Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 312: what you’re looking at

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

a ee + ee ee ee JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. 259 —whence other circumstances had transferred me to my present situation at Heather Place. It was a mere sketchy outline that I gave her, and filled in with none of those incidents which have occu- pied so many chapters since the one wherein my separation from her in the Isle of Wight was re- corded. “ Again I say, it was Providence that brought you hither!” observed Calanthe, when my brief narrative was ended. “As for myself, Joseph, my explanations may be speedily given. Referring to that dreadful occasion when my father and my brother Hubert discovered me at Ryde, I need not do more than declare how distressing was my grief at the thought of being torn away from you. You kept the secret of what had taken place between us: I knew that you would do so—I knew it even while penning those hurried and feverishly written lines which a servant of the hotel undertuok to convey to you. From Ryde I was borne home by my father and brother. The secret however which you had so faithfully kept, was to be revealed by means of other evidence: for in a short time I found that I was in a way to become a mother. And think you, Joseph, that I was afflicted by the idea? think you that I abandoned myself to grief and despair at the prospect of being regarded as a dishonoured and degraded being? No, it was joy that filled my soul—joy at the thought of pressing to my bosom, when the time should come, a little being whom I might look upon as the miniature counterpart of yourself! Oh, for your sake, Joseph, k cared not for what the world calls shame !—I felt that I should be armed with a courage which would enable me to rise triumphant above the maledic- tions of a father, the gibes and taunts of brothers and sisters! Nevertheless, with a sort of in- stinctive feeling, I concealed my situation for some months; and then, during a few days of somewhat serious illness, it was discovered by the family physician. To my surprise my father uttered not a single syllable of reproach. On the contrary, he appeared to speak the language of mournful kindness, as if he compassionated me. He de- clared that the secret should be kept from the knowledge of my brothers and sisters—and that a fitting retirement should be immediately provided to receive me until I could re-appear in the world again. But as you may have already suspected, Joseph, all this was a mere specious pretext on the Earl’s part to inyeigle me into the snare which he was providing for me. I believed him to be sincere; and without suspicion I suffered him to bring me to Heather Place.” “And here you found a prison!” I exclaimed, my blood boiling with indignation, “And yet— and yet,” I added, that fever of the veins sud- denly subsiding, and my accents sinking into re- flective mournfulness, “ allowances must be made for the feelings of a parent But you have not experienced ill-treatment here, Calanthe ?” “ Conscientiously must I answer in the ne- gative,”’ she replied. “Doubtless these Shackle- fords, in keeping me a prisoner, have only carried out the instructions they received. They do not know who I am—and I haye never told them: or if they do know, they haye never suffered me to comprehend that they have such knowledge. My father, while dooming me to an imprisonment which he perhaps hopes and intends to be eternal, has done his best to render it as tolerable as pos- sible. The Shacklefords, we must presume, are paid handsomely for keeping me here; and Mrs. Shackleford has conducted herself towards me with as much kindness as under circumstances she could possibly show. She has even departed some- what from my father’s peremptory instructions in respect to the seclusion in which he meant me to be kept,—she has violated those instructions, I say, in my favour, by introducing an amiable lady to visit me occasionally and to vary the monotony of my existence.” “You allude to Mrs. Foley,” I said; “and I esteem her more highly than ever. I have seen my child in her arms—from the window ot my chamber have I observed her carrying and fondling this dear boy !” *Yes—she is an excellent woman,” answered Lady Calanthe. “To Mr. Shackleford I took a dislike the very first time I beheld him: f could not help regarding him in the odious light ot a gaoler—a man who consents to become an accom- plice in the persecution of a fellow-creature, that he himself may thereby reap a golden reward. I have not attempted to conceal that aversion; and for this reason has he so rarely visited my apart- ments. I ought to thank him perhaps for so much forbearance,” added Calanthe, with a slight tinge of ironical bitterness in her tone. “Oh, think, Joseph!” she cried, thus suddenly breaking into another strain, “ how ineffable was my astonish- ment—how breathless my suspense, when I one day, about two months back, fancied that I beheld you in the garden. I could scarcely believe my eyes; and I nearly fainted with delight when I found that it was no delusion. The idea that my presentiment had been fulfilled, and that Pro- vidence had brought you beneath the same roof under which I was held captive Ob, I cannot find words to convey the feelings that surged up within me! Often and often did I watch from the window in the hope of catching a glimpse of you: but you were so rarely in the garden—and fre- quently when you were, Mrs. Shackleford or else the housemaid was with me; so that I was com- pelled to put an iron restraint upon myself. But still I knew that sooner or later there would arise some opportunity for me to communicate with you —or some chance to fling us together; and this conviction was a source of immense solace to my mind. My spirits improved—my health there- with—and my appearance also,” she added genily, as if appealing to me through the medium of her beauty, that I would love her as much as she fancied I had loved her when we were at Mrs.: Robinson’s. ** And that day, Calanthe, when you broke the pane of glass?” IT said, having lavished some caresses upon the infant, whom she carried, and which delighted her as much as if they had been bestowed upon herself. “hat was in a mood of sudden and ileeting desperation,” responded the young lady. “Two months had elapsed since you entered the house ; and I felt assured that you had not recognised me at the window—you had not perhaps even seen me there at all! Indeed, of the few occa- sions when I did behold you in the garden, it struck me that on only one did you really observe COmicooolks (CO) im