The Seamstress; or, The White Slave of England — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

a a | ~ clouds and the wind blew as inclemently as if the fine autumn season had already yielded to the sterner sway of winter. The moon had not yet risen—and the stars were obscured.by those dense masses that appeared like huge black crags forming the underneath crust of heayen’s tremendous arch. The trees rustled—the lamps flickered as if they were every moment on the point of being extin- guished—and altogether it was a boisterous and most ungenial night. The clocks of the West End were striking ten as Mademoiselle Clementine, emerging from the nearest street, halted in the immediate yicinage of the Grosvenor Gate entrance to Hyde Park. She was apparelled in a manner that ill became the inclemency of the evening: but her vanity had triumphed over the fears of colds and rheu- matisms, and her coquetry rose superior to the dread of rain and wet feet. In pursuance of the Duke of Belmont’s advice, she had purloined one of Lady Mary Melcombe’s eyening-dresses; and she had likewise found an opportunity to self- appropriate the Duchess of Belmont’s jewel casket. This she carried under her shawl; and having managed to issue unobserved from the mansion, she reached Grosyenor Gate precisely at the ap- pointed hour. Nor was she kept long in suspense: for five minutes had not elapsed when she beheld the figure of a man, muffled in a cloak, emerge from the surrounding obscurity. This individual ap- peared to hesitate the moment he caught sight of a female form slowly pacing to and fro on that spot: but the Frenchwoman instantaneously con- vinced by his stature and gait that he was none other than tLe Marquis of Arden, walked straight up to where he had halted. “Charles !’’ said the one. * Clementine!” replied the other. . And the next moment the muffled gallant, hav- | ing drawn the Frenchwoman’s arm beneath his | own, was hurrying her across the road which con- | stitutes “the drive” of the park, into the meadow | of the enclosure. | On they sped for several minutes, during which | not a word was spoken. Clementine fancied that | the Marquis was too haughty and indignant in | his displeasure to deign any remark that might | savour of friendly or familiar discourse; and her | own pride, on the other hand, prevented her | from taking the initiative in this respect. But at length a silence so profound and protracted amidst the dense darkness of the night and in go deserted | a place, grew something more than vexatious and annoying: it became positively alarming—and a presentiment of eyil gradually crept into the young woman’s soul, stealing with a chilliness more searching than the night-wind to the very marrow of her bones. Where was the carriage !—and whither were they | gomg? These were the questions which she now | longed to ask: but this ciull—this solemn—this | profound silence on the part of her companion | overawed her. It was now no longer her wounded pride that sealed her lips—but it was a positive con- | sternation which was growing more and more in- | tolerable every instant. At length she raised her | eyes slowly—furtively—and stealthily towards his _ countenance, hoping that even through the obscu- | rity of the night she should be able to read | upon his features what was passing in the depths , THE SEAMSTRESS. 83 of his soul. But the collar of his cloak reached so high up and his hat was slouched so low down, that she could not even trace the outline of his countenance—much less decypher the expression of its lineaments at that moment. Only, from be- neath the brims of the hat, his eyes appeared to shine with an ominous lustre upon her,—as if it were a reptile looking from the deep shade of a bush, or a tiger from the dark entrance of a cavern. And now a terror less vague and more definite seized upon her;—and strong-minded, bold, ad- venturous, and resolute though she were, yet she could not help shuddering with a sense of the loneliness, the friendlessness, and the peril of her position. There she was—in the midst of the park and in the deep obscurity of night—along with a young man on-whom (as she thought) she was en- deavyouring to force herself as a wife, and who had every possible motive to ayenge himself upon her, and every conceivable reason to get rid of her. Robed in a purloined dress and with a casket of stolen jewels in her hand, her conscience was not likely to be at ease under the influence of such re- flections; and, her terror amounting almost to a superstitious expansion of imaginative delusions, she thought that this ominous silence which her companion maintained couid be indicative of no- thing more nor less than the foulest, blackest, and most treacherous intention towards her. Still she had not the courage to turn back—nor the power to stop short—nor the faculty to give utterance to a syllable of question, remonstrance, or entreaty. She was walking like one in a dream! . Ten minutes had thus elapsed from the moment that they met at Grosyenor Gate,—ten minutes, during which they had walked rapidly across the park, whilst those varied feelings and sensations had been gaining with proportionate speed upon the young Frenchwoman. Surely, she thought, a married life which commenced under such gloomy auspices, would continue disastrous and end terribly! But, ah! what if the marriage were never to take place at ail?—what if he on whose arm she now leant, harboured the dia- bolical intention of murdering her there and then? Oh! how cold—how deadly cold was the tremor that passed through her entire being as this reflection forced itself for the tenth time in a minute upon her disordered fancy ! Again did she look furtively up towards the countenance of her companion: but still was it wrapped in the deepest gloom, the eyes shining forth like stars of evil augury from the midst of a sky laden with the thunder-clouds. A glance to the right showed her the far-off lights belong- ing to the mansions in the road skirting the northern side of the park: another look, thrown to the left, gave her the feeblest glimpses of the lamps of Knightsbridge ;s-and before her at a little distance, some tall trees were beginning to stand darkly and gloomily out of the obscurity, like spectral forms of colossal dimensions. Not a sound met her ears, save the moaning of the wind through those trees and the rustling of their leaves,—yes, and the tread of her companion’s steps on the beaten pathway which they were pursuing. Her own feet moved noiselessly and with airy lightness over the ground. Ten minutes, we say, had thus elapsed: and not a word was spoken the whole time,—not a NOOLK (SO)