Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

LS rere ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. Mary Glentworth ceased; wards of a minute she bent her looks downward, while the tears trickled upon her cheeks. I took | leigh House: 39 and again for up-, champ was for one o’clock—and it is now a quarter to two. Ina few minutes we must be at Ard- the appointment with Clarence her hand and pressed it in my own: but I said| Beauchamp must therefore be postponed until nothing, “The Duke of Ardleigh my father!” length repeated. “Ob, my dear Ellen! you must all along have known this from the commence- ment of our acquaintance !” “Tt is true, Mary,” I replied in a sorrowful | voice, “ that I have known the secret from a very she at | another occasion—because it is vitally important to your interests, my dear Mary, that you should learn to what extent you may reckon on your father’s love and protection.” “T do not want to see my father!” she petu- lantly exclaimed. “I can only look upon him " “Have you not told me, Mary,” I interrupted early stage of our acquaintance; and if I have | her, with a tone and look of remonstrance, “ that kept it, your own heart will tell you that it has. been from the best and kindest of motives. But I always foresaw that the day must inevitably come when it would be revealed to you ? * And that day has come at Jength!” said Mary “ And would to heaven,” she added, passionately wringing her hands, “that I had ever remained ignorant of this secret! You know how I loved my mother, Ellen—you know how I revered her —how I looked upon her as the very personification of all virtues !—and it is hard—Oh! it is hard to | have the idol of one’s worship suddenly destroyed! It shakes one’s faith in the existence of truth and purity and rectitude in the world !” * But as you say, Mary,” I interrupted her, while the tears were flowing down my own cheeks, —“as you say, my dear friend, your mother may have been betrayed, and therefore she was perhaps more to be pitied than blamed. At all events it is for you as her daughter to afford your sympathy to Ler memory, and not to look upon her with the bitterness of reproach !” “Heaven forbid that I should now think lightly of her!” exclaimed Mary, clasping her hands with deprecating anguish. “ Besides, my dear friend,” I hastened to inter- ject, “remember that within the range of your | own knowledge there was in your mother’s conduct no reason for reproach, She dwelt in respectability | and seclusion 4 “Yes—Ohb, yes!” ejaculated Mary. “ But even he has ever treated you with kindness?—and so long as you believed him to be your uncle, have you not loved him ?—and have you not for months past been hoping that he would soon return?” |. “Perhaps he has never been absent,” she inter- jected with renewed petulance: only a subterfuge “4 * No—he has been absent,’ I said; “and he has only just come back to London. He and the Duchess have been upon the Continent—I saw them at Dover previous to their departure: her Grace knows that you are her husband’s daughter —and she promised that on the return of the bits to England something should be done for “perhaps it was “ Now listen to me, Ellen,” said Mary Glent- worth, speaking with acalm firmness: “I will ac- cept no fayours from the Duke and Duchess of Ardleigh! The stigma of illegitimacy rests upon me—and there is no compensation which can miti- gate or efface it. Whatever they might give me would be in charity; and perhaps I have already accepted too much from the Duke’s hand! As for | the Duchess, she cannot possibly regard me with favour—she can only look upon me as the living | proof of her husband’s infidelity towards herself. * | No !—I will accept nothing at their hands: and I will xo¢ goto Ardleigh House. I have now no consent to ask of him whom I believed to be my uncle, in reference to my marriage with Ciarence 'Beauchamp. Circumstances are altered; Clarence still more must I remember that her love for me | will joyfully make me his bride with the least pos- partook of the character of devotedness—that she | sible delay—and you, my sweet friend, will not reared me with the tenderest care—that she was _ interpose a syllable to dissuade me from ‘obtaining to me a moral teacher and a guide as well as a | a settled position, a name, and a home ?” parent * “Tf Mr. Beauchamp be all that you suppose and “Then think of her in this sacred light!” I | represent, my dear Mary,” I answered, “not for hastened to interpose ; for I was glad to clutch at worlds would I say or do aught to delay your hap- any recommendation which might serve asasource piness forasingle hour! You now seem to be of solace to my afilicted friend, “It is not for us fully able to discuss your affairs with calmness and frail human creatures to judge each other harshly firmness. Listen therefore, I entreat, to the coun- in the world, liable as we all are to error and to | sel which I am about to give !” failing !—much less should a child judge harshly of | a parent !” Mary reflected for a few moments: she was evi- | dently becoming calm and resigned; and she pre- sently said, “ Where is the Duke of Ardleigh now ? —was that the Duchess who was with him ?—and | how am I to act P” “The Duke and Duchess have taken their de-| parture—and it is almost time oan we ourselves should go hence,” I continued, “in order to keep an appointment which the ye whispered to me, at Arcleigh House.” “ An appointment ?” ejaculated Mary. that other appointment “The hour has long passed,” I said, looking at my watch; “the appointment with Clarence Beau- o * And “Oh, yes—I will listen!” exclaimed Mary. “Your dave, dearest Ellen, shall ever have its due weight with me!” “You say that Mr. Beauchamp is rich,” I con- tinued: “but no young gentleman ever has any objection against his wife possessing a dower. You | have nothing, Mary, beyond the few hundreds of | pounds which are invested in your name in the Bank of England. The Duke of Ardleigh will most assuredly act handsomely by you—or at least I hope so; and you would be wrong to reject what- soever he may propose to give. Besides, notwith- standing the circumstances of your birth, he has a certain claim, if he choose to assert it, upon your obedience. Remember, he is the author of your being; and this fact imposes its obligations. I now | eee CORANICLOOC (C SS (EO)