The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 396: what you’re looking at

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

—_ — EOE Lee a _ — “You will get nothing from hin,’ said another. ‘ Question the clergyman himeelf.”’ Sir Robert Fancourt was sitting in the corner of the room, looking very dolefully about him, for he bad recovered in some degree from the fierce grasp that the stranger had had of bis throat, and was breathing again. The canonicals in which he bad attired him- self to play the parson, for the purpose of de- ceiving Mercy, looked rather the worse for the struggle he had had, and his face was blue with apprehension, A couple of the followers of the stranger went up to him, and agsisted him upon his feet, and brought him forward to where tho prince and Mercy gat. The appearance of this acion of nobility, and mighty fine gentleman, as he was in the habit of thinking himself to be, was now sufficiently ludicrous and humiliating. Just imagine such a person, depending 20 mach upon what theatrical people call “ making- up” for much of his appearanco in society, all rampled and disordered, without the juvenile wig that fitted so well, and looked so natural, he flattered himself no one in the world but his valet and his hairdresser knew of its existence ; without the false whiskers, that lent, as he con- sidered, an air of manliness to an otherwise wrinkled and effeminate face, and with a com- lexion extremely dingy from absolute—— ell, Sir Robert Fancourt, could he have seen himself at that moment, would have been horri- fied at his appearance. The wig and the false whiskers and some remnants of the torn canonicals were in the corner of the room into whic': the stalwart stranger had thrown him, and so Sir Robert Fancourt, upheld by the two men who had been ordered to bring him forward, faced his in- terrogators. “Who are you?” said the stranger. “Kh? Iam—oh, I am nobody,” “Your name?” “My a—a—namo?” ‘Yes, fool.” ‘¢ Yea, sir, if you please,” ‘* He equivocates,” said the stranger, sharply, “ and, therefore, the best thing that can possibly be done with him will be to put him out of the world.” “T think so likewise,” {said another, ‘“ How shall it be done?” * Oh, no, no!” cried Sir Robert Fancourt; |. “spare my life and I will tell you anything and everything. All I ask is my life. Iwill answer, indeed J will.” ‘We willtry you once again, then,” said the stranger. “ Thank you ; ob, do.” ‘Your name?” ‘Sir Robert Fancourt,” “You are no clergyman ?”" ‘¢ Oh, dear, no.” “ How came you, then, in the robes of one?” ‘“Why—a—a—a—that is ” ‘“Knough! He prevaricates again.” “No, no, I don't. Have mercy upon me and I will tell you. I adopted those robes for the purpose of conducting a mock marriage between THE WATCHWORDS OF OLD LONDON. —— 375 a 2 eee @ “= =, ee _ ET —_— i the prioce and a young lady whose moral scruples it was thought would only yield to auch a course, Bat I amvery sorry if you are the friends of the young girl, I assure you.” The stranger turned slowly, and looked at Mercy, as he said in a low voice— “You, dear daughter—it isas I said it would be—you were'destined to be the victim of the libertine.” A flash of shame and anger came over the face of Mercy as sbe thus found how she was to have been sacrificed to the evil passions of the prince who had affected to love her so well. She did not make any reply to the remark of the atranger. The young man, her brother, heard the remark as wel) asshe did, and stepping up to the prince, he said in a low voice of concentrated anger— “Did you, sir, plan this?” “ Kh—I plan—eh ?” “J aay, sir, did you in your wisdomor your wickedness plan this destruction of the pure spirit who was so much better protected than you thought her to be?” The look with which the prince regarded the young man was one that showed he understood the question, but he did not reply to it. ‘‘T take your silence as an affirmation to my question,” said the other ; “and I can only say that you are too base for the treatment of a gentleman.” ‘Let him be,” said the stranger, in a low tone, to the young man; “that part of the enterprise is over, I nover thought it would or conld succeed,” ‘Tt never could,” said Mercy, calmly, aad in a low but clear tone of voice. “ How ao?” said the brother. ‘‘ Because I could not have made the saerifice.” ‘ Bat you consented, sister f” ‘Yes, I did; but it was my imagination and feelings that were acted upon, and indueed me to consent. When I came to reflect, I found it was more than a sacrifice.” ‘‘ More than a sacrifice f’’ “ Aye,” said the stranger; “what mean you by that, child ?” ‘‘T mean that it would have been a crime." “A crime!” “Yes, for it would have been to perjure my- self in the face of Heaven, to make vows I could not but feel the hollowness of at the mo- ment of answering them.” ‘‘The church would have absolved you.” “Tf it had the power.’ “If, say you?” ‘No more of this,” said the young man, “no more of this. This is a time for action, and not for disputes upon such topics, Do not for- get what you have to do, holy sir, I pray you ; and although one part of the enterprise has failed, the other yet remains to do.” ‘True, true; bind them.” The stranger made a motion with his hand to indicate the prince and baronet. His compatriots understood him at once, and placing the prince in a chair to the back of one into which they forced Sir Robert Fancourt, they, with stout cords, bound them back to back in such a manner as to stir was out of the question, EDOOo