The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 293: what you’re looking at

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

; ' 4 ; : - ; : LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE. 291 — ee i The glance of hoster and indignation which the Kneeling by the side of his father’s chair, Burley bishop directed towards the speaker appalled both | poured forth his regrets, his feclings, and his hopes, him and Burley. Had the fearful mys never been solved, that look would have been in the me- mory of both a refutation, The heart of the young man began to swell within his bosom, and he felt as if he could have sacrificed his life to prove his parent worthy of being loved. | “And thou hast deemed mé capable of this?” replied Fitzgerald, scornfully, “Condemned unheard, unquestioned, the man who exchanged his thought with thee—whose heart was open as thy nature has aver been natrowed by doubts, and jealous, mean ” “I saved him from the villain when a child,” said ad He was stolen from me when a child,—he and his mother deluded from the home where trusting love had left them. Vainly I sought, waited, hoped, and trusted that God would restore them to me. Hencs my lonely life—my resignation of the world—scorn of the wealth which chance had given to me; while the rich fountain of parental love o’erflowed in barren grief—while my very soul was solitude. You knew I had a son; you hid the light of my existence, withheld him from me, and trained him—infamy and shame upon thy head !—to hate his father.” Lord E rt was indeed overwhelmed and confounded, The penitent he came to pardon rose an accusing judge before him; and Burley, in whom the voice of nature, eo long tongue-tied, spake with power- ful eloquence, sank upon his knees and wept like a child at the fect of the parent he had so cruélly judged and wronged. “God! Iam punished,” he exclaimed; ‘ pardon! pardon!” “ Begone!” said the prelate, sternly; “my name and wealth are secured to thee. Thou canst pass the poor addition of a father’s love.” “Mercy!” continued the young man, grasping his hand, which Fitzgerald vainly attempted to draw from him, for he was weak as a child from emotion; “ oh! did you know how I have pined to hear some kind voice call me son—to be clasped in the embrace of a parent whom Il could love and honour, you would not cast me from you!” “Gol” gaid his parent, faintly; “ my name is yours already; my wealth will follow it soon,” he added —* soon, very soon.” “Father, I renounce them both,” said the young man, frantically ; “ they would prove a curse, and not a blessing, uniess accompanied by parental love. Let -| my mother’s memory plead—consider my youth and my estrangement—the fatal error into which I have been led. Could you,” he added, “ thrust from your heart the child of your early love—the being whose e should be your staff in age?—condemn him to a 6 of misery as cheerless as your own?” All the speaker’s haughty indifference, his air of pride, and conscious injury were gone, His check was pale, as his large blue eyes, which on their first had struck him from their resemblance to his Ellen’s, were fixed in humble, tearful supplication upon his, Pride, anger, wounded honour, all gave way at the appeal of memory and nature. With a trembling hand he raised him to his breast, and wept over him even as Jacob wept over his recovered child. arpa humbled and reproved, quitted the room. He stood convicted, to himself, of injustice to the man whose friendship he slighted—whose character he had so wrongly judged. — — = - The system upon which he had been educated, although right in principle, had been carried to an extreme. Erringeourt, truly as he loved his ward, had not quite supplied a father’s place. Nature whia- pered that there was a void within his heart which not even his guardian’s cares could fill, Day had. already dawned when the father and son separated. Not one word respecting Lady Georgina had been mentioned; yet, strange to say, Burley’s heart felt almost at ease. When they met the next day, doth were more calm—the calm had followed the tempest; and they consulted on the fitting means to trace the mystery which still hung over the past. “T must write to my lawyer,” said his lordship. “ Although old, he is a maz of unbroken energy and perseverances We must endeavour to discover the name of the ruflian who first placed you with the wretch whom you were taught to call your father.” “That is already known,” replie the young man. And he related to him his interview with Hamilton, whom he described with the boyish feelings of former affection and former years his trials, temptations, weakness, and repentance, * He too,” observed his father, “ seems to have been the victim, like yourself, of some malignant destiny, You say the same man placed you both with this villain Sedler ?” “The same,” “And his name?” demanded the bishop. “ Prim—a wealthy lawyer and money-lender, in the Temple,” “Prim!” repeated his father—‘* Prim! I have heard that name before. Gracious God!” he suddenly exclaimed, as the recollection of how he had beconie familiar with the name struck upon him. “Should it be—but no, no—it is too terrible!” “What?—who, my lord?” said the young man, surprised at the change which came over the speaker’s countenance; “ have you ever met this man?” ‘* Never, thank Heaven, never.” He rose hastily from his seat, and advanced to a cabinet, the same from whenee he had taken the packet which contained the certificate of his marriage, and eagerly sought for a small bundle of papers. After some delay he found them; they were labelled “ Private: to be opened after my death only by Fitz- gerald or my sister.” . The writing was in the well-known character of Ellen’s brother, the curate, who had given the church’s sanction to their love, Immediately after his death his brother-in-law had made himself acquainted with their contents, but carefully kept the secret they contained from the knowledge of his wife, fearing to distress her: happily she had died without attaining it. Years—many years had elapsed since he had last perused them. The prelate was too much agitated to remove the faded black ribbon which confined them ; he was com- pelled to give them into the hands of his son to open them. The first document which presented itself was a certificate of marriage between Nicholas Prim and Arabella Wilmot, It was dated half a century back, Burley read it aloud. “The same! it is the same!” murmured his father. “Heaven, how wondrous are thy ways! Yet what oe pave been his motive? Unnatural, fearful man EOIMNGIOO ee eee - _ RT <S (CO) im