The Seamstress; or, The White Slave of England — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

4Z St Ne ee oe es without the desired effect. Then was it for the first time that an unknown terror, dim and vague as a shadowy form seen amidst the darkness of night, took possession of me;—and the infection of my alarm was speedily caught by the servant. The door of my mother’s chamber was fastened inside, and we could not open it. Louder and louder did I knock: but still no reply was given. I implored my mother to answer me; and when I paused to listen, all was silent as the grave. Maddened by the ex- cruciation of the terrors which now swayed me, L resolve! upon haying the door broken open. A carpenter was sent for; and during the few minutes which elapsed ere he came, I sate down upon the stairs and wepé the bitterest, most burning tears that ever flowed from my eyes. My mind was now mate up to the worst; and all the horrors of my orpuan lot expanded before my mental view, like a rapid succession of hideous phantasmagorian scenes. At length the carpenter came—the door was forced open—and then a mortal tremor seized upon me as I essayed to cross that threshold which now seemed to me like the entrance to a sepulchre in which all hope was buried. The carpenter and the servant seemed to hang back in consternation: for the awful gloom of death was already filling the air of that house! Summoning all my courage to my aid, I entered—and a single glance flung through the opening of the drapery confirmed all my worst apprehensions. There—in that couch to which she had retired apparently full of health and spirits— lay the inanimate form of my mother! The rending shriek which burst from my lips proclaimed the dreadful truth to those who still lingered upon the threshold;—and the servant sprang forward to re- ceive me in her arms as I staggered back beneath the weight of intolerable affliction. But in obe- dience to a sudden impulse, I threw myself upon the corpse of my parent, and gave vent to all the passionate wildness of my grief. The carpenter ran to fetch a surgeon ;—but medical aid came too late— Oh! far too late. My mother had been dead many hours: the vital heat had already abandoned her form, leaving it cold as marble—and as marble, pale! Her spirit had evidently quitted its mortal tenement so tranquilly that not even the trace of a death-pang was observable upon the calm and placid counte- nance, which would have appeared to be reposing only, but for that marble pallor !” Virginia paused: for her voice had become broken and scarcely audible with the profound sobs that convulsed her bosom—and the tears were now rain- ing down her cheeks. Julia Barnet, more deeply moved than ever in her lifetime she had been before, ministered the kindliest consolations; and, when the re-awakened affliction of the orphan girl had found a suffieient vent, she became soothed, «Did you ever learn the cause of your mother’s sudden death ?” inquired Julia, in a soft and gentle tone. “The medieal man accounted for it by natural means,’ responded Virginia, her own voice still continuing tremulous and broken. “Oh! my mother was too good a woman to have dreamt of self-destruction !”’ she exclaimed with a sudden anxiety to rescue her revered parent’s memory from the slightest suspicion on that score. “She was buried: IL saw her remains consigned to the deep and silent graye;~—and when my ears caught the ef at ‘ q a THE SEAMSTRESS. dreadful sound of the earth thrown upon the coffin O God! it seemed as if all the vital cords were snapping asunder one after the other in my heart and in my brain! In a frantic condition was I borne from the churchyard: and for some months I hovered as it were between utter madness and some lucid intervals of reason. At length I began eradually to grow calmer and more tranquil ;—and the necessity of Christian resignation dawned in by degrees upon my soul. The servant then ventured to hint that I should look into the state of my affairs; —and I proceeded to examine my mother’s desk to ascertain whether she had left any documents of importance or written instructions for my guidance. But there was not a single paper which threw the faintest light upon these matters which it was so necessary for me to know thoroughly. The sources of her income—the name and address of that gen- tleman who was wont to visit her,—all, all these important details were buried in profound mystery. I now learnt from the servant that the gentleman alluded to had called one day—at the proper time indeed for his periodical visit —but while I was confined with delirium to my bed. He had seemed much astonished at hearing of my mother’s death— made some brief inquiries concerning myself—and then abruptly took his departure without another word. He left no money, nor gave the slightest intimation of an intention to return at any future time. ‘This conduct on his part was full of eyil omen. It proved that if he really were an agent or a friend who was accustomed to pay my mother a quarterly stipend, the allowance was not to be con- tinued tome. But anxiously and even hopefully —or rather despairingly, I know not which—did I linger on in expectation of the arrival of the ensuing quarter-day. It came—it passed; and the stranger- gentleman appeared not! My utter friendlessness was now made apparent beyond all possibility of doubt ;—and I found myself involved in serious difficulties. My mother’s funeral had absorbed nearly all the money which I discovered in the desk ;— and during the months which followed, I had subsisted chiefly by incurring debts with the tradesmen who were wont to supply the household. No alternative now remained but to dispose of the furniture to settle the liabilities which had been incurred;—and when this was /done and the debts discharged to the uttermost farthing, I had but a few pounds left, besides a bed, a table, a few chairs, and some other trifling neces- saries. Of course I gave up the house and parted with the servant, who had been a good friend to me, but whom my circumstances would not per- mit me to retain any longer. Then I took a small chamber, to which I removed and endea- voured to obtain needle-work. But day after day brought its renewed disappointment ;—and frugally —sparingly—almost starvingly as I lived, my little reserve of money was growing less and less. Ah! Julia, how bitter, bitter were the scalding tears which I shed when, wearied and dispirited, I re- turned home after a day’s anxious wandering in search of employment! Had my poor mother been alive, I could have borne it all—oh! cheerfully borne it all: for we should have mingled our tears tou- gether—and at least she would have been there to give me her blessing! But 1 was alone—alone in the world—an orphan and friendless ;—and I used CORNIELOOOL<