Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 143: what you’re looking at

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cr ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTEESS. 130 sion: for here, before heaven I vow that I will make this attempt to acquire riches—and there is a voice speaking in my soul which gives me the assurance that I shall succeed!” But notwithstanding the vow which Henry had just taken—notwithstanding his earnest supplica- tion that I would not seek to dissuade him from his purpose—I did argue and entreat; and never did I find so much eloquence at my command for the purposes of persuasion. At length Henry threw himself at my feet, exclaiming, “ Command me, Ellen, and I will obey you!—but beware how by breaking the heroic spirit of enterprise that is within me, you cast a blight upon my happiness altogether! Now, Ellen, decide! How is it to be P” I saw that the crisis was a most serious one: I perceived that my cousin was fully bent upon the expedition in search of riches; and [ now beheld a new phase in the magnanimity, the fearlessness, and the energy of his character. Could I crush such a disposition P—dared I say the word which should bid him remain? And yet it was almost with a breaking heart that I spoke that other word which bade him go! CHAPTER LXXXVIII. "THE DEPARTURE. It was thus decided; and forth upon the wide world my cousin—the object of my love—my affi- anced—was to go as an adyenturer in search of gold! When my father was made acquainted with Henry’s decision, he at first seemed alike afflicted and astonished: but he soon became grave and thoughtful—and for some hours he sat in meditation scarcely opening his lips to speak un- less he were spoken to. In the course of that day Mrs. Macdonald and her daughters called at the hotel to thank me for what I had done; anda most affecting scene it was. They embraced me— they wept while proclaiming their heartfelt grati- tude—they almost knelt at my feet to worship me. But I will not dwell upon this portion of my nur- rative: suffice it to say that on the following day I set out with my father and Henry on our return to London; for it was agreed that my cousin should pass at least a week in the metropolis before he bade me adieu to set off on his Trans-Atlantic enterprise, During the journey from Paisley to London, my father continued to be pensive and abstracted, until at length I began to fancy that there must be something else in his mind apart from his grief that I should have lost my fortune, that my mar- riage was to be indefinitely postponed, and that my intended husband was to set out upon this wild romantic enterprise. But I awaited another opportunity to question my father on the subject: for I did not like to speak of it in the presence of Henry. We reached London in safety ; and Mary Glent- worth received me with a greater display of affec- tion than for some time past she had shown; while from Beda’s lips I presently learnt that no incident worthy of note had occurred during my absence. I had now to break to Mary Glentworth and to Beda the intelligence that I had disposed of all the fortune I had recently obtained—that my marriage was not at present to take place— and that Henry was to leave England very shortly on a speculative expedition to California. Both Mary and Beda were afflicted and astonished; but I could not help observing that the latter displayed more feeling on the subject than the former. And now likewise to those friends who had been in. vited to the bridal, was it necessary to make ex- cuses,—the young ladies who were to be the bride- maids—Major Gower and his beautiful Aline— the Marguis and Marchioness of Campanella— and the Countess of Carboni. Yes—and letters had to be written to Mr. Norman and Juliet at Dover ; and let me assure the reader that all these were by no means pleasurable tasks. No!— and while penning the several epistles which com- municated to all the above-mentioned friends the tidings which could not fail to surprise and grieve them, I felt a sad tightness at my heart, and the fears trickled down my cheeks. Oh, yes !—and I will confess still more than this—I frequently de- sisted from my occupation to bury my face in my Kerchief and give vent to the full tide of my afilic- tion. But my mind has ever been naturally stro and I have found that there is no cala- mity in this world which when it has occurred or is occurring, is really so terrible in its experience as it had been in anticipation. If any one oa, said to me a week back, “ Your bridal will no take place ; you will have to surrender up all your fortune; and your handsome cousin, instead of conducting you to the altar, will set off to another hemisphere, perhaps never to return !”—if an one had thus prophesied to me, I should have an- swered, “ Such an mblage of calamities would be crushing and overwhelming!” JBut now all these misfortunes had come upon me—TI was look- ing them in the face—and yet I succumbed not: for though bitterly, bitterly afflicted, yet on the whole I bore up courageous!y against them. Oh! it was through no deficiency of feeling on my part: fur heaven knows how much I loved my handsome, elegant, high-minded Henry, and with what thrill- ing joy I should have accompanied him te the altar! Ob, no! I was not callous, nor apathetic, nor indifferent! But the fact is that every mis- fortune is more terrible when threatening from a distance than when its actual visitation is made. Imagination exaggerates everything that is as yet unknown or unfelt: it exaggerates all its ideas of approaching happiness as well as all its ideas of coming misery. The heat of the Indian clime is not so burning as the untravelled fancy con- ceives if to"be ; nor is there so keen an intensity as imagination conjectures in the ice-wind of the oles. . Reverting however to my own particular case, I must repeat that I was enabled to bear up better than I could have anticipated against the misfor- tunes which had combined to pour themselves upon my head. I saw that Henry was elate with hope, and that he entertained an heroic con- fidence in the success of his intended enterprise. That he should set out in such a frame of mind, | nerved with so much self-reliance, and sustained” © with so much mental fortitude, was an immense consolation for me. And now I began to fathom the cause of that pensiveness into which my father was so often plunged since the Californian affair — Gomiichdoo : } ’ (E©)