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ELLEN PEECY;

OR, raa

MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS.

BY

GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS,

AUTHOR OP THB FIRST AND SBCOXD SERIES OF " THB JITSTKEIE3 OF LOKDOX," " THE MTSTERtES OF THB COURT OF LOXDON," "MART PRICE," "JOSEPH WILMOT," "ROSA XAMBERT," " THE NECROMANCER," " THB MASSACRE OF GLENCOE," " POPE JOAN," " THB DATS OF HOGARTH," "WAGNER THE WEHR-WOLF," "THB SOLDIER'S WIFE," "THE ETE- HOUSE PLOT," "THE BRONZE STATUE," "the loves OP THE HARBM," " OMAR : A TALE OF THE WAR," " LEILA; OR, THB STAR OF MINGRBLIA," "MAT MIDDLETON," " THB CORAL ISLAND," " AGNBS; OB, BEAUTT AND PLKASUBK," "the SEAMSTRESS," " THE PIXT," " KKSNETH," "ROBERT MACAIKB," &3. &8.

WITH FIFTY-TWO WOOD-ENGRAVINGS.

VOL. I.

LONDON: PUBLISHED, FOR THE PROPRIETOR, BY JOHN DICKS, AT THE OFFICE ( No, 7, WELLINGTON STREET NORTH, STRAND.

1856.

a/^

i

INDEX TO WOOD-ENGMvmCxS.

'^-,

I

Of

6

1. The G-randfatlier'a Death Bed . •

2. Ellen and the Lessee . • • •

3. St. Clair gazing on the Ballet-dancers

4. Ellen and St. Clair . ' tt *

5. The Entertainment at the Parks a House .

6. Ellen and Melissa Harrison

7. Ellen and Colonel Bellew . • • •

8. Ellen and the Gipsies . • •

9. Ellen as Juliet in " Romeo and Juliet

10. The Aunt's Death . • •

11. Scene in Lady Lilla Essendine's Garden .

12. The Brute-tamer - • •

13. Ellen and the Duchess of Ardleigh • 14,. Ellen as Queen Catherine in " Henry \ lU

15. POETEAIT OF ElLEN PeKCT.

16. Ellen and Mr. Crott. • • *

17. The Swoon . • • * "

18. Ellen and Juliet Norman . . • •

19. Ellen as Lady Macbeth

20. PoRTEAiT ov Melissa Haebisoit. 2l] The Lessee and the Performers

22. Ellen's Triumph • • V, „.J„tt.

23 POETEAIT OF THE MaECHIOKESS OF CAMPA>ELLA.

24 Ellen as Mrs. Beverley in " The Gamester __ 26 Ellen as Portia in " The Merchant of Venice .

26. PoETEAii OF Lady Lilla Essendine.

27. Mary Glentworth in the Arbour .

28. Ellen and Beda . • • •

29. The Dream of the Dreadful Picture

30. Ellen and Juliet's Cuild

31. POETKAIT OF BEATEICE DI CaEBONI.

32! Ellen, the Marchioness, and Beda .

33.* Zarah and St. Clair , - • •

34. POETEAIT OF JULIET NoEMAN.

35. Beda at the Lunatic Asylum . •

36. A Scene in the Green Eoom . • »

37. St. Clair and Zarah in the Park .

38. POETEAIT OF ElLEN AS CLEOPATEA.

39. The Box at the Theatre

40. Felicia fainting at the Theatre

41. POETEAIT OF MaET GlESTTWOETD.

42. Ellen at her toilet . • • •

43. The Murder on the Cliff . • • •

44. Beatrice identifying the Corpse

45. POETEAIT OF THE DUCHESS OF AeDLBIGH.

46. Death of Mrs. Norman .

47. POETEAIT OF EeLICIA GOWEE.

48'. The Arrest of Ellen and Be.la . ,

49*. The Attack on Black Ned . . • <

50. Dame Betty on her Knees

61. POETEAIT OF LaDT KeLVEDOX.

62. Ellen and Lady Kelvcdon . . • ■

See page

8 21 26 36 46 50 51 63 68 75 81 91 98 109

127 130 139 155

166 178

195 199

220 224 232 242

258 268

277 285 293

314 315

332

347 350

367

391

398 399

408

INDEX TO YOL. I.

Cbapte	r I. The Old House at Leeds . . •		•		1
II	II. The Stranget ....	.'			5
»)	HI. Various Changes of CirCiimstances . ,				10
i>	lY. The Advertisemeufc . . .				13
>i	v. The Theatre .....				10
11	VI. Edwin St. Clair ....				23
II	VII. The Invitation and the Eesult .				30
II	■ VIII. The Box at the Theatre . .				33
II	IX. The Ball				40
II	X. Lady Lilla Essendine . . .				43
I)	XI. Colonel Bellew's House • . .				51
II	XII. The Debut ....				5G
II	XIII. Claremont Villa ....				61
II	XIV. The Bouquet ....				66
II	XV. Paisley .....				74
II	XVLEmbledon ....				78
11	XVII. The Phial in the Filigree Case				83
11	XVIII. The Brute.tamer . . .				83
11	XIX. The Duchess and the Countess • .				95
11	XX. Theatrical Matters ....				102
11	XXI. The Private Theatricals				108
11	XXIL The Unacknowledged Wife			,	112
i>	XXIII. Various Incidents ....				118
11	XXIV. Mr. Croft ....				125
1)	XXV. Poor Juliet . . . . .				133
„	XXVI. Juliet's Fate ....				139
11	XXVn. The Park, . , . .				143
»	XXVIII. The Masquerade				148
II	XXIX. Lady Macbeth . . , .				154
11	XXX. A Strange Visitress				159
11	XXXI. Aunt Oldcastle ....				168
„	XXXIL The Test of Love				173
"	XXXIII. Francis Howard				178

, Chapter XXXIV, The Old Farm House

XXXV. Zarah

XXXVI. Tho Fearful Picture .

XXXVII. Beatrice di Carboni

XXXVIII. Bcda

XXXIX. Mary Glentworth XL. The Yacht XLI. Mary and her Mother XLII. Juliet's Infant . . XLIII. The Meeting XLIV. The Railway Train XLV. The Earl of Carshalton XLVI, A Strange Scene . XLVII. William Lardner . XLVIII. Zarah and St. Clair . XLIX. The Pardon L, The Guilty Lawyer . . LI. Hyde Park

LII. The Marquis of Tynedale. LIII. More Mysteries LIV. Tho Party at the Theatre LV. The Result of the Plan LVI. The Black-edged Letter LVIL Mr. Gower . LVIII. The Appointment LXIX. The Cheque LX. The Cliff . LXr. The Pier-head LXII. Again at Leeds . LXIII. Mrs. Norman LXIV. Felicia . LXV. Petersfield . LXVI. The Cottage LXVII, The Attack LXVIII. The Struggle LXIX Heroiione . LXX. The Black Hibbon

ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS,

A'

CHAPTER. I.

THR OLD HOUSE AT LEEDS.

I HATE often thought, when looking back through the vista of jears to the period of my early in^ fancy, that such retrospect was like plunging the No. 1.

regards info the almost endless reaches of a forest, —where, at the extremity of long winding avenues, feeble and uncertain glimpses of light are caught amidst the deep embowering shades. And in the same way that imagination itself grows bewildered when flitting into the depths of that vast wilderness of umbrageous verdure, — so does memory become confused when striving U)

2

EIilEN PEECX; OB, THE MEM0IE8 OF AN ACTEB88.

fix its gaze on the earliest incidents of life that can by any possibility be within its reach. Of this dim and shadowy species was a recollection which would at times haunt me like the ill-defined impression of a troubled dream. In my childhood I used to sit and wonder whether the circumstance could ever have possibly occurred—or whether it were a mere fancy arising from some unaccount- able freak or aberration of an infantile mind. Methought, however, that this earliest impression of mine was associated with some dark gloomy place— a man fondling me upon hia knee, then pressing me to his heart and sobbing bitterly — then a woman taking me from his arms, straining me to her own bosom, and sobbing and weeping with even more convulsive violence than the grief of the other. And after this scene there appeared to be a blank in my existence — until my next im- pressions were associated with my grandfather's house at Leeds.

In that great northern town, and in one of those low quarters which almost exclusively swarm with the poorest members of the manufacturing population— in the midst of a labyrinth of narrow filthy streets, interspersed with huge dingy fac- tories—and beneath an atmosphere almost ever- lastingly "blackened by the smoke vomited forth from the giant chimneys that overlooked the whole maze of habitations, — there was that house situated. It was one of the largest in the entire quarter of which I am speaking— and perhaps also the gloomiest. Its dark red-brick front displayed many small windows of the old-fashioned latticed description; and there was a heavy pointed wooden portico, supported by two very meagre pillars. The house was large enough for the accommodation of a numerous family; and yet it only contained four persons. These were my grandfather, the housekeeper, myself, and a wretched drab of a servant-of-all-work. I did not know then — but I have since learnt, and therefore I may as well at once inform the reader — that my grandfather, Mr. Forsyte, had never pursued any ostensible profession : but he lent money and dis- counted bills- though alw.iys in small sums; for notwithstanding the extent of his avarice he was afraid of anything in the shape of a great risk, and therefore would never bo too speculative. The house was his own property : be had bought it many years back, at a price which would have been cheap for even one of the humblest dwell- ings in the neighbourhood. At the time that he thus purchased it, the house had been long shut up : some dreadful murder had been com- mitted within its walls — its repute was bad — superstition invested it with the darkest terrors — and it was falling into decay, when Mr. Forsyth, availing himself of what he considered to be an excellent bargain, became its purchaser. If by living in the meanest lodging elsewhere, and letting that house to any one else, my grandfather could have made money, he would have done it : but he knew that no family would dwell in that house— it would have moreover required a con- siderable outlay for reparation — and therefore Mr. Forsyth continued to inhabit it himself.

Two-thirds of the rooms were shut up ; and only just so many were furnished as were re- quired for the use of the inmates. And such fur- niture as it was! A few pounds expended at the

meanest broker's, would have purchased much better articles. A front parlour on the ground- floor served as the only sitting-room: behind it was a sort of office, where my grandfather kept his books and papers, and transacted his business with the borrowers who called upon hita ; and an inner door opening from this office, communicated with a room that jutted out into the yard and which served as Mr. Forsyth's bed-chamber. The house- keeper occupied an upper room ; and a smaller chamber opening therefrom, was allotted to my use. The servant-girl's chamber was higher up still.

From all that I have just said, the reader is prepared to learn that Mr. Forsyth was of the most penurious habits ; and I thought at the time that he was exceedingly poor. Indeed, like all misers, he was constantly complaining of poverty, and vowing that he should be ruined if anything which he fancied to border upon extravagance were practised. To myself he was much attached : but it was after his own peculiar fashion. He would caress and fondle me — and yet not merely grudge me a toy, but even the means of education. I used to go to a neighbouring day-school, fre- quented by the daughters of respectable trades- men : but my grandfather was constantly grumbling at the payment of the pittance which my tuition thus cost him. Fortunate however was it for me that the dame who kept the school was a worthy good-hearted woman ; and she conceived a liking for me. She said that I was the most intelligent as well as the most docile of her pupils ; and she took a delight in teaching me. I believe she had some little independence of her own, and therefore was not compelled to look too closely to the remu- neration she received from the parents or relatives of the girls attending her school. She frequently kept me after school-hours, and regaled me in her parlour — which, by its neatness and comfort, had to me the air of a palace in comparison with the cheerless ill-furnished parlour at home. Perhaps she thought I was half starved; for she took a delight in making me eat the good things which she placed before me. Although my grandfather would pay for no " extras," but merely wanted me to have what he called " a plain education," yet the worthy lady — (her name was Mrs. Kelly, and I am glad to have an opportunity of making honourable mention of it)— put me into the drawing-class and also into the music-class; and she allowed me to learn dancing. My grandfather was delighted: he would gladly have suffered me to acquire all possible accomplishments, so long as he was not called upon to pay for them. Every- thing that he himself or any one belonging to him could get for notliing, was in his estimation an immense gain and a subject for the extremes!; self-felicitation. Thus, altogether, under the tuition of that worthy and kind-hearted Mrs. Kelly, I received a very tolerable education, em- bellished with some few accomplishments.

I did not know what to think of Mrs. Parks, my grandfather's housekeeper. She was kind enougii to me : but I could not help fancying that there was something forced, or rather artificial and hypocritical, in this display of tenderness, and that it was only shown in order to curry favour with Mr. Forsyth, because he himself loved me. I used to wonder how it was possible lor such a

ELLEN PEllCT; OU, THE MEMOIES OP AN ACTEES3.

Bour-looking old woman as Mrs. Parks, to be sincerely good and kind towards any one. Her countenance had a sinister expression — and never more so than when, in a sort of canting tone, she was lavishing praises upon me in the presence of my grandfather. Over him she evidently wielded an immense influence, though he himself did not choose to acknowledge it : on the contrary, when- ever, with her wonted hypocritical air of deference, she proflfered her advice on any point, he vowed he

would do the very reverse and yet her counsel

was always followed ! She had been with him for a great number of years : she used to sit with us in the parlour, and was treated almost as an equal —though she invariably said "sir" when speaking to my grandfather, and used to call me " Miss Ellen." The influence she possessed over Mr. For- syth had not been acquired by tyranny : nor was it ever asserted in a dominating spirit. It was the influence that was obtained insidiously, in the thousand and one ways in which such a woman could render herself necessary to such a man. For when I was alone with my grandfather, he would frequently tell me how faithful a creature Mrs. Parks was — how economically she managed his little household — how kind she was to myself — and how irreparable would be her loss if anything should happen to her. And yet it would some- times occur to me, notwithstanding these praises bestowed upon the housekeeper— and notwith- standing the vehement assertion of his own in- dependence in opposition to any advice she might at times proffer, as I have already stated— that my grandfather experienced more or less fear of Mrs. Parks ; and when this idea was in my mind, I fancied it was because he was afraid that she should leave him and procure some better situa- tion.

She had for many long years been a widow ; and she had a son, who was clerk to a lawyer living at York. Thomas Parks was an individual of by no means prepossessing appearance : he was about five-and-thirty-years of age when I was ten or eleven : he had red hair and whiskers, a face covered with freckles, and eyelashes that were almost white. He wore spetacles, and had a de- mure look : indeed methought that his limp white neckcloth and his invariable suit of seedy black gave him that pseudo-sanctimonious aspect which characterizes the hypocrite who would fain pass for a saint. There was something unpleasantly fawning and cringing in his manner, as well as whining and snivelling in his tone. He had a wife and a perfect swarm of children : for one day Mrs. Parks took me, as a very great treat, to York, when she was going on a brief holiday-visit to her son ; and on that occasion I formed the acquaint- ance of the entire family. Occasionally — once per- haps in every three months— Mr. Parks came over to Leeds to see his mother : it was invariably upon a Sunday— and my grandfather permitted him to dine at his table. This was the only guest I ever saw at the house, with the exceptions which I shall presently have to name; and it might be considered an extraordinary proof of Mr. For^iyth's regard for Mrs. Parks, or else of his desire to do an occasional thing to conciliate her, that he should thus, even at distant intervals, permit another mouth to feed itself at his board. And while talking of the table, I may as well add that though

there was always a sufficiency of food, and that Mrs. Kelly's apprehension of my being half-starved was by no means well-founded, — yet the utmost parsimony was observed in respect to the dishes themselves, and the viands were hashed up again and again until the uttermost morsel was disposed of.

I am now about to specify the exceptions to which I have just alluded. But I must previously explain that I had been told my parents had died when I was quite an infant ; and when on two or three occasions I had mentioned to my grandfather the vague and shadowy impression I experienced of the scene alluded to in the opening sentences of my narrative, he assured me it was mere fancy, for that I had never been in a position to be so caressed, sobbed and wept over, within the range of my memory, inasmuch as I was only a few months old when my father and mother were car- ried off by the same malignant disease. The reader has of course understood that Mr. Forsyth was my maternal grandfather — my own surname being Percy. I knew that I had an aunt— my father's only sister, and who was a widow. Mr. Wakefield, her deceased husband, had been a manufacturer in a small way at Sheffield, and by the closest application to business he ruined his health — so that he sank into the grave before he had lived long enough to overcome the difficulties attendant upon entering into business with a very limited capital. From the wrecks of his property a sufficiency was saved to purchase a small annuity for Mrs. Wakefield : but she, being a woman of thrifty habits and excellent disposition, contrived to maintain herself and her fatherless boy in modest respectability.

I was about ten years of age when one morn- ing, amidst an infinity of grumblings on the part of my grandfather, I gleaned the intelligence that he had invited Mrs. Wakefield to pass a week with him. I was overjoyed at the idea of seeing my aunt and my cousin Henry ; and I asked a thou- sand questions concerning them. It however ap- peared that Mr. Forsyth himself had not seen them since the death of Mr. Wakefield, on which occasion he went to Sheffield to attend the funeral and to counsel the widow as to the best course she could adopt with reference to the difficulties in which her h'jsband's loss had suddenly plunged her. All I could therefore ascertain was, that my aunt Wakefield must be about six-and-thirty years of age, and my cousin Harry about twelve. It appeared that Mrs. Wakefield had written to Mr. Forsysth to consult him as to the best means of getting her son into a respectable free-school where the old gentleman had some little influence : but before he would use it, he, with characteristic caution, desired to be better acquainted with the lad himself. Thus— doubtless after much hesita- tion and with considerable reluctance — he had de- termined to stretch a point and go to the expense of entertaining Mrs. Wakefield and Henry for an entire week. Perhaps the old gentleman likewise deemed it his duty to affi^rd me an opportunity of becoming acquainted with my relatives, whom I had never yet seen and had only distantly heard of.

Furniture was hired— (my grandfather would have thought it an unpardonable waste of money to purchase the articles) —for a couple of the long-

4

ELLEN PEECT ; OR, THE MEMOIHO OF AS ACTRESS.

ehut-up chambers; and on the appointed day my aunt and cousin arrived. A pale, pretty, lady-like woman, with the sweetest and most amiable ex- pression of countenance, — and a tall, genteel, slender lad, looking two years older than he really was, with a profile of remarkable classic beauty and large brown eyes shaded by ebon lashes, — these were the relatives to whom I was now intro- duced, and who received me in their arms. I wept for very joy. The old cheerless house seemed irra- diated with their presence ; and there was the ex- quisite charm of novelty in the excitement attend- ing their arrival. And then too, it was so sweet for me, who had never known any other relation than my old, withered, cadaverous grandfather, to be clasped in the arms of those who appeared per- fectly beautiful in my eyes. My aunt treated me as one whom she had long yearned to behold, but from whom circumstances had kept her apart. She smiled and wept upon me, pressing me again and again to her bosom. As for my cousin, — with the natural frankness of his truly generous heart, he seemed determined to become intimate with me at once : there was no cold ceremony, no awkward shyness nor reserve on his part — and we were soon " Cousin Harry" and " Cousin Nelly" to one an- other.

How happily passed that week ! It constituted one of those periods which are marked with golden letters in the existence of mortals. It was in the middle of summer, during the vacation of Mrs. Kelly's school ; and therefore I was enabled to de- vote all my time to my aunt Wakefield and my cousin Harry. I liked Harry from the very first moment : there was something so cordial without absolute forwardness in his manner — something so frank and open-hearted that it was impossible to help being pleased with him — almost fascinated, if I may apply such a term to the feelings of a girl of ten years of age, as I was at that time.

One day I found myself alone with my aunt "Wakefield — Mr. Forsyth having gone with Henry to visit the master of the free-school in a neigh- bouring town. My aunt questioned me upon a variety of subjects ; and though I was too young and inexperienced at the time to comprehend the considerate delicacy with which her queries were put, — yet at later periods, when I have recalled to mind the particulars of that interview, I have seen and appreciated all which I was then unable to understand. She evidently strove to glean whether I was happy with my grandfather — whether Mrs. Parks was kind to me — and whether I had a suffi- ciency of necessaries and comforts. I wore my best apparel all the time my aunt and Henry were at the house : and I did not like to tell Mrs. Wake- field that ordinarily in the week-days I felt that I was shabby and that I had even been taunted with that shabbiness by my schoolfellows. I endea- voured to give the most satisfactory answers to all questions ; for indeed I was naturally of a con- tented, but shy and timid disposition. I spoke highly of Mrs. Kelly; and my aunt went with me to call upon this lady, that she might personally thank her for all her goodness towards me.

" I can assure you, my dear madam," said the kind-hearted dame, " Ellen is quite a pet cf mine: but she deserves it. She is very pretty, though I ought not to say so in her presence : but what i^ far better, she is good. As for her intelligence, i-

is truly remarkable — and she is very fond of learn- ing."

" Do you not think she is rather delicate P" I heard my aunt ask in a whisper, but which was nevertheless just audible to my ears.

"No— her health is good," replied Mrs. Kelly. " She has attended my school for the last four years, and has never had a day's illness. She is tall for her age — she is only ten, you know — and she looks twelve. Her figure is slender — but so genteel ! In short, my dear madam, she is the genteelest looking as well as the prettiest and the best girl in my school. I am very much mistaken if she will not grow up to be a most lovely creature. Did you ever see such silky black hair, with such a raven gloss upon it- such superb dark eyes — such sweet features, espe- cially those vermilion lips of her's, with that beau- tiful smile 1"

"Yes— she is all that," answered Mrs. Wake- field : " and I hope ■"

But here she stopped short, and heaved a pro- found sigh.

" You hope that her grandpapa," added Mrs. Kelly, '•' will make such provisions as shall place her under proper guardianship at his death. But you yourself, my dear madam, will doubtless be- come her guardian ?"

Mrs. Wakefield gave some response, which did not reach my ears. I was sitting in the window- recess of the little parlour where this discourse took place; and I could not help overhearing it. But I was looking through the window— or rather my face was turned that way; and therefore neither the schoolmistress nor my aunt had any reason to suspect that I did overhear them. The conver- sation made a deep impression on my mind ; and therefore I have recorded it here. It was the first time I ever knew that I had the slightest claim to good looks. Mrs. Parks had been wont to praise my proficiencies in study — but never my personal beauty. It would be a miserable affectation to pre- tend that I was not pleased on learning that I was considert^d pretty : but the knowledge thereof did not instil the faintest tincture of vanity in my mind. All the value which, according to the girlisti notions of my naturally shy disposition, I attached to the beauty of personal appearance, was centred in the hope that it might render me more pleasing to those whose good opinion I esteemed.

On returning with my aunt to the house, we continued to discourse together ; and I at length timidly ventured to ask some question relative to my parents. I say timidly — because I had noticed that my grandfather was invariably either annoyed or afflicted whenever I had questioned him ou the same subject. I now perceived that Mrs. Wake- field averted her countenance ; and, as I continued to gaze upon her, I observed that the tears were trickling down her pale cheeks. I threw myself into her arms, beseeching her to forgive me for having touched upon a topic which made her weep.

" You have no forgiveness to ask, my dear child," she responded : " the question was natural

equally natural too is it that I should weep

on account of your parents. They are lost to you,

my poor child they were lost to you in your

infancy ! Would that it had been permitted to me to supply the place of your mother : but cir- cumstances prevented it !"

ELLEX PBKCT; OU, THE lIEilOIES OP AN ACTEKS3.

For some few moments I was half suffocated vith mj ovrn tears and sobs; and then I asked, "Hovr old was I, dear aunt, when my parents died ?"

" Why do you put this question, Ellen ?" in- quired Mrs. Wakefield, looking fixedly upon my countenance as I gazed up at her.

I blushed and became confused : but quickly re- covering my frank and artless self-possession, I looked up into her face again, and candidly re- vealed that idea which had ever appeared to haunt me like the reminiscence of something which had actually bappered at the earliest period of my con- sciousness of existence. Mrs. Wakefield listened with what I fancied to be a sad and mournful in- terest ; and when I had finished speaking, she said, " Banish this idea, my sweet child, from your mind. It is a delusion under which you are labouring— it has no foundation in fact:"— and then, after a few moments' pause, she added in a still lower tone, at the same time bending her face down until it almost touched mine, and pressing her hand oiressingly over the masses of my dark hair — '• You lost your parents, Ellen, when you were tjo young to know them."

Almost immediately after these words were spoken, I beheld my grandfather and Harry pass tie window; and I bounded away to open the f;ont door for them. At the instant I opened the piilour door, I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Parks hastening along the passage to the staircase ; and the suspicion flashed to my mind that she had been listening to the discourse between my aunt and myself. I scarcely know why I should have t-iought so ; for the old housekeeper might just as well have been coming from the kitchen, or from one of the back rooms, as to hare been passing away from the vicinage of the parlour-door. Nevertheless, the idea did occur to me ; and it excited a momentary trouble in my mind. But I speedily forgot the incident when my cousin Harry came bounding joyously towards me, ex- claiming that Mr. Forsyth had procured him the promise of admittance to the Free Grammar Soliool after the current vacation.

Happiness was dancing in my cousin's handsome brown eyes; and my heart thrilled with the trans- fusing influence of the joy which he thus ex- perienced. He ran to embrace his mother, and acquaint her with the good tidings— for which she Warmly expressed her gratitude to Mr. Forsyth,

On the following day Aunt Wakefield and Cousin Harry took their departure : tears were upon their cheeks — and torrents were raining down my onn, as they bestowed upon me the farewell einbrnces. And when they were gone, how I missed them both !— how I continued to weep as I looked at the vacant seats, where I no longer en- countered the kind dove-like regards of my affec- tionate aunt, nor the ingenuous expression of my cousin's dark-brown eyes. And how cheerless the old bouse appeared again— —Ob, how cheerless !

^ CHAPTER II.

THE STBAiraEB.

About six months had elapsed after the visit of Mrs. Wakefield and her son ; and during this in- terval I received two or three kind letters from them both. Harry was installed at the seminary where the benevolence of some long deceased phi- lanthropist had provided that a certain number of fatherless boys should be genteelly educated for a sum so small that it was almost nominal. My cousin was delighted with the establishment ; and he declared that he should do his best to profit by the advantages of instruction which were thus afforded him.

It was one afternoon, a half-holiday — I remem- ber it full well — in the middle of December, in the year 1832 — I was sitting alone with my grand- father in the parlour, Mrs. Parks being temporarily absent at the time. It was about three o'clock; and the dusk was closing in thus early in the depth of that winter-season. We were close by the window; and I had some ten minutes back laid aside my book in consequence of the growing ob- scurity. Mr. Forsyth bad been talking to me : but there was at the moment a pause in the con- versation. All of a sudden I beheld a man, who was muffled in an ample cloak, and who wore a somewhat battered hat, the broad brims of which slouched, stop in front of the house and look up at it. For a few moments I thought nothing parti- cular of the incident: but as the individual re- mained there in the middle of that narrow street — now looking up and down, and then up at the house again — I directed my grandfather's attention to the person. At the same instant the individual came close up to the window, and deliberately looked over the blind. The dusk was not too great to prevent me from easily observing all this — nor to prevent the man himself from seeing into the room, where the fire (never too good a one in that parlour) was throwing a glimmering light around.

My grandfather uttered some ejaculation- started — then sank back into the seat again— and appeared to be smitten with a sudden trouble, or else with illness. I was alarmed, and besought him to tell me what was the matter. Then I looked again to the window : — the man was gone.

Mr. Forsyth could not speak : a strange terror appeared to have come over him : he was half choking — and ho gazed at me with a ghastly ex- pression. At the same instant I heard the latch- key moving in the front-door lock: I knew it was Mrs. Parks who was entering ; and I rushed out of the room to summon her to my grandfather. The man in the cloak pushed rudely and roughly by the old woman — pushed by me also — and made his way into the parlour.

" Ah ! it is you ?" gasped my grandfather : and he rose up from his seat, tottering and staggering.

" Oh, you know me, then ?" said the mau, toss- ing off his battered hat: and then turning towards

me, he said, " Ah ! is this the girl ? Come

But pshaw 1" and all in a moment his tone and his manner appeared to express some feeling of contempt with which he was smitten on his own account.

"Leave us, Ellen — leave us, Ellen," said my

6

ELIEN PEBCT; OE, THE MEMOIRS OP AN A0TEES8.

grandfather, in accents which were so tremulous with emotion that instead of obeying his mandate, I rushed towards him.

Seizing his hand, I exclaimed, " Do not send me from you ! You are ill— you are frightened ! -^— What does this man want ?"

"Go, Ellen— go!" said my grandfather, now speaking with a sudden sternness. " I insist upon your leaving us! This is a— a— man— a— a gentle- man— who has come to me on business."

"To be sure !" said the stranger : and he coolly seated himself.

I was now compelled to obey my grandfather : but I did so most reluctantly : and on quitting the parlour, I beheld Mrs. Parks standing at the foot of the staircase. She impatiently beckoned me towards her; and then said in a whisper, " Go up- ■ stairs for the present, ]VUss Ellen: you see that your grandfather wants to be alone."

I obeyed ; and for half-an-hour I sat in my own I chamber up-stairs, with a deeply troubled mind, and marvelling what that stranger could want — who he could possibly be— and what meant his singular expressions and conduct in reference to myself. The dusk deepened into darkness; and there I remained, in my chamber, not liking to go down stairs again until I might receive permission to that effect. Mrs. Parks had not come up with me : she had remained below — but whether to enter the parlour or to attend to her avocations elsewhere, I knew not. That she herself had some inkling of the man's business, whatever it were, I entertained the suspicion; and I could not help thinking that even if she had not penetrated into the parlour to join in the discourse she was listening at the door.

I strove to recollect the stranger's appearance as well as I could— though in the confusion of the scene and the obscurity of the room, I had not been enabled to observe him much more minutely than when I had just before seen him in the street. So far as I recollected or could estimate, he was about forty years of age, with a dark weather- beaten countenance, and a piercing pair of black eyes. I knew that he was of tall stature ; and his garments indicated poverty. His voice was rough, and even coarse in its accents ; and there was a mingled insolence, confidence, and hardihood in his speech and manner, so that he almost seemed as if he felt conscious of some power to command a re- ception, even though it were not a welcome one, in my grandfather's parlour.

I had been frightened by the incident ; and as darkness was closing in around, cold nervous ter- rors crept over me. Gradually into my mind came the recollection that I had heard some vague and uncertain whispers of how a long time back a murder had been committed within the walls of that house ; and I trembled from head to foot as I shudderingly swept my looks around with the hideous apprehension that I should see some appalling shape stand suddenly out of the dark- ness. But all in a moment the door opened — a light streamed in upon me : it was Mrs. Parks who came to say that the gentleman was gone and that I might go down stairs again. When I rejoined my grandfather, he took me in his arms and caressed me with even a greater fondness than he had ever yet displayed : but I saw that he was Btill trembling violently— evidently with the effect

of a recent strong agitation. I longed to question him — but dared not. He made no allusion to the incident which I have been relating; but fre- quently throughout that evening did he caress me in the most affectionate manner. Several days elapsed before he completely recovered from the excitement into which he had evidently been thrown ; and many weeks passed away before the impression of that scene wore partially away from my mind.

Two years went by without any incident worthy of notice ; but during that interval I continued to receive occisional letters from Mrs. Wakefield and from Harry, all full of kindness, and all expressing the hope that my grandfather would allo'v me tj visit them some day at Slieffield during one of the vacations. Mr. Forsyth would not however hear of my leaving him ; and whenever I read those passages in my aunt's and cousin's letters, the old man appeared to be seized with a nervous excite- ment; and laying his tremulous hand upon my shoulder, he would exclaim, "No, no, my dear child — no one shall take you from me !"

I was now some months past twelve years old— the autumn of 1834 was merging into winter — November was close at hand — the settled cold was coming on apace. One day my grandfather did not get up to breakfast ; and Mrs. Parks told me that he was somewhat indisposed, but that by a day's nursing he would doubtless be restored to hirf wonted health. I asked permission to go in and see him ; and it was granted. I had never before — at least not to my knowledge — been in his bed- chamber ; for he had ever forbidden me to go even into his office, as he called the back room from which that chamber opened. I was now struck with the wretchedness of the room in which he lay. It jutted out into the yard — forming as it were a little building of itself, which seemed to have been added on at some time to the back wall of the house. Some wretched old drapery was nailed up behind the bedstead and to a beam above it : the bed itself was low, ricketty, dirty, and comfortless : a fragment of carpet, the colours of which had long faded out, was stretched upon the floor. There were two or three rush-bottomed chairs, of a quaint old-fashioned style ; and there was an antique chest of drawers, with a sloping top which might be let down on pieces of wood that puUed out, so as to form an escritore. Let it be remembered that I entertained the impression that my grandfather was poor : but I was shocked at the seeming penury which to my mind this wretched room naturally betokened. My own chamber and that of Mrs. Parks — though sordid enough,- heaven knows— were better furnished than this. Bursting into tears, I threw myself upon my grandfather's breast, and wept bitterly.

" Don't cry, Ellen," he said, mistaking the cause

of my grief: "I shall be better soon Indeed

I am already much improved since the morn- ing "

" For heaven's sake, my dear grandpapa," I ex- claimed, " let us send for a doctor !"

" A doctor ?" he almost yelled forth : " at your peril do it ! I knew that the instant I said I was at all unwell, there would be a talk of the doctor : but no doctor shall enter my house ! Mrs. Parks can nurse me she is a good kind woman and faithful too— I think— I hope."

SUiBir PEBCT ; OB, THE MEU0IB3 07 AS ACTBES8.

But the old man appeared to speak with a sort of gasping effort, as if he were not in reality so completely convinced of his housekeeper's disin- terested fidelity as he endeavoured to persuade himself that he was.

" But your room, dear grandpapa," I exclaimed, " is so uncomfortable — the draught comes in from that window — there is no curtain to it— there are

no proper draperies to the bed "

" Curtains enough, Ellen !" interjected Mr. Forsyth. " What more would you have ? Would —would you bave me buy new ones ? It would ruin me ! And as for the doctor, he would run up such a bill, I never, never could pay it — and you would see your poor old grandfather die in a debtor's gaol, Ellen!"

*' Heaven forbid !" I murmured, amidst the sobs that now convulsed me ; for I firmly believed he was speaking the precise truth, and that he bad no money to spare.

I did the best I could to make the room seem comfortable— or, in other words, I put it into as good order as circumstances would permit ; and for that day I remained away from school. For the three or four following days, however, I was com- pelled to go to school, though my grandfather re- mained ill in bed and I besought permission to attend upon him. But Mrs. Parks suggested, with an air of great seeming kindness, that a sick chamber was not the place for a young girl like me, and that moreover the school-bill must be paid whether I went or not. This last hint was suffi- cient for my grandfather, who declared it would be ruin and literally picking his pocket if he had to pay for anything which I did not receive the ad- vantage of. Therefore I was compelled to go : but on the fifth morning Mrs, Kelly, seeing how unhappy I was, declared that she would give the girls a whole holiday ; and I knew it was entirely as an excuse to enable me to return home and attend to my grandfather.

I sped homeward as if on the wings of the wind : the front door was standing ajar — I opened and closed it very gently, so as not to make a noise in the house— and I entered the parlour. There I found Mrs. Parks seated in front of the fire, with her son the clerk to the lawyer at York. Their heads were at the instant very close together j and they seemed to be in a whispering conversation from the midst of which my unexpected entrance abruptly disturbed them. They started up : Tom Parks (as I had heard him familiarly called) was very much in confusion ; and his mother had an expression of countenance which absolutely fright- ened me. But the next instant it vanished ; and resuming her wonted carneying kindness of manner, she asked what had brought me home so soon ?

I explained that Mrs. Kelly had given the school a whole holiday; and Mrs. Parks said, "Well, Miss Ellen, you shall come in with me and see your grandpapa. I hope he is better. But— but— my dear child — you need not say you

saw Mr. Parks here He only just dropped in

to ask how your dear grandpapa is; and it might annoy the old gentleman to think that visitors came while he is lying ill in bed and unable to re- ceive them."

I was thinking so much of my poor grandfather at the time, and was so impatient to get to him, that I readily promised to follow Mrs. Parks's in-

junction. For the rest of that day I was almost entirely by the sick couch. The following day was the Sabbath : I went to church with my school- girls in the' morning as usual ; and for the re- mainder of that day also I ministered to Viy in- valid relative. I feared that he was getting worse, though he declared that he was better, and that some medicine for which he had sent from the chemist's, was doing him a world of good. And so indeed it appeared : for on the ensuing morn- ing Mr. Forsyth declared that he was almost well enough to get up, and that therefore I might go to school.

I did so : but when I went home to dinner at one o'clock, as usual, I found my grandfather still in bed ; and when I again returned at five to tea, I felt convinced that he was worse than he had yet been. Young though I was, something told me that be was sinking. I besought him to take a gla?s of wine. At first he vowed that such ex- travagance would be his ruin : but he evidently felt that be wanted it ; and this feeling got the better of bis niggardness. He took some wine; and then he slept soundly for several hours.

It was near ten o'clock that evening when he awoke ; and he declared that he was so much better that I might retire to my own chamber with the conviction of finding him convalescent in tho morning. I withdrew accordingly, my heart full of hope : but on seeking my room I did not expe- rience the faintest inclination for slumber. I knelt down and prayed that heaven would spare my grandfather yet awhile, and that his words might be fulfilled relative to the improvement of hia health within the lapse of the next twelve hours. Then I sat upon my pallet, giving way to thought — wondering whether Mrs. Parks would sit up all night with my grandfather— and if she did not, whether he might not require some ministration while she slept ? I knew that the servant-girl would not be employed for such a purpose ; and then I thought to myself it would be cruel for a woman of the housekeeper's age to be deprived of her natural rest night after night, as she had pro- bably been.

I gently opened the door of communication be- tween our two chambers : Mrs. Parks was not there. I thought that I would descend— just see how my grandfather was getting on— and beg Mrs. Parks to awake me at three or four in tho morning, so that I might take her place by the sick couch and she might have an opportunity of a few hours' repose. Gently I crept down the staircase, without a light : noiselessly did I open the door of the office ; and I was advancing through this room, when certain words which came from the inner one transfixed me to the spot.

"And if you do not fulfil the oath you have taken — if you fail in one single particular — may the curse of a dying man cling to you for the re- mainder of your existence! — may it poison the very springs of that existence ! — may it stifle your / last prayer in your throat when your own time shall also come !— and may it hurry your soul into everlasting perdition !"

These were the terrific, the fearful, the appalling words which came upon my ears, smiting my very brain as it were with blow upon blow — making my hair stand on end — curdling my young blood in my veins.

s

ELIEW PEBCT; OE, the MEMOIES op an ACTEES8.

And in what an altered voice too were those syllables spoken !— as if that voice were contending difiScultlj and painfully with a hoarse impeding rattling in the throat ; and as if the strongest efforts were required to enable it to dominate over the gaspings which would otherwise have convulsed and strangled.

" I have sworn," replied Mrs. Parks. " What deeper oath can I take P and why, sir, do you seem to doubt me ?"

" I don't say that I doubt you," answered my grandfather, as if testily and irritably : " but I know the world so well that even the spectacles of death-beds do not always Ah !" and he gasped " make survivors do their duty. My death- bed is mean, wretched, and desolate enough ! I feel it now — I know it now ! I might have had friends around me— relatives also But no !"

There was another painful gasp; and then my grandfather added, " Here I am friendless— forlorn — B wretched old man !"

" Cease these lamentations, dear sir," said the housekeeper. " Shall I give you water ? you have more to tell me "

" Yes— and I must make haste," continued my grandfather ; " for my strength is failing me. — Ah ! this change which took place so suddenly "

Here he gasped again : his voice seemed choking : methought he must be dying. I glided through the office : — the reader will have understood that the door of his chamber stood partially open ; and I had reached the threshold above the half.dozen steps which led up into it, when again was I trans- fixed— petrified — with the blood congealed in my veins, bj the next words which came from my grandfather's lips.

" Yes — may my withering, blighting curse cling to you if you violate your oath ! May it wrap it- self around you like a poisoned garment— eating into your flesh— devouring the tendons— scorching the fibres— searing, burning, and rotting your very nerves! On the other hand my blessing — the blessing of heaven, and of all the angels in it, will be yours if you act faithfully to your solemn, sacred vow !"

"I will, sir— I will !" said Mrs. Parks. "(Jo on, sir ! — I beseech you to finish !"

"There— in that bureau," resumed my grand- father, speaking with increasing difficulty, " there is a secret recess— —it is behind the middle drawer

you press upon what seems to be the head

of a screw— it touches a spring— the receptacle be- comes revealed. The document is there ! Take it— act as I have told you— act as you yourself have sworn— and may heaven bless you !"

I was standing, as I have said, upon the thresh- old ; and from that point, by leaning slightly for- ward, I could look into the interior of the cham- ber. The light of a solitary candle played with flickering sickliness upon the ghastly countenance of the old man, — that countenance which, habi- tually cadaverous, was now yellow and corpse- like as he sat up in the miserable bed, pointing with his lank lean hand towards the escritoire. The housekeeper had her back towards me: she was standing by the side of the couch ; and I could not catch a glimpse of her face. I felt an inclina- tion to precipitate myself into my grandfather's arms ; but the spell of mingled awe and terror was upon me— my feet seemed rooted to the spot. The

candle was upon a table close under the window the night was beautifully clear— the moon was shining— and there was a hard frost. Just at the very instant that my grandfather had given utter- ance to those last words, while still pointing to the escritoire— and with the feeble rays of the candle playing upon his ghastly countenance — another countenance appeared !

It was at the window: some one looked in unto the room. I knew the face in a moment: — it was that of the stranger whose visit two years back had so much troubled me !

"There! there!— 'tis he!" exclaimed tho dying man : and almost at the same instant a scream thrilled from my own lips.

The countenance disappeared from the window : the housekeeper started as if galvanized : my grandfather lay gasping in the last agonies of exist- ence. I flew towards him — I knelt by the side of the bed ; and taking his hand, strained it to my lips. He knew me: he made an effort to say something — but he could not. He pressed my hand : more audibly sounded the deadly rattle in his throat — and in a few moments all was silent, save the expression of my agony !

Oh ! deep was the anguish which I experienced for a few minutes : and then there came the awfu', the solemn, the almost stupifying conviction that I was looking upon death for the first time. This sensation was gradually absorbed in a certain in- describable numbness of feeling ; and how long I remained in that state I can scarcely tell. I recol- lect that Mrs. Parks, speaking to me with every appearance of the utmost kindness and sjmpatby, induced me to leave the chamber of death : and she led me to my own room. There she assured me that I should always fiud a friend in her, and that she would never desert me. Oh ! how neces- sary consolation was to me then ! I forgot her ugliness — I forgot the sinister expression of her looks — I forgot the suspicions of her sincerity which had so often floated in my mind. Tears came to my relief: I wept in her arms— I thanked her for all she was saying to me.

Crently did she continue to speak. She asked me how long I had been upon the threshold of the chamber : I frankly told her wherefore I had descended from my room— how long I had been listening — everything I had heard— and what I bad seen at the window.

She listened with the deepest attention ; and when I had finished, she said, " Yes, my sweet child — your poor dear grandfather made me swear that I would never desert you ; and I will not ! I dare say the paper in the escritoire contains an ac- count of whatsoever little money he may possess

1 know it cannot be much ; for, as you have

seen, he was very poor. Eut whatever the amount, it is all for your benefit. As for that stranger

who dared to look in at the window "

" Is he indeed a stranger to you ?" I asked. "Assuredly !" responded Mrs. Parks. " I never

saw him before that time, you know But I

daresay he is some evil-intentioned man ; and we must guard against him. Now get to bed, my dear child— and sleep, if possible."

"One word more!" I said, almost suffocated with the anguish that oppressed me. " Must I Dot write to my aunt and cousin to-morrow, to tell theoa of the dreadful thing that has happened P"

Mrs. Parks appeared to reflect deeply for a few minutes ; and then she said with a quickness as if there had really been no necessity for such delibe- ration, " Oh ! certainly, my dear child ! By all means write to your relations to-morrow !"

Oq the following day I wrote accordingly. In the evening, when I was seated with the house- keeper in the little parlour, and tearfully and mournfully I was speaking of my grandfather's death, she renewed all her protestations of un- utterable kindness.

" But there is one thing, my dear child, I wish to impress upon you," continued Mrs. Parks. " It would not be well to mention to 3Irs. Wakefield — nor indeed to any living soul — the circumstances attending the poor dear gentleman's death. Every one would be horrified to think that instead of spending his last moments in prayer, he should have given himself up altogether to worldly con- yo. 2.— EiLEX Peect.

siderations. The clergyman, you know, would not afford him Christian burial if he knew it !"

" Good heavens !" I ejaculated, shocked at the idea. " I would not for the world give utterance to a syllable that should produce so frightful a re- suit!"

" And therefore, my dear child," continued Mrs. Parks, "you need only say that you were present at your grandfather's death, and that you heard him confide yourself to my charge, according to the provisions of a document which he placed at my disposal. And as there should be nothing of a horrid or shocking character told about a death- bed, you need not speak of the appearance of that impudent evil-disposed stranger at the win- dow."

Conceiving Mrs. Parks's arguments and recom- mendations to be strictly reasonable — and indeed admiring her for what I fancied to be her regard

10

BLLEN PEECT; OE, THE MEMOIES OP AN ACTEEBS.

for the reputation of her deceased master — I readily promised to follow her counsel.

In the evening of the ensuing day my aunt and cousin arrived at the house ; and with tears again streaming from my eyes, was I received in their embrace. Few were the questions put to me in reference to my grandfather's death. I answered them in accordance with the recommendations of the housekeeper ; and not being pressed on any particular point, there was not the slightest neces- sity for evasion, much less untruthfulness on my part.

CHAPTEE ni.

VAEIODS CHAHGES OS CIECtTMSTANCBS.

The funeral took place in a very quiet and priyat© manner ; for the deceased had no friends to follow his remains to the grave, and no relatifes por family-connexions besides myself, Mrs. "Wakefield, and Harry. Mrs. Parks however begged of my aunt as a favour that her son Thomas might be allowed to attend the interment, — the old womap alleging that he had always been very much at- tached to the deceased. As for myself, I was over- whelmed with aiBiction when I beheld the cofEu borne out of the house ; and it was long ere Mrs. Wakefield could succeed in consoling me. Even then I begged that I might be permitted to shut myself up alone in my chamber for a few hours ; — and this I did.

It was evening when I descended again to the parlour ; and there I found Mrs. Parks seated with her son, Mrs. Wakefield, and H»rry. My aunt wept as she strained me in her arms ; and I could not help thinking that there was in her caresses the evidence of a commiseration and compassion for some reason apart from the actual loss which I had sustained in the death of my grandfather. My cousin Henry too looked profoundly mournful ; atffl t ars were glistening in his brown eyes as they were bent in sadness upon me. Then Mfs. Parks declared over and over again that she would do everything to promote my happiness; and I thanked her with all the sincerity of my young, trustful, inexperienced heart.

On the following day, shortly after breakfast, I found myself alone with my aunt and cousin; and the former said to me, " We are going to bid jou farewell, dear Ellen, in the course of an hour or two."

" Bid me farewell P" I exclaimed, bursting into tears ; for all in a moment a subject on which I had hitherto scarcely thought was excited in my mind : namely, where and with whom I was thenceforth to live ?

"Yes, my dear child," answered Mrs. Wake- field, who was evidently much affected, though she endeavoured to conceal her emotions as well as she could ; " your deceased grandfather made cer- tain arrangements which must be carried out. Al- though I have not been selected as the guardian of your welfare, it is not the less dear to me on that account. Mrs. Parks has consulted me— we have discoursed together — and she has sketched out a plan of which I completely approve. You will h^re opportunities for instruction such as have

hitherto been unknown to you; and I am con- vinced that you will avail yourself of them. Do not weep, dearest Ellen ! I know that you love

me — and your cousin Harry likewise It is

hard for you to separate from us rbut circum- stances are imperative — and this is a trial which • your heart has to bear !"

I was weeping bitterly, and my voice waa choked with convulsing sobs. My aunt and Harry wept also ; and the latter vehemently ex- claimed, " Why, dear mother, cannot Ellen come and live with us altogether P"

" You are both too young to have all these things explained to you," answered Mrs. Wake- field: "but rest assured that if everything be not as I could have wished, it is at least according to an authority which I cannot dispute. You will

write to us frequently, Ellen -And remember,

my dear child — remember," added Mrs. Wakefield impressively, " if you should ever have any cause for unhappiness, you must not hesitftlte to open your heart to me."

But I will not linger upon this scene. Suffice it to say that in another hour or two I was com- pelled to bid adieu to imy ai^at and cousin : many, m*ny tears on both sides were shed ; and when the door closed behind them, I felt as if my young heart must burst in twain.

Thomas Parks still remained at the house; and for the ensuing ten days did he sojourn there. Then he took his departure; and on leaving, I beard him say to his mother that they should shortly meet in London. When he was gone Mrs. Parks asked me if I should like to visit the metro- polis P — and I believe I answered in the atfirma- tive ; though it was a matter of complete indif- ference to me whither I went or where I lived, so unhappy was I. At the expiration of a week Mrs. Parks told me to go and bid farewell to Mrs. Kelly, as we were about to depart from Leeds and repair to Loudon. The worthy old schoolmistress embraped me affectionately, and gave me some good advice — though she wound up by observing that she scarcely thought it was needful, as I was so good a girl. I thanked her for all the kindness she had shown me ; and the farewell scene waa another trial for my young heart.

On the following day I set out with Mrs. Parks for London. We travelled inside the stage-coach ; for there were then no lines of railway connecting the great manufacturing towns with the metro- polis ; — and a tedious journey it was, for I had no heart to derive any charm from its novelty. On arriving in London, we proceeded at once to lodg- ings which Thomas Parks had engaged for our re- ception, and where indeed he himself was already located. They were handsome and commodious apartments ; and I wondered how Mrs. Parks cou.d afford to occupy such fine lodgings : for I believed that my grandfather had died poor, and I could not therefore comprehend how his house- keeper could be well off. But I asked no questions — and no explanations were volunteered. A fort- night was spent in visiting the various public buildings; and the interest afforded thereby, tended to mitigate the affliction which from various cir- cumstances I experienced.

At the expiration of that interval Mrs. Parka took me to a very large establishment for young ladies in the neighbourhood of Chelsea ; and I waa

ELLEN PBBCT; OB, THE MEM0IE8 OP AN ACTEESS!

11

introduced to the sclioolmisi: ess as her future pupil. Jrom the discourse which took place between that lady and Mrs. Parks, it was evident that a negotia- tion for my admission to the seminary had already been entered into. I liked the schoolmistress— I liked the whole appearance of the place ; and more- over I longed for the settled employment which the renewal of my studies would afford me, in order that the occupation of my mind should wean me from mournful retrospections. It was agreed that I should enter as a boarder on the following day ; and I returned with Mrs. Parks to the lodg- ings. I should observe that a quantity of new apparel — but all of a mourning character — had been purchased for me since our arrival in London; and I could not help thinking that in every respect the conduct of Mrs. Parks towards me was infinitely more liberal than my grand- father's treatment had ever been — while her man- ner lost none of the kindness she had so studiously shown me since the old man's death.

On going to bed that night, after the visit to the school, I could not immediately get to sleep. I lay awake thinking of the change which was again taking place in my position, and of the new home which I was to enter on the morrow. I thought likewise of all Mrs. Parks was doing for me : I was angry with myself for ever having fan- cied her to be at all deceitful : I reflected that she was most faithfully fulfilling the pro- mises she made to my grandfather i in his last moments ; and I wondered why he himself should have been so far dubious of her sincerity and good faith as he evidently was, if I might judge of the terrific language in which he addressed her at the time. And then too I thought of my kind affec- tionate aunt ; and I remembered with deepest emotion the last sad looks which had been shed upon me at parting by my cousin's beautiful eyes.

It was between eight and nine o'clock when I had thus retired to rest on the particular evening of which I am speaking ; and at length a drowsi- ness was coming over me, — when I was startled by the neighbouring church bell proclaiming the hour of ten. Immediately afterwards I heard the door of the sitting-room open on the floor beneath that where my bed-chamber was situated ; and a voice said, " Good bye, then, for the last time."

That voice completely galvanized me; and I started up in my bed. I recognised it in a mo- ment! — it was the voice of that stranger whose visit to the house at Leeds upwards of two years back had produced such an effect upon my grandfather, — the stranger whose countenance I had seen at the window of his chamber on the night of his death ! An unknown terror seized on me as I thus started up in my couch : my soul seemed smitten with an unaccountable trouble — for an ominous mystery appeared to invest that stranger.

" G-ood bye, for the last time !" were the words he had spoken.

" Hush !" I immediately keard botli Mrs. Parks and her son say, as if speaking in the same breath : and then Parks himself added, '-'Yes— and take care that it is for the last time : or else "

But I heard no more : the voice appeared sud- denly to cease ; — and if more were said, it must have been in the lowest possible whisper. Almost immediately afterwards I heard the front door of

the house close ; and then getting out of bed, I shut my own chamber door, which by an accident I had left open. Yes— I shut it, because I did not choose that Mrs. Parks, when ascending to her own bed-room, should have reason to think that I had been listening ; for she might fancy I had done so on purpose. But it was still a long time before sleep visited my eyes. I lay awake, asking myself over and over again who that stranger could be, and what he could possibly want with Mrs. Parks and her son? Indeed, I was astounded that they should have received him at all, after the way in which she had spoken to me of his unpardonable insolence in looking in at the window on the night of my grandfather's death— and still more especially after the opinion she had expressed that he was an evil-disposed person. But, as a matter of course, conjecture helped ma not to any solution of the mystery; and in the midst of my bewildering ruminations I sank into slumber.

On the following day I entered as a boarder at the school in the neighbourhood of Chelsea. It is not my intention to dwell at unnecessary length upon this period of my existence ; but still some few brief observations are necessary. I was well treated at the school, and was as liberally supplied with pocket-money as the rest of the young ladies. Amongst them was one named Juliet iJIorman ; and with her I became most intimate. This friendship which sprang up between us, was all the more remarkable inasmuch as her disposition was 80 different from mine : for whereas I was timid, bashful, reserved, and pensive, as well as exceedingly studious, she on the other hand was forward, gay, volatile, giddy, and idle. There was however nothing bad about her; and she was thoroughly good-natured. She was very hand- some, and about two years older than myself. What her parents were, I never knew while at school : for she rarely spoke of them — and I noticed that on three or four occasions some allusion was made to her father and mother in the spirit of a spiteful taunt by some of our school companions. The subject was evidently a sore one with Juliet Iforman — but I could not conceive why : for that her parents were wealthy, was apparent from the fact that she herself was the best dressed young lady in the school, and she had more presents from home than any one else. Her father and mother moreover occasionally visited her in their car-^ riage ; and therefore I was naturally at a loss to conceive why Juliet should have any reason to be ashamed of her parentage. I never touched upon the subject in her presence; and I had not the curiosity to put a question thereon to any of the other girls.

As for the friendship which Sprang up between Juliet and myself— I suppose it was from the cir- cumstance that she attached herself to me almost from the very first day of my entering the school ; and being a senior girl, she had opportunities of showing me kindnesses, for which I was grateful. Though indolent herself, she did not seek to draw me away from my own studies : on the contrary, she commended my diligence — and with a sigh that was stifled in a laugh, expressed the wish that she herself resembled me. She remained two years at the school after I entered it; and then she re- turned no more — nor did I hear of her again

IS

ELLEN PERCY; OE, THE MEMOIES OF AN ACTEES3.

until we met in the great world, as I shall pre- aently have to explain.

When the first vacation arrived, Mrs. Parks came to fetch me home ; and instead of taking me to a lodging, it was to a handsome well-furnished house in a genteel part of the town. She kept a footman and three female-servants: and as the reader may suppose, I was astonished. But still I dared ask no questions ; and still no explanations were given. An elegant chamber was assigned to my use ; and the treatment I experienced was that of unchanging kindness. I had already written to my aunt and cousin from school, to tell them how happily I was situated : I now wrote again to acquaint them with Mrs. Parks's prosperity, and the luxurious manner in which she lived. The re- plies forwarded by Mrs. Wakefield and Harry, expressed their joy to observe that I wrote so cheerfully ; and my aunt's letter was worded in a style which indicated not the least surprise at the account I had given of Mrs. Parks's opulence. I should add that her son Thomas was now settled in London : he was no longer an attorney's clerk — he lived with his wife and family in a house as handsome as that of his mother ; and a brass plate on the door indicated that he himself was a soli- citor.

Upwards of three years passed during which I remained at the school, but regularly spending the holidays with Mrs. Parks. I frequently corre- sponded with my aunt and cousin — but did not Bee them the whole time. Mrs. Wakefield invited me to visit them at Sheffield ; but Mrs. Parks de- clared that her attachment for me was too great to permit her to lose me for even a few days during the vacation. I was now sixteen ; and I under- stood that I was only to remain another year at the seminary : but an incident suddenly occurred which caused my prompt removal thence, and in- troduced another important change into my cir- cumstances.

One afternoon I was sent for into the parlour, and was informed by the schoolmistress that my kind guardian — as she denominated Mrs. Parks — had been seized with a most dangerous illness, and that I was to go home to her immediately. Her son's carriage — (for the thriving solicitor kept his equipage now) — had been sent to fetch me. On my arrival at the house I saw that all the blinds were drawn down : the spectacle gave me a cruel shock — and the tale which it told was true : Mrs. Parks had ceased to exist. It was a malady of some choleraic species which had thus suddenly carried her oif ; and though there was not the slightest relationship between herself and me, yet did I weep bitterly for her loss, as I con- ceived that she had proved herself so excellent a friend towards me, and that she had with so much fidelity fulfilled all the pledges made to my grand- father on his death-bed.

Her son Mr. Parks gave me to understand that my guardianship would thenceforth devolve upon my aunt Mrs. Wakefield; and this intelligence considerably mitigated the grief I felt for the loss of his mother. I accordingly delayed not a moment in writing to my aunt and telling her what had taken place. The return of post brought me a letter to the efiect that she should be with me on the same day that I received it.

She came — but unaccompanied by Harry ; for he

was just finishing his education at the Free School to which the interest of my deceased grandfather had procured him admission. Mr. Parks received Mrs. Wakefield with the most perfect civility, and introduced her to his wife and family. When I had an opportunity of speaking to my aunt alone, I mentioned to her the observation which the soli- citor had made, to the effect that she had now be- come my guardian. She embraced me, at the same time giving the tenderest assurances of love and affection, " whatsoever might be the circum- stances in which I might find myself placed."

This reminded me that Mrs. Wakefield herself was very poor; and I said, "Not for the world, my dear aunt, will I become a burden upon you ! I have received an excellent education "

" It is as yet premature, my dear child," inter- rupted Mrs. Wakefield, " to discuss plans for the future. We know not whether Mrs. Parks has done the fullest act of justice towards you, or not "

" Oh ! she has behaved most kind !" I exclaimed. " In my childhood I never could have expected that she would prove thus to me in my girl- hood !"

" You do not understand me, Ellen," said my aunt : " but I will explain myself. You are now old enough- to comprehend certain things which you were too young to discuss or to have men- tioned to you at the time of Mr. Forsyth's death ; and I can gather from your conversation, as I have indeed already seen from your letters, that Mrs. Parks has never been explicit with you on the subject."

I listened with attention ; and Mrs. Wakefield continued as follows: —

"You always considered your grandfather a poor man : but on the contrary he was exceedingly rich. He died worth upwards of thirty thousand

pounds and, Oh, my dear Ellen ! instead of

doing his duty towards you alas, that I should

be compelled to speak harshly of the dead!— he left you to the mercy of her who had been his housekeeper and whom by his will he enriched. Yes — it was so ! Everything was left to Mrs.

Parks: she was his sole executrix she took

everything — and if she reared you well and ten- derly, it was only in fulfilment of the wishes and the injunctions of the deceased."

"Yes — I know it, aunt," I said in a low voice and with a visible shudder, as the circumstances of my grandfather's death-bed were vividly con- jured up in my memory.

" You knew it P How, Ellen ?" asked Mrs. Wakefield.

A few moments' reflection convinced me that there could now no longer be any harm in making those revelations which I had hitherto kept back ; and I told my aunt everything, as I have already given the details to the reader. I likewise men- tioned all that had occurred in respect to the stranger, — how he had first visited my grandfather — how on the second occasion he had looked through the window of the death-chamber — and how, after we had come up to London, he called on Mrs. Parks and her son at the lodgings. • My aunt listened with so strange an expression of counte- nance that I could scarcely comprehend what it meant : astonishment, dismay, anguish, consterna- tion, all appeared to be blended and depicted

ELLBir PEECT; OK, THE MEMOIES OF AN ACTBESS.

13

there. She asked me numerous questions : she [ brown eyes. His forehead was high and smooth, bade me describe the man according to the i and shining with the light of intelligence. lu minutest details that were in ray recollection— his ' figure ho was slender, upright as a dart, and with

features, his height, his age, the tone of his voice, everything that I could possibly remember con- cerning him. Then Mrs. Wakefield fell into a profound reverie; and for some minutes was she absorbed in this meditation, which was evidently

a lithe elasticity of form that was perfectly con- sistent with manly elegance and grace. No wonder that his loving mother should have been proud of such a son !

There was, as I have said, a sudden bashfulness

of a painful character. At length, when I hoped 1 on the part of both Henry and myself as we thus and expected that she would volunteer some expla- ! met after a separation of nearly five years : but ho nation as to what she might happen to know or as ; was the first to conquer that awkwardness ; and to what she thought or surmised, she abruptly ; embracing me, the words " Cousin Nelly " again aaid, " Let us speak no more upon the subject ; issued from his lips. Then he began telling me

now, dear Ellen ! We must wait till after the funeral of the deceased Mrs. Parks, and see what she has done for you — if anything — in her will."

Three days afterwards the obsequies took place ; and then came the reading of the will. Mr.

how tall I had grown, and how surprised he at the first instant was at the change and improvement which had taken place in me— though, as he added with a smile, he ought to have anticipated both. I did not tell him that precisely the same thoughts

Parks, his wife, three or four of his grown-up sons, ! had been revolving in my own mind in respect to

my aunt, and myself, were present in the drawing- room, besides a solicitor who had made the will ; for Parks himself had not, as it appeared, drawn up the document, though he was no doubt per- fectly well aware of its contents. It bequeathed everything to him, my name being only mentioned in connexion with some few trinkets belonging to the deceased, and which were to be given me " as memorials of the regard she had entertained for me."

The ceremony was over : Mrs. Wakefield and I were again alone together.

"It is as I feared, my dear child," said my aunt : "my worst anticipations have been realized. But it is useless to reflect upon the past — equally use- less to make any comments upon the conduct of the dead. You shall now find a home with me ; and though a humble one, you are nevertheless of a disposition that can content itself with these altered circumstances."

Many other kind things did Mrs. Wakefield say to me ; and having taken leave of the Parks family fls well as of my schoolmistress in the neighbour- hood of Chelsea, I accompanied my aunt to Shef- field.

himself; for there was still a certain timidity and bashfulness of feeling which I could not so readily overcome.

Weeks passed by — they grew into months — and the more I saw of my cousin, the better I liked him. His affection towards his mother— his bro- therly kindness towards myself, were never for au instant checked or ruffled by the slightest change of humour. He was cheerful without levity, and gay without thoughtlessness. His disposition was sanguine and enthusiastic : he lonjed to have an opportunity of entering upon some career in the great world, that he might exert all his energies and prove to his affectionate mother how anxious he was to get on. But it was not so easy to aiford him this opening ; for Mrs. Wakefield knew not precisely in what profession to embark him, and he himself had no choice. He was in the habit of deferring to the opinion of his mother ; and she in this respect had none to give. She had no relatives to assist her with their counsel ; and the retired manner in which her circumstances had compelled her to live, had prevented her from maintaining an intimacy with the few friends she possessed at the time of her husband's death. In a word, she had a son whose education fitted him for anything, but for whom she could no nothing.

I saw that all this was beginning to prey upon my aunt's mind ; and one day, when alone with her, I took an opportunity of alluding to certain plans which had been for weeks in my thoughts.

" It is time, my dear aunt," I said, " that I should think of doing something for myself. I have received a good education — and — and— I have

entertained an idea 1 believe, in short, that I

am fitted for a governess. I could begin as a nur- sery-governess, you know — with young children— and then, as I get on——"

" How can 1 suffer you to go out alone in the world, dear Ellen f" interrupted my aunt, caressing me affectionately.

" And how can I continue a burden to your

slender resources?" I exclaimed, with tears in

" No, no — I cannot ! My cousin

CHAPTER IV.

THE ADVEKTISEMEBTT.

A PEW months afterwards Henry Wakefield left the Free School, and came home for good. I was prepared, as he entered the house, to rush into his arms, as I had dune at Leeds : but when he made his appearance before me, I was suddenly seized with timidity and confusion. I had for- gotten that it was no longer the boy whom I was to meet, but that it was a young man of nearly nineteen. And he himself seemed to be smitten with a similar feeling of bashfulness as his eyes settled upon me. How tall and handsome had he grown ! — and how admirably did his personal ap- ' my eyes, pearance fulfil all the promises of an earlier period ! Harry——" There was still a certain softness in his masculine : " Ah 1" said my aunt, with a deep sigh; "if ho beauty : the classic features had lost none of their , were only provided for — if he could obtain some delicate outlines : the dark hair curled naturally situation But you see, Ellen, there is no open- about the well-shaped head, as when in his boy- ing, unless it be as a junior clerk in some establish- hood I had admired it ; and there was a world of ment — and then the salary is bo Biaall aod the work inteiligeneo and thought in the handsome dark I is so laborious ——"

14

BIIEN PERCY ; OK, THE MEMOIES OP AN ACTEESS.

" Dear aunt," I said, " my own mind is made rap ! Let me endeavour to earn my livelihood. I tntist do so sooner or later — and why not commence now ? Oh, I should be so happy if eating the bread of my own industry ; and then you would have leisure to look out for something suitable for

Harry At all events you would not have me to

maintain in idleness."

A great deal more conversation toot place, which I need not however describe : suflSce it to say that I at length succeeded in wringing a coQsent, though a reluctant one,, from Mrs. Wakefield, that I should carry my design into execution. I did not however mention it to Henry ; and I found that my aunt herself kept silent upon the point. There seemed to be a sort of tacit understanding between us that we would not broach until the last minute a topic which we knew would sadden him.

I wrote up to Mr. Parks in London, explaining to him my wishes and intentions, and begging that he would interest himself amongst his numerous friends and connexions to procure me some such situation as I desired. He wrote a somewhat cold and distant reply, to the effect that my app4ication arrived at an unfortunate moment, as he was just on the point of starting with his wife and some of his family on a Continental trip ; but that he had done for me all that lay in his power, by inserting half a dozen advertisements in the London papers " at his own expense." When I showed this letter to my aunt, she sighed, shook her head slightly, and said, " He who became enriched through the medium of your grandfather and to the prejudice of yourself, should have done more for you!"

This observation gave rise to a discourse upon past topics ; and with some little hesitation, I said, " You remember, my dear aunt, that when in Lon- don you led me to understand that after the fune- ral of Mrs. Parks you might give me some ex- planations "

" JSTo, my dear child, you are mistaken," inter- rupted Mrs. Wakefield. " I had already explained everything that was necessary ; and if I said that we could wait ere we discussed any plans for the future, it was only because I wished to see whether Mrs. Parks would remember you in her will."

" But, my dear aunt, relative to that stranger — that man of whom I spoke to you "

" Of him I have nothing to say, Ellen."

The discourse was thus cut short — not with petulance by my aunt, because an angry impa- tience was incompatible with the sweetness of her disposition — but with & certain serious firmness which forbade me from returning to the topic.

In the course of about ten days I received a letter, written in an elegant female hand, and which was in answer to the advertisements inserted in the London papers. It set forth that the writer was the wife of Colonel Lennie — that they had two little girls of the respective ages of six and eight, who were too delicate to be sent to school, and for whom a genteel governess was required. It fur- ther appeared that the terms in which my adver- tisements had been worded — or rather those which Mr. Parks had inserted on my behalf— precisely depicted the qualifications which Colonel and Mrs. Lennie required : the conditions they themselves offered were liberal ; and the note concluded with the assurance that I should find a comfortable

home and kind treatment under their roof, I should observe that if I accepted the situation I was to set off with the least possible delay, and my travelling-expenses would be paid.

In one sense I was rejoiced on the receipt of this letter : I experienced the pride and satisfac- tion of feeling that I need no longer be a burden on my aunt's humble means, and that I should eat the bread of my own industry. On the other hand, I was grieved at the prospect of separating from my beloved relatives : but still my resolution wavered not. Mrs. Wakefield experienced kindred feelings : she was glad that my laudable views were to receive a fulfilment under auspices which seemed so favourable ; while on the other hand she was afilicted at the idea of parting from one whom she loved as if it were a very dear daughter.

And now it became necessary to break the intel- ligence to Henry. For the first few moments he appeared smitten with a consternation : then the tears started into his eyes ; and he vowed that he would rather address himself to the meanest and humblest avocation than permit me to leave that house which he looked upon as my home. But without lingering unnecessarily upon this scene, suffice it to say that Harry was overruled bv ray representations, though he was profoundly afflicted at the idea of this separation. And when the parting moment arrived, what pangs did my heart experience ! what tears were shed ! what evidences of grief were manifested by all three ! My aunt reproached herself for having permitted the matter to go so far : Harry, almost on his knees, besought me to remain : but it was too late to retract, — though there was an instant when my cousin's looks and words and tears made all my resolution dissolve into weakness. I however regained my fortitude : I tore myself from their arms ; and as the vehicle drove away from the door, I caught through the dimness of my own tears the last tender look which was flung upon me by my cousin's eloquent eyes.

On arriving in the metropolis, at about five o'clock in the afternoon of a cold cheerless wintry day, I at once entered a hackney-coach and pro- ceeded to the direction indicated in the letter I had received. The house was situated in Hunter Street, Brunswick Square: but the moment the hackney-coach stopped at the front door, a police- constable who happened to be passing, came and looked into the vehicle. I was half frightened, half indignant at what I considered to be an act of unpardonable rudeness : but the conotable, im- mediately touching his hat, said in a very respectful manner, " I beg your pardon. Miss — but have you come in the hope of taking a situation as governess at this house ?"

" Certainly," I answered, surprised as well as rendered uneasy by the question. " Do not Colonel and Mrs, Lennie live here ?"

" A man calling himself Colonel Lennie did live here, Miss," responded the constable : " but he is a villain and an impostor — and he was taken into custody this morning for his conduct towards

a young lady But I need say no more j and I

am sorry if you have been deceived by him."

Good heavens, what a blow ! I was dismayed and stupefied : I sank back in the coach like one annihilated : my despair was too great for tears. It was dusk: the lamps were lighted; and th«

ELIiEir PEECT; OE, THE MEM0IE8 OP Alf ACTEBB8.

15

rays of one streaming into the vehicle, showed the policeman the effect which his words had produced upon me. He was exceedingly civil, and humanely inquired whether he could possibly do anything for me. The questions which ho thus put aroused me to a sense of the necessity of immediate action. My first thought was to return with the least pos- sible delay to Sheffield : but then the idea struck me that although I had been so cruelly deceived in this first endeavour to procure a situation, my nest might be more successful, and that there must be plenty of really honest and good families who required a governess. My resolve was there- fore taken; and having hastily explained to the constable how I had come up from Sheffield for the purpose of taking this situation, I begged him to direct me to a hotel or some respectable lodg- ing where I might find temporary quarters.

At the very moment the policeman was reflect- ing with his finger upon his lip, he had to stand aside to make way for two ladies who were passing. One was an elderly dame — the other was young ; and both were very handsomely dressed. The light of the lamp streamed full upon the counte- nance of the younger lady : a cry of joy burst from my lips— and I called her by name. It was my former schoolfellow Juliet Norman.

The ladies at once stopped : Juliet came up to the coach window — she recognised me — and in a few hasty words I explained the villany of the fraud to which I had been made a victim, and the con- sequent embarrassment in which I found myself, without a friend in London.

"No, not without a friend, my dear Ellen!" quickly responded Juliet, again pressing my hand with affectionate warmth. " This is my mother :" and then she spoke aside for a few instants to Mrs. Norman.

This lady in her turn addressed me in the kindest manner, and begged me to make her house my home. It was situated close by, only half-a- dozen doors off; and thither the hackney-coach proceeded — Mrs. Norman herself insisting upon rewarding the policeman when I mentioned the civility with which he had treated me.

I soon found myself in a comfortable well- furnished drawing-room, seated by the side of a cheerful fire, in the company of Juliet and her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Norman were about of the same age— namely, fifty. The lady possessed the remains of great beauty : indeed she might still be considered a handsome woman. She how- ever had no small quantity of rouge upon her cheeks ; and she was dressed in a youthful style of mingled finery and coquetry. Mr. Normau was likewise inclined to corpulence: his grey hair was very thick, and must have been luxuriant at a more youthful period ; but he wore neither whiskers nor beard. He was very fashionably dressed, and dis- played a profusion of jewellery.

As for my old friend Juliet, — she looked most superbly handsome ; and she was not only apparelled with richness, but likewise in a manner calculated to display her charms to the utmost advantage. She was now nearly nineteen years of age : she was tall and admirably formed. Her hair was dark, though not of such raven blackness as my own ; and her eyes were of a blue as deep as that of the violet. I used the proper expression when I termed her handsome rather than beautiful ; for her features,

though perfectly regular, were somewhat largely- chiselled. She had a fine aquiline profile— rich full lips — and a chin which being slightly prominent, and rounded so as to complete the oval of her coun- tenance, gave to that countenance a somewhati voluptuous expression. She possessed a splendid set of teeth : her neck was long and arching — her bust had the development of a Hebe, with an ad- mirable slope of the shoulders : but her waist was of a wasp-like thinness, and her figure had all the lightness of a sylph, with its tall graceful stature and with its sweeping length of limb. I had known her at school as giddy, gay, and volatile, but with nothing mischievous in her disposition, and ever obliging and good-natured : I had not now been half-an-hour in her society before I discovered that these characteristics of my friend Juliet had continued unchanged — while they had acquired the addition of a certain little coquetry, as if she knew that she was handsome and courted admiration.

The tale of the villanous trick which I had been played, was narrated over again to Mr. Norman j and he expressed his sympathy in the kindest terms. He bade me make his house my home as long as ever I thought fit ; and Mrs. Norman lite- rally overwhelmed me with her caresses and her attentions. At half-past six o'clock we descended to the dining-room, where an elegant repast was served up ; and a variety of wines appeared upon the board. I could not help observing that Mr. and Mrs. Norman drank a great deal of champagne, and that even Juliet herself partook of three or four glasses without the slightest pressing, and with the air of one who was merely following an ordinary custom. A footman and page, both in elegant liveries, waited at table ; indeed the handsome styk in which the house was furnished, and the way iri which the Normans lived, indicated that they were very well off.

At about ten o'clock Juliet considerately observed to me that she felt convinced I must be very much fatigued after travelling all the way from Sheffield ; and she offered to conduct me to my chamber. I thankfally accepted the proposal : and she led me to an exquisitely furnished apartment, with a dress- ing-room adjoining. There she left me, with an intimation that I must not think of getting up in the morning until I felt quite disposed, as they were very late people.

I slept soundly enough that night, for I was in- deed very mueh fatigued : but I awoke at my usual hour in the morning — namely, at about seven o'clock. The house was perfectly silent : there did dot even appear to be a servant moving about. I therefore lay another hour; and then I got up, a was just finishing my toilet, when Juliet, with no- thing on but a morning wrapper, and her naked feet thrust into slippers — her beautiful hair floating in luxuriant negligence over her half-naked shoulders— came gliding into the room. She was surprised to find that I was not only up, but so nearly dressed : and flinging herself with an air of languor into a large easy chair, she said, " I should have lain in bed for at least another hour : but I came to assure myself that you had everything you required. Dear me ! you are dressing without a fire — and it is bitterly cold ! No hoc water either ! My dear Ellen, why did you not ring the bell for one of the maids i"

I assured Miss Normau that I- did nut find the

16

KLLEJr PEKCT; OB, THE HEM0IE3 OP AIT ACTKES3,

chamber so cold ao she represented it, and that I i how they are earned. In a word, my dear Ellen," had not needed anything at the hands of the ser- ; — and now she grew serious once more— "my vants. father is an actor, my mother an actress, and I am

" Well, now that you are dressed," she ex- ' a ballet-dancer." claimed, starting up from her chair and performing ' For a few moments I was so surprised by these what appeared to mo a sort of pirouette, " come [ announcements as to be rendered perfectly speech- to my room and let us chat while I drag myself less; and I have no doubt that I surveyed Juliet through the details of my own toilet. Breakfast , in a manner which naturally led to the inference will not be ready for the next hour— and besides, that her next observations implied, we have plenty of things to talk about." " I hope, my dear Ellen," she said, "you do not

I accompanied Miss Iv'orman to her chamber, think the worse of us on this account ? I remem- which was fitted up in the most elegant and luxu- her that when at school the girls used sometimes to rious manner. The draperies of the windows and taunt me with the fact that my father was what of t:.e French bedstead were crimson, with a rich they used to call a phy-actor and my mother a yellow border : a cheerful fire was blazing in the play-actress : but I likewise recollect that you grate ; and near it a sofa was placed in the best never displayed any curiosity to know what their position for any one sitting or reclining upon it to allusions meant. I was then ashamed of my receive the full benefit of the heat thrown out. parents' profession — I do not know why — unless it A superb looking-glass surmounted a mantel were because the girls themselves seemed to think covered with costly ornaments and nick-nacks, it was something to be derided. But now I am The toilet-table was arranged with an elegance not ashamed of it. And you, my dear Ellen——" amounting to the most refined fastidiousness ; and " Oh ! never, never," I exclaimed, with the near it was a full-length mirror or psyche. A half- gushing enthusiasm of my grateful heart, "can I opened door afforded a glimpse of a bath-room be ashamed of those good friends whom heavea furnished with every luxurious appliance for such sent me in the moment of my need, and who are a place. The feet trod upon a carpet of uncommon treating me with such kindness !" thickness : the atmosphere of the chamber was Thus speaking, I threw my arms about Juliet's warm and perfumed ; and it altogether seemed neck, and embraced her affectionately, adapted for a lady of rank and quality. " I know very well," continued Miss 2forman,

" In order that we may converse without re- " that it is the fashion to run down actors, actresses, straint," said Juliet, seating herself at the toilet- and ballet-dancers, in respect to their private cha- table, " I will dispense with the attendance of my racters ; and I likewise know, alas ! that there are maid ; and I can assure you, dear Ellen," she too many on the stage whose conduct has been added, with one of her merry laughs, " it is a great only too well calculated to give rise to this sweep- sacrifice I am making on your account." ing reflection upon the whole of us. But in all "Then wherefore do it ?" I asked. ""We have professions there are the respectable as well as the 'nothing of such very great importance to say to disreputable ; and I flatter myself, dear Ellen, that

each other for the present unless indeed you the name of Iformaa has been honourably borne

mean to advise me how I ought to act in the cir- ' by my parents, and will not be disgraced by their cumstances in which I am placed ; and that would daughter."

be most kind of you." , Juliet spoke these words with a slight flush

" I think, my dear Ellen," proceeded Juliet, now ' upon the cheeks, and yet with a calm dignity beginning to comb out the rich masses of her hair, which rendered her language alike impressive and " that you have some little secret to learn : for it touching. There was nothing giddy nor volatile strikes me, from two or three things you said last about her at that moment : her speech and her evening, that you are really unacquainted with the demeanour indicated that if she had her gay and profession, avocation, employment — or whatever thoughtless intervals, she could likewise have her you may choose to call it — which my parents and serious and thoughtful ones. I felt at the instant I pursue." more irresistibly attracted towards her than ever :

" I should conceive Mr. Norman to be a gentle- — I was inspired with the same love, and pride, man of independent property," I observed : and and confidence on her behalf as if she were a very then I recollected how, when at school, Juliet had dear sister.

so seldom alluded to her parents, and how when " You see," she continued, " as my parents bo- she happened to provoke any other girl, some long to the theatrical profession, they could do no- mysteriously significant taunt was thrown out in thing else with me ; for these avocations are in reference to her parentage. nine cases out of ten hereditary. They educated

"Independent means indeed !" cried Juliet, with me well, as you know or rather they gave mo

a laugh : but almost immediately becoming serious, the opportunities for a good education, although I she added, " I do not really think that my father am afraid I did not benefit by them so much as I is independent of the world to the amount of fifty ought to have done. But if I had turned out the guineas. But he has an excellent salary — my cleverest girl in existence, what else could they mother likewise — and I also am very well paid." have done with me except making me an actress At this moment Juliet, shaking back her glossy or a dancer ? For who would receive into his tresses over her superb shoulders of milky white- family as a governess the daughter of an actor and cess, happened to look round towards the place an actress ? And then, too, my parents naturally where I was seated ; and she perceived that I was j have their pride ; and they could not think of surveying her with astonishment. i putting me into a shop to make a tradeswoman of

" Ah!" she exclaimed, bursting out into another ; me. Thus you see, my dear Ellen, persons in our gay light laugh ; " I forgot that I was talking too ' profession are under the influence of circumstances fast, and speaking of salaries without telling you which rule them imperiously.— However," added

ELLEX PEECT; OK, IIIi; MEMOISS OF A^■ ACTf-EJo.

^^Y\ ' ZC\ ^^^i , 1 1.1:!N§=^^^

Juliet Norman, suddenly recovering all her wonted gaiety — escaping as it were from her seriousness, and smiling with the peculiar witchery which be. longed to her, and which best became that rich red mouth and those brilliant teeth; — " I have in- flicted upon you a very long tirade ; and you may perhaps think it a laboured apology to account for the one fact, that I am a dancer !"

"And do you like the stage?" I inquired.

"Yes — it suits me well enough," responded Juliet. " I am only employed for a portion of the year — and even then my labours are not very arduous. So you see I have plenty of holidays ; and this suits my somewhat indolent disposition. I have been very successful as a dancer; and I may say without vanity that I have made a little noise in the theatrical world — I have been well spoken of and well written of."

" How singular," I exclaimed, " that I never should have heard your name mentioned in con- No. 3.— Ellen 1'erct.

nexion with these successes. I should have been so pleased !"

'•' Ibank you, my dear Ellen— I am sure you would. It is not however at all surprising that you should have remained in the dark upon the

subject But tell me, did you never hear of a

certain Mademoiselle Delessert ?"

"To be sure!" I ejaculated. "I remember, during the very last vacation that I spent with the deceased Mrs. Parks, I heard her speaking with some friends relative to that danseuse. Tbey had all been to see her ; and they were in raptures. I was to have gone on another occasion : but some- thing occurred to prevent it. Of course you know this Mademoiselle Delessert of whom you ara speaking ?"

" I know her as well as I know my ownself," exclaimed Juliet, with the merriest peal of silver laughter ringing harmoniously from her lips; "for I am Mademoiselle Delessert."

18

EMiEW PEECT; oh, the MEMOIES OE as ACTEES9.

" Indeed !" I exclaimed in astonishment. " But wherefore that assumed dbme ?"

" Because nothing English goes down with the English*' replied Juliet. "Tou see, my dear Ellen, the English are constantly boasting of everything that is English: and yet they patro- nise everything that is foreign. In the fashion- able world a gentleman must have his French valet and a lady her French maid ; the cook must be French, and the dishes served upon the table must be French likewise. The hairdresser must be French ; watches, lace, silks, perfumes, gloves, fashions, everything must be foreign. The gen- tleman will patronise a German tailor, and the lady a French milliner. Music must be foreign — singers and dancers must be foreign likewise. And then, don't you see, my dear Ellen," added Juliet, with another merry laugh, '"'I am not a dancer, nor an actress, nor anything at all with

an English name 1 am a Jigurante or an

artiste."

" And Mr. and Mrs. Norman ?" I said inquir- ingly.

" Oh ! they keep their right names," exclaimed Juliet, " and are not compelled upon the stage to repudiate their own country and puss as the natives

of another. They perform in English pieces •

though, by the bye, they are only called English pieces because they are rendered into the English language; for the fact is that they are in reality French. In a word, everything must bo foreign, or have a foreign source, or be in some way con- nected with something that is foreign, to please the English fashionable world. But I was going to observe that my father and mother are really eminent in their profession, and can always com- mand good engagements — I mean when anything is doing in the theatrical world ; because there is sometimes a lull, or a check, or a stagnation there as well as in other things. For instance, the week before last the manager to whose company my father and mother belonged, suddenly closed his doors — put up a placard with something about 'unavoidable circumstances' in it— and then took a walk to Basinghall Street."

"And what did he do there?" I asked, quite innocently.

"Went into the Bankruptcy Court," replied Juliet, laughing at my ingenuous simplicity. " But a»y father and mother will enter upon a new en- gagement elsewhere next Monday; and I have likewise an engagement at the same place. Our united salaries will amount to twenty-five guineas a week; and thus you see that we may always reckon upon earning sufScient to live in com- fort "

" In luxury, I should say," was my interjected observation.

" Well, in luxury, if you like to call it so," re- plied Juliet. " We keep a carriage — you have seen a little how we live — we give gay parties — and we visit a great deal. And then too wo have acquaintances amongst the highest aristocracy — I mean of course the male portion of it : but my father and mother are always very particular whom they suffer to approach me ; and if they were not, it would be just the same — for I should be particular myself. — But really, my dear Ellen, I have been speaking so much of my own affairs that I have quite forgotten your's. You last night

told us exactly how you were situated; and after you had gone to bed, I sat up with my father and mother for two hours talking about you."

" It was indeed very kind," I observed ; " and I am most grateful for all the interest your parents and yourself are taking in me."

" My father said," continued Juliet, " that it was a very great pity you should think of going out into the world as a governess — to occupy a false position, a little above that of the servants of the house, and infinitely below that of the master and mistress — to be incessantly at the mercy of the lady's caprices, and perhaps exposed to the gentle- man's impudence — to have to deal with a parcel of children whose faults you have not sufficient authority to curb, whose love you cannot win, and whose ignorance perhaps you cannot overcome — to be miserably paid and worse treated "

" Good heavens, Juliet !" I exclaimed in con- sternation ; " what picture is this which you are drawing ?"

" The picture of the life of a governess," an- swered Miss Norman, with a mournful seriousness. " I am not speaking thus, my dear Ellen, to dis- hearten and render you wretched on the threshold of a profession which you have thought of adopt- ing ; but in the most friendly spirit I am preparing you for all you will have to encounter if you per- sist in entering it. Nay, more— I will candidly confess that I am endeavouring to dissuade you from it. A young lady with your sensitive feel- ings— with your kind and excellent disposition — would discover the life of a governess to be intol- erable !"

" But what am I to do P" I exclaimed, bursting into tears. " Nothing shall induce me to return to my aunt, in order to be a burden upon her re- sources. No !" I added vehemently, at the same time brushing away those tears ; " I will sooner endure anything — encounter any wretched- ness "

" Cheer up, my sweet friend," interrupted Juliet, doing her best to console me. " Do you imagine that the profession of a governess is the only one in the world ?"

" No," I responded : and then, as I in my art- less inexperience surveyed Juliet almost enviously, I added, " No — for I see that you yourself are pursuing one which is far more happy, lucrative, and agreeable."

" Come," said Miss Norman, " we have talked sufficiently upon the subject this morning. My father's house is your home for as long as you like to render it so ; and we shall therefore find plenty of leisure to discuss plans for your future advan- tage."

" But I ought to do something speedily," I said ; "because I must write to my aunt, who will be anxious concerning me "

"Write by all means," interrupted Juliet : " tell her how you have been treated in respect to the

advertisement but tell her likewise that you

have fallen in with friends who are proud and de- lighted to have you with them. Perhaps, how- ever, it would be just as well if you were not to mention what profession we follow."

" No — I will not mention it, my dear Juliet," I answered : for methought that it was a request that was thus made rather than a recommendation which was given.

ELLEBT PERCY; OS, THE MEM0IE8 OF AH ACXr.SSg:

19

CHAPTER V.

THE inEATEB.

Theee or four days elapsed, during wliich I re- mained perfectly undecided aa to the course which I should adopt. Mrs. ]!v'orman was a good-hearted woman, and well-meaning, though somewhat fri- volous ; and when I consulted her she said all sorts of things against the life of * governess. Mr. Norman likewise spoke to me on the subject : he reasoned more lucidly and collectedly — and he cer- tainly advanced a variety of arguments to support all that had been previously told me by his daugh- ter. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Norman hinted at a recommendation that I should seek the stage as a profession : but Juliet dropped several intimations to the eflfect that I should do well to turn my thoughts in that direction.

It was on a Wednesday evening that I had ar- rived at the Normans' house ; and it was on the following Monday that these worthy people were to enter upon their new engagement. They had to attend the theatre in the middle of the day for the rehearsal : and they proposed that I should accompany them. I must confess that I was long- ing for this invitation; and I therefore gladly accepted it. I was anxious to see something more of a theatrical life— to look at it closely — to ascer- tain all that was required of its votaries— and to obtain an insight into its details. I had seen how •well the Normans lived : I found them perfectly contented with their lot : — and deeply solicitous of earning my own livelihood, I was already more than half willing to embrace a profession which methought would realize my hopes. Youth is san- guine; and I flattered myself that if I did once adopt the stage I should succeed. I did not how- ever like the idea of becoming a dancer so much as taking the part of a dramatic actress. As for the opinions which the world entertained of the votaries of the art, I had never heard more on the subject than Miss Norman herself had mentioned to me on the occasion already described ; and the last im- pression left upon my mind was that persons who conducted themselves properly and respectably might surmount the general prejudice, and stand out in admirable contrast with the disreputable and bad. I had no idea of contaminating influences ; and in the innocent confidence of my own pure heart, I believed it to be perfectly possible for a young female to enter the theatrical sphere with- out having her own fair fame undeservedly sul- lied.

I proceeded with Mr. and Mrs. Norman and their daughter to the theatre which was to be the scene of their new engagement ; and on arriving there I accompanied Juliet to her own dressing- room. She was to be the principal danseuse in the ballet ; and therefore she was treated with the ut- most consideration and had a dressing-room appro- priated to her sole use. Her maid was already there, making such arrangements as were suitable to the young lady's ideas of comfort ; a cheerful fire was blazing in the grate; and as some time would elapse before her presence was required by the ballet-master, we sat down on a sofa to con- verse. I turned the discourse entirely upon thea- tricals and a theatrical existence ; and as Juliet now

entered into minuter details than she had previously done, I grew more and more seriously inclined to embrace the profession, if in process of time it should be found that I possessed the suitable quali- fications.

Mr. and Mrs. Norman went through their parts in the rehearsal ; and then they joined us in the dressing-room, where luncheon was served up. This refreshment being partaken of, Mr. Norman retired, and Juliet began dressing to practise in the ballet in which she was to appear in the evening. I had never been in a theatre before, and therefore was until now utterly unacquainted with the costumes that were used upon the stage. I must confess that I was at first shocked when I beheld Juliet arrayed in th:\t gauzy drapery, which according to my ideas was scant even to immodesty : but I could not help admiring the beauty of her personal ap- pearance. I went forth with Mrs. Norman on the stage to witness the rehearsal of the ballet ; and when I beheld a swarm of young females all appa- ralled in a similar airy costume, I speedily grew accustomed to it, and the first impression it created wore off. The ballet-master made his appearance with his violin : the dancing commenced — and I soon found myself yielding to a sensation of in- creasing delight at the spectacle which I thus con- templated.

With Juliet's performance I was perfectly ravished : the mingled elegance and grace which characterized all her movements, the fairy light- ness of her evolutions, the harmonious accom- paniment of the looks with the gestures, attitudes, and steps themselves— all seemed in my estima- tion to constitute a real talent — a veritable genius. I had hitherto looked upon dancing as a mere recreation, too frivolous to deserve the serious denomination of an accomplishment : but now it appeared in my eyes to be not merely an accom- plishment— for Juliet Norman elevated it into the very poetry of art itself. There was one portion in the ballet where she had to dance alone for several minutes, her companions beiig arrayed in a semicircle and remaining stationary for the time. In this part of the performance Juliet transcended her previous achievements; and even in that rehearsal so great was her triumph over the greatest difficulties of the art, that when she ceased she ' Js greeted by the applause of all pre- sent. Her lather and mother surveyed her with looks of radiant admiration; and when she re- joined us I congratulated her enthusiastically on her performance.

Every day during that week did I accompany my friends to the rehearsal in the forenoon ; and every evening did I visit the theatre with them. An elderly lady — the widow of an actor of some eminence in his time — gave me a seat in her box, Mrs. Norman having especially recommended me to her care. The more I saw of theatrical life, the more I liked it : but my inclination still pointed towards the drama in preference to the ballet. Though the greater portion of my repugnance to the gauzy, scant, and semi-transparent vesture of the ballet-dancers had passed away, yet did I feel a blush mantling upon my cheeks whenever I thought to myself that if I happened to decide upon the ballet I should have to appear in such an apparel before that densely packed crowd of spectators. On the other hand, when I beheld

Mrs. >'orman and the other acticBaM in the drama, spearing in coetumes vhidi no one need blush to vear, I vas led to ri^et raj deeuioa on that branch ; and I eren felt that thento I coaU de- Tote osTself vith a zeal and an enthusiasm vhich would enable me compktelj to sormoant mj na- tural diffidence, shjness, and timidity. Aeeord- inglj, at the end of the week I frankly intimated to Juliet the desire which I entertained.

I obeerred that her large violet eyes gleamed vith satis&ction at this annooncement ; and she ■aid to me, " I am rejoiced, Ellen, at the resolTC you have adopted, because from the very first I felt convinced that the profession of the stage would suit yoo. Besides, the friendship I had formed for you at school revived the moment we met in London; and I was deeply solicitous that we should cootinne together. I am confident yoa wiU experience saceess — you will make money — you will grow rich — you will perhaps form some brilHant matrimonial connexion "

*" Juliet I" I exclaimed deprecatingly, as my riieeks grew crimson ; and then a sudden sadness smote me, for it seemed as if my cousin Harry were gazing upon me through the vista of distance with the mo-omfullest expression in those handsome brown eyes of his.

" And why not, my dear Ellen f" asked JuUet, not comprehending wherefore I had thus checked her, or what dreamy idea was uppermost in my mind at the time. '' Have not many actresses eapoused peers of the realm "

"Yes, yes, perhaps !" I hastily interjected : • but I am now thinkicg of other things "

"Let me tell you, my dear Ellen," proceeded Miss Xorman, as if giving audible expression to her own musings, rather than deliberately address- ing herself to me — '• I am a little mere worldly- minded than you are ; and as my father and mother have said, why should not their daughter lurm an alliance of which they may be proud ? I know that I am not very bad-looking:'" — here she gbneed at her psyche, for this discourse took place IB ber bed-chamber one morning after breakfast : " I amaa timroughly respectable as a ballet-dancer can be — I know that not even the malignity of ■eandal has dared breathe upon my name "

"No doubt, my dear Juliet," 1 said, " yoa hare ■any qualifications "

" And you too, Ellen,'*' rej ;ined iliss Jforman : den, as she attentively surveyed ms, the friendly good-hearted girl went on to observe with a kind- ling admiration in her looks, " And yoa too have every winning and captivating qualification. Tou are exquisitely beautiful, Ellen. If ever was female head adorned with such a wealth of glossy raven hair ! — never did finer nor brighter dark eyes beam with all the goodness and the intelligence of the best disposition and the most accomplished mind! Tou have delicate features, faultlessly formed : your nose is perfectly siraight : your mouth is Uke that of a Grecian statue — yet Oh 1 how different vrith the vivid vermilion upon those Kps and the two rows of pearls shining between them I"

" Juliet ! mj dear Juliet !" I exclaimed, crimaon with confusion : " pray do not continue in this manner!"

" And why not P' said my firiend : and then she added with an arch smile, " K Miss Percy does

not know that she is beautiful, it is high time she should be made aware of the fact. If the mirror be not tell-tale enough, yoa shall at least hear the truth firom the lips of a firiend who loves and ad- mires you."

" But I think nothing of personal attractions, Juliet :•

'•Don't be foolish, Ellen ! Every young woman likes to know that she U beautiful. You must net lead me to think that you are a prude — and I shall think so unless yoa permit me to continue my description. TVell, then, you have a chin that

is softly and delicately rounded Mine is too

large — and I know it Bjt your's is perfection

itself. And then, my dear Ellen, while yoa are standing there with averted countenance, yoa know not how gracefully your head is placed apon that snowy neck of your's. It is like the flower upon its stalk! — Ah! yoa may take another atti- tude: but it h only to develop fresh graces— fresh beauties 1"

" JuUet, Juliet ! — I will run behind the curtains — I will leave the room ! Do, my dear friend," I continued, pleading earnestly, '* desist from this

strain ! I really do not like flattery "

"It is no flattery, Ellen," interrupted Juliet; "and I am resolved to finish my portraiture. "Well, then, I have before me a figure more ex- quisitely beautiful than that of any Grecian statue would be if similarly arrayed in modem drapery. : You have the most perfect faU of the shoulders— I nothing abrupt — t'ae lines flowing as it were with I soft continujusness into the arms. Your figure is I sylphid, with a sofBdeney of Hebe-like fulness and 1 roundness of porpwtioBS to redeem it from too great a slendemess, considering that you are talL I A few years hence you will be a superb woman : ' now you are a graceful and elegant girl." I " And now, Juliet," I exclaimed, half-laaghing I at what I considered to be her foolishness, and half in confusion at the praises she had been lavishing I upon me — though I will not attempt to deny that I I knew full well they were not altogether unde- served, — ''I shall close your mouth with my I hand:" — and playfully I executed my threat.

" I have not half dene, my dear Eilea,"' s'aa said, as in a similarly playful mood she caught hold of my wrist and removed my hand ; then re- taining that hand in her own, she went on to ob- serve, ■■ Here is beautiful modelling I — no sculp- ture was ever m:re exqubite t"nan these finjers! Look at these almond-shaped nails ! Ob, Eien, yoa must knoiv that yoa do possess a very beau- tiful hajLi. And as for your feet and ancles, I was adaiiring them the other day; and I thoiig'at to mvsel^ iJf you would only take to the bal- let-^"

" Jfo, my dear Juliet," I exclaimed : " bat I mean to go upon the stage in the drama. And if yoa do not make haste and dress, so that you may go and speak on my behalf to the Manager, I shall beg Mrs. Xorman to escort me. T&ere ! it is mid- day ! and the carriage will be at the door in a few minutes."

The elejant French time-piece on Jaliet's mantel was proclaiming t'ae hour of noon. I hastened oS to my own chamber to put on my bonnet and shawl ; and in about half-an-hour, Juliet, who had been wasting her time iu singing my praises, was ready to set oS for the theatre. Her parents ae-

EtLEN PEECT; OE, THE MEMOIES OE AS ACTEESS.

21

companied her, as usual ; for even if they had no rehearsal to attend, they invariably — or at least one of them — attended their daughter to that sphere whither they would not have her penetrate alone. A new hallet was to be rehearsed on this occasion : the period for practice was prolonged ; and when it was over, Mrs. Norman herself volun- teered to introduce me to the manager. I had taken ofif my bonnet and shawl in Juliet's dress- ing-room when luncheon was served up there as usual : I was about to fetch them, when Mrs. Norman, who had laid aside the same articles of her own apparel, said that it was not necessary.

With a palpitating heart I followed her to a room where the lessee was seated at & table on which were decanters of wine. The walls were covered with pictures of eminent actors and actresses, dancers, and managers ; and all the morning newspapers lay scattered about on the floor around the great man. For a great man he assuredly was in that place ; and by numbers was he looked up to as the very arbiter cf their desti- nies. He was quite a young man, considering the position which he held; for he was not above two-and-thirty ; and though I had seen him before upon the stage during rehearsals, this was the first time I had found myself so near him. This closer view did not make a very favourable impression upon my mind : methought that I now perceived a certain self-sufficient and supercilious air which I had not before noticed about Mr. !Eichards — for this was the manager's name. He was clad in a French flowered silk dressing-gown, and wore a velvet cap with a gold tassel — which costume gave him perhaps an additional tinge of rakishness. He was lounging with a sort of fashionable indolence in a large easy chair, and was giving some instruc- tions to his stage-manager, who had the proof of ft new play-bill in his hand.

" You know, sir," the stage-manager was say- ing at the moment, " we shall want a crowd for the arrest-scene in the new piece."

" Well, we have already arranged for it, Mr. Green," responded Mr. Eichards : and, then as he consulted a slip of paper containing memoranda, he added, " You have five supernumeraries, and that's sufficient. Tell them to make the most of themselves— I mean to spread themselves well out and look like a mob. Nothing like producing good effects, Mrs. Norman !" and the lessee turned towards Juliet's mother with the half courteous, half familiar air which he was wont to adopt to- vrards the principal members of his company.

'• I beg your pardon for this intrusion, Mr. Eichards," said Mrs. Norman : "but I really thought you were disengaged "

" Always disengaged to you, my dear madam," answered the lessee ; " and particularly when you make your appearance in such pleasing com- pany."

His glance was flung towards me as he thus spoke ; and the colour mounted to my cheeks, — not because I fancied at the time that the implied com- pliment savoured too much of flippant flattery — but because my naturally shy disposition rendered me confused and embarrassed at this special notice on the part of the great man.

" Now, my dear Mr. Richards," said Mrs. Nor- man, cajolingly, "pray be so obliging as to give your attention to Miss Percy for a few minutes.

She is an old school-companion of my daughter's, and therefore a friend of mine— a young lady in- deed in whom I am much interested "

" These assurances, my dear madam," inter- rupted Mr. Richards, " are quite sufficient to in- duce me to give all my attention to Miss Percy for a whole half- hour if it be necessary. I presume that I already understand her object "

" Precisely so," responded Mrs. Norman. " My young friend has decided upon the stage as her

profession but not the ballet, Mr. Richards —

the drama is her choice. She wished to defer to your opinion as to her probable success ; and if you report favourably I shall feel truly delighted to give her the requisite lessons."

" I feel highly flattered," remarked the lessee, " that Miss Percy should wish to take my opinion on the point : but really, my dear Mrs. Norman,

you yourself might have formed a judgment •

Or perhaps you have done so already "

" No," interrupted Juliet's mother. " I was afraid of being too partial. Ah ! there is Juliet herself. I shall leave you, my dear, with your young friend for the present. — Mr. Green," added Mrs. Norman, turning towards the stage-manager, " you will permit me to have a word or two with you, if you please."

Juliet had entered at the moment, accompanied by another ballet-dancer: Mrs. Norman retired with Mr. Green the stage-manager. Juliet and her friend had not put off their dancing apparel ; and I noticed that the former now carried in her hand a beautiful bouquet of flowers, which at that season of the year must have been reared in a hot- house and purchased at no inconsiderable price ia Covent Garden Market. Her companion was named Melissa Harrison ; and as I shall have to speak of her hereafter, I may as well take this opportunity of observing that she was a tall elegantly shaped girl, with a figure of sylphid airiness— a beautiful countenance — but a very deli- cate appearance, as if her health were not good, and as if the exertions of the ballet were too much for a constitution not naturally strong.

Juliet and Melissa remained in the lessee's room, while he proceeded to question me. There was a kind of patronising courtesy in his manner, as if he meant me to understand that while devoting this attention to my business on Mrs. Norman's account, it was a very great favour that he was showing me, and one which I must appreciate. I did not think it necessary to enter into any details relative to my past history : I simply stated that circumstances compelled me to adopt the means of earmug my own livelihood, and that I had con- ceived a fancy for the stage. Mr. Richards took down a volume of plays from a shelf — selected a passage — and requested me to read it to him. For a few moments 1 was overwhelmed with bashful- ness : but Juliet whispered encouraging words ia my ears ; and Melissa Harrison, likewise accosting me, spoke in the kindest tone, though this was the first time that we had exchanged a syllable to- gether. I could not help noticing that there was something softly sympathizing and gently compas- sionating in Melissa's looks as her large hazel eyes were fixed upon me : but I thought at the time that she was generously pitying me on account of my confusion and embarrassment. Summoning all my courage to my aid I commenced reading the

2«

ELLEN PEECT; OB, THE MEM0IE3 OP AS ACTBESa.

passage indicated by Mr. Eichards : and as I pro- ceeded I felt my heart warming with tho subject. I caught its spirit — the circumstances in which I was placed appeared to fade away from my con- sciousness— and I rapidly identified myself with all the feelings and emotions of the character who was supposed to be speaking in the drama. It was not until I had concluded that I suddenly awoke as it were from the delusion in which I had been temporarily cradled — or to which, more properly speaking perhaps, I had wrought myself up ; and then I was overwhelmed with a still greater con- fusion than before on receiving the compliments of Mr. Eichards and the praises of Juliet and Melissa.

Mrs. Norman re-entered the room at the mo- ment; and casting a glance around upon all our countenances, her own became animated with joy, as she exclaimed, "Ah! I see how it is! My presage was not incorrect ! My young friend has proved that she has got the genius — the talent — although perhaps until this hour it may have lain dormant."

"Yes, my dear Mrs. Norman," answered Mr. Eichards, " Miss Percy has acquitted herself better than any of us could possibly have anticipated. I never saw so good a first attempt. It is really no flattery ! My dear madam, the girl has the genius —cultivate it, I beg of you— she cannot bo in bet- ter hands than your own !"

The lessee spoke these last words in a lowered tone to Mrs. Norman as he drew her aside ; and though I veritably believe they were not intended for my ears, yet did I catch them; for I was keenly sensitive to every sign, evidence, or demon- stration that in any way regarded the result of the test to which I had been put. I must confess that I felt as if I had 'achieved a triumph; new ideas were rapidly germinating in my mind ; the ambi- tion to shine and achieve a reputation as a great actress, had already begun to inspire me. And yet, mingled with all these feelings, was no incon- siderable remnant of that habitual shyness and ex- cessive diffidence which could not be shaken off all in a moment.

" Let me congratulate you, my sweet friend," said Mrs. Norman : and she bestowed upon me a true theatrical embrace, which afforded Mr. Eichards an opportunity of paying another com- pliment, to the effect that there was no doubt he should shortly have the pleasure of seeing us, as two " stars," enacting the same scene before the curtain.

Presently I was alone with Juliet in her dress- ing-room; and when she had said several kind things to me on the success of the trial to which I had been put, and likewise prophetic of future greatness ou my part, — she appeared to sink into a pensive reverie. Lounging back on the sofa, she contemplated with a profound attention that bou- quet of choice flowers to which I have already alluded. For some minutes I watched her, won- dering what was passing in her mind, and whether it were any source of sadness which rendered her thus pensive. But gradually I observed a smile ■wreathing her rich red lips, and th§n expanding over her countenance, until that handsome face became radiant with animation, and a kindred lustre lighted up the depths of her superb blue eyes. All of a sudden she met my wondering

gaze; and then a deep blush crimsoned her cheeks, descended to her neck, and suffused itself even over her shoulders. She looked as if her heart cherished some secret which she fancied the expression of her countenance must have just betrayed to my know- ledge.

" You understand what is passing in my mind, dear Ellen ?" she said, glancing at me for an in- stant, and then bending her blushing looks over the bouquet which she held in her hand. '•' Perhaps you will think I am very foolish ? And I may be

so "

" Foolish for what, Julie ?" I asked, with some degree of surprise.

" Foolish that I should attach the value which I do to t is bouquet," she continued, still keeping her eyes upon it — " or at least that I should attribute a certain significancy to it. Ah ! I see that you do not understand me !" she exclaimed, now raising her fine blue eyes towards my coun- tenance, but still with a blush glowing upon her cheeks.

" No ; I do not understand you, Julie," I an- swered— " unless indeed it be that this beautiful nosegay is a tribute of admiration paid by some

one "

"Did you just now observe that tall slender young man," asked Miss Norman, slowly and hesi- tatingly, " who was in the lessee's box during rehearsal ?"

" I noticed several gentlemen in the boxes "

" Well, the particular one to whom I allude is Lord Frederick Eavenscliffe. He is the son of the Earl of Carshalton — he is only just come of age

It is he, Ellen, who sent me this beautiful

bouquet. It was placed in my hands a few mi- nutes before I entered the lessee's room to look after you."

" And therefore you think," I said, with the ut- most ingenuousness, " that Lord Frederick Eavens- cliffe is in love with you ?"

Juliet Norman gave no immediate answer : but she again bent her blushing countenance over the bouquet. I now remembered that while standing on one side of the stage to witness the rehearsal of the ballet, I had noticed in a box on the opposite side a young gentleman whose personal appearance corresponded with the description Miss Norman had just given. I recollected likewise the conver- sation that took place between herself and me the morning after my introduction to her parents* abode; and I said, "You know, Julie, it has been your ambition to form a good matrimonial alliance some day or another. Who can tell but that your wish may be realized even more speedily than you had anticipated ? I did remark that young noble- man "

" And is he not very handsome ?" asked Miss Norman in an under-tone, as if afraid that the very walls might have ears to catch the words from her lips : then, without waiting for my reply, she went on to say, " I have seen him on each occasion at rehearsals — and always of an evening likewise. I don't know how it was, but my heart whispered

something to me yes, something to the effect

that it was on me principally — on Mo only his looks were fixed ; and now I have received a proof of it :" — and again her eyes were fixed upon the bouquet. Her maid at this moment entered to announce that the carriage was in waiting : the conversation

EtlEir PEKCT ; OE, THE MEM0IE8 OE AS ACTEES8.

23

Was thus cut sbort — we rejoined Mr. and Mrs. Norman — and all returned home together.

I had written to my aunt Mrs. Wakefield to inform her that the pretended letter of ilrs. Len- nie wes a cruel deception, but that I had fortu- nately found an asylum with very kind friends. I now sat down for the purpose of penning another letter, to explain my intention of embracing the stage as a profession : but scarcely had I made a beginning, wlien it struck me that I had been too precipitate and that I ought not to resolve upon anything until I had consulted Mrs. Wakefield and received her counsel and assent. I know not therefore how to word the letter which I desired to write. 1 thought that I would postpone the task until the morrow, during which interval I might have leisure for reflection.

In the evening I went to the theatre as usual ; and when I beheld the applause which greeted the principal actresses — when I repeated over and over again to myself the encouraging words which Mr. Eichards had spoken aside to Mrs. Norman in the forenoon, and which my ear had caught — a thrill of unknown pleasure passed through me : I felt as if I had already achieved greatness and created renown for myself. I was enraptured with the profession ; and I found myself inwardly resolving that nothing should deter me from adopting it. I beheld Juliet's brilliant triumph in the ballet ; and when flowers were showered down upon her from the nearest boxes, I noticed that the finest bouquet was thrown by the hand of Lord Frederick Eavens- cliffe. Again my heart thrilled with the ideas that swept through my brain ; for I fancied to myself that if the day shoul 1 come when I might be stand- ing on that same stage, invested with all the glo- ries of triumph, the hand of one of whom I often thought might possibly bestow a choice bouquet upon me, and the handsome brown eyes of my cousin might shed upon me the light of joyous congratulations.

On the following morning I received a letter from my aunt, conveying a piece of intelligence or no small importance with regard to her son. By some means, which I need not pause to describe, lie had attracted the notice of a manufacturer re- siding at Paisley but who had been staying for a few days at Sheffield ; and this gentleman had offered Henry a situation as a clerk in his estab- lishment, with an immediate salary of sixty pounds a year, and the promise of a speedy augmentation if he conducted himself well. He was to enter without delay upon his duties; and Mrs. Wake- field intended to remove to Paisley in order that her son might still have the advantage of the maternal home. In reference to myself the letter contained the following paragraphs : — " I admire your spirit, my dear Ellen, and I love you for that good feeling towards myself which prompted you to seek the bread of independence. I rejoice that you have found kind friends who are so generously giring you a home until you can launch yourself in the world. Having the fullest confidence in your excellent principles, and also in the counsel which those friends are enabled to give you, I do not needlessly profiler advice. But remember, my dear girl, that there is always a home for you be- neath my roof, wherever my own habitation may He." 'the letter contained one from my cousin Harry,

who wrote in the hijliest spirits on account of having at last procured a situation which would prevent him from continuing a burden on his mother's slender resources He expressed many hopes on behalf of my welfare and happiness, and declared that the only drawback to his own com- plete contentment was that we were separated. "You know, my dear Ellen," he said, in this kind letter, " that I would cheerfully toil for you as well as for myself: but my mother insists that it is better for you to follow the present bent of your own persevering spirit and industrious incli- nations; and therefore I urged nothing further upon that point. As for myself, I mean to try to' get on so well that you shall some day have reason to be proud of your cousin Harry."

This last sentence gave a particular impulse to my thoughts; and turned them into a somewhat new channel.

"And I also will endeavour," I said within my- self, " to win that position which shall some day render ^ou, Henry, proud of your cousin Ellen ! What," I went on musing in the enthusiasm of my feelings, — " what if I were to prepare a great surprise for those relatives who are interested in me ? what if I were to keep my secret relative to the profession in which I am about to embark? Through the kindness of tliese excellent friends I have a home assured me : and I may accept it, because I feel — I know— I have that within my heart which tells me that the day will come when I shall be enabled to repay them for all their good- ness. Oh, what joy, what happiness if at no very distant time I shall find myself in a position tu write to my aunt and cousin and tell them that I have achieved success and that gold is pouring in upon me !"

My enthusiasm was as exalted in the exact pro- portion as my inexperience of the world was great : my hopes were as ardent as my soul itself was in- genuous. My resolve was taken accordingly. I wrote to my aunt and cousin congratulating them upon the good intelligence their own letters had conveyed to me, and informing them that my friends the Normans had made up their minds not to part with me for the present, and that they kindly opened to my view certain means and pros- pects which would relieve me from the idea of being an useless and dependent burden upon their bounty. In this letter I did not study any hypo- critical evasion nor culpable dissimulation : my objects were well-meant — my aim was straight- forward and honourable ; and I did not for a mo- ment imagine that I was guilty of any real impro- priety in veiling my ultimate intentions from the knowledge of those relatives who were deeply in- terested in my welfare.

CHAPTEE VL

EDWIJT SI. CLAIS.

I coxTiiftrED to attend regularly the rehearsals at the theatre; — not that I mjself as yet practised iu them, but in order to obtain as much in- sight as possible into the Jotaih of the profession which I was about to enter. When at home, — as I may denominate the house of my kind friends,— Mr. and Mrs. Norman gave me lessons, tn.kiag it

24

ELLEN PEECT; OE, THE MEM0IE8 OF AN ACTEES3.

by turns, and experiencing a pleasure in thus in- structing me.

Thus several weeks went by ; and during this period I formed many new acquaintances ; for the Normans saw as much company as their avocations would permit. There were frequent supper-parties when the evening engagements at the theatre were over : they likewise received friends to breakfast and to luncheon. I was thus introduced to some of the most eminent artistes of the day : but beyond the dramatic sphere the Normans had also numerous friends. As Juliet had given me to un- derstand, there were amongst these visitors several male scions of the aristocracy ; and as my expe- riences became enlarged, I perceived that I was the object of much attention on the part of the noblemen and gentlemen frequenting the house as well as those who had permission to attend the rehearsals at the theatre. Mrs. Norman how- ever kept her eye as much upon me as upon her own daughter ; and I myself maintained a demea- nour that was becomingly courteous to those flat- terers ; but I never gave them the slightest en- couragement. Indeed, in this respect I was much more shy and reserved than Juliet : for she would laugh and joke, and even slightly flirt sometimes, ■with some of these fashionable hangers-on : whereas I never put myself forward — I was glad when I could shrink timidly into the back-ground, — though when compelled to join in conversation, I assuredly did not study to render myself disagreeable.

Meanwhile Lord Frederick Eavenscliffe had pro- cured an introduction to the Normans; and he received invitations to their house. He became marked in bis attentions towards Juliet ; and she confessed to me that she was considerably ena- moured of him. He sent handsome presents of game, venison, turtle, and fish to Mr. Norman — boxes of eau de Cologne and French gloves to Mrs. Norman — but to Juliet naught beyond the choicest bouquets from Covent Garden Market.

One evening, when invited to supper. Lord Frederick RavensclLffe brought with him a gentle- man named St. Clair. He was about four-and- twenty years of age and remarkably handsome. His hair was of a light brown, with perhaps a tinge of auburn in it, shining with a rich gloss and curling naturally. It was parted above a high and noble forehead, where the grandest intellect seemed to sit enthroned ; and the fine large blue eyes were equally faithful in their reflection of the mind's light. Nothing could be more perfect than the Grecian profile of Edwin St. Clair. He Jiad been for two or three years in the Horse Guards, until an uncle's death — which happened suddenly — put him in possession of a princely fortune ; and then he had retired from the army. But he still bore the title of Captain — by courtesy, I presume ; and he had not discarded the moustache which he had worn when in the service. This moustache shaded without concealing the short upper lip, which had a somewhat haughty expression : his teeth were pure, even, and faultless as those of the most lovely woman. A litlie above the middle height, his figure was the perfection of masculine sym- metry ; and when the terms " elegance" and " grace" are applied to the appearance, the bear- ing, and the gait of persons of the male sex, they never could be more justly used than in reference to Edwin St. Clair.

A few weeks before he was thus introduced to the Norman family he had entered Parliament ; and he had already made three or four speeches which had perfectly electrified the House. His voice was rich-toned — full of that masculine har- mony which when low seems to sink dream-like into the souls of the listeners— but which, when swelling with the enthusiasm of the feelings and with the passion of eloquence, has the effect of a grand and sublime choral music. His countenance was pale : there were times when it was pensive, but not saddened : it seemed the mere habit of thought inseparable from a high order of the in- tellect. There were other times when that coun- tenance, though seldom flushing with the warm blood's glow, was nevertheless animated even to radiance, — as a strong sunlight pours upon the face of statuary marble the effulgence which is only just perceptibly tinged with the hue of the embowering roses amidst which the light has passed. But there were times likewise when a strange smile would for a few instants waver upon St. Clair's lips, and when the eyes would have a kindred peculiarity of look. The first time I ever caught this expression of his countenance, I fancied there was something sinister in it— something which ought not to appear upon a face which in its sublime masculine beauty should only reflect the loftiest and most ennobling thoughts. I could not understand what that ex- pression of the countenance meant ; and yet it was so transient, and was so instantaneously succeeded by the more natural and agreeable look, that when it had passed away, it left me in a sort of dreamy bewilderment as to whether it had ever for that brief space existed at all. Was it a contempt for the surrounding gaieties and frivolities of society ? — was it a cynical distaste for those pleasures which other people prized ? — or was it the involuntary expression of proud scorn on the part of a lofty mind for all the inferior intellects with which it came in contact ? I knew not : I could form no conjecture upon the subject ; and yet it was an ex- pression of countenance which left an uneasy im- pression on the beholder at the time, and haunted the memory afterwards.

I have already said that Lord Frederick Havens- clifTe introduced Captain St. Clair to the house in Hunter Street, Brunswick Square. He then be- came a frequent visitor for the next few weeks ; and I could not blind myself to the fact that while St. Clair treated every one else with the courteous attention which his exquisitely polished manners could so well display, towards me he was reserved and distant. He never addressed a single syllable of his conversation to me, unless he was compelled by the intercourses of the table ; and even then his look was half averted as if in disdain at the bare idea of having to notice so humble an individual. Occasionally — if any warm arguments were in pro- gress upon a particular subject, and when St. Clair had listened with the most urbane attention to the remarks of others — the moment my opinion was referred to by the friendship or the courtesy of any one present, the topic appeared all in an instant to lose its interest for St. Clair : he became cold and reserved — yet not in respect to the whole com- pany around him, — but all this coldness and all this reserve seemed suddenly to be concentrated and directed towards myself.

Mr. and Mrs. Norman, Juliet, and Melissa Har-

risen (wl)o was r fr?quent guest at the housj) began to notii-'c EUwin Si. Cii.ir's coijdiii;t in le- Bjiect to mjeelf ; and they questioned rue on tlio point. Tliey asked me if I had ever known hioi before— whether I had given him cause for a de- xneanour which aoiouuted at times to absolute rudeness — whether he had made some overture which I had resented, and for the resenting of which he was thus treating me with a spiteful ▼indicliveness ? To all these queries I answere I in the negative — and truly answered. My pride was however piqued ; and I professed to have been inobservant of that behaviour which was the sub- ject of these interrogatories ? Inwardly I felt annoyed at St. Clair's conduct. Totally uncon. ccious of having given him offence, I did not like to be marked out for such undeserved punishment. Instead of being any longer pleased to be thus thrown into the background, my soul was gettiujj chafed at what I could not but regard as a sort of No. 4.— Elle» Peect.

cold-bloode.^, cowardly, and tacit persecution. I sa-.v tljiit St. Ciair was popular witli M who belonged to the sphere of his acquaintance: — without either assumption, self-sufficiency, or obtrusiveness, ho became the star of every circle. The brilliancy of Lis intellect, the exquisite polish of his manners, the fascination of his discourse, as well as a certain tact which he had of rendering himself agreeable to whomsoever he thought it worth whilQ to please,— all these qualifications were the source of the power that he wielded. To be absolutely ig- nored, therefore — to be scorned or to be " cut " by such a man as this, was something only too well calculated to gall the feelings of even so patient, bashful, and retiring a creature as myself.

One day I was attending the rehearsal as usual, and was standing with Mr. and Mrs. Norman quito at the back of the stdge, witnessing the Torpsichoreau displays of Juliet and four other dancers who were practising a portion of a new

ballet. Mr. and Mrs. Norraan had tlieir eyes i ward as if contemplating his polished boot — riveted with the most justifiable admiration upon \ though there was really no tinge of foppery in his

their tall, handsome, exquisitely made daughter, as she was most rapturously poetising, so to speak, that art in which she excelled. She was, as usual, putting forth all her efforts, though without any visible strain, to that effect, — because Lord Frede- rick RavensclifiFe was in a stage-box, contemplating her with looks full of lovo and admiration. As t happened to glance around, I perceived Edwin St. Clair seated at the side of the stage, and appa- rently gazing with fixed looks on the dancers. I had not seen him enter — 1 knew not how long he had been there ; and the moment my eyes fell upon him, I averted my countenance, for fear he

composition— he said, "It is not always those with whom one laughs the loudest and to whom one assumes the gayest demeanour, that one feels the most interest in. Doubtless, Miss Percy, you have thought my conduct towards you exceed- ingly strange ?"

He looked up suddenly in my face as he thus spoke; and as the effect of the first surprise had not worn off, it now received another impulse. It was astonishment succeeding astonishment.

"Perhaps you have ccemed my behaviour more than extraordicary," continued Edwin St. Clair : you may have regarded it as rude, unwarrantable

should notice that I glanced towards him and I —even cruel and cowardly especially. Miss

should think that I was anything more than ut terly indifferent as to his presence. That portion of the rehearsing ballet was speedily finished: there was a pause on the part of the dancers: Mr. and Mrs. Norman advanced towards their daughter to say something to her. I remained alone on the spot where they had left me, when a well-known voice came stealing as it were upon my ear in the soft richness of its harmony; and I gave an involuntary start.

"Your friend Miss Norman is a most accom- plished danseuse, Miss Percy," said St. Clair, who, totally unperceived by me, had passed round from his seat in such a way that he came upon me from behind.

"Yes, Captain St. Clair," I answered coldly; "my friend Miss Norman has achieved perfec- tion."

I was then about to move away, when it in- stantaneously struck me that if I did so my con- duct would have the air of a studied resentment ou account of his own behaviour towards me; and, my pride coming to my relief — or rather to my guidance — would not permit me to afford this indication that he had ever succeeded in annoying me.

" Yes, Miss Norman is an accomplished artiste," continued St. Clair, lounging with an elegant air of fashionable indolence against a piece of scenery. "You, Miss Percy, are intended for the stage, I believe ? When do you think of making your debut?"

" Nothing is as yet positively settled on that point, Captain St. Clair," I answered, with what I may flatter myself was a lady-like coldness and reserve.

" I am sorry that you are so uncertain in that respect," he remarked.

I gave no reply: and there was a silence of nearly a minute.

Percy," ho added in the softest tones of his har- monious voice, " as I have beea told that you are an orphan— that you have no other friends in the world than those whom your own goodness has made for you — that you are amiable, kind, and of an ex- cellent dispositioYi."

St. Clair had the art of throwing the most melt- ing pathos into his language when he chose; and he was doing it now. There vyas something so irre- sistibly touching in the manner in which he had lowered his voice so that its cadence might suit the words " you are an orphan," that my suddenly excited emotions swelled up into my very throat and tears gushed from my eyes.

"A thousand pardons. Miss Percy," said St. Clair, with earnestness in his tono and his look,— ^ " a thousand pardons," he repeated, " that I should have made you weep ! I would not have done it for worlds ! Eor heaven's sake dry these tears ! Those who have already seen with what marked and studied coldness I h ive treated you, will think that I am now bringing my* cowardly conduct to a crisis, and that I am heaping the last crowning'in- Bult upon you."

I did wipe away my tears ; and I made a move- ment to leave the spot where this singular discourse was taking plaee quite at the back of the stage and in the shade of some scenery. But Captain St Clair, without absolutely retaining me, just touched my arm gently with his gloved hand for an instant — and said, "Eemain, Miss Percy. You have borne all my seeming cold cruelty towards you : you must now listen to the explanation and the cause."

I felt as if under some spell-like influence, and I became riveted to the spot. There was a kind of fascinating power investing this man : the simplest assertion of his will, however delicately conveyed, appeared to be sufficient to ensure obedience on the part of all who came in contact with him. I longed

'Yes — I am sorry," continued St. Clair— and i to go— and yet I could not. Perhaps he felt his

methought that there was a slight tincture of vexa- tion in his tone, as if ho had expected that his previous observation would lead to a question on my part, and that he was annoyed that it had not : — " yes, I am sorry, because my own engagements will compel me to leave London shortly for a few weeks ; and I had promised myself the pleasure of being present at your debut."

1 was amazed at this speech : indeed it so took me by surprise that I had not sufficient control over myself to prevent the betrayal of that won- derment in my looks. St. Clair glanced at me for an instant; and then bending his eyes down-

own power, and at that instant triumphed in it; for I caught that peculiar sinister expression flitting over his countenance. The next instant it was gone; and in the most harmonious tones of his penetrating voice, he proceeded to address me in the following manner : —

" You must bear with me. Miss Percy, some- what— because I am a being different from the rest of the world. I am to be judged by the rule of contraries. When I seem gayest, I am really saddest; and when I appear pensive, my imagina- tion may in reality bo revelling in the paradise which its own power conjures up. In the same

ELLEK PEECT J OE, THE MEM0IE3 o*- A* ACTKE33.

21

way, when my attention may Beem to be most closely fixed upon a subject, my thoughts are as far away thence as the Poles are asunder: and when I appear not to be listening, I am in reality all atten- tion. Those whom I hate, scorn, or despise, I in- variably overwhelm with my affabilities : — even to those towards whom I am supremely indifferent, I am full of blandishments. But where I conceive a friendship— where I take a liking— it is there that the perversities, the contradictions, and the inconsistencies of my character most display them- selves : for there it is that I seem coldest when my heart is warmest— Mere it is that my demeanour is of ice while my soul inwardly is in a glow — there it is that I can offer insult or outrage, though all the while I would go to the ends of the earth to render a service ! Do you comprehend such a dis- position as this. Miss Percy ?"

"It is replete with dissimulations," I answered; " and he who can give such a character of himself, would be equally capable of inventing a whole tissue of such inconsistencies for the mere pur- pose of gaining a reputation for singularity — eccentricity — I scarcely know what to term it."

" Your language is severe," replied Edwin St. Clair : " but by heaven ! there is no studied dis- simulation with me. You may perhaps say it is a dissimulation to have the appearance of hating where one really likes; but if this be a portion of my character — an evidence of its weakness or its strength, whichever you please— it assuredly is not an hypocrisy : for it is natural. Though peculiar in its nature, it is not assumed. And now, will you permit me to add one word more ?" continued St. Clair, bending his looks most earnestly upon my countenance. "You, Miss Percy, have been rendered the victim of those peculiarities on my part : — and would you know the cause ? It is that the more cold-bloodedly ferocious my conduct may have appeared towards you, so has my real feeling boen proportionately the stronger; — it is. Miss Percy, that I love you !"

The reader may perhaps deem it strange when I assert that this declaration came quite unexpect- edly upon me : for although St. Clair's language had for the last few minutes been flowing in that direction, yet did it appear so full of sophistry, or at least mystic inconsistency, as to leave me unable to conjecture what aim it might reach. Besides, I was too innocent and inexperienced to anticipate avowals of love ; and if perhaps any idea at all had been floating in my mind as to the end towards which St. Clair was aiming, it was that a proffer cf his friendship might perhaps be made. Therefore I was confounded when that declaration was breathed from his lips ; and then I must candidly confess there was a glow of pride in my heart at the thought that the man whose coldness had chafed me, and who had made me as it were the victim of his contemptuous reserve in the presence of others, was all along the slave of a passion with which I had inspired him. Yet it was not altoge- ther possible to analyze my thoughts and feelings at the time, inasmuch as for some minutes they were bewildered and confused, — so much so that hs had taken my hand, he retained it in his own, and I the while unconscious thereof.

"Yes, Miss Percy, it is true," he continued, with 1 the melodious persuasiveness of that ma-

gically musical voice of his, — "it is true that I lova you "

I now hastily withdrew my hand: indeed I snatched it abruptly away the very moment I was wakened to the sense that it was beinor pressed in his own.

" Do not think that I mean to insult you," proceeded St. Clair, whose countenance for an instant had expressed a haughty anger, and had then, almost in the twinkling of an eye, reas- sumed the tender eloquence of its look. " I am not addressing you in that language wherein young men so often speak to young ladies within these walls— and which, if breathed behind the scenes, is as false and insincere as if spoken by those who are playing a part before the curtain. No, it is the language of truthfulness that I am speaking ! You have inspired me with a feeling which never, never have I known before ;— and I who have been so proud in my very cynicism, have become your slave ! Will you take my name and share my fortune ? I vow to heaven that I am sincere in the proposal* "

I have already said that here was something almost irresistibly fascinating about Edwin St. Clair : I knew likewise that he was immensely rich; and ho was remarkably handsome. Can it be wondered if I listened without interrupting him? will the reader marvel if I confess that I was dazzled by the brilliancy of this offer ? There was moreover in the entire proceeding a tincture of romance full well calculated to have its weight and influence with the mind of an artless inex- perienced girl. There was the man whose cold- ness had hitherto chafed me, now offering to make me his bride ! — there was the "observed of all observers," the centre of every circle, the promising young statesman, the brilliant St. Clair,— there was he ready to sink at my feet ! I felt the colour coming and going rapidly upon my cheeks : my heart was palpitating violently— and I could give no response.

" With sincerity has the proposal been made," continued St. Clair : " and with honour shall it be carried out. But your decision must be given at once; and if it be in the affirmative, the present moment is the last time you must be seen in this part of the theatre. I will deal frankly with you, Ellen. If you had ever appeared publicly upon the stage I would not offer to make you my bride : I

could not marry an actress. But as it is No

matter ! It is different ! And now your deci- sion ?"

My brain was as confused as if an illuminated mist was surrounding me — a mist which alike daz- zled and bewildered. But gradually through that golden fog — through that dense illuminated mist— the eyes of awoWter appeared to be looking in upon me. They were not those of St. Clair— they were not the eyes that sometimes flashed with a sinister light : but they were the dark brown eyes which had never shed a beam to startle my soul nor to leave a disagreeable impression on it. The revul- sion which took place in my feelings was prompt and signal : my brain recovered its clearness — my thoughts grew collected : I was the complete mis- tress of my actions :— the spell was lifted from off my mind.

" Captain St. Clair," I said, mildly but firmly, "I thank you for the honour which you have done

23

EI.I.E1T PEECT; OE, THE MEMOIES OP AN ACTRESS.

Die aud for tho favour with which you have regarded me. But I beg most respectfully to decline your proposal."

Jji^ever shall I forget the expression which sud- denly swept over St. Clair's counteuanee. I have read la old romances how the Enemy of Mankind Las put on the human shape in all its most beau- teous aspect— and how the sudden utterance of some holy name has in a moment called up the withering look of tho fallen angel. So was it with St. Clair. A hidden fiend appeared for the instant to look out of his eyes : the very beauty of his countenance was for that brief moment fearful to contemplate. I was startled— I was shocked— I was terriliod. The conviction seemed to flash in unto my mind that I had suddenly made a mortal enemy of one who was mighty to do much either of good or of evil, but all whose power of mischief would henceforth be brought to bear upon myself. Yet quick as lightning that terrible — that ominous look had swept away from his countenance; and I was transfixoi with surprise on beholding how calmly sad, how reproachfully mournful it now ap- peared. Could that former expression— so tran- sient, so fleeting,— could it have been naught but imagination on my part? was it nothing but a moment's dream ?

" Miss Percy," said Edwin St. Clair, wi h a soft melancholy intonation, " your decision has been given— aud perhaps it is irrevocable. I do not complain : you have a right to study your own happiness, although it may be to the destruction of mine. At least you will regard me as a man of honour ; and henceforth we shall be friends. One

thing I would beseech which is that the seal of

inviolable silence may remain upon your lips in respect to all that has now taken place between us."

With the same mild firmness as before, I gave Captain St. Clair the assurance which he desired ; and I hastened away to rejoin my friends. All the persons gathered upon the stage were conversing in groups; and thus the episode which I have been relating in respect to myself, had passed without any very particular notice. At all events its nature remained unsuspected.

About ten days elapsed after this occurrence ; and not for a single instant did I regret the de- cision at which I had arrived. St. Clair called every day in Hunter Street, — either in the after- noon when the rehearsals were over, or else in the evening at supper-time; and his bearing to- wards myself was that of tho most friendly cour- tesy. Tho Normans and Melissa Harrison noticed this change in his demeanour; and in a good- Luiuoured manner they remarked to me that the amiability of my own disposition had thawed the cold reserve which through caprice (as they fancied it to be) he had originally maintained towards me. Not another syllable on the one subject did St. Clair breathe in my cars : nor even by a look did he appear to intimate that his thoughts still dwelt thereon.

As the time was now approaching when Mr. and Mrs. Norman fancied I might make my debut, — they having purposely delayed it iu order that I should prove us proficient us possible,— I selected the part iu which I desired to appear. I no longer attended tho theatre in the day-time — but remained at tho house to study that part. One

day Melissa Harrison called, and found mo alone. She herself had obtained a few days' leave of ab- sence through indisposition: for, as I have already said, she was of a sickly constitution. I told her that I was studying my part ; and I spoke with an enthusiasm which made her contemplate me with the deepest attention. Gradually methought an expression of sadness infused itself into her looks, — a sadness which had likewise something compas- sionating in it : and then I recollected that she had gazed on me in a similar manner when Mr. Richards, the lessee, spoke so favourably of my dramatic genius. I had taken a liking to Miss Harrison ; and we had grown intimate toge- ther.

"Tell me, Melissa," I said, — "why do you look at mo thus ? It is not the first time "

"Oh, it is nothing!" she excliimed : and then with a laugh of forced gaiety, she strove to turn the discourse into another channel.

" There is something in your mind, Melissa," I said. " I beseech you to tell mo what it is. Uoea it concern yourself ? If so— and if it bo anything to annoy you— you will have my sincerest sym- pathy. But if it regard me— as I am almost inclined to fancy that it must, from the way in which you have gazed upon me "

" Would you have me speak out ?" exclaimed Miss Harrison suddenly. " Ob, do not force me, Ellen! — or perhaps I shall destroy some of those golden dreams iu which jou have been cradling yourself."

" Good heavens, what mean you ?" I asked, suddenly frightened by the words as well as by tho look which accompanied them. " Leave me not in suspense ! I appeal to your friendship — if there bo anything that I ought to know, for heaven's sake tell it to me !"

" My dear Ellen," she continued, " I should have spoken to you at first upon this very subject, had I not reflected that I had no right to take upon my- self that duty which the Normans had failed to perform. You have been led to look on the bright side of the theatrical world : and no one has as yet undertaken to show you the dark side. Conceive yourself seated iu the boxes, and contemplating tho stage when it is bathed in the effulgence of the gas- lights. What is more beautiful than the scenery? what more superb or more dazzling than the ves- ture of the performers ? what more lovely than tho countenances of the fairy-like girls who are flitting hither and thither upon those boards? But when viewed close, and when the eyes escape from the delusion with which glare and distance invest all these,— how difl'erent are they ! The scenery is a vile daub — the dresses are the veriest tinsel — care- worn and haggard looks are concealed by paint and cosmetics."

" All this I know full well, Melissa," I said. "But there is no harm in those delusions of glare and distance which produce the effects without which tho theatre would lose all its charms."

" Oh, Ellen ! is it possible," exclaimed M lissa, " that you do not comprehend the moral which my words would convey ? I tell you that you have looked upon tho bright side, and not upon the other ! You know not the miseries, the anxieties, which help to make up the sum of a theatrical ex- isteooe. Those who are successful are devoured by a thousand petty jealousies. Even Mr. and Mrs.

Normaa— pr^of' ^*^y pP'^p'e though they be, au(i too fond of tbe pleasures of this liCo to moot annoy- ances half-way, much less to create vexations for themselves, — even thei/ have their troubles of this description. It Las not happened so since you have known them: but perhaps it is the only period in their lives that they have been thus con- tented. As for those who are wisuccessfal ~goo^ heavens ! what a life ! When engaged, they feel that they are only tolerated— and they are made to drink deep of the bitter cup of humiliations. But when without engagements— tte/t what misery, what privation, what distress become their por- tion ! I have seen it, Ellen aye, and I have

felt it too !" added Melissu, a strong shudder sweeping through her form at the bare recollec- tion,

" Good heavens, you have felt it ?" I exclaimed, tbe tears starting into my eyes. " But you are successful — you are well paid "

"Yes— success came," she responded, with a singularly wild bitterness in her look and tone, — " success came when it was too late in one sense — almost too late in another "

" How too late, Melissa ?" I asked wonderingly . " Thai first sense of which you spoke "

"No matter!" she interjected with an almost startling abruptness. "I was crushed down by the weight of penury then—B.n orphan -friendless —on the very point of being houseless— I was

starving But no matter! In that o<7ie>* sense

to which I alluded, I say that success came almost too late ; because the heart was too sick to enjoy it— and because the soul had sunk down so wing- weary upon the earth that though it might be par- tially lifted up, it would never soar again in those lofty flights to which in the fervour of youthful hope and in buoyant imagination it bad once risen !"

There was a strange bitterness in the first portion of Melissa's speech, and a deep mourn- fulness in the latter, which both alike did me harm to observe; and as I could only partially fathom the meaning, I gazed upon her in mingled surprise, curiosity, and compassion.

"No," she continued, "you have comprehended nothing of the dark side of this existence upon which you are about to enter. You have not thought of all the temptations which environ the young female embarking in this career. Oh, my dear Ellen, when I saw you in the purity of your soul and the innocence of your heart, abandoning yourself to the enthusiasm of hope— when on the day of your first test in the lessee's room, I beheld your countenance flushing with joy as your ears

caught the presages of success — 1 pitied you

yes, I pitied you ! — for methought that one so beautiful, so artless, and so confiding should have been destined for better things!"

" Good heavens, Melissa !" I exclaimed in affright — and I felt that I grew deadly pale, — " what is all this that you are telling me? Do you mean that Mr. and Mrs. Norman have de- ceived me— that Juliet also has deceived me "

"No, no— my dear friend! — they have not de- ceived you ! They have told you nothing that is untrue— though they have abstained from telling you all the truth. But blame thorn not! Mr. and Mrs. Norman will say nothing against the profession by which they live, and which they can-

not possibly renounce. It is the business of tboir lives to persuade themselves that they are happy in their profession : they would not even to one another, in the intimacy of man and wife, admit that they sometimes secretly wish their lot had been cast in a different sphere. As for Juliet, she has been successful — she has been praised — the incense of adulation surrounds her ; and every- thing is as yet of a roseate hue to her contempla- tion. She dreams of a brilliant alliance "

" And with some reason too," I observed, glad of the opportunity to catch any argument which would serve as a refutation of Melissa's gloomy reasoning : " for is not Lord Frederick liavenscliffe paying his court to her ?"

" Ellen, it is incredible," exclaimed Melissa, with a fierce and bitter scorn in her looks, " how every girl upon the stage with any pretensions to beauty — and even with none— fancies that she will marry a nobleman ! Because there have beeu

a few isolated instances of such espousals "

"But do you not think," I interrupted Miss Harrison, " that Lord Frederick will marry Juliet ?"

" I hope so !" answered Melissa drily ; " be- cause Juliet expects it, and she is deeply ena- moured of him. But for weeks and weeks he has been hanging about her ; and yet the word is not spoken — the matrimonial offer is not yet made ! Heaven grant that Juliet's passion has not been fanned to an extent that may lead her reason astray : for I am fond of her— she has many noble traits— and it would grieve mo sadly if she came to harm."

"Do you think it possible," I asked, almost in- dignantly, " that Juliet Norman would forget what is due to herself— what is due to her parents—

her sense of propriety "

" Not willingly— not deliberately, Ellen," re- sponded Melissa. " But infatuation is dangerous

— there are moments of weakness "

Here Miss Harrison suddenly averted her coun- tenance as she stopped short; and for a few mo- ments I felt so pained by her language— so hurt oa Juliet's account— that I made no attempts to con- tinue the conversation. I sat perfectly still, with my eyes bent down: it was almost a feeling of anger which I experienced against Melissa. All of a sudden a sound like that of a sob came upon my car. I started— I bout forward — I looked round in Melissa's countenance : she was weeping bitterly. Forgotten in an instant was the little resentment with which she had inspired me ; and throwing my arms about her neck, I exclaimed " Good heavens ! I have appeared unkind towards you— I looked or spoke angrily— you meant no

liarm Forgive me, dear Melissa ! Or perhaps

there is some other cause — perhaps these tears have

another source "

"Let us say no more upon the subject, Ellen," interrupted Miss Harrison. "Perhaps there has been too much said already. Yet I hope you knoiV mo too well to think that I could either seek un- kindly to damp your enthusiasm, on the one hand, in respect to the career on which you are about to enter— or on the other hand to disparage the good principles of cur mutual friend Juliet. In refer- ence to yourself, I thought it would only be per- forming a friend's p^rt to warn you of the snares and perils which beset a young girl when entering

30

ELLEN PEECT; or, THE MEMOIBS OF AN ACTRESS.

the theatrical sphere. Aud jou, Ellen, are so

Bweetlj beautiful— so good — so kind-hearted

Oh ! for heaven's sake look well at every step you take ia this tangled maze wherein you are plung- ing ! And now not another word on the subject — at least not for to-day ! And you will not tell the Normans that I have dealt thus candidly with you ? They look upon you as a star whom they are in- troducing into the dramatic heaven, and whose light will therefore to a certain extent be reflected on themselves. They would not thank me if they knew I had breathed a single syllable which might have the effect of abating your enthusiasm. And now, my sweet friend, farewell !"

With these words Melissa Harrison grasped my band and hurried from the room. Her discourse had left a painful impression on my mind : indeed the entire scene was such that I could not possibly put it away from my thoughts, nor avoid dwelling on it with a certain mingling of positive uneasi- ness aud vague apprehension.

CHAPTER Vir.

THE INVITATION AND THE EESITLT.

On the day after the preceding conversation, I bad occasion to make some purchasps ; and I walked forth alone for the purpose. It was a little be- fore the hour of noon ; and I had to go in the direction of the West End to procure the articles which I required. As I was turning the corner of a street leading into one of the fashionable Squares, I had to stop suddenly short on account of a splen- did equipage that was dashing along from the opposite direction. It was an open phaeton drawn by two superb horses, whose harness was literally covered with silver: the coachman and footman were clad in gorgeous liveries — light blue coats covered with silver lace, broad bands and cords to their hats, red plush breeches, and shoes with buckles. The body of the phaeton had but one occupant— a gentleman, who was lounging back with the air of one who superciliously despised all the foot-passen- gers by whom his equipage dashed. A glance at that individual's countenance showed me that it was Mr. Parks the lawyer.

The recognition was mutual : he ordered the oquipage to stop : and taking me by the hand, exclaimed, " Well really, Ellen, this is most ex- traordinary ! I was on my way to call upon you. 1 only came back from the Continent a few days

ago But why did you not leave your address

at my house, so that when I did come back I might see you?"

" In the first place, Mr. Parks," I answered, " I did not think that I had sufficient claims upon your interest; and in the second place, I have been staying with friends — I am not in a situa- tion as a governess, as perhaps you might have

fancied "

" Why should you suppose that you are not an object of interest to me ?" he cried. " Have I not known you from your childhood ? But I suppose it was because I wrote that letter of mine in such a dreadful hurry, you might have fancied it a euol one — I mean when you applied to me a few months

ago about your idea of going into the world as a governess "

" Well, Mr. Parks," I answered, " I certainly thought there was an absence of friendliness in your letter : but since you assure me it was merely the effect of haste, I am sorry I should have put so uncharitable a construction on it. And now therefore, permit me to express my thanks for the advertisements which you inserted "

"No thanks are needful, my dear Ellen," ra- plied the lawyer. " I am prepared to do anything

for you and perhaps I have neglected you

somewhat. However, now that we have met, you must permit me to show you some little attention. I have a great many things to talk to you about. You will come and dine with me to-day : Mrs.

Parks will be delighted to see you we have

often thought and spoken of you since my poor mother's death. Ah, she was u saint, Ellen! — and she is now an angel in heaven !"

Mr. Parks— as I had known him in my girlhood — used to be a sanctimonious individual, with a demure look, slow and drawling speech, large spectacles, a limp white neckcloth, and a suit of seedy black. Now he had a gay dashing sort of appearance, as much as such an ill-favoured person — with his red hair and whiskers, and freckled face — could have. He was most fashionably ap- parelled ; his look was anything but sanctimonious ; the spectacles on the nose were eschewed for gold eye-glasses hanging over the waistcoat ; and in- stead of his speech being drawling, it was rapid and off-hand, until it suddenly sank into lugu- brious lowness of tone at the point when he thought fit to go into the dismals on account of his deceased mother. I certainly never had seen anything very saint-like in respect to the late Mrs. Parks; and there was really something blasphem ously ludicrous in the manner in which he had al- luded to her as an angel in heaven.

" You will come and dine with us at five, Ellen," repeated Mr. Parks. "I will send my carriage for you pray b^ in readiness."

I should have refused the invitation, were it not for the assurance which he had given me to the effect that he had a great many things to tell me ; and my curiosity was naturally excited as I thought that these things must be certain to con- cern me somewhat, and that they would perhaps elucidate the mystery of that strange man's con- nexion with my deceased grandfather as well as with Mrs. Parks and her son. I therefore ac- cepted the invitation, and promised to be in readi- ness by the time the carriage should arrive for me. We then parted, — the brilliant equipage dashing along in one direction, and I pursuing my way iu another.

Punctually at a quarter to five o'clock I was dressed in evening costume ; and Mr. Parks's car- riage arrived to take me to his house. It was a close carriage that he had sent, and of a magnifi- cence to be in perfect keeping wit'a the equipage I had seen in the morning. On arriving at the law- I yer's mansion — which was in a fashionable West End Square— I was conducted up to the drawing- room, where Mrs. Parks received me. She was a little moan-looking woman, with a very vixenish expression of countenance— though she now en- deavoured to render herself as amiable as possible. ' I found her alone ; and as she invited me to take a

EttEW PEHCTJ OR, THE MBMOIES OP AN ACTEESB.

31

Beat, she gave me to understand that her husband would make his appearance in a few minutes. She then proceeded to chatter away about her children, who, she informed me, were all absent from home at the time, at the different schools which they fre- quented, according to their ages and sexes. I should observe that the house was large and sump- taouslj furnished, — every thing denoting the pos- session of great wealth on the pait of its proprie- tor. But there was an utter absence of good taste in all the appointments ; so that its very splendour had an air of tawdriness— and its rooms, crowded with furniture and costliest nick-nacks, seemed more intended for ostentatious display than for do- mestic comfort.

Presently the door opened somewhat abruptly ; and Mr. Parks made his appearance, at the same time ushering in another gentleman. This latter individual had a military appearance. He was in reality, as I afterwards learnt, not more than five- and-thirty years of age— but he looked at least forty, on account of a certain dissipated appear- ance and the ravages which debauchery had made upon him. Thus, beneath the eyes the flesh looked somewhat blue and swollen : there were hard lines across his brow, and wrinkles at the corners of the eyes. He had light sandy hair, and large mous- tachios, scarcely a shade deeper in hue. Handsome he had decidedly been; and his profile was still good. He was tall and well made: his appear- ance was not only military, but likewise aristocrati- cally distinguished. His manners were those of a polished gentleman, when he thought fit to render them so : but in the course of the evening I fan- cied that he surveyed me with a boldness which at times amounted to a mingled insolence and famili- arity which brought the colour to my cheeks. ^ " My dear Ellen," said Mr. Parks, as he made his appearance in company with the gentleman whom I have just described, " I am delighted to see you. I had intended that we should dine alone, as I have a great deal to say to you : but I met Colonel Bellew at the door — he is an intimate friend of mine— he has the run of the house— so he was just dropping in to take pot luck with us —and I could not refuse him.— Colonel Bellew, allow me the honour of presenting you to Miss Percy."

The Colonel bowed, and said with a polite smile, " I should have been very sorry indeed, Parks, if you had refused me the pleasure of dining at your table on such an occasion."

It will have been seen from the lawyer's obser- vations that though he lived in the midst of so much splendour and aflfected so much state, he nevertheless had not contrived to discard certain vulgarities from his discourse ; and I could not help wondering that the polished and distinguished Colonel Bellew should entertain such a bosom friend- ship for the somewhat coarse-minded Mr. Parks.

Dinner was shortly afterwards announced : the Colonel offered me his arm ; and we descended to the dining-room. It was not a mere dinner— it was a banquet of the most sumptuous description, — a very pleasant sort of " pot-luck" for the Colo- nel to be enabled to drop in upon whenever he might think fit. Yet with the wretched false taste and that inverse system of boasting into which up- starts and parvenus are sure to fall, Mr. and Mrs. Parks apologized for the meal, — declaring " it

was a mere family dinner— they had only intended to treat me as one of themselves— and that they could not possibly liave foreseen the Colonel meant to join them that day."

There were wines in profusion : Colonel Bellew did justice to the champagne ; and it was when getting heated therewith that he began to regard me across the table in a way that I did not like. Methought that on two or three occasions Parks shook his head deprecatingly at his friend, as much as to give him to understand that the bold earnest- ness of his regards was annoying me. I was glad when the dessert was pliced upon the table, and Mrs. Parks shortly afterwards rose and conducted me up to the drawing-room. I should observe that not the slightest relerence had been made the whole time to my own personal circumstances : the name of the Normans was not mentioned. I did not even know whether Mr and Mrs. Parks were aware that I was preparing for the stage. Nor could I even conjecture how Mr. Parks ascertained my address when he was purposing to call on me in the morning. Now that I was alone with his wife in the drawing room, I natm-ally thought that she would discourse with me on thoso topics : — but nothing of the sort. She expatiated on the pleasures of London life — the large circle of fashionable friend3 which she and her husband possessed — the number of her servants — the ele- gance of her parties— and the prices of the costly ornaments which were everywhere so heaped about that it was impossible to move through the draw- ing-room without running the risk of doing some damage with the sleeves or skirts of one's dress. Thinking that possibly Mr. or Mrs. Parks might have communicated with my aunt at Paisley, I questioned the lady on the subject : but she replied in the negative, and instantaneously flew off at a tangent to tell me how much she bad given for a particular china monster which stood upon a console, and how old Lady Mullii^atawney, the nabob's wife, had gone into fits at finding herself outbidden at the sale of curiosities where the afore- said china monster was purchased for the express behoof of Mrs. Parks, who had seen and fallen in love with it the day before.

It was not till past ten o'clock that the two gentlemen joined us in the drawing-room; and then I perceived that both were much the worse for the wine of which they had partaken. Mr. Parks leant against the wall to sip his cofiee ; and there he swayed to and fro in a manner which seemed every instant to threaten his equilibrium with discomfiture. The Colonel walked perfectly steady — but had a very flushed countenance. Dis- gusted with the scene — wearied of Mrs. Parks's tirades relative to the prices of her furniture and uicknacks — and perceiving that there was no chance of my obtaining on this occasion any in- formation in respect to the many things that Mr. Parks had expressed himself desirous to talk about — I whispered to the lady that I should like to return home.

" I am very sorry, my dear Miss Percy," she answered, also in a whisper, "that we cannot send the carriage with you, as the coachman begged leave to go out this evening, his father being dead or something of the sort. But if you do not mind

a hackney-coach unless indeed you will accept

a bed here for the night——"

" Thank you for your kindness," I responded : " but I must return to my friends, or they would bo uneasy — and it is perfectly the same to me whether I ride in a carriage or a hackney-coach."

Mrs. Parks rang the bell — the order was given to the footman to fetch a hackney-coach, — and I rose to take my leave. Mr. Parks and Colonel Bellew insisted on seeing me down to the vehicle; and I was dreadfully afraid lest the Colonel should effer to accompany me as far as Hunter Street. The proposal however, which I was fully deter- mined to resist, was not made ; and the hackney- coach rolled away from the front of the lawyer's dwelling.

I reclined back in the vehicle, thinking -of all that had taken place,— wondering how the Parkses could have become so rich, and whether all their fortune were based upon the money originally bequeathed by my grandfather to his housekeeper, — wondering likewise whether he had foreseen that his mouey would for ever be alienated from me, or whether he had intended it to become mine at that old woman's death — and more than half suspecting that Lis dying instructions could not Lave been fulfilled to the very letter. 1 was so absorbed in these reflections that I took no notice of the course the haekuey-coach was pursuing — until the idea gradually dawned in unto my mind that the journey back to Hunter Street was much longer than that from Hunter Street to the lawyer's house. I rose from my haU'-rcclining posture, and looked from the window : the hack- ney-coach was passing rapidly by some iron rail- ing, behind which there were trees. The niglit was excessively dark — a misty rain was fall- ing— both the windows were closed ; and as I only observed objects dimly, mothought we were passing through one of the Squares. I reclined back again : another ten minutes must have elapsed — still the equipage was rolling along, and with increased rapidity. I felt assured that the driver had made some mistake as to the address that had been given to him, though it was I myself who bad mentioned that address at start- ing. I pulled the check-string : but it drew in all the way — the coachman was not holding it in his hand. I put down one of the windows, and called out to him.

" All right. Miss," he said, " it's a little mistake on my part — I missed the way — but in five mi- nutes you will be there."

Perfectly satiafied with the explanation — though Bomewhat annoyed by the delay — I reclined back again j and for some few minutes longer gave way to my reflections. From these I was startled by the sudden stopping of the hackney-coach. It was quite dark, and now raining in torrents. The door was hastily opened — an umbrella, ready ex- panded, was held over my head by a man-servant —while a female threw a cloak upon my shoulders, the hood falling over my head. I had not the slightest doubt that these were Mr. Norman's domestics. I hurried up the steps — hastily en- tered the hall— and then the conviction flashed to my mind that I was in a strange place. The front door was closed : — in mingled consternation and afl'right I glanced at the servants who had in- troduced me thither: their faces were unknown to me as the aspect of the hall itself !

" Good heavens !" I said, " there is some mis-

take ! I beg a thousand pardons for the intrusion and for the trouble I have given ! Pray stop tho

hackney-coach But I recollect! I have not

paid the man his fare !"

" This way, Miss, if you please —it is all right," said the female servant, who was a woman of about forty years of age, and with not a very pro- possessing countenance ; for though her tone was respectful, yet there was a lurking cunning in her eyes which filled me with alarm.

"I tell you that I do not live here — and you must know it!" I exclaimed, as I turned towards the front door.

" You cannot leave the house, Miss," said the man-servant — a tall, pompous-looking, half-inso- lent fellow, with a leer upon his lips. '' As Kate says, it's all right. The coach is gone — and the man's faro is paid."

I sank down upon one of the hall-chairs, gasp- ing in breathless terror. That I was the victim of some treachery, 1 now felt convinced. But sud- denly starting up, I summoned all my courage to my aid, saying, " Suifor me to depart immediately ! At your peril retain me here!"

" Tho plain fact is, Miss," replied the footman, " you are a prisoner — and it's of no use to show any airs, because they won't be attended to. Our orders are to treat you with respect ; and this we are prepared to do. There are roams ready for your reception ; and you had better retire to th?m at once. To-morrow perhaps you will see some one who can tell you more about it."

"Whose house is this?" 1 demanded, in ft hoarse voice — for I was terribly agitated : indeed I could scarcely prevent myself from shriekiag out in the wildness of despair.

" That question you must reserve for to-morrow, if you please, Miss," replied the footman. " Our orders are to say as little as possible, and to do your bidding in all things so long as we see that you don't escape."

Again I sat down, overwhelmed with a sense of consternation and alarm- Who could possibly have done this? Whose house was it ? All in a moment a suspicion flashed to my mind. That Colonel Bellew who had appeared to drop in acci- dentally to dine — who had regarded me with such bold libertine familiarity — and who had all along seemed to have some particularly intimate under- standing with Mv. Parks, — then the excuse for not sending me home in the carriage— and the substitution of tho hackney-coach, — yes, every- thing combined to strengthen my suspicion that the whole proceeding was a treacherous plot in which Mr. and Mrs. Parks were the vile accom- plices and Colonel Bellew was the principal ! Bat I saw that it was useless to remonstrate with these domestics, and that perhaps if I appeared to submit patiently, some avenue of escape might present itself. I accordingly did my best to com- pose my feelings, and intimated to the female ser- vant that I would retire to the chamber provided for me.

It was a magnificent house to which I had been brought. The hall was spacious, and adorned with statues. A marble staircase led up to a landing decorated with more statues and with immense porcelain vases. To the next landing we ascended; and there the female servant — who