Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 168: 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. 155 * Yes, Ellen,” resumed Mary; “and it was pre- cisely to this condition of mind on my part that I was desirous of recalling your attention. A few weeks passed—I appeared upon the stage—not without a certain promise of success; my heart began to grow somewhat more warm towards the world—and when I read in the public journals all the flattering eulogies which were passed upon me, the idea that a full measure of happiness might yet be in store for me stole into my mind. Then, shortly afterwards, Henry Wakefield returned to England: I saw how delighted you were-—I com: prehended how much pure and holy felicity was then within the range of your experience. You possessed the love of a handsome, elegant, noble- hearted young man: and I rejoiced that the pros- pect of so much happiness should be in store for you as that of becoming the bride of one so well worthy to possess you. My soul grew still warmer towards the world; and I began to ask myself whether it were right, reasonable, or natural that I should entomb my own heart in the grave of perished affections, and that the past should con- stitute a huge stone to seal it like a sepulchre, instead of suffering it to be once more lighted up as the temple of love’s chaste and holy worship !” “Yea,” Linterjected; “ your mind was recovering a healthy tone—the morbid influences of the past were subsiding " “Ob! if that auspicious process had gone on unchecked — unmarred,” exclaimed Mary, “I might now be a different being ! But listen to my story. It wes just at the very time when this improvement began to take place in the state of my mind, that one day—I remember it well—it was the day after Henry Wakefield’s arrival—you were out together—and I also went out to take along ramble and give way to those new ideas which were arising in my mind, I sought the Regent’s Park ; and while walking there, I pre- sently became conscious of the fact that I was the object of marked attention on the part ofa gentle- man, whom I at once recognised —yes, recognised as one of the most distinguished personages of the day—a statesman of brilliant talent f “ Mary!” I ejaculated, starting as if galvanized by the sudden idea which swept through my brain: “is it possible that you are alluding . “To Edwin St. Clair,” she responded. “Oh! I know, Ellen, that you have often let fall from your lips certain words which have proved that you thought most indifferently of his character—that you believed him to be unprincipled—and it has even struck me at times that you knew more of him than you chose to admit te “Yes, Mary,” I exclaimed, my blood boiling within me and all my veins tingling with indig- nation; “I know Edwin St. Clair to be the most unprincipled of men! And if, Mary,—as I now more than half suspect—if, as I shall doubtless hear from your lips, he be the author of your un- doing Pa “It is he, Ellen! it is he!” ejaculated Mary: “he is the treacherous villain by whom I have been undone !” “And thus, my dear friend,’ I said, gazing superadd iniquity upon iniquity, until he numbers you in the catalogue of his victims—and your honour, my poor Mary, is immolated to his depra- vities! But there shall be an end of all this!— and though too late to save you, my sweet friend, yet in time to ensure the safety of others whom he may have marked out for his victims!” “Oh! show me how to be avenged upon that man!’ exclaimed Mary Glentworth, with fierce eagerness; “show me how to inflicé some terrible punishment upon him—and believe me, my heart will quail not! It is upon this idea that I have been feeding myself,—I may almost say that it is for this purpose I have consented to live during the three months past since the fatal moment when I became a disgraced and dishonoured being!” “ We will not speak of punishment or vengeance now, Mary,” I said: “let this topic be reserved ! But answer me,” I continued, as an idea now flashed to my brain: “ was it because you beheld Captain St. Clair’ this evening at the theatre oo “ Yes—with a youns and beautiful lady—you once pointed her out to me—I mean Lady Lilla Kssendine——""~ “Ah! and it Was because you beheld them to- gether that you were filled with a vindictive rage at the moment when I joined you in the box ?” “Oh, yes!—a fierce vindictive rage!” replied Mary; “and yet it may seem strange to you, be- cause full well I know that Edwin St. Clair would not do me an act of justice by leading me to the altar and giving a father’s name to my babe when it shall come into the world. But I have wan. dered away, Ellen, from the thread of my story; and now I will resume it. When the sad narra- tive is completed, you will better comprehend the nature of these feelings which agitate in my heart.” * Yes—proceed, dear Mary,” I said; “and take up the thread of your recital from the point where I interrupted it. You were telling me that while walking in the Regent’s Park you became aware re “That L was the object of attention on the part of Edwin St. Clair; and I must confess that a feeling of pride seized upon me at the thought that oue of the most eminent and brilliant men of the present day should thus deam me worthy of such marked notice. This was no doubt a weakness on my part —it was a moment of silly vanity: but, alas! all of our sex, Ellen, are not as perfect as yourself. Moreover, you have promised not to chide me; and Ion my part have undertaken to reveal the whole truth frankly and without sup- pression, Yes—lI admit that my pride was flat- Pay k | tered when L beheld that man so eminent for his intellectual qualifications—of such god-like beauty of person—bestowing his earnest attention upon me! My brain grew dizzy as I beheld him fol- lowing in my footsteps and evidently seeking an | opportunity or an excuse to address me. But then, all in a moment I remembered my past adventures —the unguardedness with which I had formed the acquaintance of Herbert Dalrymple—the counsel you, dear Ellen, had given me never again to upon her with illimitable compassion, “as if the | suffer strangers to accost me without the most suf- catalogue of Edwin St. Clair’s misdeeds were not | ficient reason; and my good genius was rapidly complete—as if his crimes had not already swollen | reasserting her empire. into a yolume of sufficient bulkiness—he must But then my evil genius whispered in my ear that Edwin St, Clair was no (COMMU OOO) K (SO)