Rosa Lambert — page 254: what you’re looking at

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

eS EE A FS RE et ME SF REN EEO PE FEROS AW SE St et SL ST Sl TS TL TN A CT A TT GE A RD ne a et ee rn te me ree ee ° te ROSA LAMBERT. “And now, my good gil, I must frankly tell you,” I said, “that I am not Captain Beaumont’s wife: Iam merely his mistress. But even if his wife, I should still be in the condition which you now know thatI am: for as God is my judge, it is the result of the foulest villany, and not of wanton profligacy on my part. I can scarcely expect you to believe so extraordinary a tale: I ask for no comment from your lips. But this boon £ do beg of you,—that you will keep the secret to yourself and not speak of it to the other servants. ‘'o- morrow I shall probably be enabled to tell you how I intend to act.” “Oh, you may be confident, ma’am, that I will keep the secret!” answered the maid; “ and any- thing I can do to serve you, shall be cheerfully done.” “T feel better now. Assist me to re-arrange my dress; and let dinner be served up. I am faint for want of food—lI ate nothing at break- fast.” “And if Mr. Wellesley calls in the evening, ma'am ?” | I reflected for nearly a minute; and then said, * Let him be admitted.” My indisposition had now almost completely passed away: I was enabled to partake of some food when dinner was placed upon the table; and my mind was more tranquil than it had been for some weeks past. It was now made up how to act in respect to Beaumont; and when once a positive decision is taken by any individual who is sorely troubled and afflicted, it 1s invariably fol- lowed by a sensation of placidity, although there may be a sort of desperation in it. It is the point at which the bitterness of one’s position is passed. I was perfectly collected when Felix Wellesley was announced at about eight o’clock in the evening; though as I encountered his regards a deep blush overspread my features. He looked troubled and ermbarrassed, as well as melancholy and anxious: and as he advanced timidly towards me, | it would almost have seemed as if he were the culprit who ought to be ashamed, and not I inyself the one who should blush in his presence. “Sit down, Mr. Wellesley,” I said, speaking in a voice that trembled not,—“ for you may suppose that as I ordered you to be admitted, it is for the purpose of giving you some explanation. We have not known each other very long: but the accident which originally made us acquainted, naturally placed us at once on a more friendly footing than if we had met in a different manner. Do not think me so lost or so brazen as to be enabled to address you on so delicate a topic without shame upon my cheeks and the sense of it in my heart. But on the other hand, I can no longer suffer you to remain any longer under a misconception with regard to me. If I were Captain Beaumont’s wife, his name would be dishonoured in me: but I am not his wife—and a man experiences no dishonour from the dcegrada- tion of his mistress. Captain Beaumont has been kind to me—he has proved my best friend: I have liked him and esteemed him, even if I have not loved him, sufficiently to render me faithful to him. Ah! you gaze upon me with bewilderment in your looks: but do not think for a moment that I am about to deny that which the keenness of medical experience this day revealed to your knowledge. As there is a heaven above me, Mr. Wellesley, I am a victim and not a willing sinner. To you do I repeat the same observation which I[ just now made to my servant,—that I can scarccly expect you to believe so extraordinary a tate; for if there be a thousand appearances against me, there is nothing but my bare word in my favour.” “Ob, but I shall believe you, whatever you tell me!” exclaimed Felix Wellesley, with much feeling, sympathy, and enthusiasin. “Jt is im- possible that you can be otherwise than what you have represented yourseif—a victim: for though perhaps not a wife, yet are you evidently very, very different from the generality of those who are in @ similar position.” : “Listen, Mr. Wellesley,’ I said: “and I wiil tell youa tale. A young man—a cousin of mine —Sir John Haverstock—vowed that he would obtain by stratasvem or by force that which was refused to his overtures and entreaties. His sister was a constant visitress at this house at the time. Something oceurred to distress me cruelly: what if was you will pardon me for keeping a secret: suffice if to say it was something that happened to anear relative of mine. I came home one even- ing weighed down by affliction —7ull of bewilderment and woe—scarcely couscious of what was passing around me. I thought that I found my cousin Joanna Haverstock here, dressed in a walking- costume and with a veil on. I must tell you that there is a remarkable resemblance between herself and her brother. I was so faint and ill as to be unable to reach my chamber unassisted. Me- thought it was the well-meant kindness of my cousin Joanna that succoured me to my room, and which prompted the proposal to remain with me for the night. You can conjecture the rest. But I must repeat that I can scarcely expect you to believe this tale !” “1 do believe it!—on my soul I believe it!” exclaimed Wellesley, with enthusiasm. “Oh, you are deeply to be pitied!” he said, looking tenderly upon me. “ But now, what will you do? You have spoken to me as a friend: [ beseech and innplore that you will treat me as one. Hesitate not to command me in that hyeht: let there be no over-nice scruple nor too delicate punctilio. My purse is at your service; and I swear to you that I will never come near you again if you bid me keep away from you. But, no—you will not do this I scarcely know what I am saying—in one thing only am I collected—and that is in the sincerity with which I offer all that friendship has to bestow.” “And most sincerely do I thank you, Mr. Wel- lesley,” was my response: “my mind is made up how to act. Not for another day shall I continue to enjoy the luxurics and the comforts which the generous and confiding Beaumont has provided for my use. To-morrow morning, at an early hour, I[ shall break up this establishment. This being done, I shall take my departure with just a sufli- ciency of money to maintain me frugally for the next six months. I know that Beaumont will not think the worse cf me for this—-and I shall not feel that I am robbing him. I shall retire into some seclusion, and await the result of the ordeal of pain and shame through which I shall have to pass. And then S ——_—————— a eel —_—_-—-— - i a ae rl SHE :