Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 255: what you’re looking at

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

| | | | 242 — and future dealings ? —would it lead her to reflect that the wages of virtuous deeds might pos- sibly be greater than those of crime? Who could tell F CHAPTER CVII. THE SECOND JOURNEY TO KELVEDON HALL, Wuewn I informed Beda that Dame Betty had entered completely into my views, and that I was going to meet her on the ensuing day at Kelvedon Hall, the faithful girl looked anxiously in my countenance as if in painful uncertainty whether she was to accompany me? i af once comprehended what was passing in her mind; and I said, “It is perfectly needless for you to come with me, my dear Beda. I have now no fear of any treachory on the part of the old woman. It was St. Clair who used to urge her on to make attempts upon my life; but now she is pursuing him with even a greater degree of implacability than ever she pursued me. Besides, she no longer dreads Bag yah at my hands—but on the con- trary. she has an immense reward to win by her fidelity and good conduct.” “True, my dear Miss,” answered Beda; “all these calculations had passed through my own mind before you enumerated them.” “Then what do you apprehend, Beda?” I asked. “I apprehend nothing positive nor definite,” re- joined the young girl: “but £ always feel more happy when L am with youand if there be any danger, latent or apparent,@ would rather share it with you.” I caressingly patted Beda’s cheek; buf I said, “ No—it is really useless for you to come with me. If it were to any other mansion I was going, I should be pleased to take you: but to Kelvedon Hall itis otherwise. His lordship is so peculiar in his humour—so singular in his moods—and so eccentric in the prejudices that he con- ceives ve “Not another word, dear Miss !” interjected Beda. “If you have reasons against taking me, it is quite sufficient.” Here therefore the conversation ended; but I recognised therein another proof to be added to the million previously existing ones, of the tender and devoted interest which Beda experienced in my welfare and safety. On the following day I ordered the postchaise to be at my house at such an hour in the forenoon that I might calculate as nearly as possible upon reaching the neighbourhood of Kelvedon Hall at about five o’clock in the evening. My travelling- toilet was completed by the time the equipage arrived: i had already descended from my cham- ber, and was waiting in a front parlour as it drove up to the door. Beda, who was with me, hastened to fling a glance from the window to assure herself that it was the expected equipage which had ar- rived; and then I heard the ejaculation, “ Ah!” fall from her lips—but in a low tone, so that it was involuntarily uttered and not intended to direct my attention to avy particular object. Nevertheless, I asked, “Is anything the mat- ter, Beda ?” ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. She seemec to hesitate for a moment what reply she should make; and then she said, “ You will perhaps think me very silly, dear Miss—and doubtless [ am wrong to say a single syllable to excite apprehension or that may seem to be of evil augury: but—but * “But what, my dear Beda?” I hastily in- quired. “ft saw an ill-looking man pass the house, Indeed, he stopped for a moment — looked at the postchaise—then turned round and stared up at these windows; but on catching a glimpse of .me, he continued his way with rapidity.” Was he a gipsy-man, Beda ?” I inquired. “No,” she rejoined. “Ah! I can conjecture what is passing in your mind!—Dame Betty would act only with the agency of men of her own race! True!—and [| again repeat, I do not apprehend ory treachery a6 the hands of Dame Betty fs Well then, my dear Beda,” I interrupted her, “it is not the accidental coincidence of an ill-look- ing man passing the window at the moment, that must make us tremble. It is your kind interest on my behalf fhat tenders you nervous and anxious on the present oecasion. But fear no- thing, Beda: you will soon see me again.” I kissed the cheek of the affectionate girl; and binding her “ good bye,” proceeded to take my seat in the postchaise. The equipage rolled away; and it was just turning the corner of the street, when a cab dashed past at a rapid rate: yet if proceeded not too quick to prevent me from catching a glimpse of the*countenance of Lady Lilla Essendine who was seated in the vehicle. I had thought nothing of the little incident of the ill-looking man mentioned by Beda: there was to me naught in the slightest degtee ominous or threatening in that occurrence: but I must con- fess that a partisl change took place in my mind the instant I caught that glimpse of Lady Lilla Es- sendine’s tountenance. I could not account for the change that smote me,—or rather, I ought to say that I was smitten with no positive idea of danger —I did not feel at all justified in entertaining the slightest apprehension: I felt that I might just as weil treat the sudden appearance of this lady as an accidental coincidence as I had treated that of the ill-looking man in front of my own house. But still I could not look upon the matter thus lightly: my feeling was that of a superstitious yielding to an evil augury. I felt ashamed of myself: I strove to conjure up every other possible topic to chase that disagreeable one from my mind; but I found this to be no easy task. I thought of my beloved Henry and of my father, who four months back had set off on their voyage to the far-off gold region which I fervidly hoped would turn out to be no fable: but still the image of Lady Lilla Essendine would persist in rising up along with those dearer images whose presence I was volun. tarily and eagerly courting. And then too, that very incident in respect to Lady Lilla’s abrupt ap- pearance in the cab gave a sort of significancy to that other incident of the ill-looking man which [ had at first regarded as utterly devoid of any sort of consequence. As time passed on, however, and the postchaise rolled farther and farther away from London—and as on occasionally looking through the little cir- CORNICLOOOLK<