The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 210: what you’re looking at

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

’ ’ 2l)4 ee eee —— O——— eo a _ —— + er - ees — — - -_ Abont two months attec the marriage, the worthy curate died, his last smile directed to his weeping sister, whese hand he placed in his friend’s, as he rendered up his pure soul to the Being whom he served and trusted. His end, like that of all good men, Was peace. The change which, soon after the loss of her bro- ther, became apparent in the figure of Ellen, indicated that she would soon become a mother, and she care- fully confined herself to the house. She had séveral times met Lord Moreton in her walks, and although the constant presence of her husband protected her from any direct insult, his ironical sneers were more than she could bear. An instinctive aversion told her that he was her enemy, and she shuddered with a vague presentiment of evil whenever she encountered him. The peer, who was one of those men who never forgive, or desist from a pursuit where their evil pas- sions are engaged, set every engine at work to dis- cover the nature of her relation with Fitzgerald, whom he hated as bad men only hate. The indiscreet zeal of her twe servants, who were goaded by the insinua- tions of a party set on by his lordship for the purpose, at last revealed to him that she was the wife of his enemy, **Good!” he excleimed, when he heard the intelli- genee; “my revenge will be the sweeter.” From that hour he spared neither expense or villany to accomplish his design. The hour at last arrived which made our hero the father of a son. Oh! with what tender love he thanked the youog mother for the gift, and thought, as he gazed upon the little stranger, that its dead uncle’s spirit blessed it and watched over it. Perhaps he was not in error. The period for his examination arrived about three months after the birth of his son. To say that Fitz- gerald’s heart did not beat quicker when the morning for entering the Senate House, and which was either to blight his hopes or crown them with success, arrived, would be wrong. As for the last twelvemonth he had been held a non-reading man, no very favourable an- ticipations were entertained by his friends. ‘To their astonishment, however, he distanced ell competitors, and came out senior wrangler and medallist. That day was a happy one with him and Ellen. But if he felt proud of his success, his grandfather was stil] more so. “My dream will soon be realised,” exclaimed the old man, as he paced the floor of his study with the welcome letter which contained the intelligence in his hand, “The star of my house is rising: let me but live to see it fairly above the horizon, and Fortune I acquit thee of the past.” Although so long absent from England, Radcliff had still a few friends upon whom he fancied he could rely, and, much as his pride revolted at the idea of asking a favour, he determined on making the sacri- fice for the advancement of his grandson, who was ordered forthwith to meet him in London. The first sorrow which Ellen had experienced since the death of her brother was the intended separation from her husband. Vainly he attempted to soothe her by a thousand endearments; his words, his reason- ings, his brilliant anticipations of the future, fell upon a deaf ear, for the heart refused to be convinced. “As soon as I have seen my grandfather and my position becomes defined,” whispered Gerald as he | kissed away her tears, “I will return to you, not to separate again. It is but a passing cloud,” he added, “ which obscures the sunshine of our happiness; it | paesion was permitted to ECONO ) a E o will seem the briehter from the contrasts.” THE MYSTERIES OF oF ee pe te em ee me LONDON The following day he tore himself from her arms, and consigned her to her humble but faithful friends, with a thousand injunctions to watch over her and her infant treasure. Little did he think the kiss he pressed upon her lips was doomed to be the last. CHAPTER VIII. Why have you rung these devils’ matins In my startled ear ? THE meeting between Fitzgerald and his grand- father was as cold and formal as though po stronger tie than that of guardian and ward existed between them, The Jacobite sighed as the young man merely touched his hand. “Tt is not thus,” he thought, “ that we should have met; but no matter: what is the sacrifice of the heart’s weak impulse to the achievement of the mind’s fixed purpose? Gerald may never comprehend my charac- ter; but I will not repine, so he fulfils his destiny.” His grandson, meanwhile, had taken a seat, ex- pecting the elder would commence the cenversation by informing him why he had sent for him to London, and what path he fixed on for him to pursue. “You doubt'ess expect, Fitzgerald, from the brevity 4 of my summons,” he at length began, “that I have - some decided purpose to communicate. Is not that the fact?” | The young man bowed, to intimate that such were his expectations. “T regret,” resumed the speaker, “ that such is not the case; the path by which you must enter on the world’s busy scenes has still to be discovered. I had trusted that a parliamentary career would have been opened to you; but the prejudice of the royal despet against our family is as unrelenting as ever, and such a step would excite his jealousy and suspicion,—both, if possible, to be avoided, though how, I am at a loss to advise, unless ”—here he paused, as if unwilling to unfold his thoughts. Fitzgerald spoke not, but fixed an inquiring eye upon his grandfather. “ Unless,” resumed the old man, “ you will be con- tent to enter society without family or name—merely as Mr. Fitzgerald—all mention of your descent from me for awhile forgotten. Your path must be that of the mole, instead of the flight of the eagle; but bear in mind,” he added, “‘ that it leads to success—to all that your dreams have ever pictured. Every other avenue to the restoration of the honours of our house is closed.” “ That can scarcely be, I fear,” replied the listener; “my name and descent are already too well known at the university to render concealment possible. My friends——-”’ : “Friends!” interrupted the old man, in a sharp tone, indicative both of surprise and scorn; “ J did not expect such weakness from my—I almoat blush to | say—my pupil. Think you that the butterfly ac- quaintances of college will remember any thing less foolish than themrelves? Friends! they are br} | ’ with which meu gull the world—the arate deceit and treachery. Interest may bind mankind © together, revenge or hatred, but friendship never!” = | The speaker must have endured some hard e ere he jumped to such conclusions. Tt was esidom that an emotion pole or words of Richard Rade