Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 204: what you’re looking at

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a ~ ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. ment when they should be all scattered to the winds! O Beatrice, this is a horrible tale—and terribly does it grieve me to think and to proclaim that you have been an accomplice 1 in the whole! What took place yesterday morning when the miserable man resolved upon self-destruction, I know not I scarcely dare even venture to guess !” “T will tell you, Ellen—I will tell you!” ex- claimed Beatrice, now looking and speaking wildly ; and she was evidently not the mistress of her thoughts or actions—or else perhaps she would not have revealed the details of the catastrophe. “ All that you have saic is true: but you deal harshly with me!—you deal harshly with Marano like- wise! For, Oh! was it not natural that there should be a craving for vengeance in such circum- stances? Yet listen! Ludovico went early to the’ gaol yesterday morning: he told Luigi that he had done everything which man could do to obtain a reprieve, but that he had failed. And then Luigi sank into the deepest despondency ;—and thus two hours passed. Ludovico dreamt not that he would commit suicide: he did not mean it—he did not intend it—he wished to see him suffer upon the scaffold. But presently he became aware that Luigi was doing something mysterious ; he tore down the bed-clothes—and he saw that the wretch had punctured his arm so violently that the blood was welling forth in a cataract. Then Ludovico was afraid—he was seized with a power- ful terror. Luigi implored him to let him die without making any endeavour to save his life long enough that he might go upon the gallows: and Ludovico fled. That is precisely everything which took place; and though Luigi went not forth upon the scaffold, yet did he die a despairing, miserable wretch—and our thirst for vengeance has been appeased !” “ And if Signor Marano should tell the tale,” I said, “he will glory in it as an Italian only can glory i in his vengeance! Alas, no! I am wrong! Iam speaking to one in whose veins rolls English blood—and she, I regret to find, loves vengeance likewise!” “Ob, you are very, very bitter, Hllen!” said Beatrice ; ; “but if you yourself ever sustained such deep wrongs as those which resulted to me from the villanies of Luigi, you would not remain so strictly scrupulous and punctiliously conscientious as you now are! Remember, it was Luigi who purposed to ruin me in the estimation of my hus- band—Luigi who sent Angelo to my chamber where he met his death—Luigi who gave such a colour to all the most trifling circumstances that ray husband believed me to be deeply criminal ! And it was Luigi who brought the food to the apartment where I was imprisoned with the hang- ing corpse of Angelo, —Luigi who subsequently painted the hideous picture which my husband carried about with him as a memento of the dia- bolic vengeance which he himself had wreaked! Oh, did I not receive fearful lessons in the schools of vengeance? And yet how you blame me, —you who best know how deeply I have suf- fered !” Beatrice now sank upon a sofa weeping bitterly. I must confess that I was touched by the spectacle: and I said in a milder voice than I had been hitherto using on the present occasion, “ Beatrice, >? a 191 if you value my friendship, as you Actes *ehuulds bora deabiered to:8ib) if) ou. values tay) Mriandehip as) you @acmni to do “Oh, can you doubt it, Ellen ?” she exclaimed, amidst ‘hee sobs: “ean you doubt it P” ““ No—I will not doubt it, Beatrice,” I replied. *‘ Let me, then, in the name of that friendship con- jure you not to link your fortunes with such a man as Ludovico Marano!’’ “What, Ellen!” and the Countess started, at the same time dashing the tears away from har eyes. “ You know if “Yes, Beatrice,” I interjected ; “I will confess that I again this afternoon became an uninten- tional listener to something that was being said! I could not help it: the words that met my ears riveted me to the spot! In short, Beatrice, I know that you have pledged your hand to that man and Al! now I recollect! did you not proclaim that you loved him ?” Beatrice remained silent; and a gloomy shade came over her countenance. At length she said, “ Ellen, while valuing your friendship, I cannot permit you to be the arbitress of my destinies. L beseech that the subject may here terminate.” * Oh, no!” I exclaimed with vehemence : ¢‘ friendship has its privileges ? “Enough, Ellen!’ interrupted the Countess. “Your sentiments and mine differ on many, many points; and though you still speak to me of friend- ship, yet full well am I aware that you think far less of me than but a few hours back you did. Leave me for the present, Ellen, and come to- morrow. We will then resume the subject.” She gave me her hand: but scarcely had [ touched it when she withdrew it quickly, as if she thought that [ was about to receive it with reluc- tance and that I now regarded her with aversion. She hastened away into an adjoining apartment ; and I issued from the house with sorrow in the depths of my soul. It was indeed with reluctanco that I had touched that hand; for if had seemed to me as if there was blood upon it,—the blood of Luigi’s last crime—the blood of self: destruction ! For the reader must not think that because [ had appealed to her in the name of friendship to avoid a step which I feared would prove the crowning misery of her life, I still felt towards her the same as betore. No |—friendship was gone: she stood in another light in my estimation—she was not the same Beatrice whom I had previously known and loved! Yet would I have done ae last generous act towards her; for I could not abandon her to what I foresaw mast be an unhappy fate. On the following day, at precisely the same hour, I called at the Marquis of Campazella’s mansion. Beatrice had left in the morning for the Continent: the Marquis and Marchioness of Campanella had gone to accompany her as far as Dover. I therefore saw that the infatuated Bea- trice was intent upon linking her fate with the man whom I looked upon as little better than the vindictive assassin on whom his own vengeance had been wreaked! For a moment I thought of writing a letter to the Marchioness of Campa- nella: but the next instant I said to myself, No: I have done enough! There is a point at which even the most friendly interventiun in the affairs of another becomes an impertinence and a gross impropriety ;—and into this extreme I will not run.” Gomiuichdoo (E@)