The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 188: what you’re looking at

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a ————<~ eum. —y, tenanee—as if she would there read the reply to her gucstion even before his lips could frame it. “If you proclaim yourself my son’s wifo,” said he, mecting her look firmly and speaking resolutely, “{ shall sparo no expense in bringing tho wholo transaction bofore the proper tribunals in England, with tho ultimato viow of enabling him to obtain a divorce; and in this case I should not allow you one single farthing—no, not even to save you from starvation.” ‘And havo you not reflected,” asked Perdita, in atone and with a. gosture indicative of superb dis- dain,— “have you not reflected that a judicial investigation must inevitably lay bare all the tre- mondous secrets connected with yourself and family? -——for you cannot suppose, that if yon commenco the part of a persecutor against mc, I shall evince any forbearance towards you! No—it would bo, as I said just now, a terrible warfaro—a warfaro to tho very death,—and in which human ingenuity would rack itself to discover and set in motion all possiblo means of a fearful vongeance.” “T havo weighed all this,” said Mr. Hatfield, calmly; “and I have resolved to daro oxposuro of every kind—nay, to sacrifice myself, if necossary— in order to save my son.” “And now for tho conditions annexed to the sccond alternative?” said Perdita, maintaining a remarkable coolness and self-possession, although in the secret recesses of her soul she harboured the conviction thattho trinmph was as yet on tho other side, and that sho must end by accepting the bcst terms Sho could obtain. “Tf you will signa paper, undertaking never to represent yourself as my son’s wifo,” said Mr, TIat- field,— never to molest him in any way—never to return to England, but to fix your abode in some continental stato,—and lastly, that you will retain inviolably secret not only the fact of this most in- auspicious marriage, but likewise all matters con- nected With myself and family,—if you affix your name to such a document,” continued Mr. Iatfield, “T will immediately pay you the sum of one thou- sand pounds, and I will allow you five hundred pounds a-ycar so long as the convention shall be duly kept on your-part.”’ * And should you happen to die beforo me?” said Perdita, her manner now being of that cold, passion- less nature which rendered it impossible for Mr. Hatfield to conjecture what sort of an impression his alternatives and their conditions had made upon ber mind: “for you must remember,” she added, “that sneh an event is to be reckoned npon in the common course of nature.” “Granted,” was tho prompt reply, “ My will shall contain a clause enjoining and cmpowcring my ex- ecutors to continue the payment of your income, from a fund especially sunk for the purpose, so long as your conduct shall bo in accordance with tho conditions stipulated,” “ And am Ito understand that if I leave your son unmolested, I shall remain unmolested also!” de- manded Perdita. “TJ scarcely comprehend you,” said Mr. Hatfiold, evidently perplexed. ‘J mean,” replied Perdita, in aslow and measured tone, so that her words could not be misapprehended nor their sense mistaken,—*I mean that if I go forth into the world again as Miss Fitzhardinge, or Miss Fitzgerald, or any other namo I may choose to take,—and if, recciving a suitable offer of marriage, THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON. ees 181 omen I contract such an allianco,—I mean, then, to ask whether I may calculate tipon acting thus with im. punity at your hands?” “My God! what interest can I hare to molest you in any way?” cried Mr. Hatfield. “Would to heaven that you could both of you sign a papor effectually emancipating you from any claim on each other in respect to this accursed—this miser- ablo marriage.” “You aro now speaking with unnecessary ox- citemont, sir, after having reproved your son for the same fault—and also after having yourself pro- posed to discuss this matter in a puroly business. like manner,” said Perdita, her lip curling slightly with an expression of scornfal triumph. “True, madam,” observed Mr. Hatfield, who, throughout this dialogue—since his son had ree mained seated apart—had treated Pordita with a perfect though frigid courtesy: “Iwas in error to give way to any intomperance of tone or manner~ and Task your pardon. You have now heard al} that I have to propose——” “AndTI accept the conditions,” she said. ‘In- deed, I shall bo happy for this scone to terminate as speedily as possible.” “A few minutes’ moro will suffice, madam,” ob- served Mr. Ilatfield. “If you will have the kind- ucss to proyide me with writing-materials, I shall not be compelled to intrude on you much longer.” Perdita bowed slightly: and quitted the room,— not in haste—but with stately demeanour and measured tread, as if she were merely a consenting party to a business-transaction, and not a vane quished one on whom conditions had been imposed. The moment the door closed behind her, Mr, Hatfield said to his son, “ That woman is indeed a prodigy of boauty, and a very domon at heart, What an angelic creaturo would she havo been were sho as pure and virtuous as sho is lovely!” “Ah{ my dear father,” returned Charles, who appeared to be completely spirit-broken and over- whelmed by tho terrible occurronces and revelations of this memorable morning,~—“ you can now compre- hend, perhaps,—at loast to some extent,—the nature of that infatuation which I exporienced in rospedt to this singular being, The world has nover seen her equal for beauty and for wickedness,” “The sooner you are removed from tho sphero of her fatal influence, tho better,” observed Mr. Hat- field, “ When she re-apptars, do you quit tho room, and hasten as much as possible your preparations to depart with me.” ‘Fear not, my doar father,” responded Charles, “that I shail, of my own accord, interpose any delay, But the papers—she will surrender them——” “Asa matter of course. You may havo obsorved,” added the paront, “that, in spito of her haughty coldness, she was subdued and vanquished.” At this instant tho door opened, and Perdita re- turned, bearing her writing-desk in hor hands, Her countenance, though flushed, and thus pre- senting a striking contrast to its colourless uppear- ance some time beforo, gavo no indication of tho nature of her feelings: impossible was it to judga of the emotions that might occupy her bosom, by that which is wont to be denominated the mirror of the soul. Her step was still mygasured and stately, whilo her attitude was gracefu)}; and, as she advanced to- wards the table—passing through the golden flood of lustre that filled tho 400m—the waving of her Fn ag TT (C(O) (C DOO <S LL (SO)