The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 220: what you’re looking at

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his entire aspect indicating that he was almost stu- pified by the merciless cupidity of his wife. “Not a single guinea,” sho replitd, “The only consolation I can afford you is the assurance that your secret is safe with me. If you are ever sent to the scaffold—-it will not be through my instru. mentality.” With thoso words, she retreated towards the door, walking backwards, so as to keep her eyas fixed upon Torrens tho whole time, and thus be prepared for a suddon attack shonld ho meditato mischiof, or, in an ungovernable paroxysm of rage and despair, attempt it. But the old man moved not from his soat, al- though ho appeared to reel and sway unsteadily packward and forward in his chair; and at the moment when Mrs. Mortimer placed her hand on the latch, he fell heavily upon the floor. Sho was about to depart when it struck her that, if ho were dead, unpleasant suspicions might attach themselves to her, should sho hurry away without caising any alarm; and she accordingly hastened towards him. Ho was senscless—but the spark of life was not extinct; and now through fear,did the woman perform those duties to which sho never could have been otherwise urged in respect to him. Sho raised him in her arms—she placed him on the bed—removed his neckcloth—and sprinkled water upon his face. Ina few minutes ho began to revive, and his eyes opened slowly. “Whero am [?—I1s it a dream?” he murmured in a faint tone: then, as his recollection returned with speed and vividness, and he knew the counto- nance that was bending ovor him, and remembered why the woman herself was there, he oxclaimed, “ Fiend ! give me back my gold !” Never!” was the emphatic word that foll upon his ear in roply~—and in another moment he was alone. No—not alone: for Despair was now his com- panion. And Despair is an appalling guest :—for, murderer as the man was, he had some kind of worldly con- solation left in his treasure until the implacable woman wrested it from him, But now that only Folace was gone~and he was left to tho horror of his thoughts, and to the ghost of his victim. Beg- gary was before him—beggary, with all its bidcous train of oils, and thoso evils rendered tlic more tcr- rible because beyond loomed the black and oininous gibbet | Oh ! how was it that madness did not seizo upon tho old man’s brain, and rob him of the power of making these agonizing reflections ? Was it that his punishment was to begin upon earth? If so, assuredly tho retribution was ap- palling, even on this side of the tomb;—and ho had not even left to him the consolation that the gold for |" which he had bartered his soul was sfill in his pos- sussion — still at his command, and available for his uso! Catenin CHAPTER CLXI. AGNES VERNON AND HER FATHER. - WE must now return to the cottage near Streat- ham, were we left the beautiful and artless Agnes Vernon with her fathor. The moment the old woman had quitted tho ~ 2138 house, Mr. Vernon turned towards his daughtor, and, taking her hand, said, “ My dearost child, bow caine you to admit a complete stranger into your presence in so unguarded a manner 2” “As I had never seen her in my life before, dear father,” replied the charming girl, “I could not for an instant suppose that she had any evil intention in visiting the cottage; because, having done her no harm——” But, my beloved Agnes,” interrupted her parent kindly, as he made her sit down near him as he also took a chair, “I have often told you that the world contains many wicked people, who frequently har- bour the basest and most infamous designs towards young women who are pretty and unsuspccting as you; and this Mrs. Mortimer, as she calls herself, may be one of tho class I have alluded to.” “JT am sorry indeed that I should have acted in a way to cause you any displeasure, my dearest father,’ said Agnes, her oyes filling with tears ; “ but-—” ‘You do not understand me, my sweet child,” again interrupted Mr. Vernon, passing his hand affectionately over her glossy hair, and pure, polished brow; “Iam not angry with you—indeed, it would be impossible to experionco any irritation with such an amiable, excellent girl as you are. But Iam alarmed lost cvil-disposed persons should seek to do you an injury—and therefore I recommend caution and prudence on your part.” ‘T cannot comprehend how the old lady who was here just now could possibly seck to harm mo,” said tho amiable Agnes, “since I have never harmed her, and, on the contrary, treated her with the re- spect duo to her years and her afflictions.” “What did she tell you, my love?” inquired Mr. Vernon. Agnes forthwith related, in her own natural, simple, yet agreeable manner, the entiro conver sation which had passed betiveen herself and Mrs, Mortimer. Iter father listened with earnest attention; and for some minutes after she had ceased speaking, he remained absorbed in deep thought. * You are not pleased with the incident of this evening,” said Agnes, at length, and speaking in a timid voice, as she gazed with anxious fondness on hor parent’s pensive countonanco, “Once moro I assure you, my well-beloved child,” he responded, “that Iam not angry with you. But you will, perhaps, be somewhat surprised to hear me declare that [ do not believe one syllable of all theold woman told you, In the great world, Agnos; there is no such thing as that sentimontalism and sympathy which she professed to be the motives that led her to visit the cottago ere now. I detected her in two falschoods—and 1 have every reason to suspect all the rest.” “But was it not natural, dear papa, for her to bo desirous to behold once more the scene where she had passed many happy days with her deceased husband?” inquired Agnes.) “Qh! I can well un- derstand such a fecling—and I therefore honoured and respected her for entertaining it.” * Yos—thero aroa fow gencrous hearts that would expcrionce such sentiments,” observed Mr. Vornon; “for perhaps I was too hasty oro now in tho sweep- ing condemnation which I levelled at what I tormed the great world. At the same time, Agnes, you must not judge the world by your own pure and unsophisticated soul. And would to God that ox- perience might never be destined to teach you other NB a THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON, _ (C(O) (C DOO SS (SO)