Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 183: what you’re looking at

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

170 JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. > “Tt is now for me,” continued the young lady, * Good God, what a wreck has my weakness “to enjoin you to compose your feelings. You | wrought!” I exclaimed, half frantic at all I heard are well aware, Joseph, that I have abandoned | and all I had to reflect upon. home—prospects—everything, for your sake; and ‘Blame not yourself,” responded Calanthe, in now I must accept resignedly the lot which I first | the softest tones of her melodious voice: “for Ido sought for the purpose of being beneath the same | not blame you. We must separate now, Joseph: roof as you. Oh, what wild ecstatic schemes had | I dare not remain longer absent. Henceforth we I formed! and how cruelly have they been de- | are to be friends. - We shall live beneath the same stroyed! Methought that we might dwell in the | roof; and rest assured that your welfare will ever same house, content with the pleasure of occa-| be most dear to me. Keep my secret: this is all sionally beholding each other and exchanging a| I conjure you—this is all I ask. Compose your fond look—until the time should come when faith, | feelings—and be guarded. Once more remember endurance, patience, and love would be crowned | that my yery bread is now dependent upon your with happiness as their reward. But the dream | prudence!” | is gone. Oh, it was too bright and beautiful to| She proffered me her hand: I was in such a last and I should have mistrusted it from the | cruelly bewildered state of mind that I knew not very first !” what I did—and I pressed it to my lips, moisten- Calanthe turned aside for a moment, and raised | ing it with the tears which flowed in torrents from her kerchief to her countenance. She had been|my eyes. Calanthe, likewise overcome by her speaking in a low plaintive tone—a voice full of | emotions, sank into my arms: [ strained her to the most touching pathos—and with looks of ten-|my breast, as if by that most unwise and inju- derness indescribably mournful. But she felt not | dicious display of feeling I sought to indemnify more wretched than I: it is a question whether | her for the terrific woes she endured on my account. her misery was so acute and rending as that which | I covered her cheeks with kisses; and she smiled was exporienced by myself. For even in the depth | sweetly and softly, as if with the happiness of a of her sorrow, there was a certain blending of re- | last embrace ere resigning herself to look upon the signed courage, which I myself did not possess. | ruin of the hopes which she had cherished. Those Now that I saw her weeping, my heart was rent | very smiles on her part deepened my own afilic- with excruciating tortures; and wildly and loudly | tion. Had she stormed and rayed, and treated me did I inveigh, with bitterest reproaches, against | with indignation and hauteur, or with an outburst myself, of fury, I should have been far less moyed: but “Be composed, Joseph,” said Calanthe, again | the forgiveness she had so sincerely proffered—her turning upon me her pale countenance, and smiling | mild and gentle behaviour—and the patience with the sweetness of encouragement. “You see that| which she submitted to humiliation and disap- I am not incensed against you: my very humilia- | pointment, called forth all the tenderest feelings of tion gives no harsh impulse to my thoughts or my } my heart. demeanour. We may yet remain friends—if no * Now I must hasten homeward,” she said: and other feeling can exist between us. And you will | bending upon me another look of plaintive earnest- be performing a friendly part if you continue to ness—bestowing upon me likewise another soft keep my secret and betray not the truth of my | and melting smile—she hurried away. real position—a betrayal which would literally de- 1 lingered in the lane for about a quarter of an prive me of the means of earning my bread.” hour, ere I also bent my steps towards the villa. “Good heayens!” I exclaimed, astounded and/I felt that I had again been traitorous towards horrified at the utter desolation of hopes and pro- | Annabel: but a thousand excuses readily started spects which these last words all in a moment |up in my mind. I persuaded myself that it was spread before my yiew, and of which this unfortu- | but with the feeling of a brother towards a sister nate young lady had become the victim through | that I had embraced Calanthe; and that it was in her love for me :—“ do you for an instant think of | the spirit of the purest, chastest consolation I had continuing where you areP will you not hasten | imprinted kisses upon her cheeks. I marvelled to back to your home ?” myself that she had treated me with so much “ Joseph, I have no home now,” she answered, | kindness. I knew that she possessed a proud with a profoundly mournful look. spirit; and now that I reviewed the scene which “Oh! and it is I who have been the means of | haa just passed, I, wondered that she had not depriving you of it!” I exclaimed, feeling so des- | overwhelmed me with her indignant reproaches. I perate. that at the moment I could have laid | felt as if under the deepest obligation to her—that violent hands upon myself. ‘But tell me that | she had every claim upon my friendship—and that I have not heard aright—tell me that the doors of | she was a being to be admired and esteemed, if the paternal mansion will yet be open to you!” not positively loved. “Think you, Joseph, that even if the stern and * But I will be as a brother unto her!” I ex- proud Earl of Mandeville would receive the daughter | claimed, while thus giving way to my reflections; who has fled from beneath his roof, that this | “and she shall be as a very dear sister unto me! daughter herself would return to where her soul} For my sake she has made the utmost sacrifices would be crushed and her spirit broken by jeers| which woman could possibly accomplish; and it and taunts, by harshest tyranny, and by every | behoves me to watch over her welfare—to soothe kind of injurious suspicion? ‘Jo you not see, | and console her—to lighten as much as I can the Joseph,” she continued, earnestly but not bitterly, heavy burthen of affliction which weighs upon her i ST “that my reputation is gone—and that Lady | soul. Yes, Calanthe—I will not plunge another Calanthe Dundas must hencefort': conceal herself! dagger into your bosom: I haye already injured beneath the humble pseudonym of Matilda Pal- | you enough! When I next see Annabel, I will mer !” | tell her everything—I will confess to her all that CoOmicooolks (C@ im