Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 291: what you’re looking at

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

278 Christian resignation. What is it? seech you: to hear.” I know not how I managed to break the dis- tracting truth: my own anguish was so great—my own feelings were so highly wrought—my thoughts were in such confusion, that I could afterwards ac- quire no distinct remembrance of the words that I used in conveying the hideous, horrible tidings. But I do recollect full well that at the same in- stant the unhappy old man threw himself back in his chair with a moan of deepest anguish, another moan from the opposite side of the door reached my ears; and then there was a sound of some- thing falling heavily. A startling suspicion flashed to my mind: I rushed to the door—tore it open— and behold Leonora stretched upon the mat. wretched young lady—aware of my arrival, and smitten with the hideous presentiment that I had some fearful intelligence to impart in respect to her betrothed husband—had been unable to re- strain her torturing suspense; and she had listened at that door. Yes—she had listened; and she had heard that Constantine—the object of her still all- devoted love—was in a felon’s gaol, branded with the accusation of a cold-blooded murder ! Lifting her in my arms, I bore her into the parlour—placed her upon the sofa—and sprinkled water over her countenance. Her uncle knelt by her side, moaning and sobbing piteously. I was anxious to avoid, if possible, the necessity of sum- moning the servants: but it became requisite tu do so. Leonora’s swoon was trance-like: she con- tinued pale and motionless as a marble statue. I was afraid that life would ebb away unless other ministrations were afiorded; and therefore I at length rang for her female dependants. She was borne up to her own chamber: medical aid was called in; and when animation returned, the un- happy young lady came back to life only to rave in the delirium of fever. I remained until evening at the villa, doing my best to persuade the unhappy uncle to bear up against his misfortunes; and I succeeded in sooth- ing his wounded spirit into a state of Christian resignation. I gave him the particulars of every- thing that had occurred since I parted from him when setting out on my intended journey to Leg- horn—that journey which was so summarily cut short by my capture and conveyance on board the pirate-vessel, Signor Portici begged me not to leave Civita Vecchia immediately—but to visit him again on the following day; and I promised that I would. Having dismissed the vehicle on my arrival, I returned on foot towards the hotel, meditating in mournfulness upon all that had taken place. I felt exceedingly dull and low-spirited: for the anguish of the venerable Judge and the effect produced npon his mind had pained me profoundly. On reaching the hotel, at about eight o’clock in the evening, I entered the coffee-room to read the newspapers, or in the hope of finding some one with whom to converse: but scarcely had I crossed tle threshold, when I heard a well-known voice saying, “It’s just that ;’—and this was instanta- neously followed by a boisterous shout of laughter. Has that un- happy young man experienced a violent death ?— or is he in the hands of justice? Tell me, I be- for it is only what myself and the wretched Leonora must sooner or later be prepared The JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. The next instant I stood in the presence of my friends Mr. Clackmannan and Mr. Saltcoats. “My dear Wilmot,” vociferated the latter, rushing towards me and grasping my hand with the most cordial warmth, ‘‘ what have you been doing with yourself? and why didn’t you come back to Rome? As you did not return to us, we came to look after you.’ “ It’s just that, *” said the Dominie, shaking my other hand; and in his joy at seeing me, he worked my arm up and down as if it were a pump-handle. “ When Mahomet would not go to the mountain, the mountain went to Mahomet No, that’s not it—it was the mountain that would not go to Mahomet And that reminds me of what I one day said to the Widow Glen- bucket when [I rang the bell and she did not answer it: so I went down myself into the kitechen—and there I found her lying under the table fast asleep—and I recollect there was a bottle on the table but it could’nt have been that, because it was empty. However—--” _ “‘And do you really mean to say,” I asked my two friends, “ that you came to Civita Vecchia on purpose to look for me?” “Indeed we did!” exclaimed Mr. Saltcoats. “And why not? You did not come back—you did not write to us rh ** It’s just that,’ said the Dominie, rolling him- self back into his chair and taking a huge pinch of snuff. “And that puts me in mind of young Shankspindles, who used to write to me every week once upon a time—till 1 lent him twenty pounds—and after that he never answered my letters. That was thirty years ago. I couldn’t understand it at the time—I can’t understand it now. I’ve been thinking of it ever since.” — And here, as if to refresh his memory, the Do- minie filled himself? bumper which he began de- liberately to drink. * Come, sit down,” cried Saltcoats, “and we'll be so jolly! im so glad we’ve fallen in with you again: I could do anything to give vent to my | spirits—drink an extra bottle of wine—brew a bowl of puneh—or stand on my head, if you like.” “Tt’s just that,” said the Dominie. “ When I was a boy I often used to stand on my head I don’t know whether f found it more convenient: but if must have been something of that sort. And this reminds me, Saltcoats, that you and the Widow Glenbucket were one day measuriag which was the tallest: but you didn’t stand back to back as people generaliy do—you were nose to nose, if I recollect right—because I came in sud- denly at the time—and i remember too there was a loud smacking noise, just for all the world as if you had given the widow a kiss But of course you hadn’t.” “Come, come, Dominie, hold your tongue,” in- terrupted Mr. Saltcoats, with a jolly laugh anda mischievous twinkling of his merry blue eye. “Pass the bottle, Dominie—and let our friend Wilmot here have a chance of getting a glass of wine. When did you come, my bey, and where do you spring from?” “ Tt’s just that,” said the Dominie: “I remem- ber once asking the same question of a fellow with a great stick who seemed to spring out of a hedge: but L don’t know whether he answered it—ior I OOO) SS co