The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 199: what you’re looking at

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

eu t senee Sgay AN 193 THE SYSTERIFS OF LONDON. ~ Ee oe oe flashed firo,—‘ think you that, if I hare loved as a ing the treasure which he has obtained. You and 1 ssoman, I will not likewise be avenged as awoman? Oh! yes—yes; and welcome—most welcome will be that day when I shall see myself independent of the purso of Mr. Hatfield, and able to work out my yengoanco after the manner of my own heart! To be exposed by the father and discarded by the son— to have the mask torn away from my countenance by the former, and be looked upon with loathing nud abhorrence by the latter,—oh, all this is encugh to drive me mad—mad! And if I retained a calm demeanour and astern composure of countenance in the presence of those men this morning, it was only the triumph of an indomitable pride over feel- ings wounded in the most sensitive point!” *‘ Vengeance, indeed, is a pleasing consummation,” said the old woman: then, after an instant’s pause, she added, “‘ And I also have a vengeance to gra- tify.” “You, mother !” ejaculated Laura, with unfeigned surprise. “Yes. You remember the night that we called upon Percival? Well, you may recollect how he spoke of a certain visitor who had been with him——” “ Porrens—-your husband,” quietly. “Thosame. He was the murderer of Percival,” added Mrs. Mortimer, her countenance assuming an expression so fiend-like, that it was horrible to behold. “Tow know you that?” demanded Laura, sur- prised. ~ “T am convinced of it,” returned her mother. * Listen! On that night when we visited the miser, Torrens had been with him: indeed, he had departed from the house only the moment before we knocked at tho door. You remember that Percival said so? Welland you also recollect that Torrens was represonted to be poor and very miserable? While we were cngaged with Porcival, the cash-box was produced, and its contents were displayed. A man clambered up to the window, and looked through the holes in the shutters. This was proved at the police-office. We departed, and the miser was left alone. The back gate was forced open—or, rather, the wood-work was cut away in such a manner as to allow the bolt to be shot back with the fingers— and the lock was picked with « piece ofiron. <All this was done from the outside. Then, again, the stake whereby the old man was killed was taken from a piece of waste ground at the back of the house; and on the damp clayey soil the marks of boots wero discovered. Tho murder was therefore per- petrated by the man whose footsteps were thus traced; and who could that man be but Torrens ? T have no doubt of the accuracy of my conjectures.” “They are reasonable, at the least,” observed Tiaura. ‘“ But wherefore do you trouble your head about him, when I require your assistance here in a matter of importance ?” “Onc moment, and you shall explain your views when I have made you acquainted with mine,” said Mrs. Mortimer. “ Percival was a rich man, and that cagh-box contained a treasure in notes and gold. Torrens has, no doubt, concealed himself somewhere in London :—a man who ha/ committed such acrime invariably regards the met{ opolis itself as the safest hiding-place. My design /.s to ferret him out, and compel him by menaces {) surrender into my keep-, observed aura, | | Perdita—Laura, I mean—will know how to spend those thousands; and it will give me plessure—un- feigued pleasure,” she added, with a fearful expros- sion of countenance, “to know that ke hag been plunged back again into misery and want.” “The project is a good one, mother,” said Laura; “and the moncy would prove most welcome. Possessed of a few thousands of pounds, I wonld at once actin complete independence of Mr. Hatfield. But wherefore this bitter vengeance against the man who is still sour husband 2” “Because, when he was released from Newgate ay upwards of nineteen ycars ago, when imprisoned - there on suspicion of having murdered acertain Sir Henry Coustenay,” said the old woman,— when he was set free, I tell you, I still languished a prisoner in that horrible gaol, And he came not near me: he recognised me not—ho loathed and abhored me; and I knew it! You, Laura, have felt how terrible it is to be hated—shunned—forsaken by one on whom you have claims: you are still smarting under the conduct of Charles Ilatfield. Can you not, then, comprehend how I should cherish feel- ings of bitterness against that sneaking coward— that base wretch, whe was a partner in my iniquity, and who abandoned mo to my fate, doubtless hoping that a halter would end my days, and for ever rid him of ne,” “But you loved not that man, according to all 1 haye ever heard you say upon the subject,” returned Laura; “whereas,” she added, in a tone of tran- sitory softness, “I did—yes—I did love Charles Hatfield.” “Granted the difference!” ejaculated Mrs, Mor timer; ‘and yet, even making every possible allow- ance for that, there is still reom enough to admit the existence of my bitter hostility against Torrens, What! was I not arrested the other day—dragged ignominionsly back to London—compelled to sleop in a prison, and forced to appear at the bar of justice,—and all on account of Avs crime! He reaped the benefit—I the inconvenionce, the fear, the exposure, and the disgrace! Itis true that I never loved him—never even liked him ;——true, also, that ours was 2 marriage of convenience—both suspecting, despising, and abhorring each other. Trom the very first, then, I was his enemy; and eyer since I have cherished an undying animosity against him.” ‘Well, mother, I shall not attempt to interfere with your vengeance any more than you will seek to mar the progress of mine, You have given me an explanation of your views; and it is now my turn to speak. This morning,” continued aura, “my hopes were suddenly defeated, and my golden dreams dissipated by the appearance of Mr. Wat- field. At half-past eleven o’clock, I found myself deserted by him whom I had loved, and alono as it were in a strange city. J instantly made up my mind not to yield to sorrow or give way to grief; and when a woman, placed in such circumstances, will not permit her tender feelings to get the betta of her pride—when, in fact, she takes refuge in that very pride against the poignancy of sorrow—she necessarily conceives thoughts of vengeance. For the pride which becomes her dofence and her shield in such a case, must be vindicated. I therefore determined to cherish this hope of vengeance, and gratify that hope when the vroper time shall coma corn GIOOKS (CO)