Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 207: what you’re looking at

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194 ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. trice must fancy that I had abandoned her, and that she had rendered herself an outcast—perhaps a homeless wanderer—was something so shocking as to drive me almost to despair. It was in the most miserable frame of mind that I reached Mivart’s Hotel ; and it cost me a gigantic effort to compose my feelings so far as outward appearances went, while I inquired of the waiter if I could see the Marchioness of Campanella. “* Her ladyship has been asking if a lady of the name of Miss Trafford ‘) * It is I,” was my hasty response, The waiter summoned the Italian lacquey ; and he at once conducted me up to the apartment where I had seen the Marchioness in the morn- ing. Her ladyship was again alone; and as she hastened forward to receive me, I could see that she was a prey to considerable agitation. “Thank heaven, you have come at last!” she exclaimed. “ Has anything happened ?” I was now completely overpowered by my feel- ings. I threw myself on the sofa, and sobbed violently. } “ Oh, Miss Trafford! Miss Trafford!” cried the Marchioness; “for God’s sake keep me not in suspense! My poor sister——” . “She is gone!” I gasped forth: and I could say uo more, for my voice was choked with sobs. “Gone P” ejaculated the Marchioness, “Oh, no!—do not tell. me that she has fled! Just heaven! This wild grief of your’s——” | “Oh!” I exclaimed; “it is not my fault! Not for worlds would I have abandoned her !”—and I literally wrung my hands in despair. “But she is gone—she has fled; I know fot whither! Slie has left not a trace behind!” — | The Marchioness ¢lasped her hands, giving vent to moans of anguish; and the tears gushed forth from her eyes. For Some minutes the grief of both was violent: but at length we edimposed our- selves partially—sufficient at least for conversation —though I cannot describe how painfully broken it was, and how frequently interrupted by fresh outbursts of tears. “When I left your Jadyship this morning,” I said, “it was to hasten back to Beatrice: but in the very neighbourhood of her abode, I was seized upon yes, seized upon—in the broad day- light—thrust into a vehicle, and hurried away. Astounding as the tale may seem, I solemnly de- clare that it is true!” “Oh, Miss Trafford!” exclaimed the Mar- chioness, “no such assurance is necessary from your lips! But good heavens! such an out- rage r. “Yes, my lady,” I continued: “there is a per- son—I need not mention his name—who has made me the object of his bitter persecution, because I have rejected his overtures. Suffice it to say, how- ever, that I have been held in captivity until this evening, On regaining my freedom—thanks to friendly intervention —I sped to the theatre. Beatrice had not appeared! I hastened to her lodging: she had fled, no one knows whither !” “Oh, Miss Trafford, this is a terrible calamity !” said the unhappy Marchioness. “I pleaded success- fully with my husband—his conduct was most generous—we waited together hour after hour, expecting your return! Unfortunately we knew not where Beatrice dwelt: but we felt certain that you were with her. When eight o’clock came, and you made not your appearance, the Marquis set off in search of you. He said that he should first call at the theatre; and if he heard nothing satis- factory there, he should proceed to your own abode in the hope of finding you. Now, what is to be done >—what course are we to adopt towards dis- covering the unhappy Beatrice ?” “This is the only course!” I exclaimed, as a sudden thought struck me; and speeding towards a writing-table, I hastily penned the following words :— “To BEATRICE.—You have acted under a mis- take; and you are implored to communicate at once with your sincere friend in Hunter Street.” “Let this,” I said, “ be inserted as an advertise- ment in all the newspapers. It is now our only hope. God grant that it may be fulfilled!— Ah!” T ejaculated, “there is yeb another chance! Beatrice may have sent some Communication to me at my own residence. I will speed thither; and if there be any good tidings, I will immedi- ately return. But if your ladyship should not see me again this evening, you must conclude that I haye nothing favourable to impart.” T took my leave of the Marchioness of Campa- nella, and hastened to Hunter Street. There was no letter for me: but I learnt that an Italian gentleman had called within the hour to inquire if I were at home. This I knew, from what her ladyship had said, must be the Marquis of Campa- nella. The Normans returned; and I endeavoured to wear a somewhat composed demeanour in their presence, From what the undérling had told me at the theatre, I had seen that the Normans were not particularly surprised at my absence; and I suffered them to believe that I had passed the day with Lady Cecilia Urban. They of course spoke of Beatrice, whom they only knew however by the name of Miss Howard; and they asked if bcould explain her conduct? I said that I had seen her in the morning—that she was much excited—and that under all circumstances I was not astonished, though much grieved, at the breach of the engage- ment. Mr. Norman informed me that the audience showed symptoms of anger at the disappointment ; for Mr. Richards had filled the newspapers with puffs and had covered the walls with placards rela- tive to the expected debut. He was compelled to go forward and make a speech, which had the effect of quieting the audience. I retired to bed that night as completely mise- rable as ever in my life I had been. Hours elapsed ere slumber visited my eyes: and when it at length came, it was restless and feverish—filled with visions, in which the pale pensive countenance of Beatrice appeared to be gazing in saddest reproach- fulness upon me. CHAPTER XXXV. ZARAH. In the evening of the following day I made my appearance at the theatre in the character of Mrs. Beverley in “The Gamester.” Ah! I can assure CONNIE IOOKS Com