The Seamstress; or, The White Slave of England — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

a TS, 112 ee tisement upon the scoundrel attorney. And even now, when he had somewhat recovered from the stupefaction of the senses and suspension of the physical energies,—now that he was enabled to breathe and think,—he did not choose to quit his lurking-place. No—he had.heard enough to de- termine him to listen unto the end, so that he might obtain a knowledge of the full measure of his sire’s criminal folly and the whole sum of Col- linson’s refined rascality. “Well, my lord,” said the attorney, at length breaking that long silence which had followed the last despairing ejaculation of the Duke of Belmont, —“the moment has now come when it is necessary that I should be informed what I am to expect. The two years have expired—and during this period the sum of one hundred and twenty thou- sand pounds has not been repaid. On the other hand I am bound to state that your lordship has faithfully adhered to the condition which restrained you from assenting te the marriage of either of your charming daughters. The matter, therefore, now lies in a nut-shell; and the alternatives are these :—First, is your Grace prepared to pay me the sum of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds ?—or secondly, am I to make my selection of one of your Grace’s charming daughters P” “Mr. Collinson,” said the Duke, in a voice which ean only be likened unto that tone in which the doomed felon expresses his last wishes to the chap- lain ere the fatal drop falls,—‘ Mr. Collinson, I am utterly unable to return you the amount which is due respect. To be candid and frank with you—since there is no use in practising concealment or reserve —I am as much embarrassed as I was two years ago when you advanced me the hundred thousand pounds. The improvements effected in my estates have not had time to develop themselves and pro- duce a commensurate return: and as for my hope that the Earl of Mostyndale would espouse my younger daughter—that has hitherto remained unfulfilled ——” “Then what course does your lordship propose to adopt,” demanded Collinson, with an accent of triumph penetrating through his words. “Tam at your mercy, sir,’ was the faint and despairing response. “Tn this case I am at once to inform your lord- ship on which of your two daughters I have fixed my choice,” said Collinson: “and I must admit that your Grace has allowed me full opportunity of rendering myself well and intimately acquainted with the merits of both those charming damsels. In Lady Clarissa I have discovered many excel- lent points. Her ladyship possesses a few feminine failings, it is true: such as an inordinate vanity— a consummate jealousy—a peerless hauteur—an infinite conceit—and all those usual aristocratic traits of disposition, conduct, and manner which serve to convince her friends and acquaintances that she is a being so remarkably superior to them, they must consider themselves highly honoured by being allowed to breathe the same atmosphere with herself.” “Mr. Collinson, this bantering is most mis- placed—this sarcasm is most cruel,” said the un- happy Duke, who did not at first perceive the slight vein of irony which ran through the lawyer’s observations. “Well, if your Grace thinks that I exaggerate rr a TT THE SEAMSTRESS.« the agreeable qualifications of the Lady Clarissa,” replied the merciless Collinson—“ we will dismiss her for the moment from the tapis, and turn our attention to her sister. Therefore, with regard to the Lady Mary, I must declare that she is full of amiability—possessed of an excellent heart— devoid of all impertinent pride and _ aristocratic arrogance—and capable of becoming the joy and ornament of an affectionate hushand’s household. The only misfortune is that she detests me as inveterately as a lord abominates a working-man, or as an overseer hates a pauper 7 ** And therefore,” interrupted the Duke, catch- ing greedily at the last straw of hope which was left to him in the world,—“ and therefore you will choose my elder daughter, Lady Clarissa ?” “So that Lady Mary may bestow her hand upon Lord Mostyndale, who has not even taken the trouble to conceal his hatred and contempt for me?” said Collinson, a smile of mingled scorn and triumph playing for a moment upon his lips. ““ My lord,” he continued, his voice suddenly be- coming solemn to a degree, “I am now entering upon the enjoyment of a position to which I have looked forward with a burning eagerness— yes, an ardent longing, the depth and the inten- sity of which I have concealed, as I am capable of concealing all my thoughts and all my sensa- - tions, beneath a studied coldness of look and language. In a word, I have brought matters to that crisis which empowers me to tell the Duke of Belmont that having hitherto tolerated me as to you. All my hopes have been blasted, in every | a visitor, he must now accept me as a son-in-law ; ee —to tell the Earl of Mostyndale likewise tliat having repudiated me as a friend, he shall now have me asa rival ;—to tell Lady Clarissa Mel- combe that having condescended to receive my visits as an inferior on whom it suited her to smile, she shall now be compelled to treat me as her equal ;—and to tell the beautiful Lady Mary that as she would not encourage me_eyen as an acquaintance, she must now make up her mind t receive me as a husband!’ oe “ No—no—you will not do it,€ollinson!” ex- claimed the Duke, now goaded to madness: “you will not consummate the unhappiness of that poor girl who never injured you! Avenge yourself upon me—Oh! avenge any slight which may have been put upon you beneath this roof—but let all the fury of your indignation fall upon my devoted head! Mary loves you not % “ And it is precisely because I wish to punish her for her aversion, that I intend to make her my | wife,’ exclaimed Collinson, with an abruptness | that savoured even of brutality. “We have now: nothing more to say, my lord: but at noon to- morrow I propose to call, when I shall expect te be received by Lady Mary as her future hus- band.” “And the bailiffs?” gasped the Duke, in a dying voice. “ Must remain in possession until after the mar- riage,” replied Collinson: then, without another word, he quitted the room. “Oh! my God—my God!” exclaimed the Duke aloud in a tone of rending, thrilling, excruciating anguish: and he rushed from the room, doubtless (as Charles thought) to seek the solitude of his own chamber, where he might give free vent to his maddening grief without fear of intrusion. A few minutes after the door had closed behind EOmMmicdoo “S ¢com