Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 356: what you’re looking at

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ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. ingenuity to give a particular complexion to the whole business, Everything tells against us for the present—but only for the present! No!— because,” continued my father, raising his voice to a menacing tone, “heaven will not suffer a pure-minded, generous-hearted, and virtuous girl, as you are, to be for ever debarred of your just rights! Come, Ellen! The very atmosphere of this house is contaminating.” Mr. Parks was perhaps sufliciently well pleased with the iniquitous success which he had consum- mated—and was perhaps likewise too cowardly to throw out any fresh taunt which might lash up my father’s and my own spirit into a fury: so he uttered not another syllable—but lounged with his back against tho mantel, with his hands diving down deep into his breeches-pockets, at the same time that he contemplated his patent leather boots in a nonchalant style. I also remained silent; for I was fearful that if anothor irritating word were spoken, Mr. Parks might turn round with some terrible recrimination against my sire; and the heart of the latter had been already sufficiently wounded on my account, IT foilowed my father from the room ; and as we reached the front door, he said, “I shake off the dust from my feet against this house of iniquity aud crime!” , we wee CHAPTER LX. THE CLIFF. WE walked slowly in silence through the Square, ——both of us absorbed in our painful reflections. At length my father suddenly said, “ It is a vil- lany, Ellen, of the most unheard-of description! Nothing remains to you, my poor girl, of the fortune which is justly your’s but the old house at Leeds!” “And I am thankful that I am in possession of that house!” was my response, “Yes—it is a stupendous villany,” continued my parent. “Do you see how well the wretch has combined all his plans—with what artistic in- genuity he bas woven the tissue of his turpitude, so that in the eye of the law he is no longer a forger or an embezzler? There is not the slightest ground for invoking justice to compel the restitu- tion of his plunder unfo those hands from which he has plundered it—nor to smite him as the per: petrator of frauds and villanies! Cllen, for you, my dear girl, my soul is exceedingly svrrow- ful !” “Let it not be so, my dear father,” I inter- rupted him. “If all our hopes have been de- stroyed, I am still where I was before ever those hopes were entertained. I have not abandoned my profession ; and this profession produces me at the rate of two thousand a-year.” “ Heaven be thanked that it is so!” exclaimed my father. “You must some day go to Leeds and take possession of your house 43 “I have a proposition to make,” I interrupted him.. “ Will you accept of it? will you fix your nome there ?” “No, my dear child,” replied my father: “I could not endure to dwell in a houso which would 343 remind me of the period when you yourself were living there, ignorant of your parent’s crimes, and he in banishment the while in a far-off land! Besides,” added my father hastily, as he perceived that the painful topic had drawn tears from my eyes, “I would not be so far removed from the sphere in which you aro shining. No, Ellen! I have now nothing more to do in London; and I have heard of a little cottage at Forest Hill, but a few miles hence, to which I purpose to retire. T shall proceed thither to-morrow. You will come and see me occasionally ; and I shall sometimes— though more rarely—call in Hunter Street to visit you. Grieved am I to exist in dependence upon your bounty in “Hush! nota word, my dear father, on that subject !” I ejaculated. “The thought that I am enabled to minister to your wants, inspires me when pursuing the ayvocations of my profes. sion.” After some little further conversation, my father and I separated ; and I returned to Hunter Street, To say that I was not grieved at the loss of my fortune—a loss which now appeared beyond all redemption—-would be to assert something un- natural and to ask the reader to give credence to an untruth. But I bore that loss with philoso- phical resignation; and I was rejoiced to think that I had not spoken of my hopes to any of my friends. A fortnight passed ; and I re-appeared upon the stage—as likewise did Mr. and Mrs. Norman. I was most enthusiastically welcomed by a crowded house; and Mary Glentworth now for the first time beheld me in pursuance of my professional avocations. When the performance was over and we were again at home, she threw herself into my arms, weeping with the various emotions which my personification of one of my favourite cha- racters had excited within her ; and she exclaimed, “Oh, Ellen! I would give the best years of my life for one single hour of triumph such as you have enjoyed this night !” I smiled at her enthusiasm: but the incident made a somewhat serious impression upon my mind : for, remembering the conversation which had taken place between us the first day we ever met—remembering likewise her volume of Shak. spere, with the pencilled underlinings—I could not help thinking that she had possibly conceived a passion for the stage. On the following day the Normans and [I had to attend rehearsal at the hour of noon; and as Mary Glentworth wished to make some purchases at the West End, she proceeded in the carriage on her shopping expedition. My presence at the theatre was only needed for about an hour: but Mr, and Mrs, Norman had to remain at rehearsal for some time longer. It was therefore arranged that Mary should return with the carriage to fetch me at one o’ciock; and at about that hour it was announced to me that the equipage was in waiting. I accordingly quitted the theatre, and was stepping into the carriage, when I was struck by the joyous enthusiasm that animated Mary’s countenance. She had evidently something im- portant to communicate; and she could scarcely restrain herself while the footman was putting up the steps and closing the door. At length, as the equipage began to move on, Mary seized my GOmiGcdoo cS Com