The Seamstress; or, The White Slave of England — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

THE SEAMSTRESS. Cee en nnn es or else to put into execution some project which he | gentler tone: “and if you tell the wily, money- was entertaining. making, selfish lawyer that I am now prepared to Having seen that the lamps were extinguished | place all my affairsin his hands, he will not express in the state-apartments and that the household had | any vexation at being summoned from his warm retired,—and haviug also dispensed with any farther | bed, even in the depth of this cold winter night.” services on the part of his valet for that night,—the Duke returned to the library, accompanied by his son, who remained with him. The moment they were alone together, the Duke seized the young Marquis nervously by the hand, and said in a low but hurried voice, “ Charles, you have seen that misfortunes have this evening entered our house like an army. ‘The desperate position of my affairs is now revealed to you in the fullest extent—and nothing but prompt measures can save me from ruin. “Do you dream of re- tiring to rest while such a tremendous calamity hangs over our heads?” “Heaven forb.d!” exclaimed the young man, frightened as much by the manner as by the words of his sire. “I already knew that your affairs were embarrassed: but I little suspected they were so cruelly involved as one of the sad occur- rences of this night has proved them to be. What can I do to assist you, my dear farther ?—and is it possible that you have nerve and calmness sufficient to devote yourself to business of any kind, after the shocking event which has perilled the life of my mother-in-law ?” “Gladly—Oh! too gladly would I yield myself up entirely to the duty of watching by her bed. side,’ responded the Duke, in quivering accents and with a painful excitement of manner: “but the crash of our fortunes must be averted—and there remain but a few hours for the accomplish- ment of that colossal undertaking!” “Is your position, then, so very desperate‘?”’ inquired Charles, trembling all over, not only with compassionate interest on his father’s behalf, but likewise with the suspense of painful appre- hensions for his own prospects as the ducal heir. “Alas! unhappy boy,” returned his Grace in a tone of concentrated anguish, “the danger is at our very doors—on the threshold—and must be warded off at once. A dozen creditors will to-morrow send bailiffs hither—and if that crowning infamy should fall upon me——” *Oh! teli me, then, how we can avert it?—tell me, my dear father, how I can assist you at once?” exclaimed the Marquis of Arden, now evincing a nervous impatience to follow his sire’s bidding, whatever it might be. “Speak—I do not require rest —I could not close my eyes for a single moment——” “Then let us not waste in words those instants which are now so precious,” said the Duke, abruptly checking his son’s broken ejaculations. “It is now one o'clock,” he continued hurriedly, as he glanced at a time-piece upon the mantel;—“an hour past midnight! But no matter—you must steal forth quietly from the house—you must hasten to Bed- ford Square—and you must fetch Collinson hither as soon as possible.” What! arouse him at this time of night?” ex- claimed the young Marquis. “ Have I not already told you that the hours— the very moments—are precious?” cried the Duke, with an uncontrollable petulance. “ Hasten, my dear boy—delay not,” he immediately added in a ee —— — —_ *T will use all possible despatch,” said the Mar- quis of Arden, as he hastened to quit the room. One word more, Charles,” exclaimed the Duke, calling him back. “ You must steal forth noise- lessly—you must take the key of the front door with you—and you must re-enter the house on your return with equal precaution. If you do not find me here—in the library—when you come back, you can make Collinson wait, with the assurance that T shall not be long.” * But are you also going out, my dear father ?” demanded the Marquis in amazement. “No;—what made you think so?” cried the Duke, casting a strange look upon his son. “I shall retire to my own chamber—to examine and select some documents which Collinson will want to see But here we are continuing to waste these moments which are precious as gold!” he suddenly ejaculated, as he stamped his foot impatiently upon the carpet. “T am going, my dear father,’ said Charles; “and I promise you that all my movements shall be conducted with a noiselessness and a secrecy that will avert all risk of alarming the household.” “That is precisely what I require, my boy,” exclaimed the Duke, seizing his son’s hand and pressing it with fervour. The young Marquis then hastened from the library; and ina few moments he stole forth from ee ee the mansion, with the key of the front-door secured about his person. But scarcely had Charles thus taken his depar- ture, when the Duke enveloped himself in a cloak, put another pass-key into his pocket, and likewise quitted the dwelling in the same noiseless and stealthy manner. An hour afterwards — while the clocks were striking two—the Duke of Belmont returned home. As he cautiously and carefully let himself in at the front door, the light of the hall-lamp fell upon his countenance, which was ghastly pale; —and his hands trembled so nervously that he could scarcely withdraw the key from the lock or close the door without making it jar. Leaving his hat and cloak in the hall, he crept back to the lbrary;—and a murmur of satisfaction escaped his lips when he found that his son had not yet returned from Bed- ford Square. It was evident from his manner that he himself had been detained abroad longer than he had anticipated, and that he was fearful the Marquis should have got back before him; hence his relief on discovering that such was not the case. Having thrown some coals upon the fire which had nearly burnt out during his absence, the un- happy nobleman began to pace to and fro with a nervous agitation which he vainly endeavoured to conquer. Half-an-hour passed—and still his son returned not. The Duke’s uneasiness became in- tolerable: his impatience and his suspense consti- tuted in themselyes the most lancinating tortures. It was evident that so much depended upon the arrival of Collinson! | s At length a sound like that of footsteps i? | along the passage, reached the Duke’s ears: . (SO) AUUC JOO S (F©)