The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

———— me ——- ee = — — S6 —— THE MYSTPRIES OF LONDON, ee _——s= = -_ their conversation in undisturbed privacy, Celestine selected from the rest a bouquet in which there was a red rese, prominently placed in the centre, and gave it to her companion, with an injunction to examine it cosely. , ' And in what way aces this become associated with your sadness?” inquired Madame Romani. “To my fancy this graceful tribute to your acknowledged is arranged with more taste and judg- ment than any of the rest.” ' “Tt came from that man,” returned Celestine, emphasising the word, and accompanying it witha Shudder of abhorrence; “as I bent forward to express my sense of the flattering applause with which I was overwhelmed at the close of the last tableau, I caught a distinct view of those hateful features rising up before me from one of the stage-boxes, and at my feet there fell immediately afterwards this bouquet. The first glance revealed to me that among the leaves at the back of that flower was a small note concealed. I have a sad foreboding at my heart that, with this missive, you will find 1 have got a real cause for my apprehensions. But read it, my dear Romani, for I have not the courage to do so myself, and then I shall know the worst.” The vocalist, who, during these words, had with- drawn a small slip of folded paper twined carefally + Ttound the stems, here opened the note, and found that the following sentence, written hurriedly in pencil, in a small distinct band, was inscribed on the insides— “Tam satisfied. If you would learn the secret of your birth, and who I am, meet’me to-morrow evening alone at eight o’clock, in the Regent’s Park. I shall be in the long avenue opposite Gloucester Gate, awaiting your arrival.” “Tt is, then, evident that this mysterions being who has been so constantly following you from place to place is at last on the eve of making himself known, and that is some consolation,” observed Madame Ro- mani, as she returned the note; “he has, however, chosen a singular medium for his communications. I could comprehend a lover making an assignation in this way, and which would be appropriately chosen; but for such a personage to prefer this eccentric style of correspondence to that more frequently in vogue, convinces me that he is one of those romantic en- thusiasts who never, even in trifles do any thing like other people.” “And do you continue to entertain your former “pinion ?” said Celestine, inquiringly. “Not I, my dear child,” answered her friend, with greater levity of tone; “I renounce my previous creed altogether, and should be more disposed to treat the whole affair as a jest, did I not perceive that you still persist in regarding it seriously. That he may have contrived to possess himself of the history of your early life, 1 do not doubt—the mention he makes of that circumstance, which he knows will immediately enlist your attention, proves this ;—but, notwithstand- ing he disclaimed both motives in his first letter, rely upon it that in making this appointment he is determined, like a respectable highwayman of the modern school, to extort from you your money or your love.” “I know not what to think,” said Celestine, de- y. , “You will not comply with bis wish for an inter- view, of course?” em “ My curiosity would prompt me to do so,” added the fair girl, “but yet I hesitate.” “I should most earnestly dissuade you from going,” eee — = —— - ™ -_ _——. 2... ee “or < ——— 5 FH pursued the other; “for though I suspect, after is a kind of monomaniac, who seems thus to maintained singular delusions, and of which you been made the vietim, I do not consider that it 5 be judicious or pradent to encourage him in this importance, a letter sent to your own residence would ¢ Had he really a communication to make to you of have been the fittest mode of soliciting an interview,” “ And this revenge to which he so darkly alluded,” ® rejoined the opera dancer—“ am I to believe that this is likewise but a trick of his imagination ?”* “ Let us so consider it until it assumes a more defi- nite form,” replied Madame Romani; “for in no | action of your life, Celestine, do I know that you have given cause for a feeling of rancour or animosity in - the heart of a single creature. It is impossible, there- fore, that you can have excited his hatred intention- ally; and, should an imaginary grievance exist, he must be restrained from p this system of annoyance by the intervention of the law.” — = “Oh! it is that dread of publicity that has hitherto kept me silent,” interposed Celestine; “and now I shrink more than ever from the consequesices, Should this man really have the information to impart that he professes, it would only exasperate him the m if 1 sought to protect myself by magisterial i ference. He might then blazon my story to the world—prove, perhaps, that I am the daughter of man whose crimes have rendered his name accursed, and so brand me for ever as the child of a I should never raise my head % “Then you will hazard the result of this “Yes, I will learn the extent of what I dread,” said Celestine, resolutely; “ I will be the time and place he has indicated, and will boldly await his approach. The hour, 29 near to dusk, wil enable me to go without being recognised, and the choice of a thoroughfare so much frequented assures — me that he intends no personal harm.” “Then should the disclosures he may make at establish that which you have so long feared, reveal to you, my unhappy child, that the mystery in which your parentage has been enshrouded has arisen from the unfertunate circumstances of your birth, you will not forget that you are elevated to a station ¢ has raised you far above the reach of calumny, Yee are not answerable for the crimes of nd yo present proud position will be sufficient to relieve you from any stigma that might, in the estimation of some, have been attached to your name,” eke “Should dishonour be attached to my answered the opera-dancer, resolution is taken, I bid farewell for ever to the brilliant scenes among which I have moved, and in. volve myself in an obscurity from which I shall never again emerge.” “And so destroy all that.I have so anxiously la- boured to accomplish,” rejoined the vocalist. “No, Celestine; it would be madness to thus abandon the sphere of which you were born to be the ornament, If the refined sensibility of your nature deters you from exposing yourself to the public gaze after having ascertained those particulars which you foolishly all the world must know because you are oe Z acquainted with them, there is yet a long career of - happiness before you. Lord Walsingham to-morrew will present himself before you; I know that there is a feeling of mutual affection existing. Accept the offer he will make, let the past be for ever buried in oblivion, and be free from all apprehensions of the kind for the future,” | os - -—— --— ——— i ; ‘ : ‘ ' ‘ and your “I repeat to you that my - ' | ’ , 2