Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 260: what you’re looking at

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

al es ee ES ee ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE a point, “the infant that you beheld in my arms was but a few days old: it was the child of a friend of mine; and if you cannot believe me, Henry, you may refer to Mr. Singleton at River— a medical gentleman of the highest respecta- bility.” *Bilen,” replied my cousin, in a low deep voice, “You may conceive how painful it is for me to be compelled to discourse with you on such a subject. Were it only that incident to which you have alluded, the explanation would suffice, and I shoula be ready to lay violent hands upon myself to think that I had wronged you with such a suspicion, But there are so many other circumstances S * Ah! first let us allude, I exclaimed, “to the secrecy which I observed in respect to my profes- sion. You know that when I quitted my poor deceased aunt’s home in Sheffield, it was for the purpose of obtaining a situation in London, On arriving in the metropolis, I was doomed to a ter- rible disappointment. A deceiver and a villain had answered my advertisement, and had deluded me thither. But at the very moment when I was reduced to despair, heaven threw me in the way of a friend—an old school-fellow—Julict Norman, With the Normans I found a home—that home where you recently sought me in Hunter Street. You know that they belong to the stage; and thus you may account for my embarking in a pro- fession which seemed the only one open to me. And Oh! was I to blame that [ sought to eat the bread of mine own industry, instead of remaining dependent upon the humble means of your mo- ther ?— or was it a fault if entertaining some silly little vanity, and perhaps having a presenti- ment of that fame which I have since acquired, I resolved to cherish my secret until the moment when I might proudly say to my aunt and my cousin, ‘You have heard of Miss Trafford, the celebrated actress who is acquiring wealth and renown: I am she!’” “Proceed, Ellen!” said my cousin, evidently interested, bute still with a profoundly mournful look. “Alas! I was not allowed to experience that joyous occasion which I had so longingly antici- pated,” I continued ;—“it was not permitted me to act thus towards your mother! Suddenly was I summoned to her death-bed. I arrived at your -eottage—I stole gefitly up the stairs—I heard what was passing between yourself and my poor aunt; and then, my God! for the first time I learnt how strong were her prejudices against the profession which I had adopted. You know, Henry, that a few minutes afterwards she was no more: I had not a moment’s opportunity to con- fess the real truth. I subsequently found that you yourself were imbued with the same preju- dice But why should I recapitulate,” I sud- denly interrupted myself, “ much of what I have already told you in that long letter of mine wherein I at length avowed the truth P” “ And I will admit,” answered my cousin, “ that when I read that letter~and when I perused the newspaper-critigues which it contained—I was overjoyed: I felt proud of you, Ellen: all preju- dice had vanished—and I thought of you as one who had achieved a brilliant reputation in an in- credibly short space of time and in spite of all ob- stac.es. I flew to the metropolis to meet you: MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. Ze ve at but you were not in Hunter Street. I learnt too that you had gone away with the intention of re- maining absent for some weeks;—and yet you had desired me to write to you in Hunter Street, as if you were still to be there! But that was only a trivial incident at the time; and I paused not to reflect upon it. I sped to Dover: thence L walked out to River House—and Oh, Ellen! when I perceived your form seated on the garden-bench, my heart leapt for joy within me! I meant to surprise you with my presence: but as I stole near, what words reached me!” ‘* Recall them all,” I said, “and you will see, Henry, that they were addressed to the child of a hapless friend of mine—one who has been cruelly betrayed “Ellen,” interrupted my cousin, “if this were the case, wherefore all that mystery in which you shrouded your own proceedings? Why make nie believe that you were expecting me in Hunter Street when you were actually at River House?” “ Because, Henry,” I replied with confidence, “it was necessary to shield the secret of my un- fortunate and betrayed friend even from you, Thus it was to avert the chance of your visit to River House that I adopted a little subterfuge that was venial onough when rendered necessary by the claims of friendship in another quarter. But enough, Henry! I have now vindicated myself; and I have told you to whom to refer. Did it not offend my pride—my modesty as a woman—my innocence, to continue in this strain, [ would re- mind you of the fact that up to the instant I left London I regularly appeared upon the stage; and my servant who is now with me, could tell you that only three or four days before you beheid mo at River House I was with the Normans at Rams- gate.” “Ellen, Ellen! forgive me!” exclaimed Henry. “My God! forgive me! I have been half mad!” —and he threw himself weeping at my feet. Oh! what emotions swelled within me as [I raised him from his suppliant posture; and the next instant we were clasped in each other’s arms, In the most impassioned language did Henry Wakefield implore my pardon; and over and over again did I assure him of it. Bitterly did he up- braid himself for the suspicions which he had en- tertained : but I said all I could to console him, admitting that circumstantial evidence had been strong against me. “Ah! you know not,’ he vehemently ex- claimed, “ what in my madness I have done!” “Good heavens, Henry!” I asked, smitten with consternation, “ what do you mean!” “Oh, that I should be compelled to tear myself away from you again!” he cried: “but there is no help for it! When believing, Ellen, that everything was at an end between us, I sped back to Paisley—I entreated Mr. Macdonald to suffer me to return on his account to the United Siates —and I showed him how I could materially ad- vance his interests. He agreed: and I at once sped to Liverpool to make all the requisite ar- rangements, These I hurried on—for the dis- tracted state of my mind would not sufter me to remain patiently in England: I held the country in abhorrence is “TE you have done nothing more than this, Henry,” I said, “be comforted! You can re- GomiGcdoo a ee 2 eel —_—_—.——E ey _-——- - —————— aa ee Sj Colm