The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 206: what you’re looking at

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

Ae CeO. : ON ae THE WATCHWORDS OF OLD LONDON. 187 of my youth being an old aunt and an uncle, who were very particular. ‘When my father went to London, these were left in sole charge of my tuition and my man- ners, and I very soen found out the change. “ They stopped my walks with Herbert, as far as they were able, and kept a atrict look-out upon me in all my actions. ‘After a time they discovered, by somé strange means or another, that we met in the drawing- room. “They said nothing to ine; the firdt intima- tion I had of it was that I found thé room of the chamber locked. . “T waited in the dark passage some time to see if Herbert Fitzmaurice would come. “ But he came not. “¥ foand out afterwards that he had de- ascended, and finding the door locked, had pra- dently retired back to his bed-room. “The nextmornitig at breakfast time my uncle and aunt eyed me curiously. ‘‘They expected an outburst ; they were sadly disappointed, evidently, that they were unable to catch us at a disadvantage. “In the afternoon my aunt took me privately into her room. “+ Grace,’ she said,-‘I have discovered somé- thing which has giver me the utmost horror.’ “« Indeed I I cried ; ‘is my father in danger f” ‘‘¢No, no, Grace ; you know well that I do not allude to him. I allude to your connection with Herbert Fitzmaurice,’ “¢ Well, aunt, and what of that?’ I answered. ‘Am I to be debarred froth afl society? Did my father leave such instructions with you ?’ “¢ He did not Well for him he did not sus- pect it, said my aunt; ‘he might have had more sorrow to bear ever! than he has, No, he said nothing of Fitzmaurice; but he bade me watch carefully over you, and I will do a6. No matter how harsh you may think me, Ae will understand and appreciate my motives,’ - “¢T will write to him and expiain all,’I erted ; ‘he will not allow me to be thus tyrannised over. “Herbert Fitzmaurice is of a noble house, and I know that he will not object to such 4n alliance.’ ‘‘My aunt bad made an unhappy marriage ; she had a hard, uncompanionable, and some- what cruél husband, and the hated young people to form love matches. *‘ She held up her hands, therefofe, fn horror at a audacity. “ Well she might. “She did not marry until thirty, aid J was only fifteen. ** Such an alliance!’ she repeated. ‘Why girl, are you mad that you tatk thus seriously of ma ? It is indecent—positively indecent. Dear me! I must consult your uncle, and have this young Herbert Fitzmaurice sent from the ouse. “T felt highly indignant and very sorrowful, but I resolved to be brave till the last. ‘*] might, perhaps, have fiang myself on my knees, and won my aunt's clemency by humility, but this I cozzd not do. “ My heart rebelled against it. ‘<* Very well, aunt,’ I said, ‘you may act ds you please, but so also will I, I shall write to my father as I have said.’ “Without giving her time to reply, I quitted the room, “T had resolved at once to proceed to Her- bert’s room, or to seek him wherever he might be, and to explain all. “TI had not, in my own mind, formed any definite plan, but I had not doubt that he would not be long in finding an expedient. “Fortune favoured me, ‘‘ Passing down the great staircase, I saw through the large window that he was saunter- ing in the grounds, and I hastened at once to mi He © tised | hink, 6 Was 8 , 48 you may think, to see me advancing without cloak or hat, “< Why, dearest Graee,’ he anid, ‘what ails you? You look pale snd ill,’ “‘Tam; Tam, indeed, Herbert,’ I answered, and I told him all that had passed between me and my aunt. ‘¢ We had wandered out of sight of the house by the time I had finished nity narrative, and as he knew no one was lookitg, he kissed me, and then holding me at atm’s letigth, ssid — 66 do you love mis?’ me es, yes,’ I answeted ; ‘you know it; Her- ‘6* Well, then, will you fly with moe to-night ? We will leave this a piace for ever—fiy to London, aad my father will give us a refage. Your father will, I am quite sure, not refuse his consent,’ ‘‘ T hesitated only a moment, ‘‘] was very young and my heart was bound up in him. 6 Yes,’ I said; ‘I will fly with yon ; but I fear we shall be seen and stoppdd. No doubt my aunt will suspect semething .of the hind and watch us.’ “Good. I see your uncle advancing a long way off |’ cried Herbert; ‘I will quarrel wit him and leave the house. Do you steal out of the house in the middle of the night, and I will await you yonder.” “ He pointed to the break in the hedge. «* Do you understand me?’ he asked. 6¢Yes,’ I said, ‘I will come. And you will not disappoint me, will you? It is a dreary and dismal place at night.’ “*¢ Fear not,’ he said, embracing me again, ‘fear not. Dead or aliveI will be here to meet you to-night.’ “ Ashe spoke, my uncle entered the wooded pse. . ‘‘ His face was pale with anger. “' What are you doing here, Grace ?’ he cried. ‘Did not your aunt tell you a moment ago that ou were to drop this connection with Mr. itzmaurice 7’ «*¢] am here,’ I said ‘ betause [ wish to be.’ “¢ And you, Mr. Fitzmaurice,’ he cried, ‘is thia the behaviour of a gentleman, when you have been left here by Lord Oowley as a com- panion-——a brother, if I may so call it, to Lady Grace? Is it right for you to take advantage of his absence to make havoc with his daughter's heart ?’ ‘¢ Herbert drew himself up proudly. ‘¢Oh, how handsome “and noble he looked at this moment. “<¢Siy Andrew,’ he sald, ‘in the first place I deny your right to question me. In the second — ¢ (c GOVE OO © eS . i . ) CO