Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 129: what you’re looking at

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must not fall. She must be saved—saved by her whose rival she has become unknow- rsh “That you might prevent so wicked a deed _ I hurried to make you acquainted with the plot,’’ said the girl. “You did right, for though your words have caused me a pang more, they have made a friend for that deluded girl. She must not—shall not fall. We will save her, Lizzie—save her from that bad man’s machinations.” _“ Heaven grant we may; for though I know her not, madam, she is one of our own sex, and deserves our sympathy.” “Mine she shall have—mine she shall have. Speak not on this subject to a living soul. The day after to-morrow you said ?” “Yes, madam.” “Enough. Richard will have all in readiness, but we will spoil his plotting, rob him of his victim at the very hour of ‘his triumph. Let no word or act of thine lead him to believe he is suspected of intending this wrong.” ~ *€ Tt shall not.” _“ That is right. Now, come with me to my chamber, for I am weary, atid would: sleep if I - can.” : . _ , The poor wife walked across to the door, ; followed by her maid, and ascended to her room, where Lizzie assisted to unrobe her. | “ Good nicht, Lizzie,” she said, as an intima- tion to the girl that she wished to be alone. “Good night, and remember not a word or look to indicate the secret you have learned.” om! “Twill be discreet.. Good night, madam,” | replied Lizzie. | |. The girl slowly retired, and when the door had closed behind her, and her light footfall could be no longer heard on the stairs, Jessie clasped her hands upon her bosom, and sank duwn upon her knees at the foot of her bed. ‘“ God of heaven !” she cried, in agonized tones, raising her eyes as she spoke, ‘‘ have mercy upon me! I acknowledge the wrongs I have done— my wickedness—my sins. But, oh! am I not punished sufficient? Spare me from further | pain—spare this poor lacerated and bleeding | heart, aid give me strength to save this poor | wretch from the plottings of a villain! Give me _ | power to shield her from the pangs I have been | made to suffer—power to save one soul, in | atonement for my sins, from perdition !” af X Then she rose from her knees. | Her pale features seemed more calm. _ As she drew herself up, she caught sight of the reflection of her fisure in a large cheval class: i _ Why did she start ? Why clutch at the richly carved bed-post, and | glare upon her own image in so strange a manner ? Alas! the change was so great that she scarcely recoonised the beantiful being who, so slort a | time since, had been the envy of dozens—the | pride of her father’s house—the flower of the | village in which she was born and bred. | +0 gréat was the change—oh! so great, that | she could scarcely recognise in the glass the | once happy, smiling, free-hearted girl, full of | intéeent spirits, gay as the butterfly, frolicksome | jase kid—her father’s pride, aud her mother’s joy. i & ii SPRING-HEEL'D JACK: THE TERROR OF LONDON. np vi. ue r ‘s Then she was rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed : now she was pale as death, the eye sunken and lustre- less, the tall form was bent, the gay smile gone, the features were pinched as if by want, and the glossy tresses gave indications of becoming . prematurely grey, having lightened much in time, and lost that smooth and shining look her father so much admired and so often earessad. “ Does that glass lie,” she muttered, “‘ or have I indeed become so changed? Alas! the glass is true. ’Tis I who have altered—wondertully altered, and in so short a time. They would not know me now. God forbid they should. Tf would not have them see me—me whom they loved so well, and who, setting their counsels and advice at defiance, sealed my doom by own - obstinacy. _ Poor painted moth! like thee I hovered around the flame till it burned me, and found, when too late, ‘ that all that glitters is not gold.’ I was beautiful, and I knew it, hence I was vain, ambitious. Fool! had I been contented to live in the sphere in which my parents moved, I had now been happy. Why should I then repent the loss of that beauty which lured me to hisarms? Had I looked then as I do now, would he have condescended to glance upon me ? Would he have poured his poisoned words into mine ears—have tempted me with his riches ? No! Then let me rejoice that it is faded, as well as curse the hours it existed. _She must be beautiful, too—very beautiful, or he would not deign to smile upon her; but her beauty shall not fade beneath his upas breath. No, no! T will save her, and foil him!” She turned from the glass, and was about to retire, when she was startled by the entrance of Richard Clavering, “You retire early, madam,’ he said. ‘“T sought you in your boudoir, and finding you not there came hither. Jessie made no reply. ' She felt she could not address that man with- out betraying what her maid had told her. She simply looked up at him from beneath her . brows, and remained silent. “TY will not keep you long from your bed, madam,” he continued. ‘‘ [have but afew words to say, which, perhaps, my absence in the morn- ing might prevent. ‘To-morrow evening you will please to be prepared to start for Devonshire with your maid. I may follow you immediately, or my business may detain me a few days in London. Anyhow you will please to start to-morrow, and travel during the night, as I wish you to see that my house is in order by the time I arrive.” Jessie heard him to the end, and then in low tone asked— “Is it not stramge you should have come to the determination of going to Devoushire so suddenly ?” “Tl have strange fancies, madam, and sudden ones, too,’ he repled, curtly. “You have, indeed,” thought Jessie, with a sigh. , *T shall doubtless brine some friends with me to spend a few days when I come,” he said; ‘Cand hence my desire that you precede me, and have everything in order for their reception. You had therefore better make your maid ac- guainted with your journey ere you retire, as 13] - SS