Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 263: what you’re looking at

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

———- —_— i > —_—— oe ee ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. “| os in Henry’s rectitude, intelligence, and business. like habits, he was now on the point of entrusting him with the management of a very considerable speculation, the result of which might prove most lucrative to my cousin as well as to the manufac- turer himself—but that the former was guaranteed against all the consequences of loss. 1 was de- lighted to hear Henry thus favourably spoken of, and I now comprehended how it was actually a point of honour with him to carry out the agree- ments he had made with his kind and confiding patron. Before this little conversation between myself and Mr. Macdonald ended, he hinted to me that if the enterprise on which my cousin was bent, should prove successful and realize the hopes he had held out, there was every chance that he might be taken into partnership with his patron. The time passed quickly away—as quickly as it always does when happily spent; and the day arrived on which I was to bid Henry farewell. He comprehended the reason which prevented me from accompanying him to Liverpool; and I saw by his looks that he approved of it. We embraced each other fervidly: again and again did we embrace: we exchanged the warmest protesta- tions of unalterable affection and we sepa- rated! For the remainder of that day I was dull and unhappy enough, so that I could scarcely reconcile myself to the philosophy of those reason- ings which had at first induced me to consider that the postponement of our marriage was all for the best. But when the following day came, and my mind was more franquillized by the effects of a night’s rest, I again viewed the matter in the same light as I had previously done ; and I said to myself, “ Henry will be successful in this new en- terprise—I am confident that he will! And if so, how rejoiced skall we be for having made the temporary sacrifice of our more selfish feelings !” I now prepared to quit Paisley. I had already hinted to Beda that the object of my visit to that town was to see my cousin—but that this circum- stance was included in the secrecy that she was to maintain with reference to the whole proceeding. Beda faithfully promised to obey all my injunc- tions; and the devoted girl was rejoiced to see me so happy as I had. been since that memorable evening of explanations with Henry Wakefield. I took leave of the Macdonald family, and we set out on our return southward. We arrived at Birmingham without any inci- dent worthy of mention: if was about seven o’clock in the evening when we reached that great manufacturing town ; and there we were to pass the night. Mr. Singleton, the surgeon at River, had given me a prescription for some medicine which he had enjoined me to take for some little time until I should find my strength completely restored ; and I was too careful of my health to neglect that well-meant advice. After having partaken of dinner at the hotel where I put up, I sent Beda out to a chemist’s to get the prescrip- tion made up; for I had exhausted the last supply of the medicine ere I left Paisley. It was at about half-past eight that I thus despatched Beda on her errand; and I sat either engaged with my own thougkts, or else reading a local newspaper, for upwards of an hour, when it suddenly struck me as somewhat singular that Beda had not re- turned to the room, Still I thought that she) might have taken the medicine to my hed-chamber, and that she was perhaps in her own room, which communicated with my sleeping-apartment. Thither I proceeded: but Beda was not there— neither could I perceive the medicine. I descended to the sitting-apartment—rang the bell—and in- quired of the waiter whether my maid had re- turned from an errand on which I had sent her upwards of an hour back? He said that he would see: but in a few minutes he reappeared, with the intimation that he could not find my maid anywhere in the hotel. I merely bade him direct that she should be sent to me when she returned ; and in his presence I betrayed no emotion at her prolonged absence. I thought to myself that Beda must have some very good motive for thus remaining away; and remembering the recent incidents at Ramsgate, I could not possibly conceive anything to her disad- vantage, But I feared fest some new plot might be hatching against myself—though I felt confident that if this were the case, and she had found a clue to it, she would likewise discover the means of baffling it. Another half-hour passed: it was now ten o’clock—and still she returned not. I was growing exceedingly uneasy; for I re- membered that the cottage where Zarah and - her grandmother had recently dwelt, was at no great distance from Birmingham; and I thought it possible that Beda’s absence might be in some way connected with the old gipsy. I waited another half-hour with increasing anxiety: it was now midway between ten and eleven o’elock ; and I could endure this state of suspense no longer. I again rang the bell, and inquired if my maid had returned? Still the answer was in the negative; and now I did not endeavour to conceal my uneasiness, The waiter suggested that possibly my maid might have some friends in Birmingham, whom she had gone to visit. I affected to be satisfied with this explanation: for what else could I say? what else could I do? Time passed on—midnight came—and still Beda had not returned. I felt so seriously uneasy that I apprehended my sensations would produce a relapse, and I should be thrown upon a sick bed in a strange place where I was without friends. I thought of a thousand schemes—of hiring a vehicle af once and proceeding to the roadside cottage on the way to Embledon~of repairing to @ magistrate~of wandering out on foot through the streets in search of the lost one: but to nothing definite could I settle my mind. I sat up till near one o’clock ; and then, thoroughly ex- hausted, I retired to rest. An uneasy sleep visited me, Iwas haunted by painful dreams; and when I awoke in the morning I felt ill and feverish. As I looked around the room, I perceived that the door of communication with the inner cham- ber was open; aud I had a perfect recollection of having closed it ere seeking my couch, Was it possible that Beda had returned? I sprang from the bed—rushed into the adjacent chamber —and to my joy discovered the object of my anxiety calmly slumbering in her couch. So great was my delight that I stooped down and kissed her with a degree of fervour that had little regard for the slumber in which she was wrapped ;—and she opened her large dark eyes. ** Ah, my dear mistress!” she exclaimed, throws -s Connicloool< REET TT SS ss sls com