Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 139: what you’re looking at

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

126 JOSEPH WILMOT; dent had thus rendered my companion and placed under my guardianship. There was a_ gentility about her—a certain well-bred air—the scarcely defineable elegance and grace which belong to women who have been tenderly nurtured, that dis- played themselves notwithstanding she slept and that therefore I could judge naught of what her manners and demeanour were. Ai all events I was impressed with the conviction that the poverty of her garb was a libel upon the social position which she ought properly to occupy. She continued to sleep for upwards of a quarter of an hour after thus I began to contemplate her: and in the meantime the light of the morning be- came stronger. At length she slowly opened her large dark eyes, full of a soft lustrous sweetness and a semi-mournful pensiveness, like those of the gazelle: and now for the first time our looks en- countered each other, though we had been so many hours in that vehicle together. CHAPTER CIIlL ROME. A moperst blush overspread the countenance of the beautiful stranger, as she started up from her half-reclining posture to a sitting one; and her looks were immediately cast down. There was an unmistakable air of virgin innocence and maiden modesty about her; and I felt angry with myself for having, at the outset of our encounter, fancied for a single minute that she could have been in any way tainted with criminality. Yet this regret was of course ridiculous and most uncalled-for, in- asmuch as when in total darkness I could form no conception how sweetly ingenuous my companion’s aspect would prove to be. Presently, as the blush died away from her cheeks, she lifted her eyes timidly and bashfully towards my countenance: but her glance only lin- gered there for a moment, which seemed suflicicnt to convince her that my looks did not falsify what- soever assurances my words had given her some few hours back. I spoke gently to her—inquired if she were refreshed by her slumber—and on looking forth from the window, informed her that we were now within sight of the Eternal City. Yes: for there, in the distance, rose the great cu- pola—the mighty dome of St. Peter’s, like a dark cloud hanging in the air. «* And I shall behold Rome once again !” said my companion in a voice that was scarcely audible amidst the emotions which evidently agitated her: while for an instant her small, white, beautifully- formed hands were clasped together. “May I ask,’ I said, “to which particular quarter of Rome you desire to be taken? or whether I can in any way serve you on our arrival there P” She looked at me with a sort of bewilderment in her gaze: distress and blank uncertainty were blended in her expression: her aspect struck me as that of one who painfully felt herself to be homeless, friendless, penniless—and some object more or less defined, but still difficult, in her view. —_— yet to have | and so beautiful, and who evidently had not always been in a position teaching her the bitter expe- riences of the world’s woes and cares. “IT can assure you,” I went on to say, “ that you may rely on my friendship; and you must not hesitate to mention how I can serve you.” “You,” she observed, bending upon me for a moment a look of unspeakable gratitude, “are about to visit Rome for the first time P—and you will consequently be a stranger there ?” “Yes,” I responded: “ but that will not prevent me from doing whatsoever I can to serve you; for IT have the command of ample pecuniary means— pray pardon the observation—and these are at your disposal.” © You are an Englishman—and therefore a Pro- testant,’” she murmuringly said, with another swiftly darted look of deepest gratitude; “and I who have been taught to regard Protestants —— But no matter! I could say much “A And here she stopped short, overcome by her feelings. For a few minutes she held her kerchief to her eyes; and when she withdrew it, [ saw that she had been weeping. “Yes,” she said, “ you can render me a service. Why should I not tell you the truth so far as to confess that the door of no home will be thrown open to receive me in that city which we are about to enter—that I have no friend who will give me an asylum? Or why should I be ashamed to add that I fied penniless from the midst of my perse- cutorsP? Ah!” she suddenly ejaculated, “there is one thing I must beseech of you—one boon that you must grant me in addition to the immensity of the obligation under which you have placed me! It is that you will not breathe in the ear of a living soul the adventure of the past night. No —not even to your dearest friend—not in the most confidential discourse . “ Rest assured,” I said, “that the adventure is not one of which I should wilfully make a parade: for without ungenerously seeking to penetrate the circumstances that surround you, it is evident on the face of them that they are of too delicate a nature to become the subject of idle gossip. And now tell me what can I really do for you? Shall I find you apartments in some respectable hotel, where you may be under matronly care t “ No, no!” she exclaimed in an agitated and almost frightened manner: “let me seek the humblest lodging —some obscure place where I can bury myself for a time * ‘You yourself are no stranger in Rome,” I observed : “I gathered this much from a remark you made just now. Tell me where I can seek for such lodgings as you require ?” She reflected for upwards of a minute; there seemed the anguish of bewilderment in her thoughts ; and again I deeply, deeply compassion- ated her. At length, as a sudden idea appeared to strike her—and it seemed one full of joyous hope—she exclaimed, “There is perhaps a being who will receive me—a kind old woman—the | nurse of my infancy—and if she be still alive, I shall find a home with her.” She mentioned the place where she wished the vehicle to stop; and in a few minutes more we were entering the Eternal City. She drew the It went to my very heart to behold} folds of her veil thickly over her countenance, such a look on the countenance of one so young | evidently to conceal it as much as possible; and OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. | Giook eComs