The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 378: what you’re looking at

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

364 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. ‘Where men deal with vengeances and retri- butions,” answered Stephen Ashborne sternly, “they are not likely to prove over nice in the means which they adopt for carrying on their warfare. Where the provocation is terrible, the chastisement must be commensurate, and the sins of parents may become visited upon the children. But perhaps, from all you have been saying you may have meant to deduce some special argu- ment ?” “Yes,” rejoined Ponsford, ‘‘to prove to you that inasmuch as your vengeance has gone too far, you are bound to make some little atone- ment.” “Proceed,” said Ashborne, seeing that the Squire paused for a response. ‘You have doomed my daughter to a life of wretchedness; and for her sake I implore you to take the one step that may in some little degree mitigate the magnitude of her woe by at least en- suring her against the possibility of shame and dishonour. In a word, I ask you to marry her. Think not that I imagine it possible for you to live together—nor could she desire it. But con- sent to accompany her to the altar, Mr. Ashborne —and on leaving the church you will separate, most likely for ever !—You do not answer me?” “JT am reflecting—I am thinking of all you have said,” responded Ashborne. ‘‘If I were to reply promptly, inconsiderately, and in my present state of mind, I should decide in the negative—I should say, No! I should proclaim that the oath which I took when I knelt by my mother’s corpse, has only been adequately met by the vengeance which I have wreaked, and that if I now do aught to mitigate the effect of that vengeance the oath itself would become proportionately deprived of its complete fulfilment. Yes—sueh would be my decision if I gave it now on the spur of the moment ;—and yet I am still accessible to argu- ment—so that if you have aught more to adduce, Mr. Ponsford, I will listen.” “‘T have implored only for my daughter's sake,” replied the Squire. ‘‘I know—or at least I fear it would be useless to urge anything on my own behalf. And yet, as you are not altogether without compassion—as your’s is a soul not lost, but merely warped—you may perhaps feel moved somewhat towards me, when I tell you that I have a disease which may at any instant strike me down—and the only marvel is that I survived the blow which smote me on that terrible day! But it is no in- vented tale which I am telling for the mere sake of exciting your sympathy; and I declare that death may at any instant lay his hand upon me —for it is a heart disease which I have—and not more rapid is the thunder-stroke of apoplexy than will be the lightning-velocity of the arrow which, thrown from Death’s hand, shall strike me downa corpse !” “Tf you had continued to plead only for your daughter’s sake,” said Ashborne, with an impla- cable sternness of tone and look, “I might have been moved—I should have yielded! But now that you have dared obtrude your own sorrows upon me as a reason why I should exhibit leniency or do an act of mercy, I say, No! no !—ten thou- sand times —no!” The voice of Stephen Ashborne rose thrillingly as he thus spoke; and John Ponsford shrank back aghast, for he thought that everything was at an end and that the young man’s resolve was un- alterably proclaimed. But as Stephen Ashborne lingered in the room and did not offer to leave it, Ponsford took courage; and suddenly going upon altogether another tack, he said, ‘“‘ Mr. Ashborne, I have forgotten to name one thing—and perhaps you will still grant me your attention for a few moments.” ‘‘ Proceed,” said Stephen sternly. have you to urge ?” ‘It may now be too late—it may be unneces- sary and useless—but still I would not have you think that a debased and niggard meanness forms an item in the category of faults with which your imagination doubtless invests me. No!—far from it! I should have said to you that as I am rich, he who weds my daughter shall be likewise well cared for—yes, even in such a case as this when marriage would be followed by immediate sepa- ration! And surely, Stephen Ashborne, it must be a matter of more or less moment with you to be able to reckon with certitude upon your pecu- niary resources—to know whence the means of your livelihood may come—to have no care for the morrow—in a word, to be independent——” ‘Enough, sir! enough!” exclaimed the young man, with vehement indignation. ‘‘ Would you have me sell myself for gold? By heaven! this insult—this outrage , ‘“Nay—I meant it not as such,” interrupted Ponsford. ‘Listen! be reasonable! Did I not ask you to marry my daughter ?—and if you com- plied, would it not be but right that I should make over to you a portion of the wealth which at my death must become her’s? My daughter, sir, is not dowerless a ‘Again I say enough!” interrupted Osborne. “Tf I have lingered to hear ‘the speeches which you have last addressed to me, it was only that I might satisfy myself to what length your cunning speciousness could reach. Your pecuniary offers I reject with scorn! If you flung all your gold at my feet, I would not accept it as a bribe to induce me to lead your daughter to the altar! No,” continued Ashborne, his voice faltering and quiver- ing slightly; ‘‘if I did yield—if I did consent to the demand which you have made—it would have been for the sake of her who was perhaps too cruelly wronged! Yes—my God! Ihavehad my doubts!—and Ah! the way in which you yourself ere now shaped the matter, when you bade me observe that I had wreaked two ven- geances instead of one—this assuredly made an impression upon my mind! Therefore, I repeat, if any consideration could have weighed effectu- ally with me, it would have been for your daugh- ter’s sake, and not for the bribes which you have proffered me!” An inner door flew open at this moment; and Pamela, gliding into the room, threw herself at Stephen Ashborne’s feet, exclaiming in will and heart-rending accents, ‘‘ Then if not for my father's sake, at least for mine! for mine!” We have before said that Pamela was exceed- ingly beautiful. The masses of her rich chesnut hair —flowing either in heavy tresses, or else scat- tering themselves in myriads of hyperion ringlets —enframed, without shading, a countenance which was wont to be characterised by an angelic love- liness until the destroyer of her innocence had appeared to shed his pestilential breath upon all ‘¢ What more NOO a) ©) = A Colin