Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 187: what you’re looking at

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

are alluding to the case of Mrs, Clair. 174 - “IT am afraid, my dear Ellen,” she said, after the interchange of some few observations on indif- ferent topics,—“I am afraid you were rather shocked and angry at Ludovico Marano’s vehe- ment and even intemperate language of the after- noon: but you must remember that the Italian disposition is quite different from the English. It is more mercurial and excitable, like that of the Frenchman: it wants the calmness, sedate- ness, and phlegmatic self-possession which charac- terize the Saxon.” | “To what profession does Signor Marano be- long?” I inquired. “He also was in the army, as well as his un- fortunate cousin—whose name,” added Beatrice, in a lower tone, “I can never breathe without emotion, and of whose image I can never think without feeling as if there were lightning gushing through my veins. Ah! can you wonder, my dear Ellen, that in his anxiety to behold the punish- ment of the wretch Luigi, Ludovico Marano should be hurried away by his feelings, even so far as for a few moments to lose sight of the strict course of probity and truthfulness ?” “ And yet asa military man,” I observed, “he ought to be so very punctilious and particu- lar rf “T believe that in all respects he is a most honourable man,” interrupted Beatrice : “but ven- geance, my dear Ellen, is particularly dear to the Italian heart—and in order to accomplish if, or see it accomplished, the extreme nicety of scruple is sometimes set aside. But I should inform you that Signor Marano is no longer in the Tuscan army. A distant relation of his family has re- cently died, and bequeathed his wealth to Ludo- vyico. If the unfortunate Avgelo had lived, he would have become the possessor of these riches. But I hope, my dear Ellen,” proceeded the Cuoun- tess of Carboni, “that you have entertained no prejudice against Signor Marano?” “T hope that of a prejudice I am incapable,” I replied, “but I should certainly have been bet- ter pleased with the Italian gentleman if he had displayed less anxiety to induce you and me to exaggerate and misrepresent the facts in <eference to the fatal scene upon Dover Cliffs. And then too, Beatrice, I cannot forget that even after he had seemed by his contrite air to acknowledge that he was in error—and after he had besought my forgiveness—I overheard him giving vent to vehement ejaculations in your hearing, when you were alone together.” “ Yes—but I assured you at the time—I mean when you so suddenly reappeared,” interjected the Countess, “ that it was a mere impassioned utter- ance on his part; and he gave you a similar expla- nation. But why do we linger upon this topic?” “Jt is you yourself who have introduced it, Beatrice,’ I replied. “It was not my intention to say another word upon the subject. On the contrary, I meant to confine my own discourse to an explanation of the statements which I made in the afternoon e ““Yes—I remember !” exclaimed Beatrice; “ you Tell me, my dear Ellen, how is it that you are enabled to speak so positively when you assert your convic- tion that Luigi will zo¢ be condemned to death on that indictment ?” rn i i . ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS, “To-morrow I shall explain to the police- magistrate that which [ am about to explain to you, Beatrice,” I answered. “The truth is, a ter- rible secret was by accident brought within my knowledge ; and if I have not hitherto proclaimed it, I can assure you it has been from motives of delicate consideration for the memory of the de- ceased Zarah. But believe me, my dear friend—be- lieve me, when I assure you that Zarah did not die from the effects of the vitriol that was thrown at her—nor of the shock that was sustained by her constitution !’ “Good heavens! what strange secret is this which you are about to reveal to me ?” asked the Countess, displaying the most suspenseful curiosity. “ Would you have me believe that Mrs, St. Clair was assassinated by some other hand ? or that she committed suicide ?” | I did not immediately answer the question : but I looked significantly at Beatrice—and then I said in a low solemn voice, “ Yes — the unfortunate Zarah committed suicide: and what is more, her husband was privy to the fact! Aye, he was an accomplice in it! There will be an exposure, Beatrice !—this is now inevitable!—and the de- ceased Zarah’s principal maid will be summoned and brought forward—and her evidence will afford a clue to everything !” “Ah! I knew that there was foul play !” ejacu- lated a voice, coming from the door. Both Beatrice and myself started up in asto- nishment and alarm at the interruption. I had not immediately recognised the voice; for it was altered from its natural tone by deep concentrated passion : but as I started up to my feet and flung my look towards the door, I beheld upon the threshold the unmistakable form of Dame Betty. Yes—there was the wrinkled hag, her countenance looking more hideous than ever I had before seen it. She was tolerably well dressed—just as a re- spectable tradeswoman might be, with nothing of the gipsy to characterize her costume. She stood motionless on the threshold, leaning on her stick, and the doorway forming as it were a frame in which the ghastly living full-length portrait was set. “Who are you, woman?” demanded Beatrice, in @ moment recovering her presence of mind. “ She can tell you who I am,” responded the dame, extending her stick towards me. ‘“ She knows whether I loved Zarah in spite of ali her haughty disobedience — the imperiousness of her conduct towards me—and her frequent inter- ference with my plans! Yes, Ellen Perey can tell whether I loved Zarah!” Beatrice looked towards me for some explana- tion of this strange intrusion ; and I said to Dame Betty, “ What are you doing in England? Know you not that it was the wish of that deceased granddaughter whom you declare that you loved so much Ks “ Her wish that I should live abroad in a foreign land? This is what you mean, Ellen Perey—is it not? ‘Well, well,” continued the hag, shaking her head as she advanced into the room, leaning on her stick; “let me avenge Zarah’s death—and then I will retuzn to France—to die there! But vengeance I must have! I came to see your ladyship,” she continued, now turning to Beatrice ; “ for I presume that you are the Countess of Car- Gboo — (E@)