Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 127: what you’re looking at

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

114 That she had willingly gone astray in any sense I could not conceive: for I naturally supposed that if such were the case she would make every endeavour to conceal the remorse and regret which followed, instead of betraying a perturbed state of mind. “Mary,” I said, again taking her hand and pressing it to my lips, “once for all I conjure you to tell me what has happened and what is the matter with you! It would be cruel—very cruel of you, Mary, to leaye me any longer in the ter- rific suspense which I now experience !” She seemed struck by these words: she sud- denly raised her countenance somewhat—she bent her full blue eyes upon me—she seemed to refiect for a few moments; and then she said; “I would not for the world distress you, Hllen! Leave me now, my sweet friend! I can assure you I am more collected and composed !” “Ah! then, something had occurred to distress you P” LT exclaimed. __ “Do not press me for an explanation now, Ellen,” rejoined Mary Glentworth. “To, morrow I will tell you all. Good night, my dear friend.” “Good night, Mary,’ I said. “But are you sure that you would not like me to remain throughout the night with youP—or will you have Beda?—for you might be seized with indis- position ——”’ | | “ No, Ellen,” answered Mary; “I prefer being alone. Do not be uneasy on iy account: I shall immediately retire to rest. A good night’s re- pose——" But here she stopped short; and an expression of indescribable bitterness appeared upon her coun- tenance, as if it were a hideous mockery to sup- pose that she could expect to enjoy a good night’s rest. She saw that my own looks denoted anguish as I observed that expression on her features; and hastening to throw her arms round my neck, she exclaimed, “For heaven’s sake do not press me now, dear El!en!—suspend your judgment—wait until to-morrow! I will then tell youall! But Ah! when I think of it, let all this lay between you and me—do not tell Juliet that anything extradfdinary has occurred! As for Beda, we know that her discretion is to be relied upon; and if you tell her to think no more of what she may have seen this evening, she will obey you implicitly.” “ And you insist, Mary,” I said, in a half re- proachful tone, “ that I shall leave you for the night P—and you will not teil me what has oc- curred P” 7 « Wait, wait until to-morrow!” sho said, almost petulantly: and her present excitement contrasted strongly and strangely with the glacial apathy of look and manner that she had just now worn. “Yet answer me one question—only one ques- tion!’ I said; for a terrible idea was haunting me. “You have not seen him?—you surely know whom I mean P—your half-brother —— ” “What, Herbert Dalrymple?” ejaculated Mary. “Ob, no! no! I have not seenhim! And now good night, Ellen ” She embraced me—she gently pushed me to- wards the door—and I was compelled to leave the room. I repaired to my own chamber, where I found Beda waiting for me: she did not ask any question:—indeed it was aimost invariably her habit to wait until I thought fit to enter into ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS, discourse with her; for of all beings in the world she was the last to display any undue curiosity, and yet the first to take a lively interest in any topic which at all engaged my own feelings or sentiments, “7 have received no explanation from Miss Glentworth’s lips,” I said. “She has promised to deal with me to-morrow in the spirit of a friendly frankness. Meanwhile, Beda, say nothing to a soul—not even to Lady Frederick Ravens. clifte 5 “Even without this injunction, Miss,” answered Beda, “I should have held my peace in reference to Miss Glentworth.” After some little conversation—in the course of which I gave Beda a few particulars relative to the incidents that had occurred at Willowbridge —I dismissed her to her own room. I lay down to rest: but it was long ere sleep visited my eyes —for I was cruelly perplexed and bewildered on Mary Glentworth’s account. In the morning, immediately upoa quitting my chamber I proceeded to Mary’s room. [I found that she likewise was up and dressed : and it struck me that there was a certain decisiveness in her looks—a resoluteness of expression which I had never noticed before, aud which I therefore con- cluded to be associated with the mysterious mood of the preceding evening. It was with a certain sedeteness that she greeted me, although with affectionate kindness; but methought her spirits had now utterly lost all remnant of their pris- tine exuberance, and were toned down into a Seriousness that might be deemed more appro- priate for one of far maturer years. Indeed, it struck me that Mary’s disposition had undergone a still greater transition towards gravity and pen- siveness than even when all the discoveries in respect to the Ardleigh family had produced so strong an effect upon her; and I experienced a feeling of sadness at the idea that the buoyancy of her nature, as I had first known it, should ever have been checked or weighed down by the un- toward circumstances of life. ‘‘ Now, Mary,” I said, “ you will fulfil your pro- mise of last night 4 “My dear Ellen,” she interrupted me, taking my hand and retaining it in her own—but rather holding it as if unconsciously and unwittingly, than pressing it with any degree of warmth ema- nating from the heart,—“ I beseech you to throw a veil over the scene of last evening! If you love me, as indeed i know you do, you will grant me this boon !—you will not press me for a single syllable of explanation! Ellen, it is my secret !” “After the manner in which you have just spoken, Mary,” I said, “it would be rude and discourteous on my part to press you for explana- tions. You are putting friendship out of the question—you seem to think that 1 cannot enter- tain on your behalf such a degree of interest as will leave me a prey to the acutest suspense on your account me “ Yes, Ellen—I know all that you feel for me,” answered Mary ; “ and it is to this very love itself that I am now appealing when I beseech and im- plore i “ Enough, Mary,” I said: “you have declared that it is your own secret—and it shall remain so !” OOO) K< (E©)