Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 229: what you’re looking at

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216 ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. gloum, and recovering its settled sinister expres- sion. ‘* Have the kindness to walk in here, Miss Trafford :’—and he threw open the door of the ground floor parlour. “ My lord,” I began, when we were thus alone together—and he started at being so addressed,— “you see that I know who you are ss “Yes—and I suppose that, Luigi has been tell- ing you this secret,” interjected the Count, “as well as perhaps some others:’—and again were his keen eyes fixed penetratingly upon me. “Prepare yourself to learn, my lord,” I an- swered, “‘ that the domestic in whom you have evi- dently reposed so much confidence, is a villain of the blackest stamp !” ‘Ah! isit so?’ muttered the Count, a shade again more darkly lowering over his features. “ But tell me, Miss Trafford—what has he been saying to you? and how is it that a young lady of your respectability could have condescended to enter into familiar discourse with a valet P’ “Spare your sneers, my lord,” I said, with a calm dignity. “Yet I would not wound your feelings more deeply than they must presently be wounded by all that you are to hear from my lips!” ve My feelings indeed!” ejaculated the Count of Carboni, almost in a contemptuous tone; “as if I had any feelings left to be wounded !—as if they had not been all blunted, crushed, extinguished Now, Miss Trafford,” he suddenly interrupted himself, “ there is no need for you to enter upona long preface before you reveal whatever you may have to impart. There is something in your look which does indeed tell me that you know more of me and my affairs than I could have wished.” “Yes, my lord—I know everything!” was my answer: and then with the most solemn look and impressive accents, I added, “ Yes—and I even know more than you do, my lord: for while you believe your unfortunate wife to be guilty, I have obtained the certainty of her innocence !” The thunder-cloud casts not a more gloomy nor ominous shade upon the earth, than the sombre scowl which now appeared upon the countenance of the Italian nobleman. “No, it is impossible!” he said, in a deep hoarse voice. ‘It is as impossible, Miss Trafford, as that the sun at noonday can be black—or that I by amere wish could transport myself hence a thousand leagues in a moment! It is impos- sible!” he added vehemently. “And I declare, my lord, before God, that it is true!” I emphatically exclaimed. The Count seemed staggered. Again were his penetrating eyes fixed upon me: but now there was a strange uncertain light vibrating in them— while his lips quivered, and there were certain twitchings and workings of his features which showed how strong was the agitation of feelings within his breast. “You cannot be ignorant, my lord,” I con- tinued, “that I am acquainted with your wife. You know that a short time back she was to ap- pear at the same theatre where I myself have an engagement; and I may add that it was through my introduction tA “ But is this possible P” gasped forth the Count: and he trembled from head to foot: “ can it be possible that Beatrico is innecent ?” a ‘“‘ She is innocent, my lord!” I exclaimed ; “and Luigi has confessed everything! It was he who by the suppression of truth, where it would have served your injured wife—he who by misrepresen- tation and exaggeration on those points which with a diabolic artifice he could so turn as to tell against her—it was he, I say, who riveted and confirmed all the suspicions which were excited in your mind! My lord,’ I continued, “it is impos- sible to blame you under all circumstances for en- tertaining those suspicions: but further than that my sympathy goes not with you. The vengeance you wreaked was frightful and appalling!” “Miss Trafford,” said the Count of Carboni, in a voice so deep and hollow that it sounded as if it came up from the profundities of a sepulchre, “ if Beatrice be indeed innocent, I have been the greatest wretch—the vilest miscreant that ever wore thehumanform! But tell me what Luigi has said—keep me not in this awful suspense— let me know the precise circumstances of that posi- tion in which I have placed myself !” The Count evidently made a powerful effort to maintain a sufficient degree of calmness while he listened to the explanations I had to give. He sat down: I also took a chair; and without going back to any of the occurrences in connexion with my acquaintance with Beatrice, I started at once from that point where Luigi’s avowals commenced, In short, I detailed everything that within the past hour had been extracted from the lips of that Italian valet. The Count listened with a species of dismayed consternation: his eyes seemed to grow haggard—his cheeks hollow, as he sat in silence, in front of me. “ And thus, you perceive, my lord,” I said, in winding up my statement, “ that if Luigi had told the truth on that memorable evening, his words would have proved the innocence of the Countess instead of confirming your suspicions!” “ My God, it is so!” moaned the wretched nobleman, in a voice so woe-begone and witha look of such ghastly anguish that the spectacle of utter misery could not have been more appailing if a death-sentence had just been pronounced upon him. “Yes—I now comprehend it all The letter which Beatrice wrote to me, contained the most truthful details: and it was the villany of Luigi that blinded me tothat truth! But, oh! I will be terribly avenged !” he exclaimed, spring- ing up from his seat; “and with his life the wretch shall pay the penalty of his black iniquities!” The Count was rushing towards the door, when I caught him by the arm, crying, “ Unhappy man! do you dare speak again of vengeance, when the bare word itself ought to strike terror into your heart and make you quiver from head to foot? Luigi is not here!—he has fled—and I question whether he will ever dare return !” The Count had gone back to his seat ; and there he remained for a few moments, gazing upon me with a look of dull vacant despair. His features were now rigid ; and there was a ghastly paleness, dead and inanimate, upon the natural swarthiness of his complexion. All of a sudden he started up, wringing his hands, and exclaiming, “ Beatrice— poor Beatrice! how fearfully have you suffered! And I, miscreant that I have been—with less com- passion than a fiend—with less mercy than a | demon !” Gomichdoo cS) come