Rosa Lambert — page 256: what you’re looking at

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

ROSA LAMBERT. Lambert, but with the prefix of “ Mrs.,” I engaged a comfortable lodging at a moderate rent; and was thus once more installed in a humble seclu- s10n. CHAPTER XXXII. SANDGATE. A ¥Frw months passed away: the end of August arrived—and with it the period at which I was again to become a mother. I was delivered of a still-born male infant; and situated as I was— considering too who was the father of the child, and the odious circumstances in which it had been begotten—I rejoiced that it came not into the world alive. My health progressed favourably ; and in due time I was convalescent. During my sojourn at Sandgate, I had often and often reflected very seriously whether I should eventually fulfil my promise to Mr. Wellesley, and accept his protection if he were still inclined to afford it: or whether I should make one more effort to turn into another and a better path. Hitherto I had been unable to come to any settled resolve upon the point: but now that the ordeal was over, and that I was again restored to perfect health, which was becoming vigorous with the bracing air of the sea-side, I saw the necessity of making up my mind as to my future proceedings. But if I determined on the virtuous course, in what manner was I to live? To go and be entirely dependent upon the limited means of my father, was out of the question: indeed I recoiled from the thought of returning at all to Hawthorn, where it was so well known that I myself had strayed from the path of virtue, and that my brother had been stricken with an infamous punishment. Were it not for this latter circum- stance, I might perhaps have retraced my way to that village, in the hope that by fancy needlework, to be disposed of at Riverdale, I might earn suf- ficient to prevent me from being a burthen on my father’s resources. But I could not endure the thought of looking the villagers in the face, with the knowledge that they must be saying to them- selves, ‘‘ Not only did she herself go wrong—but likewise her brother ;—and thus both the children of our parson turned out bad!” But what was I to do? how was I to obtain my bread? ‘These were the questions which I had to solve, if I adopted the alternative of turning into the path of propriety. I thought over and over again of needlework: but I must candidly confess that my mode of life had rendered me to a certain extent indolent; and such indolence be- comes a habit which it is by no means easy to shake off. I found too that I had grown so ac- customed to certain comforts, that I could not dispense with them. And then there was the idea continuously floating in my mind—and some- times seizing upon me with an invincible power— that it was my destiny to be what I had hitherto been, and that vainly might I endeavour to escape therefrom, inasmuch as it was a fate that would prove stronger than myself, and would again engulf me in the inexorable flow of its own cir- cumstances. I will also frankly admit that I was proud of my beauty ; and when, again restored to I - 24,5 health, I contemplated myself in the mirror, my vanity was piqued. I was now twenty-three years of age—and perhaps handsomer than ever. My form had received still richer developments: care and indisposition had only seared me inwardly, and had not marked me outwardly. The barbed arrow of anguish—often of despair—had pierced and lacerated my soul: but to look at my face, 1b would appear as if my life had been hitherto passed amidst the serenest happiness. Yes: I was | proud of this beauty of mine; and it was with no pleasurable feeling I could contemplate the idea of bending from morning till night over needle- work—shut up inaclose room, and deprived of that exercise of which I was so fond and which was so necessary for my health and my good looks —those good looks themselves rapidly giving way— the colour fading from my cheeks—my eyes be- coming sunken, my face haggard, and my figure losing its plumpness and its splendour of con- tours! No,—I could not resign myself to such a fate. Yet heaven knows I struggled hard enough to persuade myself to do so; and day after day as I took up the pen to write to Wellesley, I threw it down again, thinking that I would yet reflect a while longer ere I committed so serious a step. One morning when looking over some papers in my writing-desk, I found that I had,inadvertently brought away with me from the villa at Highbury a seal belonging to Beaumont, and on which his armorial bearings were engraved. It was a very handsome seal; and I knew that he prized it highly, inasmuch as on leaving England, he did not choose to take it with him, but had left it in my care. It had until now escaped alike my notice and my recollection: but the moment I thus dis- covered it, I lost no time in sealing it up ina packet and despatching it by coach to the house- agent in London, that it might be given up to Captain Beaumont on his return to Jngland, whenever this return should take place. Feeling rather anxious as to its safe delivery, I wrote.a letter by post to the agent, requesting him to acknowledge its receipt. In three or four days his answer came, to the effect that the seal had reached him, and should be taken care of until Captain Beaumont’s arrival in this country. My mind was by this time made up as to the course I should pursue on my own account. Tor the various considerations already set forth, I had not sufficient fortitude to keep in the proper path, when I knew that my beauty would at any mo- ment replace me in a position of luxurious ease— if not with Wellesley, with some other protector. I accordingly wrote to Felix, telling him that I did so to redeem the promise which I had made | him at parting six months previously, but that he was by no means to consider that I held him bound by any sort of pledge he had intimated to me at the same time. I took this letter to the post: but I hesitated when reaching out my hand to consign it to the box. I walked away—and was ab one moment on the point of tearing the letter into fragments; but my evil genius re- strained me. I rambled far into the country: I struggled hard to resist temptation :—in my an- guish I called upon heaven to inspire me with fortitude. But, alas! there onlyg rose up before me the images of those poor needlewomen who while toiling for bread, are working their own: Tr aS eA a TC OMIGOOO] iS (C(O)