Agnes, or, Beauty and Pleasure — page 77: what you’re looking at

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AGNES; OR, BEAUTY AND PLEASURE. 69 and then I recollect I struck across the fields—— But there is one thing, Charles——one thing which I should rejoin. It is that when you ap- pear before the Coroner—or elsewhere—to give your evidence—it will be unnecessary, you know; my dear boy—quite unnecessary indeed,—for it ean have nothing to do with the testimony 4 ‘**What do you mean, my dear mother P’”’ in- quired Charles, almost impatiently; for Mrs. De Vere was hesitating, stammering, and faltering. “T mean, Charles,” she continued, “it will be altogether unnecessary to state that the unfortu- nate woman ever hung about our residence = “Ah, my dear mother!” exclaimed the youth, “T wish in the name of God you would tell me wherefore that woman haunted and persecuted you—why you were afraid of her—and why you gave utterance to those bitter, bitter words which met my ears when I returned home this after- noon P” “Did either of the policemen seem to know who the woman was?” asked Mrs. De Vere, with 8 strange look. “No: they said nothing upon the subject,” replied Charles. “I do not think they had the slightest notion who she was. But I was so be- wildered and dismayed—so shocked and _ horri- fied i “It was natural, my dear boy,” said Mrs. De Vere. “But in reference to the questions you just now put to me, I must tell you—as I have told you before—that I knew this Mrs. Chicklade in other times, when she passed as a respectable woman in society. She fell into very wicked paths; she became a vile abandoned creature—so infamous indeed that she was utterly cast off by all her acquaintances, who, like myself, had been deceived in her. You may suppose therefore, my dear Charles, that it was not a very pleasant thing for me to find such a bad woman suddenly pre- senting herself—haunting me—making drains upon my purse o “ But why, mother, in the name of heaven did you submit to all this?” exclaimed Charles, be- wildered and frightened at what he heard. “Can you suppose— you, My own son—can you suppose, I ask,” said Mrs. De Vere, with an air as if she were half shocked, half indignant, “ that the woman exercised any legitimate or well-grounded power over me? But do you not know how brittle is our reputation in this world, and how the surface of the purest mirror may be dimmed with the foulest breath? Suppose, for instance, that a notorious villain, cheat, and swindler pre- sented himself to claim a renewal of an acquaint- ance with you, on the ground that you had once been intimate at a period when you knew not his real character; and suppose that in the despera- tion of his circumstances he threatened to malign and calumniate you if you yielded not to his ex- tortionate demands,— would you not dread lest your reputation shoulda catch an infection from such a source, from the simple fact of its being proclaimed that friendship and intimacy did really once exist between your You, however, as a man might have the moral courage to spurn the wretch and bid him do his worst. But with a woman, Charles, it is different!—and when the woman too is a mother, think you that she would not tremble if an infamous creature, capable of any wickedness, threatened to parade a tissue of the most shocking misrepresentations — falsehoods — lies — diabolical inventions, before her own son P” “Enough, dear mother!” ejaculated Charles: *T comprehend how cruelly you have been tortured —how vilely and unjustly persecuted by this un- principled creature! Oh, I was wrong to press you for explanations! I now feel that a son ought never to compel a parent to enter upon self-vindi- cation when he knows that this parent of his is virtue itself! Ab, my dear mother! does it not look like heaven’s own retribution that the evil- doing woman should have thus met her death in the neighbourhood where she sought to do so much mischief ?” “Tt does seem so, Charles!’? answered Mrs. De Vere solemnly. We must now take a temporary leave of the mother and son at Belmont Cottage, and shift the scene of our narrative, although to no very great distance. It will be remembered that in the middle part of this memorable day of which we are writing—or to be more particular as to the hour, it was at two o’clock, that Mr. Timperley issued from Belmont Cottage, having previously ascertained from Mrs. De Vere where Sir John Dalham’s suburban villa was situated. We did not choose at the time to interrupt the continuous narrative of all those meetings and incidents which related to Mrs. Chicklade, by following Mr. Tim- perley: but we must now return to him. Sir John Dalham’s villa was situated at a dig tance of about a mile from Belmont Cottage. It was not a spacious dwelling; for Sir John was a widower, having only one son—and thus his esta- blishment, in a family sense, was exceedingly limited. But on the other hand he maintained many domestics both at his villa and at his town- mansion. He had horses and equipages at both. If therefore the suburban residence were not ve-y spacious so far as the main building was concerned, it had numerous outhouses, together with some ten or a dozen acres of paddock and garden-groun.ls. It was to this place that Mr. Timperley bent his way on foot; and he was speedily admitted into the Baronet’s presence. Sir John was a man far advanced in life: indeed he had already passed his seventieth year; and to look at him, one would have marvelled that he could have attained such anage. He was shrivelled and withered—attenu- ated almost to a skeleton—with a repulsive cada- verousness of countenance. Yet the small keen grey eyes had a wondrous vitality in them: they were eyes which appeared capable of looking a person through and through, and penetrating into the most secret recesses of the soul. Hard deep lines, traced by strong passions, blended with the wrinkles which were impressed by age; and it would soon be found by any one coming in con- tact with Sir John Dalham for the first time, that a powerful intellect maintained its fire in what might at the first glance seem to be the form of a shrivelled mummy. Mr. Timperley was ushered into a modeyate- sized but sumptuously furnished room, where the Baronet, wrapped in a French flowered silk dressing-gown, and with a black velvet skull-cap ornamented with a gold tassel, was seated at a table on which luncheon had just been served up. All kinds of delicacies that could possikly tempt a INOOKS CO