The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 287: what you’re looking at

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

knowledge of my history, or the secret motive of your visit here; but not one word against that misled, unfortunate, yet noble-hearted boy, who gave himself into the hands of justice only to rescue me. True, I had no participation in the act; but still I might have have been detained, and my name branded,” he added, with a shudder, * as ——” “ As George Sedler’s was?” True,’ said the young man ; “ poor—poor George !” His visitor could endure no more; his feelings prompted him at once to reveal himself. Fixing his eyes upon the being he had in early life considered as a brother, he gave a sharp, peculiar whistle. Burley turned palo as death; it had been the signal, when a boy, of George’s calling to him to Jet him in when he returned late from one of his nocturnal ex- cursions. “God!” exclaimed the young man, “ what am I to understand ?” “ Maybird !” That name revealed all; in an instant the long- separated brothers in misfortune, the victims of another’s crime, were locked in a close embrace. Hamilton—the reckless, brave, but guilty Hamilton —cried like a child; he felt as if he was polluting the shrine of holiness by his presence. Never before had he ne so bitterly tha humiliation and degrada- tion of 2 Mac bird,” he sobbed, still calling him by his old familiar name, “this weakness will soon be over; but it is long, very long, since the voice of any one I loved made music to my ear, or spoke to my heart. It was foolish of me to come here; nor would I have done go, had not the hope of servicrg you seemed to mean excuse.” “Excuse!” repeated Barley, reproachfully ; “ where ‘on earth should you find a home or a friend, if not with me? Come, George,” he added, “this doubt of yourself as well as me is morbid and unkind. Brothers in adversity, shall we be less so in pro~- sperity ?” “Prosperity!” repeated the unhappy man; “ oh, yes, 1 am very prosperous!” | “The friend and companicn of the Prince of Wales.” “Who trembles,” whispered Hamilton, “ lest some voice should whisper in his ear that the man whom he has honoured at his table—been seen arm-in arm with in the Mall—the companion of Sheridan, Fox, Moore, and many of the master-spirits of the age—is a recorded felon—a thing stained with the prison- brand, There are sears,’ he added, “time may efface or hide—the prison’s, never!” There was a mournful silence for several moments. No one felt the bitter truth of the speaker’s words more strongly than Burley. He knew, from observation and a study of mankind, how indelible indeed was the stain »which the brand of Justice leaves, and at that moment ‘he felt a hundred times more gratitude and affection to his guardian, who had rescued him froma similar fate, than he kad ever entertained before. “ Do not despair,” he whispered, soothingly. “ Your ‘misfortunes are known to myself alone. Your past life has, I trust, redeemed, since then, your early error.” ' “ Added to it!” exclaimed the wretched Hamilton ; “added toit! When cast from prison at the expira- tion of my punishment, I fell into the hands of the villain who first tempted me—the notorious Aaron Wolf—and advanced from petty theft to housebreak- ing; from that he tempted me to murder.” LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE. 285 “Not to murder!” almost shrieked the agitated Burley. “Do not say to murder! Tell me not that the brother I have so long mourned, loved through our long years of separation, who shared my childhood’s pleasures—for we had our moments of pleasure, George, wretched as was our condition—has ever steeped his hands in the blood of a fellow creature !” “No,” replied Hamilton, firmly; “that reproach, at least, is spared me, Think you, had I been s0 degraded, I had ever made myself known to you? I said tempted, not committed. Whatever crimes I have to answer for, the undying one of blood is not upon my soul! I resisted—quarrelled with the vil- lain—struck, and fled from him. Since then I was for years a wanderer in France, and by a lucky accident attracted the notice of the Count d’Artois, who en- rolled me in his guards. There I obtained the littlo education which removes me from the brute. There I was first taught to feel that honour was something more than a name, The storm which shakes that unhappy country to the centre, the outcry against foreigners in the service of the princes, raised by the infuriated Parisians, caused me, and many like me, to be dismissed; but [ left the land of my adoption,” he added, proudly, “ without a stain upon my name, The school I have frequented might not haye been the best in the world, but at least it wasa kind one,” “ And since your return?” demanded Burley. “T have bsen tempted, sorely tempted; but, thank Heaven, have passed the trial, if not scathless in soul, at least in positive guilt !” He uttered this conscious that in restoring the duchess her diamonds he had atoned, as far as pos- sible, for the crime of purloining them, and that he was safe from the consequences of that dishononrable act. “ Thank Heaven!” said his friend, fervently, “thank Heaven! The rest may be forgott2n or repented of. Oh, George!” he added, “ it was an evil hour in which you listened to the suggestions of that bad man Wolf, Most likely the aged ruffian, long ere this, has been called before the tribunal of the God he has offended, to render his account.” “ You mistake—he lives.” “ Lives!” *‘ More—I have seen and spoken with him.” *‘ Spoken with him!” repeated Burley, with a look of horror. “ Fear not,” resumed the colonel; “he could not recognise me. From him I learnt a secret which touches us both nearly—that we were placed under the care of Sedler by a rascally old lawyer named Prim. The hope of being useful to you, Maybird,” he added, “of restoring you to your rights, of which I have every reason to believe you have been deprived, made me determine to intrude myself upon you, I felt how unworthy—how degraded-———” His brother—for they were brothers in misfortune and affliction, though not in blood—grasped his hand, and would not permit him to finish the humiliating confession, Fallen as he was, he knew the temptations to which he had been exposed—the friendlessness of his youth—the hopelessness of his manhood, His aim was, if possible, to reconcile him to himself; the task, he felt, would be difficult, but not hopeless Let those who have never fallen, or loved the guilty ones they have been bound to by affection, blame him if | they can, “No, George,” he exclaimed; “whatever your errors, mine shall not be the heart to reject you, or GOMIIGIOO S}n(CO)