The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 282: what you’re looking at

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

‘ aN POO. \ Vo 261 a” s Va Fal oF THE WATCHWORDS OF OLD LONDON. The earth was firm apparently as a rock. Dig—dig—dig once more ! Digging for dear life. Oh! how bravely he worked. Digging not only for dear life, but for the safety of the one he loved. Another step at length was made. He was one step nearer freedom. Another, and another, and another followed, and his heart beat wildly —tumultuously—in his bosom as he mounted the sixth |! Now he felt above him. Barely now he could reach the snmmit of the wall from which his dastard foes had flung m No ; one step more remained to be made, Dig, dig, dig, once more. With panting breast, with breath which came hot and thick from his nostrils, with eager, clutching hands, he worked once more. Then he mounted the seventh step, and felt above him. Ob, horror ! Why did he fall back? Why did his clutch- ing hands grasp at the unseen air ? hy, with a low moan and a despairing ory, did he plunge headlong into the slimy mire below—recklessly, madly, as if he would have asked the earth to cover him ? Why? Because his hope was gone—his labour was lost—the steps been made for nothing ! Above, where the open space had been before, a heavy iron trap had been placed, and egress was impossible, He was helplessly, hopelessly caged in the noisome vault | =e CHAPTER V. THE GARDENS—THE WALKER—THE WATCHER —THE GLIDING FORM—AN OFFER OF ES- CAPE—ITS BEFUSAL—A WOMAN'S LOVE— ONB MOMENT OF DOUBT—A STRONG HEART'S TRIUMPH. AROUND the old house where Lord Raymond had immured his prisoner were beautiful grounds, which spread their perfumed beauty around the ruins, as well as the better preserved portion of the mansion. Lovely flowers decked the frequent beds, stately trees quivered over the velvet lawns, little arbours greeted the eye everywhere, bright with blossoms and song birds. , Here, on the fourth morning after Harold Fordyce’s capture, we see a young maiden walking. In her hand she holds a book, yet sbe is not g. Her thoughts are evidently engaged far—far away. She is very young and very beautiful, and her lovely hair clustering like a halo around her brow and falling over her bare shoulders—white as milk—add an additional lustre to her dolicious charms. It is Ettie Leslie, Torn from her home by a ruthless villain, Ettie as yet had not been compelled to auffer his odious attentions. Proscribed and outlawed as he was, Lord Ray- mond had deemed safe concealment far better for the time than the eager pursuit of love, and he had therefore left the armourer's daughter in peace as yet. Gliding about the grounds among the flowers, which were her only companions, she had not observed the presence of another person in the grounds. This second person was a woman. Tall and dark, and of a sinister countenance, she seemed like an angel of darkness watching and envying an angel of light. She was far above the usual height awarded to her sex. Her hair was black, her eyes black too, her skin swarthy ; her figure majestic, grand, and voluptuous, Yet she was not one to whom a young man would have been attracted. She was thirty, and tbere was a certain hardness in the outlines of her form which gave to her a masculine appearance which was any- thing but pre ing. The two women were such perfect contrasts to each other. The one, Ettie Leslie, was gentle and maiden e. Her tender blue eyes told you this ; and her budding bosom, which showed out so pretty as it nestled among its lace covering ; and her slender, graceful form, and her modest walk, which scircely showed the sweep of her rounded limbs ; snd her delicate pink and white com- exion, and her rosy lips. . The other was hard — unwomanlike — with every evidence in her of a strong and intract- able heart, The one had evidently been formed in the world of love. The other was moulded in the world of hate. The young girl was approaching the Gothic little arbour, when the dark woman sprang from behind the trees and neared her. ‘“‘ Mistress Leslie,” she cried, “I want & word with you.” Ettie started, The woman was a stranger to her. Before this, though they had lived together in the same house, they had not seen each other's faces, “Who are you?” she cried, in alam, “TI know you not.” The dark woman amiled. ’ You fear me,” she said. ‘Ido, Ifear all whom I know not,” replied Ettie Leslie. an “Then cast your fears aside. I am a friend, returned the other. Then approaching nearer she dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘ Ettie Leslie,” she said, “‘ is life dear to your heart ?” ‘It is. Toone so young you need scarcely put such a question.” ‘¢Tg it dearer than all?” . “No, Llove my father, and—and—one other, far better than life.” A scornful smile wreathed itself over the dark woman’s lips, “You are mad,” she said, fiercely. ‘‘ Listen to my words, and nnderstand them well, for I GOVE OO ©