Rosa Lambert — page 257: what you’re looking at

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

open meadow—the breeze gently fanning my coun- TT A, A A ce ce ew 246 winding-sheets:—pale, haggard, ghastly, and at- | tenuated were those images, filling me with horror! | And was such to be my doom? was my beauty to be thus wasted? was my young life to be thus abridged, and its remnant dragged painfully out amidst such crushing labour—such privations— | such sorrows? No, no!—and hastening back to. the post-office, I consigned my letter to the box. No sooner was this done, than a sort of reckless feeling seized upon me—an indifference as to | what thenceforth became of me—a willing self. abandonment to that which I persuaded myself. was my destiny. I remember too that I ordered a more luxurious repast that day than I had been | wont to partake of during my seclusion at Sand- gate ; and though habitually temperate, I indulged | in two or three glasses of wine. My spirits were artificially excited ; and I pictured to myself the | comfort of once more lounging in a carriage—the exhilaration of riding on horseback—and the en- joyment of having a companion eyer at hand for conversation. By these means I endeavoured to drown remorse, and to stifle the still small voice that was whispering in the depths of my soul. On the following day I again roamed into the country; and seating myself beneath the shade of trees, gave way to those thoughts with which the wine had inspired me on the preceding evening, I said to myself, “ Perhaps Wellesley is already on his way to join me at Sandgate: perhaps in a few hours I shallsee him. Or at all events, to-morrow! But what if his mind should have changed P—what if during six months’ separation and silence be- tween us, his passion could have cooled dowa, and he shéuld either have found another mistress or else have gone abroad to resume his continental travels? Well, then, in that case I will return to London, where I shall speedily find some protector to my fancy.” I chronicle all this to serve as a warning to those who may be ina position where such warning can possibly exercise a beneficial influence. I cul- pably abandoned myself to those reflections; and the woman who does so is lost. The right path may stretch out, broad, open, and easy of access, before her: but if she yield to the whispered blan- dishments of temptation, she will turn aside—and it will be the same as voluntarily surrendering her- self up to Satan! Having rambled and lounged about for some hours. [ began to retrace my way across the fields towards Sandgate. I was in the middle of a wide i tenance and toying with my hair,—when I beheld a gentleman advancing from the opposite ex- tremity, as if he were coming from the town. My first impression was that this was in reality Felix Wellesley himself: but as he drew nearer, the appearance of the individual took another simt- hitude-—one that was equally familiar to me. He recognised me—he quickened lis pace—it was George Beaumont who was thus hurrying towards me! A cry of amazement thrilled from my lips; and the next instant I was supported in his arins—for I was staggering and was about to fall with the sudden faintness that came over me, “( Rose! Rofe!” he exclaimed, in a voico of mingled sorrow and reproach; “was ib to learn all this that I came back to Mneland Pe” eee ee nn ee ; eo eee 4h & ee ee Sl iE nd ‘Good heavens!” I cried, his words and manner instantaneously recalling me to the full possession of consciousness: * you do not believe me? f[ 6ce that you do not!” Thus speaking, I disongaged myself from his arms; and retreating a pace or two, surveyed his countenance. He looked ill and careworn: he seemed to have suffered deeply, and in more ways than through any distress experienced on my account. He had not embraced me while for a few moments he sustained me from falling: there was a certain distance in his manner—but not fraught with unkindness, mach less with anger: it was mournful and upbraiding. “You wonder to see me in England so soon again,” he said: “but I have suffered shipwreck, and it was only by a miracle that I was saved. Ah, Rose! I should not have believed all this of you. I know not what strange feeling has prompted me to seek you out: but I was impelled hither by an irresistible impulse. Perhaps it was a longing to see you once more ere wo part for ever. But you weep——” ““Yes—I weep at the idea of your sufferings,” I exclaimed. “I weep too in bitterness and in despair, to think that the atrocity of villains should have rendered me unworthy of your generous love !” “ Rose,” said Beaumont, taking my hand, but evidently by an involuntary moyement—for he in- stantaneously dropped it again; and his counte- nance now assumed an expression of severity such as I had never seen upon it before,—“it is urlac- countable how you could devise such a tale— equally unaccountable that you should intend to persevere in it! In some respects you are the most admirable of women. The way in which you surrendered up the home which I left for your use —your honourable conduct in all money matters— these deserve the highest commendation. How is it possible that a being who is thus upright and straightforward in one point of view, should de- scend to such artifice and hypocrisy in another ?” “Oh, do not, do not add to my wrongs and my miseries by torturing me thus!” I exclaimed, wring- ing my hands in despair. “ But it is my destiny to become a victim, and to be looked upon as a wilful sinner. Yes—it was so with Reginald For- tescue!” I cried in bitter vehemence; “and it is now the same with George Beaumont! Good God, is there not more generosity in the heart of man ? And yet I know that tne tale is extraordinary !” Beaumont spoke not: but he regarded me with a profound sorrow. He evidently thought that I was wickedly persevering in a tale concocted with a devilish hypocrisy. “You will not believe me!” I cried, stamping my foot with a sort of frenzied rage. “ Here, in your presence do I invoke . “Hor God’s sake blaspheme not, Rose!” inter- rupted Beaumont, his countenance expressing a sudden horror, as if he were recoiling from the bare idea of becoming the witness of a tremendous per- jury. “If you seek my forgiveness, I will bestow ig: if my pardon will conduee to your happiness, it is your’s. But of course everything is at an end between us. Ah, Rose! you know not how much — happiness you have dostroyed—happiness for me, and happiness for yourself! Methought when tossing upon the ocean’s waves, that there was one OE ee OS EEE es Fe ee Eomicbooks| co i