The Seamstress; or, The White Slave of England — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

———-_ #—- ——— ————————--— THE SEAMSTRESS. 43 to pray to heaven, in the anguish and bitterness of | rosity of her character as to prevent her misgivings my spirit, that I might be taken away from this | relative to her new friend from expanding into the earth on which there was not a hand to succour me, | broad glare of a settied conviction. nor an eye to look kindly upon me, nor a lip to} Her first impulse was to start from the chair and breathe a word of solace in my ears. Death, so ter- | fly the presence of one who had just betrayed her rible to some, would have been so welcome to me! | own shame,—yes—ily, as she would from tempta- For it was in the solitude of my chamber that I} tion! But some feeling, as unaccountable as it was experienced a full sense of all the dread loneliness of | indomitable, transfixed her to her seat;—and the my condition; and there were moments when I | remembrance of her deep obligation to Miss Barnet, would cover my face with my hands and endeavour | and likewise the thought that this young female to persuade myself that it was all a hideous dream | had most probably been made the victim of some and that it was impossible for me to be so thoroughly | cruel circumstances over which she had no control, wretched as I fancied I was! I asked myself how | flashed simultaneously to the mind of Virginia. Thad sinned against heayen to deserve sueh tre-| ‘‘ You must not be shocked at me—you must not mendous afilictions——I who have never trodden | eyen think the worse of me for what I have told, upon a worm, mucli less done an injury to a single | you,” said Julia, partially reading the thoughts | human being in existence! Oh! when I think of | which were traversing her young friend’s imagina-— “all I suffered—all the anguish I endured for the first | tion, ‘Look here, Virginia,” she continued, in an year after my poor mother’s death, 1am amazed | impressive and almost solemn tone: “and listen that I could have ever survived the rending tortures | attentively! I did not make society as it is: I was f of that affliction ! born into it such as it is—I was compelled, willing | “ Poor Virginia!” murmured Miss Barnet, taking | or unwilling, to yield to the circumstances arising | her young friend’s hand and pressing it warmly: | from its false, its, vitiated, its unjust condition and for the orphan was now weeping bitterly again. | influence. I would have remained virtuous if the’ “‘ You have indeed suffered severely—sevyerely! But | world hadallowed me. But it would not. Poverty do not despair—do not give way to despondency, —cold—disappointment — hunger — crushing toul— Take the world as you find it—and bend to all the | and rags,—these are enemies which strike at the 'most-rigid virtue with the fury of a battering-ram. A far stronger edifice than mine would have given way. For a2 too, have known what a cheerless — Oh! no—never—never! garret is—without fire in the long, long mights of “Tell me what you mean, Julia,’ exclaimed Miss | winter: I, too, have experienced the hardships of Mordaunt, suddenly wiping away her tears, and | oppressive labour, and the horrors of starvation! speaking with an earnestness as if she were resolved | I have worked as severely and arduously as you— to yenture a desperate query in order to elicit a I haye worked, indeed, till my back has ached and response that should clear up some mystery, of the | the pain has spread all over my body, just as if I truth of which she however entertained a glimmer- | had been beaten with rods! JI have worked, Vir- ing suspicion. ginia, until my eyes have grown dim, and my brain “T will be candid with you, Virginia,” said Miss | has reeled, and life seemed ebbing away from my Barnet, after a few moments’ hesitation. ‘“ You} heart! I have worked in the cold until my limbs need not tell me any more of your history: I can | have been rigidas if with paralysis—until my fingers divine the rest. How you were forced to part with | have been so benumbed that it appeared as if they the greater portion of the little articles that were | might be chopped off with a hatchet and yet cause left to you after the sale of your furniture,—how} no pain. I have wept, too, over my work—oh! I you were compelled to shift from place to place as| haye wept such bitter, scalding tears that it is circumstances dictated,—how you have been strug- | a wonder my eyes were not burnt out of their gling against difficulties until you moved into this | sockets and my cheeks seamed all down! And I, house a few weeks ago and were accidentally thrown | too, have prayed, Virginia—have prayed for release in the way of Mrs. Jackson who has made a profit | from that accursed state of mingled thraldom, and of your toil to sustain herself in indolence,—how | destitution: aye—and I have done more, Virginia all these things have happened to you, I can well | —yes—more than you—for I have seriously and understand: for those successive circumstances con- | steadily looked Death in the face for long, long stitute the history of thousands of poor friendless | hours together when I have contemplated suicide!” creatures like you. With a slight variation here «Q horror! horror!” ejaculated the young-seam- and there, perhaps, all this portion of your narra- | stress, covering her countenance with her hands, as tive is mine also: but I have advanced a step far-| if to shut out some fearful spectre from her view, ther than you in the career of the seamstress.” ‘* Will such a fate ever be mine?—am I to pass “And that step?” ejaculated Miss Mordaunt, | through the same tremendous ordeal ?” with a cold shudder passing over her like a presen-| ‘How much of the same destiny is already known timent. % to you, poor girl?” asked Miss Barnet, in tones of “In plain language, my dear friend,” returned | the deepest and most unfeigned commiseration. Miss Barnet, stooping forward and whispering the | “Ah! do not deceive yourself, my dear friend: it response in a low tone,—“you have hitherto} is better that you should learn the whole dreadful retained your yirtue—whereas I haye lost mine!” | truth at once! Already — yes, already —are you The veil fell from the young maiden’s eyes,—that | advancing at a headlong pace towards the precipice veil which until that moment had remained drawn | which must swallow up your virtue, your innocence, between her suspicions on the one side and the fatal | your compunctions, and your faith in heaven, at the truth on the other,—that veil which had so far} same time! You have work now—just for the served the artless candour and the confiding gene-| moment: but how wretchedly is it paid! And then circumstances of life. It is impossible that you can fail to prosper in the long run: you carry a fortune in your countenance. But with the needle alone }?? ee — a LL LL CoOnniclooolKks (SO)