Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 171: what you’re looking at

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

a> 158 ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS, walking with his female relatives that he might have the pleasure of introducing to them his in. tended bride. If I had not been blinded by my infatuation, I should have seen that there was something suspicious and sinister in this arrange- ment: but credulity, as well as every other senti- ment or passion, merges at seasons into the wildest extremes. Accordingly, after a hasty dinner on the day of which I am speaking—and having in- formed Beda that I should be home before dusk —for it was the last day of June, and the days were at their longest—lI set off. On reaching the place of vendezvous, I found St. Clair waiting for me; but he was alone. He had a specious tale ready devised for the occasion: he assured me that the ladies, his relatives, were anxiously ex- pecting me at his house—that they objected to the idea of meeting mein the Park, as it would seem as if there was something clandestine and stealthy in such a proceeding, and as if they were ashamed that an actress should visit at the place where they were temporarily abiding. But all this St. Clair said in language so delicate and in a manner seemingly so considerate, as to be impos- sible to wound my feelings; while that very allu- sion to my position as an actress gave a colour to the excuses he was devising in order to induce me to accompany him to his house. I was completely blinded; and I proceeded with him thither. His dwelling, as you well know, Ellen—for you visited it to see poor Zarah on her death-bed—is in the immediate vicinage of the Regent’s Park. We arrived there; and I was at once conducted up into the handsomely furnished drawing-room. No ladies were in that apartment: but St. Clair ob- served, with his wonted air of sincerity, that they would join me in a few minutes. I sat down: he placed himself on a chair near me; and he directed my attention to different objects of curiosity and verti which were profusely scat- tered about upon the table. Amongst other things. there .was an elegant little rosewood box “3 “A rosewood box?” I ejaculated, the allusion suddenly and vividly conjuring up in my mind a fearful reminiscence connected with the death of Zarah: and now Lf more than suspected the nature of those details which Mary Glentworth was about to give me. ‘‘VYes—a little rosewood box,’ she resumed. “ But why, my dear Ellen, do you seem startled « “Go on, Mary—ask me no questions! An- other time———But pray proceed!” I ejaculated: for, Oh! my poor friend, I must not keep you lingering over these details !” “ My attention was directed to that little rose- wood box,” she continued; “ and St. Clair at once began to tell me some tale with regard to it—some legend which he doubtless invented for the pur- pose. While thus conversing, and keeping my thoughts engaged upon the topic,—which with all his subtle art he knew how to render so inte- resting,—he took a key from his pocket: he opened the box—it contained naught but——”’ “ Naught but ” and then I checked myself : for I did not wish to have the appearance of knowing or suspecting too much on an occasion when it was not my purpose to account for such knowledge or such suspicion. So _ - “It contained naught,” continued Mary, “ but a white rose.” * Miscreant!” I mentally ejaculated, while a strong shudder swept through my form. “But Oh that white rose, Ellen,’ proceeded Mary, not observing my emotion, “simple as the object itself may seem, yet was it the fatal cause of my undoing! But here let me declare that if that man had only attempted to take the slightest liberty with me—if by a single libertine look he had made me suspect the dark purpose of his soul —the veil’ would have fallen from my eyes, I should have rejected his overtures with scorn and indignation, 1 should have overwhelmed him with reproaches, and should have fled! This doubt- less he knew: he had well studied my disposition and character—he had seen that I was not one who would willingly and wantonly abandon myself to a dishonourable course, and that therefore my ruin must be accomplished by a foul stratagem. And it was so. St. Clair smilingly bade me inhale the fragrance with which that artificial rose was fraught. I took it from the box—I approached it to my nostrils—and then all in a moment consci- ousness abandoned me.” Again did Mary Glentworth pause for nearly a minute: and then she added in a gloomier and more sombre tone than before, “When I reco- vered my senses, I was in a chamber ——Sb, Clair was with me-——my destruction had been accom- plished !” * Just heaven!” [I murmured, “ that such hideous iniquity should be perpetrated !”—and then folding Mary in my arms, I faltered out in a voice trembling with emotion, “ You spoke truly, my dear friend, when you said that though weak, feeble, and indiscreet to a certain extent, yet that you were indeed very far from meriting the full amount of blame for this dread catas- trophe!” “No, Ellen,” she responded: “it was as foul a crime as ever was perpetrated against the honour and virtue of a woman! I cannot depict the feel- ings with which I became aware of the mighty wrong thus done me. I did not rave, nor shriek, nor ery out: I was plunged into blank despair. This afforded leisure and opportunity to the villanous author of my ruin to address me in terms which showed—if any proof were now wanting—the utter heartlessness of his character. He represented that for my own sake I must keep the seal of silence upon my lips, and forbear from breathing a syllable which would proclaim my dishonour and degradation. He gave me to understand that it was entirely on my own account that he proffered this advice—for that he himself was perfectly indifferent to the exposure of the whole proceeding—that indeed he should rather glory in it—and that he should be looked upon as a fortu- nate man by his friends and acquaintances for having secured so charming a prize. He went on to intimate that if I thought fit, I might become his pensioned mistress that the whole matter might be kept secret—that all I should have to do would be to represent to you, Ellen, that I preferred having a separate establishment — and that from you likewise might the real truth be thus hidden. I heard all that was said, though I did not volun- tarily listen to it. I repeat, my soul was plunged 'into the stupor of blank despair : it seemed as if ——_ eee ee oa aan RR _ = COMmicooo (E@)