Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

— Nae a a ee eee eee 64: ELLEN PERCY; OBR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. ‘Indeed ?” I ejaculated. ‘© Yes—such seems to be her belief,” responded Gilderoy, not observing anything peculiar in the emotion I had displayed: “ but I have no doubt it is a mere idle fantasy on her part—for accord- ing to all accounts St. Clair was devotedly attached to the unfortunate Zarah.” I said not a word: the dwarf came forward to conduct me and Beda from the house; we took leave of Gilderoy and Mr. Moss—and we followed the hunchback. He afforded us egress by the same avenue through which we had quitted the premises on the preceding night ; and the nearest church clock was striking the hour of twelve as we omerged into the street. ed CHAPTER LXXVIII. THE FIRE, WE hastened to the nearest point where a hackney- vehicle could be obtained, in order that the ser- vants might not think it strange if we returned on foot. On reaching the house, I found Mary Glent- worth anxiously awaiting my arrival; for she was acquainted with the purpose for which I had set out, and the affectionate girl dreaded lest I and Beda should have experienced some perfidious treatment. She was therefore rejoiced on behold- ing our safe return; and instead of immediately returning to rest, I sat with her in the drawing- room, describing all that had occurred. Mary— as Beda had previously done — proffered the warmest congratulations: but I answered in a similar strain, to the effect that I was not sanguine and that I should not believe in my good fortune until it was placed beyond the possibility of doubt. It was close upon one o’clock when Mary and I separated to retire to our respective chambers. Beda was in readiness to attend upon me, as usual, and assist me in my night-toilet : but I besought her to seek her own couch without delay, for I thought she must be thoroughly weary. She how- ever insisted upon remaining with me; and she expatiated in glowing terms upon the sagacity which the patriarch Gilderoy had displayed in all the arrangements for the memorable scene of that night. I assured Beda that on the morrow I should behave most liberally to Mr. Moss, and that I should insist upon Gilderoy’s acceptance of a very handsome reward, whether I recovered my fortune or not. My night-toilet was nearly completed, when Beda and I were startled by the rapid crashing rush of a fire-engine tearing along the street. Toa dweller in the metropolis, where the fires average pretty nearly five hundred in the course of the year, the din of the speeding engine has always something ominous and alarming. I started up from the chair in which I was seated while Beda was combing out my hair; and we both instinc- tively rushed to the window. But thence we could discern no evidence of a conflagration. My chamber was in the front of the house, looking towards the south. We hastened into Mary Glentworth’s room, which was immediately behind my own. She was just getting into bed: but we told her what we had heard—and she joined us at the window of her apartment. Thence we could command a view of the northern sky, as well as a portion of the eastern; and now in this latter direction—namely, the eastern one—we discerned that strong luminous halo which is thrown up by a conflagration. We opened the windows—we looked out—the intervening mazes of buildings prevented us from distinguishing precisely where the fire was: but the overhanging glare grew brighter and brighter—and we therefore were only too painfully convinced that the fire must be an extensive and a serious one. While sympathizing with the unfortunate creatures who might be made sufferers thereby, we nevertheless congratu- lated ourselves on the certainty that it was much too remote to cause any apprehension to the dwel- lers in Great Ormond Street. ‘We therefore at length bade each other “good night” and retired to rest. | It was not until a late hour in the morning that I awoke; and, as usual, I rang for Beda. Another maid-servant answered the summons, saying that Beda had gone out for some purpose which she had not mentioned, and that she was not yet returned. It was now nearly ten o'clock, for I had considerably overslept myself through having been up so late; and Beda had already been an hour and a half absent. I could not understand it; but at the same time I experienced no uneasiness—for I knew the girl well enough to be assured that she would have a satisfactory ex- planation to give on her return. “T think you must have seen the fire last night, Miss?” said the maid who was taking Beda’s place: “for I heard you go into Miss Glentworth’s room and open the windows soon after the fire. engine dashed past.” ‘Yes—I saw the glare,” I answered. have you heard any particulars vd ‘The milkman told me and Beda,” replied the maid, “that the fire took place somewhere in Clerkenwell, in one of the very worst neighbour- hoods in the quarter of Saffron Hill. Several houses were totally consumed, and others were much injured.” “In Clerkenwell?” I said, musingly repeating the name; and then a sudden idea occurred to me: Beda’s absence seemed now to be explained —I felt convinced that she must have been startled by the intelligence received from the milkman, and that she had set off to see whether Gilderoy’s esta- blishment had suffered. Scarcely had this thought occurred to me, when Beda herself entered the room; and the other maid immediately withdrew. “Oh, my dear Miss!” exclaimed the faithful girl, her countenance now exhibiting the distress which she no longer strove to conceal; “you will be so afflicted ‘“ “Beda!” I said, “is it possible that the very place where we were last night id “Yes, Miss—it was there that the fire broke out It is all a shapeless heap of ruins But that is not the worst! The poor old man * “OQ Beda!” I cried, clasping my hands, “do not tell me that the venerable Gilderoy Ah! it is so!’—and the deepest affliction seized upon me, as Beda’s countenance denoted the sad truth. “Yes, dear Miss—that poor old man perished “ But Gomicbook — ee TT (E (0)