The Seamstress; or, The White Slave of England — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

THE SEAMSTRESS. 75 CHAPTER XXIII. THE CLAIMING OF THE REWARD. THREE months had elapsed from the date of the incidents just recorded ;—and it was now the end of July. In those three months what sadness seemed to have worked its insidious way into the hearts of some of the principal inmates of Belmont House! The young and beauteous Lady Mary Melcombe was pining beneath the influence of withered hope and cruel disappointment—for the Earl of Mostyn- dale was a visitor no longer at the ducal mansion. Secondly, the Marquis of Arden seemed to be de- voured by a profound sorrow which was under- mining his health, robbing his youthfulness of its vigour, and turning his very existence into a bur- then and a curse. Thirdly, the Duke of Belmont was weighed down by the deepest affliction at the spectacle of those two beloved beings—his only son and his favourite daughter—thus bending beneath the weight of a woe the secret of which in either case was only too well known to him. And lastly, the Duchess herself had become so wedded to the soli- tude of her own chamber, that she seldom crossed the threshold of that suite of apartments which now constituted her own little world which she peopled with her mournful thoughts, and beyond which she cared not to stir. Lady Clarissa was the only one of the Belmont family on whom the spell of affliction had not fallen ;—and so thoroughly heartless was she—so perfect a type was she of the females of the patri- cian class, generally speaking—that the only reason why she deplored the altered mood of her relatives, was because there were now no more festivals, balls, and entertainments at Belmont House. Mr. Collinson had continued to visit the mansion as usual during, the interval of three months to which we haye‘alluded;—and he troubled himself but little with the secret sorrows that appeared to have oyertaken so many of its inmates. His atten- tions were pretty well divided between the sisters; and it would really have seemed to an observer of his conduct in this respect, that he was resolved to become a suitor to one of them, but could not yet make up his mind which to choose. Sometimes he chatted gaily with Lady Clarissa—sometimes he endeayoured to cheer the spirits of Lady Mary. The former had grown into the habit of welcoming his visits, because she frequently felt dull for want of company and was glad to have even the sen- tentious lawyer to converse with: but the younger sister viewed him with a repugnance that in- ereased as her own melancholy became the more desponding. But to resume the thread of our narrative. It was, as we have already stated, the end of July; and on a certain evening we shall once more find the Duke of Belmont alone in his library. But this time he was not seated at the table with a volume before him: he was pacing to and fro in an agitated manner—and every now and then ejaculations of despair burst from his lips. The lamp-light gave a ghastly look to his countenance, which had become thinner and paler within the last three months ;— and deep lines were traced by the unmistakable finger of care upon his brow. Semme-de-chambre’s preparatory warning. Presently some one knocked at the door: but he heard not the sound. The knock was repeated a little louder ; and this time he bade the person enter. The door opened slowly—and Clementine entered the library. “What do you want with me?” demanded the, Duke, in a tone the sternness of which showed how little pleased he was at being thus intruded upon. “YT wish to have some conversation with your Grace,” was the calm reply. “Tam inno humour to talk to anybody,” ex- claimed the nobleman, violently, “ Myson is pining away—my younger daughter is perishing before my eyes—I myself am devoured with cares of all kinds —and my wife——” But he stopped short, as if suddenly remember- jing that either prudence or propriety —or somo other xegson, perhaps niore cogent still—should hold him upon his guard how he alluded to her. “ With the sarrows of Lady Mary and her Grace,” said Clementine, “I have no concern, beyond com- miserating them. With respect to the afflictions cf the Marquis of Arden, I acknowledge that J stand on a different footing: but your Grace surely does not feel inclined to blame me for my conduct on that head?” “I blame everybody and loathe and detest every- thing,” cried the wretched Duke. “ The whole world wears a jaundiced aspect to my contempla- tion —and I care not how soon I am out of it. Misfortunes and sorrows have entered my house like an army—and their ravages have been mer- ciless.” “ Your lordship would have been still more inclined to curse your fate, had the Marquis of Arden married the obscure seamstress,” said Cle- mentine. ‘‘ Well—perhaps you speak truly in that respect,” exclaimea the nobleman. ‘At all events I did my duty by allowing you to adopt the necessary mea- sures to prevent so ignominious an alliance. Do you know what has become of the girl?” “No, my lord,’ was the response. ‘ But I be- lieve the Marquis of Arden is searching everywhere for her-—+~” “ And we must hope that his endeavours will prove unsuccessful,” added the Duke. “ But where- fore have you sought mo now? and what do you require at my hands?” “Your Grace suspects, then,” said Clementine, “that [ am come to demand my reward for the service that Lrendered in the affair of which we have just been speaking ?” “I presume that such is the case,” replied the Duke. “You told me at the time that you would not receive any immediate recompense, inasmuch as you should perhaps have a boon to crave at some future period. I therefore judge tiat the moment 1s now arrived when you seek your reward. Name it, then, and be quick.” “Your Grace will be startled—nay, more— amazed, astounded, and indignant,’ said Clemen- tine, ‘when I declare the boon which I crave at your lordship’s hands.” “Do you intend to be so very unreasonable in your demands ?” exclaimed the Duke, not liking the © Bu delay is uscless—and I am anxious to be alone, What do you require P” CONNIE OOOKS (SO)