Rosa Lambert — page 209: what you’re looking at

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

ee tt — oe ne a - ‘ee me ot eee ee ee ee | ~ - 198 ROSA LAMBERT. . . J . —__—--——peneeenll le pc an fy the ee direction from that Py he were all in a whirl and in a state | whereby I had entered it. of confusion during the drive of two miles back to — Yes—it was indeed an ejaculation of horror | the villa; and on arriving there, T was so unwell which burst from the lips of Iorace Rockingham, | that I was forced to go to bed. On the following as he beheld his father hanging to the tree. It | day I was worse; and when Beaumont came home was a spectacle too tremendously fearful for even | in the afternoon, he was shocked to learn that £ him to withstand—a sight sufficient to startle the | was confined tomy bed. le was speedily by that most fom ft me from it at danas inhuman bedside; and I told him all that had occurred. apathy. As for myseif I averted my eyes in| While he praised me for my charitable treatment horror from the pendant body; and staggering | of the unfortunate deceased, he gave vent to ex- against a tree, felt as if I were about to faint. pressions of infinite disgust in respect to Vorace “Cut him down!” I exclaimed, as a sudden | Rockingham. He was very uneasy on my ac- thought struck me—the hope that life might not | count: but I assured him that I should be better yet be extinct. | in a day or two, when the effects of the frightful “No, not I!” said Horace, recovering his pre- | shock should have passed away;—and I begged sence of mind, and therewith his wonted callous- | him to tell me the result of his journey into the ness. country. The next instant he turned upon his heel} | “IT saw Mr. Evans,” he said, “who is a highly plunged into the wood, and was lost to my view. | respectable young man; and though but a small I was alone there with the hanging man: I felt | tradesman in a poor secluded village, he is never- aad there en ribs 1 : to be Fos hea ae J | ss = ge a well as he 1 expect to do in could not perform if. ye spark of life might yet | such a place. Ue was rejoiced to hear that the linger in him—but I could not cut him down; | imputation against Frances was so completely T had no knife for the purpose. My horrified | cleared up; and I should observe that by this feelings were prompting me to flee away—but I | morning’s post he received the paper which Mrs. dared not yield to them while something might | Stirlmg had written, and which Frances must yet be done. Ah! the sounds of persons approach- | therefore have enclosed to him yesterday.” ing met my ears; and I cried out for help. T'wo “Had Frances penned a note to accompany labouring men were in a few moments upon the | it ?” I inquired. spot. Their horror paralysed them: but I vehe-| “ No—not a syllable,’ responded Beaumont; mently urged them to do what [ myself would have | “and it was move consistent with a becoming performed if I had possessed the means ;—and the | feminine pride that she should not. Evans was body was cut down. But it was indeed a corpse: | at first apprehensive that she was mortally offended life was extinct! | with him, notwithstanding the representations I I bade them bear the body to the nearest | made to the contrary: but I soon led him to public-house,—giving them money for the pur- | understand that all Frances could do in the first pose. I then hurriedly retraced my way to the instance, was thus to set herself right in his esti- phaeton; and the coachman, on perceiving the | mation. [also explained to him that the over- shastliness of my looks, inquired if I were ill. ture for a renewal of their engagement must ““No—yes,” I faltered out, scarcely knowing | emanate from himself. The young man really what I said: “something horrible has happened! | loves her very sincerely; and I cannot describe You saw that man who just now entered the wood | his joy on learning that she had been cruelly when I ordered you to stop ?” | maligned. Indeed, he solemnly assured me that “Yes, ma’am—it was the same unfortunate | he had never in his own heart put faith in the person you relieved in the morning.” scandalous report: but—as he said, with some “And his intellects were deranged,” I continued, | degree of justice—as tke world goes he certainly speaking hurriedly and in broken sentences: “that | did hesitate to marry a young woman against, was the reason I bade you stop—a presentiment | whom such aspersions rested. It was natural he of evil made me follow him—TI felt interested in | should shrink from taking unto himself a wife him—TI had known him in better days—when he | who would be shunned by alli her neighbours.” was a rich man # “But now he is ready and willing to marry “Good God, ma’am! what has happened ?” | her, I hope?” was my inquiring observation. | inquired the coachman, judging by my looks, my “If I had offered to bring him up with me to | speech, and my manner that it was something | London,” responded Beaumont, “he would have 4 terrible indeed. at once shut up his shop and accompanied me. 7 “He has made away with himself-—I found But I bade him write Frances a letter, of which Did -you not hear me I would be the bearer,—telling him that he must await her reply. ‘hen I spoke of the proposition I had to make in ease frances should consent to become his wife—that proposition on which you and I had previously agreed, dear Rosa, in respect n. to the poor child. He cheerfully accepted it; and s thus fir our plans are carried out. ‘To-morrow if you are better, < will call upon the Marchioness of Sudbury.” ) a oe “Oh, I shall be better—I am sure I shall!? | 9 T exclaimed. “I already teel better, now that an 7 ey 4 ‘~ ‘ him hanging to a tree shriek?” “ No, ma’am—or I should have run to see what was the matter. But has he hung himself r’—and the coachman’s looks reflected all the horror that still lingered in mine. “There! there!” I exclaimed, pointing in a certain direction. The man flung his looks thither; and he per- ceived what L saw—namely, the two labourers emerging from the wood into a field, carrying tho corpse between them. “Let us go home as quickly ay we can,” I said; “for I feel very ill,” you ave with me. But shall we ring for France that you may give her the letter?” son “{Lslipped it into her hand as I hurried past | ‘ ries