The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 301: what you’re looking at

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

coldly away. ; speaker, in his wretchedness, would have given fi the world to say “ My grandsons /”’—but even that Miserable consolation was denied him As he gazed on ant onel it. ord Moreton mast be indicted for felony.” “ Felony !” repeated Barley. ot liie—- bring him completely within the statute Street, is about the fittest person to receive the depo- sitions. The first step will be to obtain warrants . be easy.” cipal agent in the affair-——” his evidence voluntarily. nearly upset his firmness, “the proceedings will be your mother’s marriage. but can myself identify you by means of the sergeant who found you in the park the night I so wretchedly exposed you to the mercy of the tempest, and the guardianship of that all-sesing eye, whose glance has at last confounded me.” “Do this,” said Burley; “ and deeply as you have wronged us, you may merit Hamilton’s forgiveness and my own; even my father, who has been the greatest sufferer by your villany, will not withhold his pardon. Will you, my lord?” he added. “| should ill befit my sacred office did I refuse to accord the forgiveness [I daily teach and ask for others,” replied the churchman. “ Man hath no right to frown upon the sinner whom God hath promised to pardon.” ) : “Speak not of God or pardcn,” exclaimed Prim, thrown off his balance by the tone of kindness in which his son-in-law spoke; “there ig for me no pardon. The stream of mercy, gushing through endless ages, would fail to wash my stains away. “Tastead of pardon, I have judgment before my eyes. There are voices accusing me hourly before His throne, which God must listen to. His justice must condemn me, or the great fiend himself might accuse Him of partial weakness. Speak not of pardon more,” he added, with a ghastly smile; “1 know my doom, and wait but to accomplish my last earthly task to fulfil it.” The bitter tone of self-accusing conscience in which these few words were uttered proved how deeply, how hopelessly, the speaker felt his crimes, and anticipated their punishment. “Your lordship’s presence before the magistrate will be necessary,” continued the lawyer, after a pause, ay LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON The prelate bowed assent, and the two young men the manly furms and intelligent features of the cousins, he felt awaken in his breast a throb of human affection as well as pride, and, in the bitter consciousness that the demonstration of those feelings ‘was denied him, he experienced perhaps the most bitter p that ever wrung his iron nature; but, like he Indian at the stake, he calmly ‘led upon “TI have been considering, my lord,” he resumed, “the readiest and surest means of proving the birth of ea mn, and have arrived at the conclusion that “Felony, young man. The abduction of your mother, by his unworthy agent, and subsequent attempt upon her honour—in defending which she d Burns, the police magistrate at Bow the aged housekesper and her husband, who reside at the old manor-house near Charlton; their evidence once obtained, the rest will then be “Yon forget,’ observed Fi'zgerald, “ that the prin- “Will be there,” interrupted Prim, “and give Without him the case would be incomplete.—For you, young sir,” he added, turning to Hamilton, whose likeness to his mother less tedious, since I possess not only the certificate of LIFE. 299 “Certainly,” replied the bishop; “I am ready to attend you.” “The name of the nobleman who rescued your son, my lord, from the widow of the ruffian, whose acts, bad as they were, were spotless compared to mine?” “The Earl of Erringecurt,” replicd Burley; for he would not pain his father by compelling him to pronounce his name. “Then known as the Honourable Mr. Digby ?” “ The same.” Prim took out his pocket-book, and made a few memorandums; when he had done, he requested his lordship to name the hour at which he wou!d be ready to accompany him to Bow Street, Three o’clock was the one named. “Till then, my lord, [ take my leave. visit is to Sir Walter Mowbray.” “Sir Walter Mowbray,” repeated Hamilton. “Ay, young man, to your uonataral grandfather. Fear not; I have the power to crush his heu,hty nature, humble his pride of ancestry, crush him like a truised viper beneath my feet; and fear not that [ will spare him ” “What could have been the cause of his strange abandoement of me?” demanded the colonel. “That,” replied the lawyer, “ which damned more souls than even avarice or ambition—pride! Your mother was good, virtuoas, fair, but lowly born; and the descendant of the Norman robber, whose estates were obtained by plunder and massacre, felt wroth that his ennobled dust should mingle with untilled clay. So he and I plotted—contrived—till we starved her—starved the widow, who died rather than desert the just rights of her son ;—damned ourselves—he for pride, and I for gold.” The conscience-stricken man, overcome by the terrible recollection of the misery he had occasioned, sank exhausted on a chair. Hamilton was as pale as death; his proud eye flashed and his lip quivered, In his indignation he could have crushed the eelf- accusing wretch who, broken by age and remorse, sat overwhelmed before him, had not his utter state of prostration restrained him, “Good day, my lord, for the present,” said Mr, Prim, rising with a determined effort. “This weak- ness of the body does not affect my mind. My pur- pose is as unshaken as my repentance, At three I shall wait on you again to accompany you to the magistrate,” Without trusting himself to cast a second look upen his grandsons, whom he would have given all the wealth he had so wiekedly acquired to have pressed but for one moment by the hand, the lawyer walked steadily from the apartment. His next step was to visit Sir Walter Mowbray. “Think you, my lord, it is well te suffer him to depart alone?” demanded Hamilton. “ Why not?” “His repentance may cool. His depositions ought, in my opinion, to have first been taken.” Fear not,” said the bishop, mournfully. “He has that upon his heart and brain which will not let him rest till he has made atonement. Shew no suspicion, and he will not disappoint your expectation. ven I, whom he has most wronged, can pity him; for I know the depth of his despair—the abyss into which avarice has plunged him.” Oo his arrival at Sir Walter Mowbray’s, Prim found the whole house in confusion, and the old baronet raving like a madman. It was fearful to witness My next re LS Eee GOMIIGIOO SS) (EO) im