Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

felt the blushes glowing upon my cheeks. ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. 63 ‘TI had come upon this couple so suddenly, and was by their presence so abruptly startled from the meditations in which I was previously plunged, that I stopped short; and the old crone at once accosted me. She began to address me in the manner usually adopted by people of her race— complimenting me upon my beauty—talking some jargon about'a handsome lover—and desiring me to cross her palm with silver that she might tell me my fortune. Her swarthy countenance was all puckered up with wrinkles as she smiled and smirked while giving utterance to her habitual cant ; and great was the contrast between that shrivelled sinister face, and the round plump countenance of the younger gipsy, through the duskiness of whose complexion the warm blood mantled richly. * Stay, pretty lady,” said the old crone, “ while I develop the future to your view. I see at a glance that this fair white hand is crossed by many lines. Suffer me to read them.” I had no gloves on; for I had left the house hurriedly, and without any intention of issuing outside the garden wall. I was ina morning deshabillée too; and as I have already said, had on a large straw hat. The old gipsy had taken my hand; and I scarcely know in what singular mood it was that I for a few moments abandoned it to her. But my feelings were at the time ren- dered morbid by the thoughts that had been apitating in my brain; and when the mind is in this state it is apt to be more or less tinctured with superstition, or a tendency towards the marvel- lous. \ * I see,” continued the old gipsy, peering over my palm, “that there is a tall, handsome youth, not very much older than yourself—with dark hair and eyes—slender and graceful shape—and the most winning manners—whose heart is filled with your image. Yes!” she proceeded, suddenly looking up into my countenance: “ and upon your heart, pretty maiden, is Ais image impressed !” Here I suddenly withdrew my hand, while I I was about to hurry onward, when the crone exclaimed, “You have forgotten to cross my hand with silver |” I was excessively annoyed with myself that I should have yielded even for a few moments to the influence which had led me to abandon my hand to the old woman: but I felt that having done so, I ought to give her a reward. Full of the confusion occasioned by my own vexed feel- ings, I thrust my hand into my pocket: my purse was not there. “Stop,” I said, “ and I will hasten and fetch you something. I have left my money indoors.” *Qne moment, sweet maiden!” ejaculated the old crone; “and if you will render me a little ser- vice, you need not trouble yourself to confer any additional recompense upon me.” “Nonsense, grandmother!” said the younger gipsy, now accosting the crone and catching her somewhat roughly by the arm. ‘“ How do you know who this young lady is?” “Tell me, my sweet maiden,” said the dame, still addressing herself to me, apparently heedless of her granddaughter’s interruption; “ did I not ere now behold you walking in the garden at- tached to this nearest villa? Methought that as I passed the front gate I caught a glimpse of that beautiful form of your’s y * Knough of this idle flattery!’ I interrupted her. ‘ Yes—it is true I was walking in that garden. But what can you possibly mean by the intimation that I may render you a service P” “You shall see,” rejoined the crone; “for you are an amiable young lady—and you will not, as insolent menials would, disdain the old gipsy’s supplication.” “ Be careful, grandmother!” the younger female hurriedly whispered: but my ear caught what she said. * Be quiet, Zarah!” interjected the crone, as she turned impatiently towards her granddaughter, *T know what I am doing ; and this pretty maiden will accomplish the trifling little service that I ask at her hands. Will you not, Miss ?” *T will fetch you some trifle,’ I said, anxious to put an end to this scene in which I had in. volved myself: “but as for my ability to render you any real service, it is impossible—and you can only be indulging in that language of mys. terious absurdity which forms a portion of your eraft.” “It is not so, sweet maiden,” rejoined the gipsy crone. “ There is something in your countenance so amiable and good-natured, it tells me you will do my bidding! And the boon I crave is go simple! It is only that you will tell the lady of the house that one who knows her, seeks a few minutes’ interview on this very spot.” “ This is absurd!” I ejaculated. “ Her ladyship would not come to you—neither would I trifle so insultingly with her as to bear such a message.” “Judge not too hastily, young maiden,” an- swered the gipsy: “did I not ere now speak words which made a chord vibrate in your heart P —and think you not, therefore, that I who know so many things and so many persons, may have an interest in obtaining speech of the lovely lady of that house in which you reside? [I tell you that the lady wild come if you present this to her as a token of my sincerity in requiring her presence.” Thus speaking, the old gipsy plucked a large and beautiful blooming white rose which grew wild amidst the odoriferous briers in the bushes hard by. I mechanically took the flower from her hand,—gazing on her the while with the most be- wildered astonishment. And well might I be thus surprised !—well too might that wonderment be mingled with a sort of dismay!—for it suddenly seemed as if the same species of talisman which had proved so effectual in reducing St. Clair to abject powerlessness, was now to prove the means of bringing forth Lady Lilla Essendine in obe- dience to the summons of this miserable wrinkled old gipsy. “Do not ask me any questions, sweet maiden,” she continued, observing my astonishment, al though doubtless very far from suspecting the cause. “It is no idle mummery on my part; and I repeat, it is so simple a boon I crave, that you cannot in your amiable generosity refuse to grant it. I might have just now addressed myself to the old gardener whom I saw at work in the grounds of the villa: but he looked a churl—and he would only have had threats of the constable, the magistrate, and the House of Correction for the poor gipsy.” rr re rr rr GOmicsoo SS Com