Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 394: what you’re looking at

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ee ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. death-bed,” exclaimed Herbert, ‘‘ it was most noble —most magnanimous! and the more therefore do I grieve at the loss of such a being! But tell me, Miss Perey—tell me, I entreat and implore—did Mary die in the assurance of my love?” * Let us talk no more upon the subject,’’ I said, —** at least not now. Isit not a very painful one ? —painful for us both ?” “Very painful,’ responded Herbert: “ but yet if is a topic which we must not immediately aban. don. You know not how wild and joyous were the hopes which I had entertained and cherished for the future! I used to think to myself that all the troubles and sorrows endured by poor Mary should be amply compensated for by the thousand evidences of love by which I would surround her! Nay, more—I will even frankly admit to you, Miss Percy, that in respect to the deplorable state of mental darkness into which my unfortunate mother has fallen, E experienced a certain degree of con- solation ; because [ was wont to say to myself, ‘The only real obstacle to my marriage with Mary might have been presented in my mother’s repugnance; and now that barrier exists not!’ Because, as for my father,” continued the young nobleman, “ I could have either cajoled him into giving his assent, or else I should have altogether dispensed with the ceremony of asking it. But Oh! of what avail is aught that I am now saying? Alas! Mary is gone; and all the hopes that I had cherished for the future—all the plans that I had conceived, are sucdenly swept away!” Herbert paced to and froin the apartment for several minutes—his features were agitated and his fingers worked cenvulsively; for IL most scru- tinisingly watched all his movements, though I did not appear to be doing so. * And then, too, Miss Percy,” he presently con- tinued, “I had pictured to myself how Mary would prove a ministering angel to my poor mother—how she would resume and perpetuate those attentions which she so kindly and gene- rously commenced towards my afflicted parent be- neath the roof of River House! And my imagina- tion even went further still; for I said to myself that if some day my poor mother should regain her intellectual faculties—if she should awaken from this state of mental darkness to a renewed daylight of intelligence—she would learn that Mary had proved the ministering angel—all her pride and her prejudices would suddenly give way within her—and she would rejoice that so tender, so loving, and faithful a creature had become her daughter-in-law.” ** Ab, my lord,” I said in a tone that was full of emotion, “did you really entertain all these dreams and cherish all these hopes ?” “Oh, can you doubt it, Miss Percy?” he ejaculated. “No, no! you do not doubt it !—you know that Iam telling you the truth! Alas, poor Mary !—that she should have died in the belief that her death was necessary to ensure my happi- ness, when it was her life which would have made my bliss perfect! Ob, when I think of her—when her image rises up before me—my God! it scarcely seems possible that she should have been taken from me, and that there is now nothing left but to deplore her!” Again he paced to and fro in the apartment; and at the expiration of a few minutes I accosted —_— i ee ee 381 him, saying in a low gentle voige, and with ag much kindness as if it were a i, speaking to a bereaved brother, “ You had better retire and be alone for a few hours. I know what grief is! In certain stages and phases it requires solitude !” “ Yes—I will retire,” said the young nobleman. “T feel that it would do me good to be alone; for I will conjure up poor Mary’s iraage—I will apos- trophize it as if it were veritably a last interview which was taking place between us—and this will at least be a consolation !”” The Marquis then left me; and I went forth to walk, for my mind was much agitated in conse- quence of the scene that had just taken place. When I returned to the hotel, I received a message from the Marquis of Dalrymple requesting another interviow with me. I immediately returned an affirmative answer; and in a few minutes he entered my sitting-room. He was very pale, and there was a settled melancholy upon his coun. tenance. ‘* Miss Percy,” he said, “I have one last favour to implore. It is that you will tell me where the remains of our poor lost Mary have been deposited, and that you will not oppose my wish to proceed to the spot that I may shed a tear over her last resting-place ?” '“T shall return to England to-morrow morn- ee ing,” I replied; “and you, my lord, if you think — fit, cam accompany me. I may venture to offer you, on Lady Frederick Ravenscliffe’s behalf, the hospitalities of River House.” ‘From what you have just said,” rejoined Her. bert, “I gather that the remains of poor Mary are buried in the churchyard of that picturesque little village! Doubtless she slumbers in the same grave with the kind aunt who passed as her mother, and who performed all the duties of the most tender of parents? Yes—I will accompany you to-morrow ! But it will not be for many hours that I shall avail myself of the hospitalities of River House. I could not endure to linger amidst scenes which would so vividly and painfully conjure up the image of poor Mary. No! I will weep over her grave—I will kneel and pray, there,—and then away again to the scene where my presence may be required—away to Italy to attend upon my poor afflicted mother !—for now that my hope is destroyed that Mary would become the ministering angel, it will behove me to redouble all my own attentions. Ah, Miss Percy!” he continued, “ you know not how severe is the blow which I have sustained! If it had come upon me suddenly, it would have been completely overwhelming: but I was more or less prepared for it or if not for this, at least for some great calamity—by the tenour of the letter which you wrote me—so feare fully vague—so mysterious—and yet foreshadows ing as it were something of the dread truth! Oh, during the rapid journey which I have accom. plished by travelling day and night from Naples, I have bewildered myself with conjectures—I have been aprey to the most painful uncertainty! But that uncertainty has terminated in the profoundest grief |’ In a similar strain did Herbert Dalrymple con- tinue to speak for a considerable time, until I at length availed myself of a pause in the discourse to ask whether there were any hopes of his mother regaining the possession of her mental faculties ? (C(O) KS