The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

84 had perpetrated towards her; and she was resolved . on vengeance. Amy was naturally one of those dispositions that, coldly implecable when once a determination of this sort was settled, exhibited no feverish impatience to carry it out until oppor- tunity served. She would bide her time—and therefore her’s was a character all the more dan- gerous, and the revenge she contemplated was all the more certain to be sooner or later wreaked. But it was not the sense of her wrongs which solely engaged her thoughts: she had to deplore the fall of a sister more beauteous than even she herself was, and whom sbe had loved as tenderly as her cold disposition would permit her to love at all. She had in the morning of that day received a letter from her sister; and the contente thereof entertwined themselves with the reflections that she was pursuing in regard to her own position. The farmer’s widow was no relation to Amy Sutton: but they had become acquainted by some means which it is not worth while pausing to deacribe ; and when Amy had found that the fime was approaching when she could no longer be able to conceal her position from the world, she bethought herself of Mrs. Willis as a woman in whom she could confide, and of her rural habita- tion as a place where she might bring forth in seclusion the offspring of her shame and dis- honour. For in such a light does society regard the illegitimately born ; although the mother may have been guiltless of wanton frailty, and merely the victim of fuuleet treachety—as was the case with poor Amy Sutton. ' -_It was in the afternoon, fis wo have said, that she was sitting in the little parlour at the cottage when her ear caught the sound of footsteps ap- proaching through the garden; and raising her eyes, sho beheld Christian Ashton. Her first im- pulse was to order the servant-giri to deny her to the young gentleman: for be it recollected that when they were trayelling together, she had not revealed to him the full extent of the misery en- tailed upon her by the Duke of Marchmont’s black criminality, Bat a second thought deter- mined ber to see him. Ho was already acquainted with nearly every thing that fegarded her ;—and of what avail to keep back the rest ? Besides, in her solitude she could welcome him as an old ao- quaintance—almost as a friend: she knew him to be a youth of the strictest probity and honour ; and there is no sorrow so desperate but that it may derive a balm, however slight and however evanescent in ite effect, from friendly companion- ship. Christian was accordingly introduced ; and with that atr of frank kindness which was natural to him, he proffered his hand,—eaying, “I would not pass by this neighbourhood, Amy, without seeing you—although my time is not completely my own.” The unfortunate young woman had instinctively risen on the entrance of one whom she regarded as a superior; and then her condition was at once revealed to his view. His sense of delicacy as well as bis generosity however prevented him from betraying that he noticed the circumstance ; and in the same considerate mood he at once giided into discourse upon the current topics of the day. He was almost sorry that he had intruded upon the young woman's privacy, painfully situated as THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. she was: but he had presented himself there with a kind motive—for the tale she had told him in .the railway carriage had enlisted his sympathy on her behalf. “You can no longer be ignorant, Mr. Ashton,” Amy at length eaid, while her countenance was suffused with the glow of mingled shame and in. dignation, “of the reason which led me into this seclusion. I am unhappy—so unbappy, Mr. Ash- ton, that were it not for the sake of revenge I should not cling to life. But, Oh, revenge will be so swoet!—and deadly indeed shall ite nature be when the proper time for wreaking it arrives!” “ Great though your wrongs have been, Amy,” said Christian, in a toné of gentle remonstrance, “think you that you do well thus to keep your mind in a state of incessant excitement by brood- ing over this hoped-for vengeance ?” “I¢ has become to me the sustaining food of existence,” answered the unfortunate young woman; “and if I porish on the scaffold I will have the life of that man! Unless indeed it be possible to wreak some vengeance which he may live to feel——-” “For heaven’s sake, Amy, speak not in this dreadful manner!” exclaimed Christian. “To talk of taking the life of the Duke of Marchmont, displays a frightfal recklessness in respect to your ows life.” “And what have I to live for?” demanded the young woman, with even a flerce sternness. ‘ Not for the child that will be the offspring of mingled outrage and shame! No,” she added bitterly: “I loathe and abhor it éven before it is born !” “You will think differently,” said our young hero, “‘ when the babe nestles in your bosom.” * As soon place a viper there!” ejaculuted Amy Sutton. “ But I was about to tell you that I have nothing, and ean have nothing—save my present hope of vengeance— which binds me to life. When thet is accomplished, £ shall be ready to die —or in the accomplishment of it I may engaif myself !”” “Bat bave you no relatives,” asked Christian, infinitely pained as well as shocked by the lan- guage that flowed from the lips of the unfortunate young woman,—* have you no relatives who could be kind to you now, and who would have to de- plore your fate if by your own madnees——’’ “I have one relative whom I loved —yes, still love,” responded Amy, in a mournfal tone, —“ a very near one—a sister: bat she is likewise fallen !” “ By treachery also?” asked Christian. “No—by her own wantonness and weakness,” rejoined Amy. “TI will tell you a brief narrative. We two sisters were left orphans at a somewhat early age: an aunt took charge of Marion—an- other aunt took charge of me. The aunt who adopted Marion was the richer of the two rela- tives; and she gave Marion an education fitting her for the position of a lady. The aunt who took charge of me, brought me up toa genteel servitude—-namely, the position of a lady’s-maid. This aunt died when I was between fifteen and sixteen: I went into service—and have ever since earned my bread by mine own honest industry. My aunt taught me thrift—and I have been thrifty: or else I should not now possess the means of retiring awhile from the world—for nit one single ovin of the gold that the villain Mars - DOO <S