Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 255: what you’re looking at

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

| Se RN ETT EE RAS EEE, Ee TO TA RO TEE 242 ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. eS a DE ET asked. “Is she to be thrown upon that benevo- lence which I promised to invoke for her at the hands of Mrs. Oldcastle ?” “T scarcely see what else is to be done,” replied the Duke. “Pray, my dear Miss Trafford, go presently —I am most anxious to be relieved from this suspense 7” “Yes, my lord,” I interrupted him; “ rest assured that I shall not delay : for I perceive that despite your solemn promise of last evening, Mary may not hope to find a friend even in her own father.” “A friend—yes !” he exclaimed, turning almost angrily round upon me, “I will allow her a couple of hundred a year a “And you think,’ I said, “ that all the care which you are bound to bestow upon her is limited to a small pecuniary allowance? However, my lord, I will not argue the point with your Grace: but I will see whether I cannot provide for your daughter that home to find which you leave her to shift for herself.” Having thus spoken, I ascended again to Mary Glentworth’s chamber. She still slept: I per- formed my ablutions; and the process refreshed me, for I felt ill and feverish through want of sleep and the excitement of the various scenes through which within the last twelye hours 1 had been dragged. It was nine o’clock before Mary Glentworth awoke; and then I represented to her in as deli- cate and gentle terms as possible, that inasmuch as her uncle Mr. Glentworth (as I continued to call the Duke) was not in a position to offer her a home, I was going to speak to Mrs, Oldcastle on the subject: but I was careful not to promise I should succeed—fcr I knew how eccentric was the character of the old lady. Mary embraced me with a fervour as if she considered me her best if not her only friend; and I took a temporary leave of her, inwardly hoping that my self-imposed mission to Mrs. Oldcastle would be attended with success; and if not, I resolved upon persuading the Normans to receive poor Mary when the funeral should be over. I bent my way to River House; and I at once obtained an interview with Mrs, Oldcastle. I did not choose to betray the Duke’s secret: I consi- dered it to be sacred after the pledge which I had given to the deceased Mrs. Glentworth, I there- fore spoke of him only as Mr. Glentworth—repre- senting that he was so circumstanced as to be un- able to afford his daughter a home—but that he had promised to allow ber sufficient for her main- tenance. Mrs. Oldcastle listened to me with an expression of countenance which for a while was perfectly inscrutable; and at lengtb, as her rigid features relaxed into alook of kindness, she tapped me on the check, saying, “ My dear Ellen, you are a generous-hearted girl!—much too generous to ‘deal with all the circumstances of this cold selfish world !” “ And you will grant my request?” I exclaimed, my heart leaping with fervid hope. * IT do not know, Eilen,” replied Mrs. Oldcastle. “Tam only acquainted with Mary Glentworth by sight—I never in my life spoke a word to her. Before I agree to receive the young lady into my house, I must see something more of her: I must Leave me to manage I will go and pass a few hours with Miss Glentworth. You have been up all night: I insist upon your taking some rest. Go and lie down, my dear child; and precisely at two o’clock in the afternoon I will return. You shall then have my decision.” With these last words Mrs. Oldcastle again tapped me fondly on the cheek; and she pushed me gently from the room, My heart was relieved of a load; for I felt convinced that she would yield to my supplication. I was indeed completely exhausted; and I ascended to my chamber, where I threw myself down upon the couch. Sleep soon visited my eyes; and I slumbered for several hours. When I awoke, it was half-past one o'clock. I knew how methodical, regular, and punctual Mrs. Oldcastle was in all her proceed- ings; and in half-an-hour she would therefore be with me. I made some little change in my toilet —peid Juliet a brief visit—and told her as much of the incidents of the preceding night as I had thought fit to reveal to Mrs. Oldcastle. I then returned to my chamber to put on my bonnet and shawl; and I descended to the front garden to await Mrs. Oldcastle’s arrival. It was a beautiful warm day; and the nurse had broughtout Juliet’s infant for the first time. I took the child from the woman’s arms, and sat down on a garden-bench to fondle the little inno- cent. AsI contemplated its tiny countenance, I could not help thinking, “And you too, poor child! will grow up to be ignored and unacknow- ledged by your own father, even like poor Mary Glentworth! And perbaps you too will be told some tale of how your parents died in your in- fancy; and you will be worse off than even Mary Gientworth—for your own mothe: will likewise be compelled to disavow you!” I remember perfectly well that up to this point I had merely mused in silence; for the nurse was etanding near. But perceiving that I was inclined to retain the child in my arms for a little timo longer, the woman strolled away to a short dis- tance ; and then falling again into a musing mood, I was insensibly led on to give audible expression to my thoughts. “Alas, poor child,’ I said, experiencing the deepest sympathy for the little innocent unconsci- ous creature; “ thine is indeed a hard fate, to pos- sess a father who cares not for thee—and to be disowned in a short time, as thou wilt be, by thine own mother! Alas, poor child! bora in mystery and in shame—for Ob, it is so!—how deeply, deeply art thou to be pitied! Happy was thy mother ere she knew what love was!—happy when upon the stage she was contented with the plau- dits which she elicited! But now how changed is everything for her! Here, under a feigned name, has she given birth to thee ' “Oh, my God, Ellen! is it for this that I have come hither?” were the wildly spoken words which suddenly burst upon my ears; and I startod in affright and dismay, not merely at the words themselves, but at the voice in which they were conveyed ; for I recognised it full well—it was the voice of my cousin--the object of my heart’s de- voted love—Henry Wakefield! It was a wonder that I did not drop the infant from my arms, so fearfully was I galvanized—es also see her father—this alleged uncle of her’s. | suddenly did I start up from my seat. And be- ee ~ — COMIC NOOLKS Gom