The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 182: what you’re looking at

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

a i rr ee rr ne ee ee —. THE ALYSTERIES OF LONDON, Ui ee ° sith a mystery which only increased my admiration, | astray! The result is that I have no more confidence oad made her appear more interesting in my eyes.” ‘‘ Vou cannot wonder, then, that you were so com- pletely deceived, my poor boy,” said Mr. Hatfield, who had listened with great, though mournful interest to the eloquent delineation of causes and effects which the impassioned language of the young man had so graphically shaped. “ But as for the designing crear , ture’s name, I heard its origin from the officers whom I met at Dover. She is called Perdita, or ‘The Lost One,’ because she was born in Newgate—and her mother, in the moment of repentance for her own crimes, gave her that appellation as a memorial and a warning——” “ Beavens!” ejaculated Charles; “ and I believed the specious—the plausible explanation which the artful girl gave me relative to her name! Ob! she is made up of deceit: the world has never known her equal in that respect. I have read of Circe, with her spells—and of the Syrens, with their perilous allure- ments;—I have read also of those Mermaids—with the heads and busts of beauteous women, and with the tails of monsters—and whose melting looks and ravish- ing songs enticed saildrs to their coasts, only to fall victims to these unnatural deyourers of human flesh: —but all these wonders of heathen mythology are surpassed by this modern Circe—this Syren of the nineteenth century—this Mermaid who preys, not on mortal flesh, but upon immortal souls!” There was a terrible earnestness in the tore and ranner of Charles, as he gave utterance to these words:—and his father perceived that the heart of the young man was painfully lacerated by the con- viction of Perdita’s tremendous duplicity. “Yes,” resumed Charles,—and Mr. Hatfield allowed him to speak on, Iknowing that feelings so powerfully exeited as his had been and still were, must have a proper vent, in order that the soul might regain some- thing approaching to the equilibrium of calmness :— “ves,” exclaimed the young man, passionately,—* she, whom I believed to be the mirror in which all excellent qualities were reflected, is the embodiment of every pos- rible vice—every earthly iniquity. Oh! what a splendid personification of Sry would she make for the painter or the architect! But it must be a bold pencil or a powerful pen that could do justice to her,—aye, and a man deeply read in the mysteries of human life, to pourtray her character with accuracy! And that character I can read now;—and I know her to be a creature who has studied sensuality, with all the ardour of a glowing temperament—with all the vivid sensibility that could enhance the joys of amorous enchantment! Oh! mine was an idolatry such as a rapt enthusiasm pays, in its blind belief, to the Spirit of Evil, conceiving it to be the source of every virtue! Fatal mistake—deplorable error: shall I ever sur- mount the terrible consequences?” ' “Yes—by taking courage, following my counsel, and placing me in full possession of all the minutest details of this distressing and perplexing case,” said Mr. Hatfield, assuming the part of a comforter, now that the indignation of his son had in some degree expended itself in those passionate outpouring; wuich we have endeavoured tc describe. “Oh! fear not, my beloved father—my only friend,” cried, Charles, warmly,—*“fear not that I shall now conceal aught from you! Ihave obeyed the impulses of my own wrongheadedness--and I am suffering terribly in consequence: 1 have followed the dictates of my cwn wilfalness—and I have gone Jamentably I OF tee ee ee em mn Sl a ER a Se ON a RES RE ma ED ype “w= in myself: from the pinnacle of that proud independence which I sought to assume, I am dashed down into a state of childish helplessness. If you abandon me— J should not have courage even to attempt to extricate myself from this maze of embarrassments in which I am so cruelly involved: I should resign myself to my fate—I should sink into despair!” “ Cheer up, my beloved son—and think not for a moment of these dreadful alternatives,” said Mr. Hat- ficld: “but answer me a few questions, and I shall then know better how to act. Did you not find cer- tain papers in a secret recess in the Earl’s library -——” “ Yes—and those papers are safe,” replied Charles: “at least—-Perdita has them secure in her writing- desk, and we will make her surrender them pre- sently.” “As her husband—alas! that I should have to speak of you as such,—you may break open that desk and take them by force,” said Mr. Hatfield! Does the young woman know their contents? ” “Unfortunately she docs,? was the mournfel an- swer. “And her mother——” “Ts equally well acquainted with them,” said Charles. “Tven to save you a pang,—and heaven knows I would now do much to spare you any addi- tional uneasiness,—I will not deceive nor mislead you in a single detail.” ‘“No—this is not a time nor a case for trifling Charles,” observed Mr. Hatfield. “Then both these women know who I am?” he added, in a low and hoarse voice. “Qh! my God!” cried Charles, giving vent to his deep vexation and obeying the impulse of his self- accusing spirit: “to what humiliations have I not exposed you, my dearest father? Can you—will you ever forgive me for all this?” “ Have we not had much to pardon—much to ex- plain, on either side, already?” asked Mr. Hatfield, his voice now regaining its mildness—a mildness that was, however, mournfully subdued. “ Well, then, my dear boy, give not way to these self-reproaches; for if I be anxious to obtain a certain knowledge of the full extent of these evils, it is only with the view ot falling into no error and committing no oversight in extricating both yourself and me from the embarrags- ments that surround us. To return, then, to the immediate subject of our discourse—these women know all?” _ “All—every thing,” replied Charles. “In that blind infatuation as “Compose yourself, my dear boy,” said Mr. Hat- field, in a voice slightly indicative ef paternal autho- rity. “ Respecting the promissory note you gave the money-lender Percival——” “Oh! now I shrink indeed from telling you the truth,” interrupted Charles, his countenance glowing with shame and confusion; “and yet—faithful to my promise—I will not mislead you. The note of hand to which you allude was signed—Vicount Marston!’ “Tf I recollect aright,” said Mr. Datficld, “the accovnt of the murder, as reported in the newspapers, states distinculy that no papers nor documents of any kind were found in the victim’s house—tLe tin-box, in which such things were probably kept, having been emptied of its contents. The assassin or assassins, then, whoever they may be, possessed themselves of all the poor man’s papers—and your note doubtless amongst the rest. In this case, we shall probably — — Ce ee a a a a eer ee oe ae ee ee we —_—~erw CON (SO)