The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

a a err Ee LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE. 109 receive her as an attendant in her own establishment, an offer which Mary gladly and gratefully accepted. * And how shall l ever be able to recompense you for this kindness?” cried Mary to her companion, as they descended the stairs, elated with the result of their mission; “to you, my dear Miss Thornton, I am much indebted, and I ean never grow tired of express- ing my obligations.” “If you wish really to repay me for this trifling Service, and deserve never to be scolded by me, you will succeed in both respects by putting a seal upon your lips, for the future, concerning it.” ** The severest punishment you could inflict upon me for trespassing so far on your good nature,” added Mary, in playful remonstrance;” you have lightened my heart of a burden that was oppressing me most heavily, but now, through your introduction to Lady Temple, lam picturing nothing but golden visions for the future.” “I know the inconveniences to which we are all subjected at times,” said Emma, now leading her friend into the ante-room; “and can therefore fully sympathise with your own annoyances. I make no companions of any here, and therefore I wish you to be my friend; which, from the first moment I saw you, I felt certain you were destined to be. There is something in your face and manner that pleases me so much that I can have no hesitation in saying so. Shall we establish at once this union of sympathies— this friendly partnership of our joys and sorrows?” “ With all my heart,” responded Mary, gladly re- ciproeating the open confidence with which Emma was treating her; “from this time forth we will cheer and console each other, and no joy or grief shall be un- shared, for we will confide wholly and trustingly in one another.” “Such is precisely the kind of compact that I wanted to exist,” replied Emma, earnestly; “and I am sure we shall be so happy now we fully understand the terms on which we are henceforth to meet. Mrs, Challis, with whom you lodge, and who, by the way, was a fellow-apprentice of mine, has told me what a kind-hearted, industrious, pains-taking girl you have been, and how worthy you are of anybody’s esteem. - But there, I know you wish to return before it gets later, and if that brother of mine is waiting for me here, as usual, we will see you home together. It will. be a nice walk for me, and as the time has arrived for my own departure, we will set forth at once.” This reminded Mary that she had been followed from the borough, and it was therefore with no little gratification that she heard the half-promise Emma | had given to accompany her home, and for which she expressed her warmest thanks. The preparations were soon completed, and the two friends, linked arm in arm for mutual protection, left the establishment of Madame Duchard together. _ They had hardly gone a dozen yards from the door ‘of the house, when Mary Randall, with a timorous gesture, drew the arm of Emma closer to her own, | and alluding to a figure that was now crossing over the road hurriedly towards them, she rapidly whis- “Let us hasten on to meet your brother, for that person that you see now coming up to us has fol- lowed me all the way hither from Newington.” “Then, if we run on in this way, we shall never meet him,” laughed Emma, in reply, “for the very individual that you are so anxious to escape from is _ my brother Henry, who has been here patiently await- _ ing my own appearance. But I will have an explana- = tie —— tion of this, and tease him preciously for it,” she con? tinued, as they now waited till he came up close be- side them; and she said: “So, Henry, it appears that you have been cruel enough to annoy Miss Randall by following her from the Borough, and thrusting your company upon her without it being desired, I should like to know what ingenious excuse you have ready, for an apology at least is demanded.” Thornton had no sooner glanced at the face of Mary than he recognised her as being the same with whem he had become momentarily acauainted, through the little assistance he had given in preventing the fall of the parcel. He explained away the apparent impertinence of which he had been accused by stating that he waa then returning from Brixton, whither he had been to deliver an impcrtant message to his employer, who was that day dining at Mr. Parkins’s villa. He added that he had taken an omnibus to the West-end, unaware that the young lady he had been fortunate enough to aid so opportunely was a fellow-passenger with him in another compartment of the same vehicle; and he concluded by expressing his deep regret that he should have caused any appre- hension of annoyance to one that he was glad to find was the friend of his sister. All this having been pronounced a satisfactory ex- planation and expiation of his assumed guilt, a laugh- ing recognition of the innocence of the equivoque followed, and the three walked in lively companion- ship over Westminster Bridge, with a chatting com- mentary all the way upon the singular string of in- cidents that had brought them separately into the welcume society of each other. As they went along, passing into the quieter streets, the clear and unclouded loveliness of the night gave & poetical turn to the conversation, and Thornton won the good opinion of Mary by reciting those beautiful lines which, invested by Moore with all the charms of his flowing musical rhythm, were at that moment the graceful embodiment of her own thoughts— ** Sweet moon, if, like Crotona’s sage, By any spell my hand could dare To maks thy disc its ample page, And write my thoughts, my wishes there, How many a friend whose careless eye Now wanders o’er that starry sky, Should smile upon thy orb to meet The recollections kind and sweet, The reveries of fond regret, The promise never to forget, And all my heart and soul would send To many a dear-loved distant friend.” And then he spoke of the illusions created by moun- light, and how well all buildings, and ruins especially, looked under its soft, bland radiance, giving a gran. deur and character to that which dwindled by the light of day into a mere mass of crumbling stone. He remarked how suggestive was the slightest recess in a tower, or a wall, when thrown into strong shadow—of yawning chasms and mysterious vaults, which the imagination failed not to heighten into subterranean passages, teeming with legendary lore, and having possibly the remains of some murdered monk or slaughtered seneschal crumbling away in a crypt round the corner. And then he reminded them when the bat was flapping its leathern wing in lengthened circles above the head, or the rustling of the grass showed the presence of a startled rabbit, how little it needed of fancy’s eonjuration to see figures passing along the obscure extremities of corridors, or to hear hollow and sepulchral yoices sounding grimly through the gloom; and from all this he thought that it came eat ~ (COMMMUCCLOOKOLKS (EO) im