much emotion, “my home is a happy one! Let no thoughts on my account militate against your interests !” “Then I will go, Ellen!” answered Henry, “because I have found a friend in Mr. Macdonald —and the advice of such a friend must be followed. And now forgive me, dear cousin, for what I am about to say but that money which my poor mother has left—it is your’s, Ellen I do not require it—it may be of service to you 4 “Nor do I need it,’ I answered. “No, my dear Henry—I have no use for suchasum. Yet your kindness will never be forgotten !” “Kindness, Ellen?” he exclaimed. “ Are you not to me as a sister P” Scarcely had he given utterance to these words when an idea seemed to flash across him; and he was full of confusion. Doubtless he recollected that we were but cousins, and that the feeling which he entertained towards me was different from that which a brother would cherish for a sister,—a feeling too of which he was now abruptly made aware for the first time. And I also was filled with confusion; and I felt the blushes glow upon my cheeks. “There is something I would say to you, Ellen,” resumed Henry, in a faltering voice, as he took my hand and pressed it; “but after what has so recently occurred in this house, it would be a de- secration !” The tears rolled down his cheeks: but through their dimness his handsome brown eyes looked tenderly upon me; and all his heart was revealed as completely as if in the eloquence of language. Again did the blushes glow upon my cheeks: I was full of agitation and confusion; and my hand trembled in his own as he retained it in his clasp. There was an instant when I was on the point of proclaiming evyerything—the profession I had em- OE, ET Es ST SR braced, the fame I had already won, the brilliant prospects which were before me: but then a sud. den revulsion of feelings took place—and I could not give utterance to a syllable of such confession! I flung upon him a glance—a single glance—which doubtless was as eloquent as his own looks had been to me; and we understood each other—we comprehended that there was a mutual love—our hearts were completely revealed—yct not another syllable on the tender topic came from his lips, and no word descriptive of my sentiments had fallen from my own tongue! When 1 retired to my chamber after this scene, I again and again reasoned within myself whether I had acted well in veiling the truth of my profession from Henry Wakefield? But again I asked myself wherefore I should distress him with a revelation that would be premature? Ho was going forth into the world; the range of his experiences would become enlarged; as his grief mellowed down into Christian resignation he would gradually glide into the innocent recreations of youth; and thus he would be brought to view the world in a new light. We should correspond with each other; and I could gradually break to him that which I dreaded to impart ona sudden. And, Oh! when he should come to learn that the chaplet of fame encircled my brows, and that I had achieved for myself a glorious repute and an honourable renown amidst the great intellects of the age,—and when at the same time he should have the full conviction of my unblemished purity and stainless character,—Oh! would he not banish all prejudice from his soul and feel exultant at the success of her to whom his heart’s fond love was given? Yes: the secret must still be kept !—and all the more so because that love of his was now my choicest happiness: it should be to me asa guide and a guardian—the angel of hope, soaring in the atmosphere of my existence, and scattering flowers from his brow and diamonds from his wings upon the pathway of my life! Henry communicated to Mr. Macdonald the de- cision at which he had arrived; and he proposed in another week to set out upon his Atlantic voyage. During this week my cousin’s affliction took the soft melancholy aspect of resignation ; and it was evident that the love he experienced for me, and the consciousness of being loved in return, had infused the precious balm of. solace into his soul. We walked out together daily; and though our conversation settled not even for an instant upon the one topic which moved our inward hearts,—yet did we both seem to have tho intuitive, the simultaneous, and the transfusing consciousness that we were both thinking on the same subject. If we wandered into the fields, Nature itself seemed full of love,—love that was wafted in the sweet melody of birds, infusing into the heart a mild subdued joy as sweetly pure as the harmony itself, and etherealising every thought and feeling,—love that was borne on the winged fragrance of every flower which gave its perfume to the breeze,—love in that very breeze itself, as it kissed the leaves of shrubs and trees,—and love in the murmurings of the crystal streamlet as it reflected the beams of day and glided betwixt its flower-gemmed banks. But at length the day—the hour—for separa- tion came. We had agreed to quit that cottage CONNIELACKCY S Com