I 
 
 f 
 
 m 
 
 r 
 
 t> 
 
 tl 
 
 k 
 
 \ 
 
 ~\* 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THIS BOOK IS ONE OF A 
 COLLECTION MADE BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 1854-1919 
 
 AND BEQUEATHED TO 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 5221.R46Y7 
 
 The young duchess, or, Memoirs of a lady 
 
 3 1924 013 539 675 
 
HI 
 
 Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013539675 
 
THE 
 
 YOUNG DUCHESS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 A SEQUEL TO "ELLEN PERCY." 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS. 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE PIRST AHD SBOOKD SERIES OF "THB MY8TEBIIS OP LOHDOB," " THE MYSTERIES 
 OP THE COURT OP LOMDOH," "MABYPBICE," "JOSEPH WILMOT," " BOSA LAMBERT' " THE 
 SOLDIER'S 'WIFE," " ELLEN PERCY," " POPE JOAST," " THE PIXY," " ROBERT -MACAIRE," 
 "KEMHETH," "THE DAYS OP HOGABTH," " WAGEEB THE WEHK-WOLP," " THE RYE-HOUSE PLOT," 
 "THE BBOKZE STATUE," "THE LOVES OP THE HABEM " " OMAB " "LEILA," " THE SEAM- 
 STRESS," " THE CORAL ISLAHD," " MARGARET ; OR, THE DISCARDED CJUEEH," " FAUST," " PICS- 
 WICK ABROAD," "MAY MIDDLETOW,"ETC, ETC. 
 
 WITH FIFTY-THREE WOOD-ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PUBLISHED, EOR^. THE PROPRIETOR, BY JOHN DICKS, 
 
 No. 7, WELLINGTON STREET NORTH, STRAND. 
 
 1858. 
 
INDEX TO ENGfRAVINGS. 
 
 1. The Cottage Scene . 
 
 5. Mademoiselle Imogens. 
 
 9. The Young Duchess and the Baronet 
 
 17. Miss Alice Denton. 
 
 25. The Parish Clerk and the Stranger 
 
 33. Ethel and the Stranger 
 
 41. Ethel. 
 
 49. The Circus. 
 
 57. Launcelot at Imogen's Abode . . 
 
 65. The Young Duchess. 
 
 73. Launcelot and Imogene 
 
 81. Selina. 
 
 -89. Sylvester and Alice at Greenwich 
 
 97. Pamela's Horse . . . 
 
 105. The Duchess and the two Rogues 
 
 113. Ethel and her Child 
 
 121. Martha. 
 
 129. Mandeville and the Duchess 
 
 137. Sylvester hugged By a Bear 
 
 145. Ethel and the Portraits 
 
 153. MlLDEED. 
 
 161. Ethel in the Dressing-room 
 
 169. The Princess Roxana. 
 
 177. The Usurer and his Daughter . 
 
 185. Ethel's Visit to Mildred . 
 
 193. Mildred and her Mother 
 
 201. Mildred in the Garden. 
 
 209. Edward and Lavinia . , 
 
 217. The Duchess at the Ball 
 
 225. Scene in the Conservatory , 
 
 233. Mildred's Evening Toilette. 
 
 241. The Princess and Ethel 
 
 249. Azalbje. 
 
 257. The Russian Ambassador's Witticism 
 
 265. The Conspirators 
 
 273. The Murder of Zadouski . 
 
 281. The Corpse of the Murdered . 
 
 289. What Hester sees . 
 
 297. The Carpet-bag at the Bridge-gate 
 
 305. The Lowering of the Carpet-bag . 
 
 313. Henri Ponchard. 
 
 321. Lady Amjesbury. 
 
 329. Azaline's Evening Toilette . 
 
 337. The Subject of a Picture . 
 
 345. Hester. 
 
 353. Pamela and Ashborne . , 
 
 861. The Subject of another Picture 
 
 369. Adelaide Clarke. 
 
 877. The Accident on the River 
 
 386. Azaline in an Oriental Costume. 
 
 393. The Death of Mildred 
 
 401. Ethel the Mourner 
 
 409; A Scene in Switzerland . 
 
 See page 6 
 
 . 13 
 
 28 
 . 30 
 
 59 
 . 62 
 
 06 
 
 . 9fi 
 104 
 
 . 109 
 125 
 
 . 138 
 
 14G 
 
 . 152 
 
 1G9 
 
 . 195 
 
 199 
 
 . 203 
 
 216 
 
 . 226 
 
 281 
 
 . 244 
 
 263 
 . 268 
 
 269 
 . 286 
 
 287 
 .810 
 
 312 
 
 827 
 SS8 
 
 365 
 366 
 
 405 
 
 , 413 
 
 I 415 
 
INDEX, 
 
 Chapter I. Imogen • . 
 
 „ II. The Cottage 
 
 „ III. ThomburyPark 
 
 „ IV. The Two Friends . 
 
 „ V. -Alice Denton and her Friend 
 
 „ VI. The Parish Clerk . 
 
 „ VII. The Discourse at the Gate 
 
 „ VIII: The Mill. 
 
 „ IX. A Discovery . 
 
 „ X. The Duke and Duches3 
 
 „ -XI. Southdale 
 
 „ XII. Ethel 
 
 „ XIII. The Circus . 
 
 „ XIV. Launcclot 
 
 „ XV. The Firs 
 
 „ XVI. The Squire's Bed-chamber. 
 
 „ XVII. The* Den . 
 
 „ XVIII. The Baronet and Sylvester 
 
 „ XIX. Ardleigh House 
 
 , „ XX. Mr. Warren 
 
 „ XXI. One— Two . 
 
 „ XXII. Three— Four— Five 
 
 „ XXIII. Pamela . 
 
 „ XXIV. The Water Tank 
 
 „ XXV. A Bachelor's Apartments 
 
 „ XXVI. Hendon Court 
 
 „ XXVII. Lady Langport . 
 
 „ XXVIII. The Usurer . 
 
 „ XXIX. The Ball . 
 
 „ XXX. The Usurer's Daughter . 
 
 „ XXXI. Astley's . 
 
 „ XXXII. Alone Together 
 
 „ XXXIII. The Mysteries of a Toilet 
 
 „ XXXIV. Lady Langport's History 
 
 „ XXXV. A Strange Meeting 
 
 „ XXXVI. Count Olonetz 
 
 v XXXVII. The Ambassador's Visitre39 
 
 „ . XXXVIII. Twenty Thousand Pounds 
 
 „ XXXIX. Mandeville and Mildred 
 
 „ XL. Mildred . 
 
 „ XL1. Mildred at Home 
 
 „ XLII. Mildred and Ethel 
 
 „ XLIII. The Hypocrite 
 
 „ XLIV. The Chat in the Park . 
 
 „ XLV. The Masquerade 
 
 „ XLVI. Ethel's Altered Prospects 
 
 „ XLVII. The Grand Duke and Mildred 
 
 „ XLVIII. The BUI of Exchange 
 XLIX. Azaline . 
 
 Pace 
 
 . 1 
 
 ' 6 
 
 . 11 
 
 15 
 
 . 22 
 
 " 27 
 
 . 30 
 
 34 
 
 . 39 
 
 • 43 
 
 . 47 
 
 53 
 
 .' 59 
 
 C2 
 
 . 66 
 
 70 
 
 . 75 
 
 79 
 
 „ 83 
 
 88 
 
 . 93 
 
 96 
 
 . 103 
 
 109 
 . 114 
 
 122 
 . 126 
 
 131 
 . 135 
 
 140 
 . 144 
 
 148 
 . 150 
 
 158 
 . 169 
 
 174 
 . 182 
 
 190 
 . 195 
 
 199 
 . 204 
 
 208 
 . 212 
 
 216 
 . 221 
 
 231 
 . 237 
 
 245 
 . 250 
 
Chapter L. The French Ambassador . 
 
 „ LI. The Conspirators 
 
 „ LII. Mandeville's Visit 
 
 „ LIII. Hester 
 
 „ LIV. The Corpse 
 
 „ LV. The Murder . 
 
 „ LVI. The Truth Disclosed 
 
 „ LVII. The Dowager . . . 
 
 „ LVIII. Hester Again , 
 
 „ LIX. The Bridge . 
 
 „ LX. Edward Walpole 
 
 „ LXI. The Family at Highbury 
 
 „ LXII. The Appointment 
 
 „ LXIII. The Sisters Morphew 
 
 „ LXIV. The Listener at the Casement 
 
 „ LXV. Edward and Hester 
 
 „ LXVI. Azaline and Edward 
 
 „ LXVII. Tim Gaffney and his Friend 
 
 „ LXVIII. Stephen Ashborne 
 
 „ LXIX. Hester's Father 
 
 „ LXX. Retribution 
 
 „ LXXI. Sylvester and the Peer 
 
 „ LXXII. The Will 
 
 „ LXXIII. Chelsea Reach . 
 
 „ LXXIV. Zadouski's Pocket-book 
 
 „ LXXV. Tragedy . 
 
 „ LXXVI. Uncle and Nephew . 
 
 „ LXXVII. Conclusion . 
 
 Page 
 
 256 
 . 263 
 
 270 
 . 277 
 
 283 
 . 287 
 
 293 
 .299 
 
 303 
 . 308 
 
 314 
 . 320 
 
 325 
 . 331 
 
 336 
 . 341 
 
 349 
 . 354 
 
 362 
 . 366 
 
 370 
 . 375 
 
 379 
 . 387 
 
 394 
 . 398 
 
 405 
 . 413 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; 
 OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 ■\Ve are about to introduce the reader to a small 
 and plainly furnished room, in a house situated 
 in one of the streets behind Astley's Theatre, at the 
 Nd. 1. 
 
 foot of Westminster Bridge. This little parlour, 
 though humble in its appointments, was never- 
 theless of a most scrupulous neatness and cleanli- 
 ness. As the warm weather was setting in and 
 fires could be dispensed with, an ornament of 
 variegated papers concealed the grate: a nosegay 
 of violets and primroses in a glass standing upon 
 the table, rendered the atmosphere fragrant ; and 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, 3IEMOIES OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 a green Venetian blind, or jalousie, lowered com- 
 pletely down inside the open window, shut out 
 from the view the dingy brick buildings on the 
 opposite side of the street. There was a good 
 looking-glass over the mantel, which likewise dis- 
 played some pretty china ornaments. On a side 
 table stood a work-box and a writing-desk , and 
 there were some twenty or thirty volumes on a 
 shelf in a recess. A lithograph portrait of a beau- 
 tiful female in a strange fantastic dress, was sus- 
 pended to the wall facing the mirror: and the 
 original of that portrait was now reclining on the 
 sofa, listlessly following with her eyes the move- 
 ments of a little girl of about four years old who 
 was playing about the room. 
 
 Fantastic indeed was the dress of that female. 
 A small Greek cap, with a couple of pheasant's 
 feathers, rested with an air of unstudied coquet- 
 tishness upon a head of faultless formation. The 
 features were purely Grecian: the complexion 
 was beautifully clear and transparent ; and though 
 the cheeks were pale, yet they exhibited that 
 freshness of the skin which is characteristic of 
 health. Her eyes, of a beautiful blue, had a look 
 which was alike vivacious and languishing ; and 
 her hair, of a rich dark brown, was lustrous with 
 its own natural gloss. Her lips — the upper one 
 being fuller than the lower — had an expression 
 half smiling, and half serious, which corresponded 
 with that of the eyes, and thus confirmed the 
 general aspect of this beautiful countenance. 
 She was a little above the middle height, but 
 seemed taller than she really was because her 
 figure was 50 striking and brilliant. With a cer- 
 tain robustness of limbs, all her proportions were 
 nevertheless adjusted to the most perfect sym- 
 metry, tapering at the extremities into beautifully 
 formed hands and elegantly shaped feet. Her'g 
 was a figure which conveyed the impression of 
 strength blended with agility — a rounded fulness 
 of the contours sufficiently developed for personal 
 beauty, but not to be inconsistent with the lithe- ' 
 ness and flexibility of the entire form. 
 
 And now, to revert to her costume, we must 
 proceed to observe that a light under-garraent, 
 with a very short skirt, was confined at the waist 
 by a crimson sash, or rather folded scarf, after 
 the oriental fashion. The upper garment consist- 
 ing of a purple velvet jacket made to button 
 over the bosom at will, but now left open. The 
 jacket itself was sleevelesS.1 but the light under- 
 garment before mentioned had short sjeeves reach- 
 ■ ing not so far as the elbow ; and thus the white 
 well-modelled arms were left almost completely 
 bare. She wore breeches made to fit loosely, and 
 fastened just below the knees, with long pendant 
 ribbons. Flesh-coloured silk stockings made the 
 lower part of the leg seem bare down to the well- 
 made and tight-fitting cloth boots, which with- 
 out the slightest seam or wrinkle adjusted them- 
 selves each to the precise shape of the rounded 
 ankle and the long narrow foot. Bracelets were 
 upon the wrists, and there were rings to ornament 
 the small, flexible, exquisitely chiselled ears : but 
 truth compels us to add that all the jewellery 
 thus displayed by the young female would not 
 have amounted to the value of many pounds 
 Sterling. 
 
 Who was she ? We have already said that her 
 portrait was suspended in the room ; and beneath 
 it appeared the name of Mademoiselle Imogene. 
 
 But there were two or three notes lying upon the 
 table; and one was addressed to Mademoiselle 
 Imogen — the final e, be it observed, being omitted. 
 The other letters were addressed to plain Miss 
 Hartland ; and as the young female had opened 
 and read all these letters when they arrived, we 
 naturally infer that she was Miss Hartland in 
 'private life, but Mademoiselle Imogene in some 
 public capacity. In respect to her age, it would 
 not have been very easy for even the shrewdest 
 observer to fix it with any degree of precision ; 
 for while the well-developed form and matured 
 contours seemed on the one hand to indicate the 
 ripe womanhood of three or four and twenty, yet 
 on the other hand the delicacy of the features and 
 the air of youthful freshness that invested her 
 would engender the surmise that her age could 
 barely exceed twenty. 
 
 Nothing could transcend the infantile loveliness 
 of the little girl who was playing about the 
 room. {She was, as we have already said, about 
 four yearg old ; and a luxuriant profusion of soft 
 and fine Saxen curls set off a countenance the 
 complexion fif which was formed of milk and 
 roses. The eyes were of a clear azure ; and the 
 little lips, thin and delicately cut, were as vivid 
 in thejr ljue. as wet coral. The child was dressed 
 with the utmost taste and neatness, — her entire 
 appearance indicating that she was the object of 
 the most scrupulous care. 
 
 The portrait to which we have before alluded, 
 represented Jtademoiselle Imogene in precisely the 
 same dress which we have described : but it gave 
 her the air of a Greek Bacchanal at a masquerade, 
 placed in a. lounging position against a seat in the 
 box of a fheatre, and smoking a cigarette. On 
 the other hand, at the moment when we introduce 
 her to our readers, she is half reclining upon a 
 sofe in a aBiall but neatly-furnished room ; and 
 she has no, cigarette in her hand. Her eyes are 
 Hatlessly following the movements of the child : 
 but her countenance grows gradually more and 
 more serious, the half-smile fading away from her 
 lips. She becomes completely absorbed in thought ; 
 and her eyelids droop — not because drowsiness is 
 coming over them, but because all her attention 
 being now concentrated inwards, is shutting out 
 from itself as it were every external object. 
 
 Thus same minutes passed : and then all of a 
 sudden a strange light flashed in the deep blue 
 eyes under the half-closed lids ; and with a quick 
 spasmodic start, she flung her looks upon the child, 
 muttering, " Little wretch! you are the cause of 
 all I suffer !" 
 
 The child did not catch the sense of the words 
 — she only heard their sound; and she was at 
 the same time frightened by the sudden start 
 which the female gave. Thinking therefore that 
 she had in some way provoked her anger, the 
 child threw down her doll and burst into tears. 
 
 "Dear, dear little thing!" cried Mademoiselle 
 Imogene : and then this strange creature of sud- 
 den impulses caught the child up in her arms and 
 pressed it to her bosom. " Don't cry, my love ! 
 for heaven's sake don't cry! I was not angry 
 with you ! Oh, pray don't cry — dear, dear little 
 Annie!" 
 
 The child went on sobbing as if its little heart 
 would break ; and nothing could exceed the pain 
 which Mademoiselle Imogene evidently expe- 
 rienced while endeavouring to soothe that grief. 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; 08, MBMOIBS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 3 
 
 " Don't cry like this, my dear little Annie !" slie 
 said in a voice that was even piteously entreating. 
 " Oh, to think I should have drawn forth all these 
 tears from those sweet azure eyes! Little dear 
 innocent ! Good God, how could I have done 
 this!" — and then the strange impulsive creature 
 herself sobbed and wept even more convulsively 
 and bitterly than the child, 
 
 The latter now threw its little arms round the 
 neck of the female, who pressed the child again 
 and again to her bosom, until in a few minutes 
 the little one sank off into slumber; and then 
 Mademoiselle Imogene gently opened the door and 
 conveyed Annie up to a neatly furnished chamber 
 overhead, and where there was . a little bedstead 
 by the side of a larger one. Upon the snowy 
 quilt of the little bedstead did Mademoiselle 
 Imogene softly lay the child, at the same time 
 tenderly yet cautiously pressing her lips to its 
 cheek. Then descending from the chamber, she 
 rang the parlour beli ; -and a neatly dressed, re- 
 spectable-looking servant-woman, about thirty 
 years of age, answered the summons. 
 
 " I have taken little Annie upstairs," said 
 Mademoiselle Imogene, " and have laid her down. 
 Go and stay with her till she awakes, and then 
 put her to bed. Ah ! and here is a nice piece of 
 cake for her; and— and — you may tell her that 
 to-morrow she shall be sure to have a new doll." 
 
 It was by means of these lavishing demonstra- 
 tions of kindness towards the child, that this female 
 of strange impulses endeavoured to atone for that 
 momentary paroxysm of rage which had almost 
 seemed to be replete with a bitter burning hatred 
 towards the object of these marvellous inconsis^ 
 tencies. 
 
 Fanny, the servant-woman, hastened up-stairs 
 to sit with the child ; and Mademoiselle Imogene 
 glanced at a clock which was ticking at the end 
 of the passage. The dusk was now closing in : it 
 was only just light enough for her to distinguish 
 how the hands pointed upon the dial; and she 
 mentally ejaculated, "It is nearly time to set 
 out." 
 
 At that moment a low double knock at the front 
 door reached the young female's ears. 
 
 " I will answer it, Fanny," she said, thus speak- 
 ing up the staircase to the servant. " I daresay 
 it is one of the young ladies of the establish- 
 ment." 
 
 The front door was opened ; and a lady, closely 
 veiled, appeared upon the threshold. She was 
 dressed with the utmost plainness ; and the black 
 veil was so folded and so retained over her coun- 
 tenance that it was impossible to catch -the 
 slightest glimpse of that face, especially with the 
 dusk closing in. But that she was no ordinary 
 person, was evident from the style in which her 
 apparel was fashioned and wornj as well as from 
 a certain air of distinction in the gait and car- 
 riage which were no doubt habitual. Mademoiselle 
 Imogene had a quick eye ; and ifc was therefore at 
 a glance that she discerned this much in reference 
 to the fine tall form of her veiled visitress. 
 
 But the visitress herself seemed to be trans- 
 fixed with astonishment on beholding the fan- 
 tastically dressed female by whom the door was 
 opened ; and not a syllable came from her lips, 
 
 " Whom did you want 7" Mademoiselle at length 
 asked, in a courteous tone ; aiid her voice was 
 singularly soft and pleasing. 
 
 "I— t beg your pardon," faltered forth the 
 lady, who seemed to be almost overwhelmed with 
 confusion : " but I fear that — that — I must have 
 made some mistake. Perhaps those whom I 
 sought are gone to live elsewhere " 
 
 " Or perhaps, madam, you have come into the 
 wrong street — or if the right street, to the wrong 
 house ?" and Mademoiselle Imogene spoke with, 
 thd utmost courtesy, because she felt more than 
 ever convinced by the speech and manner of the 
 veiled visitress that she was indeed a well-bred 
 lady. 
 
 " Ho — this is the street and this is the number 
 of the house," said the latter :• " but still — I am 
 sure— at least I think those whom I seek can be 
 ho longer here." 
 
 " Whom do you expect to find here ?" inquired 
 Mademoiselle Imogene. 
 
 The veiled stranger continued silent for nearly 
 a minute : she , seemed to be hesitating whether 
 she should give a reply; and at length she timidly 
 and falteringly said, " Some people of the name 
 of Hartland used to reside here." 
 
 "Walk in, madam," exclaimed Mademoiselle 
 Imogene. "I see that your business lies with me." 
 
 The stranger-lady again appeared to hesitate : 
 then as if suddenly making up her mind, she 
 crossed the threshold : but scarcely had she done 
 this, when evidently seized with a fresh fit of 
 irresolution, she iiiade a movement as if to beat a 
 retreat. 
 
 " Come, madam," exclaimed the fantastically- 
 dressed female, in an impatient tone, " for heaven's 
 sake make lip your mind one way or another. 
 This hesitation on your part is but little courteous 
 to me, as if you fancied that you were invited to 
 enter a house where your person would be scarcely 
 safe. As for your character, whether it might 
 suffer or not, can assuredly be of little moment, in- 
 asmuch as you wear that thick black veil as its 
 defence-work." 
 
 " But tell me — tell me," said the lady, in a low 
 and faint vpice, " what have you to do with the 
 family of Hartland?" 
 
 " My name is Hartland," was the reply : and 
 the speaker's tone became courteous once more. 
 
 "Tou — you a Hartland ?" said the lady, in 
 scarcely articulate accents : and she staggered 
 visibly under the influence of some strong emo- 
 tions which were overpowering her. " Is it pos- 
 sible — you — in this garb ? My God !" — and she 
 suddenly burst into tears. 
 
 For a moment Mademoiselle Imogene was about 
 to expldde in a violent fit of indignation : but all 
 of a sudden a suspicion of some kind struck her — a 
 light seemed to flash in unto her mind ; and she 
 said in a, quick tone, " Walk in, madam — walk in. 
 If you ate afraid Of the darkness I will soon pro- 
 cure a light — though something tells me that you 
 need not be afraid to he With mi." 
 
 " No— I ani not afraid," said the veiled lady, 
 suddenly recovering her self-possession— or at all 
 events a.Sufficiericy of it to enable her to decide 
 upon the course which she should pursue. " Lead 
 the way, I follow." 
 
 Mademoiselle Imogene closed the frdnt door, 
 and conducted her veiled visitress into the par- 
 lour. There she at once lighted a couple of 
 candles, and courteously bade the stranger-lady 
 to be Seated, — at the same time setting the ex- 
 ample, 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 There was a silence of upwards of a minute, 
 during which the veiled lady was evidently sur- 
 veying the fantastically clad female with the 
 utmost attention ; and then it was equally visible 
 that through the thick folds of her veil she slowly 
 sent her regards travelling round the neatly- 
 furnished parlour. Mademoiselle Imogene watched 
 her narrowly, but with » seeming carelessness, as 
 if she were waiting in a sort of easy indifference 
 for the moment when it might please her visit- 
 ress to enter into further explanations. 
 
 " And your name is Hartland !" the latter at 
 length broke silence, but without making the 
 slightest movement towards withdrawing her 
 veil ; and it also struck Mademoiselle Imogene 
 that she was speaking in a feigned tone. 
 
 "Yes — my name is Hartland," replied the 
 young female. 
 
 " Miss Hartland therefore, I presume ?" was 
 the next query. 
 
 " Yes — Miss Hartland," was the response. 
 
 "But the rest of the family — your father — 
 your mother — your brother " 
 
 "My father and my mother," said Imogen 
 Hartland — for such was really her name — " are 
 dead." 
 
 "Dead?" ejaculated the veiled lady. "How 
 long have they been dead ?" 
 
 " Two years have elapsed," responded Imogen, 
 " since they both perished within the same week, 
 of the fever that ravaged this neighbourhood. As 
 for my brother " 
 
 " Did he die too ?" asked the veiled lady ; " how 
 many died within this house ?" she demanded in 
 accents which denoted a. feverish anxiety. 
 
 " Only two died within these walls," answered 
 Imogen, — " my father and my mother. My 
 brother has gone to sea ; for we were left in 
 poverty." 
 
 " Poverty ?" echoed the veiled lady ; and she 
 started and shuddered visibly as she spoke the 
 word. 
 
 "Yes — poverty," said Imogen. "My father 
 had been foolish enough to speculate with some 
 money that he had; and the worst of it was that 
 
 the money could scarcely be called his own as 
 
 perhaps you, madam, have already more than con- 
 jectured." 
 
 " I ?" — and the veiled lady gave another start 
 more abrupt than the former one. 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon," said Imogen, with a 
 tone and manner of easy carelessness. " Proceed, 
 madam. You shall continue to be the ques- 
 tioner." 
 
 " Your brother, you say, has gone to sea ?" con- 
 tinued the veiled lady. " And you- " 
 
 " Oh, surely you can see what I am," ejacu- 
 lated Miss Hartland, with a smile that seemed to 
 be good-humoured, but which . notwithstanding 
 might have , had a tincture of bitterness in it. 
 ■' Perhaps you may have heard of me? There is 
 my portrait. My real name is Imogen: but 
 when I first entered the Circus, the manager stuck 
 an e on the name — put a Mademoiselle before it 
 — and coolly announced me as the celebrated 
 Mademoiselle Imogene of Franeoni's in Paris, al- 
 though there perhaps never was any Mademoiselle 
 Imogene there at all, but still more certain that I 
 myself never was there. However, the thing 
 took; and hundreds came every night to see 
 Mademoiselle Imogene who would never so much 
 
 as traverse the street much less cross Westminster 
 Bridge to see plain Miss Hartland." 
 
 "Do — do I understand you right?" said the 
 lady, who spoke as if she were gasping and half- 
 suffocating behind her veil, — " do I understand 
 you right — that — that — you are an equestrian 
 performer at Astley's Circus ?" 
 
 " That is exactly, madam, what I am," replied 
 Miss Hartland, with a cool easy off-handedness of 
 tone and manner. " I am a great favourite at the 
 amphitheatre. This is my principal character," 
 she continued, glancing down at her costume. " I 
 perform the part of a Greek bandit pursued by a 
 host of troops. Of course I fly before them. I 
 am a sort of female Dick Turpin for the nonce ; 
 and I light a cigarette, which I smoke while stand- 
 ing upright on my horse with an air of cool un- 
 concern, although the animal is galloping round 
 the circus at the height of its speed, just as if it 
 were really over the plains of Greece." 
 
 "And therefore," murmured the veiled lady, 
 " you are well paid doubtless ?" 
 
 "Oh, well paid indeed!" laughed Imogen, 
 displaying two rows of brilliant teeth: "who 
 ever heard of people in our profession being well 
 paid ? But so long as, I can keep a roof over my 
 head and maintain those who are dependent upon 
 me, I care not. Three guineas a week do not go 
 very far ; and yet they accomplish all that I need 
 for the present." 
 
 "Ah!" said the lady; "those who are de- 
 pendent upon you? Then you mean perhaps — 
 you mean " 
 
 " My servant for instance," replied Imogen, — 
 " a worthy creature who has lived for the last ten 
 years beneath this roof. And then too " 
 
 "And then too?" repeated the lady. "You 
 were about to say " 
 
 "Hark!" ejaculated Imogen, rising from her 
 seat and opening the parlour door. "There is 
 another who is dependent upon me !" — for little 
 Annie, having now awakened up, was crying — 
 though she soon ceased when the good-hearted 
 Fanny placed a piece of cake in her little hand. 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Hartland — good evening 
 
 1 must go," said the lady. " Another time 
 
 I will come and call upon* you to-morrow 
 
 evening perhaps You may think my conduct 
 
 strange " 
 
 " So strange," interjected Imogen, " that I do 
 not choose to put up with it:" — and at once 
 closing the parlour door, she placed her back 
 against it. 
 
 "Good heavens! what do you mean?" mur- 
 mured the veiled lady, tottering back two or three 
 paces as if she had been stricken a blow. " You 
 bar my way? Oh, let me depart, I beseech you ! 
 Ah, I forgot it was my intention to offer you my 
 purse, Miss Hartland ! But my brain is so con- 
 fused " 
 
 " Sit down and compose yourself," said Imogen 
 coolly. " You and I will not part thus. You 
 have had your turn as questioner : it is now for 
 me to have mine. Tell me therefore " 
 
 " Ask me nothing now !" cried the lady en- 
 treatingly: "ask me nothing now! I am not 
 equal to the scene ! I have mistrusted my own 
 powers But I will come to you to-mor- 
 row " 
 
 "What guarantee have I for that?" demanded 
 Imogen. " I know you not " 
 
THE T0C3G HCCHESS; OE, MEMOIES OF A L1DY OF <WrAtHT. 
 
 5 I 
 
 MADEMOISELLE IMOGEKE. 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIRS OF A 1LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "Guarantee?" — and now the fine form of the 
 veiled lady was drawn up to its full height ; and 
 though the countenance was concealed, yet did 
 the keen-witted Imogen full easily comprehend 
 how a haughty indignation had suddenly inspired 
 her visitresf. 
 
 " Ah ! you must be some great lady !" ejacu- 
 lated Imogen, — "greater perhaps than I could 
 possibly have suspected ! But we will see." 
 
 The lithe supple form of the equestrian actress 
 bounded forward — the clutch upon that dark veil 
 with her long taper fingers was made in the 
 twinkling of an eye — and as a shriek rang from 
 the lips behind it, it was torn away from the 
 countenance which it had concealed. And Ah ! 
 what a beautiful face was this that was now dis- 
 closed to the daring Imogen, — who, dropping the 
 veil in all the wild amazement of a most un- 
 expected recognition, ejaculated, " Good heavens ! 
 is it possible ? The brilliant Duchess ?" 
 
 " Silence, woman ! silence !" said the Duchess — 
 for such indeed was the exalted rank of the lady 
 who had come so mysteriously to that house. 
 "Silence!" — and she spoke in a voice that was 
 hoarse with mingled rage and terror. 
 
 "I have no wish to expose your Grace — no 
 wish to betray you," replied Imogen, who, having 
 recovered from her astonishment, now displayed a 
 calm self-possession. "You and I Understand 
 each other thoroughly; When shall I see your 
 Grace again ?" 
 
 "Soon — very shortly — in a day or two I 
 will write and let you know," faltered forth the 
 Duchess, as she stooped to pick up the veil. 
 
 " At your Grace's own leisure. It is of no con- 
 sequence to me, now that I have discovered " 
 
 "Enough! enough!" interjected the young 
 Duchess ; for the age of this beautiful patrician 
 lady did not exceed five-and-twenty. " But, Ah ! 
 I had forgotten something. My purse " 
 
 " Keep it, lady — keep it !" cried Imogen; 
 almost disdainfully. " It is not thus that I ani 
 to be treated. 1 am no mean-spirited covetous 
 wretch to be bribed into keeping a secret or to 
 have a purse tossed to me as if it were a sop. But 
 I act upon principle ; and so long as I receive 
 fair treatment from others, my own demeanour is 
 equally candid and generous in return. Tour 
 Grace now understands me." 
 
 " Singular being that you are !" exclaimed the 
 Duchess, gazing with interest and almost with 
 admiration upon the' female in the fantastic dress 
 who stood before her. 
 
 The next fhstant the Duchess again adjusted 
 the veil over her countenance. Imogen opened 
 the door — and the patrician lady quitted the 
 house. The moment she Was gone, Imogen 
 threw a capacious mantle over her shoulders, and 
 made the best of her way to Astley's theatre, — 
 entering it by means of the -stage-door, which was 
 only a minute's walk from her own abodes 
 
 (CHAPTER lh 
 
 THE COTTABE. 
 
 The scene now shifts to a beautiful little village 
 at no great distance* from Tunbridga Wells in 
 
 Kent ; and as we have certain reasons for conceal- 
 ing the real name of that village, we will, with 
 the reader's permission, denominate it Addington. 
 Our 3tory, both as it relates to the preceding 
 chapter and the present one, opens in the month 
 of April, 1847. Nothing could be more delight- 
 ful than the picture presented by- the rural scene 
 of Addington and its neighbourhood when the 
 trees were putting forth their verdure, and when 
 the hand of Nature was beginning to scatter 
 flowers upon the meadows and on the outskirts of 
 the groves. 
 
 A little way apart from the group of houses 
 forming the village of Addington, stood a cot- 
 tage in the midst of a pleasant garden, which 
 was fronted with palings and had the remaining 
 sides protected by high hedges. Nothing could be 
 more picturesque than the spot which we are de- 
 scribing, with a crystal streamlet meandering and 
 murmuring at a Jittla distance on one side, and 
 the grey old to*© of th<i village-church peeping 
 up above the yew-toes at a little distance on the 
 other side. 
 
 It was at about five o'clock in the evening, that 
 a tall handsome Jfoung man, whose age might be 
 about six or seven-and-twenty, alighted from a. 
 coach which plying between Maidstone and Tun- 
 bridge Wells, passed through Addington* Hastily 
 he bent his way towards the cottage which we 
 have just been describing ; and there was the 
 animation of joy upon his countenance as if he 
 expected to behold those who were dear to him. 
 A very fe# minutes and he reached the garden- 
 gate, when with a cry of delight a beautiful ciea- 
 ture of about eighteen came rushing forth to wel- 
 come him. 
 
 " Alfred ! dearest Alfred ! you have returned at 
 last!" she cried as he folded her in his arms. 
 
 "Yes, deare9t Ethel," he said; "punctual to 
 the day, and almost to the hour of my promise ! 
 A fortnight's absence — Oh, how long it has 
 seemed ! But where is our dear babe?" 
 
 At this moment a neatly dressed nursery-maid 
 appeared from the cottage porch, bearing in her 
 arms an infant about ten months old ; and as the 
 father, taking it for a few minutes from the at- 
 tendant, fondled it with every evidence of the 
 mdst doting lovej the young mother looked on 
 with tears in her eyes. But Ah ! though all tears 
 are alike, yet from what different sources may 
 they flow!— and these tears which now bedewed 
 the peach-like cheeks of the charming Ethel had 
 their origin in a fount of purest rapture. 
 
 We niay avail ourselves of this opportunity to 
 observe that Ethel had dark hair floating in rich 
 redundance over her shoulders — that her eyes 
 were hazel, calm and soft in their expression — 
 and that her figure was admirably modelled. Her 
 looks were replete with innocence and artlessness, 
 as if in Becoming a wife she had not lost any of ' 
 the ingenuousness Of girlhood, and as if all her 
 ideas of happiness were now centred in her hus- 
 harid and her infant boy. And well might she ba 
 proud as well as fond of him who had just re- 
 turned to strain her to his breast : for not only 
 was he exceedingly handsome, but he possessed 
 fascinating manners, a distinguished appearance, 
 and a well-cultivated intellect. 
 
 " I should have been with you, dearest Ethel," 
 he said, "some hours earlier to-day, only that I 
 waited at Maidstone to perform a promise which. 
 
THE TOUSQ DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 I made you some little time ago. Do you not 
 recollect, my Etliel " 
 
 " Oil, I can have no thought for anything now," 
 she cried, " except the enthusiastic joy which I 
 experience at your return !" 
 
 Alfred threw his arm round the beautiful form 
 of his wife; and as he thus strolled with her 
 through the garden, he went on to say, " You 
 remember, dearest, I promised that we should 
 enjoy equestrian exercise the moment the fine 
 weather set in. Oh, it will be so pleasant to ride 
 together amidst the shady lanes and through the 
 wheat-fields in the cool summer evenings !" 
 
 "Oh, delightful!" exclaimed Ethel, clapping 
 her fair white hands with joy. " I now know 
 what you mean, dear Alfred! You have been 
 buying some horses at Maidstone?" 
 
 " Yes — and I am convinced that you will be 
 pleased with the one I have procured for you. It 
 is the most beautiful creature that ever carried a 
 lady ; and you, dear Ethel, will look charming 
 upon its back !" 
 
 Alfred Trevor contemplated his lovely com- 
 panion with the tenderest admiration as he thus 
 spoke ; and his eyes beamed with delight as he 
 thought how elegant and graceful would be her 
 appearance in a. riding-habit setting off the eon- 
 tours of her symmetrical shape, and with a plumed 
 hat decorating the beautiful Tiead. But all of a 
 sudden some other thought of a very different 
 nature appeared to intrude itself upon that deli-, 
 cious reverie, as if some demon had suddenly 
 flitted athwart the heaven of his imagination ; for 
 an expression of indescribable anguish shot over 
 his countenance, and he had only just time to 
 avert it to prevent the gentle Ethel from being 
 shocked and horrified by the view thereof. 
 
 "Ah," he ejaculated, finding himself compelled 
 to snatch up some excuse for thus abruptly turning 
 away from her ; " how beautifully some of these 
 flowers have come out during my absence !" 
 
 " And I have watched them with care and in- 
 terest," replied Ethel, whose voice was of silvery 
 clearness, and pure as the rows of pearly teeth 
 between which came the fragrant breath that 
 wafted those dulcet sounds, — "I have watched 
 them with care and interest, because I knew that 
 you would admire them when you returned home. 
 Ah ! and now, my dear Alfred, I hope that you 
 are going to make a long stay with me before you 
 
 go away again though of course I know that 
 
 your business must be attended to — and all the 
 more so," she added, with a sweet smile and a fond 
 look, " if you indulge me in such extravagant 
 whims as that which you have this day gratified.'' 
 
 "Nay, dear Ethel," responded Alfred, "it was 
 no whim of yours — it was an offer which I spon- 
 taneously made, and which resolved itself into a 
 promise that has now been kept. Ah! by the 
 bye ! reverting to these new purchases, I should 
 •inform you that I heard of them quite by accident. 
 I travelled a short distance in a coach with a 
 person who turned out to be a horse-dealer— a 
 Mr. Manning of Maidstone, — and he had to sell 
 some horses for a military gentleman who it 
 appears has been a little extravagant of late : but 
 Manning would not mention his name. However, 
 I bought the best two animals of the stud ; and I 
 gave them in oharge to a person to bring them 
 over. . They ought to be here by this time." 
 
 Scarcely had Alfred Trevor spoken these words, 
 
 when the sounds of horses' hoofs might be heard 
 approaching; and again winding his arm about 
 the waist of the beautiful Ethel, he hurried her 
 towards the gate. In a very few moments the 
 horses made their appearance, in the charge of the 
 Maidstone groom to whom they had been en- 
 trusted. Ethel was delighted by the appearance 
 of the beautiful creature purchased for herself ; and 
 she also admired the one which Alfred was to ride 
 in company with her. 
 
 " And now, my man," said Alfred, putting a 
 guinea into the groom's hand, " this is in addition 
 to what I have already given you for the care with 
 which you have brought the horses over. Take 
 them up to the Red Lion for me, and let them be 
 put into the stables there until I can make other 
 arrangements." 
 
 The man took the guinea and touched his hat. 
 But he did not immediately ride off : he fidgetted 
 with his whip, and looked as if he had something 
 to say. 
 
 "Well, what is it, my man?" demanded Alfred. 
 " Are you not contented with what I have given 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, perfectly so, sir," was the response. 
 " Only ■" 
 
 "Only what?" ejaculated Trevor, impatiently. 
 "Perhaps you want to ask me whether I am 
 suited with a groom ?" 
 
 "Mo, sir — 'twas not exactly that indeed 
 
 nothing near like it. But I want to say summut 
 to you, sir : only "-r-and he glanced at Ethel. 
 
 "This lady is my wife," cried Alfred.; "you 
 may speak before her. If there is anything wrong 
 about the horses — and if I have been at all de- 
 ceived " 
 
 "No, no, sir — it's not that!" interjected the 
 groom. " I'll just take up the horses to the Bed 
 Lion ; and if so be, sir, you'll be disengaged for a 
 few minutes when I come back " 
 
 "Yes, yes ! Aw$y with you !"— and then, as 
 the groom rode off, Alfred said to Ethel, " These 
 fellows are never satisfied ; for although he says 
 he is, you may depend upon it he has yet some- 
 thing in his mind by which he hopes to extort 
 another guinea or two out of me." 
 
 A neatly-attired and pretty-looking parlour- 
 maid now appeared from the cottage porch, to an- 
 nounce that dinner was served up ; and Alfred 
 conducted his wife into the dwelling. They sat 
 down to table together ; and half-an-hour passed, 
 during which the groom was forgotten. At length 
 the man was seen entering the gate ; and Alfred 
 exclaimed, " By heaven, my tormentor I But I 
 will soon go and get rid of him." 
 
 He hastened out into the garden ; and stopping 
 the groom, said, " Come now, my good fellow, 
 what is it that you want with me?" ' 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," was the response, accom- 
 panied by a touch of the hat, " but you've be- 
 haved so like a genelman to me that I should be 
 sorry to see you get into any trouble " 
 
 "Trouble?" echoed Alfred. "What do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, about that cheque——" 
 
 " The cheque ? Ah !" — and for a moment 
 Alfred changed colour. " Come now, explain 
 yourself — and tell me exactly what you do 
 mean." 
 
 " Why, sir, just as I was coming out of Maid- 
 stone with them horses," continued the groom, 
 
SHE YOUJtG fctrcHESS; 6fc, MEJtOiKS Ofr A LAD* OF QUALITY. 
 
 " who should I meet but Mr. Manning the dealer. 
 He didn't know anything of me before ; but 
 seeing the horses, he cries out, ' Well, so you're 
 taking them home, and you must be careful with 
 them, for it's a long distance ' " 
 
 "Ah! he said that — did he?" interjected 
 Alfred, whose countenance now wore an uneasy 
 expression. " But go on. What followed ?" 
 
 " 'No,. sir,' says I to Mr. Manning, ' it's by no 
 means a long distance, a matter of some dozen' 
 miles from Maidstone to Addington.' — Then you' 
 should have seen, sir, how queer Manning looked : 
 but I didn't know that I had done any harm " 
 
 " Well, well !" interrupted Alfred, with increas- 
 ing nervousness. " Proceed, proceed ! What fol- 
 lowed ? I suppose Manning asked you where you 
 were going to take the horses ?" 
 
 " Well, he did, sir; and I told him to a Mr. 
 Trevor's. I believe that was right, sir — and you 
 gave me that name ?" 
 
 " I did. And what then ?" 
 
 " Manning looked astounded ; and clapping his 
 
 hands on his breeches' pocket, he cried out But 
 
 saving your presence, Mr. Trevor " 
 
 " Go on !-r- go on !" exclaimed Alfred, with an 
 increasing excitement. " What was it that Man- 
 ning cried out ?" 
 
 . " That the cheque ,you had given him," re- 
 sponded the groom, diffidently and hesitatingly, 
 
 — " I don't like to say it, sir but if I must — 
 
 well then — Mr. Manning cries out, ' By God, I'm 
 done ! and the cheque's a forgery !' " 
 
 " My heavens !" ejaculated Alfred, smitten with 
 consternation : " what if he should come here ?" 
 
 "No — he will not come here, sir," said the 
 groom ; " because he's gone up to London to"pre- 
 sent the cheque at the banker's." 
 
 "Ah!" and it was with » sigh of ineffable 
 relief that the exclamation came forth from the 
 breast of Alfred Trevor. 
 
 " Why, you see, sir," continued the groom, " I 
 represented to Mr. Manning that you didn't look 
 like a swindler, but that you must be a genelman 
 every inch of you ; cos why, says I — : — " 
 
 "Did he say anything more about the cheque ?" 
 demanded Alfred quickly. 
 
 " He only said, sir, that 'twas signed in quite 
 another name from the one I'd mentioned to 
 him ; for he didn't seem to know that you was 
 Mr. Trevor at all." 
 
 " Well — and did he mention that other name ?" 
 asked Alfred, still with nervous quickness. 
 
 "No, sir — he didn't mention it; and so in 
 course I didn't ask him. But as I was saying," 
 continued the groom, " I represented to Mr. Man- 
 ning that you must be a thorough genelman out 
 and out, for that you comes to me and you says, 
 says you, ' If you'E take them horses over to 
 Dahlia Cottage at Addington for. Mr. Trevor, 
 here's a five pun' note for your trouble.' And so 
 Mr. Manning says, says he, ' Well, at all events 
 we know where the horses are going; and if 
 everything should be right after all, I should be 
 sorry to have kicked up a bobbery about the 
 business ; and so I'll risk it this far, that I'll go up 
 to London at once and present the cheque for a 
 hundred and eighty guineas ; and if it's all right, 
 well and good ; and if not, why then there'll be 
 plenty of time to take out a warrant.' — So then 
 away cuts Manning in one direction, and away 
 comes I in t'other with the horses." 
 
 "And that was all that passed?" inquired 
 Alfred. 
 
 " Why, not exactly, sir," responded the groom ; 
 "for Mr. Manning tips me half a guinea, telling 
 me not to say a word to you that he had ques- 
 tioned me on the point. But you see, sir, I 
 thought you was a genelman " 
 
 " Enough, my man !" exclaimed Trevor. " There 
 is another guinea for your trouble ; and now, mind 
 you don't say' a word to a soul about all these 
 things. I shall be over in Maidstone again in a 
 few days ; and if I find that you have not said 
 anything, depend upon it I shall not forget to re- 
 ward you." 
 
 "You may rely upon me, sir:" — and again 
 pulling his forelock — for the groom had stood hat 
 in hand the'whole time he was talking to Trevor, 
 with the respect due to one who scattered, his 
 money about with no niggard hand — he took his 
 departure. 
 
 As Trevor turned hurriedly away, the bitter 
 anguished expression again swept across his hand- 
 some countenance, completely distorting for a 
 moment those features of perfect masculine beauty; 
 and he almost wrung his hands in despair as he 
 mentally ejaculated, "Oh, my poor Ethel! Oh, 
 my poor innocent babe Alfred !" 
 
 He however quickly composed his looks, and 
 retraced his way into the elegantly-furnished 
 little dining-room. Good heaven ! what a spec- 
 tacle met his view ! Upon the carpet lay Ethel, 
 white as marble. Was she dead? or was she 
 only in a swoon? Half frantic, he flew towards 
 her, and raised that inanimate form in his arms. 
 - " Thank God, she breathes !" he exclaimed : 
 and he hastened to sprinkle water upon her face. 
 
 He .comprehended it all. The window was 
 open ; but it was concealed by evergreens from 
 his view on the spot where he had conversed with 
 the Maidstone groom, so that he had failed to ob- 
 serve at the time how it was possible for their 
 colloquy to meet the ears of Ethel whom he 
 had left at the table. Oh, what agony of mind 
 did that young man then experience ! — and how 
 far more anguished even than before was the ex- 
 pression of mingled horror and despair which 
 swept across his countenance ! 
 
 Ethel opened her large hazel eyes. For a mo- 
 ment she smiled in fondness as her regards met 
 his looks ; and then, as if smitten with a sudden 
 hideous recollection, she became dismayed and 
 affrighted — and in a suffocating gasping voice, she 
 said, " Oh, Alfred ! Alfred ! what was it that I 
 heard?" 
 
 " Nothings nothing, dearest ! — a mistake ! It 
 was nothing but a mistake !" 
 
 " God ! forgery .'" and the unhappy creature 
 shivered and shuddered, and literally writhed con- 
 vulsively in his arms : then with fiat sudden in- 
 spiration of fondness which ever impels a loving 
 woman under such circumstances, she flung her 
 arms about his neck, crying, "Oh, my dearest 
 husband ! do not deceive me ! If there be any 
 
 reason Ah, I will not speak what I mean — 
 
 but you will understand me when I say that no 
 matter what you may be or what you may have 
 done, I will ever cling to you — Oh, yes ! all the 
 more closely !" ' 
 
 " Ethel, Ethel ! you are driving me mad !" ex- 
 claimed Trevor. " I have done nothing wrong ! 
 No, no ! — fear nothing, my angel!" 
 
THE YOUSO DUCHESS; OH, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 ^tflfl^v 
 
 "Alas, dearest Alfred!" she said, shaking her 
 head rnournf ally ; "it seems as if a veil had sud- 
 denly fallen from my eyes !— a thousand circum- 
 stances now surge up in my memory to make me 
 .apprehend a thousand evils !" 
 
 " This is foolish, Ethel ! Oh, this is foolish !" 
 ejaculated Trevor vehemently. 
 
 " Oh, do not be angry, dearest husband !" she 
 resumed, now lavishing upon him the tenderest 
 caresses : " but you know my fondness— and hence 
 you may appreciate my fears ! Believe me there- 
 fore of my doubts ! Why those constant absences 
 from home? why the mystery that envelopes our 
 union ? Why have I never been presented to your 
 family ? And, Oh ! why, why should you who 
 are evidently so well off, bury me — aye, and bury 
 yourself too when you are with me — in this com- 
 paratively humble cottage?" » 
 
 " I thought, Ethel," answered Trevor reproach-j 
 fully, " that you were contented to live with me 
 No. 2. — The Toung Duchess. 
 
 anywhere, no matter how secluded the Spot — how 
 humble the home !" ■ 
 
 "Heaven knows that I am thus . contented !" 
 replied the young lady, smiling and weeping be-, 
 neath the joint conflicting influences of her fond- 
 ness and of her affliction. " It is not that I wish 
 to change! But this occurrence has put such 
 strange wild fears into my head — it has all in a 
 moment made things which were apparently 
 natural and consistent before, seem so strange and 
 inconsistent " 
 
 " You ask me, Ethel, relative to my frequent 
 absences," responded Trevor : "you ask me con- 
 cerning my family— you ask me why having 
 money at my command, I bury myself with yoli 
 in a retirement like this. Have you never before 
 received from me explanations on these points ? 
 Have I not told you that I am connected with a 
 mercantile firm on behalf of which I am com- 
 pelled to travel frequently throughout all the 
 
10 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS Off A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 English counties — to Scotland and to Ireland — 
 and- sometimes even to Paris ! Moreover, have I 
 not assured you that I possess no near relatives 
 who care for me, nor whose friendship you would 
 value; but only distant kinsmen, of cold and 
 proud dispositions — worldly-minded and selfish — 
 whose only ideas of happiness are associated 
 with money, and who could not be made to un- 
 derstand or believe that I am in the enjoyment of 
 an almost perfect felicity with a wife whose beauty 
 and virtue constitute her only dower. Do you 
 desire to be presented to such relatives as these? 
 Then, in respect to the retirement in which we 
 live, is it not the happieBt mode of existence? 
 Suppose that I took you to the metropolis — -that 
 I there hired a fine house and gave entertain- 
 ments, — would you be happier if we Were thus 
 lost as it were to each other in tile midst of 
 crowded rooms, than we are when alone together 
 in the retirement of this cottage? And think 
 you, Ethel, that it would he pleasing to my feel- 
 ings to behold you whirling f-ound in the dance 
 with your waist clasped by some mawkish dandy, 
 intolerable fop, or notorious profligate ? or would 
 you be altogether satisfied if you behBld me be- 
 stowing my attentions oh one of those hiodern 
 belles who drag out a sort of artificial existence 
 in the sickly atmosphere of fashionable society, 
 —one of those women whose faces are enamelled 
 with hardihood, and the freshness of whose youth, 
 though they themselves be yet young, is for ever 
 gone!" 
 
 " Enough, enough, Alfred!" ejaculated Ethel, 
 as she citing far mote fondly than ever to her 
 husband. " I do not wish to go into that society 
 which you thus depict in sttch forcible colours ! And, 
 Oh ! forgive me, my dear Alfred, for having ex- 
 pressed doubts, or hinted at misgivings, or seem- 
 ing to have required explanations ! But Ah ! the 
 words that I overheard " 
 
 "Ethel," interrupted Alfred, solemnly, "listen 
 to me for a moment ! Have I ever deceived you ? 
 Look back over the two years which have elapsed 
 since first we met amidst the Wild and grand 
 scenery of Dorsetshire ; and tell me whether you 
 have ever known me to give utterance to a false- 
 hood? Will you not therefore now believe me 
 when I declare that everything connected with 
 the communication made by that groom was an 
 error and a mistake ?" 
 
 " I am sure that you have never deceived me, 
 dearest husband," answered Ethel : " every pro- 
 mise you ever made you have fulfilled! But, 
 Ah ! I know how much you love me ; and I fear 
 — Oh! I fear that if there were anything dis- 
 agreeable, you would do all that you could to 
 conceal it, and you would say the most consoling 
 things to me — and — and — out of actual kindness 
 you might deceive me !" 
 
 For an instant Alfred made an impatient ges- 
 ture ; and then, with a quick revulsion of feeling 
 straining his beautiful wife to his breast, he ex- 
 claimed, " Well, well — it is natural, Ethel, that 
 you should have been annoyed and rendered un- 
 easy by the untoward incident which has arisen. 
 ]*bt for worlds would I leave a restless suspicion 
 floating in your mind. It is the dearest wish of 
 my heart that you should continue to enjoy the 
 calm serene happiness which you have hitherto 
 experienced. To-morrow, therefore, you shall ac- 
 company me to London ; and I will afford you 
 
 the most convincing proof, not merely that the 
 mention of the word forgery in connexion with 
 my hame is as ridiculous as it is outrageous, but 
 that the sources of my income are most honour- 
 able and legitimate I" 
 
 " A thousand thanks, dearest husband, for this 
 proposition, so kind — so considerate !" exclaimed 
 Ethel. " But I will not accept it ! — for it would 
 imply suspicion and mistrust ; and Oh ! to sus- 
 pect or mistrust you — no, never! never !" 
 
 Alfred reflected for a few instants ; and he said 
 to himself, "Yes — it were better that I should 
 take this step ; or else on every future occasion 
 the slightest incident will be rendering her uneasy 
 and mistrustful ! — Yes, dearest Ethel," he con- 
 tinued, addressing himself to her, v it shall be as 
 I have said ! And now no more upon the sub- 
 ject." , 
 
 He embraced her affectionately ; and for the 
 remainder of that evening she was as -gay and 
 happy as her disposition was naturally wont to 
 be ; for she entertained not the slightest doubt 
 that it was indeed an error and a mistake of some 
 Sort or another which had produced so much un- 
 
 On the followrhg day Alfred and Ethel Trevor 
 took their seats in a postchaise procured from the 
 Red Lion ; and they proceeded to London. Ethel 
 had been in the metropolis before ; and therefore 
 the spectacle of the crowded Babylon was not 
 new to her, though it Was interesting, as it must 
 ever be to those habitually dwellers in the country, 
 who visit it but rarely. They alighted from the 
 vehicle at an hotel at Charing Cross ; but without 
 tarrying there longer thin was necessary to obtain 
 some refreshment, Alfred Trevor gave his arm to 
 Ethel and conducted her to a celebrated banking- 
 house in the Strand. The moment they crossed 
 the threshold, Trevor whispered to Ethel, " Re- 
 main here an instant :" — and he passed into a 
 parlour at the back part of the premises. 
 
 In less than a minute he returned ;* and again 
 giving his ami to Ethel, he conducted her into 
 that parlour. There a short, elderly, bald-headed 
 gentleman was seated at a table strown with let- 
 ters and other documents ; and at once rising from 
 his chair, he bowed politely to Ethel. 
 
 " I know that your time is valuable," said Al- 
 fred ; " and therefore I am not going to occupy 
 it for more than two minutes. In the first place 
 just satisfy me — will you ? — that the cheque for 
 one hundred and eighty guineas which I gave to 
 Manning, the Maidstone horse-dealer, has been 
 paid." 
 
 "No doubt of it," answered the elderly gentle- 
 man — and he quitted the parlour : then almost 
 immediately returning with a huge account-book, 
 he opened it at a particular page, and said, " The 
 cheque was presented and paid this morning. Will 
 you have the cheque itself ?" 
 
 "Oh, by no means!" answered Alfred. "Let 
 me see ? How long have I banked at your esta- 
 blishment? I mean I myself — individually. I 
 am not alluding to my family '' 
 
 " The account was first opened in your name 
 about three years ago," replied the elderly gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " Have the kindness to give me a blank cheque," 
 said Alfred. 
 
 This request was immediately complied with ; 
 and he proceeded to fill it up at a desk which 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 11 
 
 was so situated that while he was writing his 
 back was turned towards Ethel. 
 
 " Now," he said, " I must trouble you to pro- 
 cure me the amount for this. It is for five thou- 
 sand pounds." 
 
 Ethel started ; and she could scarcely keep back 
 a cry of astonishment. Indeed, at the moment she 
 was half inclined to fancy that the elderly gentle- 
 man would be taken quite aback by such a de- 
 mand. But this individual continued perfectly 
 calm and unruffled ; and receiving the cheque, he 
 again issued from the parlour. Ethel cast a look 
 of bewildered inquiry upon Alfred, who smiled 
 confidently, but said nothing. The bald-leaded 
 gentleman very speedily returned, and handed 
 Trevor five bank-notes, each for a thousand 
 pounds. Ethel felt as if she were in the midst 
 of a dream ; and the parlour, with the table and 
 desk, and the little bald-headed gentleman, ap- 
 peared to be whirling round and round. It was 
 the same with the public part of the bank, as 
 Alfred led her through it; and the sounds of 
 chinking gold mingled with the buzz of voices in 
 a manner that only seemed to increase the con- 
 fusion of her brain. It was not until she again 
 found herself in the street that the dreamy feel- 
 ing of hallucination quitted her, and that she be- 
 came conscious of the reality of the whole pro- 
 ceeding. 
 
 " Ah, dearest Alfred," she murmured, " it must 
 indeed have been most painful to you to have 
 been mistrusted and suspected yesterday, not only 
 by others, but by your own wife ! Now that I 
 am so perfectly convinced of the prosperity of 
 your position, I am happy — Oh, so happy ! I feel 
 as if my form were as light as the elastic air itself 
 — and that I could spring up into it !" 
 
 Alfred flung upon her a smile of mingled .ten- 
 derness and pride ; and then stopping an unoccu- 
 pied hackney-cab that was passing, he handed her 
 into it. His instructions were given to the driver, 
 and the vehicle proceeded into the City. In due 
 time it stopped at an office in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of the Bank of England; and 
 Alfred, leaping out, left Ethel alone in the vehicle 
 for a minute or two while he entered the office. 
 On re-appearing, he said to her, " Come, dearest 
 — alight. Mr. Warren is disengaged." 
 
 "And who is Mr. Warren?" inquired Ethel. 
 
 " A stockbroker," was the reply, — " a gentle- 
 man who transacts all kinds of business in respect 
 to money." 
 
 The office was entered; and Mr. Warren — a 
 tall, good-looking, elegantly-dressed man, whose 
 age was under thirty — bowed most courteously to 
 Ethel as Alfred presented him to her. 
 
 " Pray be seated, Mrs. Trevor," he said : " the 
 business will not occupy a long time." 
 
 "Here is the money," said Alfred; and he 
 handed the five bank-notes to Mr. Warren, who 
 immediately quitted the office. 
 
 "These stockbrokers," said Alfred to Ethel, 
 when they were alone together, " make » great 
 deal of money. Here is Mr. Warren — a single 
 man, with a splendid house at Highbury, his 
 hunters and his yacht, his shooting-box down in 
 the country — and yet scarcely able to .spend all 
 the money he makes !" 
 
 "And what has he gone to do with your 
 money ?" inquired Ethel. 
 
 "With mine?" ejaculated Alfred. "With 
 
 yours, you mean ! Yes, dearest — he has gone to 
 place that sum of five thousand pounds in the 
 Bank of England in your name ; so that if any- 
 thing should prematurely happen to mi; — for of 
 course we are all mortal — you and our dear little 
 Alfred will be provided for. Not but that I hope 
 to leave you a large fortune," added Alfred, with 
 the sudden quickness of an afterthought. 
 
 The tears were streaming down Ethel's cheeks ; 
 and with mingled smiles and sobs she flung her 
 arms about his neck. She had scarcely composed 
 her feelings when Mr. Warren re-entered the 
 office. 
 
 "The money is duly invested," he said, "in 
 your name, madam; and here is the Bank re- 
 ceipt." 
 
 "Put it in an envelope," ejaculated Trevor, 
 " and seal it. It will be safer so." 
 
 Mr. Warren did as he was requested ; and when 
 the envelope was duly sealed with a ring which 
 he took from his finger, he presented the packet 
 to Ethel, saying, " This is your's, madam." 
 
 She took it ; and in a few moments she was 
 again seated with her husband in the vehicle, 
 which retraced its way towards the West End. 
 The hotel where the postchaise had been left, was 
 reached — the equipage was soon in readiness — and 
 by five o'clock in the evening Alfred Trevor and 
 the beauteous Ethel were again at Dahlia Cottage 
 in the picturesque village of Addington. 
 
 "Now, my dearest wife," whispered Alfred, 
 when they had embraced their infant, "go and 
 secure that packet in some safe place. And re- 
 member — remember, dearest Ethel, the solemn 
 injunction which I now give yott — that you never 
 open that packet until I shall be no more !" 
 
 Having thus spoken, he hastily turned away 
 and walked forth into the garden; while Ethel, 
 ascending to her chamber, consigned the sealed 
 packet to a place of security. 
 
 Meanwhile her husband sought an arbour at 
 the extremity of the garden;- and rushing into 
 that shaded retreat, he threw himself upon the 
 bench, murmuring in accents of despair, "My 
 God! what stratagems! what subterfuges! Oh, 
 that I dared fling myself at her feet and tell her 
 everything!" 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THORNBURY PARK. 
 
 The scene now changes to a noble country-seat 
 called Thornbury Park, and situated in one of 
 the most beautiful parts of Buckinghamshire. 
 
 It was evening ;, and a flood of lustre streamed 
 from the array of windows belonging to the 
 spacious drawing-room; for there were many 
 guests pn this occasion at Thornbury. The moon 
 was shining brightly in company with legions of 
 brilliant stars, so that the argentine beams de- 
 scending from heaven's canopy, mingled with the 
 roseate effulgence flowing forth from the gilded 
 saloon. 
 
 It was the last day of April; and therefore 
 scarcely a week had elapsed since the occurrences 
 which we have related in the preceding chapters. 
 The weather was more than usually warm for that 
 season of the year : there was not the slightest 
 
12 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 chill in the evening air — but just a sufficient fresh- 
 ness to prevent the atmosphere from being slug- 
 gish or oppressive. Some of the guests began to 
 stroll forth from the mansion into the spacious 
 gardens ; and they soon scattered themselves in 
 the different avenues. 
 
 And presently the mistress of that palatial 
 dwelling imitated the , example set by the ma- 
 jority of her guests, and came forth likewise. , The 
 reader already knows her : ; — she , was the hand- 
 some Duchess who had paid so mysterious a visit 
 to the abode of Imogen, Hartland. 'She now ap- 
 peared in evening toilet, which displayed her fine 
 shape to the fullest advantage. , Her carriage was 
 not stately nor her mien imposing : but better 
 still, the former was elegant and the, latter en- 
 gaging. She had evidently no more jpride about 
 »her than that which, properly belonged to her sex, 
 apart from the social rank which she occupied. 
 But exceedingly beautiful was she; and hence in 
 fashionable society she was usually known as 
 " The Brilliant Duchess." If a newspaper para- 
 graph,- while recording any circumstances con- 
 nected with high life, simply mentioned " The 
 Duchess," without giving her .the. rest of her title, 
 everybody knew who was meant. People spoke 
 of ; " The Duchess", as if there were only one lady 
 of that exalted dignity in the land — while in re- 
 ality it was because this particular Duchess was 
 held paramount over the rest. Often too she was 
 spoken of as " The Young Duchess ;'.' for whereas 
 her, age was only five-and- twenty,- she was actu- 
 ally the youngest lady, who bore a ducal rank. 
 
 Yes — exceedingly beautiful .was she, with her 
 light-brown hair rendered lustrous by the moon- 
 beams, and with her pure complexion seeming all, 
 the fairer and more brilliant ■■ in. the chaste halo 
 which the heavens shed around her. As a flower 
 sits gracefully on its stalk, so was the well-shaped, 
 head poised upon an arching neck,, which rose up. 
 from a bust of grand development. The waist 
 was slender : the arms, bare to the shoulders with 
 the eyening toilet, were modelled to a statuesque, 
 perfection. Her eyes were of a clear liquid blue, 
 —not nearly so deep as the violet: indeed 'they, 
 were only a shade darker than the azure of that 
 heaven from which the flood of silver light 
 was pouring down upon her. The > expression 
 of those eyes can only be defined by blending 
 the ideas of softness and animation — of clear bril- 
 liancy and of limpid calmness. The mouth was 
 beautifully formed: the teeth were like rows of 
 ivory ; and the softly rounded chin completed the 
 oval of that countenance of transcendent love- 
 
 She came not forth alone from the mansion, to 
 ramble through the gardens. She was accompa- 
 nied by a gentleman of elegant appearance, and 
 who was pressed in the most fashionable style, 
 yet with the best possible taste. He was very 
 handsome ; and his slender form was well pro- 
 portioned. He had light hair that curled natu- 
 rally ; and a moustache somewhat concealed the 
 strength of passion which would otherwise have 
 displayed itself in the curving voluptuousness of 
 the mouth. His age was about six or seven and 
 twenty : he was a Baronet — and he held a com- 
 mission as a Captain in the Guards, with the rank 
 therefore of Lieutenant-Colonel. He was un- 
 married, and had the general repute of being very 
 gay and of loving pleasure ; while amongst those 
 
 who knew him most intimately, he bore the cha- 
 racter of a successful libertine. He belonged to an 
 old family; but from various circumstances it had 
 been getting poorer and poorer for the last two 
 centuries — so that it was but a very moderate 
 fortune which descended to Sir Abel Kingston, the 
 personage of whom we are writing. 
 
 Such was the individual who escorted the young 
 Duchess forth from the mansion. She did not 
 lean upon his arm : he had offered it — but she had 
 'declined to accept it; and silence reigned between 
 them for several minutes as they descended a 
 flight of marble steps, leading down from a noble 
 terrace to the walks and avenues of the garden, 
 where splendid statues constituted no mean features 
 of attraction. Everything was magnificent in re- 
 ference to the old mansion of Thornbury — the 
 gardens, the park, and the other pleasure-grounds 
 attached to it; and as the mistress of such, a 
 charming country-seat — possessing a habitation 
 of, corresponding splendour in London ■ — ■ and 
 married to a man only a little older than herself, 
 and as handsome as she was beautiful, — one would 
 have fancied that there was every reason why the 
 young Duchess should have enjoyed as much 
 happiness as this world could possibly give. But 
 whether it were so, will appear from the develop- 
 ing incidents of our story. 
 
 "You seem offended with me?" said the Ba- 
 ronet, at length breaking- silence. " How is it 
 that I have been unfortunate enough to give you 
 offence?" 
 
 There was a . certain deprecation as well as a 
 remonstrance, in his tone which showed that it 
 was not as a mere guest he was speaking to his 
 noble .hostess — nor as a friend to a friend — no, 
 nor as a relation , to i a relation, because there was 
 not the slightest kinship, between them. Then, in 
 what capacity was it .that .he thus spoke ? The 
 beautiful blue eyes of the young Duchess glanced 
 half in tenderness and half in affright at him; and 
 her, bosom heaved like tumultuous billows as a 
 long deep sjgh came up from her very, heart, 
 forcing for itself- a vent by the portals of ivory 
 and coral which formed the mouth. 
 
 "Do you deem me too bold," asked the 
 Baronet, — " do you think that I have been too 
 audacious in whispering to you ere now as I have 
 done ? Oh ! if you would but give me credit for 
 the immensity of the love which I have dared 
 harbour for you ! Dared? It is not the word! 
 To dare m«"ans something that one does spon- 
 taneously and deliberately with a heroism of one's 
 own accord. But I — my God ! I am as power- 
 less in the vortex of this love of mine as the 
 frailest vessel that ever was tossed amidst the 
 •foaming billows of the Maelstrom ! Do not there- 
 fore blame me for loving you : — but pity me !" 
 
 The Duchess trembled violently ; and 'as the 
 moonbeams played slantingly upon her ' entire 
 form, they revealed the agitation of her counte- 
 nance — the flush that went and came rapidly upon 
 her cheeks — and the swelling and heaving of the 
 bosom which the low corsage of "the evening 
 toilet left half revealed. Sir Abel Kingston 
 looked at her : — never to his eyes did she appear 
 so wondrously beautiful ; and he devoured her 
 with his regards. She glanced at him — he 
 quickly averted his looks, with the consciousness 
 that they were so full of impassioned ardour they 
 might cause her to doubt the pure sincerity of his 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 13 
 
 love, and make her think that it was nothing 
 more than a sensuous flame. She caught the 
 half-vanishing profile so perfect in its masculine 
 beauty : the Baronet's white teeth shone beneath 
 the moustache which bowed the upper lip ; and at 
 the very same instant when he thought within 
 himself that he had never seen her look so won- 
 drously lovely, did she feel herself smitten with 
 the conviction that he was handsomer than ever 
 she had thought him to be, well as his counte- 
 nance was known to her ! 
 
 " I am not offended with you, Sir Abel," she 
 murmured : " I have no right to be. Alas ! I 
 feel and I know that my conduct has not been 
 altogether consistent with prudence ; and there 
 have perhaps been looks which I have thrown 
 upon you, and words which I have unguardedly 
 suffered to drop from my lips, that may have 
 seemed like an encouragement " 
 
 " Oh ! if you- regret anything of all this," inter- 
 rupted Abel, " tell me that you would wish to go 
 back to that period when we were as mere formal 
 acquaintances! — when I dared not suffer my 
 looks to mingle with your own — or my hand to 
 linger in the clasp which it gave your's — or my 
 tone to catch the infection of my heart's melting 
 tenderness ! Tell me that such is your wish — 
 and I will at once assume that demeanour which 
 shall be in accordance therewith ! Tes ! — for I 
 value your happiness above all other earthly 
 things ; and sooner, sooner would I feel my own 
 heart breaking, than that a single hair of your 
 head should be injured !" 
 
 The wily Baronet threw an ineffable pathos 
 into his accents ; and now with anxious looks he 
 watched to mark the effect that his words were to 
 produce. Again was there the agitation through- 
 out the entire form — that beautiful form in its 
 evening toilet ! — again was there the deepening 
 flush upon the damask cheeks ! — again the swell- 
 ing of the bosom as if it must burst its prisonage 
 of corset ! A faintness came for a moment over 
 the young Duchess ; and then, obedient to a sud- 
 den impulse, she ejaculated almost with vehe^ 
 mence : " No ! no ! 1 am neither offended with 
 you — nor do I wish to go back to the cold for- 
 malities of our first acquaintance some months 
 ago." 
 
 " Then why — why did you refuse ere now to 
 take my arm ?" asked Kingston : " why did you 
 even seem as if my presence was unwelcome to 
 you when I offered to become your escort into the 
 garden?" 
 
 The Duchess did not immediately answer these 
 questions : she reflected deeply for some moments : 
 and then at length she said, " I will tell you the 
 truth, Sir Abel — I will be candid with you ! I 
 feared to find myself alone with you; but per- 
 ceiving that it was impossible to avoid it, I sought 
 to arm myself with as much coldness and reserve 
 
 as possible But Ah ! what am I doing? It is 
 
 a veritable confession that I am making ! Leave 
 me, Sir Abel ! — leave me I entreat you !" 
 
 " Oh, no ! no !" he ejaculated, in a joyous tone : 
 "not after these delightful encouraging words 
 which have issued from your lips 1 Oh, it is an 
 avowal of love — it is an admission that the strong 
 sentiment I experience towards you is recipro- 
 cated ! Oh, Mary ! beautiful Mary ! I thank thee 
 for that avowal !" 
 
 Sir Abel Kingston sank upon one knee as he 
 
 took the hand of the charming Duchess, and 
 pressed it to his lips. It was the first time that 
 he had ever ventured to call her by her Christian 
 name; and the sound of that name, when thus 
 spoken by a voice that was so full of masculine 
 harmony, sent a thrill throughout her entire form. 
 She abandoned her hand to him for some mo- 
 ments ; and he rapturously covered it with kisses. 
 At the same time he flung a keen searching glance 
 in the direction of a thicket of evergreens, in the 
 immediate neighbourhood of which this scene took 
 place : and he exclaimed, " Oh, Mary ! Mary ! 
 how happy am I in the consciousness which I at 
 length possess, that this love of mine is recipro- 
 cated !" 
 
 " Rise, rise, Abel !" she said, deeply agitated : 
 and it was now also for the first time that she ad- 
 dressed him by his Christian name. " Oh, what 
 if any one were to observe us ! And this reminds 
 me," she continued, as the Baronet rose and con- 
 tinued to walk by her side, " of the immense 
 impropriety of my conduct ! Oh, I beseech you 
 to forget everything -that has just passed be- 
 tween us — I recall what I said — I will admit no- 
 thing ! No, no ! I will not permit you to put 
 any interpretation you think fit upon those words 
 which fell from my lips I know not how !" 
 
 "Recall nothing, I beseech you!" exclaimed 
 Kingston. "And why should you? You have 
 suffered me to understand that you love me ; and 
 you have put me in possession of a degree of hap- 
 piness from which I cannot part. And if it be 
 happiness to you also to love one who will sin- 
 cerely love you in return, wherefore should you not 
 abandon yourself to that bliss ? Your husband 
 appreciates not your great beauty — he neglects 
 you — nay, more than neglects you — '■ — " 
 
 " Sir Abel Kingston," interrupted the Duchess, 
 with a certain degree of seriousness, if not of ab- 
 solute severity in her tone, "do not seek to under- 
 mine my sense of duty to my husband by mis- 
 representing that conduct on his part which may 
 perhaps be fully explained ! You know the reason 
 which compels me to remain chiefly at Thornbury. 
 It is so absolutely necessary that my unfortunate 
 mother-in-law should have the benefit of this 
 beautiful fresh air. The comparatively close at- 
 mosphere of our town-residence seems to kill her ! 
 But the Duke has his parliamentary duties to 
 attend to during the Session — then, in the autumn 
 there is the excursion to the moors in Scotland — ■ 
 and he has his shooting-box '' 
 
 "But what if I were to tell yon, Mary," inter- 
 rupted the Baronet, " that while you remain 
 chiefly at Thornbury in order to devote yourself 
 to the care of the unfortunate Dowager-Duchess, 
 — what should you think if I were to tell you 
 that his Grace, your ducal husband, occupies his 
 time during his frequent and prolonged absences 
 in a manner very different from what you seem to 
 imagine? What, in short, if I could prove to 
 you that not merely have you become an object 
 of indifference to him, but that a successful rival 
 has usurped the place which you were wont to 
 occupy in his heart?" 
 
 "Say no more! say no more, Sir Abel King- 
 ston !" cried the young Duchess ; " for I should not 
 believe you! No, no! I cannot think " 
 
 " I swear to you," exclaimed the Baronet, 
 " that what I tell you is the exact truth. Your 
 husband keeps a mistress to whom he is devotedly 
 
14 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 attached, and on whom he is inclined to lavish 
 large sums. All this I can prove." 
 
 The beautiful Duchess became pale as death — 
 yes, pale as the marble statues which embellished 
 the spacious garden ; and then in another moment 
 a crimson glow suffused her cheeks, her neck, and 
 her bosom. But again that vivid evidence of 
 indignation vanished; and she said with white 
 quivering lips, and in a low deep tone, " Prove to 
 me the truth of the assertions you have just made 
 
 — and — and— I will refuse you nothing 1 will 
 
 be wholly thine." 
 
 It was an ejaculation of joy which burst from 
 the Baronet's lips, and at the same time an ex- 
 pression of sardonic triumph flitted over his coun- 
 tenance. Then, as he continued to walk slowly 
 by the side of the Duchess, he gave her certain 
 explanations in proof of the statements which he 
 had put forth. She listened in profound silence — 
 with colourless cheeks, and with a fixed resolute 
 gaze of the beautiful blue eyes ; so that as Sir 
 Abel glanced at her, he had no difficulty in dis- 
 cerning that whatsoever design she was revolving 
 in her thoughts, she was certain to carry out, for 
 that a new spirit had been conjured up within 
 her. 
 
 When he had ceased speaking, a deep silence 
 prevailed for some three or four minutes; and 
 then the Duchess said, " I have listened to all 
 that you have told me — and not a syllable has 
 escaped my attention. I shall find some means to 
 test the truth of the story. If I find that it is 
 precisely as you have represented, and that my 
 husband has thus so entirely bestowed his heart 
 upon another, the pledge which I have given you 
 shall be kept. But on taking leave of me this 
 evening you must not return to Thornbury until 
 you receive a note from me. We must not meet 
 again until it be decided on what terms we are 
 henceforth to regard each other. For I swear, 
 Sir Abel Kingston, if I find you have deceived me 
 in reference to my husband, everything shall be 
 at an end betwixt you and me. But if, on the other 
 band, I discover that the facts are precisely as 
 you represent them, then the first vengeance that 
 I will wreak upon my husband will be to fulfil the 
 pledge which I ere now gave you. Meanwhile 
 let us separate." 
 
 Having thus spoken, the young Duchess turned 
 abruptly away from the spot where she had 
 halted to address this last speech to Sir Abel 
 Kingston; and she began to retrace her way 
 rapidly towards the mansion, The Baronet re- 
 mained for nearly a minute where she had left 
 him ; and the intensity of his inward chuckling 
 was expressed by the glow of triumph which 
 overspread his countenance. He at length moved 
 away from the place — that is to say, he sauntered 
 a little farther along the avenue ; and then he 
 returned to retrace his steps. He watched until 
 the beautiful Duchess was out of sight : and then 
 he proceeded quickly towards that knot of ever- 
 greens to which he had glanced so keenly when 
 kneeling at the feet of the brilliant patrician 
 lady. In another moment there was a rust- 
 ling amongst those shrubs ; and then a man came 
 forth from the place which evidently had served 
 him as a lurking-hole. He was about fifty 
 years of age ; his complexion was sallow — and 
 upon his face there were many hard lines which 
 gave it a most sinister expression. He wore a 
 
 long surtout coat, which fitted him loosely, as if 
 his form, which was naturally thin, had shrunken 
 since it was made for him — or else as if (which 
 was much more likely) the garment had been 
 bought ready-made and had therefore never fitted 
 him properly at all. He wore shoes, the strings 
 of which were tied in a slovenly fashion ; and his 
 trousers hung in wrinkles or plaits about the lower 
 part of the leg, as if they were not braced up suf- 
 ficiently, or as if they had been always too long. 
 A portion of a red cotton, pocket-handkerchief 
 hung out of his pocket ; his hat was almost nap- 
 less, and the front part of the brim was greasy 
 and also put out of shape with much handling. 
 He walked with a stick ; and though only of the 
 middle age, he seemed to be prematurely infirm in 
 his limbs. 
 
 Such was the individual who emerged from the 
 hiding-place of evergreens on perceiving that the 
 Baronet halted near the spot in a significant 
 manner as if to imply that the coast was clear. 
 
 " Well, Casey," said Sir Abel, in a half-patron- 
 ising, half-entreating voice, " you have heard 
 what has taken place. Are you satisfied?" 
 
 " I have heard that the young Duchess has 
 confessed her love for you, Sir Abel," replied 
 Casey ; " but I cannot say I am satisfied that you 
 will be enabled to turn the circumstance to the 
 advantage you expect: for how do I know to 
 what extent her Grace is allowed to put her hand 
 into her husband's purse ?" 
 
 " Come, come, my dear Casey, be reasonable !" 
 exclaimed the Baronet. " You promised me that 
 if I afforded you a proof of the probability of this 
 love-intrigue of mine turning out successfully, yon 
 would agree to wait awhile. I have done what 
 you required — I elicited from her Grace's lips the 
 avowal on the very spot where it could best reach 
 your ears " 
 
 " But how do I know what followed?" demanded 
 Casey, whose voice was hard and cold and mo- 
 notonous, and the expression of whose eyes was 
 implacable as well as full of mistrust. " Tou 
 walked away together : — she may have recanted 
 by the time she was fifty paces off, and when be- 
 yond earshot in respect to me " 
 
 "No, no, she' did not recant," exclaimed the 
 Baronet. " On the contrary, in a very short time 
 she will be so far compromised with me as to be 
 entirely in my power ; and you, Mr. Casey, with 
 your knowledge of the world, cannot fail to be 
 aware of how much a man can do with a woman 
 who is infatuated with him ! And when once I 
 secure this hold on her, it will be as easy as pos- 
 sible to obtain a few thousands " 
 
 " Well, I hope for your sake, that it will prove 
 •so," said Casey. " I shall wait to see the issue of 
 this adventure of your's; and then I shall wait no 
 longer. Tou know what I mean. So let there 
 be no unnecessary loss of time." 
 
 Casey bent a look of reptile-like significancy 
 upon the Baronet, who failed not to perceive it ; 
 and for an instant he actually ground his teeth 
 with rage at finding himself in the power of such 
 a man. But instantaneously recovering himself, he 
 said, in that half-patronising, half-entreating tone 
 to which we have before alluded, " Come, come, 
 Casey, do not be too hard upon me, nor yet too 
 impatient — and all will yet be well. And now you 
 had better take yourself off. That avenue is the 
 one by which you entered the grounds " 
 
TUB YOUNG DUCHESSJ OK, 51EMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 15 
 
 " Yes, by climbing over the palings at the end," 
 interrupted Casey, the monotony of his voice now 
 breaking into irascibility. " A pretty thing for a 
 man like me to do with the chance of being 
 seized upon by some gardener as a thief be- 
 sides the chance of tearing my pantaloons.'' 
 
 " I would offer to come and assist you over the 
 palings," said the Baronet, — " only, if any of the 
 guests straying in that direction should happen 
 to meet us together, they* would think it 
 strange " 
 
 "No doubt!" interrupted Casey, glancing down 
 at his toilet : "for any one can tSl that / am 
 not a fitting guest for Thornbury Park !" 
 
 Having thus spoken, with a species of cynical 
 bitterness mingled with scorn and irony, Mr. 
 Casey passed as rapidly along the avenue as his 
 infir m limbs could convey him. 
 
 The Baronet returned into the mansion — but it 
 was only to order bis carriage to be gotten in 
 readiness, so that he might immediately take his 
 departure ; for he knew the disposition of the 
 young Duchess well, ami he was aware that he 
 should only be injuring his cause by venturing to 
 seek her again after the positive injunction she 
 had given that he was to appear no more in her 
 presence until she should have put to the test the 
 tale which he had told her in reference to her 
 husband. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Two or three days after the incidents which we 
 have been relating, a handsome showily-dressed 
 young female, whose age was probably about 
 twenty, knocked at the door of Mademoiselle 
 Imogene's house in the vicinity of Astley's Am- 
 phitheatre. The summons was soon answered 
 by the servant-woman, who evidently knew the 
 visitress — for she at once said, " You can walk 
 in, Miss, if you please." 
 
 The young female, availing herself of this per- 
 mission, entered the little parlour which we have 
 before described, and where Imogen was now 
 lounging in a large arm-cljair, in a mood that 
 was half listless and half pensive, just as when 
 we first introduced her to our readers. She was 
 dressed in a morning wrapper: she was com- 
 pletely en negligle — but though her toilet was as 
 yet unmade, there was nothing slovenly in her 
 appearance, and the freshness of her skin denoted 
 that her ablutions had been fully attended to. 
 The little girl was playing about the room, and 
 she presented as perfect a picture of neatness and 
 cleanliness as when we first described her. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Alice," said Miss Hartland, in a 
 tone alike familiar and languid, " is it you ? But 
 I need scarcely ask such a question — for you are 
 almost my only visitor — and you are assuredly 
 always a welcome one." 
 
 "To-day is Saturday, you know," exclaimed 
 Miss Alice Denton — for we may as well at once 
 acquaint the reader with the young female's en- 
 tire name; " and consequently to-morrow is Sun- 
 day," she added, in a gay tone. " So I came to 
 propose that we should take a run down to Graves- 
 end — or even as far as Margate if you like ; for 
 
 I see that an excursion steamboat is adver- 
 tised " 
 
 "No, I thank you, Alice," interrupted Miss 
 Hartland : " no more excursion-trips for me." 
 
 "Why, what has come over you, Imogen?" 
 demanded her friend in surprise, " For the last 
 three or four weeks you have refused to take any 
 holiday, although the fine weather has set in, 
 and you and I always used to make it a rule to 
 enjoy ourselves once a week!" , 
 
 " I know it, Alice — I know it, my dear friend," 
 answered Imogen; "but my humour is changed. 
 Do not seek me as a companion for your hours of 
 
 recreation and gaiety you would find me a 
 
 very dull one." 
 
 "But why is tins, Imogen?" inquired Alice, 
 with a tone and look of concern-*-for she evi- 
 dently was a good-natured, kind-hearted young 
 woman. " I have noticed that you have not been 
 the same as you were wont ; and it is not that 
 you have heard any ill-tidings concerning your 
 
 brother — for if so, you would have told me 
 
 because that at least could be no secret. Ah ! I 
 begin to think, Imogen, that you must be in 
 love !" 
 
 Miss Hartland made no immediate answer ; and 
 nothing on her part indicated that her friend was 
 right in the conjecture she had just thrown out. 
 Indeed, Imogen seemed as if she had not caught 
 the words at all: but at the, expiration of a 
 couple of minutes, she said in a strange wild,' 
 vacant manner, " Yes, Alice — I am in love." 
 
 " Oh, then, if your love be unrequited," cried 
 Miss Denton, "you must endeavour to divert 
 your thoughts into other channels. But if your 
 love be reciprocated, then it is a very strong 
 reason why you should enjoy yourself with an 
 occasional holiday, in order to celebrate as it were 
 the happiness you thus experience. Therefore, 
 in reference to the excursion of to-morrow " 
 
 "Do not talk to me of excursions, Alice!" in- 
 terrupted Imogen, somewhat petulantly. "It 
 was on one of those occasions you will re- 
 member it well, Alice it was the final one we 
 
 took last autumn " 
 
 "What!" ejaculated Miss Denton, starting as 
 if a sndden light flashed in unto her comprehen- 
 sion: "you do not mean that the tall handsome 
 young gentleman, who picked up your book when 
 you dropped it, and who handed us so politely 
 asbpre at Margate " 
 
 "Why have you fixed upon him?" inquired 
 Miss Hartland, as a slight flush now crossed her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Oh, a thousand reasons struck me, — a thou- 
 sand recollections swept into my head," cried 
 Alice, "when you spoke of that excursion! I 
 remember it was there I first saw that young 
 gentleman: but I have seen him fifty times at 
 the theatre since — and I have met him walking 
 in the Westminster Eoad and upon the bridge ; 
 but I never gave the matter much thought — for 
 one often and often sees the same faces at the 
 theatre — and then as to one person meeting 
 another very frequently in the same neighbour- 
 hood, that is also likely enough if they both 
 live there " 
 
 " But are you sure that the young gentleman 
 to whom you allude, lives in this neighbourhood ?" 
 inquired Imogen, somewhat quickly. 
 
 " I have no certainty on the point," answered 
 
16 
 
 THE YOUXG DUCI1ESS ; OK, MEMOMS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Alice. "I was merely saying that I used to 
 think he might live in this district, and that there- 
 fore it never struck me as being at all peculiar 
 that I should so often meet him. But now a new 
 light has flamed upon me, and I understand it 
 all ! It was to see you that he frequented the 
 theatre ! — and he is the one whom you love ! Is 
 it not so?" 
 
 "Why do you think it?" asked Imogen. 
 " Because he evidently admired you so much 
 when first we saw him on board the steam-boat ; 
 and you remarked to me what a nice-looking 
 young gentleman he was — and for all the rest of 
 that day you were abstracted. Do you not re- 
 member that I jested you on the subject ? Well, 
 it all went out of my mind until this moment ; 
 and now it comes back to me with the force of a 
 revelation. Again I ask you, Imogen, am I not 
 right?" 
 
 Miss Hartland remained silent .for nearly a mi- 
 nute; and then she replied,' "Yes, Alice, you are 
 right." 
 
 " And who is the young gentleman ?" inquired 
 Miss Denton, with the quickness of an excited 
 curiosity. 
 
 " I do not know," was the answer. 
 " Well, but his name, then ?" ejaculated Alice. 
 " I do not know it," was the response. 
 " Not know it ! But where does he live ? Tell 
 me that — and we will very soon know his name ! 
 The nearest butcher or baker in his neighbour- 
 hood will give us the information." 
 
 " I do not know where he lives," rejoined Imo- 
 gen. 
 
 ' " Ah, this is strange !" cried Alice. " Yet you" 
 love him ? Is he aware of it ?" 
 
 "Perhaps — I do not know 1 cannot tell," 
 
 said Imogen, in a slow thoughtful manner. " I 
 
 have never spoken to him. And yet " 
 
 " Oh, this is the most extraordinary adventure 
 I ever heard of !" exclaimed Alice Denton. "Here 
 is a young gentleman with whom you are despe- 
 rately in love, and who I feel convinced is equally 
 enamoured of you ; and yet you know nothing of 
 him! — not so much as his name! You have 
 never exchanged a word with him — and you do 
 not even appear to be sure that he knows he is 
 loved in return ! But surely, my dear Imogen, 
 there is a language in the eyes — an eloquence in 
 
 the looks -" 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Hartland, in a still lower and 
 more deliberate tone than before ; " he must know 
 that I love him! When we have met in the 
 streets, or have passed each other in the Park on 
 a Sunday, he must have seen the tell-tale blush 
 which has swept across my cheeks ! And then 
 too, in the circus, he must have observed the emo- 
 tion which I have not possibly been enabled to 
 
 conceal " 
 
 " Of course he has seen all this !" cried Alice. 
 "But what a singular sentimental affair it is! 
 Why, when Sylvester took it into his head to fall 
 in love with me, he soon found an opportunity of 
 speaking out ; and then I at once asked him his 
 name. Ah, I remember the occasion well !" — and 
 Alice laughed merrily. . " First of all he said his 
 name was Sylvester ; and I assured him it was a 
 very pretty one. But I told him that was not 
 enough — that he surely had another name — and 
 that he must deal candidly with me if he wished 
 me ever to speak to him again. So then he gave 
 
 me his card. Mr. Sylvester Casey ! Oh, how I 
 laughed at that name of Casey ! Indeed I could 
 scarcely restrain myself when he went on to tell 
 me that his father was the rich Mr. Casey of 
 Hatton Garden " 
 
 " You have told me all this before, my dear 
 Alice, over and over again !" ejaculated Imogen, 
 somewhat impatiently. 
 
 "True! so I nave," said the good-natured 
 Miss Denton. " So now let us return to your 
 own affairs, my dear friend. This young gentle- 
 man — how stands the matter now ?" 
 
 "How stands it now?" echoed Imogen. 
 "Look!" — and for a moment her beautiful blue 
 eyes flashed with a sinister glare, and she ex- 
 tended her faultlessly shaped hand towards the 
 child, muttering ominously between her white 
 teeth, " There is the cause of all I now suffer !" 
 
 Little Annie was playing with a new doll, and 
 she did not hear what was thus said — nor did she 
 observe the strong emotion that was at the instant 
 agitating Imogen: she was unconscious of the 
 fierce gust of passion whereof she was the cause 
 on the part of that female. Nevertheless this 
 strange impulsive creature was evidently smitten 
 all in a moment with a remorse at her conduct 
 towards the child; and bounding across the 
 room, she snatched up the little girl and pressed 
 her to her bosom, exclaiming, "Dear Annie! 
 darling, darling Annie! Oh, you pretty crea- 
 ture, you ! how I love you ! how I love you !" 
 
 The child threw her arms about Imogen's neck, 
 smiling with a sweet infantile joy, while Alice 
 Denton looked on with an air that showed she 
 was by no ' means surprised at the scene, and 
 that therefore it was not the first time it had 
 occurred in her presence. 
 
 • " Yes, she is a sweet dear little creature," said 
 Alice, now in her turn bestowing a caress upon 
 Annie when Imogen set her down again upon the 
 carpet. " But tell me, my dear friend," she con- 
 tinued, "how it has happened " 
 
 " Listen !" interjected Imogen : " I will tell 
 you in a few words. Six months have passed 
 since that excursion to Margate, when first I be- 
 held the handsome young stranger. You noticed 
 the incident of his picking up the book which I 
 dropped. It had on the fly-leaf the name of 
 Mademoiselle Jmogene ; for it was a present from 
 our young French friend Eose. Well, I saw 
 that the handsome young stranger glanced at 
 the name on the fly-leaf as he picked up the 
 volume ; and then he flung upon me a look full 
 of surprise and delight. The very next evening 
 he was at the theatre. I am not going to make a 
 long story of it, my dear Alice : suffice it there- 
 fore to repeat what you yourself ere now said, that 
 during the last six months he has been often and 
 often at the theatre and often and often wander- 
 ing about the neighbourhood. I have no vanity 
 — but I could not help understanding what all 
 this meant. Ah ! and I comprehended likewise 
 that his love must be a pure and honourable sen- 
 timent ; for if he had entertained a different pas- 
 sion — if he had hoped, in a word, that he could 
 make me his mistress, he would speedily have ac- 
 costed me with his overtures. Well then, Alice, 
 it was because I felt convinced he loved me as I 
 could wish to be loved, that I came' to love him 
 so fondly in return. And often and often, when 
 we met, his eyes told me the tale of his honour- 
 
THE YOCXG DUCHESS; OK, JIEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 17 
 
 MISS ALICE DENTON. 
 
 No 3. — The Young Duchess. 
 
18 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 able sentiments — yes, with a single look they 
 conveyed volumes of the silent language of the 
 heart " 
 
 " I would much sooner have had a single page 
 of an audible language from the lips," interjected 
 Alice, " than all those volumes of the heart's 
 hieroglyphics. Why, it has been the most stupidly 
 sentimental affair " 
 
 But here Alice Denton stopped short, for she 
 beheld a sudden flush of indignation upon Imo- 
 gen's beauteous countenance. It however imme- 
 diately passed away ; and it was with a good- 
 tempered melancholy smile that Miss Hartland 
 observed, " Tou cannot enter into my feelings, 
 Alice. Let me therefore make a speedy end of 
 mystory. It was about three weeks ago that I 
 took little Annie to a shop in the 'Westminster 
 Road to purchase her a new frock, — when behold ! 
 I found myself face to face with him. It was the 
 first time he had ever seen little Annie with me. 
 I saw that he became deadly pale as if he expe- 
 rienced a sudden shock ; and I felt the burning 
 blush sweep over my countenance. Then a dim- 
 ness appeared to come upon my vision : by an 
 effort I recovered myself — and he was already 
 hurrying away in another direction. Two or 
 
 three hours later I saw him in this street yes, 
 
 in this street ! The dusk was then setting in — 
 and he was muffled in a cloak ; but I beheld him 
 glide out of one shop and then into another, 
 where he slaved for several minutes^ " 
 
 " Do you think he was asking questions f " in- 
 quired Alice. 
 
 " There can be no doubt about it," rejoined 
 Imogen : "he was seeking information concerning 
 me. From that day I have seen him no more. 
 And now, Alice, not another syllable upon the , 
 subject ! — but do not, my dear friend, ask me to 
 accompany you on any more excursions, for I am 
 not in the humour for them. Leave me to my- 
 self. You have your Sylvester to escort you " 
 
 " Oh, Sylvester indeed I" ejaculated Alice, pout- 
 ing her pretty lips with ah expression of min- 
 gled scorn and contempt. " A miserable puppy — 
 as mean as he is boastful " 
 
 " What is that roll of papers you have brought 
 with you, Alice ?" abruptly inquired Imogen, as 
 if she did not Jike the turn which the discourse 
 had just then taken. 
 
 " Ah, I quite forgot !" exclaimed A}iee. f I 
 came on purpose to show you the portrait ; but 
 we almost immediately got talking upon other 
 subjects " 
 
 " Ah ! it is the pbrtrait — eh ?'' said Imogen ; 
 and she proceeded to unfold the foil of thick 
 paper. 
 
 It was a lithograph picture of Alice Denton, in 
 the same style and by the same artist as the por- 
 trait of Mademoiselle Imogene which was sus- 
 pended to the wall in the parlour. The reader 
 has doubtless understood that Imogen's friend fol- 
 lowed the same profession as herself, and was. en- 
 gaged at Astley's Amphitheatre ; but she had not 
 been honoured with a French nomenclature. At 
 the bottom of her portrait figured the veritable 
 English name — Miss Alice Denton. She was 
 therein represented in a fantastic dress, and in the 
 act of taking off a mask from her countenance. 
 The costume and mask bore reference to some 
 favourite character which she was wont to per- 
 sonate ; but we need not trouble our reader with 
 
 many details on this point. In respect to Miss 
 Alice herself, we have already said she was very 
 good-looking ; but she was entirely deficient in 
 that intellectuality which characterized the face 
 of Imogen Hartland. The features of Alice Den- 
 ton breathed a soft sensuousness ; and her figure, 
 instead of being striking and brilliant, was soft 
 and voluptuous, though modelled to an admirable 
 symmetry. Good-nature, an easy indifference to 
 the cares of the world, and a veijy moderate 
 amount of mental culture, were indicated by the 
 expression of Miss Denton's face. Like her friend 
 Imogen, she had bjue eyes : but they were only 
 languishing, and not vivacious : they were indi- 
 cative of an indolent, luxurious temperament— a 
 disposition that was frank and easy, gay and 
 thoughtless, callous and fond of pleasure. The 
 formation of the mouth and the voluptuously 
 rounded chin combined to tell the same tale. 
 Though she was not more than nineteen or twenty 
 years of age, yet her figure already gave indica- 
 tions of an expansion to embonpoint ; yet it was 
 far from deficient in grace — and the limbs, though 
 robust, were perfect in their modelling. Neither 
 she nor Imogen had aught of that jaded or fading 
 appearance which so frequently characterizes ac- 
 tresses when seen in the day-time : there was not 
 the slightest shade of a bluish tint under the 
 eyes ; and thus these beings, when viewed to- 
 gether, though in many respects so different, 
 nevertheless formed a group of a most interesting 
 character. 
 
 The merits of the portrait were discussed for 
 some little while by the two young females ; and 
 then Alice took her departure, having vainly en- 
 deavoured to persuade her friend tmogen to 
 accompany her in the water-excuTsion on the 
 morrow, 
 
 When AJjce had left, Miss Hartland ascended 
 to her chamber to perform her toilet. She dressed 
 herself jn a plain neat attire, so that she now 
 looked a very different being from what she was 
 in the fantastic gejni-Greek, semi-ideal costume 
 which she wore when we. first introduced her to 
 She had a thick veil attached to her 
 
 bonnet ; for there were times when she found it 
 convenient to conceal her countenance, because if 
 recognised in any public place as Mademoiselle 
 ImOgene, the "star" of Astley's, she was liable to 
 become the foous of half-a-dozen quizzing glasses 
 stuck into the eyes of snobs, gents, and fast young 
 men about town. 
 
 Leaving little Annie in the care of her servant- 
 wonian, and affectionately assuring the child that 
 she would not fail to bring her home some sweet- 
 meats, Miss Hartland quitted the house. Passing 
 into the Westminster Koad, she crossed the bridge 
 and proceeded to a large linendraper's in the 
 neighbourhood of Charing Cross, where she had 
 some purchases to make. On leaving the estab- 
 lishment, Imogen said to herself, " I am half in- 
 clined to call upon the brilliant Duchess ; for more 
 than a week has elapsed since she promised to com- 
 municate with me " 
 
 But here Imogen's reflections were suddenly cut 
 short and all her ideas were turned into another 
 channel, by the appearance of an individual who 
 was issuing from the narrow passage leading by 
 way of Spring Gardens into St. James's Park. 
 He was a young man of about two-and-twenty — 
 a little above the middle height — of handsome 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OB, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 19 
 
 countenance — and good figure. He had brown 
 hair, curling naturally— and fine blue eyes. The 
 expression of his face conveyed the idea of blended 
 intelligence and amiability. He looked like a 
 good young man rather than a high-spirited one ; 
 and if any one on pointing him out to another, 
 had said that he cultivated poetry, that he was 
 fond of music and the fine arts-^-that he was an 
 affectionate son, a kind brother, and a good- 
 natured friend — the description would precisely 
 correspond with the first impression made by the 
 young man's appearance. He was neatly yet 
 plainly dressed : his toilet indicated a perfect gen- 
 tility of taste, and his manner was altogether that 
 of the well-bred gentleman without pride or pre- 
 tension. 
 
 Such was the young gentleman whose appear- 
 ance produced a sudden effect upon Imogen Hart- 
 land. He was proceeding slowly on his way, and 
 with an air of pensiveness, so far as she could 
 judge at that distance. He was looking neither 
 to the right nor to the left : she felt convinced 
 that he did not notice her ; and she could not 
 help following him. Her veil was drawn down 
 over her countenance : she had on a different ap- 
 parel from any that she had ever worn before : — 
 it was plainer and more simple ; for whereas she 
 had once been wont to dress showily, like her 
 friend Alice Denton, she had become mo* and 
 more simple in her taste ever since the love she 
 had conceived for the handsome young stranger 
 had spread its influence over all the phases of he* 
 mind. 
 
 He pursued his way without glancing to the 
 right or to the left, much less stopping to look 
 behind him, until he reached Berkeley Square. 
 There he halted suddenly and looked at his watch : 
 and then he swept his eyes rapidly around. 
 Imogen had abruptly stopped short also ; for she 
 was all in a moment struck with the impropriety 
 of her conduot in thus following the young 
 stranger, and she affected to be looking in quite 
 another direction. When she again glanced 
 around, she saw bim standing on the upper step of 
 a house about fifty yards off: he had a white ker- 
 chief in bis hand — and a thrill shot through her 
 heart as she fancied that he waved it signifi- 
 cantly. Then he disappeared from her view. 
 
 With a brain intoxicated as it were under the 
 influence of wine — full of mingled rapture and 
 suspense — hope and fear wildly conflicting, — 'and 
 obeying an irresistible impulse, — Imogen sped to- 
 wards that house. The front door stood open ; 
 and a fat hall-porter, with a powdered wig and a 
 very red face, was standing on the threshold. As 
 Imogen reached the bottom step, the porter stood 
 back from the door-way as if in a respectful man- 
 ner to make way for her. She paused for a single 
 instant : then she ascended the steps ; and at the 
 further end of the hall she beheld the handsome 
 young gentleman just beginning the ascent of a 
 wide marble staircase. He glanced back on ob- 
 serving her i he stopped Short for a moment : it 
 seemed as if he were about to descend to speak to 
 her : and then, as if a second thought struck him, 
 he contented himself with bowing in a manner 
 Sufficiently courteous — and bA continued his way 
 up the staircase. 
 
 " Be so kind as to step into this room, ma'am," 
 said the hall-porter, who had already thrown 
 open ft side-door eoiamtinicating from the hall. 
 
 Imogen, who was under the influence of irre- 
 sistible feelings, crossed the threshold; and the 
 door closed behiild he*. Then she felt convinced 
 that the course thus pursued by the hall-porter 
 was in obedience to some rapidly uttered mandate 
 which the young gentleman had given as he en- 
 tered the house ; and she said to herself, " He 
 did wave his kerchief significantly after all ! He 
 evidently resides here ; and he has resolved that 
 the accident which has thrown me in his way and 
 led me to follow him, should furnish likewise the 
 opportunity for explanations ! — But who can he 
 be?" 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE HOUSE IN BERKELEY SQUAKE. 
 
 It was a handsome dining-room into which Imo- 
 gen had thus been shown : the furniture was mas- 
 sive and rich; and the walls were hung with 
 portraits of imposing-looking gentlemen and 
 ladies of stately appearance. Some of the pictures 
 were evidently old, not merely from the dingy 
 aspect of the canvass, which was also craexed in 
 some places, but likewise from the quaintness of 
 the costumes. But in the recesses on either side 
 of the fire-place, there were two portraits which 
 had a fresh appearance as if they had been re- 
 cently executed. One represented a thin, pale- 
 faced man, with an aristocratic countenance, and 
 who was of the middle age. The other portrait 
 was that of a lady, also pale, with Very handsome 
 features, and whose age might be some ten years 
 under that of the one we have just been noticing. 
 In both the artist had, with an evident fidelity, 
 even to the view of one to whom the originals' 
 were unknown, preserved a certain air or cold 
 severe pride which blended with the general ex- 
 pression of their countenance. 
 
 Imogen had just finished contemplating these 
 pictures through her veil — which she stui kept 
 over her countenance, not for a*ny studied motive, 
 but simply from the fact that in the agitation of 
 her thoughts it did not occur to her that she ought 
 to raise it — when the door opened, and two per- 
 sonages entered the room. They were a gentleman 
 and a lady ; and a glance thrown 1 at each, showed 
 that they! were the originals of the two portraits 
 which had just been engaging her* attention. She 
 was now seized with confusion: she wondered 
 who they could be, and to what this adventure 
 was to lead. She was smitten with disappoint- 
 ment a»d surprise that the Opening of the door 
 had not given admission to the handsome young 
 gentleman whose image was uppermost in her 
 thoughts. She nevertheless had presence of mind 
 sufficient to incline in a graceful and respectful 
 manner towards these two personages. 
 
 We should observe that they both looked a few 
 years older than they seemed in their portraits, so 
 that the age of the gentleman might be about 
 fifty-five and that of the lady proportionately 
 younger. Both countenances wore an expression 
 alike sad and severe, blended with an air of aris- 
 tocratic pride ; and the resemblances to the two 
 portraits were unmistakable. 
 
 " Be seated," said the gentleman, indicating a 
 Chair ; and at the same time He and the lad; 
 
20 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUA1.ITY. 
 
 placed themselves on a sofa close by, so that as 
 Imogen sank upon the chair indicated she was 
 immediately opposite to them. 
 
 " Have the goodness to raise your veil," said 
 the lady, in a tone where an unconquerable re- 
 straint seemed to be blended with an endeavour 
 to appear patronising, condescending, and con- 
 ciliatory. 
 
 Imogen mechanically obeyed that half-mandate, 
 half-request ; and she lifted the thick veil which 
 had previously shaded her countenance from the 
 view. The gentleman and the lady both gave a 
 visible start of surprise : then they contemplated 
 her earnestly ; and she fancied that the rigidity of 
 their features relaxed somewhat, as if through a 
 feeling of interest with which she inspired them. 
 Miss Hartland met their gaze steadily for a few 
 moments: then she blushed and became con- 
 fused ; and she felt that never before in her life 
 was she so completely deficient in self-possession 
 and fortitude. 
 
 The gentleman and lady slowly, and as if by a 
 simultaneous impulse, withdrew their looks from 
 her face, and regarded each other. 
 
 " She is indeed very beautiful," said the lady 
 in an under- tone : but Imogen's ear caught the 
 words that she spoke. 
 
 "Yes — very beautiful," responded her male 
 companion, — "more beautiful even than Laun- 
 celot represented her to us !" 
 
 These words were likewise caught by Imogen's 
 ear ; and a thrill shot through her heart. Laun- 
 celot! — the name struck her like a revelation. 
 She felt convinced it was that of her hitherto un- 
 known lover ; and that brief low-whispered ex- 
 change of sentences seemed to indicate that she 
 was finding favour in the sight of these two per- 
 sonages who appeared in her view as the arbiters 
 of her destiny. 
 
 " On the present occasion," resumed the gentle- 
 man, " we purpose to say but little, because the 
 circumstances of this meeting are necessarily go 
 
 peculiar " 
 
 " And likewise to a certain degree painful," in- 
 terjected the lady. " At the same time it is my 
 duty to confess — and I experience pleasure in 
 making the admission — that your appearance and 
 your manners are altogether so superior to what 
 
 we could have conceived " 
 
 " Stop !" exclaimed the gentleman : " stop, 
 my dear!" he added, with a tone and look of 
 mild rebuke. " Since the matter has come to this 
 point, we will not perform our own part un- 
 graciously. Do you love our son ? or at least do 
 you feel as if you could love him, and that you 
 are prepared to study to your utmost to ensure 
 his happiness ?" 
 
 Imogen literally trembled all over with an 
 ecstatic joy— wild, rapturous, incredible : she was 
 almost suffocated by her emotions-^and it was 
 with difficulty she could falter forth, "Yes, — I 
 love him — and until death it shall be my study to 
 ensure his happiness !" 
 
 " Then without another word," said the gentle- 
 man, " we give our consent to this union." 
 
 Imogen's brain reeled : it appeared to her as if 
 she were being whirled round and round in the 
 midst of a wild fantastic dream ; and falling at 
 the feet of him who had just addressed her, she 
 took his hand and pressed it to her lips. Then 
 the lady bent towards her and imprinted a kiss 
 
 upon her forehead. It was assuredly no fervid 
 caress : it was cold and distant as if it were the 
 mere formal ratification of a compact ; but Imogen 
 cared not for this ; and it was with grateful ardour 
 that she pressed that lady's hand in its turn to her 
 lips. The lady made her rise from the suppliant 
 posture she had assumed ; and she said, " Ba 
 seated — compose yourself ! Everything is now 
 arranged ; and never from my lips shall you hear 
 any allusion .to antecedent circumstances. Be 
 seated, I repeat — compose yourself — and Launce- 
 lot shall join you presently." 
 
 The gentleman and lady now rose from the. 
 sofa and slowly quitted the room. The instant 
 the door closed behind them, Imogen's feelings 
 burst forth in a fit of weeping ; for the extremes 
 of joy and grief often display themselves in the 
 same manner. By some mechanical movement or 
 unstudied action she drew down the veil over her 
 countenance j and it soon became moist with the 
 tears that trickled through it. Was it possible 
 that on the very day when she had been com- 
 plaining to her friend Alice Denton of the unhap- 
 piness which her love had brought, so much 
 happiness should have been in store for her ! She 
 thought not to ask herself who Launcelot's parents 
 could be : she reflected not that she was even 
 utterly ignorant of their name. It was sufficient 
 for her that they had given their assent to her 
 
 marriage with their son ! But this son she 
 
 had never even exchanged a word with him ; and 
 all had been managed as if it were a scene in a 
 fairy-tale ! 
 
 Presently the door opened, and Launcelot made 
 his appearance. Imogen's first impulse was to 
 bound towards him, either to throw herself upon . 
 his breast and sob forth the expression of her 
 thanks, or else to fall down at his feet and assure 
 him of her grateful love. But there was some- 
 thing in his look and manner which suddenly 
 chilled her ardour and gave her a cruel shock. He 
 was deadly pale : he stopped near the threshold of 
 the door — then he seemed to stagger forward for 
 an instant — he pressed his hand to his brow, as if 
 with a sense of uncontrollable anguish — and 
 finally, with the air of one who made a mighty 
 effort to subdue powerfully agitating emotions, he 
 said in a gentle voice, " Forgive me — pardon me 
 — it is over ! — and from this moment forth will I 
 be unto you everything that I ought !" 
 
 He took her hand and lightly touched it with 
 his lips. He then sat down, or rather threw him- 
 self upon the sofa ; and resting his elbow on the 
 back thereof, he leant his head upon his hand, so 
 that his eyes were half-averted from Imogen, and 
 she beheld only the side face, with the profile of 
 perfect masculine beauty. She was bewildered 
 what to think : she was shocked — she was cruelly 
 pained : she knew not whether to display all the 
 pride of woman and put an end to everything in 
 a momemV-or whether she should abandon herself 
 to the tenderness of her emotions, sink at his feet, 
 and implore him not to make on her account any 
 sacrifice which was repugnant to his feelings. Then 
 it suddenly struck her that it were well if she at 
 once entered upon certain explanations ; and fall- 
 ing upon her knees, she endeavoured to give ut- 
 terance to the thoughts that were now uppermost. 
 But her bosom was convulsed with a variety of 
 emotions ; and taking his disengaged hand, she 
 raised it beneath her veil to her lips. He aban- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 21 
 
 doned that hand to her. Again and again she 
 pressed it to her lips : and she covered it with her 
 tears. There was a footstool close by the sofa : 
 she sat down upon it — and still she retained his 
 hand in her own, — no longer pressing it to her 
 lips — no longer weeping — but remaining perfectly- 
 still, in a sort of confused luxury of thought. For 
 at length she was with him ! — at length she had 
 heard his voice — and it was full of masculine har- 
 mony ! — and despite all the mystery which en- 
 veloped the entire proceeding, she had been in- 
 formed by his parents that he was to be her hus- 
 band, and assured by himself that he would be 
 everything that he ought towards her ! .- 
 
 And Launcelot was also silent ; — and it might 
 seem as if he were unconscious of her presence, 
 although his hand was still clasped between both 
 her own. At length, as Imogen's mind was slowly 
 recovering from its luxurious confusion and bliss- 
 ful ebriety, she began to ask herself a few ques- 
 tions. Why was the conduct of Launcelot so sin- 
 gular ? was it not he himself who had brought 
 about the events which were now progressing ?— 
 and must he not have besought his parents to con- 
 sent to his union with Imogen ? Was it that he 
 had taken this step in a moment of ungovernable 
 infatuation, and that the instant the very point 
 was gained, he had been stricken with remorse 
 and regret ? Again did the necessity of entering 
 upon certain explanations recur to Imogen ; and 
 already were the prefatory words wavering upon 
 her lips, when Launcelot himself broke the silence 
 of many minutes which had been prevailing. 
 
 " On the eve of that solemn union in which 
 our hands are to be joined — on such an occasion 
 as the present — and considering all circumstances, 
 I feel that it is incumbent upon me to tell you the 
 whole truth which regards myself. I am now 
 your affianced — and in a few days I shall become 
 your husband ! You have a right to fathom the 
 secrets of my soul to a certain extent : but I will 
 of my own accord annihilate the limit altogether 
 and lay bare to you as it were the mysteries of 
 my heart. Tou will then comprehend wherefore 
 I was so overcome by emotion ere now ; and you 
 will have no ground Hereafter to reproach me with 
 hypocrisy or duplicity towards you. No : for I 
 would have you read down to the very profundities 
 of my soul, as if you were plunging your regards 
 into the depths of a stream pellucid to the very 
 bottom !'\ . 
 
 Launcelot paused ; and such a profound silence 
 then prevailed through the room that a pin might 
 have been heard to drop. Imogen had drunk in, 
 in a species of half-raptured, half-bewildered sus- 
 pense, the language which flowed upon that soft 
 harmonious voice : — she had hung upon the words 
 as it were upon an isolated and beauteous voice 
 rising from the midst of a choir and beneath the 
 vast arched roof of a cathedral. What was to 
 follow ?^-what secrets were now to be revealed to 
 her ? — what mysteries could be treasured up in the 
 sanctuary of that young man's heart ? 
 
 " It was not until some few months ago," he 
 resumed, " that I knew what love was. Having 
 read much, I had necessarily encountered an in- 
 finite variety of descriptions of that sentiment. I 
 saw how one depicted it as a fierce consuming pas- 
 sion — a fire devouring the heart that cherished it. 
 I saw how another painted it as a soft (Esthetic 
 feeling, bathing the soul in a continuous fount of 
 
 bliss, and making a paradise of the earth. Then 
 I read how another spoke of love as a frenzy — a 
 passion that was akin to madness — painful like 
 hunger or thirst — tortured by jealousies, suspi- 
 cions, and misgivings, — ever fancying that its own 
 love was not reciprocated enough, and experienc- 
 ing periods of anguish in which it verged to the 
 extreme bordering upon hatred. I read of the 
 love which would lay down its life for the loved 
 one ; and I read likewise of a love which could 
 kill the object of its flame rather than suffer that 
 object to be beloved by any other ! On the one 
 side I beheld some who could find no language 
 comprehensive enough to depict the happiness of 
 love : while on the other, hand there were bards 
 who could not aggregate a sufficiency of bitter 
 words to depict its misery. Here were those who 
 recorded their rapturous eulogies on rose-tinted 
 paper, with ink of gold, and with a pen plucked 
 from the gay plumage of some bright tropical 
 bird : while on the other hand there were those 
 who chronicled love's miseries with an iron pen 
 dipped in gall. Thus was I beVildered what to 
 think of the sentiment of love, and my imagina- 
 tion possessed not a creative magic sufficiently 
 powerful to enable me to solve the mystery." 
 
 Again did Launcelot pause ; and again did a 
 deep silence prevail throughout the apartment ; for 
 Imogen, after listening' with a deep rapturous ab- 
 sorbing interest to the words that flowed from his 
 lips, was now lost in wonder at the nature as well 
 as the object of such a preface. 
 
 " At length," pursued Launcelot, " all my doubts 
 were cleared up, and I comprehended what love 
 was. Chance threw in my way a being on whom I 
 had no sooner settled my looks when a secret voice 
 appeared to whisper in my soul that she would 
 exercise the greatest influence over my destinies ! 
 I knew not whether it was a sweet presentiment 
 or a solemn warning. I longed to speak to her ; 
 but I was afraid. Oh, that beautiful face ! it was 
 instantaneously imprinted on my heart ! By an 
 accident — a book which was dropped and which I 
 picked up — I learnt her name. Surprise seized 
 upon me. I had heard of her before — and this 
 was the first time I had ever seen her. She was 
 an equestrian actress at a theatre !" 
 
 Imogen had still retained Launcelot' s hand in 
 her own ; and as he went on speaking she pressed 
 that hand closer and closer to her lips, and then 
 to her bosom. There was rapture in her soul : 
 yet why should Launcelot tell her this tale 
 the particulars of which she already knew so 
 well? 
 
 " From the moment Of that meeting," he pro- 
 ceeded, " my life became as it were a dream. It 
 appeared to be as if I lived only for that bright 
 and beautiful creature who had stolen my heart 
 away in a moment. I beheld her at the theatre 
 — I saw her with her fantastic garb in the circus ' 
 — and I loved her all the more, for methonght 
 that she was one who could embellish and adorn 
 every apparel, no matter of what species ! I en- 
 countered her in the streets and in the parks : she 
 was then dressed in the ordinary costume of her 
 sex; and again was she all elegance and grace. 
 Yet I never once spoke to her ; for singular as it 
 may seem, every time that we met that secret 
 voice whispered in my soul, and still was I ignorant 
 whether it was a sweet presentiment or a solemn 
 warning !" 
 
22 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITIf. 
 
 Again was his hand pressed to Imogen's lips, 
 and then to her heart ; and if she wondered that 
 he bestowed no caress in exchange, but merely 
 continued to abandon that v hand to her, she the 
 next moment thought to herself, " He will finish 
 his narrative — he will bring it down to the pre- 
 sent point, so that I may thoroughly understand 
 his entire conduct ; — and then he will be all lore 
 and affection towards me !" 
 
 " You may judge," continued Launcelot, " from 
 what I have been telling you, that I lived as it 
 were in a dream, and that my imagination had 
 created for itself an existence more visionary than 
 ever the wildest flight of poetic fancy attained ! 
 You may even consider me a madman or a 
 maudlin sentimentalist — a drivelling idiot—'' 
 
 " No, no !" murmured Imogen, in a low faint 
 voice : and again was the hand pressed still more 
 fervidly to her lips and to her heart. 
 
 " Well then, you are kind to make allowances 
 forme," continued Launcelot, " for I confess that 
 nothwithstanding the turn which circumstances 
 have taken, I do not feel despicable in my own 
 estimation. I was not the master of my own 
 feelings : I yielded to the influence of a love as 
 holy as it was mysterious. It was not a passion : 
 it was a sentiment. There was nothing fierce nor 
 frenetic in it : — its flow was soft and agreeable : 
 it was dreamy and visionary, yet cherishing all 
 the hopes of a vital reality. For you understand 
 me, I pictured to myself that being to be pure and 
 virtuous : I thought that her goodness must bear 
 the closest relation to her beauty, and that the 
 loveliness or her person was the external sign of 
 the loveliness of her soul. Good God, how I was 
 mistaken! All in a moment the bandage fell 
 from my eyes — it was as if I had been walking in 
 darkness and a light suddenly blazed upon me, 
 lurid and sinister, showing me that she was a lost, 
 fallen, dishonoured creature !" 
 
 A wild cry burst from the lips of Imogen as she 
 sprang up from the footstool, and in an instant 
 regained her feet. Launcelot started up from the 
 sofa ; and quick as lightning did his eyes glance 
 over the form of the veiled one before him. Then 
 a tremendous agitation seized upon him — he be- 
 came white as a sheet — he quivered visibly from 
 head to foot — and he ejaculated, "You are not 
 you are not she whom I took you for !" 
 
 " No— I am Imogen herself :" and in a moment 
 the Veil was thrown back, revealing a counte- 
 nance which was even more pale and ghastly, 
 more agitated and scared, than that of the young 
 man himself. 
 
 " Oh, my God !" he murmured, pressing his 
 hand to his brow; "how did this happen ?— and 
 what have I done ?" 
 
 " Launcelot, hear me ! hear me !" exclaimed 
 Imogen; "hear me, I beseech you!" — and she 
 flung herself at his feet. " You have taken me 
 for another — some tremendous mistake has been 
 committed — evidently by ybur parents likewise — 
 you are about to wed that other — and therefore 
 all hope is dead for me ! But still — but still I 
 would not have you think '' 
 
 " Oh, Imogen ! no mo"re ! — 'tis vain ! We must 
 part for ever !" — and with these wildly ejaculated 
 words, Launcelot burst from the apartment. 
 
 For upwards of a minute did Imogen remain 
 upon her knees — there, where she had knelt to 
 him — there, on that spot whence he had just fled 
 
 away — there she still knelt, bowed down, crushed 
 — the fine-spirited young woman levelled as it 
 were to the very dust beneath the overwhelming 
 weight of a stupendous calamity ! At length she 
 slowly rose up : she caught sight of her counte- 
 nance in a mirror opposite— arid she started as if 
 some other face had been looking forth upon bee 
 from the polished surface, so altered and woe-' 
 begone had her own countenance become ! She 
 sat down in a chair close by a table ; she buried 
 her face in her hands, and she reflected pro- 
 foundly. 
 
 Several minutes passed ; and she wondered' 
 whether any one would come to her. She was 
 inclined to ring the bell and ask to see Launcelot 
 again, if only for a few moments : then she thought 
 of penning a few lines and summoning a servant 
 to bear the billet to him: but abruptly discarding 
 both these projects, she ejaculated with bitterness, 
 " Of what avail ? He is affianced to another ! 
 All is at an end for me !" 
 
 She drew the thick veil again over her counte- 
 nance, and she issued from the apartment. The 
 haH-porter was at his post : he had the same quiet, 
 good-humoured, respectful look as before; and 
 Imogen was almost surprised as she mentally 
 ejaculated, " He suspects not that anything extra- 
 ordinary has been taking place !" — for a moment 
 before it seemed to her as if every one whom she 
 might encounter would stare at her with a mean- 
 ing and a significancy. 
 
 The hall-porter opened the door and bowed as 
 Imogen Went forth. 
 
 " He doubtless takes me for another," she in- 
 wardly thought, — " that other who was evidently 
 expected here at the same time ! — that other to 
 whom Launcelot is now affianced !" 
 
 Imogen descended the steps; and when she 
 reached the bottom, the door was closed behind her. 
 She continued her way through the Square with a 
 species of , dismay in her brain and a horrible tight- 
 ening at the heart. At length she suddenly recol- 
 lected something. A respectable-looking female- 
 servant was advancing ; and Imogen accosted her, 
 Saying, " Would you be kind enough, to tell me 
 whose is that large house with the green ve- 
 randahs ?" 
 
 " Oh, that is Lord Trentham's, ma'am," was tho 
 reply. 
 
 " Ah ! and their family " 
 
 " They have but one son," rejained the servant- 
 maid, — ;" a very handsome young man — the Hon. 
 Mr. Osborne." 
 
 "Thank you," murmured Imogen; and she 
 pursued her way homeward. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ALICE DENTON AND HER FRIEND. 
 
 At about the same time that the preceding scene 
 was occurring at Trentham House in Berkeley 
 Square, a dashing phaeton and pair, having crossed 
 Waterloo Bridge, turned into the York Road 1 ,— 
 which, for the benefit of our country readers, we 
 may as well observe, is a street in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of Astley's Theatre. Though of no 
 very high pretensions, it was nevertheless a 
 superior street to that in which Imogen Hartland 
 
*HE YOUNG DUCHESS ; Oft, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 23 
 
 lived ; and if we make this comparison, it is 
 amply to show that Miss Alice Denton was better 
 lodged than her friend. 
 
 Yes — Alice lived in the York Road. She oc- 
 cupied apartments on the first floor : they were 
 ready furnished, but the appointments were of no 
 very elegant character, and the entire aspect of 
 the place bespoke the lodging-house. Neverthe- 
 less, for this suite of apartments on the first floor 
 Alice Denton paid thirty shillings a week— in 
 addition to which there were fees for attendance ; 
 so that, including the expense of coals and other 
 little et ceteras. Miss Denton lodged at a rental of 
 about two guineas a week. She was fond of good 
 living ; and her repasts were of a succulent 
 nature accordingly. On the sideboard there were 
 decanters containing wine. Miss Denton also 
 dressed showily, and frequently appeared with 
 some new article of raiment. But being only in 
 the receipt of a salary of two guineas and a half a 
 week at Astley's Theatre, it is an evident impos- 
 sibility that Alice Denton could maintain such a 
 style of living on those comparatively slender re- 
 sources. Truth therefore compels us to state that 
 she was the mistress of a certain Mr. Sylvester 
 Casey, to whom allusion has been previously 
 made. 
 
 The dashing phaeton and pair which we repre- 
 sented as turning into the York Road, contained 
 that gentleman and his livery-servant. Mr. 
 Sylvester Casey was about five-and-twenty years 
 of age, short in stature and mean-looking in ap- 
 pearance — red-haired and freckled — of immense 
 pretensions and of a still more stupendous vul- 
 garity. There was nothing of the gentleman 
 about him, bnt everything bespeaking the 
 " gentish " upstart — the parvenu who wanted to 
 be considered a very fast young man. Thus he 
 was dressed in an extravagant fashion — that is to 
 say, in all the most recent abominations of cut- 
 away coat, peculiar waistcoat, marvellous shirt, 
 and astounding pantaloons. He was bedizened 
 with jewellery : he wore a quizzing-glass con- 
 tinually at his right eye, that side of the face 
 being all screwed up to retain it ; and he had a 
 cigar in his mouth, though in reality his stomach 
 heaved painfully against tobacco-smoke. His ser- 
 vant was one of those cunning, leary-looking, 
 short, bow-legged men who may invariably be 
 seen hanging about the mews and stables at the 
 West End of the town, who infest betting-houses, 
 and swarm upon race-courses. Indeed, Mr. Syl- 
 vester Casey considered that a groom of sporting 
 appearance was indispensable to a gentleman who 
 had just started a fine turn-out. The domestic's 
 livery was therefore outrageous flaring in colour 
 and flaunting in lace ; and as if the fellow thought 
 that in some sense he must ape his master, he 
 held a flower between his lips, while the other had 
 the cigar. Everything was new in the entire 
 equipage : and as Mr. Sylvester Casey held the 
 ribbons and gave an artistic flourish with his 
 whip as he dashed round the corner into the York 
 Road, the whole appearance of the thing pro- 
 claimed as eloquently as possible, " We are all 
 bran new ! do look at us !" 
 
 In this style did Sylvester Casey drive up to 
 the door of the house where dwelt the handsome 
 Alice Denton. A crowd of half-a-dozen small 
 boys, two beggars, and a baker's man, instan- 
 taneously collected ; and Sylvester, while endea- 
 
 vouring to do the thing very fine by tossing the 
 reins in a nonchalant manner to his groom, and 
 then leaping out just as if he were perfectly well 
 accustomed to the use of his own private equipage, 
 stumbled and knocked his shin against the sharp 
 edge of the projecting iron step with a violence 
 that brought all the blood into his face and 
 tears into Ms eyes. Then, though suffering ex- 
 cruciations, he endeavoured to look as if it were 
 nothing of any consequence : while the small boys 
 were tittering around, and he caught a sly impu- 
 dent smile just vanishing away from the features 
 of his groom. 
 
 " You can walk the prads about for about half- 
 an-hour, Tom," said Mr. Sylvester Casey. " And 
 
 I tell you what you can do You can just drive 
 
 down to What's-his-name yonder, and tell Mm he 
 needn't keep the black mare any longer for me, 
 as I've made up my mind I shan't take her. And, 
 I say, Tom, just look in at t'other place— you 
 know where I mean-^down there, yon know — 
 and see whether the brown cob is still to be had — 
 and if so, let Jenkins get the saddle on in about 
 half-an-hour or so, and 111 just give him a 
 trial." 
 
 All these directions were simply given because 
 the groom interjected a " Yes, sir," at every third 
 word that his master spoke ; and every " Yes, 
 sir," was accompanied by a touch of the hat, 
 which Mr. Sylvester had no doubt produced a 
 very grand effect upon the little crowd collected 
 around, and upon all beholders who were staring 
 from their windows. Besides, it was even still 
 more for the behoof of the fair Alice Denton her- 
 self that the process of order-giving and hat- 
 touching was sustained ; for this was the first day 
 that Sylvester had sported his new turn-out — the 
 first occasion therefore on- which Alice had seen 
 it. 
 
 He entered the house, and ascended the stairs to 
 Miss Denton's sitting-room. Throwing himself 
 upon the sofa, taking off his hat with one hand, 
 and running the fingers of the other through his 
 villanous straight coarse red hair, he said in an 
 affected tone, " Well, Alice, what do you think of 
 it ? It'll do, eh ? It's the thing, isn't it ? 
 Rather slap-up, I fancy ? A neat trap — ain't it ? 
 And the prads— stunners — eh ?" 
 
 " Well, it is a very pretty turn-out, Sylvester," 
 responded Alice. " And I suppose you mean to 
 come to-morrow and take me for a drive with you ? 
 You have often promised that we should ' go to 
 Richmond and have dinner at the Star and 
 Garter " 
 
 " That's like eating gold, Alice !" answered Mr. 
 Sylvester Casey. " Not that I mind, you know — 
 only I was thinking that if we went to Green- 
 wich there you can get such a nice tea — for — 
 
 for !" 
 
 " Ninepence a piece !" cried Alice, with min- 
 gled gaiety and contempt. " Fie, Sylvester ! If 
 you can afford to keep that dashing equipage, 
 you surely can manage to treat me with a little 
 more liberality than you have done." 
 
 " Well, by Jove, Alice !" ejaculated Sylvester, 
 " if this isn't too bad ! You have all you want 
 Look at these lodgings-^-fit for a princess !" 
 
 " I ought to have my own furniture," interjected 
 Alice poutingly. " Every young lady in my situa- 
 tion " 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! your own furniture !" exclaimed 
 
u 
 
 tub Yotnfa docHes? ; or, memoirs op a lady op quality. 
 
 Sylvester. " Only conceive what au expense it is 
 when you move ! And then too, you would be 
 wanting me to insure it !" 
 
 " Well, come, we will not have any words," in- 
 terrupted Alice : and then she added coaxingly, 
 " I suppose you have brought me the gold watch 
 you promised?" 
 
 " Nq, by Jove, I haven't though !" cried Syl- 
 vester. "The truth is, I couldn't find a second- 
 hand 1 mean to say a neat little lady's watch 
 
 — though, 'pon honour, I went strolling about 
 last evening, looking in at all the pawnbrokers' 
 1 mean to say jewellers' windows " 
 
 " Oh, I daresay," interrupted Miss Alice, " what 
 you first said you meant! For shame of you, 
 Sylvester ! You set up your carriage : but you 
 treat me " 
 
 "Treat you?" he ejaculated: "how the deuce 
 do I treat you ? Why admirably ! Here you 
 are living at the rate of at least five guineas a 
 week " 
 
 " Half of which I earn by my own profession," 
 interjected Alice. 
 
 "And a very good job, too, that you can do 
 it !" said Sylvester. 
 
 "But you promised me when — when — you 
 know what I mean when our connexion be- 
 gan," continued Alice, half pouting, half good- 
 humouredly coaxing, " that you would take me 
 altogether away from the horsemanship " 
 
 " It would be a sin," observed Sylvester. " You 
 look admirably in the circus !" 
 
 " But I don't like it !" exclaimed Alice. 
 
 " You ought to like it, my dear girl," rejoined 
 Sylvester. " It keeps down your fat. You are 
 the least thing inclined to embonpoint " 
 
 " Then why not buy me a horse ?" exclaimed 
 Alice. " Ah, that would be something liberal on 
 your part !" 
 
 " Well, well, my dear girl, we shall see. You 
 musn't talk to me of gold watches and horses for 
 the present : I am as hard up as the deuce ! It 
 is with difficulty I can spare you your two guineas 
 to-day " 
 
 " Two guineas and a half, if you please, sir !" 
 cried Alice, now speaking vehemently, and in- 
 deed with ill-concealed scorn and disgust. 
 
 " Oh, two guineas and a half, is it ? Well, be 
 it so. But as I was saying, if you only knew the 
 bother and trouble I have had to screw enough 
 out of the governor to get that little drag and 
 those prads " 
 
 " And yet your father is very rich, Sylvester ?" 
 interjected Alice. , 
 
 " Kich ? Well, no doubt of it — but precious 
 close ! And therefore, Alice, if sometimes I don't 
 
 seem to be quite as liberal to you as I ought 
 
 But Ah, by the bye !" he abruptly ejaculated, 
 " the very thing I ought to have told you first I 
 am coming to last ! It's all settled." 
 
 " What is all settled ?" inquired Miss Denton, 
 with an air of more indifference than interest. 
 
 " Why, the little business that I was hinting 
 to you about t'other day," rejoined Sylvester. 
 " The fact is, Alice, it shan't make any difference 
 betwixt you and me as far as my coming to see 
 you on the sly and giving you your money is con- 
 cerned : but I don't think it will be proper for us 
 to be seen too publicly together " 
 
 " What on earth does he mean ?" ejaculated 
 Alice. 
 
 " Oh, you know very well ! That business is 
 coming off. Not that I shall be proud, you know, 
 Alice — because it's all very well to have an 
 Honourable prefixed to your name; but in. my 
 humble opinion Sylvester Casey, Esquire is just 
 as good as the Honourable Launcelot Osborne." 
 
 " Oh," said Alice ; " now I do recollect you said 
 something the other day about marriage between 
 your sister and the gentleman you have just 
 named. But Lord bless you, Sylvester! those 
 kind of things go in at one ear and out at another 
 — particularly as you are now and then given to 
 shooting with the long bow." 
 
 " Don't say that again, Alice," interjected the 
 young man angrily, while his countenance was 
 as red as a peony : " or else I shan't like it." 
 
 "Well, but about this marriage?" said Miss 
 Denton ; " when is it to take place ?" 
 
 "In a few days," responded Sylvester. '"Twas 
 only settled this morning. My father and Launce- 
 lot had a final interview " 
 
 "Mr. Osborne, I presume, having duly pro- 
 posed to your sister and being referred by her to 
 your father ?" 
 
 " Well, that was not exactly the way in which 
 the business was managed," resumed Sylvester. 
 "You see, my dear Alice, the Trentham family 
 are entirely in my father's power. The governor 
 can sell up everything at any moment — landed 
 estates and all — because Launcelot has executed 
 ,a deed cutting off the entail ; so that in plain 
 terms it only depends on the governor to make 
 beggars of the Trentham family at any moment. 
 But this is not his game ; he has got plenty of 
 money : it isn't casA that he wants, Alice — it's 
 connexion. There ! deuce take it ! I've spoke it 
 out plain enough-^-and now you understand me. 
 But don't go telling anybody what I'm saying to 
 you." 
 
 "Not I," said Miss Denton carelessly. "lam 
 not acquainted with a soul to whom your family 
 affairs or those of Lord Trentham are at all likely 
 to prove of any interest. But does Launcelot 
 Osborne love your sister?" 
 
 " Oh, love ! bother take love in a match of this 
 sort! But the truth is, Launcelot and Selina 
 
 have seen each other so seldom Ah, by the 
 
 bye !" and here he again interrupted himself with 
 suddenness : then taking out his watch, he cried, 
 " Yes — this is just about the time !" 
 
 " What is the time ?" asked Alice : " I mean, to 
 what do you allude ?" 
 
 " Why, Selina is to be at Trentham House be- 
 tween three and four o'clock, to be introduced to 
 my lord and her ladyship." 
 
 "What?" ejaculated Alice, in astonishment: 
 " have things gone so far without your sister even 
 so much as knowing the parents of her intended 
 husband? Well, this is the most extraordinary 
 thing I ever heard of in all my born days ?" 
 
 "Oh, but in fashionable life," said Sylvester 
 flippantly, "love never enters into the question. 
 Launcelot Osborne is a good-looking young fel- 
 low enough — though perhaps he hasn't quite so 
 much of the dash about him as I have, and there- 
 fore is not likely to get on quite so well with the 
 
 fair sex " 
 
 " Oh, you are indeed irresistible !" said Alice : 
 and then she burst forth into the merriest peal of 
 uncontrollable laughter. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," oried young 
 
THE YOUNG DUC1IESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 25 
 
 ,:-\ -^ 
 
 Casey, " whether this is joke or not ; but all I 
 can say is " 
 
 " Why, of course I meant it as serious, 1 ' said 
 Miss Denton ; " only that you looked so singular 
 at the moment I could not help laughing. But 
 pray go on. Tou were telling me that at this 
 very hour your sister was going to he introduced 
 to Lord and Lady Trentham " 
 
 " Yes — the thing is so arranged. Of course 
 the governor " 
 
 " That means your father I suppose ?" remarked 
 Alice. 
 
 "Why, you know it does! Don't I always 
 call him the governor ? That's the fashionable 
 term now-a-days. And so, as I was saying, the 
 governor of course knows Lord Trentham Well 
 enough, because they have had all their money 
 connexions together : but his lordship has never 
 been to our house, and he doesn't as yet know me 
 or my mother — though I daresay by this time he 
 No. i. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 has formed the acquaintance of my sister. She 
 is to call at Trentham House all alone, so as to 
 
 avoid any display or ceremony " 
 
 " And does your sister like this proceeding ?" 
 
 nglrpfl A.lic6 
 
 »' Like it '?" said Sylvester. " Well, to tell you 
 the truth, Selina is a very great fool, and she 
 dosen't seem to know her own interests quite so 
 well as she ought. Of course I can speak plain 
 to you, Alice — and therefore I don't mind saying/ 
 it's a deuced fine thing for Selina to make such a 
 match. The Hon. Mrs. Osborne at once, and 
 Lady Trentham hereafter !" 
 
 "But if your sister does not love this Mr. 
 Osborne," interjected Alice, " she may well have 
 scruples " 
 
 " Oh, don't bother me again about love !" cried 
 the young man: "it's all very well to read of 
 in plays and romances! Launcelot Osborne is 
 good-l»oking enough — and Selina is a, deuced 
 
2(5 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, ME3IOIKS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 pretty girl — though I say it which perhaps 
 should'nt say it, being her brother ; — and so I 
 have no doubt they will like each other well 
 enough when they are spliced." 
 
 " And so your sister is a very pretty young 
 lady ?" said Alice : and then, after a pause, she 
 inquired with a sly look towards her protector, 
 " Is she anything like you ?" 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, rising from the sofa, 
 and advancing towards the mirror, in front of 
 which he stood running his freckled hand through 
 his horrible red hair, " I can't say that she is pre- 
 cisely in my style, though of course there is a 
 certain family resemblance : but her hair is not 
 — hem — auburn like mine ; and — and — her com- 
 plexion has not of course got these — what-d'ye 
 call them ? — sunburns, whjgji are all very well ia 
 
 a man Indeed they rather become him — ■ 
 
 though in a woman; they' may be thought slightly 
 objectionable. Then, as for eyes, mine are " 
 
 " Green," Alifle ventured to inteijee^ but in a 
 low tone. 
 
 " Eh ! what ?" ejaculated Sylvester, a* he gave 
 a sudden start. " You said- •" 
 
 " Nothing," rejoined Alice, looking up quite in- 
 nocently. "Pray go on. You were describing 
 your sister." 
 
 " Oh, well," esied the young man, still smarting 
 under the idea that his mistress had intended to 
 joke insultingly- with him, " I have told you enough 
 about my sister to-day. But hy the bye, Alice," 
 he went on to observe, recovering his good temper, 
 " you were speaking iust now about my taking 
 you out somewhere for an excursion to-morrow ; 
 and you named the Star and Garter at Richmond. 
 Now, what should you say if I were to tell you 
 to invite your friend Mademoiselle Imogens ?" 
 
 " She would not come,," answered Alice. 
 
 " She wouldn't come ?" ejaculated Sylvester. 
 " Well, that would be a ftne game ! You don't 
 mean to say she playa the prude when everbody 
 knows she has got a child oi three or four years 
 old." 
 
 " Ah, that child indeed !" exclaimed Alice, as 
 if she were about to make some revelation con- 
 cerning it : and then checking herself she said, 
 " But it is of no use — you would not believe me 
 if I were to tell you." 
 
 " Not believe what ? That your friend Imogen 
 Is privately married — or is a widow — or anything 
 else to prove that she is quite a respectable cha- 
 racter?" — and Sylvester laughed mockingly. 
 
 " No matter, sir !" interjected Alice, somewhat 
 sharply : " let us change the subject. And now," 
 she asked, good-humouredly, " will you come and 
 take me for an excursion to-morrow ? or will you 
 not ?. I do not particularly care — only I wish to 
 know for certain ; because if you could not pos- 
 sibly make it convenient, there is Mr. Blun- 
 deU " 
 
 "What ! the acrobat?" ejaculated Sylvester. 
 
 " Well, yes — the acrobat," rejoined Alice. "There 
 is no harm in being an acrobat — is there ? I am 
 sure he is a very handsome man — and all the 
 ladies seem to admire him, particularly when he 
 climbs to the top of the ladder, or balances him- 
 self upon the great globe up the sloping plank." 
 
 " Well, well— what of your Mr. Blundell ?" de- 
 manded Sylvester, with an air of jealous vexa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Only that he was telling me yesterday," re- 
 
 plied Alice, " that whitebait dinners have begun 
 at Greenwich and Blackwall — and he offered to 
 take me to one of those places to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, but I haven't said yet that I won't take 
 you to the Star and Garter at Richmond. And 
 now that I think of it, I should rather like the trip. 
 It is not at all probable we shall meet any of the 
 Trentham family down there on a Sunday ; and 
 so I will take you, Alice. But don't go and flatter 
 yourself, now, that I am jealous of this Mr. Blun- 
 dell the acrobat ; for such an idea would be ridi- 
 culous- And now good bye till to-morrow." 
 
 My Sylvester Casey took his departure ; and 
 as he endeavoured to make his equipage cut sharp 
 round the nearest corner, so as to give a proof of 
 his skill in driving to all persons who might be 
 beholding him at the moment, he dashed one of 
 the fore-wheels with such violence against the 
 lamp-post that it was a marvel the phaeton was 
 not upset. The bystanders laughed ; and Mr. 
 Sylvester Casey's dignity experienced the utmost 
 humiliation for someiittle time, until by the aid 
 of his consummate conceit it was enabled to re- 
 cover itself. 
 
 Soon after Sylvester's departure, Alice Denton 
 put on her bonnet and scarf and proceeded to pay 
 another visit to her friend Imogen Hartland. 
 She found the Star of the Cfc>cus seated in her 
 little parlour in a very thoughtful mood ; and the 
 child, as usual, was playing with her toys. 
 Imogen made a slight gesture of impatience as , 
 Alice entefed the room — for phe wished to be 
 alone with her own reflections. 
 
 " Am I intruding ?" inquired Miss Denton, who 
 was too good-humoured to take offence for so 
 slight a cause. " If so, I will retire. I shall see 
 you to-night at the theatre. I dare say you are 
 surprised to find me dropping in upon you twice 
 in the same day " 
 
 "Do not go away, Alice," said Imogen, now 
 speaking kindly and even affectionately to her 
 friend, whose hand she took. " I have something 
 to tell yoil. Ye»"-I will tell you what has oc- 
 curred. There need be no secret3 between you 
 and me !" — Then, after a pause, she added very 
 seriously and in a low voice, " I have seen him — 
 I have spoken to him — I have been alone with 
 him — his hand has been pressed to my lips and to 
 my heart " 
 
 " Good heavens, Imogen ! And yet you are 
 unhappy?" ejaculated Alice. "You are pale — 
 careworn " 
 
 "How can I be otherwise than unhappy?" 
 asked Imogen, shaking her head with an air 
 of the deepest despondency. " Launcelot Os- 
 borne " 
 
 " Launcelot Osborne ?" cried Alice, at once 
 struck by the name. 
 
 " Yes," responded Imogen ; " he whom I loved 
 — aye, and still love — is Launcelot Osborne, the 
 son of Lord Trentham." 
 
 "And he is engaged to be married," exclaimed 
 Alice, " to the sister of Sylvester Casey !" 
 
 " What !" cried Imogen, starting with mingled 
 indignation and astonishment : " that handsome 
 and amiable young man to throw himself away 
 upon the daughter of a. griping money-lender— a 
 notorious usurer?" 
 
 " It is as I tell you," rejoined Alice. " Ah ! 
 little did I think when just now listening to Syl- 
 vester's nonsensical chattering, I should learn any- 
 
THE YOUNQ DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 27 
 
 thing that would be so vitally important for you 
 to hear. But so it is ; and Selina Casey was to 
 call this afternoon at Trentham. House to be in- 
 troduced for the first time to the parents of her 
 intended husband." 
 
 " Ah !" ejaculated Imogen, as everything in 
 respect to her own adventure was now entirely 
 cleared up. " How strange the coincidence ! how 
 wondrous ! It almost seems preternatural that I 
 should have been led to keep, as it were, the very 
 appointment which was made for my rival !" 
 
 The two young women remained in discourse 
 together for some while longer, — Imogen Hart- 
 land narrating to her friend all that had happened 
 at Trentham House, and Alice on the other hand 
 detailing all the facts she had learnt from the lips 
 of Sylvester Casey- 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PARISH CLERK. 
 
 The scene again shifts to the picturesque little 
 village of Addington, at no great distance from 
 Tunbridge Wells. It was evening — the evening of 
 the Monday following next upon the incidents of 
 the two or three preceding chapters ; and the old 
 clerk of the village church was seated on the stile 
 leading into the church-yard, enjoying the fresh- 
 ness of the breeze, and basking as it were in the 
 slanting fays of tie declining sun. Presently he 
 beheld approaching towards him a young gentle- 
 man whose appearance riveted the old man's atten- 
 tion more and more as its object drew nearer to 
 him. He seemed to be one of those exquisites whose 
 existence is as peculiar to the metropolis as that 
 of a bee is to a hive, and who, if they ever make 
 their appearances in the provinces at all, seem 
 only to have gone thither for the express purpose 
 of astonishing the rustic natives. 
 
 The young gentleman to whom we are now 
 alluding, was most elegantly dressed. Never was 
 a white hat more admirable in its shape or more 
 jauntily worn. It imparted an air of rakishness 
 to a countenance whose features were somewhat 
 feminine and delicate, despite the manly appur- 
 tenances of the whiskers and moustache. And 
 what whiskers ! — how glossy ! how artistically 
 curled! Then, as for the moustache — it needs 
 particular description. It was not a great coarse 
 moustache such as might be worn by a cavalry 
 soldier: but it was a slender line bowing the 
 upper lip : it was glossy like the whiskers ; and 
 its pointed extremities were curled and twisted 
 as if the last finishing touch of a twirl had been 
 given by the most fashionable of hair-dressers or 
 the most accomplished of valets. But though 
 this moustache was exceedingly becoming, truth 
 nevertheless compels us to state that it looked 
 uncommonly like one of those which decorate the 
 upper lips of the waxen heads of gentlemen in 
 hair-dressers' windows. In all other respects the 
 young gentleman to whom we are alluding, was 
 equally well got up. His surtout-coat fitted 
 without a wrinkle to the symmetry of his shape : 
 but it seemed as if it were rather too much padded 
 at the breast The trowscrs were full and plaited 
 after the French fashion, — not being cut straight, 
 but bulging very much all round the hips, and 
 
 getting narrower and narrower towards the points 
 where they terminated above the most elegant 
 patent-leather boots that ever were Worn. The 
 shirt, with its three chased gold studs — the waist- 
 coat, fitting as faultlessly as the coat — And the 
 light brown kid gloves, completely defining the 
 shape of the small well-modelled hands— were all 
 in keeping with the rest of his most elegant, 
 fashionable, and attractive toilet. 
 
 The young gentleman carried a beautiful little 
 riding-whip in his 'hand; and he had a slight 
 swagger in his walk, as if he Were on uncom- 
 monly good terms with himself, and as if the 
 cruellest thing that could happen to him would 
 be for any one to pass by without looking at him. 
 By his gait one would fancy that he considered 
 himself the very pink of dandyism. You would 
 not call him a " swell :" he would strike you as 
 being only a most fastidious gentleman. As he 
 came along the path leading to the church-yard 
 stile, he flourished his riding- whip in a nohchalant 
 fashion, cutting off the tops of the long stalks of 
 grass that were growing for hay, or the points of 
 the young twigs sprouting from the hedge. Then, 
 as if very short-sighted, he thrust a quizzing-glas3 
 into the socket of his eye, — though ffoni this cir- 
 cumstance it must hot be supposed that we are 
 giving another description of Sylvester Casey; 
 for the subject of our present remarks was a 'very 
 different being indeed from the vulgar pariienk 
 who was introduced in the preceding chapter. 
 
 The old parish clerk stared through his great 
 spectacles at this phenomenon who was approach- 
 ing him ; for a phenomenon such an individual 
 really was in the quiet little village of Addington. 
 If at first bewildered and astonished, the old 
 clerk at length felt himself to be overawed ; and 
 he was at first about to get off the stile in order 
 to make room for the ydung gentleman to pass, 
 when the exquisite stranger said in a voice that 
 was of velvety softness, " Don't move, my good 
 man. Don't move ! I am going to stop here and 
 converse with you for a few minutes." 
 
 The old clerk took off his hat out of respect to 
 one who addressed him in such a friendly patron- 
 ising style. The young gentleman told him to 
 put on his hat again ; and then drawing out his 
 purse, which was very tiny and very elegant, with 
 a quantity of sovereigns in one end and a very- 
 few pieces of silver, in the other, he extracted 
 some two or three of the latter coins, saying, " I ob- 
 served a very excellent ale-house in the village, 
 and you will permit me to offer you the means of 
 presently refreshing yourself there." 
 
 The old clerk was more and more enchanted 
 with his new acquaintance ; and he thought that 
 he could not do otherwise than at once enter upon 
 certain personal explanations to one who suddenly 
 displayed so deep ah interest in him- So he- pro- 
 ceeded to inform the young gentleman that " his 
 name was Hogben — John Hogben at his service 
 — that he would 1 be sixty-three years old come 
 next Janivary — that he had been parish clerk 
 thirty-nine years, ever since the death of his 
 father (God rest his soul !) which lay under the 
 yew tree on t'other side of the church — that he 
 once used to be sexton as well as clerk, but that 
 ever since be got the roomatiz in his limbs, he was 
 obleeged to give up the digging of other peoples' 
 graves, or else he would have been soon brought 
 down into his own." Then, having been thus 
 
28 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEJIOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 communicative towards the young gentleman, Mr. 
 Hogben's heart was moved, alike by his feelings 
 and by the shillings he had consigned to his 
 pocket, to be confidential. So he went on to say 
 that " he liked his late wicar very-much, but he 
 didn't like the present one ; nor more did a many 
 other people that he could name ; and he thought 
 it a very great pity the old one should ever have 
 died — but it was the law of natur', and so he sup- 
 posed there was no help for it." 
 
 Having arrived at this lucid conclusion, the old 
 man took off his spectacles — wiped them — put 
 them on again — and then regaled himself with 
 another good look at the stranger. 
 
 "And where is your vicar's house?" inquired 
 this young gentleman. 
 
 " Just round behind the church here, sir," was 
 the reply. "You see that stack of chimbleys 
 above them trees ? That's it." 
 
 "And that picturesque little cottage which I 
 see yonder, in the other direction ?" continued the 
 young gentleman. 
 
 "That's Dahlia Cottage," replied the parish 
 clerk. " Mr. and Mrs. Trevor lives there." 
 
 " Ah ! that's where Mr. and Mrs. Trevor live ?" 
 ejaculated the exquisite stranger : and then, with 
 his left hand upon his hip, the riding-whip to his 
 mouth, and the quizzing-glass stuck in his right 
 eye, he stood contemplating the cottage for up- 
 wards of a minute. 
 
 And all this while the old clerk was surveying 
 the young gentleman; and he could not help 
 thinking that there was a something strange — but 
 he could not exactly define what it was — in the 
 mien, or the costume, or the general appearance 
 (he knew not which) of the exquisite stranger. 
 
 "How long have those Trevors lived there?" 
 inquired the young gentleman, at length breaking 
 silence. 
 
 " How long ?" repeated Mr. Hogben. " Well, 
 let me see. Tim Gaffney was took up for sheep- 
 stealing just close upon twenty months ago " 
 
 The young gentleman could not help bursting 
 out into a merry laugh, which was however so 
 exceedingly musical that it seemed quite to charm 
 the ears of the old man instead of making him 
 angry ; for he gazed with a half-smiling expres- 
 sion of countenance upon the exquisite stranger. 
 
 " What on earth," cried the latter, " has Mr. 
 Gaffney's being taken up for sheep-stealing to do 
 with the time that the Trevors have dwelt at that 
 cottage ?" 
 
 " Why, sir," responded the parish clerk, " I re- 
 member it was on the very same day that Tim 
 Gaffney was took to Maidstone, Mr. Trevor comes 
 to the village and takes Dahlia Cottage — 'cause 
 why, I recolleck the two things was talked of to- 
 gether in the parlour up at the Red Lion that 
 same evening." 
 
 " And which event seemed to be looked upon as 
 the more important?" inquired the stranger, with 
 a smile which the old clerk thought was very 
 pleasing, and which revealed two such pure and per- 
 fect rows of ivory that Mr. Hogben mentally ejacu- 
 lated, " Them teeth has never chawed bakker !" 
 
 "Why, you see, sir," he continued, speaking 
 audibly, " the cottage had been shut up for some 
 time ; and Mr. Fairbrass — that's the owner of it, 
 sir — began to despair of ever getting another 
 tenant; when, lo and behold! one evening the 
 Harlequin comes in " 
 
 "The Harlequin?" said the young gentleman, 
 dubiously. 
 
 " Yes, sir — that's the coach which runs atwixt 
 Maidstone and the Wells. So, when it come in, 
 Mr. Trevor comes along with it. He steps into 
 the Eed Lion ; and he says, says he, ' Where does 
 Mr. Fairbrass live?' — 'That red brick house over 
 the way, with the great brass knocker,' says the 
 landlord, says he. Then away goes Mr. Trevor 
 to Mr. Fairbrass. ' You have adwertised in yes- 
 terday's Times' says he, ' a sweet little willa con- 
 taining eight rooms with every conwenience.'— 
 'Besides kitchen and washus,' says Fairbrass. — 
 'And a garding,' says Mr. Trevor, says he, — 'Yes, 
 and a garding,' says Fairbrass, says he. So then 
 they go off together and look at it ; and Mr. Trevor 
 soon makes up his mind. ' I'll take it,' says he. 
 — 'Werry good,' says Fairbrass. 'Kent forty 
 pounds a-year.' — ' It's a bargin,' says Mr. Trevor. 
 — ' I shall want references, or a quarter in ad- 
 wa7.ee,' says Fairbrass. — Thereupon Mr. Trevor 
 pufis out his purse and pays a whole twelvemonth 
 in adwance, doesn't even wait for the receipt, but 
 bids Fairbrass good day, and mounts the Harle- 
 quin again when it passes through on it3 way to 
 Maidstone." 
 
 "Then the bargain was soon settled?" said the 
 young stranger ; " and this Mr. Trevor seems a 
 very off-handed person. Well, what next?" 
 
 " In two or three days the waggins comes with 
 the furnitur'," pursued Hogben ; " and everything 
 was soon in apple-pie order. Then a poshay 
 drives up to Dahlia Cottage, and Mr. Trevor, hands 
 out the beautifullest cretin* that ever was seen in 
 
 Addington barring your presence, sir— for you 
 
 are certainly the prettiest man that I ever see 
 come into the place :" and there appeared to be 
 something peculiar or significant in the glance and 
 tone of the old clerk. 
 
 " Don't mind me," said the exquisite, somewhat 
 impatiently ; " but go on. " Your discourse inte- 
 rests me. The lady, I suppose, was Mrs. Trevor?" 
 
 "Yes — Sir. Trevor's wife," rejoined the clerk. 
 " She's quite the belle of the place." 
 
 "But she's not visited, I presume?" said the 
 young gentleman. "I mean that — of course — 
 living in this secluded manner " 
 
 " They don't want to be wisited, and won't re- 
 ceive no company," said the clerk. " They might 
 have been called upon by the gentlefolks in the 
 neighbourhood; but they declined all society. 
 They gave it out by some means or another — ah ! 
 I remember ! it was through the wicar when he 
 had that explanation with them : for of course it 
 wasn't till then that people thought of wisiting 
 them: but when once that explanation was 
 given " 
 
 " What explanation?" inquired the exquisite. 
 
 "Why, you see, sir," continued the parish 
 clerk, " when the Trevors first came to live in the 
 willage, there was many curious things said about 
 'em ; and amongst others it was whispered that 
 the lady wasn't the genelman's wife. Well, time 
 wore on — and about ten months ago Mrs. Trevor 
 has a baby. Now, a baby, sir, must be christ- 
 ened ; and Mr. Trevor speaks to our wicar about 
 it : but the wicar having heerd the report that 
 was afloat, wouldn't register the child in the 
 name of Trevor unless he fust of all saw the 
 parents' certificate of marriage." 
 
 " Ah !" ejaculated the stranger. " And what 
 
THE YODNG DUCHBSS: OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 29 
 
 then ? I suppose it was rather inconvenient to 
 produce the certificate — eh ?" 
 
 " Inconwenient ?" exclaimed Mr. Hogben. 
 " Not a hattom of it ! The certificate was fbrth- 
 comin' in no time." 
 
 " Tou mean to say that f" cried the young ex- 
 quisite, suddenly turning right round upon the 
 old clerk. 
 
 " To be sure, I mean it, sir. But your manner 
 is so singular — you gave a sort of start * 
 
 " It was nothing, my good man — only a twinge 
 which seized upon me." 
 
 "Ah ! it is the roomatiz, sir. Pray take care 
 of it ! I was laid up for three year " 
 
 " Never mind how long you were laid up !" in- 
 terjected the young exquisite petulantly. " You 
 were telling me that the certificate was pro- 
 duced?" 
 
 " Of course it were," rejoined the old man ; 
 " and then, as soon as our wicar saw that they 
 was raly married, he became all politeness — he 
 
 offered to introduce Mrs. Pickstock that's his 
 
 wife — to Mrs. Trevor, and to mention to all the 
 other families in the neighbourhood " 
 
 " Well," interjected the young exquisite ; " and 
 then it was, I suppose, that Mr. Trevor signified 
 his desire to live in seclusion ?" 
 
 " Just so, sir," answered the clerk. 
 
 "Well, but that certificate," proceeded the 
 young stranger, on whose mind the discourse ap- 
 peared to be making an impression which was 
 something more than the mere casual interest that 
 attends upon a passing gossip : " are you sure it 
 was a genuine one ?" 
 
 "Geniwine, sir?" cried the old man, in astonish- 
 ment at the implied doubt. " Do you think that 
 Dr. Pickstock, with a red hood at his back, 
 doesn't know what a geniwine certificate be ? In 
 course he do ! — and I rayther think — but mind ! 
 I'm not sure — leastways I rayther think he 
 know'd the incumbent which signed it, and in 
 consequence his handwriting." 
 
 The young dandy reflected profoundly ; and 
 then he said, " Did you happen to see the certifi- 
 cate ?" 
 
 "In course I did, sir. Why, I was in the 
 westry at the time when Mr. Trevor produced 
 it." 
 
 " Good God ! how strange !" 
 
 " What did you say, sir?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing ! I was only asking if you hap- 
 pen to recollect where Mr. and Mrs. Trevor were 
 married ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know that I can exactly remem- 
 ber the place," replied the clerk ; " for of course I 
 didn't seize hold of the certificate and examine it 
 just for all the world as if I thought it was a 
 forgery " 
 
 "A forgery? Ah! by the bye," said the young 
 stranger, " such things are sometimes forged — are 
 they not ? We have heard of certificates of every 
 kind being forged — matrimonial, baptismal, 
 burial " 
 
 "Tou seem to be getting excited, young sir," 
 interrupted the parish clerk: and then, as he 
 again scrutinizing! y surveyed his querist, he went 
 on to remark, " I hope that I haven't been saying 
 too much — the fact is, you have led me on — your 
 manners is so insiniwating — and then too there's 
 summut about you — a hair of distinction- — and 
 raly it has two or three times struck me that if 
 
 them whiskers and mustashes was took away from 
 your face, you'd be much more like " 
 
 " My good friend," interrupted the young ex- 
 quisite, with crimson upon his cheeks, "never 
 mind what I. should be like or what I should be 
 not like :" then drawing out his purse, he theuce 
 extracted a sovereign ; and placing it in the old 
 man's hand, he said, " I feel that I ought to re- 
 compense you well for all this tedious process of 
 questionings to which I have subjected you. Keep 
 on your hat, my worthy friend — it is not for ad- 
 vanced years such as your's are, to show so much 
 deference to comparative youthfulness such as I 
 can boast of. You have still something more to 
 tell me. That certificate whereof we were speak- 
 ing, — do you happen to remember the place where 
 it was signed, and where consequently it is sup- 
 posed Mr. and Mrs. Trevor were married?" 
 
 "Supposed?" ejaculated Mr. Hogben, catching 
 at the word which seemed to throw a doubt upon 
 that marriage altogether : but then, as he dropped 
 the sovereign into his waistcoat-pocket, he said, 
 " Well, it is not for an old man like me to look 
 too deep into motives. You seem to be a young 
 genelman with coat, veskit, and breeches — and 
 that's enough ! Well, sir, I'll take you as sich. 
 Now about that there certificate, I rayther think 
 — but mind I'm not quite sure — it come from 
 Southdale." 
 
 "Southdale? To be sure!" ejaculated the 
 young exquisite. " It is a village in Dorsetshire." 
 
 " Dorsetshire, to be sure ! " cried the old man. 
 " I'll take a davy that was the county ! But Ah ! " 
 — and he now glanced towards Dahlia Cottage at 
 a little distance. 
 
 The young gentleman turned his regards in the 
 same direction ; and he beheld a lady approach- 
 ing. 
 
 "That, I presume," he said, "is Mrs. Trevor? " 
 
 " The same, sir," ejaculated Mr. Hogben. 
 
 "Ah! by the bye," pursued the exquisite, 
 suddenly recovering all his off-hand self-posses- 
 sion and easy air of indifference, "you forgot to 
 tell me what sort of a looking person Mr. Trevor 
 is?" 
 
 "He is a tall young man, sir, with dark hair 
 and eyes — very handsome — I should think his 
 age may be something between five-and-twenty 
 and thirty " 
 
 " Seven-and-twenty !" interjected the fashion- 
 able querist. 
 
 "Why, one would think that you knew as 
 much of these people as I do !" exclaimed the 
 parish clerk. " But I forgot ! It's no business of 
 mine," he immediately added, as the young gen- 
 tleman again drew forth his purse. "You are 
 paying me for my information," continued the old 
 man, with a humiliated air ; " and I must not say 
 that my soul is my own. Well, sir, I dare say 
 .Mr. Trevor is about seven-and-twenty. I do not 
 think he is in the village at this moment — I'm al- 
 most sure that I saw him atop of the Harlequin 
 yesterday morning " 
 
 " Enough, old man !" ejaculated the young ex- 
 quisite. " I thank you for your information. The 
 money I have already given you was to purchase 
 it. This additional sum is to ensure your silence 
 in respect to the questions that I have been putting 
 to you." 
 
 Thus speaking, the delicate-gloved hands drew 
 forth a couple of sovereigns from the tiny bead- 
 
30 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; Op, ME1IOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 purse with the silver slides : — and with a friendly 
 nod the donor passed loungingly away from the 
 spot. 
 
 " Well," said the old man to himself, as he very 
 comfortably consigned the extra donation to his 
 waistcoat-pocket, which could have ' stowed away 
 a couple of hundred of them ; " if ever I saw a 
 man that looked like a woman, you are the 
 one !" 
 
 He continued to weigh this reflection as the 
 young exquisite strolled along the path towards 
 Mrs. Trevor, who was advancing from the oppo- 
 site direction. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE DISCOURSE AT THE GATE. 
 
 Mks. Tkevor, who was dressed with that simple 
 elegance which invariably characterized her toilet, 
 was taking an evening walk, having seen her 
 beloved infant consigned to its cradle of repose. 
 Her eyes were bent downward — for she was think- 
 ing of her Alfred, who had departed from Adding- 
 ton on the preceding day, precisely as Mr. Hogben 
 had informed the young stranger. Not that Ethel 
 was unhappily pensive or gloomily thoughtful ; 
 because, after the visit to London upwards of 
 ten days back, she had every reason to be happy 
 and eontented at the proofs which Alfred had 
 afforded her of his pecuniary prosperity. But he 
 had again gone away for one of those periods of 
 indefinite absence which were longer than the in- 
 tervals that he devoted to her at Dahlia Cottage ; 
 tind she was thinking to herself how long the time 
 alight be ere his return. 
 
 . All of a sudden she heard footsteps approach- 
 ing ; and raising, her eyes, she beheld a fashionably- 
 dressed young gentleman contemplating her with 
 his quizzing-glass in a style which at once struck 
 her to be most superciliously impertinent. Ethel 
 was virtue itself — she was propriety personified : 
 therefore, innocent and artless though she were, 
 -she was the very first to feel any insult that might . 
 appear to be directed against her womanly mo- 
 desty. Her immediate impulse now was 'to turn 
 abruptly round and retreat to the cottage : but a 
 second thought induced her to continue her way. 
 It struck her in a moment that it was a species pf 
 conduct whieh she ought not to seem to recognise, 
 and that it would be time enough to resent it if it 
 assumed a more overt shape. Besides, it was still 
 daylight — the sun had not as yet set — she caught 
 a glimpse of the old parish clerk seated upon the 
 church-yard stile .at a little distance — and in the 
 adjacent field there were two or three labourers 
 returning from their work. She therefore flat- 
 tered herself that the exceeding insolence of the 
 fashionably-dressed stranger's regards would be 
 limited to its present bounds. 
 
 But she was mistaken. The young exquisite, 
 still retaining his glass up to his eye, said in a 
 taunting, jeering voice, " Oh ! oh ! Mrs. Trevor 
 — eh? Do let me have a look at you! They 
 say you are the belle of the place." 
 
 Ethel's countenance became crimson, and the 
 fires of indignation flashed from those beautiful 
 hazel eyes which were usually so calm and soft in 
 their expression), 
 
 A laugh which was strangely musical in its 
 mockery, rang from the lips of the young stranger, 
 and he continued his way, apparently satisfied 
 with the amount of insult which he had thus 
 thrown upon the amiable and inoffensive young 
 lady. Nay, more — he almost instantaneously 
 repented of it: for scarcely had he hastened 
 onward fifty yards, when he ejaculated with an 
 expression of countenance which showed how 
 angry he was with himself, " Fool that I have 
 been to interfere with the creature !" 
 
 Meanwhile poor Ethel's sudden paroxysm of 
 indignation had yielded to one of deep mental 
 distress ; and she felt afflicted, as every modest 
 woman does under such circumstances, at the 
 thought that her own appearance and her natural 
 good intentions should not have been sufficient 
 to defend her from insult. She could not continue 
 her walk: she wished to be at home that she 
 might at least be shielded by its walls from the 
 possibility of further aggression from the same 
 quarter. She glanced around: the impertinent 
 young coxcomb, as she naturally took him to be, 
 was striking into another path leading to the vil- 
 lage j and thus in a few instants the open road 
 was left clear to her to seek Dahlia Cottage. 
 
 What was her surprise, and how great was her 
 joy, when on reaching her habitation she beheld 
 Alfred himself coming forth to greet her ! She 
 flew towards him :■ — another moment and she was 
 clasped in his arms ! 
 
 " Oh, what a happy surprise, dearest husband !" 
 she fervidly exclaimed. 
 
 "And equally happy for me, beloved Ethel, 
 that I am enabled thus to return to you for a few 
 days!" 
 
 " Then you were not wanted in London so soon 
 as you fancied?" she cried. 
 
 " No," he rejoined. " But good heavens, Ethel ! 
 how pale and agitated you are ! Something ha£ 
 happened! Good God! what is it? Do tell 
 me!" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing, Alfred" she exclaimed: 
 and she nestled all the more closely to his bosom, 
 as if to that of a beloved protector who had most 
 unexpectedly returned at the very instant when 
 his presence was invoked. 
 
 " Do not say that it is nothing, my dear girl !" 
 interposed her husband. " You are all trembling 
 and quivering! Ethel, I must know what this 
 is !"■ — and he himself now appeared to be seized 
 with much trepidation and emotion. 
 
 " I cannot disobey you, Alfred ! — I must tell 
 you the truth when you thus adjure me ! I have 
 been insulted," 
 
 "Insulted, Ethel?" echoed Trevor, his hand- 
 some countenance flushing with indignation, " who 
 would dare insult you ? Tell me, dearest ! tell 
 me ! This is a point that I must know and must 
 have cleared up !" 
 
 " Oh, do not fpr an instant believe, Alfred," 
 said the young lady, greatly distressed, " that by 
 
 any look on my part " 
 
 " Good heavens ! — no !" he exclaimed. " Sooner 
 would I believe that the sun itself would cease to 
 shine, than that yon would fling a glance of en- 
 couragement upon the libertine! Who has in- 
 sulted you, Ethel?" 
 
 A few words of explanation were quickly 
 given j and then the young lady added in an im- 
 ploring tone, as she saw the angry start which 
 
THE YOCNG DtJCHESS; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 31 
 
 lier husband gave, " Oh, do not take any notice 
 of it ! It is past— and you are here ! If you go 
 — my God! there will be a duel! I shudder 
 ■when I think of it !" 
 
 " Ethel dearest !" cried Trevor, " be calm ! be 
 firm ! There are insults which cannot be passed 
 oyer— and this is one ! I must investigate it ! 
 The person whom you have depicted, mmt be 
 some wretched fop across whose back I will lay a 
 horsewhip, but whs is by no means likely to have 
 the courage to meet me as a man of honour! 
 Ethel ! do npt detain me ! If I were a coward in 
 such a case, you would have a right to say that I 
 do not love you !" 
 
 With these words, Trevor imprinted a fervid 
 though hasty kiss upon Ethel's lips ; and then he 
 darted forth from the apartment. At the same 
 time he c&ught down his hat from a peg in the 
 hall, he snatched up a riding-whip— and in a few 
 moments he was outside the garden-gate. 
 
 The dusk was now closing in : the sun had set 
 — the twilight of the early part of May was re- 
 deeming the landscape from a deeper obscurity. 
 Trevor bent his hurried steps towards the vil- 
 lage ; for the cottage, be it remembered, was a 
 little apart on the outskirt ; and he soon caught 
 sight of a person leaning against a gate and 
 gazing in the direction of that cottage. A glance 
 at the appearance of the individual satisfied him 
 that it was the very one of whom he was in search 
 and of whom Ethel had spoken. And now that 
 young stranger himself, on catching a glimpse of 
 Trevor, quickly averted his regards ; and bending 
 forward over the gate, instead of leaning with his 
 back against it, seemed suddenly tojbecome very 
 intent on surveying the field with, which the gate 
 itself communicated. 
 
 " Ah ! ha !" thought the indignant Trevor to 
 himself: "he suspects that I am one who has an 
 account to settle with him ! He pretends not to 
 see me ! he hopes I shall pass him by unrecognised. 
 He is evidently a coward." 
 
 Another moment, and Alfred was by the side of 
 the young stranger at the gate. But now the 
 exquisite appeared to be very far from being in- 
 spired by terror; and turning slowly round, he 
 again leant loungingly with his back to the gate, 
 twirling his moustache with an air of supercilious 
 defiance. There was something full well calcu- 
 lated on the part of that feminine, foppish, yet 
 inimitable representative of dandyism to enhance 
 to the very utmost the indignation of the high- 
 spiritedTrevor;and holding his whip in a menacing 
 manner, he said, " May I ask, sir, whether it was 
 you who just now wantonly insulted a young 
 lady whom you met at no great distance from the 
 church?" 
 
 The young exquisite made no answer ; but it 
 struck Alfred that a low derisiv& laugh sounded 
 from his lips. 
 
 "By heavem sir!" exclaimed Trevor, "the 
 more you provoke me, the severer shall be the 
 chastisement which I will inflict ! The amplest 
 apology " 
 
 " Very well, then," said the young stranger ; 
 " let me make the apology to the lady herself, and 
 in your presence." 
 
 Trevor was struck by the sound of the voice ; 
 he even gave a quick galvanic start : but instan- 
 taneously regaining his self-possession, he men- 
 tally ejaculated, "The idea is ridiculous!" 
 
 " No, sir," he continued, speaking audibly ; 
 " you shall not be admitted into the presence of 
 the young lady whom you so grossly insulted. 
 You will apologize to me here — upon this spot !" 
 
 " And if I refuse ?" said the young exquisite 
 coolly. 
 
 Again Trevor started at the sound of that 
 voice : but again feeling convinced that the sort 
 of suspicion it engendered was ridiculous, he an- 
 swered sternly, " If you refuse, I will lay this 
 whip across your back." 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" said the young fashionable, still 
 with a most provoking coolness ; and sticking the 
 quizzing-glass in his eye, he added, " But, you 
 see, I also carry a whip ; and perhaps I may know 
 how to use it as well as yourself." 
 
 While he was thus speaking, he lounged against 
 the gate in such a posture that whatsoever re- 
 mained of the twilight defined his profile com- 
 pletely to the view of Alfred Trevor. This gen- 
 tleman contemplated that profile with a growing 
 interest that rapidly increased into consternation 
 and dismay : but all in a moment the exquisite 
 averted his face again — and Trevor with an in- 
 finite sense of relief, ejaculated to himself, 
 " Pshaw ! it is preposterous !" 
 
 " Now, sir," continued the young stranger, 
 " you have not answered my last remark. I said 
 that I also carried a whip — and I warn you that 
 if you touch me with your's, I will thrash you 
 soundly with mine." 
 
 This time the voice sounded differently from 
 before ; and Trevor, still smarting under the sense 
 of the insult offered to Ethel, exclaimed, " The 
 matter must be settled in another way. If you 
 refuse as a gentleman to apologize, remember 
 that there are such things as pistols !" 
 
 The fashionable stranger burst out into the 
 merriest laugh, — a laugh as musical and as silvery 
 as that which had ere now so completely ravished 
 the ears of the old parish clerk, — a laugh that 
 was clear as a metallic sound — as pure and as 
 gushing as the rippling flow of a streamlet. 
 Again did Trevor give a quick galvanic start : 
 again did his eyes scrutinisingly survey the 
 features of the young stranger, — whom, however, 
 he began to look upon as very far from being a 
 stranger to him ; and then, as suspicion became 
 conviction, he said in a hollow tone and with dis- 
 mayed looks, " My Ood ! is it really you ?" 
 
 " Yes — 'tis I," answered the disguised lady — for 
 such she indeed was, as the reader has no doubt 
 already full well surmised : and now she spoke 
 altogether in her natural voice, which she had 
 previously disguised as much as possible. " Yes 
 —'tis I, Herbert !" 
 
 A groan came from the lips of Trevor — and he 
 staggered against the gate for support. At length 
 suddenly recovering his self-possession, he as- 
 sumed an air of haughty defiance ; and he said, 
 " Well, I confess that I keep a mistress here. I 
 know not by what accident you may have dis- 
 covered it : but at all events you can now judge 
 for yourself whether I have not studied to enve- 
 lope the fact in so much mystery as to avoid 
 creating a scandal in the world. I am not the 
 only man who is thus criminal, if actual fault 
 there be in it : and perhaps you would do well to 
 let the affair continue shrouded in this ob- 
 scurity f " 
 
 "Oh, Ethel is your mistress — eh?" said the 
 
lady, in an ironical tone. " Judging by her ap- 
 pearance, Dorsetshire may boast of very beautiful 
 ■women — and Southdale perhaps may produce the 
 loveliest of all." 
 
 Trevor became ghastly pale, all his hardihood 
 and assurance forsook him in a moment; and 
 again staggering against the gate, it was also 
 again in a hollow voice that he said, " Why those 
 allusions? what is it that you know? Speak 
 out, I entreat you ! At all events let there be a 
 thorough understanding between us !" 
 
 " You ask me what I know," said the lady ; 
 " and I reply that I know all ! It was not for 
 nothing that I was just now engaged in an hour's 
 chat with the garrulous old parish clerk " 
 
 "Ah!" — and Trevor at once understood to 
 what extent the revelations of Mr. Hogben might 
 have gone, and how far he himself was compro- 
 mised thereby. " Now, permit me to offer a few 
 words of explanation," he went on to observe. 
 "Doubtless the clerk spoke to you of a marriage 
 certificate " 
 
 "Precisely so. He was in the vestry when 
 you displayed that certificate to the vicar." 
 
 " Oh ! and . you can doubtless comprehend," 
 ejaculated Trevor, "how to satisfy the scruples 
 of that clergyman, who refused to christen the 
 infant in a particular name until he received a 
 certain proof — you can comprehend, I say, how 
 I manufactured a certificate " 
 
 "Ah ! was it so?" ejaculated the lady, who did 
 not seem prepared for this explanation : and then 
 she murmured to herself, " Well, it may be so !" 
 
 " It was comparatively easy," continued Trevor, 
 " to cheat the vicar with a fabricated certificate 
 — the offence was a very venial one — it injured 
 nobody — whereas, on the other hand, it saved cer- 
 tain feelings from being too deeply wounded " 
 
 " Enough, Herbert ! enough !" interjected the 
 lady. " You need not tell me how considerate you 
 have been on account of the feelings of that 
 woman !" 
 
 Trevor started, and an angry flush passed over 
 his countenance ; for he keenly and poignantly 
 felt the terrible insult which was thus suddenly 
 levelled against his Ethel. But he knew him- 
 self to be powerless to avenge it : he even felt 
 that it would be imprudent to notice it more than 
 he had involuntarily done; and he said in as 
 quiet a tone as he could command, " I will see 
 you to-morrow ; and whatsoever you may wish 
 to be done under existing circumstances — what- 
 soever stipulations you have to make " 
 
 " Not to-morrow," said the lady. " I shall not 
 be in London." 
 
 " Where then shall you be ? Are you going 
 
 " I am going on a little journey," she inter- 
 rupted him, " which will perhaps occupy me for 
 two or three days." 
 
 •'All! a journey?" said Trevor. "And might 
 I venture to inquire whither you are thus going ? 
 Not that I assert the remotest right to control 
 your actions— no, nor even to question them " 
 
 " Oh, there is no secret," interjected the lady, 
 " in respect to the journey which I am about to 
 undertake. I am going into a county where you 
 passed a few months some two years ago ; and it 
 was no wonder," she added, throwing a tincture 
 of irony into the silver melody of her voice, " that 
 you should have written up at the time to tell me 
 
 what a. delightful neighbourhood it was — how 
 much you were enjoying yourself, and how happy 
 you were- 
 
 " Ah ! I understand the allusion," said Trevor 
 " In plain terms, you mean that you are going 
 into Dorsetshire?" 
 
 " I am. It will be a nice little trip." 
 
 "And — and — which part of Dorsetshire?" 
 faltereu forth Trevor. 
 
 " Oh, Southdale of course," rejoined the lady. 
 
 Trevor reflected for a few moments ; and then, 
 in a voice which again sounded hollow even to 
 his own ears, and with pale careworn looks, he 
 said, " You are determined to follow this up to 
 the very uttermost. Well, I confess that I am in 
 your power. And now deal with me as you 
 will." 
 
 " Ah, then, you propose to save me the journey 
 into Dorsetshire?" cried the lady. "Well, this 
 is very kind of you, and shall be duly taken into 
 account. We may therefore meet to-morrow, 
 as you just now proposed — -and you will then 
 have the kindness to sign a certain paper which I 
 shall in the meanwhile have drawn up." 
 
 "Yes — anything! everything!" ejaculated 
 Trevor, with a tone and look of grateful eager- 
 ness. "Name anything else that you will! — 
 anything that I can do " 
 
 "I do not know that there will be anything 
 else," answered the lady coolly and carelessly. 
 " And now farewell." 
 
 With these words she sauntered away from the 
 spot; and Trevor remained leaning against the 
 gate, giving way to his painful reflections. The 
 dusk was deepening around himi but, Oh! if 
 any one could have beheld his features at that 
 moment, they would have revealed an expression 
 of almost mortal anguish — betraying the inten- 
 sity of the affliction which had seized upon his 
 soul! At length he began slowly to retrace his 
 way to the cottage, exerting efforts that were 
 well-nigh preterhuman to master his feelings and 
 compose his looks. 
 
 Meanwhile the disguised lady, instead of enter- 
 ing the village, struck off into a path which 
 diverged from the commencement of the little 
 street ; and at a distance of about a hundred and 
 fifty yards up that narrow shady lane a horse and 
 gig were standing; while a man, who was in 
 charge of the equipage, lay upon the grassy bank, 
 smoking his pipe. On hearing approaching foot- 
 steps, he rose up ; and as he beheld the seeming 
 young gentleman emerge from the surrounding 
 obscurity, he exclaimed, " Why, sir, I thought 
 you was never coming !" 
 
 " I have been detained much longer than I an- 
 ticipated," replied the lady. " But I told you 
 at the outset that yon were to wait, no matter 
 how long — and that you should be liberally re- 
 warded." 
 
 " Oh, I wasn't afeerd of that, sir," said the 
 man,, who had the air of an hostler in a some- 
 what decayed and seedy state. 
 
 The lady took her seat in the gig, observing, 
 " We shall soon accomplish the dozen miles be- 
 tween this and Maidstone." 
 
 " Werry soon, sir," said the man, as he took 
 the driver's seat ; and then flicking his horse with 
 the whip, he added, " The mare is a good 'un, 
 and gets over the ground in deuced good style." 
 
 The equipage sped along ; and about half-au- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 33 
 
 hour passed, during which the disguised lady was 
 almost completely absorbed in her reflections, and 
 she occasionally acknowledged with a. mono- 
 syllable the remarks which. the man went on- 
 making in a garrulous strain upon the weather, 
 the crops, the horse that he was driving, and all 
 the other horses that he had ever had anything to 
 do with in the course of his life — and they were 
 not a few. 
 
 The idea presently began to creep into the mind 
 of the disguised lady that the road was narrower 
 and more lonely than when she had pursued it on 
 coming from Maidstone two or three hours pre- 
 vious. She therefore began to look about her ; 
 and as the moon was now coming out with all its 
 argentine brilliancy, the landscape was sufficiently 
 lighted to enable her to contemplate all objects 
 within a certain distance. The longer she sur- 
 veyed the features of the scene, the more was she 
 convinced that it was a different route which was 
 No. 5.— The Young Duchess. 
 
 being taken, from that by which sha had been 
 brought to Addington. But then, might it not 
 be a nearer one ? She was determined to put the 
 question. 
 
 " I suppose," she said, with an assumed air of 
 confidence, " that this bye-lane affords a shorter 
 cut than the regular road ?" ■ 
 
 " Eh ?" said the man, eyeing the lady askance. 
 "Ain't this the main road?" 
 
 She felt as if her heart were leaping up into 
 her mouth as the conviction smote her that the 
 man had some nefarious purpose in view; and 
 she now for the first time remarked the sinister 
 expression of his countenance. She swept her 
 eyes around: she beheld some building in the 
 distance ahead — and her resolve was in a moment 
 taken. She would wait till she got opposite that 
 building, and then she would suddenly throw her- 
 self out of the gig — or else desire the man to 
 stop on some pretext — anything, in short, so as 
 
34 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 to place herself in the way of invoking protection 
 of assistance. But in order to conceal her de- 
 sign, she said in a careless tone, " Oh, I thought 
 this might be a bye-road ; but as I have never 
 travelled it before to-day, 'tis no wonder that I 
 should be mistaken." 
 
 Again the man eyed her askance : but he said 
 nothing. 
 
 The road now went down a gradual descent 
 into a valley, through the bottom of which 
 meandered a stream, which looked like an enor- 
 mous serpent shining like quicksilver beneath 
 the rays of the bright moon. The disguised lady 
 now perceived that the river passed close by the 
 very building which she was keeping in view ; 
 and as the gig approached it still nearly, she con- 
 jectured from the shape and position " of the 
 edifice that it must be a water-mill. 
 
 " It was down there," said the man, pointing 
 with his whip, " that the young o'oman was mur- 
 dered by her- sweetheart three years ago." 
 
 " Murdered ?" ejaculated the lady, with a cold 
 shudder. 
 
 "Yes — and ever since the old mill has been 
 shutuj) " ' ' ' " ll: " ' 
 
 " Shut up ?" echoed the lady, her cherished 
 hope suddenly vanishing, and dismay seizing lipon 
 
 " Tes — didn't I say shut up ?" demanded the 
 man, whose tone and demeanour seemed ''to be- 
 come every instant more threatening and sinister. 
 "Well, sir, as Iwas saying, ever sinews the mill 
 has been shut up the folks say it has been haunjfed 
 by I the ghost of the young o'oman which was so 
 cruelly murdered by the miller's man. Bat ghost 
 or no ghost, it' wouldn't prevent me from going 
 into the mill if I wanted to do's'o ; and whether 
 in the middle of the day or the middle of fhe 
 night it would be ajl ope to Tim Gaffney.," 
 
 An ejaculation of mingled astonishinent and 
 affright burst from the lips of the disguised lady ; 
 for she instantaneously recollected that this was 
 the very name which the old parish clerk had 
 v mentioned in a manner that had elicited from her 
 ; lips a peal of such musical laughter. A wild 
 terror now seized upon her : her brain appeared 
 to reel : she knew not what course to adopt, — 
 when all in a moment the man pulled in the 
 horse, just as the gig reached the middle of a 
 bridge which spanned the stream. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE MILL. 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" asked the lady, in 
 an almost dying voice. 
 
 " Why, there's no use in mincing the matter 
 for another moment," replied Gaffney. " You've 
 shown so much curiosity about this mill here, 
 that I'm going to treat you to a look at the inside 
 of it." 
 
 A cry of terror pealed forth from the lady's lips 
 — and she made an' effort to spring out of the gig: 
 but it failed, for her arm was instantaneously 
 seized upon by the strong vigorous grasp of Tim 
 Gaffney, who at the same time exclaimed, in a 
 threatening voice and with a terrible oath, " If 
 you try to run away, I'll do for you as sure as the 
 
 miller's man did for the poor girl in the mill close 
 by!" 
 
 The unfortunate lady was now paralyzed with 
 horror ; and though the ruffian released her arm 
 from the vice-like grasp in which for a few mo- 
 ments he had clutched it, yet she dared not renew 
 the attempt to save herself by flight ; for she saw 
 that she was indeed completely in his power. He 
 coolly drew forth and displayed a brace of pistols, 
 at the same time remarking, " Your best plan is 
 to be quiet and dp. as you're bid." 
 
 "My God! would you murder me?" faltered 
 out the unhappy lady. 
 
 " If Twanted to do it, I shouldn't have taken 
 the trouble to give you any sort of warning to be 
 quiet," responded Tim Gaffney : " but I should 
 have done the business at once." 
 11 He now whistled in a peculiar manner; and 
 the sound, which was very loud and shrill, pene- 
 trated through the' lady's brain. In a few mo- 
 ments she distinctly heard the sound of a door 
 opening somewhere' about the premises; for the 
 gig had halted close by the old mill, which con- 
 sisting of a mgss of Woodwork all' tarred over, 
 had a gloomy aijd ominous appearance. The lady 
 now felt convinced that 'Gaffney was summoning 
 other ruffians to his assistance ; and the dread 
 idea struck her £hat they might not prove so mer- 
 ciful in respect to her life as he had proclaimed 
 himself to be. ' 
 
 "For heaven's sake, drfve on, or else let me 
 go !" she said in an imploring voice. " Tell 
 me what you require. My purse — my jewel- 
 lery- '! J ' -* 
 
 " Hojd your tongue, young lady !" exclaimed 
 Gaffney\ now for 'jthe first time showing by his 
 speech tjjat'he was aware of her real sex. 
 
 At this moment* a man was seen crossing a 
 plank which lay above a stream branching off 
 from the r'iv er ; for that plank formed a means of 
 communication betwixt the road and the mill. As 
 this individual emerged from the obscurity, the 
 lady, whose terrified looks were rapidly thrown 
 upon him, perceived that he was a middle-sized, 
 stoutly built fellow, dressed in a velveteen shoot- 
 ing jacket and dark trousers ; and he carried a 
 thick stick in his hand. 
 
 "Now then, Bill, look alive!" said Gaffney. 
 " There's one of the fair sex dressed up as a man ! 
 Now then, young lady, you get out and follow 
 my friend Bill Bax ; and he'll introduce you into 
 the mill, where I shall have the pleasure of join- 
 ing you as soon as I've put the trap into the 
 outhouse " 
 
 "What!— go with him? Into the mill?" 
 shrieked the lady. " No, no ! you may kill me 
 first!" 
 
 Another terrible oath came from Tim Gaffney's 
 lips as he exclaimed, " You shall go, young lady ! 
 or else"— and he again produced his pistols. 
 " Take my advice, and don't have none of your 
 nonsense. I tell you again we don't want your 
 life : but we want your money — and that we mean 
 to have." 
 
 " Then take it ! take it !" cried the lady, pre- 
 senting her purse, which she tore forth from her 
 pocket with all the vehemence of nervous haste. 
 
 " No one ever ought to refuse a good offer," 
 said Bill Bax, as he took the purse from the hand 
 of the disguised lady, whom he had been atten- • 
 tively' contemplating for the last few minutes 
 
THE YOUNS DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 35 
 
 " But you must come along with me all the same 
 — r'cause why, there's a little paper you must just 
 sign inside the mill. Is'nt that the dodge, Tim ?" 
 
 .." It is," answered Gaffney ; " and if the lady 
 stands talking and bothering' any longer in the 
 middle of the road, I'm hanged if I don't put an 
 end to the whole business at once by blowin' her 
 brains put !" 
 
 "You swear that my life is safe?" demanded 
 the. lady, regaining, some portion of her lost self- 
 possession as she perceived the absolute necessity 
 of yielding obedience to the ruffians who had her 
 in their power. 
 
 , " I've told you so more than once," replied Tim 
 Gaffiiey. 
 
 " Lead on," said the disguised lady to BiH Bax ; 
 "and I will follow." 
 
 " Well, I rather think you had better go in 
 front, ma'am," said that individual ; and he just 
 examined for a moment the knob at the end of 
 his bludgeon, as if significantly to let the captive 
 know that it might be dangerous for her to make 
 the slightest attempt at escape. 
 
 Without another word the lady began to cross 
 the plank ; and she reached a little low door open- 
 ing into the mill. It stood ajar ; and Bill Bax, 
 who had followed her closely, told her to push it. 
 She did so ; and he then bade her walk in. But 
 she stopped short. Within the place a deep dark- 
 ness prevailed : and the lady's heart was smitten 
 with terror at the idea of crossing that threshold. 
 
 "Move on!" said Bax gruffly, at the same 
 time pushing her from behind, so that she was 
 perforce compelled to enter the building. 
 
 He was dose at her heels ; she heard the door 
 shut ; and now she was entombed in the most stu- 
 pendous darkness, in the midst of which she was 
 alone with that ruffian ! So dire a terror seized 
 upon her that her quivering limbs were about to 
 give way and fail completely, when the sharp 
 crack of a luclfer-match sounded upon her ears 
 and a light flamed upon her view. It appeared 
 that the- man Bax had a candle close at hand ; 
 and the lady felt as if a great weight, were all in 
 a moment lifted from her mind. She glanced 
 upon the fellow's face : he was a middle-aged 
 man, with a. sallow complexion, large overhang- 
 ing eyebrows, and a very wide. mouth: Ugly al- 
 most to repulsiveness, his appearance was even 
 more sinister than that of his friend and accom- 
 plice Tim Gaffney. Nevertheless, as he was 
 now lighting a candle, instead of preparing to 
 murder her in the dark, the lady felt considerably 
 reassured ; and ftie hope arose within h«r that her 
 life was indeed safe and that her liberty could 
 only be compromised for a short time. 
 
 She loosed around; she was in a little passage, 
 whence a steep narrow staircase led upward, a rope 
 serving as a substitute for a handrail. 
 
 " Go on, ma'am, if you pleasej" said Bax, 
 whose voice, was naturally surly in its tone, and 
 whose mode of speaking was coarse and peremp- 
 tory. " I've lighted this here candle for your ac- 
 commodation ; and ypull therefore have the good- 
 ness -to make use of it without any more delay." 
 
 She ascended the staircase, and then found her- 
 self in a room where there were portions of the 
 huge massive machinery of the mill; and still 
 Mr. Bax, who kept close at her heels, bade her 
 move on. She traversed the room, at the opposite 
 extremity of which there was a door ; and this 
 
 led into another compartment where there was 
 another ascent of steps. These the disguised lady 
 mounted: another room was reached — and then 
 a complete labyrinth of places formed by different 
 portions of the machinery, was threaded, until a 
 light was seen emanating from a door that stood 
 half open. 
 
 " Now, 1 ' said Bax, with a grim smile, " let me 
 do the honours of my own house. Walk in : though 
 it isn't everybody that would introduce such a 
 dashing young spark as you are to one's wife !" 
 
 Thus speaking, Bax led the way into a room, 
 where there were some few little articles of furni- 
 ture — such as a bed, a table, three or four chairs, 
 some crockery, and culinary articles. A woman 
 of an aspect even more repulsive than that of Mr. 
 Bax himself, rose up from her seat as soon as the 
 door opened ; and as her husband whispered some- 
 thing in her ear, she immediately began to con- 
 template the disguised lady with wonder and cu- 
 riosity. 
 
 " 'Vfell, it wouldn't have struck me at first," 
 she said, " unless you had given me the hint" — 
 and she turned towards her husband. " But what 
 does it mean ?" 
 
 "You'll see all about it presently," answered 
 Bax "Tim's here." 
 
 "Oh, then that was his whistle?" said the" 
 woman. 
 
 Bax nodded an affirmative; and the disguised 
 lady thought to herself, " Then it must be a com- 
 plete gang of ruffians into the midst of whom 1 
 have fallen. God help me !" 
 
 Still however she hugged the belief that her life 
 was safe ; for there was something reassuring in 
 the presence of a female, even though it was as 
 repulsive a specimen of the sex as Mrs. Bax. 
 
 "Sit down and make yourself at home, ma'am," 
 said the man, as he extinguished the candle 
 which he had brought in his hand, for there was 
 another burning on the table.. "You see," he 
 continued, " it don't do to have much light. The 
 people in the neighbourhood have already seen it 
 more than once— — " 
 
 " Well, Bill, "and so much the better !" ejacu-r 
 lated his wife ; " for they spread the report that 
 the mill's haunted, and so no one comes to inter- 
 fere with us." 
 
 " Ah ! but if a light was seen burning regu- 
 larly," jejoined Bax, " there might be some of the 
 fanners in the neighbourhood that wouldn't ex- 
 actly believe it was the doing of ghosts, and 
 would come with a dozen or so of their men to 
 root out whoever they might find here. For they 
 would soon get it into their heads that there was 
 tramps, or gipsies, or thieves secreted in the oltt 
 mill." 
 
 " Well, well" said the woman, " you've taken 
 precaution enow, with them shutters all covered 
 over with brown paper pasted over every cranny 
 and crevice. — But I say," she added, suddenly 
 lowering her tone and drawing her husband a little 
 aside ; " are ye right to talk in this way in the 
 presence of the stranger?" 
 
 " Oh, I daresay there is no harm in it," replied 
 Bax. " You know that Tim Gaffney is a shrewd 
 wide-awake fellow ; and he wouldn't have brought 
 the lady here unless he had some strong hold over 
 her and could bind her to silence. However, we 
 shall see in a few minutes. He has just gone to 
 put the horse and gig up in the shed." 
 
36 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 While the man and woman were whispering, 
 the disguised lady watched them with the in- 
 tensest anxiety, though she did not appear to be 
 doing so ; for every movement and every look — 
 aye, and every word that she might by any possi- 
 bility catch, was of importance to one in her situa- 
 tion. At length footsteps were heard approaching 
 — Bax hastened to open the door — and Tim Gafi 
 ney made his appearance. 
 
 " What a confounded break-neck place it is to 
 grope one's way about in the dark !" he grumbled 
 forth. " Howsomever, it's dangerous to have a 
 light. Now, Bill, put out the bingo and let's get 
 to business." 
 
 The disguised lady gave a sudden start ; for she 
 thought that the word " bingo " might possibly be 
 a synonym for " candle," and that therefore the 
 extinction of the one remaining light was contem- 
 plated. On this score, therefore, her mind was 
 relieved when she saw Mr. Bax open a small cup- 
 board and take out a bottle of brandy and some 
 glasses. 
 
 " Do you do anything in this way, ma'am ?" 
 asked Tim Gaffney, as he filled one of the 
 glasses. 
 
 Notwithstanding the circumstances in which 
 she was placed, the disguised lady averted her 
 looks in disgust from the ruffian who thus ad- 
 dressed her ; and then, in a tone of sudden ex- 
 citement, she exclaimed, " Keep me not in 
 suspense ! tell me why you have brought me 
 hither ! What is it that you demand ? what 
 paper is it that I am to sign ? or was that only a 
 pretext ?" 
 
 " We didn't want no pretext," replied Gaffney, 
 "when we had. got you so completely in em- 
 power. But now, ma'am, we will get to business. 
 We are no more inclined for any unnecessary 
 delay than you are. So in order to make a be- 
 ginning, just tell us your name." 
 
 "My name? No, you cannot want to know 
 it," 
 
 " Very well, keep it to yourself," responded Tim 
 Gaffney : " but if you don't choose to let us see 
 your name at the bottom of a cheque, you must 
 put it inside a note that you will have to write to 
 some friend, ordering that five hundred guineas 
 are to be given to the bearer and no questions 
 asked." 
 
 " Yes — I will do this," answered the lady ; and 
 it was almost with a tone of cheerful gaiety that 
 she spoke. " I will write a letter to my bankers 
 But they live in London, remember !" 
 
 " So much the worse for you," remarked Gaff- 
 ney. " Have you no friend in the neighbourhood 
 to whom you could apply?" , 
 
 " None," answered the disguised lady. " I am 
 a perfect stranger in this part of the country." 
 
 " Well then," pursued Gaffney, " it must be a 
 letter upon your London bankers. I will lose no 
 
 time in running up to London I'll undertake 
 
 to be at the bank the moment it opens to-morrow 
 morning at nine o'clock ; and then — let me see ? 
 — by one o'clock in the afternoon I'll be back here 
 again. I can use the rail all the way from Lon- 
 don to Chatham " 
 
 "Good heavens," exclaimed the lady, "you 
 surely do not mean me to stay here until you re- 
 turn?" 
 
 " In course we do," answered Gaffney. " Why, 
 seeing you togged out in this style, I took you for 
 
 a shrewd, cunning, wide-awake kind of a young 
 lady ; and therefore I am surprised to find that 
 you think us such precious flats as to part with 
 you before we get hold of the ransom-money. 
 Nothing of the sort ! Here you stay till it's 
 paid !" 
 
 " But you shall see the letter, all except my 
 signature!" cried the lady; "and I will pledge 
 myself in the most solemn manner not to give 
 any counter-instructions !" 
 
 " It won't do, ma'am," said Tim Gaflney : and 
 Bill Bax shook his head in a knowing manner at 
 the same time. " We daresay you are a young 
 lady of honour : but we'd rather not trust to 
 mere promises. Mrs. Bax will do her best to 
 make you comfortable ; and after' all, it's only a 
 little temporary inconwenience to which you are 
 going to be put." 
 
 The lady was perfectly dismayed at the idea 
 of having to pass a night in that gloomy place 
 and with such dreadful people : she almost wrung 
 her hands in despair ; and after a few moments' 
 bewildering reflection, she exclaimed, " Take all 
 my jewellery! Here is my watch! — it cost 
 fifty guineas ! — here is my chain — here are my 
 rings ! See ! these are diamonds ! — and I swear 
 most solemnly that their value is not less than 
 two hundred pounds !" 
 
 " Oh, but we meant to have them into the 
 bargain," said Tim Gaffney. " The ransom- 
 money is quite another thing. And now please 
 to observe, ma'am, that the more you delay the 
 business the longer you'll have to remain in this 
 place." 
 
 "You shall not keep me here!" she cried, 
 starting up in feverish excitement from the seat 
 which she had taken. " I insist upon being 
 restored to liberty ! There are all my jewels ! 
 Now let me depart ! Do not drive me to despe- 
 ration ! I will rend the entire place with my 
 screams ! I will shriek on and on until succour 
 comes ! Do you hear me ?" 
 
 " I hear, ma'am," said Tim coolly ; " but you're 
 only wasting precious time in mere idle talk. 
 Look here !" 
 
 He went to a corner of the room, stooped 
 down, and catching hold of an iron ring, raised a 
 trap-door. 
 
 " There !" he said ; " that goes right down to 
 the ground-floor : there is no break between ! 
 It's where the sacks used to be hoisted up and 
 down. Here's the rope still. So you see, ma'am, 
 that if you made any inconwenient noise you 
 could be very quickly disposed of." 
 
 The unhappy lady recoiled in horror from the 
 dark mouth of the abyss; and Tim Gaffney, 
 closing the trap-door, returned to his seat, re- 
 filled his glass, and inquired coolly, " Well, how 
 is it to be ?" 
 
 " They would not dare take my life !" thought 
 the lady to herself: " it would be such a needless 
 crime!" — then speaking in an audible manner, 
 she said, "I will not submit to your terms! I 
 have given you my purse and my jewels : but I 
 will give you no more ! Let me depart." 
 
 "Nay, young lady — this nonsense won't do 
 with us," replied Gaffney, producing a pistol 
 from his pocket. 
 
 " Are you not afraid that punishment will over- 
 take you," she exclaimed : " do you not think 
 that you would do well to conciliate me somewhat? 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A I/ADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 37 
 
 Let mo depart — and I swear most solemnly that I 
 will not merely send you five hundred guineas to 
 any address that you may name, but I will also 
 keep the seal of silence on my lips in reference to* 
 the whole proceedings ! But if on the other hand 
 you drive me to extremes, does it not occur to 
 you that I may prove vindictive " 
 
 "That's enough, young lady !" interrupted Tim 
 Gaffney: "you don't seem to comprehend how 
 the matter stands — and therefore I must tell you. 
 If we were afraid of your peaching against us — 
 giving a description of our persons — and having 
 us advertised, or what not, — why, we would very 
 soon put you out of the way. But that is not our 
 game ! — for you won't say a word about this ad- 
 venture, for your own sake ! We know we're 
 quite safe on that score. A young and handsome 
 lady, going gallivanting about the country in man's 
 clothes, isn't after any good ; and such being the 
 case, you'll keep the whole matter to yourself. 
 Perhaps you have a husband, or a father, or a 
 brother, or some one that you would not dare have 
 the thing known to. As soon as I discovered that 
 you was a lady in disguise, I thought to myself 
 that you must be rich, and perhaps of distinction. 
 At all events 1 knew it was a perfect safe game 
 that I meant to play ; and that's all about it. But 
 'pon my soul, you are so well got up, ma'am, in 
 that dandified dress— that I really did not at first 
 suspect you was anything but what you seemed — 
 a very pretty young gentleman — until just as we 
 were getting close in to Addington — and then, if 
 you remember, I happened to touch you on the 
 bosom with my elbow as you was sitting by my 
 side in the gig; and then you drew back so sud- 
 denly, that what with one thing and another I 
 suspected the truth. But come ! all this is mere 
 idle talk, and time is passing." 
 
 " You refuse to suffer me to leave this place ?" 
 demanded the lady. 
 
 "We have already told you as much," re- 
 sponded Gaffney. 
 
 " I will send you a thousand guineas instead of 
 five hundred, if you will let me go !" 
 
 " If you hold out much longer, we shall make 
 the ransom-money a thousand guineas instead of 
 five hundred." 
 
 The lady • again literally wrung her hands in 
 despair ; and it was with the greatest difficulty 
 she could prevent herself bursting into tears and 
 giving vent to a flood of passionate weeping. 
 
 " Good God !" she cried, " do put faith in me ! 
 do trust in me, I conjure you ! You, who are of 
 my own sex," she. continued, turning towards 
 Mrs. Bax, " will surely take compassion upon 
 me ?" 
 
 The woman shook her head ; and Tim Gaffhey 
 said, "Now, ma'am, be kind enough to finish the 
 business at once. From this place you shall not 
 stir until our conditions are fulfilled. Have you 
 got any writing-paper, Bill ?" 
 
 " Well, it's as much as I have," responded the 
 man. " Howsomever " 
 
 " There is a sheet of paper, a new pen, and a 
 piece of sealing-wax in the cupboard !" exclaimed 
 the woman. 
 
 She produced the articles; and the disguised 
 lady, seeing that there was no help for it, pre- 
 pared to write the letter. With a deep sigh she 
 took up the pen ; and she wrote these lines, ad- 
 dressing them to a certain eminent banking esta- 
 
 blishment in the Strand : — " Pay the bearer five 
 hundred guineas, without asking any questions, 
 and without a moment's delay. To convince you 
 that the signature is genuine, I will mention the 
 fact that the last cheque which I drew was on the 
 2nd of the present month." 
 
 "There!" she said, passing the letter to Tim 
 Gaffney : " you may now read what I have written 
 before I append my signature." 
 
 " It is all right," said Tim. " And now, al- 
 though I don't want to see what name it is, yet 
 you will please to write it in such a way that I 
 may tell from this distance that you put nothing 
 else in the letter except your name. There ! that's 
 right !" he added, as the disguised lady, taking 
 back the paper, affixed her autograph. 
 
 She then folded up the letter carefully ; and she 
 sealed it with one of the rings which she had just 
 taken from her fingers, and which bore a crest ' 
 
 " Now," said Tim, " I hope you've made sure, 
 ma'am, that this money will be paid and that I 
 shan't get into any trouble by presenting the letter 
 notwithstanding the orders you have given inside. 
 Because, look you, ma'am — I'm going to take cer- 
 tain precautions ; and therefore if you are playing 
 me any trick — or if you hope that this letter 
 will lead to my arrest, you had better think 
 well of it before it is too late. Bill," he continued, 
 turning to his accomplice Bax, " I shall take Jack 
 Peppercorn up to London with me. If all's well, 
 you'll see me here again to-morrow at about one 
 o'clock in the afternoon. But if there's anything 
 wrong with me, you'll see Jack instead ; and then 
 you'll be guided by circumstances. For don't you 
 see, ma'am," he added, again addressing himself 
 to the lady, "if I am nabbed, you shall never 
 come forward as a witness against me." 
 
 " I thought you just now said," interjected the 
 lady, " that you felt strong enough in your own 
 position, because you were certain that from mo- 
 tives of fear and of prudence I should not dare 
 speak of adventures wherein I have figured in 
 male apparel." 
 
 " Very true, ma'am," rejoined Gaffney : " but 
 it's a habit with us to make sure doubly sure. And 
 now I'm off." 
 
 The fellow took up his hat ; and making a bow 
 to the lady, he just nodded his head to Bax and 
 the woman, and took his departure. 
 
 " What can we do for you, ma'am ?" asked Mrs. 
 Bax, as soon as Tim Gaffney was gone. " Will 
 you take some supper? You can only have things 
 in the rough here ; and it's easy to tell by your 
 looks that you are accustomed to a better style." 
 
 The lady had fallen into a profound meditation 
 the instant the door had closed behind Tim Gaff- 
 ney; and she did not immediately answer 1 the 
 questions that were thus put to her. She never- 
 theless heard them ; for all in a moment she gave 
 a start, saying, " Yes, I will take some refresh- 
 ment." 
 
 The woman produced some bread, cold meat, 
 cheese, and butter from the cupboard; and she 
 spread a cloth upon the table. The disguised lady 
 watched these preparations ; and when they were 
 completed, she said, " Could vou give me some 
 water?" 
 
 The man and woman looked at each other ; and 
 the lady saw that Mrs. Bax shook her head. 
 
 " Come, this is all nonsense !" growled her hus- 
 band in a surly tone. " Go and get a pitcher of 
 
38 
 
 JHE YOUNG DUCHESS. ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 water. Besides, somebody, must gp down to make 
 the door fast — and you may as well ,do it." . 
 
 " I won't, Bill,"- she replied emphatically. " You 
 go. Just leave me that" — and she glanced at the 
 club-stick — " and I'll take ; care that " 
 
 She said no more, but looked significantly to- 
 wards the prisoner. 
 
 " Now I say you shall go !" exclaimed Bax. 
 " It's all nonsense," he added, with an oath. " I 
 never saw nothing and never heard nothing r-" 
 
 " Then I won't go, Bill. I tell ,you ,that I 
 would'nt move about in the old mill after dark 
 for ten times the money that Tim has gone up to 
 London to get, I know she walks !" 
 
 " Take a candle for once, you fool !" growled 
 Bax'; and in a menacing manner he clenched a 
 fist that would have felled an ox. 
 
 "It's of no use, Bill," she doggedly replied. 
 "I almost think I should be more afeard with &• 
 ' candle than without it. They say she walks with 
 her throat cut from ear to ear — — " 
 
 " Bother take the woman !" — and Bill Bax 
 gave vent to a terrific oath. " "Well then, keep 
 tight hold of this stick, and lean with your back 
 against the door." 
 
 - " Trust to me," answered his wife ; and again 
 she looked significantly towards the lady, as much 
 as to imply that there was no chance of her es- 
 caping.- 
 
 At the same time she took; up the. club; and 
 her husband, furnishing himself with a couple of 
 large pitchers, issued from the room. He took 
 no light with him ; and as soon as he was gone, 
 his wife placed, herself with her, b.ack against the 
 door, holding the stick in her hand. 
 
 The disguised lady had affected to be perfectly 
 indifferent to the preceding colloquy ; and while 
 it was in progress she had seemed to. be again 
 giving way to her reflections. She suffered about 
 a minute to elapse after Bax had left the room : 
 then she rose up, as if suddenly starting from a 
 reverie ; and she said in a sort of careless man- 
 ner, " This must be a wretched dull kind of a life 
 that you lead in this place." 
 
 "Well, it's not veiy lively," answered the 
 woman-, whose eyes followed her as if she was a 
 cat, watching a mouse. , 
 
 The lady was lounging near the table : she 
 took up the loaf of bread, and all in a moment 
 she let it drop straight down on the top of .the 
 candle. Instantaneous darkness ensued. Mrs. 
 Bax gave vent to a cry of mingled rage and ter- 
 ror ; and almost at the same time there was a tre- 
 mendous crashing noise — for the lady upset the 
 table, with all the preparations of supper that 
 were Upon it. Mrs. Bax was astounded and be- 
 wildered : but she kept her place and furiously 
 brandished the club in the dark, so as to ward off 
 the attack which every moment she expected to 
 be made upon'her. 
 
 But the lady's policy was altogether of another 
 character. In the twinkling of an eye after she 
 had upset the table, she bounded to the trapdoor 
 and raised it. The rope and pulley that had been 
 used for raising the sacks, were suspended over 
 the trap. To let down the coil was the work of 
 &n instant ; and in another twinkling of an eye 
 down that rope the lady was gliding ! 
 
 She reached the bottom in safety, — a distance 
 of about forty feet. She had now all her presence 
 of mind about her ; and she so regulated her pro- 
 
 ceedings that she did not alight with too much 
 violence on the boards of the ground-flpor. But 
 .she was in utter .darkness ; and she knew not 
 which way to, turn in order to find the means of 
 egress. . Neither had she a moment to lose ; for 
 she knew that Bax would be immediately return- 
 ing—and heaven only could tell to what ex- 
 tremities his rage might drive him when he should 
 discover what had happened. She groped, her 
 way ; and as good luck would have it, her hand 
 encountered the large wooden latch of a door. 
 It yielded to her touch ; and as the door opened, 
 she beheld the glimmering of moonlight upon the 
 water, and the fresh breeze fanned her cheeks. 
 There was the bridge within view, so that she 
 was suddenly struck by the conviction that she 
 was now in the little passage by which she had 
 in the first instance been conducted into the mill. 
 
 On she glided; she reached the outer door — 
 and. there- : she, beheld Bax stooping down on the 
 bank of the stream, from which he was filling the 
 pitchers, Another instant; and the lady, now 
 rendered desperately intrepid, rushed upon him 
 and hurled him into the water. Down he 
 plunged ;. and as he came up to the surface again, 
 the very first object he beheld was a figure gliding 
 across the plank. He was for a moment top much 
 blinded by the water to recognise the person : but 
 as he quickly scrambled up on the bank, he drew 
 his hands rapidly across his eyes, and then per- 
 ceived the disguised lady hastening across the 
 bridge. A tremendous imprecation burst from his 
 lips ; and the next moment he was in full pursuit. 
 - Hastening. ! , no, it was rather flying on the part 
 of the disguised lady !, for she had the wings of 
 desperation and terror attached to her feet.. Away 
 she flew, — Bax rushing, after her. He called out 
 loudly for her to stop : but the sound of his voice 
 only tended to enhance her speed. She glanced 
 over her shoulder — she saw that he was gaining 
 upon her — on she sped ! Another look thrown be- 
 hind—and now she was distancing him. She 
 knew that she was safe ! 
 
 A few minutes more ; and he was no longer to 
 be seen. Completely out of breath — panting and 
 exhausted — the lady threw herself upon a grassy 
 bank ; and there she rested — but still- keeping her 
 eyes, riveted on the direction whence the ruffian 
 might emerge if he were mamtaining the pursuit. 
 However, Jte appeared not — he had doubtless 
 abandoned the chase as hopeless. When she had 
 recovered her breath, the lady continued her way, 
 her heart leaping with joy at this successful result 
 of her daring exploit. 
 
 " Now, at least," she thought to herself, " I am 
 on the safe side ! The bankers might to-morrow 
 suspect something wrong, and might detain Gaff- 
 ney until he should give proper explanations, or 
 until they had communicated with me. In that 
 case my doom would have been sealed ! — for no- 
 thing could have been more horribly significant 
 than the threat that I should not live to appear as 
 a witness against him !" 
 
 The reader will now comprehend that it was 
 from the moment this threat was made, the lady 
 had resolved to run every risk in an endeavour to 
 effect her escape. The thought of the trap-door 
 had flashed to her mind ; and she had asked for 
 water to drink as an expedient for getting rid of 
 one of her custodians, in the hope that by some 
 means she would be enabled to outwit the other. 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 39 
 
 Fortune had favoured her, as we have seen — and 
 she was now free. 
 
 But she was penniless: her purse and all her 
 jewels had been left behind at the mill. A mile- 
 stone presently informed her that she was still 
 nine miles from Maidstone. This was a long walk 
 for her to take ; but there scarcely seemed to be 
 any help for it. It however appeared as if fortune 
 was determined not to do things by halves on her 
 account on this particular night. She had not 
 advanced half a mile from the spot where she had 
 rested on the bank, when she heard the rumbling'of 
 wheels behind her ; and in a few minutes she was 
 overtaken by a postchaise returning empty to 
 Maidstone. The postilion, who was somewhat ine- 
 briated, did not notice anything peculiar in the 
 well-dressed individual so as to leadhim to suspect 
 that she was one of the gentjer sex disguised in 
 male apparel : and he immediately gave her a seat 
 inside the chaise. When the outskirt of Maid- 
 stone was reached, the lady desired the postilion 
 to put her down at a little public-house which she 
 named ; and there the chaise stopped accordingly. 
 The lady's confidential maid was waiting there ; 
 and she had a supply of money in her purse. All 
 difficulties were therefore at once overcome : the 
 postilion was remunerated — the male disguise was 
 soon exchanged for the raiment properly becoming 
 the lady's sex — a postchaise was soon in readiness 
 — and away started the heroine of the evening's 
 adventures, attended by her confidential maid. 
 
 Precisely at ten o'clock on the ensuing morning, 
 Mr. Timothy Gaffney entered the celebrated bank- 
 ing house in the Strand. His friend Mr. John 
 Peppercorn, who was dressed in a sort of sport- 
 ing style, and had the air of a horse chaunter, 
 lounged on the opposite side of the street, pre- 
 tending to be looking in a picture-shop window, 
 but in reality awaiting with no inconsiderable 
 degree of interest the issue of his companion's 
 call at the bank. Tim advanced with an air of 
 confidence up to the counter, and presented the 
 letter. Indeed, that confidence was not assumed; 
 for he considered the chances to be a hundred to 
 one in his favour. 
 
 " Ton must take this letter into the parlour," 
 said the clerk, to whom he presented it. " It is 
 private, and addressed to the Firm." 
 
 To the parlour did Tim Gaffney accordingly 
 proceed ; and he found himself in the presence of 
 a short, elderly, bald-headed gentleman, who was 
 seated at a table strown with letters and other 
 documents. 
 
 " What have you there ?" inquired this gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Tim gave the letter : the old gentleman took it 
 — carefully examined the seal— and having as- 
 sured himself that it had not been broken nor 
 tampered with, he muttered, " Then her secret is 
 safe!" 
 
 Without opening the letter he proceeded very 
 deliberately to lock it up in an iron safe, the key 
 of which he consigned to his pocket. 
 
 " That will do, my good man," he calmly said 
 as he resumed his seat. 
 
 " Do ?" ejaculated Garrhey. " But you have 
 not read the letter, sir !" 
 
 " I know its contents well enough," was the 
 reply, delivered in the same quiet tone as be- 
 fore. ' 
 
 For a moment Tim Gafihey knew not whether 
 
 he stood upon his head or his heels : but quickly 
 recovering himself, he said, " I suppose, sir, you 
 are not the gentleman who reads private letters of 
 that sort, and I must call again ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I am the gentleman — as you might 
 judge when I told you that I already t khew the 
 contents of the letter. Or else of course I should 
 have opened and read it." 
 
 "But there must be a mistake, sir !" continued 
 Tim. ' ' ' 
 
 " There is no mistake, my good man — unless it 
 be made by yourself." 
 
 "Beg your pardon, sir," persisted Tim ; " but 
 it is impossible that you can know the contents 
 of that letter !" 
 
 " To prove to you the contrary," rejoined the 
 elderly gentleman, who was very serious, but very 
 mild in his voice and look, " I need only mention 
 that the letter enjoins me not to ask you any 
 questions." 
 
 Tim Gaffney was thunderstruck: he literally 
 Staggered against the door-post : but quickly re- 
 covering himself, he said, " I wish you a very 
 good morning, sir:" — and he took his depar- 
 ture. 
 
 "Well?" said Jack Peppercorn, as he rejoined 
 his friend in the' street. "I see there's something 
 wrong, old feller, by your looks ?" 
 
 "Wrong?" echoed Tim savagely. "I'm done 
 as brown as ever I was in all my life ! But how 
 the deuce it could have happened, I can't for the 
 life of me conceive !" 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 We must now return to Alfred Trevor, whom we 
 left when he parted from the disguised lacty,- and 
 whom we represented as endeavouring to compose 
 his looks prior to rejoining his beloved Ethel at 
 the cottage. But in spite of all his attempts to 
 assume a mien which should have the effect of 
 alarming Ethel as little as possible, it was more 
 than human nature could achieve to avoid the 
 betrayal of some portion of the agitation which 
 shook him. 
 
 The young lady herself was waiting in the 
 garden for his return : she was a prey to the ut- 
 most suspense ; for visions of a duel — wounds^ — 
 , and perhaps death — were flitting through her 
 mind. The minutes seemed to be ages dragging 
 themselves past ! At length Trevor emerged from 
 the surrounding obscurity ; and Ethel flew to- 
 wards him. 
 
 " It is all settled, dearest !" he said. " Tou 
 have nothing more to apprehend on my account !" 
 
 Though the dusk was closing in, yet there was 
 sufficient light to show Ethel her husband's coun- 
 tenance ; and she saw that it was deadly pale. 
 She noticed moreover that he was all trembling ; 
 and the immensity of the love she bore for him, 
 had taught her so minutely to study his disposition 
 and character, that the slightest evidence of any 
 unusual feeling on his part was sure to be compre- 
 hended by her. 
 
 "Oh, Alfred!" she exclaimed, "I am afraid 
 that there has been a scene of violence — or else 
 
40 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, StEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 that the -worst is yet to happen, and you in your 
 kindness are concealing it from me ?" 
 
 " Believe me, Ethel — believe me, dearest ! when 
 I give you the solemn assurance that there will 
 be no duel ! ~So ! I swear to you that there will 
 not!" 
 
 Again were the beautiful arms wound about 
 Trevor's neck; and Ethel exclaimed in a tone 
 that was gashing with joy, " Oh, I believe you, 
 Alfred ! — and heaven be thanked that there is to 
 be no serious issue to the case !" But then as 
 she again saw how agitated he was, a sudden re- 
 ' vulsion in her feelings took place ; and she said in 
 a lower and more deliberate tone, "Tell me 
 •why you still seem unhappy — troubled; — dis- 
 tressed " 
 
 " Oh, Ethel dearest !" he cried, " is it possible 
 that I could know how you have been insulted 
 without experiencing a mingled indignation and 
 grief ? Would that I could be always with you 
 to protect you, my Ethel !" 
 
 " Think no more of it, Alfred !" she exclaimed 
 imploringly. " It is the first time such a thing 
 has ever happened ; and let us hope it will be the 
 last. Besides, you are with me now ; and while 
 you are present, I am always happy and think of 
 naught beside !" 
 
 " But I must leave you again to-morrow, Ethel 
 — I must leave you to-morrow !" 
 
 " To-morrow, Alfred ? Oh, I thought you told 
 me you had come back for several days ?" 
 
 " I had forgotten — or else you must have mis- 
 understood me. But I will be with you again 
 the day after to-morrow ; and then I promise you 
 I will make a long stay at the cottage ?" 
 
 " With this assurance I must content myself," 
 answered the loving creature. " But do tell me 
 once more — just once more, as a, last assurance — 
 that you are not going away to-morrow on ac- 
 count of anything connected with the unpleasant 
 occurrence of this evening ?" 
 
 " I repeat, dearest Ethel," emphatically re- 
 sponded Trevor, — " I repeat the solemn assurance 
 that there is to be no duel ! — nothing hostile of 
 any kind ! By the love I bear you, I swear that 
 thi9 is the truth ! I will just walk up as far as 
 the Red Lion, to order my horse to come and fetch 
 me at nine o'clock to-morrow morning, as I cannot 
 wait for the coach, because I wish to be in London 
 early ; and in that case I shall be all the more 
 certain to be enabled to return to you the day 
 after to-morrow." 
 
 Trevor imprinted a kiss upon Ethel's cheek, and 
 then again quitted the garden. She remained 
 walking there alone ; but in a few moments she 
 beheld some one stop at the gate, without however 
 entering the premises. A second glance showed 
 Ethel that it was the parish clerk, Mr. Hogben. 
 She at once accosted the old man, and wished him 
 " Good evening." 
 
 " Good evening, ma'am," he said. " The 
 flowers in your garding smells so nice that I 
 couldn't help stopping to scent 'em !" 
 
 " You ftre quite welcome to walk in," exclaimed 
 the amiable Ethel, " and pick as many flowers as 
 you like. It is early for them as yet : but still 
 there are some very pretty ones." , 
 
 " Thank'ee kindly, ma'am," rejoined the clerk : 
 " but my eyes is getting old, and I can't see the 
 flowers well by this light. Ah ! by the bye, 
 ma'am, did you observe that very nicely-dressed 
 
 young genelman, with the mustashes ? You met 
 him, you know, as you was taking your walk this 
 evening " 
 
 " I saw the person you allude to," answered 
 Ethel, in a, tone which immediately grew con- 
 strained. 
 
 " Well now, I dessay you didn't like the look 
 of him," ejaculated the old man, '' 'cause why he 
 wore a quizzing-glass and looked like a fop. But 
 I could tell you summut, which would make you 
 laugh rayther than think so serious of it. How- 
 somever, I mustn't do that I suppose !" — and yet 
 Mr. Hogben was burning with a desire to throw 
 off the statement from the tip of his tongue. 
 "Ah! what a many questions he did ask me 
 about Mr. Trevor and you !" 
 
 "About us ?" ejaculated Ethel, in astonishment 
 " Surely you must be making a mistake ; for his 
 conduct towards me was of a rudeness-^ — " 
 
 " Questions !" ejaculated the old man. " I 
 should rayther think he did put a power of ques- 
 tions ! He seemed to take a great interest iu 
 you " 
 
 " Enough upon this point," interrupted Ethel, 
 with a certain degree of severity in her tone. 
 " Did you not hear me say that he treated me 
 with rudeness ?" 
 
 The old man laughed outright ; but it was in a 
 very good-humoured way, so that Ethel was more 
 bewildered than offended. She could not possibly 
 conceive what was passing in Mr. Hogben's mind 
 to make him thus merry on such a subject. 
 
 " Well, I must tell you the Secret," he said, 
 "although I oughtn't to do it. But then, I des- 
 say she will never come into these parts 
 agauu " 
 
 " She ?" ejaculated Ethel " What mean 
 you ?" 
 
 " I mean just what I say, ma'am," replied the 
 old clerk, with another outburst of merriment ; 
 " it was no young spark at all ! It was a lady 
 dressed up !" 
 
 " A lady ?" echoed Ethel ; and her astonish- 
 ment was immense. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am — there's no mistake about it," pur- 
 sued Mr. Hogben. " But did you ever see any 
 one so neatly got up ? Suppose it was a play- 
 actress dressing for the stage, the thing couldn't 
 have been better done ! But she was no play- 
 actress, I'll be bound ! She was as reg'lar a lady 
 as you yourself are, ma'am. And pretty too ! 
 Why, she must be beautiful without them whis- 
 kers and mustashes ! But what on earth she 
 could have come into this neighbourhood for un- 
 less it was to make inquiries about Mr. Trevor and 
 yourself, I raly can't tell !" 
 
 At this moment a voice exclaimed, " Well, if 
 that isn't Uncle Hogben speaking, I never was ■ 
 more mistaken in my life !" 
 
 " Why, Sam ?" cried the old man ; " is it raly 
 you? My nevvy,^ ma'am," he added for the be- 
 hoof of Mrs. Trevor. 
 
 The new-arrival was a young man of about 
 one-and-twenty, and dressed in a plain genteel" 
 suit of black, so that he had the air of a gentle- 
 man's valet. He was good-looking and well 
 made ; and on perceiving a lady standing at the 
 gate, he made her a most respectful bow. 
 
 "I've got a week's ljoliday, uncle," he said, 
 " and I came down to father's at the Wells this 
 morning ; so I thought that this evening I would 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIRS OP A LADY Ot QUALITY. 
 
 41 
 
 ETHEL. 
 
 walk across and see you ; for I knew you'd give 
 
 me a bed " 
 
 " Aye — and a hearty welcome, Sam," exclaimed 
 the old man ; " for you are a good lad, and don't 
 spend your wages in fooleries and gallivanting* 
 about London. He's been upwards of two year, 
 ma'am," continued Mr. Hogben, again addressing 
 himself to Ethel, " in the service of a great rich 
 
 anblcman in London " 
 
 No. £. — ThS: Young Duchess. 
 
 " The Earl of Carshalton," interjected SanviaL 
 " He married the celebrated tragic actress Miss 
 Percy. Perhaps you may have heard of her, 
 ma'am ? He has only lately come into the title 
 of Carshalton. He is a good kind master- — and 
 as for the Countess, God bless her! everybody 
 speaks well of her !" 
 
 " I am glad," said Ethel, " that you are in so 
 good a situation." ' 
 
42 
 
 THE YOUGN DUCHESS ; OE, MEMOIBS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 She then moved away from the gate : but old 
 Mr. Hogben still lingered there — for he seemed 
 very proud of his nephew Samuel, and it was 
 with infinite delight he heard the young man talk 
 of the great people in whose service he was. 
 
 " By the bye, uncle, has Dr. Pickstock got any 
 person of rank staying with him? for I don't 
 know where else he could be stopping — unless he 
 may have walked or rode In from some noble*- 
 man's or gentleman's country-seat — — " 
 
 " Who are you talking about) Sam ?" inquired 
 the old man. " The wicar hasn't got no one stay- 
 ing with him." 
 
 " All I can tell you, uncle, is that at this pre- 
 sent moment there is a Duke in the village." 
 
 "A Dook?" ejaculated Mr. Hogben, in a species 
 of awful astonishment. 
 
 " Yes — a Duke," responded the nephew. "Lord 
 bless you, uncle ! to one who has lived in 
 London Dukes don't seem to be such very rare 
 things " 
 
 " And you mean to tell me, Sam," interrupted 
 the parish clerk, " that there is a rale living Dook 
 in our willage at this moment ? — a D°°k. of flesh 
 and blood — and he walking about on his two legs 
 like any other person? Or has the vaXfV.orks come, 
 and it's a Dook which travels in a carawah ?" 
 
 " No, uncle," pursued the nephew : " it is a 
 real living Duke — and you may see him with your 
 own eyes if you like." 
 
 " Well, I never did yet see a Dook to my know- 
 ledge," said the parish clerk. "I once saw a 
 whale at Ramsgate, and a boa constructor in a 
 travelling wan: but among other cur'osities I 
 " never did see a Dook. So come along, Sam ! — 
 But are you quite certain?" and Mr. Hogben 
 stopped short, after having got three or four paces 
 away from the gate. 
 
 " Certain, uncle ? Of course I am," exclaimed 
 the nephew. " The Duke is an intimate friend of 
 my master's ; he and the Duchess are often at 
 Carshalton House. Ah ! you should see the 
 Duchess, uncle ! They call her the Brilliant 
 Duchess. She is a splendid creature — with such 
 a profile ! — a clear complexion — light brown hair 
 — large blue eyesr " 
 
 Ethel heard no more ; for the parish clerk and 
 his nephew had now passed beyond earshot. She 
 could not help listening to the preceding colloquy 
 as far as it went, for there was something amusing 
 in the observations made by the old parish clerk ; 
 and a smile lingered on Ethel's lips as she resumed 
 her walk to and fro in the garden, until Trevor 
 made his appearance. They entered the elegantly- 
 furnished little parlour ; and Trevor, who was now 
 more composed than when he had set out on his 
 walk to the Ked Lion, began to converse in a 
 cheerful tone, as he and Ethel sat at the window, 
 which was wide open, with an array of beautiful 
 flowers upon the sill. 
 
 " I just now heard such an extraordinary state- 
 ment from the old parish clerk !" said Ethel, from 
 whose mind the laughable discourse about the 
 Duke had hitherto banished the intelligence re- 
 specting the disguised lady. 
 
 " Ah !" ejaculated Trevor, with a sudden start. 
 "What— what " 
 
 " Ah, now I am completely reassured with re- 
 spect to the young fashionable !" continued Ethel. 
 " But perhaps you made the discovery — perhaps 
 you knew " 
 
 "What? what?" inquired Trevor. "Do tell 
 me, dear Ethel !" 
 
 "It was a lady dressed up," she responded ; 
 " and Mr. Hogben has been telling me that the 
 disguised female made so many different inquiries 
 
 relative to you and me! But hush!" and 
 
 Ethel laid her fair hand upon Trevor's arm ; for 
 at that instant they caught the sounds of voices 
 speaking in the road outside the palings which 
 fenced the front part of the garden. " Hush, dear 
 Alfred !" whispered Ethel ; " it is old Mr. Hogbea 
 again — and he has got his nephew with him — 
 and I have been so amused by their discourse !" 
 
 "Let us shut the window, Ethel!" ejaculated 
 Trevor, somewhat impatiently. 
 
 " What f this beautiful evening ?" she gently 
 whisperetf,, ," I thought you liked the fresh air 
 —and the brilliant moonlight — and the fragrance 
 of the flowers " 
 
 " So I do, Ethel :'' — and Trevor who had started 
 up to close the casement, resumed his seat by 
 Ethel's side, so that the window still remained 
 open. 
 
 " I tell you, uncle, I could take my oath of 
 it !" one of the voices in the road was now heard 
 to say. 
 
 "That's the nephew speaking !" whispered 
 Ethel. " Now you will hear what the old man 
 
 has to say But Ah ! they are coming into the 
 
 garden !" 
 
 " What on earth can they want ?" exclaimed 
 Trevor, who by a variety of circumstances was 
 now goaded into a positive rage, for he had sud- 
 denly learnt to look upon the old parish clerk as 
 a mischief-maker and tale-bearer whom he alike 
 hated and dreaded- 
 He was rushing towards the door, when Ethel 
 caught him by the arm, saying, " Pray do not be 
 angry with the poor old man, Alfred ! He is 
 very harmless and good-natured ! I just now 
 gave him leave to walk in the garden to look at 
 the flowers, or to pick some if he liked " 
 
 " Tes — but one does not pick flowers at moon- 
 Eght !" ejaculated Trevor impatiently. " How- 
 ever, I will not interfere with those persons " 
 
 " No, no ! they will do no harm !" said 'Ethel 
 quickly. " Come back to your seat at the win- 
 dow." 
 
 Trevor accordingly suffered the amiable crea- 
 ture to lead him towards the open casement. 
 Then there was a hasty whispering of voices in 
 the garden ; but not another syllable could now 
 be caught of what was passing between Mr. Hog- 
 ben and his nephew ; and almost immediately 
 afterwards the sounds of their retreating footsteps 
 were heard, followed by the closing of the garden- 
 gate. 
 
 " I really should have been sorry," resumed 
 EtheL " if you had spoken harshly to the old 
 man. He is simplicity itself! Just now his 
 nephew was telling him that he had seen a Duke 
 in the village — and the old man was so anxious 
 to go and have a peep at the great personage — 
 
 and so they went away for the purpose It was 
 
 while you had gone up to the Red Lion to speak 
 about your horse for to-morrow morning " 
 
 " Ethel," said Trevor, suddenly starting up 
 from his seat, " I do not feel well this evening. I 
 don't know what it is — the atmosphere seems op- 
 pressive — I think there will be a storm " 
 
 " Oh, no," exclaimed the young lady ; " there 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESSJ OE, MEMOIRS OP A T.An Y OP QUALITY. 
 
 43 
 
 is an agreeable freshness in the air. Oh ! you 
 must indeed be unwell, dear Alfred, if you have 
 these sensations ! Will you retire to rest ?" 
 
 " No — I think I shall mount my horse " 
 
 " What ! at this hour?" ejaculated Ethel. 
 
 " Perhaps 4t would do me good. But no ! I am 
 better now ! Sit down, dearest. You are very, 
 very fond of me — are you not, dear Ethel ?" 
 
 " Ah, you know it ! you know it !" she ex- 
 claimed enthusiastically ; and she pressed his 
 head to her bosons " I have no thought on earth 
 but for you and our dear child !" 
 
 " Dearest, dearest Ethel !" — and Trevor strained 
 her to his heart. 
 
 When they retired to rest, Trevor's sleep was 
 troubled and uneasy ; and Ethel, who was 
 anxious on his account, and fancied that he was 
 not very well, lay awake to watch if there were 
 aught she could do for him. A light burnt in the 
 chamber : she bent over him — she contemplated 
 his countenance — and she saw that his features 
 were ever and anon convulsed as if they were re- 
 flecting the most troubled thoughts, or as if he 
 were under the influence of a painful dream. 
 Several times she was on the point of awaking 
 him, when he turned, and then for an interval he 
 slept more easily — until he gradually began to 
 grow agitated again. The perspiration stood 
 thick upon his forehead : Ethel wiped it away — 
 — she pressed her lips to that brow — and she let 
 him slumber on, for she thought it a pity to dis- 
 turb him. At length he slept tranquilly ; and 
 when the affectionate young lady became posi- 
 tively assured that he was no longer agitated, she 
 resigned herself to repose. 
 
 When they awoke in the morning, Ethel said 
 naught in respect to the troubled night which 
 Trevor had passed ; for as he made no complaint, 
 she thought it was not worth while to allude to 
 the circumstance. He partook of a hasty break- 
 fast : he affectionately embraced Ethel and the 
 child — and mounting his horse, which was ready 
 at the door, he rode away. 
 
 About an hour after his departure, a short, 
 stout gentleman, of unmistakable clerical ap- 
 pearance in respect to his apparel — with a very 
 red face, and a self-sufficient important air — en- 
 tered the garden of Dahlia Cottage. 
 
 " Good morning, madam," he said, in a cold 
 and constrained tone to Ethel, whom he beheld 
 seated at the window of the little parlour. 
 
 "Ah, Dr. Pickstock?" ejaculated the good- 
 tempered young lady, in a tone that implied a 
 cordial welcome. " Pray walk in and be seated. 
 Did you happen to wish to see Mr. Trevor ?" 
 
 " Well, madam," replied the clergyman, as he 
 took the seat that was offered him, " I did wish to 
 see the — the person who " 
 
 "You mean my husband?" said Ethel, sur- 
 prised by the singularity of the vicar's look and 
 manner, which she could no longer fail to notice. 
 " He left at about nine o'clock ; but he will 
 return to-morrow. Is there any particular busi- 
 
 " Madam," interrupted Dr. Pickstock, who now 
 thought it fit to assume the most awful air of in- 
 dignation, " I had better perhaps come to the 
 point at once, and tell you that everything is dis- 
 covered." 
 
 Ethel looked confounded ; — and indeed she was 
 so amazed and bewildered by such an ominous 
 
 declaration that she was utterly unable to give 
 utterance to a word. 
 
 " Yes, madam — I repeat, everything is disco- 
 vered ; and I cannot help feeling that I have 
 been made a dupe in a very unhandsome manner. 
 Nevertheless, I have no desire to create a scandal 
 and an exposure " 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried Ethel, now suddenly 
 recovering the faculty of speech : " what on earth 
 do you mean ?" 
 
 " It is useless for you to affect excitement or 
 ignorance," rejoined the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " You have been » party to a fraud 1 may 
 
 even call it forgery — for such indeed it must have 
 been " 
 
 " Dr. Pickstock !" exclaimed Ethel, starting up 
 with indignation from her seat. 
 
 " Come, come," he said ; " these airs will not 
 do with me. You must have supposed that the 
 truth would be sooner or later discovered — and 
 you cannot therefore have been altogether unpre- 
 pared for it. The forgery of such a certificate is 
 a very serious offence ; and his Grace, being a 
 legislator, ought to know it." 
 
 " Good heavens ! what do you mean ?" ex- 
 claimed Ethel, a vague terror seizing upon her. 
 
 "What! do I not speak sufficiently plain?" 
 said Dr. Pickstock, now irritated at what he con- 
 sidered to be the obstinate persistence of the 
 young lady in a course of hypocrisy and dupli- 
 city : " or do you wish me to tell you outright 
 that it is no longer a secret in the village that 
 you are the mistress of the Duke of Ardleigh ?" 
 
 For a few moments Ethel stood like one who 
 was suddenly smitten with idiocy: she stared 
 vacantly upon the clergyman as if she were still 
 at a loss to comprehend the full meaning of his 
 words. But all in an instant a light flamed up 
 in her brain — a thousand circumstances swept like 
 a hurricane through her memory — she saw it all 
 in a moment — and with a hollow groan she sank 
 down upon the carpet. 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 THE DUKE AND DUCHESS. 
 
 The young Duke of Ardleigh had succeeded to 
 the title in the year 1844 : that is to say, about 
 three years previous to the date whereof we are 
 writing. His mother, the Dowager Duchess, was 
 still alive ; but she had lost the use of her intel- 
 lects in consequence of an injury she had sus- 
 tained by the upsetting of her carriage some four 
 or five years previous to the time of which we are 
 now speaking. She resided altogether at Thorn- 
 bury Park, under the immediate care of a female 
 keeper; but the young Duchess, who had ever 
 shown the most affectionate sympathy towards 
 her afflicted mother-in-law, passed no inconsider- 
 able portion of her time at Thornbury in order 
 that she might bestow her attentions where they 
 were so much needed. The young Duke had 
 several brothers and sisters; and they likewise 
 dwelt for the most part at Thornbury, under the 
 care of a tutor and governess. We may as well 
 here add that there was no issue from the mar- 
 riage of the young Duke and Duchess. 
 
44 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 It was about two o'clock in the afternoon, and 
 the young Duchess was reclining upon a sofa in 
 her elegantly furnished boudoir. She was still 
 in a morning deshabilUe; and though looking 
 eminently beautiful, as usual, she had a certain 
 air of fatigue as if she had not passed much of 
 the preceding night in her couch. 
 
 The door of the boudoir opened; and her 
 Grace's principal maid — a handsome, genteel- 
 looking woman, whose age approached thirty — 
 made her appearance. She bore a silver salver, 
 on which rested a sealed packet; and this she 
 presented to the Duchess. 
 
 " Ah ! it is from the banker's !" said the bril- 
 liant lady, with a significant smile bent with 
 patronising familiarity upon her confidential 
 maid : then opening the packet, she examined its 
 contents. 
 
 The confidential maid waited with visible curi- 
 osity and suspense for farther intelligence from 
 the lips of her mistress ; and the Duchess all of a 
 sudden burst out into a laugh — not loud, but 
 nevertheless unmistakably genuine in the merri- 
 ment of its silvery tones. 
 
 " Only think, Lavinia !" she exclaimed ; "he 
 presented himself at the bank as soon as the doors 
 opened this morning " 
 
 " Indeed, my lady !" said the confidential maid, 
 — "but only to find himself outwitted?" 
 
 " Precisely so. Here is a note from the manag- 
 ing partner, who tells me what took place ; and 
 he has sent me back the note which I penned at 
 the mill. Ah ! it is an adventure which I shall 
 never forget as long as I live ! To think that I 
 should have after all succeeded in outwitting so 
 very cunning a person as Mr. Timothy Gaffney ! 
 How foolish he must have looked when the banker 
 gave him to understand that the order was not to 
 be cashed ! It seems that he at first thought there 
 ■was a mistake ; but when he could no longer con- 
 ceal from himself that by some means or another 
 he was baffled, he lost no time in beating a retreat 
 from the banker's private parlour." 
 
 " I am afraid that the man will owe your Grace 
 a serious grudge," said Lavinia ; " and he is 
 doubtless a very dangerous character. I should 
 not at all wonder if he keeps vehicles for hire at 
 Maidstone, merely that he may have the oppor- 
 tunity of robbing and murdering travellers whom 
 he undertakes to drive; and perhaps the old mill 
 has proved the scene of many a fearful crime." 
 
 " Very likely," said the Duchess ; " but it 
 proved the scene of a glorious triumph on my 
 part." Then, after a pause, the patrician lady 
 added, " Go and see, Lavinia, if his Grace has 
 arrived ; for if so, he may wish to speak to me." ■ 
 
 The maid quitted the boudoir ; and the Duchess 
 thought to herself, "I have no doubt that La- 
 vinia is dying with anxiety to learn why I under- 
 took that secret expedition into Kent, and why on 
 arriving at Maidstone I dressed myself in male 
 toilet, and leaving her behind, set out for Adding- 
 ton. Does she take it to be an idle freak? or 
 does she think that I was engaged in some love- 
 intrigue? Ah! she must fancy what she will: 
 but she shall not know the truth from my lips. 
 Besides, she is all discretion ; and so long as she 
 is well paid, she only uses her eyes, her ears, and 
 her lips, according to my bidding." 
 
 In a few minutes Lavinia returned to the bou- 
 doir, with the intimation that the Duke had just 
 
 arrived at Ardleigh House and would be with her 
 Grace in a few minutes. 
 
 " Tou can withdraw, Lavinia," said the 
 Duchess, with an air of seeming carelessness. 
 
 The confidential maid retired ; and in about five 
 minutes the Duke of Ardleigh entered the bou- 
 doir. He endeavoured to compose his features as 
 much as possible : but there was a certain under- 
 current, so to speak, of distress and suspense which 
 failed not to be fathomed by the scrutinizing re- 
 gard which his wife bent upon him. 
 
 " I promised to be with you to-day, Mary," he 
 said, taking a seat upon a chair near the sofa on 
 which she was half-reclining ; " and I have kept 
 my word. I can scarcely venture to ask upon 
 what terms we are to meet, because after the dis- 
 covery which you made last evening, I feel, as I 
 then said, that I am utterly in your power, and 
 must yield to whatsoever you may choose to dic- 
 tate. At the same time " 
 
 He stopped short : the Duchess waited for up- 
 wards of a minute to allow him an opportunity to 
 continue ; and then she coldly asked, " What 
 were you about to observe ?" 
 
 " Yon said something last evening," continued 
 the Duke, "in reference, to a paper which you 
 wished me to sign. Of course, whatever its na- 
 ture may be, I must submit. But I hope to God 
 that you meditate no step which may possibly 
 lead to an exposure before the world ! It would 
 do you no good — while on the other hand it would 
 brand the noble name of Ardleigh with infamy : 
 and my brothers and sisters who are growing up, 
 would have to blush for me. And then too, Mary, 
 you will remember the peculiar circumstances 
 under which I married you. You were a mother 
 — you had a child by another when I led you to 
 the altar — and this is the first time that I have 
 ever alluded to the fact during the four years that 
 we have now been united !" 
 
 "You have been generous, Herbert," replied 
 the Duchess ; " and therefore you may at once set 
 your mind at rest — for I intend to be equally ge- 
 nerous towards you. And yet I tremble on your 
 behalf! — for it is evident that you have perpe- 
 trated a, tremendous fraud towards the unfortunate 
 creature " 
 
 "Yes, yes — I have!" ejaculated the young 
 Duke : " but now that I am reassured in respect 
 to the mode in which you regard the discovery 
 you have made, I will take care to prevent expo- 
 sure in other quarters. — Answer me one word. 
 Do you intend to stipulate that I shall see Ethel 
 no more ?" 
 
 "You love her very much, Herbert?" inquired 
 the Duchess. 
 
 " Mary, you may conceive how much I love her 
 when in order to possess her I ran the fearful risk 
 of all the consequences attendant upon bigamy I 
 I was maddened and infatuated, — I was not the 
 master of my own actions — I would have sold my 
 soul to Satan sooner than have resigned that 
 beauteous girl! Ah! but perhaps you are of- 
 fended that I speak thus enthusiastically on a sub- 
 ject which is of course so painful to your own 
 feelings?" 
 
 " Speak candidly," said the Duchess. " Pro- 
 ceed — tell me all that is floating in your thoughts. 
 Our marriage was inauspicious, Herbert : it was 
 solemnized in the midst of a delusion. You be- 
 lieved that you loved me with a lasting fervour — 
 
THE YOUNQ DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 4» 
 
 whereas it was but a transient passion which you 
 experienced for me. And then, perhaps, the idea 
 was incessantly present in your mind that I had 
 borne a child to another " 
 
 " Ye3, Mary," interrupted Herbert ; " I did 
 think of all this ! — aye, I thought of it inces- 
 santly ! Yet I never once breathed a reproach 
 in your ear — and I exerted preterhuman efforts to 
 conceal what was passing in my own mind. I 
 could not be openly and flagrantly unjust towards 
 you ! I married you knowing all the circum- 
 stances of your previous career, and how you had 
 become the victim of the villain Edwin St. Clair. 
 And yet I did not less poignantly feel that I had 
 made an immense mistake in supposing that I 
 loved you with that enduring affection which jus- 
 tified me in making you my wife. I will confess 
 the truth — I was even afraid that I should learn 
 to hate you ; and I constantly strove to fix my 
 thoughts upon the good traits of your character 
 — upon your kindness towards my afflicted mother 
 as well as towards my brothers and sisters " 
 
 " But still, Herbert," interjected the Duchess, 
 " you could not forget those past circumstances to 
 which you have alluded? — you could not shut out 
 from your recollection that I had been an actress 
 upon the stage, and that I had become the victim 
 of an unprincipled ravisher ?" 
 
 " This is true, Mary ! this is true '." said Her- 
 bert, with a groan ; " and it was almost in a state 
 of mind bordering on desperation that I set off 
 with the intention of making a pedestrian tour 
 through some of the most picturesque counties 
 of England. It was under a strict incognito that 
 I entered upon my design ; and first of all I pro- 
 ceeded into Dorsetshire. I went not elsewhere 
 you now know how it was that the little vil- 
 lage of Southdale in that county became the centre 
 of all possible attractions for me " 
 
 "Who was this Ethel whom you love so 
 fondly ?" inquired the Duchess in a low tone. 
 
 " Her father was an officer in the East India 
 Company's service ; but she does not recollect 
 him — he died in her infancy, leaving a very 
 modest competency for his widow and his child. 
 Ethel'* mother was a good and prudent woman — 
 and she gave her daughter an excellent education. 
 She died a short time before I became acquainted 
 with Ethel ; and thus it was as an orphan 
 — in mourning — living by herself in a picturesque 
 cottage — without a relation in the world, though 
 with every one in that village ready to come for- 
 ward and succour her at the slightest intimation 
 that she stood in need of a friend, — yes, it was 
 thus that two years ago we met and — -But shall 
 I go on with this narrative ?" 
 
 " Yes — proceed," said the Duchess. " Now 
 that I know so much, I had better know all V 
 
 " I loved her at first sight and, Oh ! pardon 
 
 me, Mary, for adding that I then comprehended 
 what true love was ! It was a perfect dream in 
 which I was at first steeped. At length I was 
 awakened from that Elysian reverie by a well- 
 meant yet delicately-put query from the lips of 
 Mr. Miiner, the worthy old clergyman of South- 
 dale. He asked me what were my intentions to- 
 wards the beautiful orphan in whom every one 
 
 felt so deeply interested? Mary, I feel that 
 
 this must be a strange story for me, the husband, 
 to tell unto you, the wife " 
 
 "Proceed, Herbert — proceed," said the young 
 
 Duchess, with a look that was completely com- 
 posed, and in a voice which was mildly severe, 
 without the slightest accent of menace in it, and 
 even with a faint tincture of compassionate sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 "As I have said," pursued the Duke, "I was 
 suddenly startled from a dream. How was I to 
 act? I will tell you frankly that I thought of 
 making Ethel my mistress : I marshalled a thou- 
 sand reasons to tranquillize the scruples of my 
 conscience when deliberately making up my mind 
 to become her seducer. But I was deceived ; — 
 and I discovered that the most perfect innocence 
 may prove a woman's strongest defence. It was 
 so in that case. The devoted love which Ethel 
 bore for me, was not a weakness which might lead 
 to her fall — but it was a virtue in all its sublimest 
 chastity and grandest strength. Oh, pity me, 
 Mary ! pity me ! My God ! how I loved her ! 
 And therefore I married her— —or rather I should 
 say, I passed with her through a ceremony which 
 
 after all was only the mockery of a marriage ! 
 
 nay, more, a crime and an outrage — a dark dam- 
 nable villany on my part !" 
 
 The Duke of Ardleigh rested his elbows upon 
 his knees, buried his face in his • hands, and wept 
 and sobbed like a child. The Duchess — naturally 
 good-hearted, though her feelings and her prin- 
 ciples had been by circumstances much strained 
 and warped from even a period antecedent to her 
 marriage— could not help experiencing a deep 
 compassion for her husband. 
 
 "I do not mean to separate you from your 
 Ethel," she said. " You love her devotedly — and 
 you must not abandon her." 
 
 " Ah, Mary ! this is indeed most generous on 
 your part !" and the Duke made a motion as if lie 
 were on the very point of throwing himself at his 
 wife's feet. 
 
 "No, no, Herbert!" she hastened to interpose ; 
 " do not give me credit for too much genuine sin- 
 cerity and raagnaniraity in the present instance ! 
 My conduct is ' swayed only by selfish considera- 
 tions. In a word, if you are to do precisely what 
 you like in the world, you must not wonder if I 
 expect- " 
 
 "Ah!" — and the Duke started : but instanta- 
 neously recovering himself, he said meekly, " Yes, 
 I am in your power ; and I, the false unfaithful 
 husband, have no right' to hope or demand that 
 you shall continue the constant and faithful wife ! 
 From this moment forth, therefore, I renounce all 
 control over your actions. Nay, more — I even 
 thank you for leaving me at liberty to enjoy the 
 society of her towards whom I need not deem my- 
 self quite a villain so long as of my own accord I 
 do not neglect or abandon her !" 
 
 "We seem to be pretty well agreed," said the 
 Duchess, " in respect to our future arrangements. 
 All that I require from you, Herbert, is a letter 
 or document of some kind which will prevent you 
 from suddenly turning round upon me in case it 
 should please me to indulge in any little fantasy 
 not exactly compatible with the duties of a wife." 
 
 " Good heavens, Mary !" ejaculated the Duke, 
 with a mingled horror and disgust expressed upon 
 his countenance; "how coolly and deliberately 
 you allude to the subject, as if you had already 
 erred, or else had a lover ready to receive you in 
 his arms !" 
 
 " You have given me all the details of you. 
 
4G 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 bigamous connexion," replied the Duchess ; " and 
 it is not now for yon to play the part of a maudlin 
 sentimentalist." 
 
 The Duke coloured to the very hair of his 
 head ; and he looked profoundly humiliated. The 
 Duehess was perfectly composed. 
 
 "At all events, Mary," her husband presently 
 said, " let the compact between us — infamous as 
 it is — rest upon our mutual honour : but submit 
 me not to the degradation of signing with my own 
 hand a document which if it came before the 
 world, would brand us both with everlasting 
 shame !" 
 
 " I will take care of the document," said the 
 Duehess, calmly but resolutely. "Jt shall be 
 your fault if it ever come to the knowledge of the 
 world." 
 
 " Good heavens ! am I not already sufficiently 
 in your power ?" exclaimed the Duke. "Could 
 you not at the very first indication of hostility on 
 my part, — could you not, I ask, turn round upon 
 me and proclaim this bigamous connexion to 
 which you have so emphatically alluded?" 
 
 " Ethel may die, and then my hold over you 
 would cease," answered the DuGhess ; " whereas 
 on the other hand the first false step that I take, 
 leaves me everlastingly in your power. It is for 
 this reason that I demand the document." 
 
 The Duke made a gesture of ineffable disgust ; 
 but he was about to seat himself at a table where 
 there were writing materials, when Lavinia 
 entered the room, bearing a letter which she 
 presented to his Grace. He instantly recognised 
 the handwriting : he started as if a serpent had 
 stung him — a deadly pallor overspread his' coun- 
 tenance — and he reeled towards a seat. Lavinia 
 meanwhile had retired; or else she would have 
 marvelled how a mere glimpse of the superscrip- 
 tion of that letter could have produced upon her 
 ducal master an effect as terrible as if it were his 
 death-warrant which had met his view. 
 
 " You apprehend something ?" said the Duchess, 
 whose curiosity was much picpied. 
 
 " It is from Ethel," he answered, in a hollow 
 voice. " She evidently knows all — for this letter 
 is addressed to the Duke of Ardleigh !" 
 
 With trembling hands he opened it; and a 
 paper fell upon the carpet. He picked it up : it 
 was the marriage-certificate signed by the Rev. 
 Mr. Milner of Southdale. The contents of the 
 letter ran as follow : — 
 
 " The thunderstorm which for some hours had 
 seemed to be collecting above my head, has at 
 length burst. It would have proved overwhelm- 
 ing, were it not that God left me strength suffi- 
 cient to bear up against it for my poor child's 
 sake. Not a syllable of reproach will I address 
 to you : but we must never meet again. It was 
 my pride and happiness to be your's so long as 
 methought I was your's in all honour : but it 
 would be degradation and misery to continue 
 yours in dishonour. As I do not reproach you, 
 do not reproach yourself! Nay, more — I can for- 
 give you because I know that you love me. Yes 
 — you must have loved me, or you would not 
 have incurred the tremendous risk which you 
 have encountered. I enclose you this certificate 
 in order that you yourself may destroy a docu- 
 ment the existence of which places you in so 
 much peril. 
 
 " That you may.be made aware of the precise 
 extent to which the stupendous secret is known, 
 and that you may labour under no unnecessary 
 suspense on the point, I give you the ensuing in- 
 formation: — It appears that when Mr. Hogben 
 and bis nephew came back again to the garden 
 last evening, it was that the latter might obtain 
 another view of you and fully identify you to his 
 Uncle. The moonbeams played upon your coun- 
 tenance as you returned to the casement ; and- it 
 was sufficient. The clerk mentioned the discovery v 
 to his Vicar, Dr. Pickstock, who called upon me. 
 Between those three persons — the vicar, the clerk, 
 and the nephew — the secret rests. 
 
 "I have now no difficulty in conjecturing who 
 the disguised lady was. With her splendid figure 
 — with her handsome profile, ber clear complexion, 
 her light brown hair, and her large blue eyes — 
 who could that be but the brilliant Duchess ? I 
 entreat you to give such explanations as may 
 convince her Grace that I did not willingly and 
 wilfully offend against her. Let her be disarmed, 
 if possible, of angry feelings towards me; and, 
 Oh ! may she forgive you as sincerely as I have 
 already bestowed upon you my own pardon ! 
 
 "You will hear from me again in a few days, 
 when I hope to be enabled to give you one more 
 proof of the disinterested love that I have borne 
 you !— yes,- one last proof — and then farewell for 
 ever ! I beseech you to remain at Ardleigh House 
 until you receive the promised communication 
 from me." 
 
 There was no signature — and the letter was 
 dated from no place ; so that the half-distracted 
 Herbert could not even tell whether it was written 
 at Addington or in London, or elsewhere. All the 
 first part of the writing was firm and steady : but 
 the latter portion was tremulous — and there were 
 evidences that tears had been dropped upon the 
 paper. Oh ! the young Duke full well compre- 
 hended that these must have been scalding tears 
 of anguish ; and in the frightful vividness of his 
 fevered fancy they now seemed to be falling like 
 drops of boiling oil on his own brain and of 
 molten lead on his own heart ! 
 
 " My God !" he despairingly moaned ; " I am 
 righteously punished ! Look, Mary, look ! Could 
 you wish your most bitter enemy to endure ex- 
 cruciations more horrible than poor Ethel must 
 have felt when penning these lines — or tortures 
 more poignant than I have felt while reading 
 them ?" 
 
 The Duchess took the letter, and hastily ran 
 her eyes over its contents — while her husband 
 paced to and fro in the apartment like one who 
 was about to go mad. 
 
 " I must fly to her ! I must fly to her !" he 
 suddenly ejaculated: and he bounded towards 
 the door. 
 
 " Be not insensate, Herbert," cried the Duchess, 
 springing from the sofa and holding him back. 
 " You cannot expect her to be any longer at 
 Dahlia Cottage — and you assuredly do not hope 
 to_ fall in with her in the very first street of 
 this metropolis along which you may frantically 
 
 " True !" he ejaculated : and then wringing his 
 hands in despair, he cried, " Ethel, Ethel > and 
 my darling Alfred! Oh shall I never see ye 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY. OF QUALITY. 
 
 47 
 
 " I can tell you where to find them," said the 
 Duchess, coldly but confidently. 
 
 "You?" cried her husband, with a look of 
 mingled amazement and joy. 
 
 " Yes !" responded the Duchess. 
 
 "Then tell me— tell me— Oh! tell me, I be- 
 seech you !" 
 
 " Give me the document," she said, pointing to 
 the writing materials that were upon the table. 
 
 The Duke sat down, and hastily penned a few 
 lines upon a sheet of paper. 
 
 "There! will that do?" he demanded with 
 feverish impatience. 
 
 " Yes — that will do,'' said the Duchess. " Here, 
 take your Ethel's letter and the certificate." 
 
 " And now for heaven's sake tell me where I 
 shall find Ethel and my boy?" demanded Herbert, 
 thrusting into his pocket the papers which his 
 wife had just handed him. " Oh, tell me where I 
 shall find them!" 
 
 "At Southdale, to be sure," rejoined the 
 Duchess. 
 
 The Duke flung a look of earnest inquiry upon 
 her for a moment ; and then, as a light suddenly 
 flashed in unto his mind, he ejaculated, "Yes, 
 yes ! it must be so !" and he darted from the room. 
 
 Almost immediately afterwards Lavinia entered, 
 saying, " If you please, my lady, a Miss Hartland 
 wishes to speak to your Grace. 
 
 "I will receive her here," responded the 
 Duchess, with that air of seeming carelessness 
 and languid indifference which she was wont to 
 adopt when labouring to conceal a sudden pa- 
 roxysm of emotion. 
 
 Imogen was apparelled with that mingled 
 plainness and neatness which we have on a 
 former occasion associated with her walking- 
 dress; and her countenance was concealed by a 
 veiL When she was conducted into the boudoir 
 she waited until the maid had retired ere she 
 raised her veil ; and then it was with a frank 
 easy courtesy that she saluted the Duchess, — at 
 the same time saying, " It is precisely twelve days 
 since your Grace was at my humble abode ; and 
 you promised to communicate with me." 
 
 " Sit down, Miss Hartland," said the Duchess. 
 " You bade me use my own discretion and leisure 
 —and therefore I was not in any haste " 
 
 "Oh! I should have thought," exclaimed 
 Imogen, reproachfully, " that long, long ere this 
 you would have been in haste to embrace your 
 own offspring!" 
 
 " Hush, Miss Hartland ! hush ! The very walls 
 have ears !" interjected the Duchess, with affright 
 depicted on her features. 
 
 " I will not speak to your Grace another syl- 
 lable here on the subject, unless you give me per- 
 mission," answered Imogen, in a low tone. " On 
 the contrary, perhaps it would be much better 
 that the conversation should take place else- 
 where " " 
 
 " Yes — for heaven's sake let it be so !" cried the 
 Duchess, but likewise in a subdued voice. " I 
 am ' terrified to death — surrounded by domestics 
 as I am And then, too, if any one should re- 
 cognise you Not that I mean to give you any 
 
 offence — for I do not forget that I myself was 
 
 once upon the stage " yet a quick flush crossed 
 
 her Grace's features as she alluded to the fact : 
 " but it would seem so strange that you should 
 call upon me " 
 
 " I am not ill-natured," said Imogen quietly, 
 " and I would not wilfully do anything that shall 
 compromise your Grace: but there are reasons 
 why I wish to be honoured with a little conversa- 
 tion on a certain subject." 
 
 The Duchess opened a writing desk, and thence 
 drew forth a number of bank-notes : but Miss 
 Hartland shook her head impatiently, and said, 
 "No! my motives are not pecuniary ones. I 
 told your Grace the other day that I am not 
 selfish nor covetous. Name the time when you 
 will again honour me with your presence at my 
 abode — and I shall be satisfied." 
 
 The Duchess reflected for a few moments : and 
 then* she said, " If I come to you the day after 
 to-morrow in the evening, will you be at leisure 
 to receive me ?" 
 
 "The day after to-morrow in the evening I 
 shall expect your Grace," rejoined Imogen : and 
 again drawing down her veil, she took her leave 
 of the Duchess. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SOUTHDALE. 
 
 Great was the sensation which was excited in 
 the picturesque little village of Southdale, when 
 it was rumoured that the beautiful Mrs. Trevor, 
 who had gone away a bride from the place nearly 
 two years back, had suddenly returned to pay, as 
 it seemed, a flying visit to a spot which was sup- 
 posed to be endeared to her by so many associa- 
 tions. There she had passed the greater portion 
 of her existence : there she had first fallen in with 
 him whom she had accompanied to the altar : her 
 father and mother lay entombed in the church. 
 For all these reasons, therefore, it was considered 
 natural enough that she should find an oppor- 
 tunitv to revisit, if only for a few hours, the vil- 
 lage of Southdale. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor arrived in a postchaise ; and she 
 alighted at the only inn the village could boast of. 
 She was attended by the nursemaid, who carried 
 her infant boy. The landlord and landlady of 
 the little hostelry, who had known Ethel from her 
 childhood, were delighted to see her ; and they 
 lost not a moment in putting the kindest inquiries 
 in reference to Mr. Trevor. Ethel possessed the 
 most perfect control over her feelings ; for there 
 are certain circumstances in which the most deli- 
 cate natures are enabled to arm themselves with 
 a panoply which but a short time back they 
 might have fancied that they were but little able 
 to bear. She replied with a smiling countenance 
 to all the questions that were thus put to her : she 
 gave her querists to understand that Mr. Trevor 
 was perfectly well, but that press of business had 
 prevented him from accompanying her into Dor- 
 setshire. 
 
 It was yet early in the evening when the young 
 lady arrived at Southdale ; and after partaking of 
 some little refreshment, she set off to call upon 
 her kind friends Mr. and Mrs. Milner. Little 
 Alfred was asleep, and was accordingly left in the 
 care of the nursenjaid, who was faithfully devoted 
 to Ethel and by no means prone to gossiping : she 
 was not therefore likely to state at the inn that 
 she knew there was something wrong in respect to 
 
48 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Trevor, though she was ignorant of 
 the precise circumstances. 
 
 Ethel reached the parsonage ; and she found 
 Mr. and Mrs. Milner walking together in their 
 garden. They were an elderly couple, with bene- 
 volent countenances, which were correct indices to 
 the reading of their hearts. They had no children ; 
 their love for each other was proverbial ; and they 
 were revered throughout the neighbourhood. 
 
 "Why! I do believe this is that dear Ethel 
 Eraser !" ejaculated Mrs. Milner : " or Mrs. Trevor, 
 as I ought to call her !" 
 
 " And so it is;" added the worthy clergyman. 
 
 In a few moments Ethel's hands were warmly 
 clasped by the friends whom she had thus come 
 to visit j and when she shed tears, they naturally 
 thought it was only through affectionate emotion 
 at this meeting. 
 
 " Welcome once more to Southdale !" said the 
 worthy couple. 
 
 "You look travel- worn, Ethel," added Mrs. 
 Milner. " Pray walk in." 
 
 " Oh ! I am not at all wearied," she said. " I 
 rested myself at the inn — : — " 
 
 "What! you have put up, at the inn," ejacu- 
 lated Mr. Milner, " instead of coming straight to 
 lis ?" 
 
 "It is a mere flying visit — and I am going 
 away to-morrow. Besides, I have my servant 
 and my little one with me " 
 
 " Well, Ethel, I suppose you must have your 
 own way if you choose," said Mrs. Milner. " And 
 now tell me, my dear young friend — are you quite 
 happy with Mr. Trevor ? Let me see, what was 
 his Christian name ? Alfred to be sure !" 
 
 " I am perfectly happy," replied Ethel, with a 
 smile that was apparently all cheerfulness, while 
 the heart internally was almost ready to burst. 
 
 " He is very much occupied at this moment 
 
 indeed he is away from home ; and so, as I was 
 on a visit to some acquaintances at Southampton, 
 I thought I would come on as far as Southdale to 
 see my old friends." 
 
 , " And you are truly welcome," said the Mil- 
 ners, again pressing her hands in their own. 
 
 "And then too," added Ethel, "I had lost my 
 marriage certificate by some accident or another 
 — I only discovered it the other day " 
 
 " There is no harm done," said Mr. Milner : 
 " you can easily have another copy. I am glad 
 to see you are so particular in the matter. Mar- 
 ried people should always have a copy of the cer- 
 tificate which in this sense proves their respec- 
 tability." 
 
 "And moreover," added Ethel, " I thought I 
 should like to take another peep into the village 
 church " 
 
 "You shall speedily be gratified, my dear girl," 
 rejoined the clergyman. 
 
 " And while you are thus engaged," said Mrs. 
 Milner, " I will see that the tea-things are got in 
 readiness; for we must entertain you, Ethel, as 
 well as we can." 
 
 Mr. Milner procured the key of the chest in 
 which the parish registers were kept; and he 
 escorted Ethel to the church. They entered : and 
 the young lady made her way first of all to the 
 spot where a mural tablet indicated the resting- 
 places of her parents, Captain and Mrs. Eraser. It 
 would be impossible to describe the perfect agony 
 of feelings which 'for a few moments took posses- 
 
 sion of the unfortunate Ethel as she contemplated 
 the spot : but she was still armed with that for- 
 titude which prevented her from displaying more 
 than an ordinary amount of emotion. 
 
 She drew her kerchief across her eyes, and then 
 followed Mr. Milner towards the vestry. There 
 the massive chest was opened ; and Mr. Milner, 
 seating himself at the table, proceeded to write out 
 a copy of the marriage-certificate. 
 
 "Surely that is Mrs. Milner's voice?" said 
 Ethel, as the old gentleman laid down the pen and 
 closed the massive register. 
 
 " I did not hear anything," he replied, looking 
 at Ethel. 
 
 " Oh ! I heard a voice as distinctly as possible," 
 she answered, with an air of confidence ; " and it 
 was .calling you. I am certain it was Mrs. Mil- 
 ner's voice !" 
 
 " We can soon see," said the clergyman ; and 
 he walked forth from the vestry. 
 
 He went as far as .the, door leading into the 
 churchyard; but perceiving no one, he returned, 
 and found Ethel just replacing the last register in 
 the chest. 
 
 " My dear young lady !" he exclaimed ; " hand- 
 ling those dusty books ! . I am really quite, 
 ashamed that you should have the trouble !" 
 
 " Oh, no trouble !" she said, with an amiable 
 smile. " But where is Mrs. Milner ?" 
 
 ", It was a mistake on your part, Ethel. You 
 heard no voice- " 
 
 " Indeed?" she exclaimed, looking surprised. 
 
 " No — it was fancy on your part perhaps 
 
 some echo through the church. Have you got 
 the certificate ?" 
 
 " Thank you, I have taken possession of it :" 
 — and a strange expression of sinister triumph for 
 a moment flitted across the young lady's coun- 
 tenance : but it passed completely unperceived 
 by the worthy clergyman. 
 
 They quitted the church, and retraced their 
 way to the parsonage, — where in the meanwhile 
 Mrs. Milner had made the most hospitable pre- 
 parations for the entertainment of Ethel. They 
 sat down to tea : but they had not been many 
 minutes thus engaged, when a servant entered 
 with an intimation that Farmer White from the 
 neighbouring village of Cherry-tree requested to 
 speak to Mr. Milner. The clergyman accordingly 
 rose from his seat to go out and see Mr. White in 
 the hall : but in a few moments he returned, 
 saying, " You must excuse me for a few minutes : 
 Farmer White wants a certificate of his son 
 George's marriage : for George expects to obtain 
 the situation of bailiff to Squire Ponsford, and 
 the testimonials must all be sent in to-morrow." 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Mrs. Milner to her hus- 
 band, " you can easily spare five minutes to give 
 the certificate — and Ethel will excuse you the 
 while." 
 
 " Oh, I was not thinking of refusing — nor do I 
 grudge the time," exclaimed the kind-hearted 
 Mr. Milner : " but I was going to observe how 
 singular it was that the very next entry to your's, 
 Mrs. Trevor, in the register is the marriage of 
 George White. I saw it just now as I was making 
 the copy for you." 
 
 Having thus spoken, the clergyman again 
 quitted the apartment ; and he was soon seen from 
 the window traversing the garden in company 
 with Farmer White. So soon as the two had en- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 49 
 
 tered the churchyard, Ethel started up from her 
 seat, saying, " I am sure you will excuse me, my 
 dear madam : but I fear I have neglected my poor 
 child too long !" 
 
 "Why, you cannot think of leaving me at this 
 moment?" cried Mrs. Milner. " Ydu have scarcely 
 had time to drink a cup of tea or eat a mouth- 
 ful " 
 
 " I have forgotten the poor child," said Ethel 
 hastily. " I Trill just run into the village " 
 
 " I will send a servant with an intimation that 
 your maid is to bring your dear little Alfred 
 hither. You promised that I should see the sweet 
 child !" 
 
 " Oh, I will go and fetch him myself !" — and 
 with this ejaculation Ethel threw on her bonnet 
 and scarf, which she had placed upon the sofa ; 
 and she sped from the room. 
 
 Taking leave of Ethel for a few minutes — and 
 abandoning Mrs. Milner to the surprise which 
 No. 7. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 her young friend's precipitate departure excited in 
 her mind — we must now note other incidents 
 which were occurring in respect to the village of 
 Southdale. A stage-coach halted at the door of 
 the inn ; and two travellers alighted from the top. 
 Both were dressed in a sort of sporting style ; and 
 their appearance was not such as to induce the 
 landlord of the tavern to let them run very far 
 into his debt unless they presented the guarantees 
 of substantial luggage. But all the baggage 
 which these two individuals had brought with 
 them, consisted of a small carpet-bag. They 
 however changed a five-pound note as they each 
 took a glass of ale at the bar, and made inquiries 
 whether they could be accommodated with beds at 
 the inn for the night. The landlord was com- 
 pletely reassured by the production of the note ; 
 and he replied in a cheerful tone to the effect that 
 he was enabled to accommodate the travellers. 
 Having quaffed their ale, they strolled forth into 
 
50 
 
 THE YOUSG DOCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 the village ; and one said to the other, " What a 
 lark this is, Jack ! Only think ! yesterday morn- 
 ing in London — this evening herein a little willage 
 at the farther end of Dorsetshire !" 
 
 " A lark indeed, Tim!" replied Mr. Peppercorn 
 to the observation just made by his friend Mr. 
 Gaffney. "And what a blessed thing it was that 
 this here business should have turned up directly 
 after you was so preciously cast down about the 
 affair at the bank I" 
 
 Tim Gaffney was about to make a reply, when 
 the sounds of another equipage rolling into the 
 usually quiet little village of Soujshuale, met then- 
 ears. It was a postchaise^-and a single traveller 
 was seated inside. 
 
 . " By Jove, I know who he is !" enclaimed Tim 
 Gaffney, as the chaise swept past. " Travelling 
 private — incog., I s'pose, as they call it. But let'a 
 go and see." 
 
 "Who is it?" demanded Jack Peppercorn. 
 " Don't let's go and neglect other business just to 
 gape at a traveller getting down at an inn. Re- 
 member, we ought to go and take a survey of the 
 Firs " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you fool !" rejoined Tim 
 Gaffhey. " This sweU cove is a Duke, and how 
 do we know but what it may be worth our while 
 to look after him as well as t'other business?" 
 
 "By jingo, yes !" exclaimed Peppercorn; and 
 they accordingly bent their steps back again to- 
 wards the tavern. 
 
 It was the young Duke rf Ardleigh who ajighted 
 from the postetiaise; and the landlord at once 
 coming forth,' exclaimed with mingled joy and 
 astonishineut, "Why, Mr. Trevor, is it you? 
 Tour gooc! lady will be surprised ! I hope nothing 
 has happened that you come so quickly upon her 
 heels? — but I'm sure she no more Expects you 
 than I should expect Squire Poasford's daughter 
 to come in and ask for a quartern of gin and a 
 screw of tobacco." 
 
 "Ho — nothing is wrong, Mr. Goodman," said 
 the Duke. "And so my wife — Mrs. Trevor — is 
 here? And the child * 
 
 " Here also," replied the landlord. 
 
 " The beautiful infant is sleeping so nice, Mr. 
 Trevor !" cried Mrs. Goodman, the worthy land- 
 lady, who now came hurrying down the stair- 
 case. 
 
 " Up here?" — and Herbert rushing past the 
 landlady, sprang up the staircase. 
 
 He opened the first door at random, for he was 
 in a state of considerable excitement ; and it hap- 
 pened to be the room where his little son lay 
 sleeping upon a sofa, with Susan the nursemaid 
 seated by the side. As we have already hinted, 
 Susan knew that something serious must have 
 happened between her master and mistress, but 
 she was ignorant of the particulars, and little sus- 
 pected that the former bore a ducal rank. She 
 had however learnt from Ethel's lips that every- 
 thing was at an end between herself and her hus- 
 band, and that they should never meet again ; so 
 that Susan started up from her chair with an eja- 
 culation of astonishment— almost of alarm — when 
 her master thus abruptly burst in upon her. 
 
 " Where is your mistress, Susan ?" — and catch- 
 ing up the child, he strained it to his breast, so 
 passionately covering it with kisses that being 
 awakened from its skep it began to cry. 
 
 Susan quickly gave the intimation that Mrs. 
 
 Trevor had gone to see the Milners ; and the eja- 
 culation "Ah!" burst from his lips in a manner 
 as if to imply "that a suspicion he had previously 
 conceived was now suddenly confirmed by the in- 
 formation just given. Hastily restoring his little 
 Alfred to the sofa, and imprinting another kiss 
 upon the boy's forehead, the Duke left the room 
 almost as abruptly as he had entered it. 
 
 Meanwhile Tim Gaffney and Jack Peppercorn 
 had overheard the conversation which had taken 
 place betwixt the Duke, the landlord, and the 
 landlady, immediately after the young nobleman 
 had alighted from the postchaise. 
 
 " By goles !" whispered Gaffney to his compa- 
 nion, " this is a rum start ! Mr. Trevor — his wife, 
 Mrs, .Trevor — and the child ! Oh, ho ! his Grace 
 must have a mistress, then ! Let's see about it." 
 
 They advanced to the bar and ordered fresh 
 glasses of ale. 
 
 " Who is that genelman that's just arrived ?" 
 inquired Gaffney. 
 
 " Oh, that's Mr. Trevor," responded the land- 
 lord. 
 
 "Married I suppose by what I heard him 
 say?" 
 
 " Yes — married to as pretty a creature as you 
 could see in a day's march. She lived many 
 long years in this village, at the very cottage you 
 might have seen just at the entrance as you came 
 along on the outside of £he coach." 
 
 " To be sure, we noticed fi '.J? pbserved Pepper- 
 corn. " But who is Mr. Trevor 7" 
 
 " I don't know exactly," rejoined Mr. Good- 
 man, " but I think I've heard say he was junior 
 partner in a mercantile house in London." 
 
 " Oh, pardner in a mercantile house— eh ?" ob- 
 serve^ Urn Gaffney. "Well, but where did he 
 marry> the young lady you was a-speaking of?" 
 
 "Where did he marry her?" exclaimed the 
 landlord, with an air of surprise at the question. 
 " Why where the deuce should he marry her but 
 here where she had lived so many years— 
 where her father and mother was buried in 
 the old church— and where she was honourably 
 wooed and won by him who is now her husband ? 
 I remember the wedding-day — it was all very 
 quiet and private — but a prettier creature than 
 Ethel Eraser was that morning, I never saw in 
 all my life !" 
 
 "Awerry pretty sight, I des say," observed 
 Tim Gaffney: and tossing off the contents of his 
 glass, he again issued forth from the tavern, ac- 
 companied by his friend Mr. Peppercorn. 
 
 They walked on in silence till they reached the 
 outskirts of the village nearest to the church ; and 
 then Tim Gaffney, stopping short, looked hard in 
 his companion's face, and said, " Jack, if all this 
 is true that the landlord has told us, we've just 
 tumbled over a secret that will make our for- 
 tunes." 
 
 "Why, it's nothing but a secret marriage — 
 that's all," interjected Peppercorn. 
 
 "You fool !" cried Gaffney ; " it's no marriage 
 at all ! — it's bigamy ! — that's the Duke of Ard- 
 leigh, that is ! — he's been married some years and 
 got a Duchess living in London. So don't you 
 see " 
 
 " By jingo, I do Bee !" ejaculated Peppereorn. 
 " Why, it ought to be worth a thousand pounds 
 apiece to us. Surely the landlord can't have 
 made any mistake about the wedding?" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ! OR, MEHOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 51 
 
 returned Gaffney. "There is 
 evidently something up, though the landlord 
 .don't seem to suspect it. Mrs. Trevor, as she 
 ■calls herself, comes down first : then the Duke 
 —or Mr. Trevor, as he calls himself — comes 
 next " 
 
 " Here he is !" ejaculated Peppercorn. " Now's 
 the time, Tim!" 
 
 The Duke of Ardleigh was hastening through 
 the village in the direction of the Parsonage : he 
 pbserved the two men loitering by the side of the 
 road, but little suspected that they would have 
 anything to say to him — until Tim Gaffney 
 stepped forward, and touching his hat, said with 
 a knowing look, * How d'ye do, my lord ?" 
 
 The Duke stopped short for a moment.: he 
 scrutinized Gaffney's face — then he surveyed the 
 countenance of Peppercorn ; but he could not re- 
 collect that he had ever seen either of them be- 
 fore. He was confounded by being thus accosted 
 by persons who evidently knew him. And the 
 significant glance which had been bent upon him 
 by Tim Gaffney showed how useless it would be 
 to deny himself and thus perhaps provoke an 
 altercation. 
 
 "Who are you?" inquired Herbert, speedily 
 recovering himself. 
 
 " My name's Timothy Gaffney, at your service, 
 my lord ; and this is my friend Mr. Peppercorn 
 —Jack Peppercorn I calls him — also at your 
 Grace's service." 
 
 The Duke felt infinitely disgusted at the half 
 flippant, half familiar manner in which the fellow 
 addressed him : but as he suddenly recollected 
 that he had seen the two men lurking at the door 
 of the inn when he had alighted, he a.% once per- 
 ceived how absolutely necessary it was to pro- 
 pitiate and to silence them. 
 
 " Where have you seen me before ?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "At Maidstone t'other day," responded Gaffney. 
 " I was standing by when you bought a couple of 
 horses of one Manning " 
 
 " Ah !" said the Duke. " Well— proceed." 
 
 "Tour Grace gave Manning a cheque; and 
 when you was gone Manning says to me, says he, 
 'Tim, should you like to see a Duke's hand- 
 writing 2' — 'Why?' says I. — 'Because,' says he, 
 ' here it is ; for that civil and polite young genel- 
 man which has just bought the horses, is none 
 other than the Duke of Ardleigh, and here's his 
 cheque upon his bankers in London.'— So that's 
 the way, my lord," added Tim Gaffney, with a bow, 
 " that I come to know you was the Duke of Ard- 
 leigh." 
 
 "Very well,, my man," said Herbert. "Have 
 you mentioned the fact to any one else ?" — and 
 it was with an indescribable suspense that the 
 nobleman put the question. 
 
 " Only to my pal here,, my lord." 
 
 "Good! It is a secret — and you two will 
 keep it between you, because I shall reward you 
 handsomely. How long do you purpose to stay 
 atSouthdale?" 
 
 " Why, my lord, we've a, little business which 
 will keep us here till to-morrow morning perhaps," 
 replied Gaffney ; " but if it suits your Grace's 
 pleasure that we should stay longer, till you have 
 
 got time to talk to us for instance " 
 
 " I. will make time to see you, presently," in- 
 terrupted the Duke. " But you will not seem to 
 
 know me — and above all things, be silent if you 
 wish to be well rewarded !" 
 
 "Mum's the word, my lord:" and Tim Gaff- 
 ney, turning on his heel, strolled back; into the 
 village, accompanied by Jack Peppercorn. , 
 
 " My God !" mentally ejaculated the. Duke, as 
 he hurried along towards the Parsonage ; " how 
 the web of difficulties and embarrassments seems 
 to be, closing in around me ! , At every step that 
 I take it appears as if I was destined to flounder 
 deeper and deeper into an inextricable morass! 
 Good heavens ! what will be the end of it ? Oh, 
 when once we enter upon the path of deception, 
 how many more falsehoods and duplicities must 
 be adopted to sustain the first !" 
 
 An expresssion of indescribable anguish swept 
 over his countenance as these reflections passed 
 rapidly through his brain ; and then all in a mo- 
 ment he gave a cry of joy, for he beheld Ethel 
 speeding towards him. She had left the Par- 
 sonage in the precipitate manner which we have 
 described ; — and now on the part of the young 
 Duke everything was forgotten-^or at least almost 
 completely absorbed, in the thought of straining 
 that beloved creature to his heart again. 
 
 "Ethel! dearest Ethel!"- he exclaimed, ex- 
 tending his arms to receive her. 
 
 "No! no!" and as she stopped short within 
 half a dozen yards of him, it was with a. sort of 
 horror that she made a vehement gesture to repel 
 his advance. 
 
 " Oh, my God, Ethel !" he cried, " drive me 
 not to despair !" 
 
 "Despair?" and no language can convey an 
 idea of the forlorn and desolate expression that 
 for a moment seized upon her countenance, which 
 from having been flushed with excitement, sud- 
 denly grew deadly pale. '•' But here ! take these ! 
 destroy them, I conjure you !" 
 
 " Oh, what have you done, Ethel !'' exclaimed 
 the Duke, as she produced a folded piece of paper 
 from her bosom. " My God ! it is as I suspected! 
 
 Tou have come to destroy the last trace " 
 
 "Yes— -the last trace of everything that can 
 criminate you .'" said Ethel, emphatically. 
 
 " Not for worlds shall you run this frightful 
 risk !" eried the Duke. 
 
 "Ah! say you so?" — and at the very instant 
 when he was about to snatch the folded paper 
 from her hand, she tore it into a myriad of the 
 minutest fragments, and flung them into the 
 stream which flowed by the road side. It was 
 all the work of an instant : it was done in the 
 twinkling of an eye ; and then, as if the whole 
 concentration of tremendous excitement which 
 the young lady had experienced were now sud- 
 denly ended by the deed she had accomplished, 
 she said calmly, "Tou are safe.! Go — leave 
 me ! Tou have naught to apprehend on the face 
 of the earth !" 
 
 The magnanimity of Ethel's conduct produced 
 such an overwhelming effect upon the Duke, 
 that he burst into a flood of tears and- began sob- 
 bing violently. A fearful remorse seized upon 
 his sold — a remorse that was likewise blended 
 with a boundless love for that adorable creature. 
 Oh, how his. heart yearned towards her ! how he 
 longed to strain her to his breast ! 
 
 " My God, Ethel !" he murmured, " how 
 utterly unworthy of all your affectionate interest 
 have I been ! Do not go ! do not leave mo I" 
 
52 
 
 THK YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " Why did you come to Southdale ? Did I 
 not charge you in my letter to remain at your 
 own house until you heard from me ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I suspected that you were coming 
 hither," he passionately exclaimed ; " and I has- 
 tened to follow you ! I cannot possibly live with- 
 out you !" 
 
 " I may not listen to such language as this : " 
 and she spoke coldly and severely ; but her's was . 
 an unnatural calmness — for while her looks main- 
 tained a forced rigidity, her heart was ready to 
 burst with the volcanic emotions that filled it. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, hear me !" cried the 
 Duke: " hear me, by all the love you have 
 bome me ! by the love I bear for you ! hear me, 
 for the sake of our child !" 
 
 Elihel started visibly : but instantaneously re- 
 pressing the outward betrayal of her emotion, she 
 said, " Have you seen our — the child?" 
 
 " Our child, our child!" cried the Duke. 
 " Yes ! — and I have covered the dear boy with 
 kisses ! Oh, Ethel ! you will not separate him 
 
 from his father ! My wife start not ! — Oh, 
 
 do not bend upon me that look so forlorn — so de- 
 solate ! ' Listen, Ethel — listen ! All is not so bad 
 as you think! My wife's conduct is most ad- 
 mirable ! She will never interfere with us — she 
 will allow us. to live together unmolested " 
 
 " Enough ! enough !", almost shrieked Ethel. 
 " Speak not thus — or you will force me to break a 
 vow which I have solemnly taken within my own 
 heart ! You will make me reproach you. Sooner 
 would I perish than live with you .as your mis- 
 tress ! — sooner would I die than wilfully become 
 the paramour of an adulterous husband ! No ! 
 no ! — not all my love for you could induce me 
 thus to plunge deeper down into the vortex of 
 degradation and misery ! Leave me, I conjure 
 you!" 
 
 "Never, never will I leave you, Ethel !" ex- 
 claimed Herbert, goaded almost to madness, 
 " until I shall have succeeded in shaking a re- 
 solve which can only tend to entail eternal 
 misery on us both !" 
 
 " Oh ! if you detain me here, you will bring 
 utter destruction on my head !" cried EtheL " Let 
 me hasten to depart from the village ! If you 
 knew the risk that I ran " 
 
 " Risk ? My God ! I comprehend it !" ex- 
 claimed the Duke, literally wringing his hands in 
 the wild frenzy of his affliction. " Fly, Ethel ! 
 fly ! But, Oh ! let me be the companion of your 
 flight !" 
 
 " It is too late," she said, again displaying 
 that cold unnatural calmness which we have 
 before noticed. " Look ! they come. Let them 
 do their work — I shall deny it — and you will not 
 betray me." 
 
 The Duke glanced in the direction of the Par- 
 sonage ; and he beheld three personages approach- 
 ing with hasty footsteps. Nothing could exceed 
 the terrible excitement that seized upon him as 
 he judged from Ethel's words the danger that was 
 now threatening her. 
 
 " Fly, fly, dearest !" he frantically exclaimed. 
 
 "If you ever loved me," she said, in a tone of 
 the most imploring earnestness and with a look of 
 the most appealing entreaty, " I adjure you to be 
 calm ! If you value my safety, I beseech you to 
 afford me the only chance of ensuring it, by 
 talcing refuge in utter and complete denial of the 
 
 deed ! Act thus for the sake of that love whereby 
 I have adjured you !" 
 
 " Ethel ! I am almost heartbroken !" responded 
 the wretched young nobleman ; " but I will 
 do as you desire ! your words shall be laws for 
 me!" 
 
 The three persons who came from the direction 
 of the Parsonage, were now close upon the spot : 
 they were the clergyman, Farmer White, and 
 Gibson the parish sexton. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Trevor! Oh ! Mr. -Trevor !" crieif 
 the worthy' Milner, overwhelmed with grief, and 
 the tears were running down his cheeks ; "is it 
 possible that you, Ethel, could have done this ? 
 In the name of mercy what motive had you ? 
 But give up the abstracted leaf, and the matter 
 shall be hushed up !" 
 
 " There is no matter to be hushed up wherein I 
 may be concerned," answered EtheL 
 
 " Mr. Trevor, I adjure you," said the worthy 
 and afflicted clergyman, drawing the Duke aside, 
 " if you' for any reason have influenced your wife 
 in this unhappy proceeding " 
 
 " Mr. Milner," interrupted Ethel, whose quick 
 ear had caught the kind old gentleman's words, 
 " as there is «, God above us, and as I have a 
 soul to be saved, I swear to you that Mr. Trevor 
 has in no way influenced, directly or indirectly, 
 any proceeding which I have adopted or which 
 you may suppose that I have adopted. Accuse 
 not therefore hi/ml But if you think me guilty of 
 anything, deal with me as you fancy I ought to 
 be dealt with. Ah ! I will add something more — 
 and to the truth of this assertion also I invoke the 
 testimony of heaven. It is that methought I was 
 coming secretly and stealthily to Southdale, with- 
 out Trevor's knowledge Indeed I wrote him a 
 
 letter while he was in London, in the hope of 
 throwing him as it were off the right scent : but 
 by some means, as yet unknown to myself, ' he 
 suspected that I was coming hither, and he fol- 
 lowed me. All that I have just told you, Mr. 
 Milner, is as true as the Gospel ; and therefore, I 
 repeat, deal with me only, if there be any one to 
 be dealt with !" 
 
 While Ethel was thus speaking, Mr. Milner 
 studied her countenance attentively, and when 
 she had finished, he again turned aside to the 
 Duke of Ardleigh, hastily whispering, " Can it be 
 an aberration of the intellect ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! it is !" quickly responded the young 
 nobleman, seizing upon the idea with avidity. 
 " I have often thought she was deranged !" 
 
 Though both the clergyman and the Duke 
 spoke in the lowest possible tones, yet Ethel 
 heard what passed betwixt them. This time, 
 however, she did not think fit to interpose any re- 
 mark or offer any observation. 
 
 "Mr. Trevor," said the clergyman, bending 
 upon Ethel a look of so much distress and sym- 
 pathy that if he had been her own father he 
 could not have displayed more suffering on her 
 account, " this is a most unfortunate affair ! By 
 your bewildered looks I can only too easily sup- 
 pose that you are ignorant of what has been done. 
 You heard me say sometliing of an abstracted 
 
 leaf it was a leaf of the marriage' register to 
 
 which I alluded — and that has been taken by 
 your wife ! I am now under the painful necessity 
 
 Good heavens, that such a necessity should 
 
 arise in reference to one whom I have known 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 53 
 
 from her childhood ! — but — but — it is a 
 duty " 
 
 The worthy clergyman's voice was choked with 
 sobs — he could say no more : but Gibson the 
 sexton, who was a sworn constable, stepped for- 
 ward and said, "It's a hard thing to do — the 
 hardest I've ever done : but I can't help it. Mrs. 
 Trevor, you must consider yourself my prisoner." 
 
 Whiter grew Ethel's already pale face ; and for 
 a moment her ashy lip quivered — and she said in 
 a low voice, " If I go to prison, my child " 
 
 " Shall accompany you, unhappy young lady !" 
 replied the clergyman, who was at length enabled 
 to master his emotions. 
 
 "And now," said the sexton, " we must make a 
 move to Squire Ponsford's." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The seat of Squire Ponsford, Deputy Lieutenant 
 and Justice of the Peace, was at a distance of 
 a mile" from Southdale ; and Mr. Milner suggested 
 that they should all walk thither, as there was 
 no need to be hasty in spreading the scandal of 
 what had occurred throughout the village. The 
 Duke eagerly adopted the suggestion. Ethel's 
 appearance was now coldly listless, and she re- 
 mained silent — as if by her demeanour she studied 
 to support the idea which she had heard thrown out, 
 to the effect that she was suffering under an aber- 
 ration of the intellect. During the walk of about 
 twenty minutes from the village to the mansion, 
 Ethel kept betwixt Mr. Milner and the constable : 
 she would not permit the Duke a moment's op- 
 portunity of approaching her or breathing a whis- 
 pered word in her ear. He comprehended the 
 policy of this portion of her conduct : it was to 
 prevent it from being thought that in whatsoever 
 might be proved against her, she had acted under 
 his influence, — an impression which might arise 
 if they stealthily exchanged communications. 
 
 The Firs, as Squire Ponsford's seat was de- 
 nominated, was an old red brick building, ram- 
 bling in style and incongruous in the varieties of 
 its architecture, situated in the midst of a spa- 
 cious park, and having a background of hill rising 
 upon hill to a tremendous height. The dusk was 
 closing in as the party reached the front door ; 
 and in the midst of the increasing obscurity, no 
 one observed that they had been followed from the 
 village by Messrs. Gaffhey and Peppercorn. These 
 two individuals had however observed the meet- 
 ing of the Duke and Ethel : then they had seen 
 the approach of the clergyman, the farmer, and 
 the sexton ; and though they had not caught a 
 syllable of anything that passed, yet they ob- 
 served sufficient to induce them to believe that 
 something of no ordinary character was trans- 
 piring ; and thus they had followed the party to 
 watch the result. But when they found that the 
 destination was the Firs, they exchanged ejacula- 
 tions expressive of surprise, as if they also had 
 originally come into the neighbourhood for the 
 purpose of transacting some little business at that 
 same country-seat. 
 
 The front door was opened by a portly middle- 
 
 aged footman, to whom Mr. Milner said, "lam 
 afraid we are about to disturb your master at a 
 somewhat unseasonable hour : but it is an urgent 
 case." 
 
 " Please to walk in, sir ;" — and the footman led 
 the way into the library, leaving the door of that 
 room as well as the front door open, in obedience 
 to a general instruction which he had received, the 
 proceedings before a magistrate being public. 
 
 In a very few minutes Mr. Ponsford made his 
 appearance. He was a person of about sixty 
 — having naught in his appearance of the country 
 Squire, but much more likely to be taken for a 
 gentleman who habitually dwelt amidst the crowds 
 of fashionable circles. He was dressed in black, 
 with a white waistcoat : his countenance was 
 pale, with a serious if not severe expression : his 
 features were decidedly handsome : he was a little 
 above the medium stature, and inclined to port- 
 liness without being corpulent. Altogether his 
 appearance might even merit the term " distin- 
 guished." 
 
 On entering the library, he shook hands with 
 Mr. Milner — nodded to Fanner White with a cer- 
 tain degree of haughty reserve — and merely be- 
 stowed the most transient glance upon the Duke 
 and Ethel as he proceeded to place himself atthe 
 head of the table. He then at once saw that it 
 was a case of some prisoner being charged before 
 him, and that Ethel was the offender ; for the 
 constable, according to his wont, made the captive 
 stand at the lower extremity of the table. 
 
 " Before I enter upon the case," said Mr. Pons- 
 ford, " I must observe that my clerk is not pre- 
 sent ; and therefore if there be copious depositions 
 to take, we must wait until we can send into the 
 village to fetch him." 
 
 " I do not think the case will be a long one," 
 said Mr. Milner. " If it be only as brief as it is 
 distressing " 
 
 " Let us enter upon it," curtly interjected the 
 Squire, with a significance of tone and look which 
 implied that no one ought to seek to bias his 
 mind for or against the prisoner by any extra- 
 neous comment. " Who charges this" — he hesi- 
 tated for an instant; he was inclined to say 
 " lady," for there was something unspeakably 
 fascinating and lady-like in Ethel's appearance ; 
 but he checked himself and said, " Who charges 
 this person ?" 
 
 " It is with infinite regret," began Mr. Milner, 
 "that I have to answer to your worship's de- 
 mand. Perhaps you may recollect that this young 
 lady lived for a number of years in the vil- 
 lage " 
 
 " What is the prisoner's name ?" inquired the 
 Justice. 
 
 " Tell his worship your name," hastily whis- 
 pered the sexton. 
 
 But Ethel remained silent, and appeared to look 
 unmoved upon the proceedings ; so that Mr. Mil- 
 ner continued to make his statement. 
 
 " The young lady's name is Ethel Trevor : she 
 is married ; and I am compelled by a sense of 
 duty to charge her with the abstraction of a leaf 
 from the parish register of marriages." 
 
 "Where is the leaf?" inquired Mr. Pons- 
 ford. 
 
 " I know not," answered the clergyman. " The 
 prisoner may have it about her ; and if so, I am 
 sure that I should not wish to press the charge." 
 
54 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIBS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " Let the prisoner be searched," interrupted (he 
 magistrate. " Gibson, remove her." 
 
 Ethel was conducted into another room, where 
 Mr. Ponsford's housekeeper and a maid-servant 
 searched her — but without effect. We may here 
 seize upon the opportunity to remark-that all the 
 domestics of the establishment were gathered at 
 the door of the library to, listen to the proceed- 
 ings ; for Ethel was well known hy name and by 
 sight to most of them, and the fact of her being 
 arrested on a charge which was so grave and 
 whjch, seemed so extraordinary had excited a con- 
 siderable sensation. Miss Ponsford, the Squire's 
 only, child; — a beautiful girl of about eighteen— - 
 peeped dpwn the staircase from the drawing- 
 room landing at Ethel when she was conducted 
 into the room where she was examined ; and; the 
 young lady's heart was. moved towards the unfor- 
 tunate creature. We must furthermore add that 
 when Tim Gaffhey and Jack Peppercorn saw the 
 front door thrown wide open after the admission 
 ©f the little party, their experience in the, pro- 
 ceedings before county magistrates at once en- 
 abled them to comprehend that it was a judicial 
 inquiry of some sort or another — and they boldly 
 entered the hall. Squire Ppnaford prided himself 
 on the publicity which was always given to ex- 
 aminations that took place before him : his ser- 
 vants, therefore took their cue from their master ; 
 and when one of the domestics beheld Gaffhey and 
 Peppercorn, he bade them advance to the door of 
 the, library. 
 
 Ethel having been examined by the house-: 
 keeper and the servant-maid — an ordeal through 
 which she passed with an air of vacant indiffer- 
 ence — was re-conducted to the library. 
 
 "Has any paper been found upon her person ?" 
 inquired the justice.. 
 
 The sexton made the report which he had re- 
 ceived from the housekeeper, to the effect that no 
 paper had been found. 
 
 " Under what circumstances was the leaf of the 
 register extracted?" asked Squire Ponsford. 
 
 " Mrs. Trevor called upon me," answered Mr,. 
 Milner; "and in the. course of conversation she 
 expressed a wish to have a copy of her marriage 
 certificate, — alleging that she had lost the one she 
 received at her nuptials. I took her to the church 
 and produced the registers. While there, I quitted 
 the vestry for a few minutes* " 
 
 " Did you leave the prisoner in the vestry ?" 
 asked the magistrate. 
 
 " I did," replied the clergyman. . , 
 
 "And had she access to the register?" 
 
 " I am bound to confess that she had. Perhaps 
 the duty which I owe society also compels me to 
 state that I temporarily left the vestry in con- 
 sequence of the prisoner suddenly declaring that 
 she heard the voice of Mrs. Milner calling me. 
 I went out to see " , 
 
 " And what followed ?", 
 
 " My wife was not there- 
 Mrs. Trevor " 
 
 " The prisoner you mean,' 
 magistrate severely. 
 
 " Yes, your worship — the prisoner, 
 that she must have been mistaken." 
 
 "Was she standing near the registers? were 
 they open 1 or was there anything in her manner 
 to malie you suspect foul play ?" 
 
 "The prisoner was putting away the registers : 
 
 -and I supposed that 
 interrupted the 
 I supposed 
 
 I thought the proceeding natural enough — I re- 
 garded it as an act of kindness intended to save 
 me trouble. We went in to tea: and Farmer 
 White called to request, me to give him a par- 
 ticular certificate. I took him to the vestry j and 
 my consternation may be more easily imagined 
 than described when I found that a leaf of the 
 marriage-register had been torn out ! Indeed I 
 was bewildered : I could even then scarcely be- 
 lieve that Mrs. Trevor the prisoner I mean — 
 
 had done it. I hastened home : but, alas I it was 
 
 then scarcely possible to doubt In a word, sir," 
 
 added the clergyman, thus abruptly concluding 
 his speech, "the prisoner had fled."' 
 
 "What excuse did she make for leaving the 
 house during your absence ?" 
 
 "The excuse might be a very natural one," 
 Mr. Milner hastened to exclaim; "and if we 
 could by any possibility account for the destruc- 
 tion of the leaf without attributing the deed to 
 the prisoner " 
 
 " You are not to make a speech for the defence, 
 Mr. Milner," said the magistrate, for a moment 
 suffering his features to relax into a deprecating 
 smile. "What excuse did she make to leave 
 your house ?" 
 
 " The excuse that a mother might well make," 
 responded Milner, — "that of having to go and 
 look after her child. And now, your worship, 
 you will permit me to add my belief that the un- 
 fortunate young lady is suffering under an aber- 
 ration of the intellect." 
 
 "What makes you think so?" inquired Mr. 
 Ponsford. 
 
 " Several reasons," answered the elergyman. 
 "In the first place, who can conceive a wife in 
 her sound senses destroying the evidence of her 
 own marriage ? In the second place, her husband 
 assures me that he has for some time past thought 
 that her brain was affected. Thirdly," continued 
 Mr.. Milner, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, 
 "her behaviour when she was arrested was so 
 strange — she; addressed me in such a singular 
 style— her looks were so vacant and wandering— 
 and altogether there was something so peculiar in 
 the, way in which she took this most serious, ac- 
 cusation, that I have no doubt as to her mental 
 derangement. Finally, if your worship will only 
 contemplate her now, you will see that her mien 
 is not that of a rational person." 
 
 " Can you conceive any possible motive," asked 
 the magistrate, turning towards the Duke, " that 
 might lead your wife to seek the destruction of 
 that particular leaf in the register ?" 
 
 "Oh, no! no!" sobbed toe young nobleman, 
 who throughout the examination had been labour- 
 ing under the most terrible excitement ; for the 
 bare idea of his beloved Ethel being, dragged 
 through such an ordeal, and all on account of her 
 magnanimous behaviour on his part, was fraught 
 with the anguish of excruciation. 
 
 "If your worship will remand the prisoner," 
 said Mr. Milner, " until the state of her mind can 
 be investigated, I will myself give bail for her 
 appearance. Or," he added, in a whisper, " you 
 may surely let her go on her husband's recogni- 
 zances ?" 
 
 "jSTo," said the magistrate, shaking his head: 
 "it is a felony, and I cannot take bail; I have 
 heard sufficient;, to induce me to commit the 
 prisoner for trial.' I may possibly share your 
 
THE- YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS Off A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 55 
 
 opinion in reference to the state of her mind : but 
 that is a subject of consideration for a jury. I 
 must commit in this case to Dorchester gaol." 
 
 The Duke of Ardleigh gave so sudden a start 
 that all eyes were fixed upon him : for a few 
 moments he gasped as if endeavouring to give 
 utterance to some words which stuck in his throat ; 
 and then he suddenly turned towards Ethel, whose 
 hand he took and strained to his lips. That hand 
 she abandoned for an instant ; and then she firmly 
 and resolutely withdrew it. * 
 
 " I understand it all !" hastily whispered W 
 worthy clergyman to the magistrate. " She has 
 taken some unaocountable aversion to her own 
 husband ! Alas, poor monomaniac ! Tour worship 
 will make an order that she may have her child 
 with her in the gaol ? for hi the present state of 
 her mind it would perhaps goad her to utter mad- 
 ness to be separated from it." 
 
 "I will allow the child to accompany her to 
 Dorchester," replied Squire Ponsford; "hut it 
 must then be left to the discretion of the civil ami 
 medical authorities of the goal whether the infant 
 be permitted to remain with her." 
 
 Ethel averted her eyes from the young Duke : 
 but heaven knows it was not through aversion ! 
 It was through fear lest while gazing on him 
 whom she had loved so devotedly, and whom she 
 still loved — the father of her child — the whole 
 structure of her courage should give way, and all 
 the unnatural calmness she had maintained 
 should in a, moment dissolve in agonized weep- 
 ing, or change into paroxysms of maniac lamen- 
 tation accompanied by piercing screams. 
 
 " Let me get her away into another room, 
 apart from the gaze of the people," hastily whis- 
 pered Mr. Milner in the Duke's ear ; " and do 
 you keep out of her sight. I beseech you to do 
 this; for her mind is evidently fraught with a 
 t morbid aversion towards you — and that is no 
 doubt the reason she sought to destroy the evi- 
 dence of your marriage." 
 
 " But how will she go to Dorchester ? and 
 what about the poor child?" demanded Herbert, 
 in quick petulant tones; for he was full of agony 
 throughout — mentally and physically-j-and en- 
 raged against all the world, with the single ex- 
 ception of the lovely and magnanimous creature 
 who had thus sacrificed herself for his sake. 
 
 "lam just going to send off for a posjtchaise," 
 answered' Milner, who, making every allowance 
 for the Duke's hastiness and petulance, was mild 
 and benevolent in his demeanour ; " and Squire 
 Ponsford will allow your unfortunate wife to stay 
 here till the vehicle comes. Farmer White is 
 going to see about it! an< i ne will also so arrange 
 that the chaise shall bring up your nursemaid 
 and your child, together with the effects that 
 your poor Ethel may have brought with her." 
 
 The Duke of Ardleigh suddenly Decame ashamed 
 of his impatience ; and seizing the worthy cler- 
 gyman's hand, he pressed it with the most grate- 
 ful effusion. 
 
 " Thiinks ! a thousand thanks !" he murmured, 
 in a broken voice. " Oh, if every Christian 
 minister were like you ! But, Ah ! to look upon 
 that angelic face, so full of beauty and sweet- 
 ness — and to think— to think that she is going 
 to a gaol — my God! 'tis enough to drive me 
 mad!" 
 
 "Calm yourself— calm yourself, my young 
 
 friend !" ' said Milner : " exert your Christian for- 
 titude ! Your poor wife is certain to be ac- 
 quitted; and then you will be enabled to devote 
 every attention to her. But get you away lor 
 the present — and I will conduct her to another 
 apartment. " 
 
 Herbert rushed from the room : the servants, 
 who all knew him by sight as Mr. Trevor, made 
 way for him with every display of courtesy and 
 every evidence of sympathy. He felt the want 
 of fresh' air — he seemed to be in the midst of a 
 stifling atmosphere — it was as if he were suffo- 
 cating. He was hurrying towards the front door, 
 when he suddenly caught sight of Gaffiley arid 
 Peppercorn — an idea struck him — he made a 
 hasty sign for them to follow— and he left the 
 h6use where he had passed through an ordeal 
 more terrible than even that through which poor 
 Ethel had been dragged ; for he hated and loathed 
 himself as the cause of all her miseries — whereas 
 she on the other hand had been sustained by the 
 consciousness that her's was a self-martyrdom 
 endured on account of him whom she had loved 
 so tenderly and so well ! 
 
 Tim Gafmey and Jack Peppercorn were too 
 cautious and wary to follow the Duke instanta- 
 neously out of the hall, as by so doing it would 
 betray that he had beckoned to them ; and they 
 remembered his injunction that they were not to, 
 seem to know him. They therefore lounged 
 out a few minutes after he had taken his depar- 
 ture; and when once in the obscurity of the 
 park, they sped after him. They found him 
 waiting impatiently for their appearance; and 
 he petulantly ejaculated, " I thought you were 
 never coming !" 
 
 " You told us to be discreet," responded Gafi- 
 ney; " and so, if we've done wrong in obeying 
 your Grace's own orders " 
 
 " Hush !" interjected Ardleigh. " Yes, yes — I 
 see that you are discreet — and I am rejoiced at 
 it ! Now, if I mistake not, you are men who have 
 no objection to earn money without being over 
 nice — " 
 
 " To come to the point at once, my lord," said 
 Tim Gaffney, " there isn't two men in all the 
 country that likes to make money more than we 
 do, or that is less partickler how we make it. So 
 don't be afeard, my lord, to speak out your mind 
 to us — for I think there's something you want 
 to say." 
 
 " You are acquainted with a certain secret of 
 mine," resumed Herbert ; " and I mean to give 
 you a thousand pounds to keep it." 
 
 Exclamations of joy burst from the lips of Tim 
 Gafmey and Jack Peppercorn ; and they could 
 scarcely restrain themselves from hugging the 
 Duke in their delight at this unexpected liberality. 
 
 " But that is not all," resumed Herbert. " I 
 will give you another thousand pounds if that 
 young lady— you know whom I mean" — and he 
 pointed towards the mansion — " is enabled to es- 
 cape from the constable who will presently be 
 directed to convey her in a postchaise to Dor- 
 chester." 
 
 " It shall be done, my lord," replied Tim Gaff- 
 ney, with the emphasis of one who felt confident 
 of achieving that which he promised. " Give us 
 an earnest of your Grace's liberality, and trust to 
 us for the rest. TVe want no better paymaster 
 than your lordship." 
 
58 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCItftSS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 Herbert drew forth his pocket-book ; and by 
 the light of the moon which was now rising, he 
 counted ten bank notes for a hundred pounds 
 each. 
 
 " There," he said, " is the hush-money in re- 
 spect to my secret. The other thousand pounds 
 shall be forthcoming when the work you have 
 undertaken is accomplished." 
 
 " And if we find any difficulty," said Tim 
 Gafihey, " in changing the notes, your Grace will 
 help us to turn them into gold ?" 
 
 " Come to me at my house in London," re- 
 joined the Duke quickly, " and I will give you 
 bags of gold in exchange for the notes. No one 
 need know why you call upon me or who you 
 are. You can pretend that you have horses to 
 sell — or in short invent any excuse you like !" 
 
 " Good, my lord," said Peppercorn ; " that's 
 speaking like a brick. Tour Grace's business 
 shall be done. Tim GafFney knows me, and I 
 know Tim Gafihey ; and when we two puts our 
 heads or hands together to transact a bit of busi- 
 ness, it isn't our fault if it ain't done in a right 
 Superior style. Now, my lord, have you any fur- 
 ther orders? and what's to be done with the 
 young lady when she's set free?" 
 
 " I know all this part of the country well," re- 
 sumed the Duke : " I have fished in all the streams 
 for many miles around :" — and he sighed deeply as 
 he thought of the days of dreamy happiness when, 
 a sojourner at Southdale, he was wooing the 
 lovely Ethel Eraser. " You of course know the 
 road the postchaise will presently take ?" 
 
 " To be sure, my lord," replied Gaffney. " It's 
 the same we took, only in a contrary direction, 
 when coming by the stage from Dorchester this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " Good !" observed the Duke. " At a distance 
 of seven miles along the road, is the village of 
 Eleanor's Cross; and I will be waiting for you 
 with a vehicle of some kind just about a couple 
 of miles beyond that village. I shall go and 
 start off at onee — and you have no time to 
 lose." 
 
 " Trust to us, my lord," interjected Gaffney. 
 " So now let's away to business." 
 
 The two men hastened off at a running pace 
 towards a fence at a little distance; while the 
 Duke pursued his way along the avenue of the 
 park leading towards the village. He soon 
 gained the inn ; and he was. delighted to find that 
 no messenger had as yet arrived from the Firs to 
 order the postchaise to convey Ethel to Dor- 
 chester ; so that the intelligence of what had 
 happened was as yet unknown at the hostelry. 
 The Duke ordered the chaise that had brought 
 him to be gotten in immediate readiness ; and he 
 said in a whisper to the landlord, "I am going 
 with all possible speed to Dorchester on very 
 important business indeed." 
 
 " Why, surely, Mr. Trevor," said Mr. Good- 
 man, with an air of surprisej " you are not going 
 to see the prize-fight ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked the Duke. 
 
 " Why, sir, don't say a word," responded the 
 landlord ; " but those two men which came this 
 evening by the stage, are concerned in a fight 
 
 which is to come off somewhere along the road 
 
 of course I don't exactly know where, because these 
 sort of fellows always tell you one place when 
 they mean another, in order to throw you off the 
 
 scent But they've asked for my phaeton — it's 
 just getting ready for them — though betwixt you 
 and me, Mr. Trevor, «I shouldn't have let 'em 
 have it if they hadnt lodged a fifty pound note in 
 my hand. So it's all right." 
 
 "What?" said the Duke, inwardly admiring 
 the astuteness of his two agents' proceedings ; " do 
 you think they are prize-fighters ?" 
 
 " Lord, no, Mr. Trevor !" replied Goodman : 
 " they're what's called the backers. But these 
 
 td of fellows always have plenty of money. Of 
 rse they only whispered it to me as a great 
 secret that .they're connected with the prize-fight, 
 just to account for their wanting the phaeton ; 
 
 and so, as I don't want to spoil their game " 
 
 . " Nor I either," added Herbert ; " and there- 
 fore I shall not breathe a word of all you have 
 been telling' me." 
 
 He strolledforth in front of the tavern ; and at 
 the same moment the hostler was bringing round 
 from the stables a neat phaeton and a very decent- 
 looking animal. Messrs. Gaffney and Peppercorn, 
 having just disposed of a little hot brandy-and- 
 water, were lighting their cigars ; and they both 
 flung rapid looks of significancy upon the nobleman. 
 .They then took their' seats in the phaeton, and 
 drove laway at a smart pace. Herbert was just 
 thinking of hastening up-stairs to bestow a kiss 
 upon his child, when his own postchaise made its 
 appearance ; and flinging himself upon the seat 
 inside, he gave the order in a loud voice, " To 
 Dorchester !" 
 
 About four miles outside of Southdale, the 
 phaeton was seen stopping at the door of a way- 
 side public-house ; and by the light which streamed 
 forth from that door, the figures of Tim Gaffney 
 and Jack Peppercorn might be perceived. They 
 were drinking more hrandy-and-water : but Her- 
 bert well knew that this was only an excuse to 
 allow the chaise that was to convey Ethel, to pa3S 
 along the road to some spot convenient for stop- 
 ping it. 
 
 " God grant that the plan may succeed !" ex- 
 claimed the young Duke to himself : and then, 
 with a deep sense of anguish, he added, " It would 
 kill me— "Oh, it would break my heart, to see poor 
 Ethel consigned to a dungeon !" 
 
 The chaise rolled on : the village of Eleanor's 
 Cross was presently reached ; and when the equi- 
 page had passed a couple of miles bejrand, the 
 Duke called to the postilion to stop. 
 
 "Now, my good fellow," he. said, as the man 
 leapt down from his horse and came up to the 
 door, " something will perhaps presently take 
 place which it were just as well to conceal. It is 
 no highway robbery — still less a murder : it is 
 only the rescue of a young lady who has no busi- 
 ness to be in custody. Do you think you can 
 hold your tongue on the subject if I give you 
 twenty guineas ?" 
 
 "Well, sir, I thinks I can," answered the post- 
 boy with a grin. 
 
 "But if you can't for the mere sake of the 
 bribe," added the Duke, " perhaps you may he 
 enabled to do so when I tell you that if the busi- 
 ness is found out every one engaged in it will 
 
 Btand a chance of being transported By the 
 
 bye, have you a wife and children ?" 
 
 "Yes — a wife and six childer," was the re- 
 
 " Well then, for the sake of your wife and six 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 57 
 
 children you had better keep a still timguein your 
 head. Is it a bargain ?" 
 
 "Yes, air," rejoined the post-boy, — adding with 
 another grin, " When I can chink the blunt in 
 this here breeches'-pocket '' 
 
 " Then let it be a bargain at once!" and Her- 
 bert counted the money into the man's hand. 
 " Now, my good feliow," he continued, " we will 
 just halt here until the incident takes place. If 
 any other equipage drives by, or any wayfarer 
 passes, you can be pretending to be fastening a 
 strap or picking out a stone from the foot of one 
 of the horses — anything to make a pretence for 
 stopping." 
 
 "All right, sir :" and the Duke found the pos- 
 tilion was entirely of that degree of astuteness as 
 to render Mm -worthy of being a coadjutor in an 
 enterprise wherein such experienced gentlemen as 
 Messrs. Gaffhey and Peppercorn were engaged. 
 
 Half-an-hour elapsed — a tedious wearisome 
 Uo. 8. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 haK-hour for the Duke of Ardleigh, and fraught 
 with the most anxious suspense. At length the 
 sounds of wheels and a horse's hoofs advancing 
 rapidly from behind, were heard; and Herbert 
 leapt out from the chaise. A phaeton with a 
 double freight of people, was driving along : there 
 were two females in it besides two men ; and, O 
 joy ! Herbert now recognised them. The phaeton 
 drew up ; and the Duke sprang forward to assist 
 Ethel to alight. She merely laid her hand upon 
 his shoulder for a moment — and her feet touched 
 the ground. He aided Susan to descend ; and ha 
 affectionately patted the cheek of the sleeping 
 child as he did so. 
 
 " Now hasten into 'the chaise !" he exclaimed; 
 "hasten!" 
 
 "One word!" said Ethel, in a low but firm 
 voice. 
 
 She stepped a few paces aside, and went on 
 saying, " I will avail myself of the further assist- 
 
68 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 ance you have so considerately afforded, on the 
 one condition only — that you go not with me !" 
 
 " Oh, Ethel ! Ethel ! let me see you in safety !" 
 — and the Duke actually clasped his hands in the 
 urgency of his appeal. 
 
 " It you persist," replied Ethel, " I shall return 
 to the spot where the postchaise has heen left 
 with the postilion and the sexton both bound and 
 gagged. I will surrender myself into the con- 
 stable's custody again " 
 
 " My God ! what misery for both ! But dp as 
 you like, dearest and besi beloved! It is your 
 safety only that I think of or care for !" 
 
 "Now you speak as I could wish," answered 
 Ethel, ." and I will go in that case. Farewell." 
 
 "What ! no kiss? no grasp of the hand?" 
 
 " My hand— yes ! " and she gave it him. 
 
 "Oh, Ethel! Ethel!" murmured the Duke, in 
 a broken suffocating voice, as he strained that 
 hand to his lips : " is it possible that we are to 
 part — that j-ou tear yourself away from me — and 
 that I must likewise' separate from this dear 
 infant?" 
 
 •' Yes — it must be so," answered Ethel, firmly, 
 yet not severely: and she withdrew her hand. 
 " Faiewell." 
 
 " You want money; Ethel — " 
 
 " No. I hive enough for my purposes. No- 
 thing jfras taken from me when I was searched at 
 the ihaigistrate's house." 
 
 " And that document, Ethel," pursued , the 
 young Duke, "sealed up in the envelope — which 
 you received the other day from Mr. Warren, the 
 stock-broker — " 
 
 "I havis t£ken care of that docutrteht," replied 
 Ethel ', " not from airy selfish feeling, because I can 
 work for my own bread ; but for the sake — for 
 the sake" — her voice trembled fpr a moment; 
 then instantaneously rendering it firm' again, she 
 said, '!for the sake of th$t deal child." 
 
 " QJi, Suffer me tq double the amount, Ethel I " 
 said Herbert, in an impassioned tone, — " to treble 
 or quadruple it ! " 
 
 " No," interrupted the young lady, " that sum 
 is sufficient. But tell me — are you sure that 
 there will be no difficulty in the way of my 
 making use of the interest of that money ?" 
 
 "No difficulty, Ethel," replied the Duke. 
 " When you open the envelope, you will compre- 
 hend why I directed Warren so to seal it, and 
 why I enjoined you not to examine the contents 
 until after my death. But now all those pre- 
 cautions have been rendered needless — and you 
 may break the seal." 
 
 " Farewell," said Ethel, " and — and — may God 
 Almighty give you happiness ! " 
 
 " One word more ! " sobbed the Duke, whose 
 heart seemed to be well-nigh broken. " Will you 
 not write to me from time to time, if only to tell 
 me that dear little Alfred is in good health ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," replied Ethel, hurriedly: and 
 she hastened to take her seat in the chaise. 
 
 Herbert now took the child and strained it to 
 his breast : again and again he pressed the in- 
 fant to his heart ; and then he restored it to the 
 care of the nursemaid, who was already seated by 
 Ethel's side in the vehicle. 
 
 " God bless thee, Ethel," murmured the young 
 Duke; "and may heaven likewise protect our 
 dear child!" 
 
 " Farewell," replied Ethel, in a voice that wag 
 
 scarcely audible : and then she added, in a firmer 
 tone, "I conjure you to let this scene end at 
 once ! " 
 
 Herbert closed the door of the chaise: the 
 postilion, who was already mounted, whipped his 
 horses — and the equipage rolled away. All the 
 unnatural courage which had hitherto sustained 
 Ethel, now suddenly broke down : she burst forth 
 into an agony of weeping — she wrung her hands 
 in despair ; and then straining her child to her 
 bosom, she continued to weep and sob over the 
 infant, heedless of the entreaties of the good- 
 h&rted Susan that she would tranquillize herself, 
 and be comforted with the hope of better pmes. 
 
 When the postchaise rolled away from the spot, 
 the young Duke felt as if he were beuur separated 
 from everything on earth that was -Worth living 
 foi: but ,ho more tears came from h|s eyes— and 
 hot another sob convulsed his heart A blank 
 despair seized upon him. 
 
 "Beg pardon, my lord," said Tiih Giimey, 
 approaching and touching his hat : "bot it ^oh't 
 do' for us to remain loitering here after the busi- 
 ness that has just taken place." 
 
 " True ! " said the Duke, awakened, from the 
 forlbrrt and desolate reverjfe into which he sank as 
 the posfchaise' disappeared from his view. " You 
 musj take irife iHth ytfh fb Dorchester." Then 
 having seated njinself iM the pifaetoh along with 
 the |wo men, he inquired, "Did ydk accomplish 
 the business in such a way as to ensure your own 
 safety in case of a hue and cry ?" 
 
 "We have no fear on that score, my lord," 
 responded Gaflhey. " The"" constable couldn't 
 recognise us again — and the postboy wouldn't 
 do it." 
 
 "Ah! is it so?" ejaculated the Duke. "But 
 explain yourself." 
 
 "Why, my lord," rejoined Gaffney, "for the 
 sake of a five pun' note the postboy agreed to be 
 knocked off his horse and to be stunned on the 
 spot, so that he might be bound hand andyfoot 
 Without any difficulty. Of course, therefore, tie 
 rap on the head we gave him was a werry" gentle , 
 one, and he tipped me a knowing winkjwhen he 
 laid upon the ground and ought to have been 
 stunned. So Jack Peppercorn, and me, with 
 black masks on our faces " 
 
 " Yes, my lord," interjected Jack, coolly, " we 
 always make it a rule to travel with masks in our 
 pockets. It's sometimes conwenient to have 'em 
 ready for use." 
 
 " Well, as I was saying,'' continued Gaflhey, 
 " we opened the door of the chaise in a jiffey, we 
 drags out Gibson the constable — we whips a 
 handkerchief over his head, and ties it round his 
 neck — we binds him hand and foot — and we lays 
 him alongside of the postboy. Then we gets 
 the lady and the nursemaid to the phaeton, 
 which we had left a little further a-head, and 
 there's an end of the business." 
 
 " It was cleverly done," remarked the Duke of 
 Ardleigh, "and you will presently have the 
 promised reward." 
 
 On the outskirts of the town of Dorchester, the 
 Duke counted out a second sum of a thousand 
 pounds in Bank of England notes ; and having 
 bestowed the amount on his two delighted co- 
 adjutors, he,separated from them. Carrying his 
 carpet-bag in his hand, he sought the nearest 
 hotel, where he ordered a postchaise to be gotten 
 
THE TOCNO DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 59 
 
 in immediate readiness, his intention being to 
 return with the least possible delay to London. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE CIRCUS. 
 
 How crowded was Astley's Theatre! — and how 
 tediously did the first piece seem to drag its slow 
 length along, before the performances in the circle 
 commenced! No one cared for the tremendous 
 rant of the hero of that piece, although he repre- 
 sented some grand historic character who had 
 won countless battles and was now on the point 
 of leading a mighty army to another victory. 
 Nor was the enthusiasm of any one particularly 
 excited when that mighty army, consisting of six 
 terrific-looking warriors on horseback, and thirteen 
 supernumeraries, carpenters, and scene-shifters, 
 clad in picturesque uniforms which looked wonder- 
 folly well at a distance, came trampling across the 
 stage, led by that wonderful hero. Neither were 
 the sympathies of the softer sex particularly en- 
 listed when the heroine of the piece — who of 
 course could be nothing less than a princess of 
 very high degree — went looking over the battle- 
 field for her lover, giving vent ever and anon to 
 such passionate outbursts of woe as indeed com- 
 pletely out-did everything which usually occurs 
 in real life. But all curiosity, all emotion, and 
 all excitement appeared to be suspended or kept 
 Back, to be concentrated presently on one object 
 — the favourite without whose presence at the 
 house there would have been comparatively empty 
 benches. 
 
 And during that tedious piepe which opened the 
 performances, how many were the whispered con- 
 jectures that were exchanged in pit, boxes, and 
 gallery, relative to Mademoiselle Imogene ! Some 
 wondered whether she had yet arrived at the 
 theatre — others whether she dressed there or beure 
 she came : some hoped that she would take parti- 
 cular attitudes, because they set off 'her beautiful 
 form tovsuch advantage; and others, carrying 
 their speculations to still more mysterious and 
 delicate topics, marvelled whether she were pri- 
 vately married, or whether she lived under the 
 protection of anybody — or whether it were true 
 that, as some people affirmed, she was a model of 
 virtue — or whether faith might be attached to the 
 rumour which was occasionally whispered abroad 
 to the effect that Mademoiselle Imogene was a 
 mother without being a wife. 
 
 At length the first piece terminated to the infi- 
 nite satisfaction of every one of the spectators; 
 and the performances in the circle presently began. 
 In came the clown, furnished with the usual slip- 
 ply of ugly faces, and jokes of such immense pla- 
 titude that nowhere else would they be received 
 as jokes at all ; but at Astley's everybody seems 
 to consider oneself bound as a matter of course, 
 or even as a veritable point of honour, to laugh at 
 the clown. Besides, on this occasion^the audience 
 were now getting into a particularly good humour, 
 as the moment was rapidly approaching when 
 Mademoiselle Imogene was to make her appear- 
 ance. 
 
 As the reader has already seen, it was her usual 
 custom to dress at her own lodgings, whence, en- 
 
 veloped in a cloak, she hastily made her way to 
 the theatre ; and she generally managed to arrive 
 only a few minutes before her services were ac- 
 tually required in the performance. She thus 
 avoided aS much as possible the necessity of com- 
 ing in contact with the pfher performers, amongst 
 whom she had no friendships except with Alice 
 Denton and a young French girl named Rose. 
 And then too, if there were any lounging intruders 
 behind the scenes, — any of those gentish young 
 fellows, who dress in the style of half-groom, half- 
 gamekeeper, and constantly have a quizzing glass 
 stuck in their eye — if, we say, there were any of 
 these impertinent puppies lurking behind the 
 scenes, Miss Hartlaud was enabled to escape from 
 any lengthened ordeal of their insolent looks and 
 perhaps equally bold overtures towards conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 And now, amidst the triumphal music of the 
 orchestra, Mademoiselle Imogene makes her ap- 
 pearance in the circus. She does not glide in on 
 foot to curtsey in the midst, and then accept the 
 assistance of a groom to mount ; — but she comes 
 dashing in with eclat, guiding three horses at the 
 same time, and standing on the back of the cen- 
 tral one — for they are abreast. And with what 
 tremendous enthusiasm is she received ! It is a 
 veritable enthusiasm — genuine, and sincere : there 
 is no affectation in it, for Imogen is indeed! an 
 immense favourite. Notwithstanding the mystery 
 which seems more or less to enshroud her moral 
 character, she is as great a favourite with the 
 ladies as with the gentlemen. There is so much 
 honest frankness in her looks — she is so exceed- 
 ingly beautiful — her figure is so striking and bril- 
 liant — and all her gestures display so much refined 
 elegance and grace, that the female portion of the 
 audience are actually proud of her as they might 
 be of any splendid specimen of their own sex. 
 And then too, there is nothing wanton in her 
 looks nor in her movements : her regards, always 
 vivacious, never seem to settle pto an expression 
 of immodest encouragement upon any male ad- 
 mirer who may be putting himself forward to at- 
 tract her notice. Although there is naturally some- 
 thing softly sensuous in the part which she per- 
 forms, arrayed as she is in that fantastic <jj:«3s, — 
 yet it is impossible to say but that the strictest 
 propriety characterizes her proceedings in the 
 circle. For these reasons, therefore, tie women 
 like her and she is so great a favourite with them. , 
 But not the less welcome is her appearance £o the 
 male portion of the assemblage. She rides with 
 such mingled ease and fearlessness! she poetises, 
 as it were, her attitudes and her postures, as if 
 she were illustrating all the most graceful posi- 
 tions which ever could have been conceived by 
 ancient sculptors in reference to the female form] 
 She soars above the common level of equestrian 
 performance: she throws sentiment into it — she 
 endows it with intellectuality. Yet she does not 
 open her lips — unless it be to smile affably when 
 acknowledging the plaudits of the spectators : she 
 neither speaks nor sings ; and yet she exercises all 
 the power of, an actress upon those who contem- 
 plate her. Ah ! and how many of the male sex 
 also congregate there to feast their eyes upon her 
 fine form, and to suffer the fancy to revel in rap- 
 turous imaginings while following with the eye 
 the flowing lines and swelling contours which the 
 picturesque garb defines or delineates. 
 
60 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIES3 OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 In a retired part of the theatre — at the back of 
 the great mass of the crowd — stood a young man 
 whose eyes were riveted upon the beautiful eques- 
 trian ; but not with the same gross sensual feel- 
 ings that inspired so many others of his own sex 
 who were at the same time devouring her with 
 their regards. It was with the fervour of ten- 
 derest admiration mingled with a strange pensive 
 melancholy, that this young gentleman contem- 
 plated Imogen Hartland. He beheld nobody but 
 her : he seemed to be utterly isolated as it were 
 from the rest of the assemblage — isolated by his 
 own thoughts — unaware that he was in the vici- 
 nage of so many of his fellow-creatures — intent 
 only on the one object which thus absorbed all his 
 attention. For, as the reader may have already 
 conjectured, this young gentleman was Launcelot 
 Osborne. 
 
 All of a sudden some one laid a hand upon his 
 shoulder, and said in a familiar tone, "Well, Os- 
 borne, my dear fellow, how are you ?" 
 
 Launcelot started : he was suddenly awakened 
 as it were from a dream : he became all in a mo- 
 ment conscious of the assemblage that was there, 
 the brilliant ga sli ght s that were burning, and all 
 the circumstances by which he was surrounded. 
 A blush overspread his countenance : but almost 
 immediately recovering himself, he said in a some- 
 what reserved and cold tone, " Good evening, Mr. 
 Casey." 
 
 " Splendid creature — isn't she ?" said Sylvester, 
 sticking his glass into the socket of his right eye 
 so as to concentrate his visual rays upon Imogen. 
 " Stunning performance ! By Jove, she's a brick 
 of a rider !" 
 
 " Yes — she rides admirably," faltered Launce- 
 lot. 
 
 " I mean to get an introduction to her," pur- 
 sued Sylvester Casey, with a certain knowing 
 self-sufficient air. " It isn't every one however 
 who can do that ; for she's deuced particular, and 
 plays the prude as well as she manages those three 
 prads. But I'm behind the scenes to a certain 
 extent " 
 
 " You, Mr. Casey ?" said Launcelot. 
 
 " Why the devil are you so formal with me ?" 
 demanded Sylvester. " I think we ought to drop 
 the Mister betwixt us ; for ain't you going to be 
 my brother-in-law ? and isn't it all settled ?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Launcelot : u I was 
 perhaps rather too ceremonious. But you were 
 telling me that you were behind the scenes to a 
 certain extent ?" 
 
 " Of course I am," ejaculated Sylvester, as if 
 there ought not to have been any doubt or igno- 
 rance on the point. " I tell you what, old fellow 
 — since circumstances place you and me on an in- 
 timate footing together, I don't mind letting you 
 into a little bit of a secret : but of course you 
 won't let out a word before my old governor — or 
 I'm blowed if he wouldn't keep back half my 
 allowance !" 
 
 " Well, Mr. Casey — Casey, I mean " 
 
 " Can't you call me Sylvester right slap out 
 plain at once — and I will call you Launce- 
 lot " 
 
 " Well, be it so," said Osborne, who however 
 shrank from the coarse familiarity of the miser's 
 son. " This secret of your's, Sylvester ?" 
 
 " You know Alice Denton " 
 
 " I know her by sight and by name." 
 
 " Well," rejoined Sylvester Casey, " betwixt 
 you and me and the post, I'm rather intimate in 
 that quarter. Alice only remains at the circus 
 just by way of a blind — it isn't for the sake of 
 the salary — because the ten guineas a week I 
 allow her " 
 
 " You, Sylvester?" ejaculated Launcelot in as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " Well, yes — but don't say a word to anybody. 
 Alice is my mistress ; and Alice is on most inti- 
 mate terms with Mademoiselle Imogene In- 
 deed I fancy that she and a certain Mademoiselle 
 Eose are the only young ladies in the company 
 that Imogen at all associates with ; and so I mean 
 to try and get an introduction through Alice. 
 D'ye see, Launcelot — eh ? d'ye twig, old fellow — 
 eh?" 
 
 " And for what object," inquired Osborne, " do 
 you seek an introduction to Miss Hartland ?" 
 
 " Come, come, Lauucelot !" ejaculated Sylvester; 
 " that's rather too good ! Why the deuce does a 
 man about town get introduced to any pretty 
 woman ? I like Alice very much — but of course 
 there's no comparison betwixt her and her friend. 
 And then too I'll just tell you what, Osborne," 
 continued Sylvester, with his most impertinent 
 air of self-sufficiency ; " it would be rather a fine 
 thing to get hold of Mademoiselle Imogene — 
 something to be talked about — eh ? Why, it 
 would make a fellow the object of envy on the 
 part of every soul he met ! Not, you know, that 
 I believe in the virtue of Mademoiselle Imogene ; 
 because it's generally known she's had a child — 
 but I think since then she has kept herself un- 
 commonly quiet " 
 
 "And do you mean," interrupted Osborne, 
 speaking in an altered and even hoarse voice, 
 " that you meditate making certain overtures to 
 Mademoiselle Imogene ?" 
 
 "Overtures?" echoed Sylvester, bending upon 
 him a look of surprise : " and why not ? You 
 don't think that I've vowed eternal fidelity to 
 Alice ? Deuce a bit ! Besides, a man may have 
 two mistresses ; and since Alice costs me so 
 little "' 
 
 " I thought you just now told me that you al- 
 lowed her ten guineas a week ?" 
 
 Sylvester coloured up to the very hair of his 
 head ; and then endeavouring to turn off his con- 
 fusion with a laugh, he said, " Well, I forgot that 
 I'd let that cat out of the bag. But for heaven's 
 sake don't breathe a syllable before the governor ! 
 And now come behind the scenes, and I'll intro- 
 duce you to Alice." 
 
 Launcelot Osborne was on the point of giving 
 a cold refusal, when a quick revulsion of feeling 
 took place within him, and an indescribable im- 
 pulse in a moment urged him to assent. His tem- 
 porary hesitation was not therefore noticed by 
 Sylvester ; and he said, " I have never been be- 
 hind the scenes of a theatre : I should like to ac- 
 company you." 
 
 During the latter portion of this colloquy, 
 Mademoiselle Imogene had disappeared from the 
 circus amidst the enthusiastic plaudits of the spec- 
 tutors ; and now the clown was performing some 
 antics to while away a few minutes until the next 
 phase in the equestrian proceedings should de- 
 velop itself. Sylvester led Launcelot Osborne 
 behind the scenes, where it was evident that the 
 former was very well known ; for he nodded 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 61 
 
 familiarly to everybody and addressed two or 
 three underlings by their Christian names, as if 
 to ask them some questions, but in reality to im- 
 press Osborne with an idea of his familiar ac- 
 quaintance with everything and every person be- 
 hind the scenes and how completely he was at 
 home there. 
 
 Launcelot was astonished when he found how 
 completely a close survey disenchants the view in 
 reference to things theatrical. The scenery which 
 had looked beautiful from a distance, now seemed 
 to be a vile daub and a miserable jumbling of 
 colours coarsely and clumsily laid on : men who 
 had presented a very attractive appearance when 
 parading before the curtain, now seemed to be 
 coarse, ugly, vulgar individuals ; and many of 
 the females who had looked exceedingly well — 
 some absolutely beautiful — when seen from a dis- 
 tance, suffered even still more disadvantageously 
 by a close inspection. The rouge seemed plas- 
 tered instead of artistically applied : eyes that had 
 shone bright from a distance, were now observed 
 to be- sunken and hollow : faces that looked at- 
 tractive, proved to be seared with the small-pox, 
 though the artificial complexion effectually con- 
 cealed the marks when the countenance was 
 viewed from a distance. As for the costumes, 
 Launcelot was positively amazed when he per- 
 ceived what ;t brilliant show the most wretched 
 tinsel could make. 
 
 " Ah, now you see the illusion !" exclaimed 
 Sylvester, laughing. " But do you know why 
 those two or three dirty-looking chaps are hanging 
 about you ?" 
 
 " No. Why ?" asked Launcelot. 
 
 " Because, as this is the first time you've set 
 your foot behind the scenes, yon are expected to 
 stand treat. Give them a crown to get some beer." 
 
 Launcelot did as he was desired ; and the dirty- 
 looking fellows glided away to procure the refresh- 
 ment for which the funds were thus liberally 
 furnished. Launcelot kept looking round, his 
 heart palpitating with suspense ; for he thought 
 it probable that Imogen might make her appear- 
 ance, though he felt an insuperable loathing at 
 the idea that she should herd, as it were, amidst 
 the painted, bedizened, , tinsel-and-fustian set of 
 beings whom he beheld lounging about. 
 
 " Look," whispered Sylvester, " that short, 
 thick-set, vulgar-looking fellow in the flesh- 
 coloured clothes, is Blundell, the acrobat. He's a 
 precious scamp — I was compelled to put him 
 down a peg or two, because he affected to pay 
 attentions to Alice, and I'm not a fellow to stand 
 any nonsense. Acrobat or no acrobat, it's all the 
 same to me: I would punch his head for him. 
 Ah ! look at that sweet pretty girl who has just 
 crossed from the wings on the other side ! She is 
 
 one of the stars But of course you recognise 
 
 her ? It's Mademoiselle Bose. She looks as well 
 when seen close as on the stage or in the circus. 
 
 I'll introduce you But she does not look this 
 
 way." 
 
 " Where did she emerge from ?" inquired 
 Launcelot. 
 
 " Oh ! that door over there leads to the ladies' 
 dressing-room ; and that's where Alice no doubt 
 is at this moment with her friend Imogen. I 
 don't think it would be quite the thing for us to 
 walk coolly in ; so we must wait a minute or two. 
 Ah! here she is!" 
 
 At that very moment forth from the ladies' 
 dressing-room came Alice Denton, dressed in the 
 manner which has been noticed in a previous 
 chapter when her portrait was alluded to. She 
 was by no means surprised on beholding Sylvester 
 Casey there, for he was frequently in the habit of 
 penetrating behind the scenes ; but on the other 
 hand nothing could exceed her amazement on re- 
 cognising in his companion the object of her friend 
 Imogen's devoted love. She started for an instant: 
 but immediately recovering herself, she curtseyed 
 gracefully while Sylvester introduced him. 
 
 " Alice," said young Casey, " this is my very 
 particular friend the Hon. Launcelot Osborne." 
 
 " I have seen Mr. Osborne before," said Alice. 
 "I remember that he was on board the same 
 steam-packet some months ago — and I have since 
 noticed him at the theatre " 
 
 "Yes, Miss Denton," said Launcelot hastily; 
 " I occasionally look in for a few minutes " 
 
 " Sylvester," suddenly interjected Alice, " I am 
 dying with thirst ! It is most fortunate that you 
 came at this moment. Do go and procure me 
 some ginger-beer, or some sherry-and-water." 
 
 For an instant young Casey looked suspicious, 
 as if he thought that Alice Denton was devising 
 an excuse to get rid of him : but his conceit and 
 vanity prevented him from entertaining the idea 
 more than for that single instant ; and he set off 
 to comply with the young woman's request. 
 
 No sooner was he beyond earshot, than Alice 
 Denton bent a look full of meaning upon Launce- 
 lot, at the same time saying, " What has brought 
 you here, Mr. Osborne ?" 
 
 He coloured — he looked confused for an instant; 
 and then affecting to give a light laugh, he said, 
 " For what other purpose could I come but to see 
 how things look behind the curtain and to be in- 
 troduced to Miss Denton ?" 
 
 " No, sir — these were not your objects,'' replied 
 Alice, in a low but emphatic tone. " I know your 
 secret — but it is safe'with me ! If you really love 
 Imogen, see her — see her, I conjure you ! Tou 
 
 know not how you have misjudged her Oh ! 
 
 you know not !" 
 
 " Misjudged her ?" echoed Launcelot. " What 
 in the name of heaven " 
 
 "That child " 
 
 " Ah !" — and it was with suspended breath that 
 Osborne prepared to listen. 
 
 " Here's some ginger-beer, Alice," said Sylvester, 
 who at that moment reappeared, having encoun- 
 tered at the stage-door a female who vended the 
 cheap effervescent beverage which he was now 
 about to present to his mistress; for with his 
 wonted thoughtfulness he had calculated that a 
 bottle of the luxury aforesaid would cost pre- 
 cisely threepence, wliile a glass of sherry-and- 
 water would cause the disbux-sement of an entire 
 shilling. 
 
 Scarcely had Alice touched the tumbler with 
 her lips, when she was required to hasten into the 
 circus ; and as Osborne felt assured that Sylvester 
 would stick close to him for all the rest of the 
 evening, and would not afford him any farther 
 opportunity of speaking a word alone to Alice, 
 he thought it inexpedient to remain any longer 
 behind the scenes. Besides, he did not wish to be 
 seen by Imogen, for fear she should think that he 
 was purposely throwing himself in her way ; 
 whereas he had not as yet made up liis mind how 
 
62 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 he should act : — he was indeed bewildered by the 
 words which Alice had spdken to him, and utterly 
 at a loss what interpretation to put upon them. 
 
 Thus, all things considered, he felt that he re- 
 quired leisure for reflection and deliberation ; and 
 after having waited in front of the curtain to see 
 Imogen appear in a second performance, Launcelot 
 Osborne took his departure, — not without diffi- 
 culty getting rid of Sylvester, who, as he had 
 foreseen, stuck to him lie a leech, proud of being 
 observed in the company of a scion of the aris- 
 tocracy, and anxious to induce him to go to some 
 supper-rooms and pass the remainder of the even- 
 ing. But Launcelot peremptorily declined; and 
 eventually shaking off his unwelcome companion, 
 he returned to Trentham House, to think of 
 Imogen, and ponder on the brief, mysterious, un- 
 finished allusion which had fallen from the lips Of 
 Alice Denton. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LAUNCELOT. 
 
 It was the evening of the day following the per- 
 formances to which we have just been referring ; 
 and Imogen Hartland, apparelled in her fantastic 
 garb, was seated in her neat little parlour, wait- 
 ing for the moment when she must set off for the 
 theatre. Little Annie was playing with her doll, 
 and singing to it in her sweet infantile voice ; 
 while eyer and anon Imogen bent a look of ten- 
 derness upon the chjld, or else leant forward and 
 caressed her plump cheek of velvet softness. 
 
 Yet Imogen was restless and agitated — for she, 
 was balancing, so to speak, betwixt disappoint- 
 ment and suspense. Her friend Alice Denton had 
 told her what had occurred on the preceding even- 
 ing ; and Imogen had almost made sure that she 
 should that . day receive a visit from Launcelot 
 Osborne. But as hour after hour had passed, hope 
 had gradually yielded to disappointment; and 
 while endeavpuring to conjure up a thousand ex- 
 cuses to account for Launcelot's non-appearance, 
 she continued a prey to suspense as to whether he 
 might purpose to come to her at all. 
 
 She had just been replying to some artless 
 question which, little. Annie had put to her, when 
 there was a low double knock at the front door. 
 She started — and her heart palpitated violently 
 with the suspense of her feelings ; for she knew 
 not whether it might be Launcelot Osborne who 
 was coming, or the Duchess of Ardleigh, — this 
 being the evening on which the latter had 
 promised to visit her. She listened with up- 
 heaved bosom : she heard Fanny open the door ; 
 and then it was a masculine voice that spoke. 
 Oh ! how Imogen's heart beat now ! Was he in- 
 deed coming at last ? Should she send the child 
 from the room ? No ! — she need not be ashamed 
 of its presence ; and she allowed the little inno- 
 cent to remain. A few moments and the door 
 opened, — Launcelot Osborne appearing on the 
 threshold. 
 
 His face was pale : he stopped short — he seemed 
 to be labouring under a violent agitation, as if he 
 knew not how to reconcile himself to the step 
 which he was thus taking, and foresaw hot what 
 would be its result. Imogen rose up from her seat : 
 
 and instead of rushing forward to welcome him, 
 as she had ere now fancied that she should do — 
 instead of being full of a wild haste to proclaim 
 from her lips how cruelly she had been misjudged 
 — she was seized with confusion : she was riveted 
 to the spot — she felt full of shame and bashful- 
 ness — and her eyes were bent down, while the 
 colour glowed in richest crimson upon her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Miss Hartland," said the Hon. Launcelot Os- 
 borne, " I ought perhaps to apologize for this in- 
 trusion; but still, after everything which took 
 place between us the other day at that strange 
 scene when you received certain avowals and ex- 
 planations from my lips, I the while taking you 
 for another " 
 
 " Do not apologize for coming hither," said 
 Imogen, in a low tremulous tone. " It is I who 
 ought to apologize for receiving yon in such a 
 garb as this." 
 
 "Though it may not be the garb which I 
 should best like to see you wear," answered Laun-* 
 celot, now advancing into the room and closing 
 the door behind him, " yet you need not be 
 ashamed of it ; for it indicates that you eat the 
 bread procured by the exercise of a legitimate 
 avocation. But without another syllable of 
 preface let me ask you " 
 
 " I know what you mean," interrupted Imogen : 
 and then as a sudden feeling of bitterness and dis- 
 appointment seized upon her, she said, " But of 
 what avail is it for me to justify myself in your 
 eyes, since you are about to become the husband 
 of her for whom you* took me the other day when 
 I sat at your feet — when I pressed your hand to 
 my lips " 
 
 " Imogen," said Launcelot, in a low voice which 
 was broken and tremulous in its accents ; *' prove 
 to me that you have been wronged by report — 
 and — and it may make a great difference in my 
 views ' and intentions — it may prove a turning- 
 point both in my career and your's " 
 
 " Oh, if this were possible !" she murmured, 
 clasping her hands before her : then in a voice 
 that was inaudible io little Annie, but yet power- 
 fully emphatic in its tone, she said, " That child 
 is not mine !" 
 
 " Not your's ? it really is not your's ?" — and 
 Launcelot appeared to reel and stagger under the 
 influence of his feelings, while mingled hope, joy, 
 and suspense were depicted on his countenance. 
 
 "No — not mine!'' repeated Imogen. "I can 
 look you in the face" — she raised her handsome 
 countenance as she spoke, and methis gaze with 
 her large beautiful blue eyes that appeared to 
 beam with candour and frankness, — il I can look 
 you in the face and declare that as I have a soul 
 to be saved I have never done a deed for which I 
 ought to blush !" 
 
 " Good God! is this possible?" — and there was. 
 now a sort of wildness in the very joy which 
 filled the iook that Launcelot bent upon Imogen. 
 " But why^-why have you allowed yourself to 
 remain under imputations so injurious ?" 
 
 " Yes, so injurious," said Imogen bitterly, " that 
 even at this very instant you scarcely believe the 
 assurance I have given you !" 
 
 " I would give half of my life," responded Os- 
 borne, emphatically, " to be enabled to beiieve it 
 so thoroughly and completely that it should 
 amount to an absolute conviction." 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 63 
 
 Imogen rang the bell: Fanny answered the- 
 summons ; and the actress said, " Take little 
 Annie away for a few minutes." 
 
 At the same time she bent down and kissed 
 the child with every evidence of an affection 
 which was indeed lhtle short of being maternal. A 
 doubt shot like a pang through the mind of Laun- 
 celot Osborne; and the expression of anguish 
 which it conjured up to his face, was caught by 
 the eye of Imogen ere it flitted away. She un- 
 derstood its meaning; and sbe said in a low deep 
 voice, which indicated mingled distress and cold- 
 ness, "You think I am deceiving you? Then 
 why remain another moment with one of whom 
 you must entertain so bad an opinion ?" 
 
 " Oh, Imogen !" exclaimed Launcelot, with im- 
 passioned fervour ; " I have told you that I would 
 give half the years which yet remain to me on 
 earth, to have the conviction of your innocence 
 so strongly established in my mind that I cannot 
 possibly doubt it ! God knows my own inclina- 
 tion is to believe you guiltless ! — and when I look 
 in your face I think it impossible that you can be 
 otherwise than pure and stainless! But still — 
 but stall — you remember when I met you in the 
 Westminster Road about a month ago — you had 
 then the child with you — it was the first time I 
 had ever seen yon with such a companion — it 
 seemed to me as if the burning blush of shame 
 swept over your countenance " 
 
 " Shame only because I instantaneously com- 
 prehended the idea which struck you and why 
 you became so deadly pale! Oh, that I had 
 conjured up the courage to address you — or that 
 you had been just and merciful enough to ques- 
 tion me without prejudging me !" 
 
 " Ah, Imogen," said Launcelot, "I scarcely 
 merit this reproach ! So soon as I had recovered 
 from that first shock, I resolved not to suffer my 
 mind to arrive at any hasty conclusion " 
 
 " I understand you," observed Imogen mourn- 
 fully: "you instituted inquiries in the neigh- 
 bourhood of my abode — you went from shop to 
 shop — I saw yon — and doubtless at each one you 
 heard a repetition of the same calumny. No ! I 
 can scarcely call it calumny ; for my neighbours 
 believe the tale which they tell — and under 
 existing circumstances they are justified in so 
 believing !" 
 
 " But surely, Imogen — surely," interjected Os- 
 borne, "you might have found means to convince 
 them of your innocence? And then, too, the 
 other day when you were at Trentham House — 
 surely you could have breathed a single word to 
 proclaim your innocence to me ?" 
 
 "I was about to breathe that word," inter- 
 rupted Imogen, "when you passionately and 
 wildly broke in upon what I was saving ! — you 
 declared that we must part for ever — and you 
 rushed in frenzied haste from the room. Oh, 
 Launcelot ! you know not how I have suffered on 
 account of that dear child !- — and yet there is not 
 so much as the slightest kinship between her and 
 me. However, it is useless forme to expatiate 
 further upon the subject " 
 
 " To whom belongs the child ?" asked Osborne : 
 "how came it in your keeping? Oh, tell me 
 everything, Imogen! — tell me everything! — for 
 it is my life's happiness that is now at stake !" 
 
 " God knows," she fervidly replied, " I am 
 most anxious to convince you of my innocence. 
 
 Listen ! In this house there used to be a happy 
 family : — that was when I dwelt here with my 
 father, my mother, and my brother. We were 
 poor: but we were all honest and respectable. 
 My parents had seen better days : my mother was 
 a woman of accomplishments, and some of these 
 she imparted to me. It was purposed that I 
 should endeavour to earn my own bread as 
 a nursery-governess at first — afterwards as a 
 governess when I should grow older and more 
 experienced. It was about four years and a half 
 ago — when I was sixteen — that I obtained a 
 situation in the first-mentioned capacity, in a 
 family that was going to travel on the Continent; 
 I was absent for about four or five months, when 
 a. sudden circumstance — it was a gross ana 
 unpardonable insult which I received — led me all 
 in a moment to quit my situation. I returned at 
 once to London. It was late at night when I 
 reached the paternal home, — this very house 
 which I now occupy. That same night a child, 
 two or three weeks old, was brought hither, my 
 parents having agreed to receive and adopt it 
 in consideration of a handsome sum of money that 
 was furnished for the purpose. Now, observe, 
 Launcelot ! On the very night that I returned 
 was the child brought hither ; and as my parents 
 had not previously breathed a syllable, not even 
 to any intimate friend, of the bargain which they 
 had made and of their expectation of receiving 
 the little stranger, the coincidence was altogether 
 a most unfortunate one for me." 
 
 " Proceed, Imogen — proceed," said Osborne, 
 watching her countenance with the most earnest 
 interest. 
 
 " Nevertheless," she continued, " it did noi 
 strike my parents that the coincidence might be- 
 come the source of evil rumours ; while such a 
 thought assuredly did not occur to me. My own 
 imagination was too pure and innocent for the 
 entertainment of such apprehensions. My parents 
 had obtained a considerable sum of money as a 
 reward for adopting the child, and likewise to ber 
 come a provision for little Annie's future benefit ; 
 and thus poverty being no longer a guest in the 
 house, my mother resolved that I should not be 
 again exposed to such insult, amounting almost 
 to outrage, as that which had induced me to aban- 
 don my situation all in a moment. I therefore 
 remained at home. I grew passionately fond of 
 little Annie : I reared her by hand — and the child 
 got to love me so devotedly that it would let "no 
 one else do anything for it I pitied its worse 
 than orphan condition — abandoned, repudiated, 
 rejected by its parents as it was ; and that feeling 
 of commiseration, mingling with the love that I 
 bore for little Annie, strengthened the attachment 
 itself and made my heart yearn towards the inno- 
 cent as if she were veritably my own child. And 
 it is for this that I have suffered ! — for this that 
 I at length became aware that calumniatory 
 whispers were circulated concerning me ! — for this" 
 that I had to endure the jeering smile or contemp- 
 tuous toss of the head on the part of a neighbour 
 when I attempted to say something to efface the 
 injurious opinion which was thus spreading con- 
 cerning me ! Misfortunes were at the same time 
 coming upon the family. My father — who in the 
 former part of his life had impoverished himself 
 by his mania for speculation — no sooner got pos- 
 session of the money which he received on little 
 
04 
 
 iHB YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 Annie's account, than he launched out into fresh 
 ventures. These, alas ! turned out to be as 
 unfortunate as the former ones ; and all that 
 money was lost. Then came pestilence, ravaging 
 this neighbourhood. You recollect perhaps that 
 two years ago a virulent fever broke out through 
 the district of Lambeth ? My father and mother 
 died within the same week ; and then poverty 
 entered the house. My brother went to sea — I 
 obtained an engagement at Astley's — and now 
 you know everything." 
 
 " Oh, if the conviction were only established in 
 my mind," exclaimed Launcelot, — " you know 
 to what I allude, Imogen ! — then, Oh ! then how 
 deeply should I sympathize with you !" 
 
 " Perhaps I may be enabled to establish this 
 conviction," murmured Imogen, trembling almost 
 like a guilty person at an idea which she had 
 previously conceived, and which was now rapidly 
 expanding in her mind. 
 
 " For God's sake do so ! Oh, do so, Imogen ! 
 I conjure you !" exclaimed Osborne : and seizing 
 her hands, he pressed them both in his own. " Yes 
 — by everything sacred I adjure you to prove to me 
 your complete innocence ! . I already believe you, 
 Imogen — dear Imogen ! — but Oh ! for your own 
 sake you will satisfy me so fully that never here- 
 after shall there be a moment when even the 
 slightest misgiving may enter my mind — no cloud 
 to flit across the heaven of that happiness which 
 we may perhaps enjoy together !" 
 
 " Oh," murmured Miss Hartland, reclining her 
 head upon the shoulder of that handsome young 
 patrician, as he held her hands clasped in. his 
 own ; " I would make any sacrifice to prove my- 
 self worthy of your love ! Yes — I would be 
 guilty of any treachery — any perfidy, no matter 
 how vile !" 
 
 " Good heavens ! what mean you, Imogen ?" 
 cried Osborne, starting back and gazing upon her 
 with consternation. 
 
 " It means," she replied, " that I have a right 
 to vindicate my own character, even though by so 
 doing I may ruin that of another !" 
 
 " Ah ! then your parents, when they agreed to 
 adopt that child, and received a sum of money as 
 a reward, were acquainted with the infant's pa- 
 rentage ?" 
 
 1 " No," replied Imogen : " they died in ignorance 
 Of the truth. The whole affair at the outset was 
 negotiated with my parents so warily, and the 
 child was delivered into my mother's arms under 
 such circumstances of extreme precaution, that no 
 clue was left for the slightest scintillation of a 
 discovery." 
 
 "Ah!" said Launcelot: and a shade of doubt 
 once more crossed his features. 
 
 " Again mistrustful !" said Imogen, in a tone of 
 gentle reproach; "and you judge me even before 
 I have well finished speaking ! Exactly a fort- 
 night has elapsed since I discovered the parentage 
 of that child, at least so far as the mother is con- 
 cerned ; for she called here — doubtless her heart 
 yearned to see the offspring whom for upwards of 
 lour years she had ignored and abandoned — and 
 so she came " 
 
 "Therefore you know her?" said Launcelot 
 eagerly. " Oh ! think not that I am inspired by 
 any ungenerous or impertinent curiosity ; but it is 
 for your sake, Imogen — yes, and for the sake of 
 my own happiness '' 
 
 " I believe you, Launcelot ! I believe you ! Yeg 
 — I know who the mother is." 
 
 " Oh ! then you can satisfy me " 
 
 " Hush !" said Imogen, as her ear caught a low 
 double knock at the front door. 
 
 "You expect a visitor?" said Launcelot in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 " Yes," quickly responded Miss Hartland in a 
 whisper ; " and you shall overhear every syllable 
 that takes place between that visitor and myself. 
 But I charge you not to let it be known that you 
 are a listener ! This way ! this way !" 
 
 She hurried him into an adjoining room : she 
 placed the door ajar; and then she glided back 
 into the front parlour, where she awaited the visi- 
 tress whom she had been expecting. Fanny 
 ushered in a lady dressed with the utmost plain- 
 ness, and with a black veil so folded over her 
 countenance that it was impossible to catch 
 the slightest glimpse of her features. Fanny 
 withdrew : and the young Duchess sank down 
 upon a seat, overpowered by her emotions. 
 
 " I have kept the appointment, Miss Hart- 
 land," she at length said: "but, Oh! it is so 
 very difficult for me to take such a step as this 
 and escape observation !" 
 
 " No doubt, my lady," observed Imogen. 
 
 " Hush ! for heaven's sake give me no titles !" 
 interjected the Duchess. " I tremble from head 
 to foot — and if I were not sure that I could 
 thoroughly trust to you " 
 
 " Shall I go and fetch your child, madam, that 
 you may press the innocent to your bosom ?" 
 
 " No, no, Miss Hartland ! — not . now ! not now ! 
 I am not equal to such a task " 
 
 " A task,?" echoed Imogen. " What ! to em- 
 brace j'our own offspring ?" 
 
 "Ah! you cannot comprehend the dreadful 
 feelings which I now experience," said the 
 Duchess, with a concentrated emphasis that cor- 
 responded well with the sense of the words them- 
 selves. " The other day my heart yearned to- 
 wards my child — it was an irresistible impulse 
 that I obeyed when I came hither — and yet the 
 step was taken with fear and trembling, and 
 with a strong shuddering. Do you not know the 
 sensation of looking from a dizzy height and 
 longing to plunge down into the abysm ? Well 
 then, it was that fearful sort of feeling which im- 
 pelled me to come hither?" >\ 
 
 "And you expected not," said Imogen, "to 
 meet an actress in her fantastic garb — and you 
 were shocked and you repented the step you had 
 taken — and you would have retreated— you would 
 have fled — yes, without embracing your child! 
 But I was alike indignant and shocked at the 
 hearUessness of your conduct — I tore the veil 
 from your countenance — and behold, it was the 
 Duchess of Ardleigh who stood before me !" 
 
 '•Hush! hush!" exclaimed the briUiant lady, 
 convulsed from head to foot with fear. " Why 
 do you thus breathe my name ? why do you thus 
 endanger me? Is it that you seek to compromise 
 me?" 
 
 " No," replied Imogen : " but I am endeavour- 
 ing to move your heart by some means, if I can. 
 Shall I fetch down the child?" 
 
 " No, no !" almost shrieked forth the Duchess, 
 with a convulsing anguish. " I loathe and hate 
 the infant, to me the cause of so much uuhapHiness ! 
 It was not in the weakness of love that I surrea- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 65 
 
 THE YOUNG DUC3ESS. 
 
 dered to the father of that child: it was as a 
 victim that I succumbed to the treachery of a 
 ravisher! Now then, will you ask me to love 
 that child ? No, no ! you could not ! It were 
 against nature itself to do so ! I could not have 
 been in my right mind when I came the other 
 evening to see the child ! No, no ! I was mad — ■ 
 as indeed I often think I am on other points as 
 well as on this !" 
 
 The Duchess had spoken with an exceeding 
 vehemence ; and now she gasped for breath — and 
 doubtless feeling the air oppressive, she raised her 
 veil. Imogen contemplated her with earnestness ; 
 for she did indeed fear that the patrician lady 
 No. 9. — The Young Duchess'. 
 
 was going mad, and that she would burst forth in 
 some still more violent paroxysms of emotion. 
 
 There was «. pause of nearly a minute ; and 
 then Imogen said, " I feel that I was wrong to 
 persist in urging your child upon your notice. 
 There was a compact made with my parents — and 
 that bargain ought to be honourably fulfilled. 
 Neither can I forget that a complete pecuniary 
 , provision was made for the child, and that the 
 sum thus furnished was dissipated by my father. 
 Madam, I will urge nothing more upon you — 
 neither will I molest you further. You shall 
 henceforth hear naught of Imogen Hartland ; and 
 you may rest assured that whether you hate or 
 
love that dear little Annie, she shall always find 
 a true friend — aye, a mother in me." 
 
 " Miss Hartland," said the Duchess, in a yojce 
 that was now low and tremulous, " you are speak- 
 ing in the most generous manner ! Tour conduct 
 is altogether so admirable " 
 
 "No, no!" interrupted Imogen hastily,: '"do 
 not address me thus ! I have been wrong to .per- 
 secute you even for a moment. If ,ever ,ypu 
 wish to hear of your child, you may seek me for tihat 
 purpose : but otherwise you will see me .np more." 
 
 The Duchess gazed upon the actress with a 
 look which was as much as to say, '"Singular and 
 unaccountable being that you arc ;!" — then rising 
 from her seat, she drew forth ajpurse, which was 
 heavy with gold and with bank-itaotes .; and prof- 
 fering that purse, sheobserv8JJy'"jIjfya;e are a.thpju- 
 land pounds for your use." 
 
 " No, madair. ? — no !" .exclaimed Imogen ^m- ! 
 phatically. "You .provided well for the child at 
 the outset ; and it is for me .to act preqise,ly as af 
 my poor father had not by ihis speculatiqns lost 
 the amount that you thus furnished. Ah! I said ' 
 that you should hear from me no more ■! But in ; 
 case that I became unable to earn bread for that 
 dear child, then most assuredly .wpuld £ appeal 
 unto your bounty rbut .not .till ifoefr !* 
 
 The Duchess again nrepsed ^he jnqney upon 
 Imogen; hut it was .still refused firmly though 
 respectfully ; and then the patriqian .lady, lower- 
 ing her vefl, said, ■" Farewell, J\Ess -Hartland. 
 Never, never can jt ifprget the generosity of your 
 conduct !" 
 
 She presged Imogen's ;hand and hastened jfrpm i 
 the room. She opened : the ifrpnt door for &er.self, : 
 and issued forth, ,at onqe closing that door behind 
 her. She(had.npt prooeeded a dozen yards along the 
 street — .tlje dusk having npw.clpsed in — when she 
 was suddenly caught round ;the waist by the strong 
 arms of a man, and in ,the twirjfeling of an .eye) 
 lifted into a .cab, which was drawn olose (uj> j 
 against the kerbstone, and the.dpar of W/hiohwap ; 
 standing open. The man sprang in .after [her, 
 closing the door ; and itihe vehicle rolled away at 
 a rapid pace. 
 
 Meanwhile Imogen Hartland, .the instant <the * 
 Duchess took her departure, sank, down upon the 
 sofa ; and covering her face with her .hands, burst ; 
 into a convulsive fit of sobbing and weeping. J 
 Launcelot Osborne was almost immediately by • 
 her side : and then he threw himself at <her feet. 
 
 " Imogen, Imogen !" he said, forcing her hands 
 away from her countenance and pressing them to 
 his lips ; "for heaven's sake tranquillize yourself ! 
 What is the matter ? Speak to me, dearest, dear- 
 est Imogen !" 
 
 " Oh ! now I know," she murmured, her voice 
 broken with those convulsing sobs, "you will hate 
 me ! The veTy means which I have adopted to 
 make you love me, will cause you to detest me !" 
 
 " Np, no, Imogen ! no, no, dearest !" cried 
 Launcelot. " I swear that 1 love you more than 
 life ! Oh, heaven only knows how I love you !" 
 
 "But this dreadful act of treachery which I 
 have committed towards that unfortunate wo- 
 man " 
 
 " I forced you to do it— and you were justified 
 under the circumstances !" 
 
 " Oh ! if you think so !" — and with a cry of 
 joy Imogen threw herself into his arms ; and the 
 lovers were locked in a fervid embrace. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the excitement which pre- 
 vailed in the usually quiet little village of South- 
 dale, when the postchaise which had been hired 
 to convey Ethel and her maid to Dorchester, re- 
 turned to the inn, the postilion and constable bear- 
 ing the intelligence of the rescue which had been 
 effected. Of course the postboy, having received 
 the five-pound note from Tim Gaffhey and Jack 
 Peppercorn to enter into the plot, told his tale in 
 such a way as completely to screen those two 
 worthies from all suspicion. He declared that he 
 obtained a perfect view of the two men who 
 (knocked him off his horse ; and he gave such a 
 description as quite separated their persons from 
 the .remotest idea of identifying them with the 
 strangers who had hired the phaeton. He repre- 
 sented .them as two men of herculean size and 
 colossal! strength; whereas Gaffney was of mode- 
 rate ..stature, and "Peppercorn was a dapper little 
 fellow, thin, wiry, and active. The constable 
 Gibson, willing enough to snatch at any apology 
 for suffering himself to ibe overpowered so easily, 
 corroborated .the postboy's tale, though in point 
 of fact he had not obtained so much as the slight- 
 est glimpse of the two men ; for lie was dozing 
 at the time when the vehicle was stopped, and 
 scarcely had his eyes opened from his snooze than 
 they were closed again by .the stunning effect of 
 the .blow .which stretched him in the road as he 
 was dragged out of the chaise. Thus not for a 
 single instant did suspicion attach itself ' to the 
 real authors of the occurrence. 
 
 On the following day Messrs. Gaffney and Pep- 
 percorn, with cigars in their .mouths, and their 
 f^ts.petohed jauntily on one side, drove up to the 
 ami, and alighted from the phaeton. They in- 
 stantaneously ordered glasses of ale ; and with a 
 knowing wink, gave the landlord to understand 
 ,$iat they had won no end of money by the prize"- 
 -fight, which they said had come off at a very 
 early ihour .that morning- They seemed to be 
 perfectly astounded wben the unsophisticated Mr. 
 Goodman-told them of , the rescue of Mrs. Trevor ; 
 and when they heard the personal description of 
 the two villains, according to the representation 
 of the .postboy, they both suddenly recollected 
 that they had met two such fellows along the 
 road, and were rather alarmed at the time for 
 their own safety. Thus everything considered, 
 Mr. Goodman was perfectly convinced that his 
 two sporting-looking customers had no more con- 
 cern than he himself had with the particular 
 affair that was now exciting so strong a sensation 
 in Southdale. 
 
 But Mr. Trevor — otherwise the Duke of Ard- 
 leigh — did not pass equally free from the taint of 
 suspicion until the prompt institution of an in- 
 quiry resulted in the clearing of his character also 
 on this special point. Another local constable, 
 a trifle more astute than Gibson, was sent 
 off very early in the morning to Dorchester 
 to find the postilion who had driven the so-called 
 Mr. Trevor from Southdale. But the postilion 
 was fully prepared for any questions that might 
 be put to him, inasmuch as he had the Duke'3 
 twenty guineas in his pocket and his Grace's 
 
THE YOU2J6 DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 67 
 
 threat of transportation before his eyes. He there- 
 fore vowed that he had seen nothing of the lady 
 or her servant — that he had driven Mr. Trevor to 
 the door of the coach-office, where that gentleman 
 had alighted — and that there was an end of the 
 business. The constable returned with this infor- 
 mation to Southdale, which pleasant little village 
 was accordingly more mystified and bewildered 
 than ever it had been since its name first appeared 
 in Doomsday Book, where the archaeologists of the 
 place declared that it was to be duly found. 
 
 Tim Gafmey and Jack Peppercorn spent the 
 greater part of the day at the inn, where they 
 feasted upon the best which the house could fur- 
 nish, and finally paid their bill with such liberality 
 that Goodman, the worthy landlord, almost re- 
 gretted he had not begged to be permitted to 
 stake a little money on the prize-fight, under their 
 auspices, that he might have reaped proportionate 
 gains. Thus firmly believing in the fiction of that 
 prize-fight, he continued unsuspicious that his two 
 liberal customers were of a character at all dif- 
 ferent from what they represented themselves to 
 be. They took their departure at about five 
 o'clock in the evening, by a coach which passed 
 through the village ; and the landlord regretted 
 the loss of such good customers. These two indi- 
 viduals alighted from the coach at a neighbouring 
 hamlet ; and when it was dusk, they began to re- 
 trace their way — or at least to return by a cir- 
 cuitous route through the woods and fields/ into 
 the neighbourhood of Southdale. 
 
 But taking leave of Tim Gaflhey and Jack Pep- 
 percorn for the present, let us proceed to introduce 
 the reader somewhat more intimately to Squire 
 Ponsford and his daughter than we have yet done. 
 We have already stated that Mr. Ponsford was 
 about sixty years of age, of very gentlemanly 
 appearance, with a pale and severe expression of 
 countenance. In respect to his daughter, we 
 merely alluded to her as a beautiful girl of about 
 eighteen : but we should not be in error if we 
 were to add that a more lovely creature than 
 Pamela Ponsford was not to be seen throughout 
 Dorsetshire. She was short and slightly formed, 
 of the most exquisite symmetry, and with an 
 aerial fairy-like appearance. Her complexion 
 was dazzlingly fair and transparent, tie most 
 delicate hues of the carnation softly blending 
 with the pure whiteness of the lilyj Her hair was 
 of a very light chesnut; and it showered in 
 myriads of ringlets npon her shoulders. Her 
 eyes were of violet-blue, and replete with the 
 most amiable expression. Nothing could exceed 
 the beauty of the classically cut lips nor the 
 purity and regularity of the rows of pearly teeth. 
 Though she had numbered- eighteen years, yet 
 there was something of girlish artlessness about 
 her — something even of childish gaiety and inno- 
 cence — as if she were completely unacquainted 
 with the cares of the world and had never expe- 
 rienced anything to impair the equanimity of her 
 thoughts. 
 
 Pamela had lost her mother when she was in 
 her infancy ; and thus having never known a ma- 
 ternal parent's care, she had not been doomed to 
 sorrow for its absence. She had been reared under 
 the care of trustworthy and competent govern- 
 esses ; and thus she had never incurred the risk 
 of acquiring the taint which the minds of young 
 girls are sometimes too apt to derive from the at- 
 
 mosphere of boarding-schools. In short, she had 
 been carefully but tenderly and indulgently 
 brought np ; she was good and she was beautiful 
 — accomplished and well-mannered — bashful and 
 retiring before strangers, but affable and of a 
 charming good-nature amongst friends and ac- 
 quaintances. 
 
 Squire Ponsford had no near relations of either 
 sex ; and thus there were no kinswomen to dwelj 
 beneath the same roof and become guides or com- 
 panions for Pamela. The governesses who reared 
 her, had supplied the place of the mother whom 
 she had lost in her infancy : but these ladies had 
 gone to settle elsewhere when their services were 
 no longer required ; and thus Pamela now resided 
 alone with her father at the Firs. She however 
 frequently had some of the young ladies of the 
 neighbourhood to stay with her — the Squire gave 
 frequent evening parties on his daughter's ac- 
 count (for he himself secretly detested them) ; and 
 thus Pamela was never dull at that secluded 
 country-seat, nor did the time ever hang heavy 
 upon her hands. 
 
 Squire Ponsford was reputed to be very well 
 off : he had a good estate— and it was believed 
 that he had a considerable sum of money in the 
 funds. Pamela was his only child ;' and she was 
 looked upon as an heiress. Thus, beautiful and 
 accomplished as she was, and with the prospect of 
 inheriting a fine fortune, she naturally became 
 the object of attention on the part of several of the 
 scions of the principal families in the county: 
 but she never seemed to understand their atten- 
 tions — it never appeared as if she noticed that 
 one young gentleman was more assiduous to her 
 than another ; and thus no one received any en- 
 couragement to attach himself deliberately and 
 studiously to her as a suitor. She was not vola- 
 tile — much less was she a flirt or a coquette : but 
 she seemed to receive with the same good- 
 tempered affability the attentions of all who ap- 
 proached her, just as readily giving her hand for 
 a quadrille to one as to another, and appearing 
 to be completely indifferent whose arm she took 
 when being escorted from the drawing-room to 
 the dining-room, or who became her cavalier at a 
 pic-nic or rural excursion. In short, at eighteen 
 Miss Ponsford was still completely unacquainted 
 with the sentiment of love ; and every one mar- 
 velled who the happy individual would be that was 
 destined to win her heart and lead her to the altar. 
 
 Before we continue the thread of our narrative, 
 we must place on record a few particulars rela- 
 tive to the estate possessed by Squire Ponsford. 
 This was double the shse of the domain which he 
 had inherited from his father. At that time — 
 looking back for a period of about five-and-twenty 
 years — the estate called '■ The Firs," the property 
 of the Ponsford family, was joined by another 
 property called " The Southdale Farm." This 
 belonged to a young man of the name of Pringle : 
 he was a wild reckless fellow, who thought more 
 of hunting and shooting over his lands than at- 
 tending to their culture, and who kept open house 
 with a hospitality that could not fail to be ruinous. 
 John Ponsford — at that time unmarried — was 
 very intimate with Rupert Pringle : but there was 
 a difference of ten years in their ages, and Squire 
 Ponsford was proportionately more experienced in 
 the world than his friend Pringle. The conse- 
 quence was that while the former carefully lived 
 
68 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 within his income, though enjoying himself with 
 all kinds of pleasures, the latter was soon floun- 
 dering in a maze of pecuniary difficulties ; so 
 that he fell into the hands of usurers and money- 
 lenders. Then there arose a sudden breach be- 
 tween John Ponsford and Rupert Pringle. No 
 one knew the exact cause of the quarrel, though it 
 was whispered that some female was at the bottom 
 of it : but certain it is that the animosity which 
 ensued between those two was even greater than 
 their former intimacy had been. And then in a 
 very short time Eupert Pringle's affairs came to 
 a crisis — Southdale Farm was seized by the 
 money-lenders to whom it was mortgaged — 
 and Pringle himself suddenly disappeared. There 
 was a good deal of mystery attending these pro- 
 ceedings at the time ; and indeed no one seemed 
 to understand the exact rights of the matter ; for 
 it seemed strange that Pringle should vanish so 
 abruptly after having surrendered up everything 
 to his creditors, and without even waiting to see 
 whether the sale of his property would not suffice 
 for the liquidation of his debts and leave some 
 little surplus for his own benefit. And then too, 
 to render the mystery still deeper, and to afford 
 additional scope for surprise and conjecture, who 
 should become the purchaser of Southdale Farm 
 but Squire Ponsford himself ? — not openly and at 
 public auction, but quietly, if not secretly, by 
 private contract with the creditors who had taken 
 possession of it ! And thus the Pringle property 
 became incorporated with that of the Ponsfords ; 
 the distinctive appellation of " Southdale Farm " 
 soon ceased to exist — and the amalgamated whole 
 was known under the general title of " The Firs." 
 As for Pringle, it seemed that he was never again 
 heard of: indeed his fate remained enveloped in 
 the utmost mystery, — some persons maintaining 
 that he fled to another part of the. country or else 
 to a foreign clime — other people confidently ex- 
 pressing their opinion that he had committed 
 suicide at the time of his irretrievable difficulties, 
 and that his corpse had fed the fishes in some 
 adjacent river. There were likewise at the time 
 certain whispers to the effect that Ponsford had 
 dealt harshly and unfairly towards his late friend : 
 but no direct accusation was levelled against the 
 Squire. On the other hand, it is only fair to state 
 that there were persons who were fully convinced 
 that the origin of the quarrel was entirely attri- 
 butable to some nefarious conduct on Eupert 
 Pringle's own part, and that in respect to the 
 purchase of the Southdale Farm the Squire had 
 only availed himself of a legitimate opportunity 
 to .increase his own domain in a suitable and 
 honourable manner. 
 
 Now, as we have before said, » quarter of a 
 century had elapsed since those occurrences, the 
 details of which were therefore only dimly remem- 
 bered in the neighbourhood, while Squire Ponsford 
 himself had completely outlived any evil opinion 
 or prejudice that might possibly have existed con- 
 cerning him among the Pringle partisans at that 
 date when the events themselves took place.- As 
 for Pamela, she had scarcely ever heard of the 
 matter at all, — her entire knowledge thereof being 
 confined to the fact that a portion of her father's 
 present estate had not always existed in the 
 family, but had been purchased from a spend- 
 thrift of the name of Pringle some years before she 
 herself was born. 
 
 We now resume the thread of our story. It 
 was the evening — the dusk had closed in — the 
 lamp was lighted in the parlour. — and Squire 
 Ponsford sat with his daughter, discoursing on 
 the mysterious rescue of Mrs. Trevor. 
 
 " I must say, dear father," observed Pamela, 
 raising her frank beautiful countenance and look- 
 ing him with smiling ingenuousness in the face as 
 she let her embroidery fall in her lap, — "I must 
 say that I am not sorry the poor lady is saved 
 from the horrors of a prison ; although it was of 
 course very wrong for her to tear the register. 
 But still if her brain be affected " 
 
 " Of which there is little doubt," interjected 
 Mr. Ponsford. " You remember her — do you 
 not ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! when she was Miss Fraser, and 
 lived in the ivy cottage. But I never knew her 
 to speak to," continued Pamela. " How was it, 
 dear father, that she did not visit at the Firs ?" 
 
 " It was not my fault," answered the Squire. 
 " Her widowed mother led a very retired life in 
 that cottage, courting no society, and visiting 
 only Mr. and Mrs. Milner. When she died, several 
 families showed the kindest attention towards her 
 orphan daughter Ethel — and I was often thinking 
 that we would call upon her, but something 
 always occurred to prevent it; and then Mr. 
 Trevor came into the neighbourhood, married her, 
 and took her away." 
 
 " Poor creature !" said Pamela, with a sigh of 
 compassion. "-I wonder how it is that her brain 
 has become affected? But I suppose, dear father, 
 that you will do nothing more against her ?" 
 
 " Well, I think not," replied Mr. Ponsford. " I 
 did my duty as a magistrate ; but I am not sorry 
 that the case has ended thus. At the same time 
 it is a very very hard thing for those whose 
 marriage-registries are destroyed by the act of 
 this unfortunate woman." 
 
 " I thought I once heard Mr. Milner say," re- 
 marked Pamela, "that duplicate copies of the 
 parish registers are kept ?" 
 
 "Yes — at the diocesan courts,'' rejoined Mr. 
 Ponsford: "but the books are only sent every 
 two years to have copies taken of the entries that 
 may be made during that time ; and as all the 
 entries upon the leaf which Mrs. Trevor tore out, 
 happen to be within the two years, there are no 
 duplicates and the records are lost." 
 
 "And what will those persons do," inquired 
 Pamela, "who may possibly some day stand in 
 need of their marriage-certificates ?" 
 
 " I scarcely know what they can do," responded 
 her father ; " but it is of course very awkward. 
 For instance, there is George White the farmer's 
 son, who meant to apply to me for the situation 
 of bailiff: but he is now unable to complete his 
 testimonials " 
 
 " But every one knows," observed Pamela, 
 " that Mr. George White was married about 
 eighteen months or two years ago." 
 
 "Yery likely, my dear," said Mr. Ponsford: 
 " but in these cases I hold to the very letter of 
 the usual formality. My father and grandfather 
 and great grandfather did the same — and I as- 
 suredly shall not deviate from the rule." 
 
 " Then George White will not obtain the situa- 
 tion ?" said Pamela. 
 
 "Unfortunately for him he will not. I am 
 very sorry — but there are certain hereditary 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 69 
 
 customs which ought to be preserved in families 
 as religiously as if they were heirlooms " 
 
 The Squire's sententious speech was interrupted 
 by the entrance of a livery-servant, who said, " If 
 you please, sir, here is a person come to apply for 
 the situation of bailiff." 
 
 " Why, this i3 rather an unreasonable hour — 
 nine o'clock in the evening," observed Mr. Pons- 
 fbrd, drawing himself up and looking severely as 
 he glanced at the time-piece on the mantel. 
 
 " He says, sir, that he only got down to the 
 village just now ; and thinking' that there might 
 be a great many applicants for the situation, he 
 hoped you would look over his testimonials, 
 sir " 
 
 ""Well, let him step in here," said the Squire ; 
 " for after all," he added, as the domestic with- 
 drew, "it is a cautious business-like proceeding 
 on this applicant's part, and speaks well for his 
 character." 
 
 Pamela took up her embroidery, and only just 
 slightly glanced at the door as it opened to give 
 admittance to the applicant for the vacant situa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Where do you come from ?" inquired Mr. 
 Ponsford. 
 
 " I come from Hampshire, sir," answered the 
 applicant in a voice so pleasing that Pamela could 
 not help noticing it ; and she now glanced again 
 towards the individual. 
 
 She observed that he was a young man, a little 
 above the middle stature, very neatly dressed ; 
 and though it was a matter on which she ordinarily 
 felt perfectly indifferent, yet she could not help 
 hoping that so respectable-looking a person might 
 obtain the coveted post. 
 
 ■ "TVTiy, you are young," said the Squire, "to 
 seek for such a situation. How old are you ?" 
 
 " I am twenty-five, sir," was the response, " al- 
 though perhaps I may not seem to be quite so 
 old." 
 
 " And your testimonials?" 
 
 " They are here, sir :" — with which words the 
 applicant advanced towards the table, on which 
 he laid a small packet of papers, at the same time 
 making a respectful bow. 
 
 " Tour name, I perceive, is Stephen Ashborne," 
 said Mr. Ponsford ; " and you have already filled 
 the situation of bailiff to Sir Norton Bridgeman ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. I think you will find Sir Norton's 
 testimonial satisfactory." 
 
 "Yes — I don't know but that it is very satisfac- 
 tory. I see that Sir Norton says you have merely 
 left his service because he has no further use for 
 you. What does that mean?" 
 
 "It means, sir," replied Stephen Ashborne, 
 " that Sir Norton is going abroad immediately 
 in consequence of the encumbered state of his 
 affairs." 
 
 "Ah! I heard something of the sert the other 
 day," said Squire • Ponsford, " when I was at 
 
 Southampton. It was quite by accident 1 
 
 think my information was derived from hearing 
 two gentlemen speaking on the subject in the 
 coffee-room of the hotel — and they said Sir Norton 
 was going all to pieces." 
 
 " I am afraid, sir," replied Ashborne, " that the 
 poor gentleman will never get over his difficulties. 
 He was an excellent master — and I am pro- 
 foundly sorry for him. You will see, sir, from 
 those testimonials, that I have served him well 
 
 and faithfully. I saw your advertisement in a 
 Dorsetshire paper, and I lost no time in coming 
 to present my testimonials for your inspection." 
 
 There was something frank, almost amounting 
 to independence in Stephen Ashborne's manner ; 
 and yet it was courteous and respectful. But 
 there was nothing servile nor cringing in it. It 
 was as much as to say, " There are my testimo- 
 nials — take me if you like : but if not, I know 
 that with such certificates as those I shall not be 
 long in obtaining such a situation as I require." 
 
 But it was precisely .because Stephen Ash- 
 borne seemed thus frankly confident and inge- 
 nuously self-reliant, amounting as we have said 
 almost to a spirit of independence, that Squire 
 Ponsford thought it necessary to assume a high 
 ground. He therefore said, " Well, my good mau, 
 I will think over the matter. You can call to- 
 morrow at noon, and I will give you my answer." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," responded Ashborne ; 
 " but I have copied half-a-dozen advertisements 
 from gentlemen requiring bailiffs in this and the 
 neighbouring counties: and if I have not the 
 honour to please one off-hand, I may succeed in 
 giving satisfaction to another. I cannot afford 
 to let the grass grow under my feet." 
 
 " But I cannot give v you an answer all in a 
 moment," said the Squire somewhat angrily. 
 
 " I thank you for your courtesy, sir, in receiving 
 me at this hour," said Stephen, with the most 
 perfect good-tempered frankness and with unabat- 
 ing respectfulness : and gathering up his papers he 
 was about to retire, with a polite "Good even- 
 ing, sir. Good evening, Miss." 
 
 " Stop !" said Mr. Ponsford, who was deter- 
 mined not to let slip through his hands an in- 
 dividual who was so excellently recommended. 
 " I like this anxiety on your part to obtain a new 
 situation without delay. Perhaps you are mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 " No, sir — I am single : but I do not want to 
 remain idle on that account : the truth is, I am 
 almost certain of obtaining the bailiff's place at 
 Hazledon Park : but I thought that if I should 
 be fortunate enough to please you, sir, I would 
 rather stop short at the Firs than go on any far- 
 ther." 
 
 " Then you are at once prepared to enter on 
 your duties, provided I agree to take you ?" 
 
 "At once, sir. My trunk is at the inn, and I 
 await your commands." 
 
 Pamela felt pleased that an individual who 
 seemed to be of so frank, honest, and straight- 
 forward a character, stood a chance of obtaining 
 the vacant situation ; and she again raised her 
 eyes for a moment from her work to glance to- 
 wards him. He was not tall — but there was 
 something in the manly symmetry of the figure, 
 the full development of the chest and shoulders, 
 and the Well-knit limbs, which appeared to give 
 height to his stature ; while there was a veritable 
 gentility if not actual gracefulness in the careless 
 ease of the attitude in which he stood near the 
 door, awaiting the Squire's decision. His counte- 
 nance was handsome — of a bold striking mascu- 
 line beauty — open and honest in its expression. 
 The hair, of rather a light brown, curled around 
 the fine contour of the head and waved in a luxu- 
 riant mass above a high noble brow : the large 
 blue eyes were clear, and seemed as if they were 
 enabled by the conscience of their owner to look 
 
70 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 the whole world proudly in the face: the nose 
 was slightly aquiline: the mouth, a trifle too 
 large for the hypercritical perfection of that face, 
 expressed good-nature, determination, and a pro- 
 per manly pride. There was nothing coarse in 
 the lips, though they were thus somewhat largely 
 chiselled : and when parting, they revealed two 
 rows of magnificent teeth as white as ivory. And 
 yet, above all this young man's appearance of in- 
 dependence, self-reliance, and open-heartedness, 
 there was a certain polish subduing the boldness 
 of the general effect — an unstudied courtesy and 
 a becoming respectfulness. 
 
 A little more conversation took place between 
 the Squire and Stephen Ashborne, in respect to 
 pecuniary terms and other details ; and the bar- 
 gain was concluded. 
 
 "You can either sleep at the inn," said the 
 Squire, " or you can have your luggage brought 
 lip to the house and pass the night here, if you 
 think fit. In this case, you. can be introduced, to 
 the possession of the bailiff's cottage the first 
 thing in the morning." 
 
 As Stephen Ashborne thought that the latter 
 was the plan which the Squire preferred, he said, 
 " I thank you, sir- — and I will take up my quar- 
 ters here for the hightf so that I shall be ready 
 to enter on my duties the very first thing in the 
 morning." 
 
 The newly appointed bailiff then withdrew; 
 and as the door closed behind him, Mr. Ponsford 
 said, " I like the appearance of that man very 
 much : and if he is not too forward in his mari- 
 ner, and too full of what the common people 
 call a spirit of their own, he will doubtless suit 
 very well." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE SQUIBE'S BED-CHAMBEB. 
 
 It was midnight, when two figures with smock- 
 frocks — or rather long loose gaberdines, concealing 
 their other clothes, made their way stealthily and 
 cautiously through the wood adjoining Squire 
 Ponsford's park. Every now and then they 
 paused to listen — or. when they drew near the 
 outskirt of the wood, they peeped forth; and 
 thus from time to time assuring themselves that 
 the coast was clear, they continued their route. 
 
 " Hark !" presently said Jack Peppercorn ; 
 "isn't that a footstep ?" 
 
 Tim Gaffney fancied he likewise heard a step : 
 he listened — all seemed to be still : but not being 
 quite certain on the point, he lay down flat upon 
 the ground, applied his ear to the earth, and held 
 his breath as long as he was able. 
 
 " It's all right, Jack," he at length said, rising 
 up to his feet again. 
 
 They entered the park. The moon was now 
 shining brightly,, and they were therefore com- 
 pelled to proceed circuitously in order to keep en- 
 tirely within the shade of the trees. They soon 
 drew near the mansion itself; and Tim Gaffney, 
 pointing to two particular windows on the ground 
 floor, said, " That's, where the library is." 
 
 The . plans of the two men were evidently pre- 
 i concerted and arranged to the veriest details ; for 
 I they lost not a, moment in commencing operationSi 
 
 There were shutters inside the room; and the 
 window" itself was fastened. Gaffney drew forth 
 a glazier's diamond, and made a semicircular cut 
 on the pane through which it was necessary to 
 effect an opening. The piece was removed in a 
 skilful and noiseless manner: the bolt of the 
 fastening was then easily pressed back — and the 
 lower sash of the window was slowly raised. 
 
 It now required but three or four pressures of 
 the hand against the shutters to show the burglars 
 exactly where the iron bar stretched across inside ; 
 and the blade of a clasp-knife was introduced in 
 the chink formed by two of the folds of the 
 shutter. A peculiar upward jerk lifted the bar 
 from its spring-socket ; and in a few moments the 
 shutter was opened. Gaffney and Peppercorn 
 entered: they then shut down the window and 
 closed the shutter again, so that if any one should 
 happen to pass by outside there might be nothing 
 to excite suspicion. 
 
 The burglars, having put on black masks, and 
 satisfied themselves that their pistols were conve- 
 nient to be clutched in case of need, opened the 
 library door and peeped into the hall, whither the 
 beams of the moonlight were penetrating. All 
 was silent ; and they" now took off their boots, 
 which they secured in the large pockets of their 
 , gaberdines. Noiselessly they began the ascent of 
 the staircase : they reached the first landing — and 
 here they paused. 
 
 They had made a careful survey of the premises 
 on the preceding evening, when following Ethel 
 thither on the occasion of her arrest. There was 
 an array of five windows in front ; and as they 
 were precisely uniform, Gafihey had calculated 
 that they probably belonged to the principal 
 drawing-room, or else that if only the three 
 middle windows pertained to that apartment, the 
 remaining ones must belong respectively to bed- 
 rooms. If so, those would assuredly be the chief 
 chambers of the mansion. Now therefore, on 
 reaching the landing, Gafihey "noiselessly opened 
 one leaf of an immense pair of folding-doors 
 which appeared facing the staircase : he peeped in 
 — and he counted five windows in the drawing- 
 room. There were consequently no bed-rooms on 
 that landing, in the front part of the house. But 
 on each side there were doors ; and there were 
 long passages branching off, leading into the 
 wings. These doors must belong to the principal 
 bed-chambers. Such was the conviction which 
 struck Gaffney immediately after he had surveyed 
 the interior of the drawing-room. 
 
 With the utmost caution he tried the handle of 
 the door on the right hand: it yielded; and 
 having opened the door to the extent of hardly 
 an inch, the foremost burglar listened. In less 
 than a minute he closed the door as gently as he 
 had opened it : — he had ascertained that the room 
 was occupied, but he could tell by the breathing 
 that it was, that of a female, or at least of some 
 young person. He now approached the opposite 
 door— namely, that on the left-hand side ; and he 
 soon found that it was locked. Applying his ear 
 to the key-hole, he listened with suspended 
 breath ; and at the expiration of about a minute 
 he made a signiacadt sign to his companion, as 
 much as to imply that this room was likewise 
 occupied, but that its tenant was a man. 
 
 The moon, shining brightly through the stair- 
 case window, aided the operations: of the burglars. 
 
THE TOtWG DUCHESS ; Oft, MEMffiffiS OP A LADY OP QtJAUTT. 
 
 71 
 
 Gaffhey now drew forth a small bottle of oil : he 
 poured some upon a little piece of sponge, by 
 means of which he ejected that oil into the loofe, 
 — thus lubricating all its wards. He then took 
 from beneath his gaberdine a peculiar kind of in- 
 strument made of very strong wire, and consist- 
 ing partly of a pair of pincers and partly of a 
 skeleton key. This he introduced into the lock in 
 such a way that it seized upon the key that was 
 already there : it griped it fast— -it turned it — not 
 the slightest sound was heard — and the dqor was 
 unlocked. Then, having withdrawn the skeleton 
 key, Gaffney again listened for upwards of a 
 minute; and still the deep regular breathing 
 which came from within the chamber, assured 
 hun that it was a man who occupied it and that 
 he continued to sleep. He also ascertained that a 
 light was burning in the room. 
 
 Gaffhey now made a sign to Jack Peppercorn, 
 who furnished himself with a pistol in one hand 
 and a clasp-knife in the other. As for Gaffhey 
 himself, he merely took out his handkerchief, 
 which he rolled in a peculiar manner to serve a 
 special purpose. He then noiselessly opened the 
 door : a lamp was burning on the toilet-table— its 
 beams revealed the countenance of the sleeper — 
 and this was Squire Ponsford. It was profoundly 
 that he slept : the burglars entered silently with 
 their shoeless feet ; and while Gaffhey paused an 
 instant to close the door, Jack Peppercorn glided 
 up to the bed, where the ghastly blade of his 
 clasp-knife was at once placed within half an 
 inch of Ponsford's throat. The next moment 
 Gaffhey joined his companion there : he leant over 
 the couch — he applied his folded kerchief to the 
 Squire's mouth — he then touched him on the 
 shoulder — and as he opened his eyes with a sudden 
 start, Tim Gaffhey, half-dexterously, half-foroibly, 
 drove the kerchief completely in between his 
 teeth, thus gagging him at once. At the same 
 instant Jack Peppercorn laid the cold blade of the 
 knife flat upon the Squire's throat 5 and Gaffney 
 said in a quick low voice, " Be quiet, or you are a 
 dead man !" 
 
 Squire Ponsford was broad awake in a moment, 
 and at the same instant smitten with the hideous 
 consciousness of his position, gagged and power- 
 less in the hands of two ruffians with black masks 
 and white gaberdines. He was a man of nerve 
 and courage : but ^0 be startled uji from one's 
 sleep to such a state of things as this, was suffi- 
 cient to daunt the bravest and to paralyse the 
 energies of the most self-possessed. 
 
 "Now I tell you what it is, sir," said Tim 
 Gaffhey, at once, "we don't want your life — we 
 don't want to .rob you. We will explain our 
 business in due course : but in the first place it 
 will be as well to let you know that we feel we 
 are doing a desperate thing — and so if you try to 
 give any alarm or make a disturbance, you'll be 
 the sufferer." 
 
 " This here is a knife," said Jack Peppercorn, 
 making the back of the blade indent itself some- 
 what into the Squire's neck — a process whereat a 
 hideous cold shudder passed through his entire 
 frame ; " and this here is a pistol the butt-end of 
 which would do your work in a jiffey if so be the 
 knife should happen to fail." 
 
 " Now look you," said Gaffhey, "if you mean 
 to take your salvation oath to hold your tongue 
 ■ and not cry out, just lift up your right hand as a 
 
 sign, and then I'll take the gag from your mouth. 
 But if so be you won't agree to no civil terms, 
 then lay still and we shall know what to do." 
 
 The Squire raised his right hand ; and Gaffhey 
 at once" withdrew the folded kerchief from between 
 his teeth ; but at the same instant the horrid «old 
 steel again pressed upon his throat, and the butt- 
 end of the pistol was tapped against his temple. 
 
 "Wait a moment," said Tim Gaffiiey, "and 
 hold on, mate !" 
 
 With these words he drew forth his own clasp- 
 knife ; and mounting a chair, cut down the bell- 
 pull which was by the side of the couch. 
 
 "For God's sake what do you require of me ?" 
 asked Ponsford. "You have declared that you 
 do not want my life? I beseech you to relieve 
 me from suspense [" 
 
 " All in good time," responded Tim Gaffney, 
 now seating himself £h one side of the bed, while 
 Jack Peppercorn was performing the part of sen- 
 tinel on the other with his poniard-like knife and 
 his pistol. 
 
 " Stand away from me," said the Squire ; " stand 
 away from me, I entreat ! — and I swear that I 
 will not cry out !" 
 
 " We'd rayther not trust you," said Jack Pep- 
 percorn : " there's nothing like the precaution of 
 a cold blade and a pistol's butt-end." 
 
 Ponsford could scarcely repress a groan, as he 
 said, " Be quick then, and tell me what you re- 
 quire of me, I beseech you !" 
 
 " Don't be in a hurry," repEed Tim Gaffhey j 
 " but lay quite at your ease while I discourse to 
 you a bit. It's a matter of twenty-five year ago 
 that a certain Rupert Pringle left this country 
 through fear of you." 
 
 " Ah !" said Ponsford, electrified by an allu- 
 sion to a matter the revival of which was so ut- 
 terly unexpected. 
 
 "Not too loud!" said Jack Peppercorn; and 
 again the cold blade was ominously pressed against 
 the magistrate's throat. 
 
 " Who are you ?" he asked, looking up ear- 
 nestly at Tim Gaffhey's masked countenance. 
 " Tou cannot be " 
 
 " No, no — I'm not Pringle : that's sure and 
 sartain enough ! But don't talk except to answer 
 my questions. Upwards of twenty-five years ago 
 you and Pringle was intimate. Pringle got into 
 difficulties — he -wanted money — he was ashamed 
 to tell you of his needs — but in his desperation he 
 forged your name to a bill, which he got dis- 
 counted attheDorehester Bank. Wasn't thattrue?" 
 
 " Perfectly true," replied Ponsford. " Pringle 
 vras a villain- " 
 
 " I dessay he was," answered Gaffney coolly ; 
 " I ain't here to defend his character. "But let's 
 go on. Pringle hoped to be able to take up the 
 bill before it came due, as he told the bankers 
 some tale to prevent them putting it into circula- 
 tion " 
 
 " He told them," interjected Ponsford, "that I 
 had done it for his accommodation, and that I 
 Tvould not have the thing known for the world." 
 
 " Well, you discovered what he had done," con- 
 tinued Gaffhey ; " and' you found out at the 
 same time that he had seduced your mistress, of 
 whom you were passionately fond." 
 
 " That is also true," said Ponsford. " But why 
 this questioning? Tou seem to know all the 
 facts " : 
 
72 
 
 THE YOUGN DUOHESS ; OK, MfiMOIES OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "Stop a moment!" interrupted Gaffney. "It 
 suits me to go over the story along with you ; and 
 if we find ourselves of one accord, so much the 
 better. Don't think I'm going for to defend 
 Rupert Pringle's conduct : — that's not my busi- 
 ness. Well, as I was savin', you make the two 
 discoveries at the same time — and something hap- 
 pens to lead Pringle to suspect that you have 
 found out the forgery— but he hasn't the slightest 
 idea that you've discovered the seduction of your 
 mistress; — and so he writes you a letter — he 
 confesses the forgery — he explains his motive — 
 he throws himself upon your mercy — he begs you 
 to take up the bill at once and save him from the 
 gallows. Isn't that part of the tale right ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Ponsford, who seemed to for- 
 get his own ominous condition, with a knife at his 
 throat and a pistol at his temple, in the feeling of 
 bitter burning hatred which was aroused within 
 him by these recollections ; so that he literally 
 ground his teeth together. 
 
 "Well," continued Gaffney, "you had your 
 false friend completely in your power: but in 
 order to get him more thoroughly under. your 
 thumb, you went and took up the bill for fear 
 lest by any means Kupert Pringle should be able 
 to compromise it with the bankers. And then 
 you made use of the weapons you had thus got 
 into your hands, to crush and ruin the poor 
 devil altogether -" 
 
 "To punish him," said Ponsford. "Do you 
 come here to avenge him ? If so,, you will be only 
 aggravating his crimes. I dealt mercifully in- 
 stead of harshly with him. I might have sent him 
 to the scaffold : but I sent him only into exile ! I 
 might have exposed him : I hushed the matter 
 up !" 
 
 "No — I am not come to avenge him," said 
 Gaffney : " I've nothing to do with wengeance. 
 You shall see what I am come for, when we've 
 done our confab. So please to answer me a few 
 questions. When you had discovered the forgery, 
 received his letter, and got the forged bill in your 
 possession, you sent for him and reproached him 
 with the seduction of your mistress ?" 
 
 "I did," answered Ponsford. 
 
 "" You then told him that if he did not imme- 
 diately leave the country, you would hand him 
 over to the grasp of justice?" 
 
 " I did. It was all the punishment that I chose 
 to wreak upon him." 
 
 " Very right," said Gaffney : " you was acting 
 as the judge in the case. Well, and you told him 
 that you'd always keep the letter and the bill — 
 that you'd never part with them documents — so 
 that if ever he should dare to show his face again 
 in his native land, you would to a certainty do 
 your very worst ? I think this was it — wasn't it ?" 
 
 "Eight," answered Ponsford. " None but 
 Pringle himself could have told you all this !" 
 
 " Don't be too fast," interrupted Gaffney: " we 
 have got a little more to say. Now, the truth is 
 that twenty-five years have passed away since 
 those things happened — you benefited by Prin- 
 gle's ruin " , 
 
 " I ?" ejaculated Ponsford. 
 
 "Come, not too, loud !" said Jack Peppercorn : 
 and again the back of the blade was indented 
 into the throat. 
 
 " Yes — you !" continued Tim Gaffney : " for 
 you bought the Southdale Farm at half its value. 
 
 Now don't interrupt me ! — I know that's a fact, | 
 though it seems to he the only thing I've yet said j 
 which you ain't very ready to admit. So now to 
 the point." 
 
 " Ah !" — and the Squire eagerly awaited the 
 coming explanation. 
 
 " If Rupert Pringle lives, and comes for'ard, 
 and throws himself at your feet to beg your par- 
 don for his wrongs towards you — will you forgive 
 him and let him buy back the farm at the price 
 you gave for it ?" 
 
 A sinister fire flashed from Ponsford's eye, as 
 he at once and with eagerness exclaimed, "Yes — 
 yes — I'll forgive him ! I'll give him back his 
 farm ! Let him come to me ! There, my good 
 fellows ! if this is your mission it is ended — and 
 though you said you did not want to rob me, you 
 are welcome to take my purse off the toilet-table 
 there, and go about your business." 
 
 " Ah !" said Gaffney, with a laugh, " so you've 
 fallen into the trap -have you?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked Ponsford, looking 
 bewildered and dismayed. 
 
 ' " It means that you've still got the papers in 
 your possession; — I mean the letter and the forged 
 bill ; and that was ' the reason you snapped so 
 eagerly at the question I put — because you would 
 like to get Rupert Pringle into your clutches that 
 you might hand him over to justice as a forger. 
 That would be your game ! — but it isn't to take 
 place." 
 
 "Then what do you. mean?" asked the bewil- 
 dered Squire. " Do you want to murder me ? — 
 has Pringle sent you ? Good God! have mercy !" 
 
 " I tell you again we don't want your life. 
 What the devil is the use of it to us ?" 
 
 "What use indeed, as long as he remains 
 quiet ?" said Jack Peppercorn. " I'd see you 
 hanged before I'd take your life unless I wanted 
 it." 
 
 " The fact is," continued Gaffney, " I've been 
 pumping you. If I'd said to you point-blank, 
 1 Save you got them .papers still T you would 
 have been up to the dodge, and you would have 
 said ' No' off-hand. But now I know you have 
 got them, through your eagerness for Pringle to 
 come and throw himself into your clutches. So 
 now to the point :" — and then Gaffney went on to 
 say, emphatically accentuating every syllable, 
 " What we want, and what we've come for, is them 
 papers — the letter and the bill." 
 
 " You shall have them," said the Squire. 
 " Let me get up." 
 
 " Why, you must take us for fools ! You can 
 lay there cozie enough, while you tell me where 
 I can go and find the papers ; and that being 
 done, our business with you is done also." 
 
 " The papers are in the library," said Pon9ford. 
 "There is a bunch of keys on the toilet- 
 table " 
 
 " I have them," said Gaffney. " Go on." 
 
 " That small key " — and the Squire pointed to 
 it — " opens a writing-desk, which you will find 
 upon a side-table between the two windows. The 
 papers are in the upper compartment— they are 
 in a sealed envelope, on which the name of Pringle 
 appears." 
 
 " Very good," said Gaffney. " Of course, if 
 you're deceiving me, it will be the worse for you ; 
 for I'll come back to see my pal here cut your 
 throat with all the pleasure in the world. — Now, 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 73 
 
 :U^MliillJi(JJjuU!-i-4 
 
 mate, look sharp ! He's a knowing old file, this. 
 Don't let him speak a word ;. and don't so much 
 as look round if yon hear the door open, for you'll 
 know it's me coming hack. In short, don't give 
 him an instant's advantage." 
 
 "Never you be afeard," responded Jack Pepper- 
 corn : and the cold Blade again touched the throat 
 of the prostrate prisoner. 
 
 Tim Gaflhey quitted the room as eantior.sly as 
 he had entered Undescended the stairs — and 
 stole towards the library. For an instant he 
 thought that he heard the creaking of a footstep 
 behind him : he stopped short — all was still — 
 and he advanced. The moonbeams, penetrating 
 through the holes in. the shutters, guided him to 
 the table between the windows ; and he was just 
 on the very point of putting the key into the 
 lock, when he was suddenly seized from behind 
 aud hurled upon the floor, with one strong hand 
 grasping his throat and the other brandishing a 
 No. 10. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 cudgel, with which the victor threatened to heat 
 out his brains if he dared attempt the slightest 
 resistance. 
 
 The incident happened so suddenly, and Tim 
 Gaflhey was taken so' completely unawares, that 
 he was seized as it were with a consternation and 
 dismay, so that he did not even so much 'as en- 
 deavour to clutch one of his pistols. His con- 
 queror — whom we may as well at once state to 
 have been Stephen Ashborne — had all his own. 
 senses completely about him ; and suspecting that 
 a burglar would be well armed, he laid down his 
 cudgel for a moment and passed, his hand rapidly 
 over the fellow's upper garments. He felt the 
 pistols with which Gaflhey was furnished; and 
 hastily snatching one forth, he declared he would 
 heat in the fellow's brains if he dared offer any 
 resistance. He got hold of the other pistol ; and 
 thns having Tim Gaflhey completely in his power, 
 he felt in his lockets to ascertain if he had any 
 
74 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOERS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 additional weapons. He found a clasp-knife, 
 ■which he took away from the man ; and then he 
 demanded, " How did you get hold of the keys 
 with which you were going to open that desk?" 
 
 " Whoever you are," said Gaffney, without 
 answering the question, " I could make it better 
 worth your while to help me than to go against 
 me." 
 
 "How so?" asked Stephen Ashborne, with a 
 certain sensation of .curiosity. 
 
 "Perhaps you think I've come to rob the 
 house " 
 
 " It looks uncommonly llkg it." 
 
 "Well then, it's.tiotHing of the sort," pursued 
 Gaffney. "I only warn a certain packet of 
 papers, and . though fbti iiiay be . surntiSKl to 
 learn what I'iri golftg id tell you, it'g the truth 
 that I was coming heie to get the Mjjers with 
 the consent of Squire Poiisford himself/,' 
 
 " A likely story' !" ejaculated Stephen _Ash- 
 borne. "But what did you meiu 1ft sayiiig you 
 could make it worth my while to Help yoti ?" 
 
 "First, tell me who' you ire," life Giffney: 
 " Everybody's, pricg is according to his position:" 
 
 "Well; I ajh a, farm'-bailiff,'" replied Stepne'ii. 
 " And now ^Mt have ydft to jjtopose ?" 
 
 " Just yoii go off to bed and l&ye me to follow 
 up rny own business 1 — and it's a fifty p'tfumi nbte 
 in your pocket," 
 
 " The offer is a. tempting oiie,", said ASHBofBfc 
 appearing to , reflect. " Bui wfigt p'aperS &f$ 
 these you %ie' fitixious to possess; which &% B8H- 
 tained in thai desk ?" , 
 
 "FijMjJSb interest in fl'e'ceii 
 Tim Gaffney j^yttii snail gatii 
 that desk, and in the Inf^f' 
 will rjhd a packet ik a^sjffled. 
 is written the" name of Pfingle 1 , 
 you start like that?" 
 
 " I thought I heafd ipsteps,!.' |fiswer<=ft Ash- 
 borne ; " but it was ftblhihg. fell M why" yfiii 
 came here— who sent Sbf— SiiS wfrai $W nlve 
 done tb find btifc wMe' fepYip'e'rs* w^fe ? Satisfy 
 me, in short, thai yBtir tale i§. ifitte— '<$ I will 
 alarm the house without further, delay." 
 
 "And if I tell you the truth ?" said Gaffney. 
 
 " If you tell me the truth, and convince 1 rd£ 
 that, it is such, I will lei you escape." 
 
 " But I have a comrade in the house " 
 
 " Ah ! — a comrade ?" 
 
 " Yes. I see you mean to accept the proposal 
 ,1 have made ! but you must let hie help my pal 
 out of the difficulty in which he would be placed 
 if I wasn't to go back to him." 
 
 " Then where is he?" demanded Ashborne. 
 
 " Up in Squire Ponsford's chamber," replied 
 Gaffney, who made sure that the bailiff was 
 going to enter into a treaty with him and, accept 
 a bribe for placing the seal of silence upon his lips. 
 < " This is strange — most strange !" muttered 
 Ashborne to himself. " But what is, your com- 
 rade doing in Mr. Ponsford's chamber ?" 
 : " Very much the same thing that you are 
 doing to me," replied Gaffney, — " keeping the 
 SqSiire in check till such time as it might suit ub 
 to let his worship be in peace and take our own 
 departure." 
 
 "Now tell, me," said Ashborne, in a determined 
 tone, — "who engaged, hired, or bribed you to 
 enter the house for the purpose of obtaining these 
 papers ?" 
 
 "Must you know all these particulars ?" said 
 Gaffney. 
 
 "To be sure ! I must know everything ! If 
 I fall into your plot I must ascertain the depth 
 of it, so that I may calculate how to measure-the 
 amount of profit that ought to come to myself. 
 Be quick ! — speak ! Time is passing !" 
 
 " It is a gentleman in London that hired us," 
 replied Tim Gaffney. 
 
 '' His name ?" quickly demanded Ashborne. 
 
 " Well, I don't know it. Perhaps it's Pringle 
 himself for anything that I can tell to the con- 
 trary." 
 
 " This is ridiculous !" ejaculated Ashborne. 
 " ^^5i tSreteiid not to know his name " 
 
 " HgS the truth," answered Gaffney: "I don't 
 
 know" it=-br yet where he lives ", 
 
 have an appSintmerii with 
 means of communication 
 
 , "Theft yiSl.hrast hai 
 K "B-3f m me the 
 
 wiflfflF 
 
 J 1 As 4 m&rte¥ Bf course," risplie'd Gaffney. 
 "egine, I s'el fbii fani to bfe let farther into the 
 blffites than I at flfst calculated " 
 
 , "res— such is in£ intention.;" ejacUlapi §te- 
 jinen AshbBrri& " Se% here' ! Mbve not naM or 
 
 foot — or I'll Sfidbt ij'ou' as I would a dog !" , 
 
 The pWe'Eling bolloqMiy between the bailiff and 
 the burglar KatT fa&en place far moire rapidly than 
 we could detail it j ihSt tbibuglibut the" discourse 
 thfe forineir hfia eMtijiugd t& keep 1 his Knee ufbh 
 the latler's cfifeSt; aM one Bafia at his thftatj while 
 the bttaf held k fHstbl menacingly towards nis 
 foreielflj »jp the villain was tdfiiBleteJy 
 '#!$!§§.• flSfiborne now arose ftonij W.Be 
 *$6 Shi: but he maintained iHt jMbl 
 floiHi tSwards Him j aid thjj ffl8fflife6ffiBs 
 sufficiently bright tb show Gafflney.ihe prb- 
 .. igS of his cfijiojuerdf., The latter ftfoK up the 
 inciitjlf keys which nad\ fallen, from the burglar's 
 tahflj and he deiflahde'ii which key opened the 
 
 .','Tne small one," replied Gaflhey. 
 
 The desk was accordingly opened ; and in the 
 
 iper compartment Stephen Ashborne found the 
 sealed packet, with the name of Pringle written 
 upon the envelope. 
 
 "Tis well!" he muttered to himself; while it 
 struck Tim Gaffney, as he gazed up from his re- 
 cumbent position on the floor, that a strange ex- 
 pression passed over the handsome countenance of 
 the bailiff, as the moonbeams penetrating through 
 the holes in the shutters playell ifpon his features. 
 
 " Now," continued Ashborne, securing the docu- 
 ment in the inside breast-pofiket of his coat, and 
 butfpnihg up the garment over his chest, " I. shall 
 leave you to get out of the premises, you and your 
 oompahToii, as* Best you can. Ah ! I forgot to 
 observe that I merely hold this document as a 
 trustee for the person who employed you, be his 
 real name Pringle^r anything else ; and whenever 
 that person shall apply to me for the packet, I 
 will give it up to him.". 
 
 Tim Gaffney looked astounded as he still lay 
 upon the floor, not daring to move, inasmuch as 
 the pistol was still ominously pointed towards 
 him. 
 
 " Get up," said Ashborne ; " go and rejoin your 
 companion, and get out of the. house as quick as 
 ever yOu can. Perhaps the Squire may have his 
 reasons for not giving yoU into custody on the 
 very first occasion that he shall next fall in with 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QDAIJTY, 
 
 75 
 
 you. But I shall stand upon no such scruples, if 
 you disobey me in respect to the injunctions I am 
 about to give. These are simply that yon say 
 nothing to the Squire of your meeting with 
 me, nor of the fact that you have failed to obtain 
 possession of this sealed packet. Not that I should 
 care very much if you did reveal these fects,*' 
 added Ashbome carelessly, " though perhaps it 
 would better please me that you should not."' 
 
 While the bailiff -was thus speaking, Tim Gaff- 
 ney had raised himself up from the floor ; and he 
 made a rapid calculation of all the chances for or 
 against the success of a sudden attack upon bis 
 opponent. But he had lost all his weapons ; and 
 experience had moreover shown him Ifcat he was 
 inferior in strength to the other. He therefore 
 abandoned the idea : but he said sullenly, " Yon 
 think to get all the reward for the delivering up 
 of that packet of papers to the person who 
 wants to get hold of them? 1 ' 
 
 "You are mistaken,!' replied the bailiff coolly; 
 " I want no reward at all. Hake your own bar- 
 gain with the person — get out of him all you can 
 — all I require is that he shall apply to me for the 
 papers.'? 
 
 "Ah, that's another thing altogether!'! said Tim 
 Gafrhey, to whom the entire ' proceeding was re- 
 plete with mystery. " If yon held to that bar- 
 gain, I'll bind myself on the other hand to say 
 nothing to the Squire about you and me meeting 
 here and your having got hold of the packet." 
 
 " Let it be a bargain," said Stephen Ashborne. 
 " But, Ah ( one word ! How do .you intend to 
 effect your departure without doing any violence 
 to the Squire? for it seems to me that if you have 
 set your comrade to keep watch over him -*? 
 
 " I know what you mean," interrupted Gaff- 
 riey : " but you needn't be afeard — we ain't a- 
 going to silence him by knocking him over the 
 
 head. A little chloroform' does it " 
 
 ' "Enough!" said the bailiff : f I consent to this 
 arrangement. And now depart. But, Ah! take 
 the bunch of keys with you to the Squire's cham- 
 ber." 
 
 Tim Gaffhey stole forth from the library, as- 
 cended the stairs, and reached the Squire's room, 
 where he found the aspect of affairs precisely the 
 same as when he had quitted the apartment a 
 quarter of an hour back. "There lay the Squire in 
 his couch — and there was Jack Peppercorn bend- 
 ing over him with a clasp-knife at his throat. 
 
 "What a deuce of a time you've been!" said 
 Jack impatiently. 
 
 " I thought I heard a noise in the house," re- 
 plied Tim ; " and so I was obleeged to lay quiet 
 for a few minutes." 
 
 He now drew forth a very small phial from bis 
 waistcoat-pocket : he poured some of the contents 
 upon his handkerchief — which he then applied to 
 the Squire's nostrils. The effect was almost in- 
 stantaneous — Mr. Ponsford became insensible — 
 and the two burglars speedily made their exit 
 from the premises. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE DEX. 
 
 We must now return to the young Duchess, 
 whom we left at the moment when' on issuing 
 
 from Miss Hartland'j house, slje was suddenly 
 caught round the waist by the strong arms of a 
 man and thrust info a cab, — the fellow following 
 her into the vehicle, which immediately drove 
 away at a rapid rat£. It was all the work of an 
 instant: the street was pne that was Jitfle fre- 
 quented by passengers— Jhe dusk was closing in— 
 and the countenance of the Duchess was so muffled 
 In the thick folds pf her veil that even the ejacula- 
 tion of surpr|se and alarm to which she, at once 
 gave vent when wius |eized upon, was stifled, of 
 at least 90 far subdued as to prove unavailing. 
 The windows of the cab wer,e closgd ; and scarcely 
 had the Duchess time to glance towards , the fellow 
 who took his seajt opposite to her,' wjien he pro- 
 duced a pistol; hplding it by the barrel, and say 7 
 ing a(; the same time, " If yon make any noise j 
 phijll be obliged ite sjlgnce you .y^h' a touch pf the 
 butt-end of this here barker." 
 
 The patrician fedy shuddered ; and to the .very 
 depjhs t>f her whole being did she recoil, as ranch 
 from £be coarse language pf the ruffian as from 
 the threats which it conveyed. Through the folds 
 of her veil she could perceive that he was ' an ill- 
 looking feUor, with a dark cojnrdexion-j-not till, 
 but Stftutjy built — and dressed in a suit of black. 
 She soon recovered a sufficient degree 0/ self- 
 possession to enable her to say, "you surely 
 cannot suppose that I shall be overawe? by your 
 shocking threats. Yon would therefore go well to 
 let me alight at once, ere I dash my hand through 
 the window and cry out for psistwce'.- 
 
 ff It's of no use, ma'am, for you to come thjg; 
 gammon with me,'? said ihe fellow. ,'.' My prde^f 
 is positive. I'm to take you to a pejrtain place ; 
 and if so be you don't some by fair means, you 
 shall by foul." 
 
 The Duchess, who had now completely re- 
 covered her self-possessjom, was hajf jnplijjsd to 
 make one desperate etoteji ftt the pistol, and then 
 while struggling with |$ie fellow, shriek qut for 
 assistance : but she feared lest she night expe- 
 rience some violent treatment at his ihaads-r-and 
 a glance flung through tfoe window shpwed hier 
 that the cab was proceeding amidst ,the narrow 
 streets of that, low neighbourhood .wbpse very 
 aspect appeared inimical to the idea that succour 
 could J>e readHjs obtained. Suddenly an idea 
 struflkherj and^she said, '? Depend upon it you 
 have made a mistake. For whom do you take 
 me ?'? 
 
 f Now I teU yon what it is, ma'am," replied 
 the man with dogged insolence; "1 know that 
 women is up to all sorts of tricks, but you won't 
 succeed ill humbugging me. So it's of no ^ise 
 your " saying any more. I won't hear, and J 
 woni aiiswer. I'm deaf and I'm dumb!" 
 
 The Duchess was just upon the pojnf of pro- 
 claiming that if she had been taken for Made- 
 moiselle Imogene a tremendous error had been 
 committed, when she thought to herself, ," In this 
 case the ruffian may insist on seeing my facer— 
 and then he may. perhaps recognise mel'-' 
 
 Her next idea was to offer him a liberal reward 
 to let her go : but then she said .to herself, " If I 
 display the contents of my purse, he may per- 
 haps murder me ! I must try the former plan at 
 any risk!" — then at the expiration of a minute, 
 during which she again reflected profoundly, she 
 said, " Perhaps you took me for the equestrian 
 act 
 
76 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHES3; OK, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OIT QUALITY. 
 
 "It's no use, ma'am ! it's no use!" interrupted 
 the fellow in a savage tone. " J know what I'm 
 about — and you'd better hold your tongue." 
 
 " Do not think that because I am a woman I 
 am afraid," said the Duchess, making a display 
 of all the fortitude which she could possibly 
 command. " A single scream sent pealing from 
 my lips would raise the neighbourhood !" 
 
 "You'd better try it. It would save me a 
 world of trouble — I should just give you one 
 knock over the head — and' then you wouldn't 
 speak another word before we reached the place 
 that I'm to take you to." 
 
 " Twenty guineas if you let me go !" said the 
 Duchess, now in her desperation offering a reward 
 and hazarding a sum which might be far too 
 much and far too little, she knew not which. 
 
 "Twenty guineas?" — and the man laughed 
 with insolent irony. 
 
 " Does he think that I am Imogen and that I 
 cannot possess such a sum ?" asked the Duchess 
 of herself: "oris he so well bribed by his em- 
 ployers, whoever they may be, that he scorns the 
 puny reward I have offered ?" 
 
 Indeed the Duchess was perfectly bewildered 
 how to act; and as she surveyed the fellow's 
 sinister expression of countenance, as he sat oppo- 
 site to her, evidently watching her with the 
 keenest vigilance — holding the pistol in a man- 
 ner which showed his readiness to use it in case 
 of necessity, — then, as she glanced right and left 
 through the windows, and saw that she was still 
 being borne rapidly through that maze of vile 
 narrow obscure streets, — and as she reflected that 
 the driver of the vehicle was no doubt an accom- 
 plice in the plot, whatever its nature and object 
 might be, — a cold terror crept over her and para- 
 lysed her energies. 
 
 Some few minutes elapsed in silence ; and then 
 the vehicle suddenly drew up in front of a house 
 in one of the obscure and half-deserted streets 
 whereof we have been speaking. That house was 
 larger than the rest, and by its size and appear- 
 ance seemed to have been a habitation snatched 
 up from some street of a better class, carried off 
 bodily, and then dropped down on the spot where 
 we now find it. 
 
 The instant the cab stopped, the front door of 
 the house opened. First a young female came 
 forth — then an elderly woman — and then a man 
 of an appearance as sinister as the individual who 
 was with the Duchess in the vehicle. The young 
 female was about sixteen, very slight and pale, 
 with her dark hair arranged in plain bands, and 
 with a simple and neat attire. The elderly woman 
 was of enormous size : her head, naturally large, 
 seemed to be set upon her shoulders without the 
 intermediary of any neck ; and as she had a vo- 
 luminous double chin, the flabby flesh thereof 
 actually rested upon the vast and revolting exu- 
 berance of the bust. Yet she was gaily appa- 
 relled ; and she had a smirking, insolent, leering 
 air, as she rubbed her hands with satisfaction 
 when coming forth from her dwelling. The man 
 has been sufficiently described as an ill-looking 
 person, very much resembling the individual who 
 had carried off the Duchess : for indeed they were 
 brothers. 
 
 " Now, ma'am," said the person inside the cab, 
 " you will be so good as to step out." 
 
 Then quick as the eye can wink, he threw a 
 
 large silk pocket-handkerchief over her head, dex- 
 terously drawing it across her mouth, crushing 
 the plain straw bonnet that she wore, and effec- 
 tually gagging her for the brief period that suf- 
 ficed for conveying her forcibly into the house. 
 Yes — such was the mode by which she was borne 
 into the dwelling ; for she resisted desperately and 
 strove to cry out ; but it was all the work of a 
 few instants, the other man and the elderly woman 
 helping the wretch who had been seated with her 
 in the cab. As for the pale-faced girl, — young 
 though she were, there was an expression of har- 
 dened depravity upon her countenance, so that it 
 did not appear as if she was very likely to sym- 
 pathize with the unfortunate lady who was being 
 thus carried into that den of infamy. A couple 
 of guineas were thrust into the hands of the cab- 
 man, who nodded significantly to the group and 
 then instantaneously drove away. 
 
 The Duchess was borne into a back room on the 
 ground floor: she was placed in a. chair — the 
 handkerchief was taken from off her head — and 
 the two men and the pale-faced girl retiring, the 
 elderly woman remained alone with her Grace. 
 
 " Now, my pretty creature," she said, in a voice 
 that was rendered rough and hoarse by drinking 
 and dissipation, " it's of no manner of use for you 
 to give yourself any airs. There will be some 
 one here presently who'll tell you why all this has 
 happened. Don't waste your breath by screaming 
 or crying out, because it won't do any good ; and 
 don't think of jumping out of the winder, because 
 the back-yard is a dozen feet lower than the level 
 of the street, and so you'll only get broken bones 
 for your trouble." 
 
 Having thus spoken, the woman turned and 
 quitted the room, locking the door behind her. 
 
 Two candles were burning on the table ; and 
 the instant she found herself alone, the ' Duchess 
 started up, flung back her veil, and glanced has- 
 tily around. It was a parlour in which she found 
 herself, tolerably well furnished, but with a visible 
 air of dirt, as if the place were seldom dusted, and 
 as if it were also the frequent scene of orgies ; for 
 the table-cover and the carpet showed many wine- 
 stains, and there were three or four ends of cigars 
 in the grate. The heart of the patrician lady 
 heaved at the aspect of the place ; and she men- 
 tally ejaculated, " Good God ! that I who live in 
 mansions, should be brought to such a den as 
 this!" 
 
 She sank down upon the seat almost in despair ; 
 but soon recovering a certain degree of self-pos- 
 session, she exclaimed, " Who could have done 
 this ? who on the face of the earth could have 
 perpetrated this outrage? However, he will be 
 here presently — and verily I am curious to know 
 who can be the author of the infamy ! Surely, 
 surely I must have been mistaken for Imogen, un- 
 less indeed any evil-disposed person had watched 
 and dogged me, and availed himself of that 
 opportunity to carry out his nefarious design." 
 
 Here we must leave the Duchess in a state of 
 completest perplexity, while we shift the scene. 
 
 It was a West-End hotel, and in a private 
 apartment two gentlemen were dining. One was 
 Sir Abel Kingston ; the other was Mr. Sylvester 
 Casey. The Baronet was dressed with his usual 
 elegance : the garments, faultlessly cut, set off 
 his slender form to all the advantage of its well- 
 knit proportions. As he lounged back in his 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 77 
 
 chair with an easy fashionable languor, he sipped 
 ' his claret from a glass which he held in one hand, 
 while the other hand, drooping over the arm of 
 that chair, dangled a perfumed cambric kerchief. 
 In strong contrast with his elegant appearance, 
 was that of Sylvester Casey. He was dressed in 
 what he called evening costume : — that is to say, 
 a black coat with a velvet collar and silk facings, 
 a blue neck-tie so fastened that the ends pointed 
 out horizontally at great length towards the 
 shoulders, a shirt with the bosom very full and 
 wonderfully embroidered, and with studs about 
 the size of shillings — a flaring silk waistcoat, 
 over which two or three gold chains festooned — 
 black pantaloons, and patent leather boots. He 
 wore half-a-dozen rings upon a pair of hands 
 which looked as if they would have been all the 
 better for a little more soap and a little less jewel- 
 lery. He had been drinking a great deal of wine ; 
 his face was very red ; and his large green eyes, 
 looking as if they were boiled gooseberries, stood 
 out staringly from their sockets. Always full of 
 pretension in his sober moods, he was boastful 
 and full of braggadocio when in his cups. 
 
 The reader may be well assured that so exqui- 
 site a gentleman as Sir Abel Kingston would not 
 have condescended for a single instant to remain 
 in the society of such a vulgar individual as Syl- 
 vester Casey, if he had not some very good 
 reasons of his own : but he had actually invited 
 the usurer's son to dine with him at this West- 
 End hotel — though it certainly cost Sir Abel 
 little, or we ought rather to say nothing to enter- 
 tain him, inasmuch as he had credit at the estab- 
 lishment — and though he had a grand idea of 
 ordering dinners, he had not the slightest notion 
 of paying for them. 
 
 " Well then, my dear Casey," said the Baronet, 
 as he sipped his claret, " you will just drop a hint 
 to your father that he would do well to wait a. 
 little while longer and not send me those threaten- 
 ing letters. He knows very well that I have got 
 a little matter in hand — an affair of gallantry — 
 
 that will no doubt turn out well though, by 
 
 the bye, he has'nt dropped a word about that in 
 your hearing ; and that's very kind and honour- 
 able of him." 
 
 " Don't be afraid, old fellow," cried Sylvester 
 familiarity : " I'll make things all right with the 
 governor— —111 take him when he's in the 
 humour. No one knows how to manage him 
 better that I do. Deuced good claret, this, King- 
 ston?' 
 
 "Yes — passable. Well then, I may trust to 
 you " 
 
 " Right as a trivet, my boy ! Hang the fellow 
 that wouldn't do anything for a friend ! I always 
 stick to a friend like a brick. That's my rule." 
 
 " And a very good one too," said the Baronet. 
 " And therefore you'll join me in that little note 
 of hand to-morrow — only for a cool thousand, you 
 know — it's a mere matter of form on your 
 part " 
 
 " Oh, well, we shall see about it," interjected 
 Sylvester, who was not yet quite intoxicated 
 enough to give the required promise. " By the 
 bye, talking about affairs of gallantry, I've got 
 something that's most likely to come off this even- 
 ing. I told you, you know, that if I dined with 
 you, old boy, it must be at six o'clock — for that I 
 should most likely have to cut off at about nine." 
 
 " Well, and how will you know whether you 
 are to go or not ?" asked the Baronet. 
 
 " I'm so sure of it that I mean to go," replied 
 Sylvester. "There's no failure in any plan of 
 mine, I can tell you ! Deuce a bit ! And by 
 Jove, won't the world talk ! My eyes, what a 
 sensation there'll be ! Every one will be saying, 
 ' What a lucky dog that young Casey is !' And 
 yet it isn't luck in these matters," he added 
 affectedly, as he thrust his fingers through his 
 horrible hair : " it's good looks." 
 
 " No doubt of it," said the Baronet, with a short 
 cough. " Good looks and a certain appearance." 
 
 " Yes — a certain appearance," added Syl- 
 vester, casting a complacent glance over his own 
 person. 
 
 " But about this fair one of your's ?" 
 
 " Ah ! won't you be surprised when you know 
 it ! Why, every one admires her — and you as 
 much as anybody." 
 
 " I ?" said the Baronet with a slight start ; and 
 then he thought to himself, " Good heaven ! this 
 conceited wretch never can be lifting his impu- 
 dent eyes towards the Duchess ! Pshaw ! he does 
 not even know her !" 
 
 "Yes, old fellow," continued Sylvester, " you'll 
 envy me as much as any man, I can tell you !" 
 
 " The deuce !" thought Sir Abel :" this is really 
 getting closer and closer to the point! — Do I, 
 then, know her?" 
 
 Sylvester winked his eye with a vulgar familiar 
 significancy ; and then said, " Come, come, it 
 won't do to pump one too close !" 
 
 " May I guess it if I can ?" asked the Baronet. 
 
 " Guess if you like," replied Sylvester. " But 
 I'll just give you a hint and no more. The 
 I" 
 
 Again Sir Abel started as he thought within 
 himself, " Ah ! the Duchess was once upon the 
 stage!" 
 
 Sylvester looked knowingly at him ; and again 
 winking his eye with a vulgar familiarity, he said, 
 " Do you begin to twig ?" 
 
 " You don't mean me to understand," asked the 
 Baronet, endeavouring to be cool, "that you 
 allude to a certain brilliant creature- " 
 
 " By Jove, I think you are getting pretty near 
 the mark !" cried Sylvester. " Don't you think 
 I am to be envied?" 
 
 "But you don't know her!" exclaimed Sir 
 Abel : " or if you do, it can only have been for a 
 very few days — for I remember your telling 
 me " 
 
 " Well, and what if I don't know her to speak 
 to?" proceeded Casey: "don't you think there 
 are other means of getting at one of the fair sex 
 and ending by having an assignation made ?" 
 
 " By God !" ejaculated Sir Abel, clenching his 
 fist and striking his knuckles with such force on 
 the table that all the decanters, glasses, and 
 dessert-dishes appeared as if they were suddenly 
 seized with St. Vitus's dance : " I will only be- 
 lieve what I see !" 
 
 " I'll make you a bet upon it," said young 
 Casey, who was fond of being thought a sporting 
 character, and liked very much to make bets when 
 he knew he was sure to win. 
 
 " Done !" cried the Baronet " Yes, done ! for 
 any amount you like !" 
 
 "A hundred guineas," suggested Sylvester 
 
78 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, JfEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "With all my heart !" exclaimed the Baronet, 
 springing up to his feet. " But how shall we 
 decide it?" 
 
 ""You shall go with me at once, and I'll show 
 you the splendid creature anxiously waiting to 
 receive me in her arms." 
 
 " Insufferable coxcomb !" muttered Sir A^el,. as 
 he suddenly turneij asi^e tp conceal the rjge that 
 was rendering his countenance white and his lips 
 ashy. ." But good heaven ! is this possible ? the 
 brilliant Duchess stoop to such a jackanapes as 
 this!"— and he paced the room in a hurried and 
 agitated manner. 
 
 "Why, what the deuce ails you, old fellow?" 
 askgd Sylysster. "It really lookij as if you your- 
 self had been hankering after the Beauty, and 
 that you are already envious and jealous of me 
 on account of my good luck." 
 
 " tVhen shall we set out ? and where are we to 
 go?" demanded Sir Abel, without heeding Syl- 
 vester's observations. 
 
 >' 'We'll set out at once : but as tp the place 
 where we are to gp to, I shan't tell you untij 
 we've settled the terms' on which J^ls j> lisiness 'js 
 to be conducted." 
 
 ,'! Proceed," §aid Kingston, with assumed pom- 
 posure, birf with a veritable inwarif burnjng jnj T 
 pat^encp. 
 
 " Now, though I want to show you, old fellow," 
 continued Casey, "that I'm no idl^ {soaker — :aj}d 
 though I should also very muph like to w)n your 
 money, yet of cpiirse I dpn't want tP insult the 
 fair one^s feelings, and she musn'jt tjbjnk I'm 
 making a sjipw of her." 
 
 " Let me catch but one glimpse of her," said 
 the Baronet ; " let me obtain a single glance at 
 her countenance, either through a key-hole or a 
 window, or during the opening or shutting of a 
 door — and* I will acknowledge myself fairly beatpn 
 —I will pay you the wager even though J sell 
 the last two. horses that remain tp me^-and f will 
 moreover look upon you henceforth as <>ne of jthe 
 Cleverest', most fascinating and irresistible pf men ! 
 Jn short, I shall regard you as a. yeritahj.e Adonis, 
 and contemptuously Jpok uppn tj)ppe feljpw^ ^hpm 
 I have hitherto thought ypry han_dsonie, a? no- 
 thing less than monsters and vulgarians." 
 
 There was a bitter irony in the concluding 
 part of this speech : but Sylvesjiejr did npjrte.re#>vg 
 it: his self-conceit blinded him, He therefore 
 smiled with such 3 cpxppjnbicaj complacency that 
 the Baronet could scarcely resist the inclination 
 to knock him down. 
 
 . "You chaps in the Guards," he s,aid, " used to 
 think you coujd carry everything before you : but 
 some of us civilians are teaching you .different, 
 Now you ^najjcpme alomj with rap ; aM'mind! 
 when by s,oine' means pr aripfjier I've satisijpd you 
 that it's all as right as a trivet, you'll just be so 
 gppd as tp take yourself p$f at price and le^ye me 
 to enjoy the fruits of my conquest." 
 
 *' That is a bargajn," sajd Sir AM, " Have 
 you any other conditions to dictate ?" 
 
 " None," replied Sylvester. 
 
 " But I have something more tQ s fty on rny 
 own account," resumed the Baronet. " I've tpld 
 you what I shall think of you if ypu satisfy me 
 jilagt, your statement is correct and that ypu are 
 really and truly favoured in this instance. But 
 if on the other hand I find that you have deceived 
 me, I shall expose you as a blackguard and a 
 
 scoundrel yes, regardless of all consequences 
 
 that may arjse from provoking your father's 
 anger!" 
 
 '"Conje, come, old fellow," interrupted Syl- 
 vester, colouring up to the very roots of his red 
 
 hair, "this isn't the right sort of thing 
 
 you're coming it a little too strong — " 
 
 "True, my dear fellow! true!" s^id the Baronet, 
 with a peculiar smile. " I had no right to address 
 you in such language. Forgive me. Here is my 
 ljand." 
 
 " Oh ! it's all fight," said ypung Casey ; " there's 
 no ijl-wiii betwixt you and me! Only when you 
 talk in tjiat style, you know, it was putting my 
 mpnkey up; — and I'm a devil of a fellow if I pnce 
 get info a passion. Howeyer, you and I don't 
 want it to get intp fhe newspapers that there's been 
 'an affair' pi" fionour in high life' — 'Sir Abel 
 Kingston, Captain in thp Guards '— ' Sylvester 
 Casey, Esquire'— and all that sorf of thing." 
 
 " No, njj !" interjected the Baronet with a smile 
 pf passing irony and contenipt: "there is not 
 much fear of that. But now let us set off." 
 
 The tw ; o gentleman left the hotel arid took their 
 seats in a cab. wjiich at once drove a*ray, Syl- 
 vester simply saying tp the driver, " Cut over 
 Wfetminster fridge, and then I'll tell yon' where 
 to gp to." 
 
 The garonet n pw studiously avoided a topic 
 whiph he felt he could not approach without ex- 
 periencing an almost irresistible inclination to in- 
 flict personal chastisement on his cpmpanion. 
 For through Sir Abel's mind was floating a species 
 of logic tp the following effect : ~" ^ Wie ypung 
 jackanapes is deceiving me, as a matter of course 
 he deserves a sound thrashing: and jjF oft the 
 other hand by any inconceivable combination of 
 circumstances he js telling me the truth, it is 
 equally my duty to trpunp? him within an inch 
 of his ljfe, for having putrivaljed me. But we 
 shall se.p." 
 
 When the cab had entered upon the Westmin- 
 ster &pj$, Sylvester presently bawled out, " To 
 the right !" — and then, as it turned into the maze 
 of narrow streets, lanes, and alleys composing all 
 that part pf Lambeth, Sir Abel thought to him- 
 self, "The fellow is lying 'after all ! As if she 
 wqujd ever come into such a neighbourhood as 
 this !" 
 
 The cab yolled on ; Sylvester presently leant 
 half-wav out of ihe window, and gave some final 
 instructions tp the driver. The Baronet continued 
 to discourse on indifferent topics ; but his irritatioji 
 kept on increasing on jfiiujing that there was a 
 certain flippant arid impertinent' accent of'confi- 
 dence — a £oxt of oye^^erang'superciliousness^ in 
 Sylypster's ypice. 
 
 A,t length thp pab drew np at the door of j 
 !vous,e in qrjp of those pbscure wretcned r streets ; 
 and Svlyps^ter, springing ouf"of the vehicle, s^ 
 " JTow, old' fellpw, we &r? here !" 
 
 He rushed |n'tp the Jiouse ; and meeting the 
 elderly woman in the passage^ he ' hastily de- 
 manded jn a whisper, " Is ij all right,"Hother 
 Gplls?" _ 
 
 All right," was the answer. " But who is 
 ypur'frien,d?" 
 
 "Not a word about the p| trick ! not a syllable !" 
 paid Sylvester quickly. ' '" 'He rnust think she 
 came of her own accord ! There's a bet on 
 it iwixj me and Sir Abel. You twig?" 
 
THE TOUNQ DUCHESS : OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 79 
 
 Mis. Grills nodded significantly to young 
 Casey ; and at this moment Sir Abel Kingston 
 entered the passage. The pale-faced girl shut the 
 front door ^ and Mrs. Grills begged the two gen- 
 tlemen to step into the front parloni^^observiDg 
 that " she was all alone there, for that Mr. Grills 
 and his brother Jasper were just taking their 
 irmet glass and pipe together in the kitchen down 
 stairs." 
 
 "She's here, old chap!" said Sylvester lb the 
 Baronet, the moment they entered that parlour. 
 
 Sir Abei was on the point of tfiunflering forth 
 fche words, " You He ! It is impossible !" — but 
 he restrained himself, and said with assuified com- 
 posure, " Well, . if - so, I congratulate yoiu But 
 now for the proof ?" 
 
 " You post yourself in tfie passage," said Syl- 
 vester, after a brief exchange of whispered obser- 
 vations aside with Mrs. Grills, " in such a way 
 that you can see into the room ; and the old 
 woman here will just step in to ask the sweet 
 creature if she wants anything. Mind now ! it 
 will only be the Work of a moment — and you 
 must keep yourself as much in the shade as pos- 
 sible. If she does happen to catch a glimpse of 
 von, I shall tell her presently that it was me 
 she saw in the passage." 
 
 " Good," said the Baronet. " And now let it 
 be done at once.", 
 
 Mrs. Grills led the way into the passage ; and she 
 posted the Baronet in an angle formed by a turn- 
 ing contrived for the arrangements of the staircase. 
 He was there completely in the. shade, even when 
 the light should stream forth from the room 
 which the woman was about to en^er. Sylvester 
 Casey remained on the threshold of the Front 
 parlour, watching with some little anxiety, but 
 yet with more confidence, the proceeding which 
 he hoped would establish him hi the Baronet's 
 estimation as the most successful young roui about 
 town. As for Sir Abel himself, he was utterly 
 bewildered what to think : for on the one hand it 
 seemed to be most stupendously preposterous to 
 suppose that the brilliant Duchess of Ardleigh 
 could have come to such a den of iniquity as 
 this — while on the other hand it was difficult to 
 comprehend how or why . Sylvester should be 
 carrying on a delusion and a farce to such an ex- 
 treme point. 
 
 All uncertainty on Sir Abel's part was however 
 soon destined to be put an end to, for Mrs. Grills 
 now opened the door of the back parlour ; and 
 there, Sure enough! rising up from a chair hear 
 the table, in a plain dress, and with her veil 
 thrown back, was the brilliant Duchess of Axd- 
 
 Mrs. Grills immediately closed the doot : but 
 the Baronet had seen gndugh. Bager-fory — 
 madness, took possession of his brain. . Springing 
 forward like a bounding tiger, or an unleashed 
 hound, along the passage, he tore open the front 
 door, seized upon Sylvester Casey, and with one 
 tremendous kid^ sent him flying across the 
 threshold into the street. He then banged the 
 door violently, and rushed towards the room 
 wherein he had caught that momentary glimpse 
 of the brilliant Duchess. Mrs. Grills was at the 
 instant coming out ; and she exclaimed in an 
 angry voice, " Hey day ! what does all this row 
 mean ? — Grills ! Jasper !" she shouted, evidently 
 summoning her husband and brother-in-law from 
 
 the lower region ; " are you asleep down 
 there?" 
 
 " Hold your tongue, beldame f and let me 
 pass!" cried the Baronet, who was labouring 
 Under a fearful state of excitement 
 
 " Oh, if all you want is to go into this room," 
 said Mrs. Grills, suddenly pretending to' soften 
 down, " I'm sure I've no' objection. As well yon, 
 sir, as airy other !" 
 
 She accordingly stood aside : Sir Abel King- 
 ston burst into the back parlour — but he stopped 
 suddenly short, literally transfixed with amaze- 
 ment : he found ho one there ! 
 
 " Where is the lady whom I saw here scarcely 
 three minutes back ?" he demanded, suddenly re- 
 covering his self-possession. 
 
 " What do I know about ladies ?" said Mrs. 
 Grills, putting her hands upon her hips and look- 
 ing at the Baronet with an insolent air of defiance. 
 '' If s for the gentlemen to take care of the ladies, 
 and not for me !" 
 
 The Baronet strode lip to a cupboard — tore 
 open the door — but Beheld no one. He looked 
 under a sofa and under the table ; arid then 
 hastening to the window, he flung up the sasli, 
 and was just leaping upon the sill, when the 
 woman called out, " Take care, you lunatic ! 
 there's a fall of a dozen feet beneath the winder !" 
 
 A glance flung downward showed Sir Abel 
 that the woman had spoken truly ; and he stepped 
 baek into the room, exclaiming', " Twenty guineas 
 if you'll tell me what has become of her !" 
 
 Meanwhile there was a violent and continued 
 knocking at the front door ; and Mr& Grills gave 
 a hasty instruction to her husband and his 
 brother Jasper, Who had just emerged from the 
 premises Below. They seized upon the Baronet ; 
 and Mrs. Grills also lent her assistance. Despite 
 his struggles, his threats and imprecations, they 
 carried him to the front-door, which the pale- 
 faced girl at once opened. Sylvester Casey, who 
 had been thundering with the knocker for the 
 last two minutes, was about to rush furiously in 
 when the form of the Baronet was literally thrown 
 at him, and the two rolled together in the street. 
 
 The front door was banged — a chain might 
 have been heard to be fastening inside — then in 
 the twinkling of an eye every light was extin- 
 guished in the habitation— and an tip-stairs win- 
 dow being thrown open, the head of Mrs. Grills, 
 decorated with a great white nightcap, was thrust 
 out, her hoarse voice exclaiming, "Get along 
 with you, you drunken blackguards ! What do 
 you mean by kicking up this row at the door of 
 a respectable house ? Police! police!" 
 
 " Come quick, you fool !" cried the Baronet to 
 Sylvester Casey, Who was whimpering and eryh% 
 out that he had been infamously treated : but he 
 how thought fit to follow Sir Abel Kingston in 
 the retreat which he rapidly beat from the neigh- 
 bourhood of the house where such singular ad- 
 ventures had taken place. 
 
 CHAPTER XVHI. 
 
 THE BARONET AND SYLVESTER. 
 
 We left Imogen locked in the arms of Launcelot 
 Osborne, when, after the departure of the Duchess, 
 
80 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 he had sworn to. her in the most enthusiastic lan- 
 guage that he loved her more than life. With 
 what fervour did he strain her to his breast ! with 
 what fondness did she cling with her arms about 
 his neck ! How happy were they at that mo- 
 ment ! Everything was forgotten on the part of 
 Launcelot except that he might love her ! every- 
 thing on the part of Imogen except the sweet 
 knowledge of being thoroughly and completely 
 beloved by him ! 
 
 "And now, dearest Imogen,'' said Launcelot, 
 at length, "go and fetch that pretty little child: 
 for as you love me, so will I love her — and since 
 she cannot look up to her own parents for affec- 
 tionate care, she shall receive it from us !" 
 
 It was impossible that Imogen's warm heart 
 could have received a greater proof of Launcelot's 
 love than this which he was now affording her. 
 Of her own accord she threw her superbly mo- 
 delled arms again about his neck — she pressed 
 him to her bosom — she kissed his lips unasked. 
 Then she glided from the room, her exquisitely 
 shaped feet scarcely seeming to touch the carpet 
 on which they moved so glancingly ; and up the 
 staircase she bounded; Though she was only 
 absent half a minute,, yet it was with the fondest 
 impatience that Launcelot awaited her return; 
 for he longed to show all possible kindness towards 
 the child whom his Imogen loved so tenderly. 
 He felt that she must be a young woman of a 
 ■wonderful excellence of heart that she had dis- 
 played so much mingled devotedness and self- 
 sacrifice for the sake of that child, and that she 
 was therefore one of those rare sterling creatures 
 who possess qualities even more attractive and 
 endearing than their physical beauty. 
 
 Imogen returned to the parlour with little 
 Annie in her arms ; and then the child wondered 
 why the gentleman should take her upon his lap ( 
 and caress and fondle her so : but she smiled with 
 the innocent sweetness of infantile gratitude — and 
 then she seated herself in perfect happiness at the 
 feet of the lovers, as they sat half-embraced upon 
 the sofa. 
 
 All of a sudden Imogen started up — glanced at 
 her watch which, lay upon the table — and then 
 pressing her beautiful white hands against Laun- 
 celot's cheeks, she said, "I must leave you, 
 dearest ! I must fly to the theatre ! I am already 
 late." 
 
 " Must you go?" he asked, with a look of min- 
 gled fondness and regret. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! it is absolutely necessary ! And I 
 am so happy — and my heart is so light ! Oh ! 
 my performance will be perfectly brilliant this 
 evening!" — and with an ingenuous smile she dis- 
 played her teeth of dazzling whiteness, while her 
 pure fragrant breath fanned his cheek. 
 
 "Well, you must go, dear Imogen — yes, you 
 must go for the present I" said Launcelot. " But 
 you must soon give up this life!" 
 
 She again threw herself into his arms — they 
 embraced tenderly — and he took his departure; 
 for with the natural delicacy of his feelings, he 
 understood that Imogen would stand a chance of 
 being compromised if he were to escort her to the 
 theatre. 
 
 The Star of the equestrian circus was indeed 
 only just in time to take her part in the perform- 
 ances ; and never had she appeared more ' ravish- 
 ingly beautiful ! — never had she ridden the horses 
 
 with greater spirit ! There was all the supple 
 litheness of the Bayadere in the form which was 
 so striking and brilliant: her eyes shone like 
 stars ; and her teeth appeared to be like orient 
 pearls between the parting roses of her lips. The 
 applause she elicited was, if possible, more enthu- 
 siastic than ever. 
 
 Launcelot was not there to behold her. Ha 
 had hastened home, that he might indulge in tha 
 luxury of his own thoughts — that he might aban- 
 don himself to the delicious ideas which were now 
 floating in his mind — that he might bask in that 
 roseate flood of lustre which is shed upon the 
 heart from the sun of fancy's own -created 
 heaven ! 
 
 Let us now return to Sir Abel Kingston and 
 Mr. Sylvester Casey, whom we left as they were 
 hurrying along the street where Mrs. Grills' habi- 
 tation was situated, and fearing that the hoarse 
 voice of that dame should bring the police into 
 the neighbourhood. At length they relaxed the 
 celerity of their pace ; and then Sylvester said 
 sulkily, " Now, Sir Abel, what the devil does all 
 this mean? Tou — you — owe me explanations. 
 I — I — am in a deuce of a rage !" 
 
 " One word first of all !" interjected the Baronet, 
 stopping short and catching hold of Sylvester 
 forcibly by the wrist. " There ia a mystery in all 
 this " 
 
 "I should think there .is," said Sylvester 
 surlily : " so perhaps you'll explain why the 
 deuce you kicked me out into the street ?" 
 
 " Where is the letter," demanded the Baronet, 
 " in which the assignation was made ?" 
 
 " Letter ? Oh, ah ! But that's of no conse- 
 quence to you," continued Sylvester, who for an 
 instant was thrown off his guard, he having for- 
 gotten the tale he had told Sir Abel at the hotel. 
 "You owe me the bet — and you owe me an 
 apology too " 
 
 " Apology !" echoed the Baronet with disdain. 
 
 " Come, come — that's too good," said Sylvester, 
 affecting to be courageous and spirited. "Tou 
 have used me shameful ! What the deuce must 
 Imogen think " 
 
 "Imogen?" echoed the Baronet with a quick 
 start of surprise. 
 
 " Why, yes — that is her name — isn't it ? But 
 what is the matter with you now ?" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing," said the Baronet, infinitely 
 relieved in one sense, for he saw that some tre- 
 mendous mistake must have been committed — but 
 nevertheless getting more and more bewildered as 
 if he were floundering farther and farther into a 
 perfect morass of perplexities. " Now, do tell me, 
 my dear fellow," he continued, addressing Syl- 
 vester in a coaxing tone of familiarity, " how was 
 all this managed? I really have a reason for 
 asking ?" • 
 
 " Well, do you acknowledge that you have lost 
 your bet?" demanded young Casey. 
 
 "Let us consider that the bet is off altogether," 
 said the Baronet. " I will tell you why. Qf 
 course we were speaking all the time of Mademoi- 
 selle Imogen — were we not ?" 
 ' " Of course we were," replied Sylvester. " Who 
 else could we have been talking of?" 
 
 "No one, certainly. We understood each other 
 all along — and it was that which made me so- 
 savage when on looking into the back parlour, I 
 saw it was not Imogen at all !" 
 
THE YOUKG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY 
 
 OP QUALITY. 
 
 81 
 
 SELINA. 
 
 '" Not Imogen ?" ejaculated Sylvester in asto- 
 nishment. " Come, come, this won't do " 
 
 " On my soul I am telling you the truth !" re- 
 joined Sir Abel. " Besides, you can soon satisfy 
 yourself; for we will go straight to the theatre 
 and see whether Mademoiselle Imogene performs 
 this evening." 
 
 " To be sure ! that's the very ticket ! But how 
 the deuce could such a mistake have happened?" 
 
 " Well, it lias happened. Of this you may be 
 assured. The moment I caught sight of the f*e 
 of the female who was in that back parlour " 
 
 "Did you know her?" demanded Sylvester 
 eagerly. 
 
 No. 11. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 " Oh, no : I never before saw her in my life. 
 And now tell me how your proceedings were 
 managed, so that we may fathom, if possible, the 
 mystery of so much confusion ?" 
 
 " Why, the truth is," said Sylvester, who, now 
 that his project had completely failed, saw the 
 necessity of endeavouring to gloss over the ridi- 
 culous predicament in which it had placed him as 
 a discomfited braggart, — " I have long had u 
 fancy for Mademoiselle Imogene ; and between 
 you and me I have got tired of Alice — she is so 
 dreadfully extravagant ! Well, I am not a sort 
 of fellow to go running after girls and making 
 love to them — I hate showing that I am spooney 
 
82 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 upon them — it makes them take all sorts of ad- 
 vantage of one. I like to go in and conquer at 
 once. So having made up my mind in the present 
 case, I went to those Grills — I've known them for 
 some time — very useful people they are " 
 
 "No doubt. Proceed." „ 
 
 " Well, I gave them their instructions. I have 
 learnt, you see, Imogen's habits of Alice Oefttoh, 
 who is her intimate friend : I therefore knew that 
 when she had dressed for the theatre in the 
 evening — which she always does at her $wn 
 lodgings — she wraps herself up in a great long 
 mantle, puts on a boritiet with a thick veil *' 
 
 " Ah, ha ! I begin to comprehend," said the 
 Baronet. " What a daring fellow you are, Syl- 
 vester !" — and Sir Abel pretended to chuckle with 
 the most good-natured familiarity, because he saw 
 it was only by such means he could extract the 
 real truth from the' self-sufficient jackanapes. 
 " You had her carried otf by force— eh ?" 
 
 "Well, that's the history of the whole proceed- 
 ing," said young Casey. " But, I suppose, from 
 what you tell me, that they must by some means 
 or another have got hold of the wrong person ?" 
 
 " That they assuredly did," answered the 
 Baronet. "And now what do you think of your- 
 self for having endeavoured to persuade me that 
 it was an assignation made by Imogen herself?" 
 
 " Oh, weli ! people do draw the long bow a 
 little in matters of lovSj" laughed Sylvester. 
 
 " Ah ! but the bet that you sought to win of 
 me under such circumstances ?" interjected Sir 
 Abel. 
 
 " All fair likewise :" — but youiig Casey's 
 wonted assurance now forsook him somewhat, for 
 he could not conceal from himself that Kingston 
 thoroughly saw through his mean, dirty, pitiful 
 behaviour. 
 
 " I do not think it was all fair," said the 
 Baronet coldly ; " and the business, if made 
 public, would redound, Mr. Casey, but little to 
 your credit.. Indeed you would be regularly cut 
 by everybody; and instead of becoming a regular 
 fashionable gentleman about town — as I know 
 you wish to be thought " 
 
 "Oh, but iny dear fellbWj" said Sylvester, 
 thoroughly frightened and bitterly humiliated, 
 "I thought the business was entirely between 
 you and me ?" 
 
 "So it is for the preseiit. An! by the bye, 
 you will just send me your acceptance, to-hlbrrdw 
 morning, to that little bill tor a thousand pounds 
 which I asked you for; and then we need not 
 talk any more, you know, of the adventures of 
 this evening." 
 
 Sylvester made a horrid grimace : but he fal- 
 tered out an affirmative ; and in a few minutes 
 the door of Astley's theatre was reached. The 
 two gentlemen entered ; but while they were as- 
 cending the staircase to the boxes, their ears 
 caught the tremendous'applause which they knew 
 full well could only be elicited by the Star of the 
 Circus. And sure enough, in a few moments, 
 they beheld her performing in her favourite cha- 
 racter — more radiant in beauty and more spirited 
 in her achievements than ever !" 
 
 "Well, it is as you told me," whispered Syl- 
 vester to , the Baronet, " and it wasn't Imogen 
 who was carried off. But, Ah ! what the deuce 
 floes this mean ?" 
 
 His looks were attracted towards a particular 
 
 box, in the front row of which were seated a stout 
 vulgar-looking lady of about five-and-forty, and 
 a very pretty girl of eighteen or twenty, whose 
 mien was altogether as pleasing as that of her 
 elderly companion might be said to be the reverse. 
 The daine was fanning herself — for she was very 
 hot ; add she thoroughly answered to that de- 
 scription which is' summed up in the somewhat 
 vulgar but expressive word, " blowzy." She was • 
 dressed in naming colours, her toilet displaying 
 the worst bossible taste ; while that of the young 
 lady was simple, plain, and yet elegant. 
 
 "Who are they ?" inquired the Baronet, follow- 
 ing the direction of Sylvester's looks. 
 
 " Why, my mother and sister, to be sure ! Who 
 would have thought they were coming to Astley's 
 to-night? You don't know them, I think? Come 
 along, and I'll introduce you." 
 
 For a moment Sir Abel Kingston recoiled from 
 the bare idea of being seen in a public place of 
 entertainment in the company of the blowzy dame 
 with the red perspiring cheeks, the huge fan, and 
 ihe dress that was so trumpery and ridiculous 
 with its pretence of naming gorgeousness. Was it 
 not sufficient that he ventured to appear at a 
 theatre with the vulgar gentish-ldoking son ? He 
 was therefore on the point of declining the honour 
 of ah introduction to Mrfl. Casey) when on takiDg 
 a second look at her daughter, he all in a moment 
 changed his iftifld ; and be said with a bland 
 smile, "Thank you, iny dear friend — nothing will 
 give me greater pleasure." 
 
 Sylvester was hugely delighted at the thought 
 of being enabled to introduce a real living Baronet, 
 who was also a Captain in the Guards, into the - 
 same box where his mother and sister were seated ; 
 and he already looked about him with the mien of 
 a person who was fully prepared to give himself 
 all sorts of airs. He and Sir Abel made then- 
 way to the box where the ladies were placed ; and 
 it happened that the benches Immediately behind 
 had just been vacated by a party on account of 
 one of its female members fainting through the 
 heat of the place. There ^ras Consequently ample 
 room to enable Silvester and Sir Abel to approach 
 Mrs. Casey and Seliha: 
 
 The introduction wad effected in a style most 
 eminently characteristic of the gentleman who 
 performed that duty. 
 
 "Why, mother, who would have thought of 
 seeing you here this evening ? This is my friend 
 Sir Abel Kingston — a regular brick. I think 
 you've heard the governor speak of him 1 My 
 mother, Sir Abel. And this is my sister Selina — 
 a deuced nice girl, though I say it which shouldn't 
 say it." 
 
 The elderly lady bowed and simpered : the 
 young lady gracefully inclined her head and 
 blushed ; while the Baronet thought to himself, 
 " Good heavens ! is it possible that this sweet and 
 beautiful bird can belong to such a brood?" 
 
 " Very 'appy to inake Sir Habel's acquaint- 
 ance," said Mrs. Casey. " You'll pardon Sylwester, 
 Sir Habel, for throwin' in a flatterin' word about 
 his sister— — " 
 
 " Oh, certainly, madam. But I have no doubt 
 that Miss Casey deserves everything amiable and 
 complimentary that can be said of her." 
 
 The object of this piece of adulation blushed 
 slightly, and with a reserved air she took up her 
 playbill. 
 
THE YOUNO DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 83 
 
 " Tes, Selina," continued Mrs. Casey, pronounc- 
 ing the i quite broad, instead of calling her 
 daughter Seleena,— " Selina is a very good gal — 
 plays the 'arp and the peeanner — and can make a 
 tart or pudden as well as the best cook in all 
 Hingland." 
 
 Sir Abel coughed very loud, and he likewise 
 coloured very much ; |br there were some ladies 
 in the next box who were infinitely amused by 
 these displays of vulgarism on Mrs. (Daley's 
 part. 
 
 " Betwixt you and me and the ppst, Sir Habel," 
 continued Mrs. Casey, who not perceiving the 
 effect her discourse was thus' producing, talked 
 louder and louder for the behoof of those persons 
 who were seated in her immediate neighbourhood, 
 " Selina is as good as disposed of, so to speak. 
 A nobleman's son is a-keepin' company with 
 her " 
 
 " Mamma, do look at Mademoiselle Imogene !" 
 hastily said the young lady in a whteper, while a 
 crimson glow suffused her countenance, descend- 
 ing even to her neck, which an instant hefpre was 
 of ivory fairness. 
 
 " I see Himogin ]" replied the dame ; " and I 
 should enjoy myself much better if there wasn't 
 snch a heat that makes one all perspiry. But 
 where are you going, Sir Habel ?" 
 
 " Hem! haE ! ma'am:" — and the Baronet 
 coughed and looked very much confused. " I 
 thought I saw a friend across yonder :" and he 
 pointed at random at some visionary acquaintance 
 on the opposite side of the house. 
 
 " What, that gentleman with the 'ook nose and 
 the yaller waistcoat ? Why that's ' Mr. Shiney- 
 brass, the pawnbroker up in 'Qborn ! He wisits 
 sometimes at our 'ouse in 'Atton Garding " 
 
 Fortunately the rest of Mrs. Casey's observa- 
 tion was drowned in the perfect furor of applause 
 which accompanied the exit of Mademoiselle Imo- 
 gene from the circle. 
 
 " But let me see," resumed tie dame, as Made- 
 moiselle Kose, a beautiful French girl, now topk 
 her place in the ring, where she rode with an ele- 
 gance and skill inferior only to the proficiency 
 of Miss Hartland,-r-" let me see, what was I 
 a-sayin'? — Oh! I was tellin' you, Sir Habel, 
 that my Selina is almost as good as engaged to 
 the Honourable Launcelot Hosborne ; and when 
 the weddin' takes place, we'll send you a billy :" 
 — by which word the -worthy dame meant to 
 express the French term billet. 
 
 There was an universal titter jn ihe adjoining 
 box ; and the Baronet, unable to endure the or- 
 deal any longer, suddenly pleaded a violent head- 
 ache as an excuse for his departure, 
 
 Mrs. Casey was one of those persons who al- 
 ways shake hands with everybody, even though 
 hej acquaintance with them be of no longer du- 
 ration than two or three minutes. If she made a 
 morning call at a house where she found twenty 
 other visitors in the drawing-room at the same 
 time, and all strangers, to her on her entrance, she 
 would shake hands with them every one on taking 
 her leave. Was it therefore to be supposed that 
 she would let Sir Abel Kingston depart wijthout 
 conferring upon him the usual testimony of her 
 friendship ? She extended a hand that was large 
 enough to fell an ox, and which felt very hot 
 even through the kid glove, — at the same time 
 saying, " I know you've been to 'Atton Garding 
 
 on business ; but the next time you find ypurseli 
 there, you must come up into th. e drawing-room 
 and just 'ear SeJina play one of her hairs. We 
 always lunches at one ; but' if you like some day 
 to drop in and take pot-luck with us at five, we 
 shall be very # 'appy to see you and you'll have a 
 corgial velcujn." 
 
 The Baronet was suffering excruciations ; but 
 with an appearance of the most gentlemanly ease, 
 he turned towards Sfelina, saying, " I shall not 
 fail, Miss Casey, to avail myself some day of 
 your mamma's kind invitation." 
 
 He then shook hands with, the daughter, — 
 though she was very far from offering her own 
 hand; and he bowed himself out of the box, 
 thinking t.o himself, " Good heavens ; what an 
 old vulgarian! But one might do worse than 
 marry the daughter ; — and^ by Jove ! if she 
 weren't .engaged-! — ^-though: perhaps even tjjat 
 
 need nqf be an impediment ; for Launcelot' Os- 
 borne is a sentimental milksop r" 
 
 Here the Baronet's reverie was rudejy inter- 
 rupted by Sylvester Casey, who slapping him 
 familiarly on the shoulder, said, "Lers go up 
 into the Strand and play billiards. It's slow work 
 here." 
 
 Sir Abel was about to decline, when on a second 
 thpught he accepted the proposal ; for it occurred 
 to him that he might just as .well avail himself oif 
 the opportunity to obtain from Sylvester all the 
 information he could in reference to the engage- 
 ment between Launcelot Osborne and Selina. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX, 
 
 ARDLEIGH HOUSE. 
 
 The reader is doubtless anxious to learn how it 
 was that the Duchess of Ardleigh contrived to 
 escape so suddenly from the house belonging to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Grills. It will be borne in mind 
 that she had been prepared to expect the visit of 
 some one who woujd give her' explanations in re- 
 ference to the outrage which had been perpetrated 
 towards her. She had thrown back her veil be- 
 cause the atmosphere of the room appeared to 
 stifle her ; and there she sat revolving in her mind 
 the circumstances of her position, and the mode in 
 which she should act when the individual, who- 
 ever he might be, should appear in her presence. 
 She was more tjian half-inclined to fancy that she 
 had been carried off in mistake for Imogen : in- 
 deed she could scarcely see any other possible solu- 
 tion to the mysiiry. Being therefore under this 
 impression more than under any p^her, it was by 
 no means in apcprdance with her intention to let 
 her face be seen when the door opened. But that 
 dppr had opened so suddenly — the Duchess was 
 in so profound a reverie at the instant — and she 
 was thus taken so completely by surprise, that she 
 started up, forgetting her veil had been thrown 
 back ; and thus was ijt that Sir Abel Kingston had 
 obtained that glimpse of her features which was 
 sujsjcient to show hijn who she was. 
 
 Mrs- Grills had instantaneously closed the door 
 again, and it was an ejaculation of astonishment 
 which burst from her lips. The Duchess com- 
 prehended it ; and she said in hasty tones, " I am 
 not the right person whom you expected?" 
 
48 
 
 THE YOTOfO DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " No, that you ain't ! Why, how is this ?" — 
 and Mrs. Grills looked almost bewildered. 
 
 " It was a mistake ! Tell me, was it not in- 
 tended to carry off the actress Mademoiselle Imo- 
 gene ? Speak, and you shall be rewarded !" 
 
 "Yes-^that was what was meant. But who 
 are gov,, ma'am ?" * 
 
 The Duchess was rejoiced to find that she was 
 not known ; and she said, " No matter who I am ! 
 Ah, that disturbance !" 
 
 "The two gentlemen who have come!" ejacu- 
 lated Mrs. Grills. " I do believe one's fighting 
 with the other !" 
 
 " Good heavens ! who are they ? who are they ? 
 Speak, woman ! I mean to deal liberally with 
 you !" — and she drew forth her purse. 
 
 " Well, its young Mr. Casey — and how disap- 
 pointed he'll be !" 
 "And the other?" 
 
 " I heard Mr. Casey call him Sir Abel." 
 "Heavens!" was the ejaculation which again 
 burst from the lips of the Duchess ; and for a mo- 
 ment a violent trembling seized upon her r but the 
 next instant recovering her presence of mind, she 
 said, " Fifty guineas if you let me escape !" 
 " Done 1" cried the delighted Mrs. Grills. 
 The Duchess flung a bank-note and some gold 
 upon the table ; and Mrs. Grills caught up the 
 money with avidity. The next instant she threw 
 up the window, and simply said, " The ladder !" 
 This was immediately supplied ; the Duchess 
 descended — and she found Mr. Grills and his brother 
 in the yard below. 
 
 Now the fact was these worthies, instead of 
 smoking their pipes in the kitchen, had been sit- 
 ting on the sill of a window beneath the room 
 where the Duchess was confined ; for they thought 
 it prudent to keep watch lest she should attempt 
 to make her escape. Hence the promptitude with 
 which they obeyed the summons of Mrs. Grills ; 
 and they asked no questions — neither did they 
 pause for the slightest syllable of explanation — 
 inasmuch as they knew that whatsoever the dame 
 herself might do, would be the result of a sudden 
 necessity or else of an equally potent appeal to 
 her personal interests. The whole proceeding was 
 conducted in the course of a few seconds; and 
 while the Duchess was traversing a little yard to- 
 wards a back gate, Mrs. Grills was facing Sir Abel 
 Kingston in the passage. 
 
 Having given these explanations, we may re- 
 sume the thread of our narrative. 
 
 It was the day after the adventures of which 
 we have been writing, and between one and two 
 o'clock in the' afternoon, when the door of the 
 drawing-room in which the Duchess of Ardleigh 
 was seated, was thrown open ; and the domestic 
 announced Sir Abel Kingston. It was exactly 
 ten days since she had last seen him, at Thorn- 
 bury Park, when she had enjoined him not to seek 
 her presence again until he should receive some 
 communication from her. 
 
 " Can he have found eut where I was last even- 
 ing ?" was the first question which instantaneously 
 occurred to the Duchess ; and a flush swept across 
 her countenance: but the next moment it had 
 disappeared, and it was with the most perfect self- 
 possession so far as the outward demeanour was 
 concerned, that she gave him her hand. 
 
 There was nothing peculiar in the Baronet's 
 manner, — nothing significant so as to make the 
 
 Duchess suspect that he knew aught of her adven- 
 ture of the preceding evening : but he wore that 
 look of love and tenderness which he had of late 
 assumed towards her; and there was likewise 
 somewhat of respectful entreaty in his tone, as he 
 said, " May I hope, dearest Mary, that you are 
 not angry because I come without receiving per- 
 mission from you ?" 
 
 " Let that scene which your words recall, be 
 entirely forgotten ?" said the young Duchess ; for 
 her soul now recoiled from the man who she natu- 
 rally thought frequented such dens as that where 
 accident had so nearly thrown them together on 
 the preceding night. " I beg you, Sir Abel, to look 
 upon me as an acquaintance — a friend, if you will : 
 
 but — but " 
 
 "Mary, what means this coldness? Perhaps 
 you have not made any discovery of the kind 
 which I mentioned in reference to your husband ? 
 And yet I swear to you that it was the truth !" 
 
 "Who told you,." asked the Duchess, "that 
 Herbert was keeping a mistress in the neighbour- 
 hood of Tunbridge Wells ?" 
 
 ■' It was a person named Manning — a horse- 
 dealer at Maidstone. He sold some horses for 
 me — your husband bought them — he gave a 
 
 cheque signed with his own name " 
 
 " Yes, yes — I recollect ! You told me at the 
 time," said the Duchess. "But I had for- 
 gotten " 
 
 "And have you willingly forgotten all the kind 
 and hopeful things you said to me on that occa- 
 sion when I walked with you in the grounds at 
 .Thornbury ?" 
 
 " Do not remind me of it ! But come, Sir 
 Abel," said the Duchess, assuming a lively air, as 
 if suddenly throwing off some cause of restraint : 
 " let us talk on general subjects. What think 
 you of the prospects of the opera season ? how 
 do you like the new novel ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mary !" exclaimed the Baronet ; " how 
 can you find it in your heart to treat me thus ? 
 Now listen to me while I tell you that I know 
 you Jiave discovered the truth of my statement 
 in reference to your husband's mistress at Adding- 
 ton." 
 
 "How so?" ejaculated the Duchess, with a 
 start. 
 
 " Because I received a letter from some one, 
 telling me that the establishment at Dahlia Cot- 
 tage is broken up -" 
 
 " And that some one ?" inquired the Duchess. 
 " That very same Manning the horsedealer. The 
 animals have gone back into his hands ; and the 
 lady herself left the place precipitately, with her 
 nurse and her child. But of course you know 
 all this as well as I can tell you." 
 
 The Duchess remained silent. She remembered 
 her pledge to the Baronet ; and though the love, 
 or rather the fantasy she had conceived for him, 
 had very much subsided, she nevertheless knew 
 not how to answer him. 
 
 " What were y6ur words, Maryi—the words 
 from your own lips ?" he proceeded to say. "Did 
 you not swear that if you found I had deceived 
 you in reference to your husband, everything 
 should be at an end between us ? — but if on the 
 other hand you discovered that the facts were 
 precisely as I had represented them, then the first 
 vengeance which you would wreak upon your 
 husband, should be to fulfil your pledge of love 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 85 
 
 unto me in a word, that you would be mine ? 
 
 How answer me, Mary ! — have I deceived you ? 
 Jf you tell me that I have — or if you hesitate to 
 answer 1 — I will then take it upon myself to con- 
 vince you -" 
 
 " Sir Abel Kingston," interrupted the Duchess, 
 while the colour went and came in quick transi- 
 tions upon her countenance, and her bosom heaved 
 and fell visibly ; " a woman in a moment of 
 weakness may promise more than is consistent 
 with her safety on earth and her salvation in 
 heaven " 
 
 " Answer me one word, Mary," said Sir Abel in 
 a sombre voice and with gloomy looks : " you are 
 seeking to fly from your word and to break the 
 compact of love which existed between us ?" 
 
 " If I have the courage to stop short on the 
 very verge of an indiscretion — a crime !" she an- 
 swered, while the red blood again flushed her 
 cheeks, " is it for you who pretend to love me, 
 to seek to drag me down into the abysm ? Oh, 
 you ought to strengthen me in my resolve !" 
 
 " This is ridiculous, Mary !" interrupted the 
 Baronet, with anger and disgust, which he did 
 not particularly study to conceal ; for he saw that 
 she was playing a part, though he was at a loss 
 to surmise upon what grounds or for what pur- 
 pose. " If you ever loved me, you love me now !" 
 and he took her hand. 
 
 " She withdrew it, saying, " Let us be friends 
 — only friends !" 
 
 " I will not be thus trifled with !" cried King- 
 ston. "By what motives are you swayed in 
 your present conduct ? Not by any returning 
 love for your husband ; because you have dis- 
 covered his infidelity ! Not by any reviving 
 fondness on his part towards you ; because he is 
 absent, and unable to show it ! What then am I 
 to think ? That you are a prude — a jilt — a co- 
 quette ? that you have deliberately trifled with 
 me ? I should be sorry to think so ! — and yet 
 before I come to a conclusion, I will ask you 
 for the last time whether you still keep your com- 
 pact with me ?" 
 
 " And if I refuse ?" asked the Duchess, who 
 experienced a presentiment that the present scene 
 must now be brought to a crisis of some kind or 
 another. 
 
 Sir Abel Kingston bent upon her a strange 
 look ; and he said in a low sombre tone, " If you 
 trifle with me, all my love will turn into hatred, 
 and you shall be made to feel that you are in 
 my power!" . 
 
 The brilliant Duchess started : her cheeks 
 flushed — her bosom Heaved as if it would burst 
 through its prisonage of corset S then she became 
 very pale — and she murmuringly repeated the 
 words, " In your power ?" 
 
 "Aye! — and deeply, deeply would it grieve me 
 to come to angry words with you and prove that 
 such is the fact!" 
 
 " Explain yourselffsir," she said, determined to 
 put him to the fullest test. 
 
 " Need I ask the Duchess of Ardleigh where 
 she was last evening ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" — and the air of asto- 
 nishment which she assumed appeared to be the 
 most natural. 
 
 Sir Abel was not deceived by it ; and he replied 
 with a look of the most wicked significancy, 
 " When a door opened and a certain woman en- 
 
 tered a particular room, I was in the \ 
 and I obtained a. glimpse of the lady in that 
 room. She was plainly dressed, with a large 
 muffling cloak — she had on a simple straw bonnet, 
 and the veil was thrown back from over her 
 countenance. That lady was you !" 
 
 " Indeed ? This is an extraordinary delusion !" 
 — and the Duchess laughed. 
 
 " Do not compel me to test it by such rules as 
 shall prove it to be a veritable fact. How was it 
 that the brilliant Duchess of Ardleigh could have 
 placed herself in a position to be carried off in 
 mistake for the actress Mademoiselle Imogene? 
 I confess that at present I know not : neither am 
 I as yet aware how your Grace escaped from that 
 room wherein I saw you. But there are ample 
 means of proving the whole mystery — and by 
 heaven, I will do it !" 
 
 The Duchess now felt as if a mask had fallen 
 completely from the countenance of the man who 
 had pretended to love her ; and she saw that he 
 was a selfish, malignant, ungenerous individual. 
 So much the more reason, thought she, for deal- 
 ing with him in a manner consistent with the 
 utmost prudence and with the astutest policy. 
 But how ? She required time for deliberation ; 
 and in the interval she must play the hypocrite. 
 
 " Tou are unkind towards me," she said, in a 
 soft murmuring voice : " you will not help me to 
 save myself when I wish to be saved. I must 
 yield — not to your threats, hut to the weakness of 
 my own feelings. On the third night hence, be- 
 tween nine and ten o'clock No ! better that it 
 
 were later ! — between ten and eleven — you will 
 meet me at Thornbury — in the same avenue — you 
 know where I mean — close by the statues " 
 
 " Enough, Mary !" said the Baronet, overjoyed 
 at the idea of the triumph which he considered to 
 be already as good as achieved. " A thousand, 
 thousand thanks, dearest, for the hope with which 
 you have now filled my soul !" — and taking her 
 hand, he pressed it to his lips. 
 
 " I need not ask, Abel," she said, in a low 
 voice, and with a flush upon her cheeks, "whether 
 you took care that no one else but yourself should 
 become acquainted with the fact that I was car- 
 ried off by force " 
 
 " No one else knew it ["exclaimed the Baronet. 
 " But how in heaven's name, dearest Mary, 
 could you have been in such a position ? how was 
 it that you were either coming out of the house 
 of the equestrian actress, or else passing through 
 that street at the moment " 
 
 " It was a fantasy pn my part — I wished to 
 know her. But I will tell you all about it when 
 me meet at Thornbury. And now leave me, 
 Abel ! — leave me, I beseech you ! I am not well 
 — I am nervous and agitated from the incidents 
 of last night " 
 
 " No wonder ! I will leave you, my sweet 
 Mary. But, Oh ! it will appear an age until we 
 meet agaiii at Thornbury, according to the ap- 
 pointment which you have given me !" 
 
 He again pressed her hand to his lips and then 
 took his departure. 
 
 " Miserable hypocrite !" ejaculated the Duchess, 
 as the door closed behind him. " You profess to 
 love me — and yet you frequent such dens as that 
 where you saw me last night ! Ah ! and you 
 would use coercion to bend me to your purpose ? 
 And then you kiss my hand, and thank me, and 
 
86 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 speak sentimentally, and vow that you loye me ! 
 Yet what motive can you have for this base 
 hypocrisy ? Is it that you burn to possess me ? 
 or is there some other motive which I cannot 
 fathom ? No, no — I will not succumb ! There 
 
 was a time when I liked, you yes, might have 
 
 loved you !— but it is past — and you now seem 
 to be altogether a different being ! The mask has 
 fallen from your countenance — you are hideous 
 in my sight ! But, Oh, my God ! I am in your 
 power !" 
 
 The Duchess clasped her hands together, and 
 she shivered from head to foot as she thought of 
 the tale which the Baronet might tell in reference 
 to the incidents :of the preceding night. 
 
 " At all events," she said to herself, " I have 
 got three days before me to arrange some plan ,; 
 and that is an advantage ! Who knows what 
 may turn up ?" 
 
 It was thus that the Duchess gave way to her 
 reflections ; but the day passed without enabling 
 her to settle in her mind any project by which she 
 might emancipate herself from the power of Sir 
 Abel Kingston. 
 
 In the evening the Duchess learnt that her 
 husband had just returned to Ardleigh House, 
 but that he had at once repaired to his own 
 chamber, alleging that he was ill, and desiring 
 that he might not be disturbed. She did pot 
 therefore go near him. In the morning she sent 
 her favourite maid Lavinia to inquire after the 
 Duke's health .: she was informed that ihe was 
 much toetter-^-that bus iness compelled him ito go 
 off immediately into the City — but that he should 
 see her Grace in the course of the day : and then 
 for form's sake before the servants, he superadded 
 some message couched in terms of seeming affec- 
 tion. 
 
 The young Duke fancied that Ethel would 
 most probably come up to ^London with the least 
 possible delay to see Mr. Warren, the stockbroker, 
 in reference to the sum of five thousand pounds 
 which had been invested in the Bank in her name. 
 He longed to see her — to implore that she would 
 change her mind, and that she would mot separate 
 herself eternally from him ! It was therefore in 
 the hope of fallin g In with Ethel that the Duke 
 proceeded .to Mr. Warren's office in the neighbour- 
 hood of the Bank^of England. The stockbroker 
 had not yet arrived. Herbert waited and. waited 
 with the most feverish impatiewe. Would Ethel 
 come ? or would Warren make his appearance ? 
 He was anxious to enlist Warren as an inter- 
 mediary to plead on his behalf with Ethel, in case 
 she should call at an hour when he himself should 
 not be there waiting for her. At length, between 
 one and two in the afternoon, a servant came 
 from Mr. Warren's house at Highbury, to tell the 
 head clerk that his master would not be there 
 until the next day, as he had run down into the 
 country to secure the purchase of some celebrated 
 race-horse which he had suddenly learnt was to 
 be disposed of. 
 
 " I will call to-morrow morning at ten punc- 
 tually*" said the Duke to the head cleuk. " Tell 
 Mr. Warren that I shall be here, if he happen to 
 arrive before .me." 
 
 Herbert then returned to the West End^ and on 
 reaching Ardleigh House, he was informed that 
 two persons desired to speak with him on very 
 important business. They were waiting to see 
 
 him, and in the meanwhile had been shown into 
 the library. Thither the Duke accordingly pro- 
 ceeded; and he found, as indeed, he had expected, 
 that his visitors were Mr. Timothy Gaffney frn4 
 Mr. John Peppercorn. They were dressed in. 
 bran new apparel from head to foot : a readyr 
 made clothing mart had suppled them with suits 
 confectioned after the sporting fashion which they, 
 both affected : they had gold chains festooning 
 Over their waistcoats and rings upon their fingers. 
 Altogether these worthies were better up in the 
 world than ever they had before been in all then- 
 lives : and as a matter of course they were in the 
 greatest possible spirits. 
 
 "Beg your Grace's pardon, my lord," said. Tim 
 Gaffney as he and his companion both made a 
 very respectful bow to the Duke ; "but you told 
 us as how we might come " 
 
 " Ton have not heard or seen anything of — of 
 — that lady ?" demanded the Duke hurriedly. 
 
 " Nothing, my lord," was the response. 
 
 " I believe you returned to Southdale — you 
 
 said you thought of doing so Was anything 
 
 suspected there f " 
 
 " Nothing, my lord. Everything was so well 
 
 "Enough!" said the Duke. " I suppose I can 
 guess what you require of me — -you have experir 
 enced some difficulty in changing the notes J' 
 
 " Just so, my lord, responded Gaffney ; 
 " and we therefore thought we would take the 
 liberty -" 
 
 " It is no liberty. I told you that yon might 
 come. But hush !" 
 
 At .that instant the handle of the door was 
 heard to move ; #nd hence the ejaculation with 
 which the Duke's speech abruptly closed. The 
 door opened — and the Duchess made her ap- 
 pearance. She had been told that the Duke had 
 returned and that he was in the library : she did 
 npt knpw fchat there were persons with him ; but 
 on the .contrary, she thought the opportunity 
 favourable for learning how he had fared at 
 Southdale in his pursuit after Ethel. On per- 
 ceiving however that there were two individuals 
 with him, the Duchess was just on the noint of 
 retiring, when she caught sight of Tim Gaftney's 
 countenance. She recognised him immediately : 
 but she maintained the utmost composure .upon 
 her own features, as ,she now advanced into the 
 library, saying to her husband, f I thought to 
 have found you alone ; but I suppose you are not 
 particularly engaged?" 
 
 "Not very particularly," 'answered the Duke. 
 " Only these persons called to speak to me about 
 some horses which they have to sell " 
 
 " Ah ! then, it is not a subject," exclaimed tlje 
 Duchess, " which need exclude me from the room? 
 On the contrary, I am very much hrteresied in it 
 — especially as I myself want you to treat me to 
 a new pair for my light iJjjen carriage — and I 
 must also have another saddle-horse." 
 
 Then, with the most natural air in the world, 
 the Duchess advanced into the room and took a 
 seat near her husband on one side of the table, 
 while the two men were standing on the other 
 side. 
 
 " I do not know that these persons have got 
 anything that will exactly suit you, my dear," 
 said the Duke, who as a matter of course wished 
 that his wife had not taken it into her head to 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OP A T.An v OP QUALITY. 
 
 87 
 
 make her appearance at that particular junc- 
 ture. 
 
 "Oh, we will see !" cried the Duchess. " This 
 person" — turning towards Tim Gaffney — "will 
 
 perhaps have the goodness to inform me But, 
 
 hy the bye, what is your name, sir ?" 
 
 The fellow had started on hearing the Duchess 
 of Ardleigh's voice. He looked at her very hard 
 from under his eyebrows ; and he fidgeted about 
 with his hat. Could it be possible that the 
 Duchess of Ardleigh and the disguised lady whom 
 he had driven between Maidstone and Addington, 
 were one and the same person ? If so, would she 
 continue to pretend not to know him ? And was 
 she now asking hi? name for the purpose of help- 
 ing out that pretence ? Such were the questions 
 which the fellow asked himself; and he very 
 naturally concluded that her wanderings in mas- 
 culine apparel, if the same lady it really were, 
 must be unknown to her husband, and that she 
 would not therefore for the world seem to recog- 
 nise Mr. Timothy Gaffney ' 
 
 " My name, your Grace ?" said the man, after 
 a brief hesitation. " Why, it's Gafihey, at your 
 service." 
 
 " Gafihey ?" repeated the Duchess, with a merry 
 laugh. " What a singular name ! Gafihey ! I 
 wonder whether I ever heard it before ?" 
 
 The Duke looked annoyed; and he hastily 
 whispered, " Don't offend the man, Mary." 
 
 " I have not the slightest intention of giving 
 Mr. Gafihey any offence," said the Duchess, 
 speaking audibly. " I am sure he will excuse me 
 
 for making myself merry at his name will you 
 
 not, Mr. Gaffney?" 
 
 " Oh, to be sure, your Grace !" — and now Tim 
 affected to laugh also ; but somehow or another 
 he did not altogether feel completely at his ease. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Gafihey," continued the Duchess — 
 and there was a roguish merriment, lurking in her 
 clear liquid blue eyes, — " have you anything in 
 the shape of horseflesh that will suit me, accord- 
 ing to the requirement which you just now heard 
 me mention to his Grace? Or perhaps your com- 
 panion there By the bye, permit me to ask 
 
 his name ?" 
 
 The individual thus alluded to felt somewhat 
 abashed: but Tim Gafihey, plucking up his 
 courage as he beheld the mirthful appearance of 
 the Duchess, hastened to say, "This is my friend 
 Mr. Peppercorn." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! Gafihey and Peppercorn — 
 horsedealers < an excellent firm, no doubt !" — and 
 again the Duchess laughed merrily, her musical 
 voice ringing through the room, and her parting 
 lips displaying the two rows of her beautiful 
 teeth, so white and so even. 
 
 The Duke looked at her in a perplexed man- 
 ner : he felt as if there were a scene passing before 
 him which he could not understand. 
 
 ' " And pray," she went on to inquire, " where 
 may your establishment be situated — in London 
 or in the country?" 
 
 " Oh, in the country, your Grace," answered 
 Gafihey. "At Maidstone." 
 
 " An, at Maidstone ? Let me see !" continued 
 the Duchess, as if she were deliberating within 
 herself. " I think I have heard of another horse- 
 dealer of some celebrity in the same neighbour- 
 hood. I believe I've had some dealings with him. 
 To be sure ! I recollect now ! His name was Bax." 
 
 Jack Peppercorn now gave a sudden start ; for 
 all in a moment it struck him that the Duchess of 
 Ardleigh must be the disguised lady of whom his 
 friend Tim Gaffney had told him, and who had 
 played the said Gafihey so clever a trick in stop- 
 ping the draft or order which she had given on a 
 banking establishment in the Strand. Tim in- 
 stantaneously trod on Peppercorn's toe, as an in- 
 timation that he was to keep quiet and betray 
 nothing before the Duke ; so that Jack was again 
 instantaneously on his guard. 
 
 "Ah! Bax, I believe," said the Duchess, "is 
 a highly respectable man." 
 
 "I do not remember ever to have heard of 
 him," said the Duke, again gazing upon his wife 
 in bewildered astonishment. 
 
 " Indeed ? Then you must have forgotten the 
 name," she responded, with an air of the utmost 
 naivetS. "But I'm afraid I am only interrupting 
 business and detaining Messrs. Gafihey and Pep- 
 percorn with my frivolous discourse. Therefore I 
 will not stay more than a minute longer ; and 
 that is for the purpose of saying that you, Mr, 
 Gaffney, must really endeavour to procure me 
 such horses as I require." 
 
 " Leave it to me, my dear," said the Duke ; 
 " and I will give Itfr. Gafihey a memorandum of 
 what you want.'* 
 
 " The very thing I myself was about to do!" 
 exclaimed the Duchess; "and then I will take 
 myself off." 
 
 Thus speaking, she proceeded to shift her posi- 
 ; tion to the further extremity of the table, where 
 I there were writing materials ; and having penned 
 ' a few lines upon a slip of paper, she folded it up, 
 I and tossed it across the table to Gaffney, saying, 
 " There ! put that in your pocket, and look at it 
 at your leisure." 
 
 " I won't lose sight of the matter, your Grace," 
 replied Tim as he consigned the paper to his 
 waistcoat pocket ; and at the same time he darted 
 a significant look at the Duchess — for he felt as- 
 sured that there was some ulterior meaning veiled 
 beneath the proceeding which she had just 
 adopted. 
 
 She retired from the library; and the Duke 
 now fancied that what he had conceived to be 
 peculiar in her manner must have been after all 
 nothing more than a mood of hilarious gaiety to 
 which a special impulse was given by the mention 
 of a name that had tickled her fancy. 
 
 " Her Grace really believes that you are horse- 
 dealers," said the Duke, with a smile, as the door 
 closed behind her. 
 
 " Oh, yes — her Grace believes it, my lord," re- 
 plied Gafliiey. " But here's the bank-notes," he 
 continued. " We've managed to change a few 
 of 'em -" 
 
 " How many have you there that you cannot 
 change ?" inquired the Duke. 
 
 " There's flimsies to the amount of fifteen hun- 
 dred pound," responded Tim. 
 
 " Then I will tell you what I can do," said the 
 Duke : " I will give you a cheque on my banker, 
 and you can ask to have it all in gold." 
 
 " Well, I'd rather not, my lord," answered Tim, 
 fidgeting with his hat. " Somehow or another I 
 
 don't like bankers they've a orkard way of 
 
 asking chaps how they come by cheques for large 
 amounts " 
 
 "Then how can we manage it?" exclaimed 
 
88 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; -OR, MEMOmS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 the Duke somewhat impatiently. " Ah, I see a 
 means ! I will write my name on the back of 
 every one of these bank-notes ; and then no doubt 
 you can pass them ?" 
 
 Tim Gaffney signified his assent — the notes 
 were duly endorsed — and the two fellows took 
 their departure from Ardleigh House. 
 
 The Duke then sought the Duchess; and he 
 told her some portion of the incidents which had 
 occurred at Southdale — but without stating how 
 Ethel had been arrested for destroying the leaf 
 from the parish register ; and inasmuch as he sup- 
 pressed that painful episode through a delicate re- 
 gard for Ethel's character, it was ^iot necessary 
 for him to state how he formed the acquaintance 
 of Messrs. Gaffney and Peppercorn. The Duchess 
 was bewildered what to think of the visit of those 
 persons to her husband: but not for an instant 
 did she believe that they had come to make a deal 
 with him in respect to horses. However, as he 
 said nothing on the point, she had no pretence for 
 introducing the subject ; and moreover she knew 
 that her curiosity would not be tried for any con- 
 siderable length of time, inasmuch as she might 
 be in a position to clear up the mystery from Tim 
 Gaffney's own lips on the following night. 
 
 "And thus," said the .Duke, after a pause, 
 " everything is at an end between Ethel and me !" 
 
 "Do not think so," responded the Duchess. 
 "Rest assured that she will communicate with 
 you again ! It is in the nature of woman to do 
 so. But this is a subject you and I must not dis- 
 
 CHAPTEK XX. 
 
 ME. WAKKEN. 
 
 Me. Waeeen, the stockbroker, returned from the 
 country at about nine o'clock in the evening ; and 
 on reaching his splendidly furnished house at 
 Highbury, he found his head clerk waiting to see 
 him. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Phipps," said the stockbroker, 
 throwing himself into a large easy chair in his 
 dining-room, and motioning for his clerk to re- 
 sume the seat from which he had respectfully risen ; 
 " what news in the City ?" 
 
 " Here's a number of letters, sir." 
 
 " All right — put them down — I will look over 
 them presently. What else ?" 
 
 " The Duke of Ardleigh called this morning, sir 
 — at about ten o'clock," proceeded Mr. Phipps. 
 " His Grace waited until nearly two " 
 
 "What did his Grace want ?" inquired War- 
 ren. 
 
 "His Grace did not say, sir; but he appeared 
 very anxious to see you — he looked weary and 
 restless — he said he should be at the office punc- 
 tually at ten to-morrow morning " 
 
 " And you told his Grace that I should be sure 
 to be there ? Well, anything else ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," responded Phipps : " at about three 
 o'clock that lady called — the same that the Duke 
 brought to the office the other day in the cab — 
 you remember the occasion, sir ? — it was when he 
 came rushing in first of all, positively enjoining 
 that he was not to- be addressed by his title — : — " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Warren impatiently : " I know 
 
 whom you mean ! Mrs. Trevor, as he called he r 
 — or Miss Eraser, as her name really is." 
 
 " You bought in five thousand pounds in that 
 name, I believe, sir ?" said Phipps. 
 
 " Well — perhaps — I dare say — I don't recollect. 
 In a large business, Mr. Phipps, one does not re- 
 member little details. What did this lady 
 want ?" 
 
 " I do not know, sir. She inquired for you — 
 she asked if you did not live at Highbury — and j 
 she said that if it were not against the rule of pro- I 
 priety and of business, she should like to call ; 
 upon you here " 
 
 "The deuce!" ejaculated Warren. "Why — 
 
 what on earth — I mean But what did you tell 
 
 her?" 
 
 " I hope I have not done wrong 1 , sir," answered 
 Mr. Phipps ; " but asshe assured me that she had 
 a very important reason for making such a re- 
 quest, and as she seemed careworn and distressed 
 in mind, I said that I thought you might possibly 
 have no objection to receive her either to-morrow 
 morning at nine o'clock, before you came into the 
 City, or in the evening at six, after your return." 
 
 "Quite right, Phipps — quite right," said Mr. 
 Warren. " Anything else ?" 
 
 "Nothing, sir, that 'I know of. Only Mr. 
 Casey called to-day, and said he should look in 
 again to-morrow " 
 
 " Ah, well, well !" interjected Warren : " then 
 it does not appear that I've been particularly 
 missed ? And now take a glass of wine, Phipps 
 — and then good evening to you." 
 
 It has already been said that Mr. Warren was 
 a tall, good-looking man, under thirty years of 
 age. He dressed elegantly — he maintained a 
 splendid house at Highbury and a shooting-box 
 down in the country — he kept his mistress in a 
 beautiful villa somewhere in the neighbourhood of 
 Upper Holloway — he also kept hunters, racers, and 
 a yacht— he gave magnificent entertainments, and 
 was liked by everybody as a good-hearted, jovial, 
 dashing kind of a fellow, as well a thorough man 
 of business, of unquestionable integrity and un- 
 doubted wealth. 
 
 " Oh !" he muttered to himself, when Mr. 
 Phipps had taken his departure, — " at nine 
 o'clock to-morrow morning or at six in the even- 
 ing?" — and then a singular expression swept 
 across his countenance : but as it almost imme- 
 diately vanished, he rang the bell and ordered the 
 footman to send up supper at once, not forgetting 
 a bottle of champagne. 
 
 The tray, laden with splendid plate, was soon 
 brought in ; but Mr. Warren did not appear to 
 have any appetite when the viands were set 
 before him. He however drank the champagne 
 with avidity, and then proceeded to look over his 
 letters, making a running commentary upon then- 
 contents as he successively opened them. 
 
 "Dr. Mordaunt — eh? Wants to know when 
 he is to have the scrip of the Constantinople and 
 Belgrade Kailway. Ah, well ! that will keep. 
 Sir Moses Bellamy — Oh ! about the twenty 
 thousand — three per cents. The deuce ! he is 
 getting impatient ! What's this ! That bother- 
 ing schoolmaster, Smithers, of Norfolk ! What a 
 tirade ! Pooh, who could drag one-self through 
 
 it? and all about a beggarly three thousand ! 
 
 Ah ! what's this ? Seymour's handwriting ! By 
 Jove ! if he begins But pshaw ! it's only to let 
 
THE YOU3H5 DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OK A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 *<> 
 
 me know of the yacht-dinner next Monday ! Well, 
 that's a comfort. What next ? Old Casey ? Why, 
 he called, Phipps said. Insists on seeing me to- 
 morrow ! The devil he does? Ah ! here is quite 
 another billet. ' Lady Todmorden's compliments ' 
 
 What is it? Ball, eh— on Thursday week ! 
 
 Ah, ha ! her ladyship has got three portionless 
 daughters to get off — and she thinks that Chris- 
 topher Warren, stockbroker, would make an ex- 
 cellent match for one of them ! What a world it I 
 is !— what wheels within wheels ! — what a con- j 
 tinned series of illustrations of the process of 
 diamond cutting diamond I Ah ! it is indeed a 
 rum world !" 
 
 The reflection made Mr. Warren more and 
 more thoughtful ; and then he applied himself to 
 a second bottle of champagne, the effect of which 
 was eventually to put him into such excellent 
 spirits that he started up, snapped his fingers, and 
 No. 12. — The Todng Duchess. 
 
 seemed to be in a position to bid defiance to the 
 whole world. 
 
 Mr. Warren sat down again; and he now 
 looked more deliberately over his letters than he 
 had previously done. The strain in which two 
 or three of them were worded, began to produce, 
 an effect which counterbalanced the exhilarating 
 influence of champagne. The stockbroker felt 
 himself growing moody and desponding once' 
 more : he also experienced a sensation of drowsi- 
 ness — but he did not dare retire to bed immedi-. 
 diately, for he knew that by the time he reached 
 his chamber he should be broad awake again, and 
 he did not exactly like to be left alone with his 
 own thoughts. Presently he sank^back in his 
 arm-chair — his head drooped forward-^and if he 
 were not at once enveloped in the actual uncon- 
 sciousness of slumber, he at all events "sank into 
 a state of dreamy repose. 
 
90 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 He now fancied that the door slowly opened 
 and some one looked in ; but he could not distin- 
 guish the countenance of the individual. Then 
 it appeared to the stockbroker that this person 
 advanced with noiseless footsteps into the room, 
 shutting the door behind him. Warren endea- 
 voured to exercise the power of speech sufficiently 
 to ask what the intruder wanted : but it seemed 
 to him that he could not give utterance to a syl- 
 lable. He felt as if he were in a trance, having 
 a certain dim and vague consciousness of what 
 was passing, but unable to make the slightest 
 physical exertion. And now it seemed to the 
 stockbroker that the intruder sat down opposite 
 to him at the table ; and resting his elbow thereon, 
 he shaded his countenance with his hand in such 
 a way that Warrgn cpuld scarcely obtain a glimpse 
 of it ; and yet he had the intuitive knowledge 
 that the stranger's eyes were fixed scrutinizingly 
 upon him. A species of superstitious terror gra- 
 dually stole into the mind of Christopher Warren : 
 but by an effort he. gasped out, " Who are you ? 
 Are you man or devil ?" 
 
 And then it seemed to the stockbroker that a low 
 mocking laugh sounded upon his ear, and that 
 in the same sardonic accent, the intruder replied, 
 " Yes — you are right. I am ^ Man-Devil." 
 
 The consternation' of %\e, stockbroker now ap- 
 peared to be utterly overwhelming, and conscious- 
 ness abandoned him. But it was not the uncon- 
 sciousness of a swoon — or at least it seemed as 
 if it were only from a very profound slumber that 
 he presently awoke gradually and drowsily, 
 scarcely knowing where he was or whether he 
 were still dreaming. He found himself in his 
 arm-chair ; the lamp was still burning bright 
 upon the table ; and opposite to him sat a gentle- 
 man, who at once rising from his seat, said with a 
 tone and manner which displayed as much care- 
 less ease and off-hand indifference as actual po- 
 liteness, " I must apologize for intruding at this 
 hour ; but I was determined to wait your conve- 
 nience^ — and you see that I have done so." 
 
 Mr. Warren rubbed his eyes — then stared at 
 his visitor — and asked, " How long have you been 
 here, sir ?" 
 
 " Oh, not very long. In fact, your nap has 
 been but a short one. I amused myself with the 
 newspaper " 
 
 " But your name, sir !" ejaculated Warren, recol- 
 lecting a certain impression which had previously 
 been made upon his mind, though he scarcely 
 knew whether it were a dream or a reality. 
 
 "My name? Oh, I told you just now:" — and 
 it was a strange low mocking laugh which came 
 forth from the intruder's lips. 
 
 Wan-en started up. He was about the last 
 man in existence to entertain a superstitious fear; 
 but he could not help feeling that the present pro- 
 ceeding was at least a strange one, and there was 
 a certain vague uneasiness in his mind. 
 
 " Tou said your name, sir, was " 
 
 "You asked me somewhat more impetuously 
 than politely whether I were a man or a devil." 
 
 " Yes, sir — I was doubtless half-asleep — almost 
 quite so ; and if I mistake not, you replied " 
 
 " Well, sir — what did I reply ?" demanded 
 the visitor ; and his eyes appeared to twinkle with 
 a demoniac mischievousness. " You asked me if 
 I were a man or a devil " 
 
 " And you said that you were a Man-Devil !" 
 
 exclaimed the stockbroker, now almost inclined 
 to get into a rage as his superstitious feeling of 
 uneasiness was rapidly passing off. 
 
 "Ah! did I pronounce it like that?" said the 
 individual, with the utmost coolness ; and again 
 the low sardonic laugh came gliding forth from 
 his lips. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir, by this jest, so ill- 
 timed — almost impertinent?" demanded Warren, 
 who, being now broad awake again, inwardly 
 ridiculed the idea of having anything to do with 
 more than a man in the person of this intruder. 
 
 " Jest indeed ! It is you, sir, who seem to be 
 making a jest of that which is sober seriousness. 
 I call to see you — you ask me my name — I give 
 it — and you accuse me of being impertinently 
 jocose ! Do you know, friend Warren " — : and he 
 laid his hand familiarly upon the stockbroker's 
 shoulder — " if I had not come prepared to be very 
 good friends with you " 
 
 " Jn one word, gir," exclaimed Warren, retreat- 
 ing so * to disengage himself from the hand 
 which was laid upon his shoulder, "who are you? 
 and what do you mean by this extraordinary con- 
 duct ?" 
 
 It was with a sort of easy politeness, quite, cool 
 and off-hand, that the stranger answered, ** I have 
 already told you that my name is Mandeville ; 
 and as for my business, it shall be explained in 
 due course." 
 
 "Mandeville?" echoed Warren, with an air of 
 surprised inquiry. 
 
 " Why, yes — Mandeville. I must have said so 
 just now— only you told me that I pronounced it 
 Man-Devil, and I was too polite to contradict 
 you." 
 
 " Ah ! Mandeville ! That is indeed a proper 
 name — natural and intelligible," said Warren, be- 
 ginning to be as much ashamed as amazed at him- 
 self for the ridiculous mistake which it seemed he 
 had been making. 
 
 " Yes — here is my card. The name, as you 
 may perceive, is a. French one — and ft is pro- 
 nounced with a more fluid rapidity that that which 
 you now bestowed upon it." 
 
 The stockbroker took the card; and he read 
 the name aud address of Count De Mandevuxe, 
 Sue de Provence, Paris. This line was in the 
 corner ; but a mark with a pencil had been drawn 
 through it; and the words, Clarendon Hotel, 
 Bond Sreet, were substituted. 
 
 " I sincerely beg your pardon, Count," said Mr. 
 Warren, confused and bewildered at the idea of 
 the extraordinary reception which he had given 
 the French nobleman : " but to tell you the truth, 
 I have returned from a fatiguing journey — I 
 drank a little too much champagne — sleepstole 
 over me " 
 
 " Enough, my dear sir," interrupted the Count ; 
 "no further excuse is necessary :" — and he smiled 
 with a half familiar, half patronising air. 
 
 The stockbroker bowed ; and his eyes now fell 
 upon his letters which lay upon the table. 
 
 "The deuce!" he thought to himself; "the 
 Count may have read them while I slept !" — but 
 a second glance reassured him ; for he said to 
 himself, " No — they have not been touched ! That 
 is just how I left them ! At least, I would almost 
 swear to it." 
 
 He now looked again upon his visitor. Count 
 Mandeville was not above the middle height ; and 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 91 
 
 his figure was not characterized by any remark- 
 able degree of symmetry. He was slender — he 
 carried himself well ; and his shape was of the 
 average standard. But yet there was something 
 distinguished and imposing about the man. He 
 was dressed with the most fashionable elegance ; 
 and there was an ease in his manner — a certain 
 freedom of motion, of posture, and gesture, which 
 gave him the appearance of one who felt so com- 
 pletely at his ease as to bespeak him a member of 
 the elite of Parisian society. He was not par- 
 ticularly handsome : yet his was a countenance 
 which would be pronounced something more than 
 merely good-looking. It was one to which the 
 beholder would turn to take another view. The 
 grey eyes were vivid and variable in their ex- 
 pression : the brows, very dark, were thick, but 
 well divided and high arched : the dark hair 
 seemed, to curl naturally : the glossy moustache 
 terminated in points slightly curled : the whiskers 
 were large, but admirably trimmed ; and the 
 Count wore that tuft of hair below the under lip 
 which is denominated an imperial. He had a 
 brilliant set of teeth : his nose was perfectly 
 Straight : his complexion pale, with the least tinge 
 of sallowness. His voice was as variable in its 
 tones as his eyes were in their expression ; for he 
 seemed to have the power of modulating it in no 
 ordinary degree, so as to suit the sense and sig- 
 nificancy of whatsoever he might be saying at the 
 time. It would be fluid and dulcet when he in- 
 vested himself with that exquisite air of true 
 foreign politeness which he could in a. moment 
 assume ; or it might become sardonic and taunt- 
 ing — or coldly ironical — or impressive with its 
 intense bitterness of accentuation. As for his age, 
 the stockbroker judged it to be midway between 
 thirty and forty — though it might well be a year 
 or two more or less. 
 
 Such was the personage who had thus so singu- 
 larly introduced hims elf to Mr. Warren at eleven 
 o'clock at night ; for this was the hour indicated 
 by the time-piece on the mantel. It seemed as if 
 the Count maintained silence for some two or 
 three minutes, and affected to be taking a leisurely 
 survey of the apartment, in order to allow Mr. 
 Warren an opportunity to contemplate the appear- 
 ance of his visitor. 
 
 " It seems, then," said the stockbroker with a 
 polite bow, " that I have the honour of speaking 
 to Count Mandeville ?" 
 
 " Count Hippolyte Mandeville, at your service," 
 was the reply. 
 
 "At my service ?" said the stockbroker. " On 
 the contrary, I should presume that it is I who 
 must hold myself to be at your service, Count." 
 
 "We shall be of mutual service," rejoined 
 Mandeville, with a look of mysterious signifi- 
 cancy. 
 
 "Be kind enough to explain yourself. But 
 Ah !" added the stockbroker, " permit me to ob- 
 serve that you speak English with a remarkable 
 fluency and accuracy." 
 
 " No wonder. I was educated in England — 
 and I am as well acquainted with all your 
 manners and customs, as I am with those of my 
 own native country. But now to the point, Mr. 
 Warren. I require your assistance in certain 
 matters — and you require mine." 
 
 Warren started ; and then ejaculated, " I re- 
 
 "Tes, truly. A man who is in difficulties, 
 always needs the assistance of a friend." 
 
 "Difficulties?" and then the stockbroker be- 
 came pale as death, as his eyes again fell upon the 
 letters which lay on the table. 
 
 " Yes — difficulties," repeated the Count. " You 
 talk in your sleep, my dear Mr. Warren. Per- 
 haps you did not know it before : but now that 
 I teil you of it, you will be on your guard for the 
 future. Never take a nap in the presence of 
 another person, or in a room where you may 
 chance to be intruded upon." 
 
 Warren gazed upon Mandeville with a half- 
 frightened, half-stupefied look : he knew not 
 what to make of his extraordinary visitor. 
 
 " Doubtless you went to sleep with the con- 
 tents of those letters uppermost in your mind," 
 continued the Count, with an air and tone of easy 
 confidence ; " and thus in your sleep you ren- 
 dered me as well acquainted with your troubles 
 and apprehensions as if I had perused the letters 
 for myself." 
 
 Warren was almost inclined to vociferate forth 
 in an enraged tone, "And you did read those 
 letters white I slept !" — but he thought it better 
 to restrain himself ; and with a forced calmness 
 he inquired, " To what is all this to lead, Count 
 Mandeville?" 
 
 " Listen to me," was the response. " You 
 stand on the verge of destruction — and I can 
 save you. You are overwhelmed with difficulties 
 — and I can extricate you. You dread the visits 
 of certain clamorous individuals to-morrow at 
 your office — and I can make them each and all 
 grovel at your feet, imploring you to retain the 
 sums the restitution of which they were first de- 
 termined to enforce." 
 
 " Good heavens ! who are you?" asked Warren, 
 in utter bewilderment. 
 
 " Did you not take me for a Man-Devil ?" — 
 and the Count now laughed in that peculiar strain 
 of sardonism which made one shudder to hear 
 him. 
 
 " Oh, you are welcome to your jest," exclaimed 
 
 Warren, " if you will only convince me But, 
 
 good God f what am I doing ?" he interrupted 
 himself, at the same time turning pale with dis- 
 may. " I have made admissions !— they are 
 tantamount to confessions ! — and you a complete 
 stranger !" 
 
 " Stop ! I will place you perfectly at your 
 ease," interjected the Count. " I told you that 
 our services are to be mutual. I have three dis- 
 tinct favours to demand at your hand, and in 
 return for which I will perform all that I have 
 promised." 
 
 " Name your demands," said the stockbroker 
 eagerly ; for he longed to enter more deeply into 
 a business which promised such important results 
 for himself. 
 
 " A lady bearing the name of Ethel Trevor, or 
 Eraser, will call upon you to-morrow." 
 
 " How do you know this?" 
 
 " No matter. It is sufficient that I have stated 
 the fact. Now understand me," proceeded the 
 Count : " I have conceived for that woman one 
 of those sudden passions which some people term 
 love at first sight, and which perhaps do full well 
 merit the name : and this passion must be 
 gratified. You will help to hand over that beau- 
 teous creature into my possession." 
 
92 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " And what is your next demand ?" asked the 
 stookbrocker. 
 
 " You will introduce me to Lady Todmorden's 
 ball next Thursday week," responded Mande- 
 ville. 
 
 "Ah !" — and again the stockbroker glanced at 
 his letters ; for he was now more than ever con- 
 vinced that the Count had looked at their con- 
 tents while he slept. " But proceed. What is 
 the third demand ?" 
 
 " That you write me a letter in the course of 
 to-morrow or next day," rejoined Mandeville, "to 
 the effect that you have made the different invest- 
 ments with which I charged you; and you will 
 mention, in a casual and natural manner, that the 
 sum total is sixty or eighty thousand pounds — or 
 you may even' go higher if you think fit." 
 
 " I understand you, Count !" said Warren, 
 now assuming an air of familiarity. " You wish 
 to get into good society — and you desire to pass 
 as a rich man." 
 
 " Let there be no disguise between us," said 
 Mandeville coolly. " I am an adventurer — you 
 are an insolvent. You shall help me to build up 
 my fortunes — and I will save yours from total 
 ruin. Is this a compact between us ?" 
 
 " Show me that you 'have the power to do as 
 much for me as you promise," replied Warren, 
 " and rest assured that I shall not hesitate to 
 what lengths I go on your behalf." 
 
 " Listen," pursued Mandeville, " while I fur- 
 nish you with weapons whereby you may bring 
 those whom you now fear into the position of 
 wretched grovellers at your feet. Mention their 
 names one by one. Or shall I do it for you ? First, 
 
 then, there is Doctor Mordaunt " 
 
 " True !" ejaculated Warren ; " a man who if 
 
 he once suspect that I am playing him false " 
 
 "You shall coolly avow it to-morrow," inter- 
 jected Mandeville ; " and I tell you that you 
 shall see him at your feet I But prepare to hear 
 a strange story — something which you have little 
 suspected, and which perhaps had better remain 
 altogether untold, were it not an indispensable 
 means of helping you out of the predicament 
 wherein you are placed." 
 
 Mandeville then proceeded to relate certain 
 facts to the stockbroker, who grew greatly excited 
 as he listened ; and when the tale was finished, he 
 started up, exclaiming, " But who in the name of 
 heaven are you that you could have become pos- 
 sessed of a knowledge of such circumstances ?" 
 
 "You know who I am," answered the Count. 
 "I am the Man-Devil :" — and again he laughed 
 with that mocking irony which seemed to be the 
 veritable malice-mirth of a fiend. " But to be 
 serious ! — what if I had all these facts from the 
 lips of one who was enabled to reveal them with 
 the most fearful accuracy ?" 
 
 " But the proof ! the proof !" exclaimed War- 
 ren. " Give me the proof — and Mordaunt is in- 
 deed in myppwer!" 
 
 "Well, the proof," said Mandeville calmly; 
 and with his characteristic easy deliberation of 
 manner, he drew forth a pocket-book, turned over 
 some papers, and selecting one, presented it to 
 Warren, saying, " I received it from Matthew Cal- 
 vert himself." 
 
 "And he is no more," said Warren : " the re- 
 port of his death reached my ears a long time 
 ago." 
 
 " He is no more," replied Mandeville. " But 
 look! there is a proof which Doctor Mordaunt 
 cannot controvert." 
 
 " By heaven, 'tis as you proclaim it !" — and 
 an expression of joy seized upon the stockbroker's 
 countenance : then he immediately added, " The 
 villain! — who could have thought this? And 
 now I have him in my power !" 
 
 "Yes — Mordaunt is in your power," rejoined 
 Mandeville. "Whose name comes next? Sir 
 Moses Bellamy. Listen !" 
 
 Mandeville entered into particulars concerning 
 this individual. Then the name of Mr. Smithers, 
 a schoolmaster at Norfolk, was mentioned ; and 
 concerning him likewise certain information was 
 forthcoming. Then the name of Michael Casey 
 was adduced ; and Mandeville still proved himself 
 able to make important revealings. 
 
 " Is there any one else ?" he inquired when 
 his narrative in respect to Michael Casey was 
 finished. 
 
 " There is no one else, I think, who is likely to 
 press me at this particular moment. Neverthe- 
 less," continued Warren, after a minute's reflec- 
 tion, " there is an individual, who if he happen to 
 suspect anything, and were to turn round upon 
 me, could in a moment work me the direst mis- 
 chief -" 
 
 " You mean Seymour, the great railway con- 
 tractor," interjected Mandeville : and then he in 
 his turn meditated profoundly for some brief space. 
 " Respecting this man," he presently went on to 
 say, " I will tell you nothing — there are certain 
 
 reasons " 
 
 " Do not leave me at his mercy," exclaimed 
 'Warren, "after all you have done to save me 
 from the power of the rest !" 
 
 " I do not mean to leave ypu at his mercy," re- 
 plied Mandeville ; " but at the same time I do 
 not intend to draw away the veil of mysteiy as 
 I have done in the other cases. Listen ! If Mr. 
 Seymour threatens or molests you, look him hard 
 in the face — assume a sinister significancy of ex- 
 pression — and say to him these words : ' TJiere 
 is a secret in your life which you little think is 
 known to me, but which in an extraordinary man- 
 ner has come into my possession, and for the 
 establishment of which proofs would not be want- 
 ing. Beware how you drive me to desperation, 
 and force me to retaliate against you !' — These 
 are the words which you are to speak. Mark their 
 effect !" 
 
 There was a brief silence, which was broken by 
 the stockbroker, who said, " Tell me, I beseech 
 you, how came you to be aware of my difficul- 
 ties ? For you must understand that it is of 
 vital importance for me to know in what quarters 
 they are suspected : for I did not even think that 
 my head clerk Phipps entertained the slightest 
 
 notion " 
 
 "Make yourself easy on this score," interrupted 
 Mandeville : " it was from your own lips, I tell 
 you, that I ere now learnt enough to set me think- 
 ing ; and then I saw those letters lying on tie 
 
 table before you. I read thorn Of course you 
 
 know that I did. But now we understand each 
 other — and it is sufficient. The compact exists 
 — does it not ?" 
 
 " It does," replied Warren. " And now what 
 is your wish in reference to Ethel Fraser, or Trevor 
 — whichever she calls herself?" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 93 
 
 Count Hippolyte Mandeville explained his views 
 and gave his instructions on this point — having 
 done which he immediately took his departure ; 
 and when he was gone, it actually appeared to 
 Warren to be a mystery whether the entire inci- 
 dent were not a dream. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Mk. Warren rose at an early hour in the morn- 
 ing ; and he said to bis footman, " A lady named 
 Mrs. Trevor will call here at nine o'clock. Pre- 
 sent my respectful compliments, and say that 
 
 most important business Indeed," added Mr. 
 
 Warren, carelessly playing with his watch-chain, 
 " nothing less than a summons from the Chan- 
 cellor of the Exchequer to attend him at his offi- 
 cial residence in Downing Street compels me 
 
 to leave home thus early ; but that I shall be most 
 happy to receive her at six o'clock this evening." 
 
 The stockbroker then walked up to Highbury 
 Place, where he took a cab to convey him into the 
 City ; for it was too early to have out any of his 
 own equipages ; and besides, it was considered 
 more business-like to proceed in a public vehicle, 
 even though it were an omnibus, to one's office. 
 On reaching his establishment, he repaired to his 
 private room, where he was presently attended by 
 his head clerk Mr. Phipps. This person was a 
 middle-aged man, of sleek appearance — very 
 respectful in his demeanour — who never said any- 
 thing more than was necessary, and never seemed 
 to know anything more than he ought to do. He 
 was grave, yet urbane — with a look of placid 
 business-like inscrutability ; so that it was impos- 
 sible to say to what extent he might be acquainted 
 with his master's affairs, or whether indeed he 
 suspected that there was anything wrong in them 
 at all. Nevertheless, Mr. Warren knew that if 
 Phipps had the slightest motive for instituting in- 
 quires, he could scarcely fail to learn that there 
 were? some little things which were not exactly 
 as correct as they ought to be ; and therefore the 
 question was whether such a motive had ever 
 piqued the curiosity of the head clerk ? This was 
 the point which Mr. Warren was now anxious to 
 clear up. 
 
 " Phipps," he said, while standing at his desk 
 with his hat on and leisurely opening his letters, 
 " did any one happen to call here yesterday be- 
 sides the persons you mentioned to me last night ? 
 A — a Count Mandeville, for instance ?" 
 
 " No, sir. I don't know the name." 
 
 Warren looked very hard at his clerk over the 
 edge of the letter which he affected to be scanning 
 at the moment; but there was nothing in the 
 meek bland respectfulness of Mr. Phipps' counte- 
 nance to gainsay the response which he had given. 
 
 " Oh, well, I rather expected such a person. I 
 tbinlr we shall do a considerable business with 
 him. I am- going to invest sixty or eighty 
 thousand for him to-day — he is a man of great 
 wealth — he was Chamberlain or something of that 
 
 sort to Louis Philippe 1 think he is staying at 
 
 the Clarendon. So if he should call, you will of 
 course treat him with all possible distinction." 
 
 Mr. Phipps bowed in assenting acknowledg- 
 ment of the order which he had just received. 
 
 " By the bye," continued Warren, " did either 
 of those persons who called yesterday, say any- 
 thing more than you mentioned to me ? I mean 
 did they seem " 
 
 " I do not think, sir, that I mentioned any one 
 except the Duke of Ardleigh, Mrs. Trevor, and 
 Mr. Casey." 
 
 " Ah — no ! But I saw by the letters which you 
 left me that Mordaunt had called — and Bellamy— 
 and Smithers — and Seymour " 
 
 " They merely wrote their notes, sir, on finding 
 that you were not at the office, and went away." 
 
 " Because you see, Phipps, I do not want it to 
 be imagined," continued Warren, "that I run 
 about on pleasure-excursions when I ought to be 
 attending to business. What do people say — eh, 
 Phipps?" 
 
 " They know, sir, that the business goes on as 
 well — and I may say as prosperously, sir, when 
 
 you are not here, as when you are here though 
 
 this is perhaps taking too much credit to my- 
 self " 
 
 " Not at all, Phipps. I suppose they all do 
 know it to be a very prosperous business — -eh ?" 
 
 " Oh, of course, sir. No one could doubt that," 
 added the head clerk emphatically. 
 
 "'Tis all right," thought Warren to himself: 
 and then again addressing Mr. Phipps, he added, 
 " By the bye, you have now been twenty years in 
 the office — twelve in my father's time and eight 
 in mine — and you must take another fifty pounds 
 a-year to tack on to your salary. No thanks, 
 Phipps ! You deserve it." 
 
 The head clerk - bowed very low, expressed his 
 gratitude, and retired into the front office. 
 
 Very shortly afterwards the Duke of Ar'dleigh 
 was introduced; and when the usual greetings 
 were exchanged — for they were on very friendly 
 terms, the stockbroker being invited to his 
 Grace's dinner-parties — the Duke said, in an 
 anxious tone, "That lady — my mistress — will 
 most likely call upon you about the settlement; 
 and I wish to. see her." 
 
 " That may be easily managed, my lord. I can 
 make another appointment, and in the meanwhile 
 give your Grace the requisite notice." 
 
 "But she will beg and beseech you to do 
 nothing of the sort !" 
 
 " Ah, well, my lord," replied Warren, " your 
 Grace's commands are paramount ; and you can 
 make it appear as if you dropped in quite by 
 accident." 
 
 "That is precisely the way in which I desire 
 the matter to be arranged. I rely upon you, 
 Warren." 
 
 " You may, my lord," rejoined the stockbroker. 
 
 The Duke of Ardleigh then took his departure ; 
 and Mr. Warren sat down to read the morning 
 paper, as well as to reflect upon his singular in- 
 terview with Count Mandeville on the preceding 
 evening. At about eleven o'clock Doctor Mor- 
 daunt was introduced. This gentleman was 
 about sixty years of age; and having for the 
 greater portion of his life struggled hard against 
 a variety of opposing influences — having endured 
 much poverty and fought a hard battle amidst 
 the downs of life in order to work his way up — 
 he had risen to eminence and to fortune as a West 
 End physician. He was a tall, thin, spare man 
 
04 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 and. if his voice had any suavity or his manner 
 any urbanity, both were the result of a severe 
 and continuous tutoring rather than the natural 
 attributes of the individual himself. 
 
 " Mr. Warren," he at once said, " I have called 
 at this hour at much inconvenience to myself, to 
 -receive my scrip in the Constantinople and Bel- 
 grade Railway ; and if it be not forthcoming, to 
 know the reason why. I have learnt, sir, that 
 the other shareholders have received their 
 scrip " 
 
 " Oh, sir, if you adopt such a tone with me," 
 interrupted Mr. Warren, at once taking the matter 
 with a high hand, " I can very soon give you an 
 answer." 
 
 " Then pray do, sir," responded the physician : 
 " and let that answer be the production of my 
 scrip, to the amount of six thousand pounds in 
 the Turkish Railway." 
 
 " And what, sir, if I tell you that you must 
 have the kindness to wait awhile, until " 
 
 "I do not choose to wait, sir! I have danced 
 attendance upon you until I am tired — you have 
 put me off with all kinds of excuses — and I will 
 
 either have my scrip ; or, or " and Dr. Mor- 
 
 daunt fumed and grew red in the face, preparatory 
 to giving vent to the threats which however he 
 did not exactly like to throw forth from his lips 
 except as a last resource. 
 
 " Or what, sir ?" asked the stockbroker sternly. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Warren, if you compel me to speak 
 out, I must tell you candidly that I shall apply 
 to the Lord Mayor." 
 
 " Very good, sir," said Warren, with the most 
 iiuflinching coolness. " We will go to the Lord 
 Mayor together ;" — he added, putting on his hat 
 and then beginning to draw on his gloves. 
 
 " What insolence is this ?" exclaimed the phy- 
 sician. " Do you forget, sir, that you are a sworn 
 ■broker of the City of London, and that I can ob- 
 tain a, warrant against you for malversation or 
 embezzlement 7" 
 
 " And have you forgdtten, sir, that you are a 
 member of the medical, profession, and that I can 
 procure a warrant against you " 
 
 " A warrant against me ?" — and Mordaunt was 
 evidently staggered— f-smitten indeed with a sud- 
 den terror — so that he became white as a sheet. 
 
 . "..Mandeville has not deceived me !" thought 
 Warren to himself ; and he chuckled inwardly. — 
 ■"You had better sit down a moment, doctor, 
 .while I tell you a tale of family misfortune, the 
 real facts of which have only just come within my 
 knowledge, or else I should have long ago taken 
 the requisite steps to bring an offender to 
 j ustice." i 
 
 Mordaunt sank, gasping for breath, and ashy 
 pale, upon a chair. 
 
 " Fifteen years ago," resumed Warren, " when 
 I was a mere youth, my sister Jane, who was a 
 few years older than myself, died somewhat sud- 
 denly. You, Doctor Mordaunt — then plain Mr. 
 Mordaunt, a poor struggling surgeon — attended 
 upon her. You made such a report of the nature 
 of her illness and the cause of her death, as to 
 preclude the possibility of suspicion in respect to 
 the actual facts " 
 
 " Mr. Warren, if you mean, sir, to asperse my 
 character, I will not stop here -" 
 
 " Retain your seat, sir;" interrupted the stock- 
 broker : " you must and shall hear me !" — then, 
 
 as the physician again sank down upon the seat 
 whence he was endeavouring to rise, Warren 
 went on to say, " The facts of that case have 
 onlyjust come to my knowledge. My poor sister 
 had yielded to the influence of a secret passion 
 which she formed for a young clerk in my father's 
 office — a mere boy of nineteen or twenty. His 
 name was Matthew Calvert. She was in a_ way 
 to become a mother — you were made the confi- 
 dant of her shame— she placed fifty guineas in 
 your hand — and in consideration of this bribe you 
 undertook to destroy the evidence of her disgrace 
 while it was yet unborn. She perished " 
 
 " "Pis false, sir ! false as hell !" exclaimed 
 Mordaunt. 
 
 " 'Tis true, sir !" responded Warren sternly. 
 " The wretched boy, Matthew Calvert, who was 
 afterwards transported for the forgery of my 
 father's name " 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ?" cried the Doctor 
 vehemently. " Matthew Calvert has long been 
 dead ! You will not dare bring forward some 
 base hireling of your own to personate him ?" 
 
 "No: I admit that he is dead. But " 
 
 "This is preposterous, sir!" exclaimed Mor- 
 daunt vehemently. " It is a vile fiction which 
 you have trumped up without the slightest 
 shadow of a proof " 
 
 "The proof? It is here !" cried Warren. "A 
 letter, written by your own hand, Doctor Mor- 
 daunt — addressed to young Calvert immediately 
 after my poor sister's death — conjuring him to 
 keep the seal of silence on his lips " 
 
 A deep groan, anguish-wrung from the breast 
 of the miserable physician, attested but too evi- 
 dently the stupendous truth of the painful narra- 
 tive ; and the stockbroker chuckled inwardly. 
 Then a deep silence prevailed in that room ; until 
 at length Dr. Mordauut, rising from his seat with 
 an utter desolation of countenance, said in a deep 
 hollow voice, " Give me that letter, Mr. Warren 
 — and I will write you a receipt for the money 
 which I placed in your hands." 
 
 The stockbroker opened a cupboard, in which 
 wines, spirits, and cordials were kept ; and pour- 
 ing some brandy into a glass, he handed it to the 
 physician, who seemed as if he were about to 
 drop.'" No thirsty traveller on Sahara's vast 
 arid wild, ever tossed off the pellucid draught of 
 water more greedily than did the wretched Mor- 
 daunt pour that potent alcohol down his throat. 
 Then, with a long sigh indicative of some kind 
 of relief, he sat down at the desk and penned a 
 receipt for the money which he had lodged in Mr. 
 Warren's hands for the purchase of shares in the 
 Constantinople and Belgrade Railway. The stock- 
 broker then gave him the damnatory proof of his 
 guilt of a by-gone year when under poverty's 
 stern pressure he accepted the temptation held 
 out ; and Mordaunt, securing it in his pocket- 
 book, took his departure without another word. 
 
 " One !" said Warren to himself, as he placed 
 the receipt upon his file. 
 
 Another hour passed ; and then Sir Moses Bel- 
 lamy was introduced. This was a tall, portly, 
 florid-complexioned man, about fifty years of age, 
 and dressed with great nicety. He was immensely 
 rich, and habitually dwelt in some provincial 
 town, where he possessed large factories. He had 
 received the title of Knighthood, through having 
 in his capacity of Mayor, taken up some fulsome 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS: OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 95 
 
 corporation address to the Sovereign, He had 
 risen from nothing ; but he was by no means 
 proud of being considered the architect of his 
 own fortunes. On the contrary, he liked as little 
 as possible to refer to the obscurity and the strug- 
 gles of his earlier years. In his own neighbour- 
 hood he had the reputation of being a hard mas- 
 ter ; but he made a great show of philanthropy 
 — while the John Bull openness of his looks 
 tended to aid in the deception. The benevolence 
 of his aspect covered and concealed the innate 
 worthlessness of his heart, just as the smooth and 
 polished veneer hides the inferior material upon 
 which it is laid. 
 
 "My dear Warren," he began, shaking the 
 stockbroker's hand with apparent effusion, " I am 
 delighted to fall in with you ! I particularly 
 want to make a settlement of that twenty thou- 
 sand on my daughter, who is going to be married, 
 
 you know, to Sir Peregrine Peacock a good 
 
 enough match, you know, though situated as I 
 am, I might perhaps have aspired higher. I shall 
 regale all my factory people — buns and ginger beer 
 
 ad libitum no alcoholic liquor, Warren ! But 
 
 come, make haste, there's a dear good fellow ! for 
 I am in a hurry." 
 
 " But I am in no hurry, Sir Moses," answered 
 Warren. 
 
 " How ? what ? You don't mean to say that 
 there's any difficulty " 
 
 " But I do. There's a very great difficulty. 
 The truth is, Sir Moses," continued the stock- 
 broker, with a coolness that was perfectly asto- 
 nishing to the portly Knight, " my funds are all 
 so locked up at this moment— — " 
 
 " Your funds, sir ?" exclaimed Bellamy, his 
 face becoming of a most apoplectic redness. " They 
 are my funds ! I entrusted them to you — I told 
 
 you to do a particular thing with them In 
 
 fact, I have suspected for two or three days past 
 that there was something wrong ; but for fear of 
 being mistaken, I did not choose to make inquiries." 
 
 " I tell you, Sir Moses, you cannot have your 
 money. Now don't bluster or make » noise in 
 the office;" continued Warren, hastily and threat- 
 eningly ; " for if you do you will only force me 
 into a retaliation which will lead to the most 
 painful exposure." 
 
 "Exposure?" — and Sir Moses looked half 
 frightened and half dpubting whether he. heard 
 aright. 
 
 " Tes — I mean exposure, Sir Moses :" — and 
 then Warren, walking straight up to his client, 
 said in a deep but perfectjy .audible whisper, 
 " You would scarcely like it to be known that 
 some years ago the now wealthy Sir Moses Bel- 
 lamy, who holds his head so high, was a pri- 
 soner in Newgate for some low'base felony !" 
 
 All the colour fled from the naturally rubicund 
 countenance — the wretched man's under-jaw 
 dropped — and he trembled violently. 
 
 " Again is Mandeville right !" thought Warren 
 within himself : and ecstatic was his inward 
 chuckling. 
 
 "Mr.. Warren," said the abject Bellamy, so' 
 soon as he could recover the slightest power of 
 utterance, " it is a terrible secret which you have 
 got in your possession : but I see by the manner 
 in which you are using it, that we may either 
 ruin each other, or that there is an arrangement 
 to be made." 
 
 "Whichever you like, Sir Moses: for when you 
 entered the room, you found me a desperate 
 i man — although perhaps I did not immediately 
 ■ show it." 
 
 " But who told you of this hideous secret ?" 
 
 "A person who will not mention it again," re- 
 , plied Warren. " Of this you may rest assured." 
 
 " What would you have me do ? Do you 
 want time for the payment of the money — it is a 
 
 very large sum -" 
 
 ' " A mere trifle to you ! — an enormous amount 
 to me ! Give me a receipt in full — and as God is 
 my judge the secret shall never more pass my 
 lips." 
 
 " It is a high price which I am to pay for the 
 keeping of this secret," said Sir Moses with the 
 tone and look of a man who was profoundly humir 
 liated ; " but I nevertheless assent." 
 
 He sat down at the desk ; and with a trem- 
 bling hand he penned the receipt. He then ex- 
 pressed an entreaty that the stockbroker would 
 keep the secret inviolable ; and he took his depar- 
 ture. 
 
 " Two !" exclaimed Mr. Warren, as he placed 
 that receipt upon his file. 
 
 It was now one o'clock ; and the stockbroker 
 thought of taking some lunch. He felt elate and 
 happy : he had already been relieved in the space 
 of a few hours of an immense load of difficulty — 
 and he had therefore every reason to calculate 
 upon the efficacy of Count Mandeville's informa- 
 tion and suggestions in the cases which remained 
 to be settled. 
 
 " It is one o'clock, Phipps," he said to his head 
 clerk, as he paused in the outer office ; " and I 
 think I shall just run down to Greenwich and get 
 a snack at the Trafalgar. I shall be back by 
 three. If anybody calls in the meantime, just 
 
 say I'm gone Where had you better say ? Oh, 
 
 up to Downing Street, to wait upon the Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer, according to special summons." 
 
 Mr. Phipps ventured to smile 'faintly but very 
 blandly, bowing at the same time ; and Mr. War- ' 
 ren passed out of the office. Taking a cab, he 
 proceeded to the London Bridge Station; and 
 thence in a few minutes he was transported by 
 the railway to Greenwich. He bent his steps to 
 ; the Trafalgar Hotel, where he was conducted to a 
 private room; and he ordered an exquisite repast, 
 to be speedily served up. 
 
 Now who does the reader suppose happened' 1 
 tp be in the adjacent apartment at that world- 
 renowed establishment for fish dinners and choice 
 wines? None other than Mr. Sylvester Casey, 
 who had brought down his mistress, the handsome 
 Alice Denton, to regale her with a little banquet: 
 It had certainly required a great deal of cajolery 
 on the part of Alice to induce Sylvester to launch 
 out into such an extravagance : but she had how-' 
 ever succeeded ; and there they were seated at a 
 table placed close against the open window, 
 dividing their attention between the good things on 
 the dishes before them, and the pleasant view 
 which the casement afforded. It wa3 a bright 
 and beautiful day .; the steamers, crowded with 
 passengers, were passing to and fro on the bosom 
 of the Thames ; and there were likewise several 
 beautiful little vessels belonging to the Thames 
 Yacht Club, cruising in that part of the river' 
 which takes a grand sweep round from Greenwich 
 to Blackwall. ' - - 
 
96 
 
 TUB YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF 'QUALITY. 
 
 " How pleasant this is !" said Alice, when one 
 course of fish had been disposed of and the waiter 
 was about to bring in another. 
 
 " Well, it's pleasant enough," answered Syl- 
 vester — " but deuced expensive. Indeed I don't 
 see the fun of your having ordered salmon cutlets 
 in addition to eels and whitebait " 
 
 "Nonsense, Sylvester!" said Miss Denton: 
 " you know you promised me the regular fish din- 
 ner ; and I was determined to have it all. So 
 <lon't go and make yourself miserable, nor jne 
 either, by your meanness." 
 . " Meanness ? Come, that's rather too strong !" 
 exclaimed Sylvester angrily. " Mean indeed ! 
 Why, look at the wine !" — and he pointed to a 
 pint of sherry which he had ordered. 
 
 " I can't bear sherry— I never drink it," said 
 Alice. " Oh, here is a waiter. Let us order " 
 
 " Have some ale, dear," said, her protector, en- 
 treatingly : then in order to show off before the 
 waiter, he stuck his quizzing-glass in his eye, ran 
 his fingers through his hair, and talking very 
 loud, went on to say, "Not but that it is quite 
 the same to me what you drink, my dear. Only, 
 you know," — here he kicked her under the table 
 • — " champagne always . does disagree with you ; 
 and I know" — here he gave her another kick — 
 " you can't bear Hock." 
 
 " Well, never mind about the champagne dis- 
 agreeing with me," interrupted Alice, with a 
 mischievous smile. " I will risk it for once." 
 
 "Nonsense!" muttered Sylvester, in a. savage, 
 undertone. " Waiter, a pot of " 
 
 "Yes, waiter — a bottle of champagne:" and 
 then Alice, laughing merrily, added, " You see, 
 dear Sylvester, I am determined to make myself 
 ill for once !" 
 
 "What the devil did you do this for?" de- 
 manded the young man the instant the door had 
 closed behind the waiter. " Didn't you think the 
 bill would be heavy enough as it was ?" 
 
 "Oh, come," interrupted Alice gaily, "if you 
 object to pay for the champagne, I am perfectly 
 willing to do so out of my own purse." 
 
 " I was only in fun, Alice. How deuced sharp 
 you are at taking one at one's word ! At the same 
 time I think the ale would have been better. But 
 no matter, as the champagne is ordered " • 
 
 " Hush ! here it comes," said Miss Denton : and 
 in a few moments the report of the flying cork 
 echoed through the apartment. 
 
 The countenance of the waiter beamed with 
 satisfaction, for a waiter is always pleased with 
 visitors who drink expensive wine. 
 
 " What were you telling me just now ?" asked 
 Alice after a pause, during which glasses of cham- 
 pagne were quaffed and fresh dishes were placed 
 upon the table, — "something about your father 
 being in a very ill humour this morning 1" 
 
 " Why, yes — the governor was out of sorts," 
 replied Sylvester ; " and he pulled such a precious 
 long face when I asked him for money, that one 
 would really have thought that he was afraid of 
 being made bankrupt. So you see, Alice, the 
 more difficult it gets for me to bleed the old 
 fellow, the more you ought to be obliged for what 
 I do for you." 
 
 " Don't talk to me in this strain, Sylvester, — or 
 else you will make me angry. Instead of doing 
 much for me, you get more and more reluctant 
 every time I speak to you on money-matters. 
 
 But we won't quarrel now, over these salmon 
 cutlets and this excellent champagne ! You were 
 going to tell me why your father was so cross." 
 
 " Ah ! the governor — who is never in the best 
 of tempers at any time — was as contrairy as pos- 
 sible. But it was enough to make him though ! 
 — and I shouldn't like to be in the shoes of a 
 certain stockbroker whom the governor means to 
 trounce this afternoon." 
 
 " What ! beat him — chastise him. with his fists 
 or with a horsewhip ?" 
 
 "Deuce a bit! The governor doesn't fight 
 with those weapons. It will be a warrant from 
 the Mansion House or a summons from the Bank- 
 ruptcy Court, unless the stockbroker cashes up." 
 
 "Does he owe your father much?" inquired 
 Miss Denton. 
 
 "About five thousand," replied Sylvester,— " a 
 great deal too much to lose. The governor sus- 
 pects that there's something wrong in the affair ; 
 so he's determined to.have his money back again ; 
 and if it isn't forthcoming, Mr. Warren — that's 
 the name of the stockbroker — stands a, devilish 
 good chance of sleeping to-night in Newgate. The 
 governor told roe he should go to him precisely at 
 three o'clock this afternoon; so at that hour I 
 expect there will be. a .regular shindy." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Warren to himself, in the 
 next room, as he looked at his watch, " it is only 
 a quarter to two ; so I've got exactly an hour 
 and a quarter before me — and then we shall see 
 which will have most reason to look small, Mr. 
 Michael Casey or myself." 
 
 ', The fact was that the window of the room 
 where the stockbroker was lunching, was also 
 open, and the table was placed against it : every 
 syllable that S}'lvester said, was therefore plainly 
 audible to the individual whom it somewhat inti- 
 mately concerned. It will perhaps be satisfactory 
 to the reader to know that the discourse in ques- 
 tion did not at all affect Mr. Warren's appetite ; 
 but that he did ample justice to the repast which 
 he had ordered. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 THKEE — FOUE — FIVE. 
 
 Precisely at three o'clock the stockbroker alighted 
 from a cab at the door of his office, — -on entering 
 which he found Mr. Casey senior waiting for 
 him. 
 
 " Ah," said Mr. Warren, with an easy air of 
 indifference, half familiar, half cool, — " I knew 
 you were to be here at three ; and so I hurried 
 back on purpose to meet you. Walk into my 
 private office." 
 
 " And pray, Mr. Warren," demanded the usurer, 
 " how did you know that I meant to call here 
 punctually at three ? I did not say so in the 
 note' which I left yesterday." 
 
 "No — you simply said that you should insist 
 upon seeing me some time to-day. But I knew 
 you were coming at three. I knew likewise," 
 continued Mr. Warren, deliberately drawing off 
 his gloves and laying them across the brim of 
 his hat, — " I knew likewise that you had ex- 
 pressed the most friendly intentions towards 
 me " 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 
 " I ? what ? eh ?" ejaculated Casey, with min- 
 gled surprise and anger depicted upon his sallow 
 and hard-lined countenance. " You are mocking 
 me, Mr. Warren !" 
 
 " Not a bit of it. I was merely about to ob- 
 serve that you expressed the most friendly in- 
 tentions, to the extent that you were quite pre- 
 pared to apply to the Lord Mayor for a warrant 
 against me ; or else take out a summons in the 
 Bankruptcy Court." 
 
 " Well, sir, and if I did thus express myself," 
 said Casey, savagely, "I felt that I was justified. 
 How you came to learn that I made use of such 
 threats, I know not and scarcely care : but I shall 
 assuredly put them into force " 
 
 " What ! threats to me ?" ejaculated the stock- 
 broker. " How dare you, sir " 
 
 " How dare I ? I will soon show you. Give 
 No. 13. — The Youhg Duchess. 
 
 ' me back my five thousand pounds — the money 
 | that you told me you would double for me — the 
 | sum which I advanced with reluctance and even 
 
 j with misgiving 1 can't think how I was such 
 
 , a fool " 
 
 "I tell you what it is, Mr. Pringle," interrupted 
 
 n the stockbroker ; "if you use such terms But 
 
 ) what is the matter with you now ?" 
 
 " You" said — you said," gasped Casey ; arid he 
 
 trentbled visibly, — "you said some name " 
 
 "Did I ? Oh, perhaps in the hurry of discourse 
 I addressed you by your proper name instead of 
 your assumed one." 
 
 "My assumed one?" repeated Casey, eyeing 
 the stockbroker with the. most intense anxiety. 
 
 " Why, yes," exelaimed Warren, now affecting 
 a certain degree of impatience. " Do you think 
 I am ignorant of the fact that you are Eupert 
 
98 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Pringle who ran away from the neighbourhood of 
 Southdale in Dorsetshire about five-and-twenty 
 years ago ?" 
 
 "Who told you this? who told you this?" 
 asked Casey, full of a nervous agitation. 
 
 " That is my secret," replied Warren. " Suf- 
 fice it for you to know that I am acquainted 
 with everything that concerns you, — how you 
 forged the name of Squire Ponsford — how you 
 basely deserted his mistress, whom you seduced 
 and brought up to London with you — how you at 
 the same time fell in with a girl who had a little 
 money, and whom you married — how you went 
 
 out to New South Wales " 
 
 "Well, what of all- this?" demandeft Casey ; 
 for by this name we shall continue to call him. 
 " What have my private affairs got to do with 
 you ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing,'' answered Warren, as if With a 
 careless air, — " only it might probably make 
 some little difference with regard to your 1 re- 
 spectabilityv and injure that delightful soli of 
 your'sy as well as perhaps interfere with your 
 daughter's prospects, if it were generally kridwii 
 that Mr. Michael Casey Of Hatton Garden is 
 identical with a certain fiupert Pringle who ran 
 away from England on account of a felony nve- 
 and-twenty years ago." 
 
 " I seehow it is — and I khowwhat yoil mestn," 
 said Casey, the expression of whose countenance 
 was now fearfully sinister with the Jent up rage 
 which was in his breast. " You intend to threaten 
 me if I insist upon having back my money. 1 
 confess that my character is somewhat in your 
 power ; bat your credit is likewise in my keeping. 
 Let us mutually remain silent. Give me security 
 for my rtibney, and you may then keep it as long 
 as you like." 
 
 " I have no security to give," replied Warren 
 curtly. 
 
 " Then pay me A part down, and give me bills 
 for the remainder." 
 
 " I have not a shilling to pay down." 
 Casey tapped his stick upon the floor' with 
 rage ; and then almost gasping for Utterance, he" 
 said, " Give me bills at short date9 for the whole, 
 and get some friend to back them." 
 
 "I have no -friend whoift 1 could ask," re- 
 joined Warren ; " and I never give bills." 
 
 " Then what the deuce do you propose?" de- 
 manded Casey, now perfectly aghast. 
 
 " I propose that you should give me a receipt 
 in full for the money which I owe you ; and in 
 return I will forget that Mr. Casey bears likewise 
 the name of Pringle." 
 
 There was some more hesitation on the usurer's 
 part ; but he was ultimately compelled to give in, 
 ■ — Warren the whole time maintaining a tone and 
 air of calm determination. It was alhiost like 
 parting with life itself when Casey sat down to 
 pen the receipt ; and as he hobbled on his infirm 
 limbs out of the office, he muttered bitter maledic- 
 tions between his teeth. 
 
 "Three!" mentally exclaimed Warren, as he 
 added the receipt to his file. 
 
 It was close upon five o'clock ; and the stock- 
 broker was on the point of leaving his office, his 
 elegant phaeton and pair having arrived to con- 
 vey him home to Highbury,— when a short, thin, 
 bustling individual, about forty years of age, 
 came rushing in. His clothes were good, but his 
 
 toilet generally indicated an indifference amount- 
 ing almost to neglect. His pockets were stuffed 
 with papers — letters, prospectuses, &c. : he carried 
 Bradshaw's " Railway Guide " about his person, 
 so as ever to have it ready at hand for instan- 
 taneous reference ; and a memorandum-book 
 stuck out of one of his waistcoat pockets. He 
 carried his gloves in his hand ; and he had a 
 habit of referring to his watch every two or three 
 minutes. He was ever on the alert, and thought 
 nothing of suddenly taking his seat in a train to 
 go a journey of some hundreds of miles at only a 
 few moments' notice. He was a great railway 
 contractor: he lived well, kept his horses and his 
 yacht — his town-house and his country-seat, — 
 though he himself benefited but very little by all 
 these costly sources of enjoyment, for he was 
 generally immersed in business from morning till 
 hight. 
 
 "Ah, Seymour — is it you?" said the stock- 
 broker, with an easy air of familiarity. " Just 
 eome in time to run home with me in the phaeton 
 and dine at Highbury." 
 
 " Dine indeed, my dear fellow ! Devil a bit of 
 dinner shall I get to-day — unless it be a hurried 
 
 chop somewhere at about nine o'clock " 
 
 " So full of business — eh ? I got your note 
 
 last night " 
 
 " I have been to Edinburgh since I wrote it 
 yesterday at three o'clock. Only came back an 
 hour ago i'' aild Mr. Seymour kept on looking at 
 his watch as Be 1 thus spoke; 
 
 " Well, blit how long did yoil have to stay in 
 Edinburgh?" 
 
 " Three hour? exactly. That was enough for 
 my purpose. I ant off to Bristol to-morrow 
 morning by the nine 1 o'clock train. I am utterly 
 over head and eats in business ! And now I am 
 
 wasting my time by chatting here " 
 
 " Do come home with me and snatch a bit of 
 dinner." 
 
 " Couldn't for the world !" cried Seymour, again 
 looking at his watch. 
 
 " THe phaeton shall stand at the door to bring . 
 
 yoil back when you like " 
 
 " It can't be done ! I Ought now to be at six 
 different places at the same time :" — and again 
 was the Watch referred to. 
 
 " But you will kill yourself at this rate !" 
 "Not I, my dear fellow ! By the bye, I shall 
 snatch a couple of hours next Monday just to drop 
 in at the yacht-dinner. Of course you will go ? 
 And now I'll tell you what I came about. Write 
 me a check for three thousand j and bear in mind 
 that I shall want twelve the day after to-morrow 
 on my return from Bristol. I think fifteen 
 thousand will just balance our account for that 
 last batch of shares I placed in your hands." 
 
 "The sum is exactly fifteen thousand," said 
 Warren, referring to a book that lay upon his 
 desk. » 
 
 "I thought so. Come,- write me the cheque — 
 and cross it through Glyn's." 
 
 "It can't be done, my dear fellow." 
 "That's good!" ejaculated Seymour, with a 
 laugh. "Because I can't dine with you, you 
 won't write me the cheque. But joking apart, 
 Warren — do make haste, my dear fellow — I'm 
 really in a deuce of a hurry :" and he again 
 looked at his watch. 
 
 "Don't. be startled, Seymour — I have got 
 
 I 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OB' A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 99 
 
 something to tell you — I know you'll be surprised 
 — but it's no use mincing the matter — and there- 
 fore I tell you candidly," continued Warren, with 
 the utmost coolness imaginable, " that so far from 
 being able to pay fifteen thousand pounds, I ques- 
 tion whether I could at this moment command as 
 many shillings." 
 
 " Good God, Warren ! you don't mean it ?" ex- 
 claimed Seymour, who looked so amazed that it 
 seemed as if he might be knocked down by a 
 straw. " Ton insolvent ? Pshaw, man ! it is a 
 joke !" 
 
 "A very serious joke, then — and one that is 
 only too true," rejoined Warren. 
 
 " If I take you at your word," cried Seymour, 
 his whole manner now suddenly changing from 
 the friendliest familiarity to the sternest implaca- 
 bility, " I should be compelled to look upon you 
 as a scoundrel and to expose you as a fraudulent 
 insolvent." 
 
 "Now listen, Mr. Seymour,'* said the stock- 
 broker, assuming a very determined air, and at 
 the same time throwing a certain mysterious 
 knowingness into his looks ; " this is harsh lan- 
 guage which you are using towards me, and I de- 
 sire that you will not dare venture to repeat it. 
 Perhaps you fancy that you can address me thus 
 with impunity ? But let me tell you that there 
 is a certain , secret in your life — a secret which 
 you little imagine to be known to me, but which 
 nevertheless has by some extraordinary means 
 
 come to my knowledge Ah ! you know to 
 
 what I allude !" — and Warren thus interrupted 
 himself because he perceived that Seymour turned 
 very pale. 
 
 "Enough, enough!" said this individual, in a 
 low broken voice: and then he turned towards 
 the window, where he stood as still as a statue for 
 more than a minute. 
 
 " By heaven, Mandeville is again right !" 
 thought the stockbroker to himself: and again 
 his inward chuckling was characterized by an in- 
 effable rapture. 
 
 " How you could have known this secret, War- 
 Ten," said the railway contractor, now slowly 
 turning away from the window, " passes my com- 
 prehension. A secret which methought was buried 
 in the very tomb itself !" 
 
 " Ask me not to explain how it reached my 
 knowledge," interrupted the stockbroker. " Let 
 it be sufficient for you to know that never until 
 this occasion have my lips breathed a syllable in 
 allusion to it ; and it rests with you to determine 
 whether it shall ever again issue from them." 
 
 Seymour reflected with evident painfuhiess for 
 a few moments; and then he said, "You now 
 comprehend wherefore I make my life an inces- 
 sant hurry and agitation — why I plunge headlong 
 into the vortex of business — never finding that I 
 have too much to do, but ever dreading lest I 
 should not have sufficient ! It is to escape from 
 thought." 
 
 He paused : and Warren thought within him- 
 self, "What in the name of heaven can this 
 secret be ?" 
 
 " I will say no more upon the subject," re- 
 sumed Mr. Seymour suddenly. " Alas ! I do feel 
 that I who have been so guilty, should not have 
 addressed such harsh terms to you ! I pity you, 
 Warren. Keep the money — I forgive you the 
 debt. Ah! and if you have any pity for me, 
 
 I beseech and implore that you will keep my 
 secret !" 
 
 "Yes — I will keep it. But what guarantee 
 have I that you may not some day leave the 
 country, and setting the idea of exposure at de- 
 fiance, write to me and demand the payment of 
 this sum? Or you may die, and your execu- 
 tors " 
 
 " Enough, enough !" exclaimed Seymour im- 
 patiently : and then placing himself at the desk, 
 he' penned a few rapid lines on a slip of paper. 
 " There !" — and starting up abruptly from the 
 seat, he rushed forth from the office. 
 
 " Four !" said the stockbroker with a thrill of 
 delight as he placed the receipt upon his file. 
 
 Mr. Phipps now entered to inquire whether 
 there were any farther instructions which his 
 master might have to give ? 
 
 " No," said Mr. $? arren carelessly. " I think 
 that you can now go, Phipps : I suppose the other 
 clerks have already taken their departure ? By 
 the bye, there will be some important entries to 
 make in the books to-morrow. Mordaunt — Bel- 
 lamy — Casey — and Seymour, have all four re- 
 ceived checks for their money ; and so, you see, I 
 have paid away a great many thousands to-day." 
 
 Phipps simply bowed, with an air as if he 
 thought the proceeding quite natural and straight- 
 forward enough ; and as he left the inner office, 
 Warren said to himself, " I was perfectly right : 
 the fellow did not entertain the slightest suspicion 
 of my embarrassments. Now there is only that 
 pedagogue Smithers who is pressing me. I almost 
 wish he had come !" 
 
 The door opened ; and Phipps, reappearing, 
 said, "If you please, sir, there is the gentleman 
 from Norfolk. He hopes that you will see him 
 for a few moments." 
 
 " Oh, to be sure ! Let him be admitted." 
 
 Mr. Smithers was accordingly introduced. He 
 was a short, stout, elderly man, with a red and 
 pimpled face ; and he wore green spectacles. He 
 was dressed in black, with a white cravat, and 
 evidently strove to assume a clerical air. 
 
 " I ought to apologise, Mr. Warren, for calling 
 after business-hours," he began in a dictatorial 
 voice, as if he were addressing one of his pupils : 
 "but I feel that I need not do so after having 
 vainly danced attendance here all day yesterday — ■ 
 and I may add, without deviation from the truth, 
 after having fruitlessly applied a hundred times 
 during the past twelvemonth for the legacy which 
 you received on my behalf. I wrote you a letter 
 yesterday " 
 
 " Which I have not read, Mr. Smithers," inter- 
 posed Warren, coolly. 
 
 "Not read it, sir? But no matter! Doubt: 
 less you are now prepared to pay me the legacy of 
 three thousand three hundred pounds, in good and 
 lawful money of this realm, according to the will 
 of the testator, my late beloved sister, Tabitha 
 Smithers " 
 
 "You need not recite the particulars," inter- 
 rupted Warren. " I have no doubt you took the 
 trouble to indite them all in your letter of yes- 
 terday." 
 
 " Yes, sir — in a plain running hand, with all 
 the i's dotted, and the upstrokes properly defined, 
 so that you should not fail to comprehend " 
 
 " Just as if I, being your deceased sister's exe- 
 cutor, did not comprehend the business even 
 
100 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 better than you ! Do you not know, Mr. Smithers, 
 that executors are allowed a clear twelvemonth 
 for probation and administration of a will, and so 
 forth?" 
 
 " And fourteen good calender months have now 
 elapsed, Mr. Warren, since the demise of my be- 
 loved sister, at the age of sixty-eight, leaving 
 behind her a large circle of friends to lament the 
 irreparable loss " 
 
 "All that may doubtless be read upon the 
 tombstone," interrupted Warren. " But let us 
 come to the point. Suppose I were to tell 
 you, sir, that I am not prepared to pay you this 
 amount " 
 
 " Then, sir " — and the pimply face became 
 very red, while the small eyes gleamed through 
 the green glasses,—" I should be compelled to in- 
 form you that I am determined to place the 
 matter in the hands of my solicitors, Wrench, 
 Wracken, and Thumbscrew, 01 Thavies' Inn." 
 
 Mr. Warren laughed; and then the school- 
 master also laughed, his humour suddenly chang- 
 ing, for he thought that the stockbroker was 
 joking — and he said so. 
 
 " You are a good fellow, Smithers, after all !" 
 exclaimed Warren, with a patronizing air. " By 
 the bye, what are your terms ?" 
 
 " Ah ! he has got me a pupil !" thought Smithers. 
 • — " My terms, my dear sir," he .proceeded, " are 
 forty guineas for youths under twelve — and fifty 
 above that age. French, Drawing, and Dancing 
 extra. A silver spoon and six towels indispensa- 
 ble. Quarter's noticed required on the removal of 
 a lad. Cash payments quarterly. On other 
 terms Sampson Smithers .respectfully declines 
 doing business." 
 
 "Very good and very proper, 
 pupils have youj Mr. Smithers ?" 
 
 "Fifty-three, my dear sir. Ah, 
 new boy from Nackington in Kent. 
 Nackington boy, we are fifty-four, 
 has a standing order for three legs of mutton everv 
 day " 
 
 " And" therefore, with those high terms and all 
 the extras,' and with that number of pupils, you 
 make a good thing of it, Mr. Smithers — eh ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't think I ought to complain, my 
 dear sir : and if you be going to recommend me a 
 young gentleman — or two — or even three " 
 
 " I shall bear you in mind. But at the same 
 iime," continued Mr. Warren, now looking very 
 serious, " it would be a great pity if this fine school 
 of your's were suddenly to be broken up " 
 
 " Broken up, sir ?" exclaimed the pedagogue, 
 half in indignation, and half in consternation; " I 
 really am at a loss " 
 
 " Oh, I can soon satisfy you as to my mean- 
 ing," interrupted the "stockbroker. "There, is a 
 little secret which . happens to be knowft' to 
 
 How many 
 
 I forgot the 
 So with the 
 My butcher 
 
 " A — a secret,- sir ?" and Mr. Smithers evidently 
 grew uneasy and agitated. 
 
 "Mandeville is again right!" was the joyous 
 reflection which swept through Warren's brain. 
 "Yes, Mr. Smithers — a secret. In plain terms," 
 continued the stockbroker, now speaking with 
 great abruptness, " what would become of your 
 establishment if it were known that some four- 
 teen or fifteen years ago you were afelon on board 
 a hulk at Woolwich, where you acted as school- 
 master ?" 
 
 It was a sound between a moan of anguish and 
 a yell of despair which burst from the lips of the 
 wretched Smithers as these words smote his ears ; 
 while Warren surveyed him with the air of one 
 who knew that he was right in reference to 
 the fact so overwhelmingly enunciated. Then 
 Smithers began to whimper ; and he said, " For 
 God's sake, do not expose me, sir ! Do not ruin 
 me ! I have never done you any harm — I never 
 will ! Keep the money — do what you like with 
 it — pay me the interest — or don't pay me at all, 
 just as you think fit " 
 
 "Well, the truth is, I have scarcely a shilling 
 to pay it with," interrupted Warren. " I am 
 almost a ruined man ; but I may recover myself 
 if I can only maintain my credit. No one knows 
 this secret but yourself ; and therefore if it tran- 
 spires, I shall immediately understand that it is 
 you who have maliciously whispered the evil re- 
 port concerning me. Keep my secret, I say — and 
 I will keep your's. Ah, by the bye, just give me 
 a little receipt for form's sake — and then our busi- 
 ness will be settled." 
 
 The loss was a heavy one to the schoolmaster ; 
 but it was preferable to the exposure of his ante- 
 cedents and the breaking up of his establishment. 
 In this philosophical light he saw it ; and he has- 
 tened to give the receipt : but his hand trembled 
 somewhat — and we are not quite sure that he was 
 very careful in dotting his i's or clearly defining 
 his upstrokes. 
 
 " Five !" said the triumphant stockbroker, as 
 he placed the receipt upon his file, when Mr. 
 Smithers had taken his departure. 
 
 In another minute Mr. Warren leapt into his 
 phaeton, and drove away with a light heart to- 
 wards Highbury. It was close upon six o'clock 
 when he reached his house ; and the footman who 
 opened the door, said, " If you please, sir, Mrs. 
 •Trevor is waiting." 
 
 Warren at once proceeded to the parlour to 
 which the unfortunate Ethel had been shown; 
 and he bowed to her with the utmost courtesy, 
 expressing his regret that he was unable to see 
 her in the morning, but assuring her that he was 
 now at perfect leisure to attend to her. 
 
 " Perhaps I need scarcely ask, sir," said the 
 afflicted young lady, " whether you know who it 
 was " 
 
 " $ can anticipate your meaning, madam," said 
 the stockbroker. " It was the Duke of Ardleigh 
 who presented you with that sum of five thousand 
 pounds, concerning which you have doubtless 
 called." 
 
 , "Circumstances have occurred, Mr. Warren," 
 continued Ethel, " which have led to our separa- 
 tion. You will spare me the recital of them. Let 
 it be sufficient for me to state that everything is 
 at an end between — between" — she faltered and 
 sobbed-7— then gathering courage, she added, " be- 
 tween his Grace and mvself. Never again can I 
 see him — and I could wish to be spared the neces- 
 sity of ever having to communicate with him. 
 To be candid with you, Mr. Warren, it was be- 
 cause I feared that he might suspect my intention 
 of calling at your office, and that he would be 
 there for the purpose of meeting me, — it was for 
 this reason, I say, that I took the liberty of seek- 
 ing you at your private residence." 
 
 "I am enabled to inform you, Mrs. Tre- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 101 
 
 " Yes — I retain that name," she observed, in a 
 scarcely audible tone, " because it is the one 
 ■which my beloved child bears ; and when he 
 grows up, I must not be compelled to blush in 
 his presence ! I will tell him that his father is 
 
 dead But pardon me, Mr. Warren," she 
 
 added, suddenly recollecting herself ; " I have no 
 
 right to obtrude my secret griefs upon you " 
 
 " Kest assured, my dear madam, that I will 
 befriend you if I can. What can I do for 
 you?" 
 
 " I am so ignorant of all financial matters," re- 
 plied Ethel, " that I know not upon what amount 
 
 of income I may rely " 
 
 "Ah, I understand!" interjected Warren. 
 " You require detailed explanations ? Your five 
 thousand pounds will yield you in the three per 
 cents, in round numbers, a hundred and fifty 
 pounds a-year." 
 
 " I can live well — Oh, well upon that income !" 
 she exclaimed, almost with joy. 
 
 " It will be paid half-yearly ; and if you wish 
 it, I can receive the amount for you and regularly 
 transmit it to whatsoever address you may indi- 
 cate. I am a man of honour, Mrs. Trevor, — I un- 
 derstand your position — and I pledge you my word 
 that the Duke of Ardleigh shall never know from 
 me where you may choose to fix your abode." 
 
 The tears trickled down Ethel's cheeks, as in 
 the broken voice of gratitude's emotion she mur- 
 mured, " You are indeed a kind friend to me ! 
 It is heaven who has sent you !" 
 
 " Never hesitate, my dear madam, to make use 
 of me in any way wherein I can serve you. 
 Where do you think of establishing your resi- 
 dence ?" 
 
 " I do not know for the present — I will write 
 
 to you in a few days " 
 
 " Ah, by the bye," said Warren, " as I am to 
 receive your dividends for you, there will be cer- 
 tain little authorities that you must give me. 
 Let me see ! I wonder whether I may happen 
 to have any of the necessary forms at hand ? Ah, 
 to be sure !" he added, drawing forth some papers 
 from his pocket. " Do you chance to have the 
 Bank receipt which I gave you the other day ?" 
 " Yes — it is here :" and Ethel produced it. 
 " Well, I must keep this. See ! we will pin it 
 on to the corner of one of these documents which 
 you are going to sign." 
 
 Mr. Warren drew his chair to the table — hastily 
 filled up a couple of printed forms — and handing 
 Ethel the pen, said, " Be pleased to place your 
 signature here." 
 
 There was so much fraternal kindness, mingled 
 with the most courteous "respect, on the part of 
 the stockbroker, that the young lady was inspired 
 with the fullest confidence in his good intentions. 
 She therefore unhesitatingly signed both doctr- 
 ments without pausing to glance at their con- 
 tents; and rising from her seat, she again ex- 
 pressed her fervid gratitude for Mr. Warren's 
 attentions. He escorted her as far as the front 
 door, where they shook hands and parted, the 
 young lady mentally invoking blessings on the 
 head of the friend whom heaven had sent her. 
 
 Count Mandeville was in the stockbroker's 
 dining-room, watching at the window for Ethel's 
 departure. So soon as she had got fifty yards 
 from the house, he issued forth — having pre- 
 viously exchanged a few hasty words with 
 
 Warren ; and he followed upon the young lady's 
 track. In a few minutes she reached High- 
 bury Place; and there she took her seat in a 
 cab, giving some instructions to the driver. 
 
 " Keep that cab in view !" said Mandeville, as 
 he stepped into another vehicle, the driver of 
 which he thus addressed : " do not on any ac- 
 count lose sight of it — and when it stops, pull up 
 at a little distance, so that it may not be thought 
 we have been pursuing it" 
 
 " All right, sir !" — and the cabman touched 
 his hat, at the same giving a knowing leer. 
 
 The cab which contained Ethel, continued its 
 way for about half-an-hour — at the expiration of 
 which interval it stopped at a house in one of 
 the new neighbourhoods springing up in the vici- 
 nage of Camden Town. There the young lady 
 alighted ; and Count Mandeville also descended 
 from his cab at a little distance where it had 
 halted. 
 
 On reaching the lodging which she had tem- 
 porarily taken, Ethel's first care was to assure 
 herself that her beloved boy was safe and well ; 
 for her mind had been so attenuated by recent 
 occurrences that she was rendered nervous and 
 mistrustful in reference to everything. Scarcely 
 had she embraced the little Alfred and put off her 
 bonnet and scarf, when a double knock at the 
 front door resounded through the house ; and in a 
 few moments : Ethel was informed that a gentle- 
 man desired to speak with her on very particular 
 business. At this announcement a deadly pallor 
 seized upon her, for she thought it must be the 
 Duke of Ardleigh who had traced her thither : 
 but she was soon relieved from this sudden ap- 
 prehension, when the servant of the house pre- 
 sented the gentleman's card, and Ethel read on it 
 a name which was utterly unknown to her. She 
 fancied there must be some mistake ; and she was 
 about to send a message to this effect, when it 
 occurred to her that such a proceeding might ap- 
 pear rude and uncourteous and it would only 
 occupy her a moment to see the gentleman in per- 
 son. 
 
 She descended to the parlour into which Count 
 Mandeville had been shown ; and she began by 
 saying, " I think sir there must be some 
 error — — " 
 
 " None, madam, I can assure you," replied the 
 Count, making the most polite bow. " Yon are 
 Mrs. Trevor — and it was for you that I in- 
 quired." 
 
 The young lady looked astonished ; and Man- 
 deville placed a chair for her, at the same time 
 making a gesture that she should be seated, just 
 if he were doing the honours of his own residenca 
 instead of her's, and all with such a well-bred 
 ease that it was impossible to deem him guilty 
 of forwardness or presumption. 
 
 "May I asSysir," inquired Ethel, "where you 
 knew me? and how?" — but her voice faltered, 
 for her own question seemed to her to be an allu- 
 sion to past times and different circumstances. 
 
 " No matter where nor how I have known you," 
 replied Mandeville. " If you had continued in 
 prosperity I might probably have never come for- 
 ward to make myself known to you : but now 
 that misfortunes have overtaken you, I have lost 
 no time in presenting myself as your friend. — I 
 am here !" 
 Ethel was naturally bewildered by this strange 
 
102 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 indeed for a minute or two she was bo 
 confounded that she could not give utterance to 
 another syllable. At length she said, " But who 
 told you, sir, that I had experienced misfortunes ? 
 and of what nature do you suppose them to 
 be ?" 
 
 "Wliy should you wish me to recapitulate 
 those facts which arc already so painfully im- 
 pressed on your memory ? No — I will not do it ! 
 Suffice it that I mention one name — that of the 
 Duke of Ardleigh, to prove to you that I am con- 
 versant with everything." 
 
 Ethel blushed : then she became very pale — her 
 lips quivered — and the tears were about to start 
 forth from her eyes, when conquering her emotions, 
 she said, " Is it possible that the Duke of Ardleigh 
 himself has sent you to me ?" 
 
 " By heaven, no !" ejaculated Mandeville. " I 
 obey the bidding of no man — I follow only 
 my own inclinations. If any one were to 
 ask lie to do a particular thing, it is the very 
 reason why I would go and do the contrary. I 
 am a strange person — a sort of a philosopher after 
 my own fashion, deploring the amount of evil 
 there is in the world, and endeavouring to do 
 some little good as a counteractive, But enough 
 of egotism ! Let us talk of your own affairs." 
 
 " I am grateful to you, Count de Mandeville," 
 said Ethel, " for the interest — the ' extraordintxiy 
 interest" she could not help saying, " which you 
 take in my behalf : but there is really nothing 
 wherein I could employ your friendly services," 
 
 "You are mistaken, Mrs. Trevor," replied Man- 
 deville with an air of confidence. " There is not 
 a lady in all London who stands more in need of 
 true disinterested friendship than yourself." 
 
 Ethel was startled by this declaration, which 
 was made with so much confidence, and with the 
 keen grey eyes of the Count fixed steadily upon 
 her. What on earth could he mean ? There was 
 about him a certain air of mystery which failed 
 not to have its effect upon the already attenuated 
 mind of the young lady. Indeed she felt almost 
 frightened ; and as she now sank upon the chair 
 which he had placed for her accommodation, she 
 faltered out, " Perhaps there are yet other 
 calamities in store for me, and you may be ac- 
 quainted with them ?" 
 
 " You have commenced a severe struggle with 
 the world, Mrs. Trevor," interjected Mandeville, 
 " and you require the hand of friendship to sus- 
 tain you. You have your son to rear — and you 
 have not a shilling which you can call your own." 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir ! you are mistaken !" 
 exclaimed Ethel. " I have a handsome sum of 
 money in the Bank of England.'' 
 
 " You have not a farthing, madam, in the Bank 
 of England." 
 
 Ethel started : the colour again mantled on her 
 cheeks — and she felt indignant at the curt positive 
 contradiction she had experienced. 
 
 " I repeat my words, madam,'' Mandeville 
 added : " you have not a shilling in the Funds." 
 
 " Oh, sir, this is too much !" cried Ethel. " I 
 cannot think that you have come to insult 
 
 " Heaven forbid, my poor young lady ! I have 
 come to help you just as a brother might hasten 
 to the aid of a sister." 
 
 "But' you are indeed wrong!" said Ethel 
 mildly. 
 
 " I am indeed right," interrupted Mandeville ; 
 " and it grieves me to repeat the assertion. You 
 think that I am ignorant of your affairs ? I know 
 them full well. The Duke of Ardleigh gave you 
 a settlement the other day, of five thousand pounds 
 — for which amount iVIr. Warren the stockbroker 
 holds your receipts." 
 
 " What mean you ?" and a vague terror was 
 now agitating in Ethel's mind. 
 
 " I mean, my dear madam, that Warren holds 
 your receipts ; and whether you have had the 
 money or not, it does not signify " 
 
 " No, no ! do not tell me this !" cried Ethel, as 
 she recollected the documents which she had 
 signed without reading them. " Would you have 
 me believe that I have been most cruelly deceived 
 and robbed ?" 
 
 " If we must use harsh language," said Mande- 
 ville, " those are the very terms. You have been 
 deceived and robbed." 
 
 Ethel looked aghast ; and then suddenly cover- 
 ing her face with her hands, she moaned and 
 murmured, " Oh, my child ! my child !" 
 
 " This, you see, is the way of the world," re- 
 sumed Mandeville, with an accent which seemed 
 to be replete with cynical bitterness. " A villain 
 robs you under the semblance of friendship, and 
 you believe him to be sincere. I come to serve 
 you with a feeling of real friendship ; and you 
 mistrust me ! But let that pass. You have 
 been plundered, Mrs. Trevor " 
 
 " I will go to him !" cried Ethel passionately. 
 " I will demand my money ! I will tell him that 
 it is my child's bread which he is taking from 
 me!" 
 
 " And he will laugh in your face. No ! — he 
 will shut the door in your face ; and he will bid 
 his lacqueys give you into custody if you dare 
 create a disturbance. Think you that he is a vil- 
 lain without surrounding himself by villanous de- 
 fences? There are your receipts — and that is 
 sufficient for him." 
 
 " Oh, but the law will not suffer me to be thus 
 robbed I Justice may be appealed to !" 
 
 " Yes — and in the presence of that same jus- 
 tice there will be a complete exposure of your 
 late connexion with the Duke." 
 
 "True ! true!" — and the wretched Ethel sank 
 back in her chair like one annihilated. "Ah!" 
 she suddenly ejaculated ; " the Duke is rich — 
 the amount to Mm will be nothing ! For his 
 child's sake I must make an appeal to him ! 
 Alas, yes — despite all my vows to the contrary !" 
 
 " The Duke of Ardleigh left England this af- 
 ternoon," said Mandeville, " for a three years' tour 
 upon the Continent. JSo letters can reach him 
 except through his wife." 
 
 Ethel groaned ; and then for a few minutes she 
 sobbed violently. Mandeville spoke words of 
 comfort, and with an air of so much delicacy and 
 true friendliness that the poor young lady could 
 not for an instant doubt his sincerity. 
 
 "And after all," she abruptly exclaimed, as 
 she wiped away her tears, " it is better that he 
 should have gone abroad ! — yes, far better that I 
 should not have the power to apply to him ! Oh, 
 now I understand the duty which I have to fulfil ! 
 I must work to earn breacj for my beloyed boy ! 
 God has suffered me to be sorely afflicted — but 
 he will not abandon me altogether !" 
 
 "God has not abandoned you," answered the 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, SIEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 IDS 
 
 Count, in a tone which struck Ethel as being pro- 
 foundly solemn. " Am not I here to serve you ?" 
 
 " Oh, but a stranger ! — one whom to my know- 
 ledge I never saw before !" 
 
 "No matter," interrupted Mandeville, " You 
 shall judge of me by my actions. I told you just 
 now that I am a strange being — capricious and 
 
 wayward " 
 
 "Count de Mandeville," said Ethel, speaking 
 mildly yet firmly, " I proffer you my best thanks 
 for your kind proposals : but I cannot accept 
 them. There are no services which under exist- 
 ing circumstances I could with propriety accept 
 at the hands of a stranger." 
 
 " It is false delicacy, madam," said the Count, 
 rising from his seat and taking up his hat : " but 
 the admirable modesty of your conduct only ren- 
 ders me all the more anxious to serve you. At 
 the same time I have my own little pride — and I 
 will not press my good intentions where they are 
 unacceptable. Madam, I wish you good evening." 
 " Tou are offended with me !" cried Ethel, hurt by 
 his manner, for she suddenly dreaded lest her own 
 conduct had savoured of ingratitude. " I would 
 not have you depart in anger ! It is only too 
 clear that you came to serve me with the kindest 
 
 and best intentions " 
 
 "And perhaps that I might repay a certain 
 debt owing by my father towards your father." 
 
 " Indeed !" ejaculated Ethel. " Did your 
 father know mine ?" 
 
 " Yes — certainly. Your father was " 
 
 " Captain Fraser," interjected Ethel, eagerly. 
 " I was just going to say it. Captain Fraser, 
 
 of " 
 
 " Of Southdale." 
 
 " Of Southdale, in Dorsetshire," proceeded 
 Mandeville, just as if he had been going to give 
 utterance to the names without the slightest 
 prompting from her lips. 
 
 " But it was before your father settled at South- 
 dale that my father knew him ; for at that time 
 my father was a refugee in England, and he re- 
 ceived the utmost kindness from your sire. I 
 know that there was a sum of money— a couple 
 of hundred pounds — which my father borrowed 
 from your's. I found the memorandum after my 
 father's death." 
 
 " How strange !" murmured Ethel, now trem- 
 bling with a deep inward emotion, for she felt as 
 if she had fallen in with some old friend. " But 
 
 do tell me — how did you find out " 
 
 " Ask me no questions now," interrupted Man- 
 deville : " but tell me at once, Mrs. Trevor — will 
 you not at least permit me to acquit myself to- 
 wards you of the debt which my father owed to 
 your's ?" 
 
 The terms on which she stood with Count 
 Mandeville now appeared to be very different in- 
 deed from what they were a few minutes back. 
 Moreover Ethel thought of her child, and of the 
 immense use which such a sum would be to her. 
 It was also a sum which under existing^ circum- 
 stances she might receive without the slightest 
 deviation from the path of delicacy and pro- 
 priety. 
 
 " Your condnct, sir, is as honourable as it is 
 kind and generous," she answered ; " and I must 
 not refuse that which heaven itself seems to have 
 sent me." 
 
 " At noon to-morrow I will be here," answered 
 
 Mandeville; and then with a most courteous 
 salutation, and with only a moment's pressure of 
 the fair hand which was gratefully extended to 
 him, he took his departure. 
 
 " She is mine I" he said to himself, as he en- 
 tered the cab which was waiting for him at a 
 little distance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 We must now return to the Firs, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Southdale. And first of all, reverting 
 to the stealthy visit of Tim Gaffney and Jack 
 Peppercorn to the mansion, we should observe 
 that Squire Ponsford took very good care not to 
 proclaim what had happened to him during that 
 night. The only indication of the burglarious 
 entry that could attract notice, was the semicir- 
 cular hole which had been cut in one of the panes 
 of glass in the library window. Mr. Ponsford did 
 not want it to be suspected that anything of such 
 an unusual character had taken place ; and there- 
 fore he smashed the pane, attributing it to accident 
 and ordering a new one to be put in. 
 
 But how was it that Stephen Ashborne, the 
 new bailiff, was up at that hour of the night, and 
 at hand to seize hold upon Tjin Gaffney when the 
 fellow penetrated into the library to procure the 
 documents from the desk ? We will explain the 
 point. It was on that same evening that Stephen 
 Ashborne had been engaged by Mr. Ponsford, who 
 had told him he might have a bed at the house 
 for that night, as the bailiff's cottage was not in 
 readiness to receive him. Stephen Ashborne went 
 to the servants' hall, where he announced the fact 
 of his having obtained the vacant situation : he 
 then intimated that he was going to sleep at the 
 Firs for that night, but that he must proceed into 
 the village to fetch up his trunk. The butler 
 gave him the key of the back door, observing that 
 as they were all early people at the Firs, they 
 might be in bed when he should come back, and 
 moreover that he need not hurry himself while he 
 had that key in his possession. Having discussed 
 a jug of ale with the good-natured butler, Stephen 
 Ashborne returned into the village ; and finding 
 the public-house parlour filled with company, he 
 sat down amongst the individuals present for the 
 purpose of gleaning whatsoever he might pick up 
 relative to the character of Squire Ponsford. The 
 company sat up till a much later hour than usual; 
 for the . incidents of the preceding evening, in 
 respect to Mrs. Trevor, continued to furnish ample 
 food for conversation. Thus it was not till past 
 midnight that Stephen Ashborne, with his trunk 
 upon his shoulder, reached the Firs ; and having 
 let himself in with the utmost caution, he was 
 about to creep up to the chamber which had been 
 allotted to him, when his ear caught some sounds 
 which at once placed him on the track of Mr. 
 Gaffney. The reader knows what followed : Ste- 
 phen Ashborne obtained possession of the docu- 
 ments which Gaffney sought ; and Squire Pons- 
 ford remained in ignorance that they had thus 
 fallen into the hands of his bailiff. 
 
 On the following day Stephen Ashborne took 
 possession of the bailiff's cottage, and at once 
 
104 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS J OK, MEMOIKS OF A IAr>Y OF QUALITY. 
 
 entered upon his duties. Those with whom he was 
 immediately brought in contact, were prepossessed 
 in his favour on the spot, and suhseqnently pro- 
 phesied amongst themselves that they should get 
 on very well with the new bailiff. 
 
 It was on the third day after Stephen Ash- 
 borne's introduction into his new office, that an in- 
 cident occurred which we must proceed to relate. 
 But we should preface it, by observing that the 
 beautiful Pamela Ponsford was very fond of 
 equestrian exercise; and when the weather was 
 fine, she either rode out with her father amidst 
 the most pleasant scenery of the neighbourhood, 
 or else she would canter about the park by her- 
 self. When indulging in this recreation, she was 
 wont to dispense with the attendance of a groom, 
 and as she was an excellent rider, she neither en- 
 tertained any apprehension on her own account, 
 nor was any fear felt by her father on her be- 
 half. 
 
 We have already said how exquisitely beau- 
 tiful she was alike in face and in form ; and we 
 have described her figure as being short and 
 slight, with an aerial fairy-like appearance. Inde- 
 scribably captivating did she seem when mounted 
 upon her favourite steed ; and then when she was 
 careering through the park, fancying herself to 
 be unobserved, the bashfulness of the timid and 
 retiring maiden was absorbed as it were in the 
 exhilaration of spirits experienced by the eques- 
 trian heroine. 
 
 It was about noon on the third day after 
 Stephen Ashborne's engagement at the Firs, that 
 as the bailiff was proceeding through a distant 
 part of the grounds, he suddenly beheld Miss 
 Ponsford borne along upon her steed at a pace 
 which at once convinced him that she had not 
 purposely urged the animal into it. In short, he 
 saw enough at a single glance to convince him 
 that the horse was running away with her, for 
 it was speeding on with a frightful rapidity. 
 Equally apparent was it that the young lady had 
 not yet lost her presence of mind— and that she 
 not merely retained her seat with an admirable 
 steadfastness, but that she also studied to guide 
 the animal in such a manner as to save herself 
 from being hurt by the projecting branches of 
 trees. The spectacle would really have been a 
 beautiful if it were not a painful — almost frightful 
 one; for there was something elegant and graceful 
 to a degree in the posture of the lovely maiden ; 
 and now, as her plumed hat flew away, her long 
 light chesnut hair, becoming all disordered, floated 
 upon the current of air which her wild careering 
 progress made. 
 
 It must not however be supposed that Stephen 
 Ashborne lingered to regale himself with the 
 spectacle of the charming creature's peril. No 
 sooner did he perceive it than he sprang forward : 
 — with the keenness of a hawk's eye he embraced 
 at a glance all the features of the place ; and he 
 dashed amidst the trees at a point where he was 
 enabled to make a short cut, for the animal itself 
 was careering on in a half-circuit, Pamela being 
 enabled to guide though not to stop him. But 
 vain was the bailiff's attempt to intercept the 
 steed, which literally seemed to fly or to skim 
 like a bird along the ground ; and as Pamela was 
 borne past him, like a leaf upon a hurricane, he 
 saw that the expression of her countenance indi- 
 cated the most heroic presence of mind. Alas, it 
 
 availed her not ! — for in a few moments the horse 
 stumbled over a broken bough of a tree ; and in 
 the twinkling of an eye Miss Ponsford was hurled 
 over his head to a distance of several yards, 
 where she remained senseless. 
 
 Stephen Ashborne was immediately on the spot, 
 and in another moment Pamela was in his arms. 
 She was not injured on the face : — this he per- 
 ceived at a glance : but she was apparently in a 
 lifeless condition. He approached his counte- 
 nance to hers to ascertain if any breath came 
 from her lips : but there was none. A flush sud- 
 denly past over his cheeks ; and the next instant 
 he fastened his lips to those of the insensible girl. 
 
 And insensible she still continued, — lying inani- 
 mate in his arms, like a beautiful statue ! Yes — 
 Oh ! how beautiful ! — and having withdrawn his 
 lips from the mouth whose sweets he had been 
 drinking in, Stephen contemplated the fair crea- 
 ture with a deep admiring earnestness. 
 
 " Oh ! how beautiful !" was the thought which 
 kept passing through his mind : and then he gave 
 a profound sigh and shook his head strangely, as 
 if to vanish some evil idea or design which had 
 arisen in his imagination. " Oh ! how beauti- 
 ful !" — and again he contemplated' that fair pale 
 face with an intentness wherein a melancholy 
 expression gradually blended itself. 
 
 All in a moment the flush again swept over his 
 countenance, and there was an equally abrupt 
 flaming' of the eyes — a fierce flashing of those • 
 handsome dark orbs; and he muttered, "Oh! 
 what a vengeance! what a vengeance! No — 
 'twere villany the most hideous ! But— -Ah ! my 
 oath"! — my mother's last words ! — her blessing or 
 her curse! God help me!" — and he averted his 
 looks from the countenance of the inanimate girl 
 whose motionless form still reclined in his arms. 
 
 There was then a strong wrestling between the 
 good and the evil genii who presided over the 
 destinies of that young man. -And he felt all the 
 influences of the struggle, — for his chest was 
 heaving with a deep agitation — he was breathing 
 quickly — the colour was coming and going in 
 rapid transitions upon his countenance. Pamela 
 now moved slightly ; and a sound — very faint — 
 scarcely audible — not quite u moan, but re- 
 sembling a sigh — wavered upon her lips. The 
 next moment Stephen Ashborne's lips were again 
 pressed to that mouth to which the vermilion 
 hue was slowly returning ; and with an almost 
 frantic violence he strained her to his breast. 
 
 " Vengeance ! — my mother !" — and with these 
 words hurriedly and fiercely muttered, he lifted 
 the maiden in his arms, and ran with her towards 
 his own cottage. 
 
 Careful to keep amongst the trees, and ever and 
 anon sweeping his looks around to assure himself 
 that no one beheld what was passing, Stephen 
 Ashborne pursued his rapid way. Pamela still 
 showed some slight indications of returning con- 
 sciousness, — but these were very faint, though 
 there was not the least reason for any serious ap- 
 prehension on her account. In the looks of him 
 who bore her there was a sinister gleaming. 
 
 The cottage was reached. Stephen had not as 
 yet hired any servant or housekeeper to conduct 
 his domestic affairs ; and thus there was no one 
 to observe his present proceedings. He opened 
 the door, and carried his fair burden into the 
 neat little habitation. 
 
THE YOUNG DT -pniSSS : OK, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 105 
 
 Half- an -hour afterwards Stephen Ashborne 
 came forth alone from the cottage : there was a 
 mingled wildness and anguish in his looks, and he 
 seemed to be suffering from a terrible inward 
 agitation as he flung his glances around. But all 
 in a moment his entire demeanour changed, as he 
 caught sight of Mr. Ponsford at a little distance. 
 The Squire was on foot ; and he was accompanied 
 by a favourite dog — for he was accustomed thus to 
 ramble about his estate. Yes — Stephen Ash- 
 borne's demeanour changed all in an instant ; and 
 the anguish which had previously appeared in the 
 expression of his countenance, gave place to a 
 smile of fierce triumph. But then he composed 
 his features, as Mr. Ponsford advanced towards 
 him. 
 
 " You are beginning to get into a regular routine 
 with your duties, Mr. Ashborne," said the Squire, 
 with the mingled patronising condescension and 
 So. 14. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 dignity of a superior who thought fit to unbend a 
 little. 
 
 " We are well met, Mr. Ponsford "" said 
 Stephen, with a jerking abruptness, and taking^ 
 no heed of the remark which had just been ad# 
 dressed to him. " I was thinking of you at the 
 very moment when you appeared in sight." j, 
 
 The Squire gazed upon Ashborne with astonish- 
 ment ; for he spoke with a degree of independ- 
 ence and familiarity which the other could by no 
 means understand. 
 
 " Yes — I was thinking of you at the moment," 
 continued Ashborne. "When I entered your 
 service the other day, I knew that the time must . 
 sooner or later come when I should desire such a 
 meeting as this :' but little could I foresee that it 
 would arrive so speedily. Yet the sooner such 
 things as these are done the better !" 
 
 "Mr. Ashborne!" exclaimed tie Squire, who 
 
106 
 
 THE YOrJNG DOCSHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LAD* OF QCALTTt. 
 
 now began to think that his bailiff's brain was 
 turned. "This language, sir, so strange — this 
 
 manner on your part so little respectful " 
 
 " Do you know who I am, Mr. Ponsford ?" ex- 
 claimed Stephen, abruptly stopping short : " can 
 you conjecture ? Is there anything in my looks 
 which reminds you of one who years ago suffered 
 
 cruelly " 
 
 " What do you mean ? who are you?" inquired 
 Ponsford, whose aspect began to grow troubled as 
 he surveyed the ctmfttenance of Stephen Ashborne. 
 " Yes ! — there is something in that look — those 
 
 large blue eyes ! But surely,' surely) you are 
 
 not " 
 
 "I will prove to you who I am!" interrupted 
 Ashborne: " I will tell you a tale to which you 
 shall listen! — a tale of bitter "suffering and per- 
 secution^-a history wherein a woman was the suf- 
 ferer, arid you, Mr. Ponsford, were the persecutor!" 
 The Squire seemed amazed and staggered for a 
 few moments; and then recovering his self- 
 posseSBiSBj he said, " There is no tale that you 
 can teil me-, Mr. Ashborne, to which I need 
 listen : and as for the species of accusation you 
 
 have dared to make against me " 
 
 " Dared, sir ? I dare tell the truth ! This 
 truth is that you are a villain — and your guilt is 
 about to experience a terrible punishment !" 
 
 "What! would you murder me?'' exclaimed 
 Ponsford, flinging a momentary glance of affright 
 at his bailiff: and then again recovering his self- 
 possession, he said, " Come here, Pompey ! come 
 here, good fellow!"— and the fierce bull-mastiff 
 was at once by his side. 
 
 Stephen Ashborne smiled contemptuously, and 
 said, " I do not seek your life. On the contrary, 
 it is my wish that you should live long — Oh! 
 very long, to appreciate my vengeance in all its 
 keenest intensity !" 
 
 " Your vengeance ?" — and now the Squire flung 
 a glance of defiance at Ashborne ; for the dog was 
 at his side, and feeling himBelf safe against per- 
 sonal violence, there was nothing else that he 
 thought he need apprehend on the part of his 
 bailiff. 
 
 "We are wasting a great deal of time," said 
 Ashborne ; " and that is a pity. I told you just 
 now that when a vengeance is to be wreaked, it 
 were better that it should be accomplished off- 
 hand." 
 
 " Mr. Ashborne, I have listened with more 
 patience than any other man in England would 
 
 bestow " 
 
 "And you will listen a little longer," was the 
 bailiff's cool reply. 
 
 " This insolence, sir ! this unpardonable imper- 
 tinence !" ejaculated the Squire, becoming red in 
 the face. 
 
 "Believe me, you have got something terrible 
 to hear !" interrupted the young man, with a look 
 and tone so impressive that Mr. Ponsford was 
 staggered, half frightened and bewildered. " But 
 first I must make you listen to the recital of your 
 own misdeeds, in order that I may prove to you 
 how thoroughly I know you, and how completely 
 justified I am in availing myself of the oppor- 
 tunity to wreak the most terrible vengeance upon 
 your head." 
 
 The Squire was now very pale : he knew not 
 what to think ; and yet he endeavoured to pre- 
 vent himself from seeming to be afraid. 
 
 "Many long years have elapsed," proceeded 
 Stephen Ashborne, " since the beautiful Adelaide 
 Clarke attracted your notice. You know where 
 she dwelt — in the pretty little farm-house on the 
 other side of yonder hill — and she was the pride 
 and solace of her widowed mother. And you 
 wooed her ; but she listened not to your suit, be- 
 cause it was not an honourable one. Nay, do not 
 interrupt me ! You know that I am speaking 
 the truth — and there are many other facts which 
 have yet to flow from my lips, and to which you 
 shall listen. Well then, you, John Ponsford, not 
 being enabled to seduce the beautiful Adelaide 
 Clarke from the path of virtue — finding your 
 dazzling overtures to be vain, and that her prin- 
 ciples were proof against all the golden tempta- 
 tions which you held out, — you, John Ponsford, 
 played the part of a treacherous villain — you 
 waylaid her — and by violence you deprived her 
 of her honour !" 
 
 Stephen Ashborne paused; and his blue eyes 
 literally flamed with living fires as he fixed then- 
 fierce regards upon Mr. Ponsford, who stood before 
 him pale as death, not daring to deny the accusa- 
 tion which was thus levelled against him. 
 
 " I am not going to dwell at unnecessary length 
 upon any details," resumed Stephen : " but let 
 me proceed to remind you how the poor widowed 
 mother's heart wds broken by the disgrace which 
 you brought upon her beloved daughter — and how 
 poverty then compelled the hapless Adelaide to 
 continue in that pathway of dishonour in which 
 your stupendous tuf pitude had placed her. Yes ! 
 — she tnfett became your mistress ; and you 
 triumphed fully in your successful iniquity !" 
 
 " I loVed her ! — heaven knows that I loved 
 ber !" murmured, or rather moaned the unhappy 
 man, now clasping his hands together as the tide 
 of recollection swept in upon his mind with an 
 almost overwhelming force. 
 
 " Loved her ?" exclaimed Ashborne scornfully : 
 "lOVed her ?" he repeated, with a terrible increase 
 of bitterness in his accents : " you never loved 
 her ! you never could have loved her ! The asser- 
 tion is outrageous ! What ? to trample under 
 foot the being whom you say you loved ! — to tear 
 her down from the pedestal of her purity into the 
 vortex of degradation and disgrace ! Oh, talk not 
 to me of love in association with such foul iniquity ! 
 But then think of all that happened afterwards, 
 and of which I am about to speak !" 
 
 "Enough, Mr. Ashborne!" interrupted the 
 Squire. " We two can no longer remain to- 
 gether " 
 
 " I tell you, sir," replied the bailiff, with a 
 strange and sinister significancy of voice and look, 
 " that you ought to be inspired by a terrible and 
 awful curiosity to learn what is to be the end 
 of all that I am now telling you." 
 
 The Squire was riveted to the spot by these 
 words so darkly ominous, so terribly mysterious ; 
 and it was with a sense of poignant agony that 
 he mentally asked himself, " In what manner 
 could he wreak such a dread vengeance ? how 
 can he deal a blow that shall overwhelm me ?" 
 
 "When you dishonoured Adelaide Clarke," 
 proceeded Stephen Ashborne, " you made her in- 
 famous in her own estimation — you destroyed all 
 that excellence of principle which had previously 
 rendered her virtuous. She had lost her good 
 name — and she grew reckless, careless, indifferent 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIES OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 107 
 
 or the proprieties of life : the first false step 
 having been taken by compulsion, she scrupled 
 not to take the second when her inclination 
 prompted. It was your damnable iniquity which 
 had blunted her conscience — your tremendous 
 crime which threw its dark shadow over her soul. 
 She listened to the tender language which Rupert 
 Prhigle breathed in her ears ; and while still pen- 
 sioned from your purse, she received him to her 
 arms as a paramour. Oh ! you can well under- 
 stand how it reyolts against my soul to be com- 
 pelled to mention these facts ! how it makes my 
 blood run oold in my veins and my flesh creep 
 upon my bones ! But still I feel the necessity of 
 proving to you that I know everything." 
 
 " And it is of your own mother that you are 
 thus speaking," said the Squire reproachfully. 
 "You at least ought to be anxious to avoid such 
 a topic ! Come — let it cease — and stifle this 
 bitter ill-will which you seem to cherish towards 
 me ! Tou cannot have yet done aught to revenge 
 yourself against me ? you are only contemplating 
 a vengeance? Tell me, is it not so ?" 
 
 " Listen," said Stephen impatiently. " You 
 compelled Eupert Pringle to fly from this neigh- 
 bourhood, and Adelaide Clarke accompanied him. 
 They went to London, and for some months dwelt 
 together in the utmost seclusion, for they dreaded 
 lest they should be followed by your horrible ven- 
 geance. At length Rupert Pringle deserted Ade- 
 laide Clarke, suddenly married another woman, 
 and fled with her, no one knew whither. Some 
 months afterwards I was bom ; and a mercy would 
 it have been for me if heaven had decreed I should 
 
 perish at my birth : for then — for then But 
 
 no matter ! It has been ordained otherwise, and 
 my destiny must be fulfilled !" 
 
 He paused for a moment, while an expression of 
 unutterable sadness appeared upon his counte- 
 nance ; and then he continued in the following 
 manner : — 
 
 " Deserted by the man whom she had loved — 
 with an infant at he* breast — having no friend 
 or relation in the world — and with all her own 
 little means completely exhausted, my mother 
 scarcely dared look her position in the face ; for 
 it seemed as if before her stood a gaunt spectre 
 pointing towards self-destruction as the only means 
 of relief. But she had not the courage to die! — or 
 at least she could have made up her mind to sui- 
 cide ; but she must have taken me with her, and 
 that would have been murder — a crime from which 
 her soul recoiled. All this she has told me. Well, 
 she determined to live on. By the kindness of 
 some neighbour, she obtained needlework; and 
 by dint of continuous toil she earned a pittance 
 which sufficed for her support. At length, when 
 I was upwards of a year old, and no longer draw- 
 ing my own nourishment from her maternal 
 bosom, my poor mother determined to make 
 larger efforts on my behalf. She applied for the 
 situation of a nursery-governess " 
 
 " Why these recapitulations ?" asked the Squire, 
 in a voice which seemed to implore Ashbome to 
 cut his narrative short. 
 
 "Because I tell you again and again," he re- 
 sponded fiercely, " that I mi'st prove to you how 
 I know everything ! Well then, as I was saying, 
 my poor mother obtained the situation of a nur- 
 sery-governess, at the same time making a re- 
 quisite provision for me with a poor but honest 
 
 family. My existence was as a matter of course 
 to be kept unknown at the establishment which 
 my poor mother entered ; and for six months she 
 led a happy and contented life — her secret was 
 unsuspected — she again felt the value of a good 
 repute — she once more appreciated the benefit of 
 honest principles. She was loved and respected 
 by the family which she had thus entered. But 
 all of a sudden her position was changed — her 
 hopes were blighted— -and you, John Ponsford, 
 were the vindictive fiend who brought so much 
 desolation upon her soul ! You called at that 
 house — you saw her — you were not generous 
 enough to pass her by as if unrecognised! No! 
 — but you revenged yourself upon the unfortu- 
 nate being for having abandoned j'ou for the sake 
 of your rival Rupert Pringle ! And so you pro- 
 claimed that she was a mother without being a 
 wife — she was disgraced and expelled almost 
 with execration from the bosoin of that family. 
 It was you who did this ! — you who having first 
 dragged her down into the vortex of dishonour, 
 afterwards made it her reproach ! — you who 
 having rendered her criminal, would not, even 
 for her soul's sake, permit her to enjoy the bene- 
 fits of reformation and atonement !" 
 
 There was another pause, during which the re- 
 gards of Stephen Ashborne were riveted with a 
 sinister fierceness upon that man who stood pale, 
 trembling, and full of anxiety before him. Yes — 
 and not only full of anxiety, but likewise under 
 the influence of that awful curiosity to which 
 Ashborne had himself ere now alluded. 
 
 " Then followed a period of deep wretchedness 
 for my mother," he presently resumed. " She 
 has explained to me all she felt — she has told me 
 all her painful struggles — and it has even seemed 
 to me tfcat the bitterness of the tears which she 
 must have shed over me, has infused itself into 
 the tears which I have shed when thinking of all 
 her wrongs ! For with what unrelenting malevo- 
 lence did you pursue her ! Need I tell you that 
 after awhile, when recovering from the fearful 
 shock which your vindictiveness occasioned her, 
 she procured another situation? Passing as a 
 widow, she became a companion to an elderly and 
 highly respectable lady. Time went on : — again 
 did she think that there might yet be happiness 
 for her in this world — and again was she disap- 
 pointed ! Yes — for her evil genius still, you were 
 the fiend prepared sooner or later to step in and 
 blight all her prospects ! You did it — and again 
 through you, was she expelled ignominiously from 
 a comfortable home. Oh, my poor mother ! She 
 has told me how she thought her heart must have 
 broken then — or that she must have perished as a 
 distracted suicide! And it was through you — 
 yes, through you, John Ponsford, that she endured 
 those worlds of mental agony ! Do you remember 
 that somewhile after that second demonstration of 
 your fiend-like malevolence, my poor mother met 
 you — and she implored and entreated that you 
 would for the future leave her unmolested ? And 
 what was your answer? Oh, cowardly wretch 
 that you are ! monster of iniquity that you must 
 have been, to trample so recklessly upon the un- 
 fortunate being who almost grovelled at your feet! 
 — you hurled the name of Rupert Pringle at 
 her, and you vowed your vengeance should be 
 eternal !" 
 
 Squire Ponsford bent down his eyes : he could 
 
108 
 
 THE YOUHG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 not meet the looks of the young man who was 
 thus flinging at him all the foulest incidents of 
 the dark dismal past, as if he were pelting him 
 with mud, every slimy morsel of which however 
 inflicted the pain of a sharp flintstone. 
 
 "Terrified at you," resumed Ashborne, "my 
 unfortunate mother fled with me to France ; and 
 there she hoped to find herself beyond the reach 
 of your venomous spite. Still representing her- 
 self as a widow, she procured another situation of 
 respectability. You passed through the town— 
 you saw her — you watched her — and again you 
 dealt the blow which was as fatal as it was cow- 
 ardly. Then for six months she was the inmate 
 of a hospital — and I was also indebted to French 
 charity for my support. After a time she returned 
 with me to England ; and it then appeared as if 
 fortune had become tired of persecuting her — or as 
 if Satan himself hesitated to place fresh weapons 
 in your hand to be used against her. She became 
 the housekeeper to an old paralysed gentleman : 
 she was enabled to send me to school — she reared 
 me tenderly — and it is with the most melting 
 feelings I now think of my poor mother's image. 
 But it is also with a fierce fire raging in my soul 
 that I look upon all her wrongs ! My narrative 
 is nearly ended. It takes a leap over years, with 
 the incidents of which you have no concern ; for 
 no devilish inspiration gnided you to the spot 
 where my poor mother, having at last retired upon 
 a small competency, spent the latter portion of her 
 existence in comparative tranquillity. But her 
 mind was not altogether at' ease ; your conduct 
 had left a strong impression" on it : she looked 
 upon you as the author of all the miseries she had 
 known in life. Six months ago she lay upon her 
 deathbed ; and when she felt her dissolution ap- 
 proaching, she revealed her entire history to me. 
 I never knew it till then : I had been brought up 
 in complete ignorance of it ! But at length, as I 
 have told you, I knew all ! My mother died — 
 and I swore to avenge her. Yes — I knelt by the 
 side of her corpse, and I took two oaths. The 
 first was that I would mourn her loss for six 
 months, during which my soul should abandon 
 itself only to the sacredness of its grief without 
 suffering a vindictive thought to interpose : but 
 the second oath was to the effect that so soon 
 as the period of mourning should be ended, I 
 would devote myself to revenge. Yes — I swore 
 that all my mother's wrongs should be brought 
 home to you in their most poignant intensity — 
 that every tear you at any time made her shed, 
 should be compensated for by a torrent from 
 your eyes — that every painful feeling you made 
 her experience, should be atoned for by placing 
 your own heart and soul upon the rack! And 
 fortune seemed to favour my design so soon as 
 the period arrived when I sought to carry it 
 into execution. I saw your advertisement for a 
 bailiff : it met my eyes on the very day that the 
 six months' mourning for the loss of my mother 
 expired. I merited good credentials a1^ the hands 
 of my late master Sir Norton Bridgeman ; and he 
 gave them. I applied for your situation — and ob- 
 tained it. That very same night became an im- 
 portant one for me !" 
 
 " What mean you ?" demanded the Squire, with 
 a look of anxiety and bewilderment : for the blue 
 eyes again flamed upon him. 
 " I mean that the documents which place my 
 
 father in your power, fell that night into my 
 hands." 
 
 " What ! was it you who instigated those vil- 
 lains," cried Ponsford, with increasing perplexity 
 
 and amazement, " to " 
 
 "Not I. But no matter! The deeds fell into 
 my hands — and I have them now. You cannot 
 suppose that I entertain any extraordinary de- 
 gree of either respect or love for my father who 
 abandoned my mother so cruelly : but at the same 
 time I must not forget that he is the author of my 
 being ; and therefore I was well enough pleased 
 to be enabled to rescue him from your power. And 
 then too, whatsoever tends to produce vexation or 
 annoyance unto yourself, is a contribution to the 
 sum of the vengeance that I have to wreak upon 
 you. But Oh! that vengeance — it is already 
 complete !" exclaimed " the young man, with a 
 sudden sinister flashing and glaring of his blue 
 eyes. "No fiend could wish it to be more horrible 
 than it is !" 
 
 " Good God ! what mean you ?" said the Squire, 
 terribly frightened. 
 
 "You ravished Adelaide Clarke — you destroyed. 
 
 her honour She was my mother " 
 
 "Heavens!" ejaculated Ponsford; ."there is 
 my daughter's horse — riderless — yonder! — with 
 the saddle and bridle on ! Some accident may 
 have occurred !" 
 
 " It did occur. Your daughter " 
 
 "Oh, my God! what of her? Do you mean 
 that she is killed ?" cried Ponsford, in an agony 
 of wild terror : " is it by showing me her mangled 
 corpse that you will wreak yonr vengeance on 
 me." 
 
 " She is not dead — she lives," replied Ashborne. 
 
 "Oh, yes ! she lives " 
 
 " Where is she ? Good God ! what does this 
 mean ? Your looks frighten me !" 
 
 " Wretched man ! I told you that my mother 
 
 should be revenged " 
 
 " But my daughter ! my daughter ! Oh, my 
 child! what have you done with my child? ^Tell 
 me, tell me! keep me not in this hideous sus- 
 pense !" 
 
 "You ravished Adelaide Clarke, I repeat " 
 
 " But my child ! Where is my daughter ?" — 
 and the unhappy father, harrowed by the most 
 horrible ideas, literally wrung his hands in sus- 
 pense, almost in despair. "My child, I say!" 
 
 "Your child? Oh, miserable man !" exclaimed 
 Ashborne, in a voice which seemed to pierce like 
 searing lightning into Ponsford's brain : " now all 
 your damnable iniquity is coming home unto you ! 
 Your daughter — she is there ! Yes-eyonder ! go 
 seek her — and think of the ravished, polluted, and 
 dishonoured Adelaide Clarke when you behold 
 your ruined Pamela grovelling at your feet !" 
 
 Such a cry of mortal agony — such a rueful, 
 awful yell as that which burst from the lips of the 
 maddened father, never before smote human ears. 
 And it was still yelling and moaning, and with 
 wildest and mournfullest cries, that he bounded 
 towards the cottage; while Stephen Ashborne, 
 darting away to a little distance, threw himself 
 upon the grass ; and burying his face in the long 
 herbage, he endeavoured to stifle the sobs of 
 mingled anguish and remorse, of despair and of 
 self-abhorrence, which were rending his very 
 soul. 
 
THE yoono duchess; ok, memoirs op a lady op quality. 
 
 109 
 
 CHAPTER XXTV. 
 
 THE WATER TANK. 
 
 Beturn we now to Thornbury Park, the Dnke of 
 Ardleigh's beautiful country-seat situated in 
 
 "PnnTrin ghftTTlHTlir p.. 
 
 It was between nine and ten o'clock in the 
 evening ; and the Duchess was seated alone in a 
 small but elegantly furnished apartment, her look 
 indicating a certain degree of anxiety and suspense 
 as if she were waiting for somebody. She was in 
 an evening toilet ; and as usual, she looked strik- 
 ingly beautiful — while if an observer had been 
 present, he would have been even more than 
 ordinarily interested in her appearance from the 
 circumstance that the colour was coming and 
 going in quick transitions upon her cheeks. A 
 lamp burnt upon the table : the casement was 
 open — but the Venetian blinds were closed ; and 
 the atmosphere of the month of May, warm with- 
 out sultriness, was perfumed by the flowers which 
 tilled several China ornaments scattered about the 
 apartment. 
 
 Presently the discreet lady's-maid Lavinia 
 made her appearance ; and without saying a word, 
 she ushered in two persons, — retiring immediately 
 afterwards, and closing the door behind her. 
 These individuals were none other than Mr. 
 Timothy Gafihey and Mr. John Peppercorn. 
 They were dressed as when we last described 
 them, in a sporting style ; and they had about 
 them an air of vulgar rakishness, — a sort of horse- 
 chaunting ease and thimble-rig asssurance — so that 
 though they might seem to be upon the Turf, it 
 would be questionable whether they occupied any 
 position higher than of jackals and hangers-on to 
 the leading blacklegs of that delectable sphere. 
 Notwithstanding that they were both possessed of 
 no ordinary degree of impudence for any occa- 
 sion, yet their hardihood was now at its very 
 height, from the fact of finding that their services 
 could be utilized by no less a person than the 
 brilliant Duchess of Ardleigh. Jack Peppercorn 
 took off his hat from an intuitive feeling of respect 
 towards the fair sex ; but Tim Gaflhey kept his 
 beaver upon his head, where it rested airily over 
 one ear ; and he bestowed upon her Grace a nod 
 of impudent familiarity, as much as to remind 
 her that they were old acquaintances. Then, with 
 the bone-handle of his stick up to his lips, he 
 looked around him ; and winking knowingly at 
 his companion, said, " Ton and me, Jack, are in 
 luck's way — yesterday in a splendid room at 
 Ardleigh House — this evening in this slap-up 
 place at Thornbury Park." 
 
 " You shut up, Tim, and let the lady talk," re- 
 plied Mr. Peppercorn. "She did'nt tell us to 
 come here to' discourse her — did you, ma'am ? I 
 mean your Grace?" 
 
 The Duchess drew herself up with the utmost 
 dignity for a few moments on perceiving that 
 Gafihey kept his hat on his head : but suddenly 
 feeling her fancy tickled by the presumptuous ap- 
 pearance of the individual, and recollecting how 
 ludicrously she had foiled him in reference to the 
 letter to her bankers, she burst out into a merry 
 laugh. 
 
 Gafihey laughed likewise ; and Jack Pepper- 
 corn followed, but in a somewhat humbler key; and 
 
 then the latter gave his friend a dig in the ribs, 
 at the same time whispering to Hm to unbonnet. 
 
 " So you understood the note which I tossed 
 across the library table to you yesterday ?" said 
 the Duchess. 
 
 "WelL my lady," answered Gaflhey, taking off 
 his hat, " if we couldn't understand the sweetest 
 bit of writing that ever fell into our hands, we 
 should be the biggest muffs in all England." 
 
 " And now begin by telling me," continued the 
 Duchess, " how on earth you came to know the 
 Duke, and what you were really doing with him 
 yesterday at Ardleigh House ?" 
 
 " If so' be your Grace don't mean to tell his 
 lordship again, and so get us into a scrape — be- 
 cause there's no telling how his lordship may some 
 
 day or another have business for us " 
 
 "Just in the same way that I do not wish his 
 Grace to know anything of my proceedings," inter- 
 rnpted the Duchess, " I do not mean to display 
 any knowledge of his. It is mere curiosity which 
 I now propose to gratify ; and I will afterwards 
 explain why I bade you come hither on the pre- 
 sent occasion." 
 
 Convinced that this assurance was genuine, Tim 
 Gaflhey proceeded to relate all the adventures in 
 which he and his companion had been concerned at 
 Southdale, so far as they regarded the Duke and 
 Ethel ; and thus the Duchess learnt those par- 
 ticulars which her husband had hitherto veiled 
 from her. 
 
 " And now, my lady," added Tim Gaflhey, " I 
 should have asked in return how the deuce it was 
 you managed to escape from the mill down in 
 Kent yonder, only our friend Bax came up to 
 London to-day, and he told us all about it. Well, 
 I can't help admiring your Grace, although you 
 did take me in most deucedly. But it was un- 
 common clever — uncommon !" and Mr. Gaflhey 
 shook his head slowly in wondering admiration of 
 the brilliant lady in whose presence he stood. 
 
 "And yesterday's business, too, was rayther 
 good, I think," said Jack Peppercorn, with a low 
 chuckling laugh. 
 
 " To be sure !" exclaimed Tim. " Only fancy, 
 Jack, you and me highly respectable horse- 
 dealers! And Mr. Bax, another of the same 
 kidney ! And the best of it was the Duke took 
 it all for gospel and thought there was no gam- 
 mon in it !" 
 
 The Duchess laughed, and then said, " Perhaps, 
 Mr. Gaflhey, you bear me a little ill-will on ac- 
 count of the affair at the banker's ; but if I now 
 offer you that very same sum of five hundred 
 guineas for a certain service which I require at 
 your hands " 
 
 " Why, we shall say that you're the best and 
 kindest as well as the handsomest lady that ever 
 was," answered Tim Gaflhey. 
 
 "Then it is a bargain," said the Duchess. 
 " Here is the money — it is all in gold :" and she 
 displayed it in a silk bag as she spoke. " Per- 
 form the duty first — and afterwards you may re- 
 turn to the little private door where you just 
 now met my maid, and she will place this bag in 
 your hands." 
 
 " Agreed," said Gaflhey. " We will take your 
 Grace's word for it. And now what's the busi- 
 ness ?" 
 
 " By making a little circuit of the grounds, so 
 fl s to keep away from the house, after you issu* 
 
110 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 forth presently by the private staircase," pro- 
 ceeded the Duchess, " you will reach an avenue 
 where there are statues. Between ten and eleven 
 o'clock a gentleman will come to walk there. Tou 
 cannot mistake him. He has light hair and a 
 moustache : he is about six or seven and twenty 
 
 years of age. You are to seize upon him 
 
 But, by the bye, can you conceal your counte- 
 nances ?" 
 
 "Look here, my lady,'' said Tim, producing 
 his black mask — an example which was imme- 
 diately followed by his friend Peppercorn. 
 
 " Good," said the Duchess. " Tou are to seize 
 upon that gentleman — you will prevent him from 
 crying out, even if he should be so inclined ; and 
 though he is strong, he will scarcely be enabled 
 to offer any serious resistance to your united 
 force. Carry him down to the end of the avenue, 
 and fling him into the tank which you will see 
 at the bottom, of the steps. Stop ! ~I do not 
 mean that you are to dp him an injury — and for 
 heaven's sake do not suppose that I have the 
 slightest design upon his life ! In fact, why 
 should I not tell you the truth ? He is an im- 
 pertinent coxcomb, wlio is persecuting me with 
 his addresses : but I hate and detest him — and I 
 wish him to be taught a lesson which he will not 
 very speedily forget." 
 
 " I twig, my ]ady," said Tim ; " and if I was 
 married, it's just the sort of sperrit I should like 
 to see Mrs. Gaffney show. Any further orders, 
 ma'am ?" 
 
 " I have something more, to say," pursued the 
 Duchess j "and this relates rather to the tact with 
 which you are to manage the proceeding. I do 
 not want the gentleman to suppose that it is done 
 by my bidding, or that I am a party to it. Can 
 you not pretend that you have some designs upon 
 the house — that he is interfering with them by his 
 presence — and that you therefore adopt this sum- 
 mary means of teaching him not to meddle with 
 gentlemen of your decided character?" 
 
 " Leave all that to us, my lady," replied Tim 
 Gaffney ; " and if we don't do the job in a style 
 to please your Grace, then don't never think of 
 employing us no more." 
 
 " I rely upon you," rejoined the Duchess. 
 
 She opened the door — peeped out — and perceiv-* 
 ing that all was clear on the private landing, she 
 bade the two men hastily descend the staircase. 
 This they did, Lavinia being at the bottom in 
 readiness to open the door for them, 
 
 A little later a phaeton and. pair stopped in a 
 secluded lane which skirted one side'of the park ; 
 and Sir Abel Kingston alighting, assisted Mr. 
 Casey senior to descend from the seat which he had 
 occupied next to hint. A domestic remained in 
 charge of the equipage, while the Baronet and the 
 usurer proceeded a little further along the lane. 
 There, at a convenient spot, Sir Abel leapt over 
 the palings, and assisted Mr. Casey to follow 
 him. 
 
 " Now I tell you what it is," said the usurer 
 with a more than usual hardness and coldness of 
 voice; "this is the last time I suffer myself to be 
 put out of my way, or to be put off in any shape 
 or fashion. If I don't see that everything is right 
 and straightforward to-night " 
 
 "But it will be so!" ejaculated the Baronet. 
 "Believe me, it will ! I have got the appoint- 
 ment — most likely I shall remain here altogether 
 
 to-night — a happy man, Mr. Casey ! a very happy 
 man !" 
 
 " Well, I hope for your sake as well as mine,'' 
 interjected the usurer, " that it will be so. I told 
 you just now I had a serious loss to-day — no less 
 than five thousand — never mind in what quarter 
 — and I'm pressed for money." 
 
 " Come, come— that's rather too good, friend 
 Casey," said the B.aronet. "But I can assure 
 you that you will presently see on what an admi- 
 rable footing I now stand with the young Duchess. 
 Success and triumph are within my reach. It is 
 an appointment of the tenderest nature — I shall 
 not see you again to-night, Casey — so you will 
 have to return in my phaeton, according to our 
 previous agreement. She adores me, Casey !" 
 
 "Well, then, the sooner you get some money 
 out of her the better ; .for I tell you very plainly 
 that if you don't settle my claim in the course of 
 a few days, I shall be compelled to take disagree- 
 able proceedings. People don't mince matters 
 with me," he added, his soul being full of bitter- 
 ness at the recollection of the treatment he had 
 experienced at the hands of Mr. Warren in the 
 afternoon of this very same day. 
 
 " Well, you need not go on threatening, friend 
 Casey," rejoined the Baronet ; " for it will be all 
 right presently, Tou shall see the beauteous 
 creature folded in my arms ; and unless any un- 
 toward circumstance shall have transpired in the 
 interval, you will see me lead her away towards 
 the mansion, where she will bless me with the 
 tenderest favours that a loving woman can pos- 
 sibly bestow. But here we are in the neighbour- 
 hood of the avenue. And now hide yourself 
 amidst the evergreens, as you did on the former 
 
 occasion and hush ! not a movement when 
 
 once you are in your hiding-place ! Tou must 
 not so much as make a leaf rustle — or I shall be 
 lost !" 
 
 The usurer muttered something as he stationed 
 himself in the spot indicated by the Baronet ; and 
 then the unprincipled Sir Abel passed out into the 
 avenue, along which he flung" a rapid glance. 
 
 The moon was shining brightly : all was still 
 
 and no Duchess was to be seen. 
 
 "It is early yet," thought Sir Abel, looking at 
 his watch ; "it is only just half-past ten o'clock, 
 and she said between ten and eleven. She will 
 certainly come ! she could not possibly disappoint 
 me! — for by heaven, this is, so to speak, the 
 crisis of my fate !" 
 
 He walked along to a little distance, every now 
 and then casting a look towards the mansion ; but 
 still the Duchess did not make her appearance. 
 Again he looked at his watch ; and he was just 
 on the point of returning to retrace his steps, when 
 there was a rustling amongst the trees, and in 
 the twinkling of an eye he was pounced upon 
 by a couple of men with black masks upon their 
 faces. 
 
 " Villains !" ejaculated Sir Abel Kingston, 
 making a desperate effort to release himself. 
 
 " Hold your tongue !" responded Gaffney, in a 
 disguised voice. " We'll teach you what it is to 
 be on the look-out to spoil the work of gentlemen 
 In the house-breaking line !" 
 
 Mr. Casey, concealed amidst the evergreens, 
 heard the sounds of scuffling and also of voices 
 speaking at a ^hort distance : he peeped forth, and 
 beheld the Baronet (n the grasp of the two men 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Ill 
 
 who had pounced upon him. He was astonished 
 and affrighted, not knowing whether it might not 
 immediately become his turn to fall into the hands 
 of ill-disposed fellows lurking about. In h very 
 few moments he heard a tremendous splash in the 
 water at the bottom of the avenue ; and ejaculat- 
 ing to himself, " It is a trick on the part of the 
 Duchess," he began to beat a retreat as rapidly as 
 his infirm limbs would permit. 
 
 In a few minutes he reached the fence, over 
 which he clambered by the help of the servant 
 who remained in charge of the phaeton, and who 
 inquired whether they were to stop for his master ? 
 
 "Yes — no — well — a few minutes perhaps — I 
 really can't say," faltered out the usurer, who was 
 utterly bewildered and enraged at what had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 "You know, sir," said the coachman, " Sir 
 Abel's orders were, that if he did not return with 
 you, I was not to wait for him, but that I was to 
 drive you away as quick as possible." 
 
 " Well then, do just as you think fit," answered 
 the usurer, climbing up into the vehicle : and then 
 he muttered to himself, "They could scarcely 
 have drowned him? — it was no doubt intended 
 only to give him a good ducking for his impudence 
 and presumption ? at all events I may as well get 
 away from the premises as soon as possible. I 
 wish I had never come here at all." 
 
 And as the equipage drove away, Mr. Casey 
 thought to himself, " It is all up with the Baronet 
 now. Perhaps the Duke has found out the in- 
 tended intrigue ? At all events he can have no 
 further hope in that quarter ; and now I must get 
 
 my money in the best way that I can or else 
 
 I'll punish him — by heaven I'll punish him !" 
 
 Matters had not however progressed precisely as 
 Mr. Casey snpposed, or as the reader himself has 
 doubtless been imagining. Tim Gaffney and Jack 
 Peppercorn hurried Sir Abel Kingston along to- 
 wards the tank at the bottom of the steps : but 
 there the Baronet exerting all his power, made 
 one more tremendous effort to release himself from 
 the fellows who had him in their grasp — and he 
 succeeded. Then quick as lightning the tables 
 were turned ; and still inspired with a strength 
 which even astonished himself, Sir Abel Kingston 
 hurled Gaffney and Peppercorn forward with a 
 violence which sent them headlong into the middle 
 of the ornamental water. It was the work of 
 an instant ; and such was the shnultaneousness 
 of the double blow which was thus struck, that 
 the sound seemed exactly as if only one body 
 had been hurled into the tank. 
 
 It was at this moment that the usurer Casey 
 darted away from his place of 'Concealment, in 
 the manner already described. Tim Gaffney had 
 dropped his stick upon the marble steps in the 
 swift brief final struggle wherein Sir Abel got 
 the better of his opponents : the Baronet now 
 picked up that stick as the readiest means of de-> 
 fence which presented itself in case of being again 
 attacked by the two men ; but he found that in- 
 stead of having a light dandy cane in his hand, 
 it was in reality a loaded life-preserver ; and thus 
 he was suddenly furnished with a really formi- 
 dable weapon. Indeed he had much reason to be 
 thankful that Tim Gaffney had not an opportunity 
 of using it ; for if one good blow were dealt 
 therewith upon a human skull, it would scarcely 
 be necessary to inflict a second. 
 
 " Now, villains,'' exclaimed Sir Abel, flourish- 
 ing the life-preserver, " dare to approach me and 
 I will show you no mercy !" 
 
 " The game's up, Jack !" said Tim Gaffney, in 
 a sulky manner to his companion, as they both 
 rose out of the water, drenched and dripping all 
 over. " If there's a disturbance and we're caught, 
 no one would ever believe our tale, and the 
 Duchess would swear it's all a lie. We'd better 
 hook it at once." 
 
 These observations did not reach the ear of Sir 
 Abel Kingston, for the two fellows were flounder- 
 ing through the water towards the bank on the 
 side which was opposite to where they had been 
 thrown in. Jack Peppercorn completely agreed 
 with the prudential course suggested by his com- 
 rade ; and away therefore they sped through the 
 grounds, giving vent tp bitter imprecations on 
 their ill luck, as they called it, and laying upon 
 each other the fault of their discomfiture. 
 
 But let us return to Sir Abel Kingston. The 
 instant he found that he was master of the field 
 and that the enemy were flying precipitately, he 
 turned upon his heel ; and springing up the steps, 
 looked all along the avenue to see if the young 
 Duchess were approaching. But he beheld no 
 one ; and with the deep concentrated emphasis of 
 rage, he muttered to himself, " By heaven, if I 
 thought that she had played me this trick, I 
 should be mad with fury ! Ah, Casey ! I -had 
 forgotten him !" 
 
 Sir Abel Kingston sped towards the spot where 
 he had left the usurer, in order to explain how he 
 had come off victorious : but Mr. Casey was no 
 longer there. The Baronet called first in a low 
 voice — then in a little louder tone — but there was 
 still no answer ; and then Kingston penetrated 
 amidst the evergreens. Casey was not to be»- 
 found. 
 
 "Well, no matter," thought Sir Abel to him- 
 self. " I must see the Duchess immediately. If 
 she will not come to me I will go to her. But 
 that she comes not, is almost <t proof that she 
 played me this trick. By heaven ! if I were 
 
 convinced of it Ah ! to be made a fool of by 
 
 a woman ! But we shall see." 
 
 He now advanced towards the mansion ; he had 
 no fear of meeting the Duke of Ardleigh, for he 
 knew that his Grace was in London : he had 
 seen him only a few minutes before he himself had 
 started from the metropolis. But it was now 
 eleven o'clock ; and would he not be compromis- 
 ing the Duchess by calling at that late hour ? 
 And supposing that she had not played him a 
 trick, but that the men were really burglars in- 
 tending to break into the place, was it not quite 
 possible that some unforeseen circumstance had 
 prevented her Grace from coming out to keep the 
 appointment? 
 
 Such were the reflections which swept rapidly 
 through the mind of Sir Abel Kingston ; and he 
 began to think whether he had not better strive 
 to seek an interview with the Duchess by some 
 method that should not stand a chance of compro- 
 mising her to the knowledge of the entire house- 
 hold. What if by any means he could manage 
 to fall in with one of her handmaidens and send a 
 message to her Grace ? Yes — this would be the 
 better plan, thought Kingston. He accordingly 
 passed along towards the side of the premises, 
 with the intention of proceeding round the rear oi 
 
112 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 the building, — when a door opened, and a female 
 voice said in a low quick tone, " Is it you ?" 
 
 " Yes — it's me," answered Kingston, speaking 
 also in a whisper and disguising his voice : and 
 we should add that this private door was so 
 shad«d by two large trees as to envelope the spot 
 in the completest darkness. 
 
 "Well, step in a moment," said the female 
 voice, " and I will give you the money." 
 
 "All right!" rejoined the Baronet, still in a 
 whisper. 
 
 "Where's your friend?" 
 
 " Oh, just outside here. He'll wait." 
 
 The female, now retreating two or three paces, 
 opened an inner green baize door, and the light of 
 a lamp burning in a vestibule, at once revealed 
 the two persons to each other. Sir Abel imme- 
 diately recognised Lavinia, the principal lady's- 
 maid of the young Duchess ; while the abigail 
 started with mingled amazement and affright on 
 beholding the Baronet. 
 
 " Where is your mistress ?" he demanded, in a 
 stern tone. 
 
 Lavinia, who knew for what purpose the men 
 had been hired, perceived at a glance that the 
 Baronet's clothes were quite dry ; and she there- 
 fore at once comprehended that he must have by 
 some means escaped the intended humiliation and 
 chastisement. She was bewildered how to act 
 and what answers to give in reference to her mis- 
 tress. 
 
 " Tell me, young woman," said the Baronet, 
 with even fierceness in his looks, — " tell me where 
 I can find the Duchess ? I am determined to see 
 her ; and as you evidently know something of her 
 proceedings, you may also be enabled to judge 
 whether it be worth while to save her from 
 being compromised by my presence herj. For if 
 you do not bring us together at once, I shall go 
 and institute a search in every room throughout 
 the premises." - 
 
 " Will you remain here a little while, Sir 
 Abel," said Lavinia, glancing towards the stair- 
 case ; " and 1 will go and see " 
 
 " Oh, then, your mistress is somewhere in this 
 part of the building?" — and he also glanced up 
 at the staircase. " You have given me a hint 
 how to commence my search. Lead the way at 
 once — or you will be the cause of disturbance, 
 and scandal, and exposure." 
 
 Lavinia raised her hand in a bewildered 
 manner to her brow ; but the next moment she 
 reflected that she had better comply with the 
 mandate so imperiously given ; and she accord- 
 ingly led the way up the staircase. Opening a 
 door on the landing above, she was on the point 
 of announcing Sir Abel Kingston, when he pushed 
 her aside, and abruptly entering the apartment, 
 closed the door in the abigail's face. The young 
 Duchess started up from the chair in which she 
 was seated ; and the affrighted discomposure of 
 her countenance furnished corroborative evidence 
 to establish in his mind the conviction that she 
 was the authoress of a trick to mortify and 
 humiliate him. Crossing his arms over his chest, 
 he confronted her, saying in a voice that was 
 hoarse with rage, " You quail before me, Mary ?" 
 
 "And why should I quail before you?" she 
 asked, at once regaining some portion of her lost 
 self-possession. " Because I would not keep the 
 appointment I gave yon — my mother-in-law being 
 
 so ill — and Mrs. Quinlan" — thus alluding to the 
 female keeper of the insane dowager — " beseech- 
 ing me to remain and use my influence " 
 
 "All this is false, Mary," interrupted King- 
 ston. " I know everything. You hired two 
 ruffians " 
 
 " Ah !" murmured the Duchess, turning very 
 pale; for she thought to herself, "They have 
 betrayed me — or else how could he have come to 
 the private door? how have known that Lavinia 
 was waiting there?" 
 
 " Yes— I know all," he continued. " I baffled 
 and defeated the two ruffians — I hurled them 
 into the water. You see, Mary, how completely 
 the tables have turned : and instead of sneaking 
 away in a condition of miserable discomfiture, I 
 appear before you as the hero of a victory — if in- 
 deed it were not a wretched mockery thus to speak 
 of such a trumpery business." 
 
 The Duches3 sank down upon the seat whence 
 she had risen ; and for a, few moments she re- 
 flected profoundly: then suddenly starting up 
 again, she looked the Baronet full in the face, 
 saying, " You must hate me very much after the 
 discovery of my conduct ?" , 
 
 " It certainly was not calculated to inspire 
 much affection. But still, Mary, if you will 
 suffer me to seal my assurance of forgiveness on 
 those beauteous lips of your's " 
 
 " One word !" she interrupted him. " You do 
 not love me, Abel — you cannot possibly love me ? 
 You must be bitterly vindictive against me ? Be- 
 sides, you know that my own sentiments towards 
 yourself are altered — that I repent the species of 
 encouragement which I recently gave you: — and 
 that I deplore the weakness of my conduct in 
 suffering you to perceive at that time that you 
 had made any impression upon my heart." ^ 
 
 " And to what is all this to lead ?" demanded 
 the Baronet, with a renewed air of sternness. 
 
 " I was going on to observe that inasmuch as 
 you cannot possibly love me, and as you know 
 that I am fast recovering from the infatuation 
 which for awhile I experienced towards yourself, 
 you cannot now What shall I say? — you can- 
 not now Well then, in plain terms, yen cannot 
 
 court my favours. You have some other motive 
 in pursuing — aye, I will even say in persecuting 
 me. Let there be frankness and candour between 
 us. What is that motive ? You cannot be weak 
 enough to covet the mere eclat of being pointed 
 out as the lover of the Duchess of Ardleigh ? No :' 
 because as an honourable man you would hold 
 yourself bound to keep the amour secret. Well 
 then, again I ask what may be your motive? 
 Permit me to guess. You wish to obtain a hold 
 
 upon me for certain reasons Ah !" she abruptly 
 
 ejaculated, " why do you not appeal to my friend- 
 ship instead of using the means of intimidation 
 and coercion ?" 
 
 " Since you have undertaken the part of guess- 
 ing and conjecturing," said Kingston, " I must 
 leave you to pursue the same course. Go on — 
 and when you have finished I will answer you." 
 
 " Let me suppose, then," continued the Duchess, 
 " that you are in difficulties — that a sum of money 
 is necessary to set you straight — that your need is 
 pressing " 
 
 " Well, and what if this were the case ?" 
 
 " I would do for you as a friend," answered the 
 Duchess boldly, for she saw that the game was 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 113 
 
 i .. >» ^^j"^- . -. -""<? *^'-*= S5 lJ<Jt4!jj x t- " i^o r^-L^ v -V' 
 
 
 now once more in her own hands, — " I would do 
 for you as a friend what I never would consent to 
 accomplish nnder the influence of intimidation. 
 Now then, do you understand me ? My conjec- 
 tures are all accurate — are they not?" 
 
 " I have not denied them," responded King- 
 ston. 
 
 "Name the sum that you require," said the 
 Duchess impressively, " and tell me the hour at 
 which it must be forthcoming to-morrow." 
 
 The Baronet hesitated for a moment ; and then 
 he said, "Twenty thousand pounds, at four 
 o'clock to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 " Good," said the Duchess : " you shall have 
 the amount. A cheque shall be left at your 
 lodgings in Spring Gardens at four o'clock 
 punctually." 
 
 " And now we part as friends ?" said Sir Abel ; 
 and with that readiness in the art of hypocrisy 
 wherein he was so profoundly skilled, he threw 
 No. 15. — Thk Young Duchess. 
 
 a sudden blandness and suavity into the expres- 
 sion of his countenance. 
 
 "Yes — we part as friends," replied the Duchess, 
 as she suffered him to carry her hand to his lips. 
 
 Sir Abel Kingston then took bis departure ; and 
 making the best of his way through the grounds, 
 he reached the spot where he had left his phaeton. 
 But the equipage was not to be seen. 
 
 "Ah, well," thought Sir Abel to himself, 
 " Casey supposes that I am locked in the arms of 
 love and beauty, and he has returned to London." 
 
 Thornbury Park was within a short distance of 
 Beaconsfield, and to that town a walk of three 
 quarters of an hour.conducted the Baronet. There 
 he obtained a bed for the night ; and on the fol- 
 lowing morning he procured a chaise to take him 
 to London. On arriving in the metropolis, he 
 called in Hatton Garden: but he was informed 
 that Mr. Casey had gone out ; so that he merely 
 left a verbal message to the effect that he would 
 
114 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 call again in the evening or in the forenoon of the 
 morrow. 
 
 Let us now return to the Duchess. At an early 
 hour in the morning she ordered the travelling- 
 carriage, and proceeded to the metropolis. On 
 reaching Ardleigh House, she learnt that her 
 husband was at home ; and in a very few minutes 
 the husband and wife were alone together. 
 
 " Has anything happened, Mary," asked the 
 Duke, " that you return thus abruptly from 
 Thornbury?" 
 
 " Nothing very particular," replied the Duchess. 
 "All the family are well. But I have something 
 
 to ask — something to propose " 
 
 " Speak, Mary : what is it that you require ? or 
 what can I do for you ?" 
 
 "You know how horrified and shocked you were 
 at the idea of signing that paper which I begged 
 you to give me the other day — — " 
 
 "You need not now refer to it," interrupted the 
 young Duke, somewhat bitterly. " So many- 
 grave and serious things hive taken place, Mary, 
 and my character and conduct must stand out in 
 a relief of such flagrant boldness, that I cannot in 
 justice suppose you ought to keep any terms with 
 me. Neither have I the faintest shadow of a right 
 to dictate, or to complain — no, not even to ad- 
 vise " 
 
 " Do not continue in this strain, Herbert," Said 
 the Duchess; "or ydu will make me think that 
 you are rinding subterfuges in advance in order 
 to refuse the favour I am about to ask at your 
 hands." 
 
 "No — you must 'not think this. What can 1 
 do for you, Mary ?" 
 
 " In one word I want twenty thousand pounds." 
 The Duke gave a siight start; and then he 
 said, " But what has this to do with the dbc'u- 
 ment you made me sign the other day ?" 
 
 " Simply that when you give me the cheque for 
 twenty thousand pounds, I will destroy that docu- 
 ment before your eyes." 
 
 " Oh ! but the mere fact of your having at any 
 time demanded such a paper and that I should 
 have signed it, will remain in our memories — and 
 both of us must ever feel that it was something 
 to shock — to repel — to inspire ineffable dis- 
 gust " 
 
 " I know full well," said the Duchess, " that 
 everything is completely at an end between you 
 and me, save and except so far as appearances 
 before the world are concerned. But yet, if you 
 only knew why I wish to give you back that 
 paper, and why I need this large sum of 
 
 money " 
 
 " Tell me then, Mary. Yott have a right to 
 look upon me as a friend, even if I am no more 
 worthy of being regarded as your husband. Be- 
 sides, I owe you every consideration ! It is I who 
 have sinned against you — and not you against 
 me." 
 
 " Well then, listen to me, Herbert," resumed 
 the Duchess. " I have advanced very close to the 
 edge of a precipice — but I have not-fallen over : I 
 have played as it were with a" serpent, but it has 
 not stung me : I abandoned myself to a passion, 
 but it has not carried me on until I was irre- 
 coverably merged in the whirlpool of destruction. 
 No, Herbert — I do hot want to become depraved 
 and lose iny own self-respect, if I can avoid it. 
 But I have become so far compromised with a 
 
 certain person that a sum of money is neces- 
 sary " 
 
 " Why, such a man must be a scoundrel !" 
 ejaculated the Duke. " I presume that he has 
 got some letters of your's which he threatens to 
 show in a word, you are in his power ?" 
 
 " I am in his power," rejoined the Duchess, 
 "though still innocent and unpolluted. But do 
 not question me farther. Suffice it for you 
 to know that by the aid of the sum which I 
 demand, I can rescue myself from his influence ; 
 and then, Herbert — then I offer to destroy that 
 document in order that I may be the less in- 
 dependent of my husband — the less free to yield 
 to any future temptation that may present it- 
 self." 
 
 " You shall have the money, Mary,'' said the 
 Cuke, with some degree of fervour in his tone. 
 " It is not for me to bid you remain virtuous ; and 
 yet It know not how it is, but I am not quite so 
 indifferent; as to think of the possibility of your 
 straying without experiencing feelings of torture, 
 remorse^ jealousy — I scarcely know what " 
 
 " Ah! it Is always the same," said the Duchess ; 
 "the husbanjl may sin as much as he likes — but 
 he does not like the wife to sin also !" 
 
 " This is a reproach, Mary — but a well-merited 
 one," said the Duke. " And now I will give 
 you the cheque. But perhaps you will not require 
 to present it until late this afternoon or to-morrow 
 morning, as it is for a very large sum, and I shall 
 perhaps have to go and make some little arrange- 
 ment with the hankers." 
 
 "I can promise you," answered the Duchess, 
 " that it . shall not be placed in the hand of the 
 individual for whoin it is intended until four 
 6'clock this afternoon. And now here is the docu- 
 ment which I extorted from you the other day. 
 By its destruction I shall fortify myself in the 
 resolves which I have made to continue in that 
 path which cannot be associated with reproach or 
 blame." 
 
 With these words the young Duchess tore 
 the paper into fragments ; and then lighting a 
 taper, she watched the pieces burning in the grate 
 until they became reduced to tinder. 
 
 The ducal husband and wife then separated — 
 the former to go to the City and inquire whether 
 Mr. Warren had seen anything of Ethel — the 
 Duchess to her boudoir, where she enclosed the 
 cheque in an envelope, addressing it in a feigned 
 hand to Sir Abel Kingston. 
 
 " At a quarter to four o'clock," she said to her 
 confidante Lavinia, " take a cab and go and leave 
 this letter at the lodgings of Sir Abel Kingston in 
 Spring Gardens." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A bachelor's apartments. 
 
 It was between one and two o'clock in the after- 
 noon, and Sir Abel was seated at a table on which 
 luncheon was spread. He occupied the drawing-- 
 room floor of a house in Spring Gardens. The 
 apartments were handsomely furnished ; and the ' 
 disorder which prevailed in the sitting-room was 
 precisely that Which seemed to be appropriate to 
 the dwelling of a bachelor, especially when that 
 
THE TOUSQ DUCHESS j OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 115 
 
 bachelor was a Captain in the Guards. There 
 were swords and foils, rifles and boxing-gloves, 
 pistols and fishing-rods, cigar boxes and meer- 
 schaum pipes, scattered about the place. One of 
 the folding-doors leading into the bed-room was 
 half open; and a glance thrown into the inner 
 apartment, would discern the articles of raiment, 
 alike of uniform and plain clothes, lying about. The 
 toilet-table was indicative of the extravagance of 
 its owner, it being covered with bottles containing 
 the most expensive scents and perfumes which 
 can be purchased at the celebrated emporium in 
 Bond Street. 
 
 At the table in the front room, as we have said, 
 Sir Abel Kingston was seated. He now wore a 
 superb flowered silk dressing-gown, confined at 
 the waist by a cord with massive tassels ; and on 
 his head was a smoking cap in the shape of a 
 Turkish fez, and decorated with a long tassel. He 
 was certainly a very handsome man: that cap 
 set off his light hair which curled naturally ; and 
 the dressing-gown, although loose, seemed to de- 
 fine rather than to conceal the proportions of his 
 slender form. 
 
 He was in the midst of his luncheon, when the 
 door of the apartment was thrown open, and the 
 man-servant announced Mr. Sylvester Casey. 
 for various reasons it suited the Baronet's pur- 
 pose to treat Sylvester with every appearance of 
 a familiar friendship ; and such was therefore the 
 demeanour with which he greeted him on the pre- 
 sent occasion. 
 
 " Well, old fellow," exclaimed Sylvester, " so 
 you've been up to the Garden this morning ?•— but 
 the governor wasn't at home. What the deuce is 
 the caper now?" 
 
 "Why, is anything the matter?" asked the 
 Baronet. 
 
 "AH I can say is, the governor is furious 
 against you. I can't make it out — he didn't 
 come home till very late last night — in fact I 
 should think it was pretty near two o'clock before 
 he returned " 
 
 " Well, and what did he say 7" asked Sir Abel. 
 
 " Oh, I was sitting up for him. The brandy 
 was good, and the cigars were good ; and though 
 I was all by myself, I didn't mind sitting up an 
 extra hour or two. Wei], at last in comes the 
 governor ; and precious savage he was !" 
 
 " Where could he have been ?" asked the Baro- 
 net, as if quite ignorant upon the point. 
 
 "Ah, that I don't know! — and what's more, 
 he didn't say. He's a rum file, that governor of 
 mine ! But I almost thought he must have been 
 with you ; for he began talking about you the 
 very instant he entered the house — and then 
 again this morning at breakfast.". 
 
 " But you have not told me what he said," in- 
 terjected the Baronet. 
 
 " Oh ! he threatened to do his worst — he de- 
 clared you had humbugged and deceived him — 
 that you had regularly made a fool of him — that 
 he would stand it no longer— and that as it was 
 clear you didn't mean to pay him what you owed, 
 and hadn't the means, he should punish you for 
 getting his money out of him. You know 1 pro- 
 mised you, old fellow, to throw in a word with my 
 father whenever I had the opportunity: so I 
 began saying all I could in yoxir favour." 
 
 " And what was that ?" asked Sir Abel, who. 
 was now somewhat in a thoughtful mood. 
 
 " Why, that you was a regular brick — a jolly 
 good fellow — could sing a capital song could 
 handle your fives and play a pretty bout with the 
 sticks — that you was a stunner at driving a four- 
 in-hand— ^and as for a pretty gal, there wasn't a 
 better judge of beauty or a greater favourite 
 amongst the fair sex than you. And then I went 
 on to say that if you had run through all your 
 property and sold off all your horses except your 
 chargers and your pan' — and if you was up to 
 your very eyes in debt, why, it wasn't your fault 
 — you wasn't the less a brick and a trump for all 
 that." 
 
 " And this you call speaking a good word for 
 me to your father?" ejaculated Kingston, with 
 some degree of impatience. " Why, it was the 
 very sort of argument to make him all the more 
 bitter against me !" 
 
 " Ab, but that wasn't all," interjected Sylvester. 
 " I told him that as you hadn't a penny in the 
 world, it was no use his throwing good money 
 after bad by arresting you or putting you in 
 prison or anything of that sort — for that of course 
 you would go through the Court and snap your 
 fingers at all your creditors " 
 
 "And what did he say then?" inquired Sir 
 Abel. 
 
 " Why, he only made a peculiar grimace, just 
 as the old file sometimes does when he means 
 something that he keeps quiet and dark to him- 
 self. And sp, as I didn't exactly like his humour, 
 I thought I'd just drive round and let you know. 
 Besides," added Sylvester, fidgetting with his 
 watch chain, " if you haven't used that little 
 acceptance of a thousand which I sent you t'other 
 morning, you may just as well give it me back; 
 for if yon must go to smash, old fellow, there's 
 no use in lugging your friends into the mess along 
 with you." 
 
 "Ah, the little acceptance— Well, I really 
 forgot all about it. But now you mention it " 
 
 "Oh, well fheq, you haven't done anything 
 with it?" cried Sylvester, rubbing his hands 
 gleefully. " The fact is, you know, old fellow, I 
 wasn't aware the other day when I sent you the 
 
 acceptance how devilishly involved you were 
 
 I thought your difficulties were only temporary 
 
 But after all I heard the governor say when 
 
 he came home last night, and then again this 
 morning at breakfast " 
 
 " Oh, as for that acceptance,'' interrupted the 
 Baronet, " I remember now ! I paid it away to 
 
 my jeweller He was pressing me. But as for 
 
 your father, I hope he won't he foolish enough to 
 do anything hastily ; for the fact is I shall have 
 plenty of money in an hour or two. At about 
 four o'clock I expect a handsome sum." 
 
 " Oh, well then, I daresay it will be all right 
 enough!" exclaimed Sylvester; "But several 
 things have made the governor precious savage. 
 In the first place he lost five thousand pounds 
 bang — that was yesterday ; but he didn't tell me 
 how it happened — though I rather fancy it must 
 have been by some speculation on the Stock Ex- 
 change, for it was after he had been to Warren 
 bis broker that he, came home so deuced queer. 
 And then, too, there's that marriage affair " 
 
 "What do you mean?" inquired Sir Abel, 
 somewhat eagerly. 
 
 "Why, I told you about Launcelot Osborne 
 and my sister ? Everything seemed to .be settled 
 
116 
 
 THE YOUNG DUOHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 — but for the last two or three days the business 
 has begun to wear another aspect. Launcelot has 
 not been to the house— and Selina won't go to 
 see Lord and Lady Trentham. We can't under- 
 stand it. The governor is in a rage about it " 
 
 "Perhaps your sister and Mr. Osborne have 
 quarrelled ?" remarked the Baronet. 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! Selina never quarrels with 
 anybody. Besides, that was the very question 
 the governor asked her, and she said positively 
 there was nothing of the sort. But Osborne's 
 conduct is the most extraordinary : he keeps 
 
 away — he doesn't say why — he sends no note 
 
 However, my father has got the Trenthains en- 
 tirely in his power, and he's not the sort of covey 
 to let them fly away from their engagement. So, 
 you see, this business has made him savage ; and 
 then there's the loss of the five thousand that I 
 told you about— and now the governor looks as 
 if he really meant to wreak all his anger upon 
 you." 
 
 " But I left a message up in Hatton Garden, 
 to say that I would call again this evening, or 
 else to-morrow in the forenoon." 
 
 " I know you did. But the governor has not 
 been in since you called. I daresay it will stop 
 him from doing anything when he does receive 
 the message: but I thought I'd just drive round 
 and tell you how matters stood ; and — and also 
 see about the little acceptance; for. I wouldn't 
 have the governor know I'd given it to you for 
 all the world !" 
 
 At this moment, before Sir Abel Kingston had 
 time to make any reply, the door was again 
 thrown open, and the Baronet's man-servant an- 
 nounced Captain Cauliflower and Mr. Tiffany. 
 Both were officers in the Coldstream Guards, — 
 the former being about one-and-twenty years of 
 age, and the latter eighteen. They were dressed 
 in plain clothes, and they lounged into the room 
 with an air of such fashionable languor that it 
 seemed as if they were utterly incapable of any 
 strong effort of the physical energies. 
 
 " " How are you, old fellah f " said Captain 
 Cauliflower, just giving a couple of fingers to his 
 friend the Baronet. 
 
 " Well, old fellaw," said Lieutenant Tiffany; 
 presenting his forefinger : and then both the 
 gentlemen stared at Sylvester Casey as if they 
 took him for some phenomenon such as they had 
 never seen before, or for a curiosity not usually 
 encountered beyond the precincts of the Zoolo- 
 gical Gardens, where it may be found amongst 
 the monkey species. 
 
 " Ah, I forgot ! you don't know each other !" 
 said the Baronet. " This is my friend Casey- 
 
 Mr. Sylvester Casey, son of the eminent banker 
 — or merchant — or something of the sort." 
 
 Captain Cauliflower bowed stiffly, and Mr. 
 Tiffany giggled a little at the name of Casey — 
 and then he said, " Beg pawdon, Mistaw What's- 
 
 your-name But is that your trap standing in 
 
 • the street — haw ?" 
 
 " I rather think it is," replied : Sylvester, 
 nothing disconcerted by the demeanour of the 
 two officers. " A stunning pair of prads they are 
 too — regular out-an'-outers." 
 
 " Mr. Casey is a good judge of horseflesh," re- 
 remarked the Baronet. 
 
 " Well, I rather think I know a thing or two in 
 that way i" and Sylvester winked his eye with a 
 
 vulgar familiarity. " I introduce myself, gentle- 
 men, as a bit of a sporting character — not much 
 — a little eh, Kingston ?" 
 
 " I say, old fellaw," said Tiffany, turning to the 
 Baronet, " is your friend strong with the foil or 
 single-stick — haw ?" 
 
 " I should like to know what he is not strong 
 at," answered Sir Abel, who at once perceived 
 that there was a prospect of some diversion. 
 
 " Come, MistaW What's-your-name," said Tif- 
 fany, taking up a couple of single-sticks ; " and 
 let's see who's the bettaw at this game." 
 
 " By Jove, I'm rather out of practice," stam- 
 mered Sylvester, who had never fenced in his 
 life. " Indeed, it's a long time since I had a foil 
 or single-stick in my hand — and one devilish soon 
 forgets " 
 
 " Oh, I'm only a muff at it myself, my dear 
 fellaw," interrupted Tiffany. " You are sure to 
 give me a good thrashing — haw !" 
 
 " Well, I've no objection to try," said Sylvester, 
 encouraged by this assurance ; and he thought 
 that by making himself agreeable, he should form 
 an intimacy with these two friends of Sir Abel 
 Kingston. 
 
 The . table was wheeled away from the middle 
 of the room ; and the combatants stationed them- 
 selves in front of each other. The sticks were 
 crossed ; and Mr. Tiffany actually seemed to be 
 so ignorant of the proceeding as scarcely to know 
 how to take the proper attitude ; — : whereas there 
 was Sylvester, with his arms and limbs extended 
 like a spread eagle, gathering assurance and har- 
 dihood from the apparent inefficiency of his oppo- 
 nent. Sylvester accordingly quickly began the 
 attack, and dealt Tiffany a pretty smart blow 
 upon the arm — whereat the young officer cried 
 out in his affected voice, " Oh, my dear fellaw ! 
 that hurts !" 
 
 " Have you had enough of it ?" demanded Syl- 
 vester, with triumphant looks. 
 
 "Well, almost. 'Pon honour, yon are too 
 strong for me ! But come, just one more bout — 
 haw. You are a fine fellaw and good fenceaw, 
 Mistaw What's-your-name." 
 
 And now, while he was yet speaking, it 
 seemed as if Mr. Tiffany became rapidly inspired 
 with new life. He took the proper attitude — he 
 bent his body back — his chest seemed to expand 
 — a fire gleamed in his eye — and his single stick 
 began to rain rapid blows about the person of 
 Sylvester. Now here and now there — now a tap 
 on the sword arm, then a thwack upon the left 
 leg — then over the shoulder — and next across the 
 ribs — so rapid were the proofs of Mr. Tiffany's 
 proficiency. Sylvester was astounded. In a very 
 few moments he was smarting all over as the blows 
 rained mercilessly upon him — until he suddenly 
 threw down his single-stick, exclaiming, " There's 
 enough of it ! Why; you're quite at home at this 
 game !" 
 
 " Oh, not a bit, my dear fellaw," said Tiffany 
 coolly. " Only one gains by practice, you know 
 —haw." 
 
 Sylvester sat down quite exhausted ; while Sir 
 Abel, scarcely able to restrain his laughter, rang 
 the bell to order in more bottled stout and cherry 
 brandy. Sylvester refreshed himself therewith; 
 and Tiffany patted him on the back, telling him 
 he was " a devilish good fellaw, and that he should 
 like to see him some day at the mess-dinnaw." 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS j OR, MKMOIKS OB' A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 117 
 
 " I see yon've got the gloves there, old fellah," 
 said Captain Cauliflower, as if quite in a careless 
 way. 
 
 " Yes," replied Sir Abel. " But I'm out of sorts 
 to-day — I couldn't put them on " 
 
 "Of course you can play with the gloves, 
 Mistah Casey ?" said the Captain. 
 
 "Oh, Casey? he's up to everything," inter- 
 jected the Baronet 
 
 " Devilish fine fellah !" observed Captain Cauli- 
 flower approvingly. "Come, let's have a turn 
 with the gloves. I don't profess to be strong at 
 this game — I don't think I ever had the gloves 
 on more than twice in my life — and therefore you 
 must be stronger than me." 
 
 Sylvester had swallowed a pint of stout and a 
 couple of glasses of cherry brandy ; Mr. Tiffany 
 was still patting bim on the back ; and he was 
 evidently gaining ground rapidly in the opinion 
 of his new friends. At least so he thought ; and 
 under this conviction he stood up with a manly 
 air and put on the gloves, mentally consoling 
 himself with the reflection that " they were such 
 nice soft things, they could not possibly hurt even 
 a child !" 
 
 Captain Cauliflower also put on the gloves, ex- 
 pressing the while his conviction " that he was a 
 great fool to do so, for that he was sure to get the 
 worst of it — that he didn't know what the devil 
 possessed him, but he supposed it was that he'd 
 got excited by the pleasure of forming Mr. Casey's 
 acquaintance — and so he supposed he must go in 
 and take the chance of it." 
 
 And he did go in ; but a very little chance it 
 was that he had to take of it — for the truth was 
 that Captain Cauliflower was quite as proficient 
 with the gloves as Lieutenant Tiffany was with 
 the single-stick : and thus, after having permitted 
 Sylvester Casey to give him two or three taps, he 
 set to work and began to polish off his opponent 
 in the most pleasant style possible. Now it was 
 a blow in the right eye — then a blow flat upon 
 the month which made Sylvester's teeth chatter — 
 then it was in the left eye — then a couple of rapid 
 buffets upon the cheeks, so that Sylvester kept 
 dancing and skipping about to his own infinite 
 discomfort, but to the huge delight of the others 
 present, until Captain Cauliflower dealt him one 
 tremendous side-blow, or in other parlance a 
 sound box on the ear which sent him sprawling 
 in the grate. 
 
 Bruised in body and mortified in mind — with 
 one eye nearly bunged up, and a cheek swollen as 
 if it were puffed out with a wen — Sylvester picked 
 himself up : he tried to smile, but the attempt 
 was somewhat a faint one. The Baronet saw that 
 tie was hurt, humiliated, and more than half in- 
 clined to be angry ; and as we have before said, 
 it suited Sir Abel's purpose to keep on friendly 
 terms with him. He therefore hastened to take 
 him by the hand, exclaiming, " You did uncom 
 monly well, Casey. Tiffany will remember the 
 mocks he got from your stick — and Cauliflower 
 aas no particular reason to triumph. Besides, I 
 jrill say this, my dear fellow, that whenever 
 ".here's any fun going on, you're always the first to 
 snter into it. But, I say, by the bye, why shouldn't 
 you three fellows dine "here with me this evening ?" 
 
 " Oh, with pleasure ! I'll be one of you !" Syl- 
 vester hastened to ejaculate ; and now his swollen 
 lountenance began to brighten up. 
 
 " What say you, Cauliflower ? will you come ? 
 I'll give you some turtle " 
 
 " Ah ! my dear fellah," said the Captain, caress- 
 ing his whiskers, and speaking with an affected 
 drawl ; " turtle's a great institution — a very great 
 institution." 
 
 " And a neck of venison," added Sir Abel. 
 
 " Venison's great, my dear fellaw," interjected 
 Tiffany, — " very great. We are your men for the 
 dinnaw. Let it be at eight sharp ; and d — n the 
 fellaw that keeps it waiting." 
 
 " Mind and have French beans, my dear fellah," 
 suggested Captain Cauliflower. " There's plenty 
 in Covent Garden." 
 
 " I should think so," cried Casey. " Why, it's 
 the middle of May — quite late for peas and 
 French beans — that is to say, in decent society." 
 
 " But I say, old fellah," continued Cauliflower, 
 now giving a long lazy yawn ; " don't forget the 
 currant jelly. Not that I ever touch it before the 
 fifth plate of venison ; but still it ought to be on 
 the table. Ah ! by the way, shall we bring up 
 the Colonel with us ?" 
 
 "What, Bulder?" asked the Baronet, with a 
 slight grimace. " But isn't he rather a bit of a 
 bore with his Indian stories ?" 
 
 " Well, the fact is," drawled out Tiffany, now 
 catching the yawning infection from his friend the 
 Captain, " Bulder is .rather well up in snakes and 
 crocodiles." 
 
 "And every one who has been abroad," said 
 the Baronet, " seems tc think he has a right to 
 lie about snakes and wild beasts, and all that sort 
 of thing. However, bring up the Colonel if you 
 like. I'll take care there shall be enough — and 
 I'll have some champagne put in ice." 
 
 These matters being arranged to the satisfaction, 
 of all present, Mr. Sylvester Casey took his de- 
 parture in his splendid phaeton, to speed to Hattoh. 
 Garden and tell his mother and sister of the fine 
 new acquaintances he had formed, and likewise to 
 bathe his face with vinegar ; while on the other 
 hand Captain Cauliflower and Mr. Tiffany strolled 
 up Regent Street, to look at the women, and to 
 eat ices at some fashionable resort where that 
 cooling comestible was dispensed to perfection. 
 
 Sir Abel Kingston, when left to himself, sum- 
 moned his man-servant and gave orders for the 
 dinner. He then looked at his watch : it was a 
 quarter to four o'clock — the time was approaching 
 when the promised cheque was to find its way 
 into his hands. He began calculating what he 
 should do with the amount ; and he speedily found 
 that if he settled all his most pressing liabilities, 
 he would still leave some debts unpaid. But then, 
 could he not again have recourse to the purse of 
 the Duchess ? He thought so. He might have 
 asked for thirty thousand on the preceding even- 
 ing : but he had deemed it more prudent at the 
 time to be comparatively moderate in his de- 
 mands. 
 
 A little before four o'clock a cab drove up to 
 the entrance of Spring Gardens in Cockspur Street ; 
 and Lavinia alighted. But at that very same 
 instant another cab halted on the spot; and out 
 sprang the Duke of Ardleigh. Lavinia was trans- 
 fixed with dismay on thus being confronted with 
 her ducal master ; and he, taking advantage of her 
 confusion, at once said, " You have something to 
 deliver close by?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord — that is to say, your Grace— — " 
 
118 
 
 THE VOUNQ DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 " Give it to me. No harm shall befall you, nor 
 your mistress either. Ah ! by the bye, were you 
 to receive anything in return ? — any letters to 
 take back?" 
 
 " Nothing, my lord," answered Lavinia. " I 
 was simply to deliver this letter, and then return 
 to Ardleigh House." 
 
 " Very good," said the Duke. " I will deliver 
 it. You can return home — tell her Grace that 
 you met me, and that I am doing that, which 
 is best under existing circumstances. And now 
 go, Lavinia — and be not frightened either on your 
 own account or on that of your mistress." 
 
 The abigail entered the cab which had brought 
 her thither ; and it immediately drove away. The 
 Duke of Ardleigh then examined the address, and 
 opened the letter which had just fallen into his 
 hands. It contained nothing but the cheque : the 
 address was penned in a feigned writing ; and thus 
 it became at once evident to the Duke that his 
 wife was studiously avoiding to compromise her- 
 self ;n respect to correspondence. 
 
 " Well and good," he thought to himself. "I 
 must have been wrong in the idea 1 formed this 
 morning, and she can have no letters to get back 
 from the Baronet. Lavinia was not told to wait 
 for anything. No ! — it is as clear as possible there 
 are not any letters l'\ 
 
 The Duke consigned the cheque to his pocket, 
 and proceeded to knock at the door of the house 
 where Kingston lodged. The reader may now 
 imagine with wliat a sudden surprise an.d conster- 
 nation the Baronet was seized^ when the door pf 
 his sitting-apartment was thrown open and his 
 man-servant announced the Duke of Ardleigh ! 
 
 A glance showed Sir Abel that it was no acci- 
 dental visit which the Duke was paying him — but 
 that there was a settled purpose evidenced in the 
 severe composure of his looks : but quickly regain-, 
 ing his self-possession, he smiled, and got his, 
 countenance ready as it were to assume any look 
 that might he suitable to the scene that was to 
 take place. 
 
 " Sir Abel Kingston, are we completely alone ?" 
 demanded the young nobleman, as he flung 
 his eyes around the room, and then plunged his 
 regards into the chamber adjoining. 
 
 "Yes, my lord — completely alone," responded 
 
 the Baronet. " But wiry " 
 
 " Why am I here? Did you not 6xpect a mes- 
 senger from the Duchess of Ardleigh ? and who 
 better fitted to execute her missions than her own 
 husband ?" 
 
 The Baronet was confounded : he knew not 
 what answer to give ; for he thought to himself 
 that the Duke must be confident of wielding some 
 strong power over him in order to act with this 
 degree of bold independence. But then the next 
 moment Sir Abel said to himself, "Perhaps he 
 means to discard the Duchess — to expose the 
 whole thing — and hence his demeanour towards 
 me!" 
 
 " You dp not speak, Sir Abel,'^ proceeded Her- 
 bert. 
 
 " It is for you, my lord, to explain yourself," 
 was the response 
 
 " Very good ! You expected a messenger from 
 the Duchess ; and I am come in that capacity. 
 You further expected to receive the sum of twenty 
 thousand pounds — but you shall not receive a 
 shilling." 
 
 " I am to understand,, therefore, that your 
 Grace intends, to adopt the extremest measures ? 
 Well, I cannot help it. Your wife is innocent as 
 far as I am concerned ; but that, I daresay, no 
 earthly power could make you believe." 
 
 " On the contrary, I do, believe it — and it is in 
 this belief that J have undertaken to become the 
 champion of her cause. I know all. She has 
 been weak, but not guilty ; and I will protect her 
 against extortioners and calumniators." 
 
 "Do you mean, my lord," demanded Kingston, 
 fiercely, " to apply those terms to me ?" 
 .» " What does your own conscience tell you ?" 
 
 " Conscience ?" echoed the Baronet, with a 
 sneer. " But if you mean to hush up your wife's 
 reputation, you must purchase my silence, my 
 lord. Now I h.ave, said it, and that's, the Enghsh 
 of the whole affair." 
 
 " My wife's reputation is not injured," responded 
 Herbert haughtily. 
 
 " No — not yet : but it may be," answered the 
 Baronet menacingly. 
 
 "Not by such a tongue as your's. No one 
 would put faith in the statements of a man who 
 at the same time proclaimed himself to be a 
 scoundrel." 
 
 "Scoundrel?" ejaculated Kingston, colouring 
 up to the very hair of his head — and all the more 
 so because he felt how completely he deserved the 
 appellation. 
 
 "Why, yes — scoundrel," proceeded the Duke, 
 with an. air of the loftiest scorn and contenopt. 
 " What tale could you tell against the Duchess, 
 except that she gave you some little encourage- 
 ment " 
 
 " Ah, my lord, — you little think," interrupted 
 the Baronet, " to what extent the good name of 
 the Duchess of Ardleigh is in my power !" 
 
 " You dare not pretend that any written corre- 
 spondence has compromised the Dnchess ?" — and 
 the Dune's looks were riveted searchingly upon 
 the Baronet. 
 
 "No. But if you wish to learn a great secret, 
 my lordj and; if you wish me to tell you how my 
 silence can be cheaply purchased, at the sum o$ 
 
 twenty thousand pounds " 
 
 " Proceed. Why do you stop short ?" 
 " Because, if I tell your Grace something that 
 I know, you may possibly turn round upon your 
 wife." 
 
 " Nothing that you can do — nothing that you 
 can tell me, will have that effect," answered the 
 Duke. 
 
 " Very well, then. Go, my lord, to a certain 
 street which I can name in £ambeth — there in- 
 quire at a certain house of no very good repute 
 
 and you will find that on the evening of, th,e 8th, 
 a certain lady was in that place. That lady was 
 the Duchess of Ardleigh." 
 
 The Duke was for a moment staggered ; and 
 he regained not his self-possessjon ere the Baronet 
 perceived his emotion. 
 
 V. And will you have the assurance," demanded 
 Herbert, "to tell me that the Duchess went to 
 that house to meet you ?" 
 
 " No. I do not pretend that such was the 
 case. I simply tell your lordship that she was 
 there. Go and inquire for yourself." 
 
 "1 will. And now let us understand each 
 other. If I discover a fact the. secrecy of which 
 is worth purchasing, you shall have your money". 
 
THE TOtTNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIES OT A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 119 
 
 But if, on the other hand, I find that I am de- 
 ceived, I shall simply return to tell you that if 
 you dare utter a whisper injurious to the charac- 
 ter of the Duchess of Ardleigh, I will find means 
 to punish you." 
 
 " I am perfectly Willing to let the matter stand 
 upon that basis," rejoined Kingston. 
 
 The Duke then took his departure : but instead 
 of driving over to the, abode of Mrs. Grills in 
 Lambeth, he returned at once to Ardlejfeh House. 
 Lavinia had already arrived, and had quite be- 
 wildered and astonished her mistress by teU^ 
 ing her how she had been followed and. inter- 
 cepted by the Duke. 
 
 The Duchess was in her boudoir, pondering 
 in perplexity the intelligence which, she had re- 
 ceived, when the Duke made his appearance. 
 
 " My dear Mary," he at once said, "I told you 
 this morning that I would be your friend. — and I 
 am acting in that capacity." 
 
 " What! to interfere in my affairs?" exclaimed 
 the Duchess, " after everything that has taken 
 place between us !". 
 
 " You interfered in mine, when you went dis- 
 guised in male attire into Kent " 
 
 " And then I afterwards served you, by the ad- 
 vice I gave you when I told you to go to South- 
 dale." 
 
 " And I have now penetrated into your affairs, 
 merely with a view of serving you likewise. Tou 
 told me that you required the sum of twenty 
 thousand pounds to silence a villain who had you 
 in his power. The amount seemed enormous ; 
 and it also occurred to me that if you once 
 yielded to such an extortioner, you would be con- 
 stantly laying yourself open to demands that 
 would impoverish mi/ purse and harass yov. into 
 the very grave itself. I saw that you would not 
 enter into details with me : I was resolved to take 
 stealthy measures in order to serve you. Tou 
 told me that at four o'clock the cheque should 
 reach the hand of the person, for whom it Was 
 destined. I watched and followed Lavinia— she 
 has told you how I obtained the letter from 
 her " 
 
 " And now that yon have gone so far with your 
 interference, Herbert," said the Duchess, " be 
 pleased to tell me with what result ?" 
 
 " Tell me, Mary, first of all, whether the villain 
 spoke truly when he said that on tie evening of 
 the 8th of this month " 
 
 "Ah, I know what you mean! I know what he 
 has told you !" — and the countenance of the 
 Duchess became scarlet. " Go to that house if 
 you will — yon will find that I was carried off by 
 mistake. It was a young man of the name of 
 Casey who had hired some ruffians for the abduc- 
 tion of the actress Mademoiselle Imogene " 
 
 " And how came you, Mary, to be in a position 
 to be carried off instead of the actress ?" 
 
 The Duchess averted her countenance for a mo- 
 ment : then again turning towards her husband, 
 she said in a low deep voice, " My child is there. 
 I went secretly and in disguise to the house — I 
 " had a thick veil over my countenance — and I was 
 taken for the actress. Now I have told you every- 
 thing." 
 
 The Duke took his wife's hand ; and looking 
 her in the faee, he said, " It is because you be- 
 haved generously towards me in reference to 
 Ethel, that I have endeavoured to behave gene- 
 
 rously towards you. Tou know me too well to 
 suppose it was for the sake of these twenty thou- 
 sand pounds. And then too, Mary, I was touched 
 by your conduct in destroying that paper this 
 morning, as well as by those assurances, evidently 
 so Sincere and so genuine, that you were deter- 
 mined to resist temptation and remain in the path 
 of virtue. Believe me, therefore, I have acted 
 only as your friend. And now, if you think that 
 circumstances will not enable you to set this vil- 
 lain Kingston it defian ce , . " 
 
 " If he were to proclaim that he saw me at such 
 a house " 
 
 " Jjfot a solil in the world would believe him !" 
 ejaculated the Duke vehemently. " It would be 
 too monstrous — too preposterous 1 — indeed the 
 statement would be deemed. too outrageous for 
 even the wildest romance ! Unless indeed — and 
 here it is that the point is important, — unless. in- 
 deed, I repeat, there be any corroborative evi- 
 dence. " 
 
 "If the matter were investigated," said the 
 Duchess, — " if the woman of the house were con- 
 fronted with me -Oh ! I fear that the villain 
 
 Kingston may, prove, bitterly vindictive and ter- 
 ribly persevering ! He may follow up the clue I 
 — he already knows that I was carried off in mis- 
 take for Mademoiselle Imogene— he may proceed 
 to inquire how I happened to be in or near Made- 
 moiselle Imogene's abode at all and then — and 
 
 then he may be led on to fathom the dreadful 
 secret which I would sooner die than have known 
 — the secret of my dishonour before I was a 
 wife;!" , . . 
 
 "If you dread all this, Mary," interjected, the 
 young Duke, " I must go and give the villain 
 Kingston the amount which you have promised. 
 But I fear that by thus yielding in this instance 
 we shall only lay ourselves open to future extor- ^ 
 tionate demands. The same circumstance which 
 now places you in his power, will avail for his . 
 benefit in a. month — a year — or.pBve years in- 
 deed periodically and frequently ! But I will 
 think over the matter for, an hour or two — there is 
 no particular hurry — and in one way or another 
 the business shall be settled this evening." 
 
 " I am glad that you have taken it up, Her- 
 bert," said the Duchess. " Tou are indeed acting 
 a most friendly part ! Ah, if we were only to 
 confide a little more in each other ! : — But no ! that 
 is impossible !" — and she turned aside. 
 
 The Duke lingered for a moment, as if lie were 
 about to say something : but he probably altered 
 his mind — for he somewhat abruptly quitted the 
 boudoir. 
 
 . It was about nine o'clock when the Duke of 
 Ardleigh returned to Spring Gardens. After due 
 deliberation he had made up his mind to bestow 
 the cheque upon Sir Abel Kingston. On knock- 
 ing at the door, he was informed by the servant 
 who answered the summons that Sir Abel had 
 company. 
 
 " But perhaps your Grace would walk up ?" 
 added the domestic. " There's only Colonel 
 Bulder, Captain Cauliflower, Mr. Tiffany, and 
 young Mr. Casey." 
 
 The Duke had been on the point of declining 
 to walk up, when the sudden mention of this last 
 name made him alter his resolve. He wanted to 
 form Sylvester's acquaintance, for the purpose of 
 ascertaining whether he knew, as well as the Ba- 
 
120 
 
 TnE YOUNG duchess; on, MEMOIRS OtF A LADY Of QUALITY. 
 
 ronet, that it was the Duchess who had been car- 
 ried off instead of Imogen. 
 
 " I will walk up-stairs," said Herbert, yielding 
 to the impulse of his second thought. 
 
 In a few moments the servant announced the 
 Duke of Ardleigh, in the room where Sir Abel 
 Kingston was seated with his four guests at table. 
 They were now at the dessert ; and choice wines 
 sparkled on the board. The Duke entered with 
 an easy well-bred air of friendliness; and the 
 Baronet chuckled inwardly as he thought to him- 
 self, " I have won ! — he is convinced ! he is come 
 to give me the cheque !" 
 
 The three military officers had already some 
 slight acquaintance with the young nobleman; 
 but Sylvester Casey was now introduced to him 
 for the first time — and he could scarcely believe in 
 bis own good fortune in finding himself in the 
 company of a Duke. What an event to relate in 
 Hatton Garden ! what a thing for his mother to 
 blazon abroad amongst all her acquaintances ! 
 
 "Pray do not let me interrupt the conver- 
 sation," said the Duke, taking a seat at the table. 
 " I believe the Colonel was just on the point of 
 commencing a narrative when I entered the 
 room." 
 
 "Well, my lord," replied Colonel Bulder, — a 
 short stout man, with a sallow complexion and a 
 very husky voice ; "I was just going to tell our 
 friends here of something that happened of a very 
 extraordinary character. It was when I was 
 quartered at Canterbury last" year, just after my 
 return from India. If I hadn't seen it with my 
 own eyes, I certainly shouldn't have believed it : 
 but I happened to be going through the Cathedral 
 yard at the time, and it was exactly at the hour 
 of noon for the reason which you will presently 
 see. Tou must know that some masons were re- 
 pairing one of the upper windows of the Oxford 
 or clock-tower of the Cathedral ; and one of the 
 poor fellows happened to let go his hold and 
 tumble. Well, you are all of you shuddering to 
 think of the height he fell and the smash that he 
 came down with t But nothing of the sort ! For, 
 lo and behold,he was caught by the waistband of 
 his breeches by the large hand of the clock, which 
 was pointing straight up at the moment, it being 
 as I tell you the hour of noon." 
 
 "And you saw this, Colonel, with your own 
 eyes?" asked Captain Cauliflower, with a very 
 serious air, though he kicked Tiffany under the 
 table — and this young gentleman was ready to 
 burst with laughter. 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Bulder. " I saw it with 
 my own eyes — and I stopped in the Cathedral 
 yard till the poor man was lowered down. He 
 had sustained no injury beyond a very severe 
 fright ; but of this he presently recovered. Seve- 
 ral people who had collected on the spot made a 
 subscription for him. It amounted • to '• eight 
 
 pounds nine and fourpence 1 remember as well 
 
 as possible." 
 
 "Poor fellah!" said Captain Cauliflower, fill- 
 ing his glass, and looking slyly across the table 
 at Tiffany. 
 
 " Haw ! poor fellaw !" observed this young 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Well, Colonel," said Mr. Sylvester Casey, 
 who had drunk a great deal of wine and was 
 placing himself on very familiar terms with all pre- 
 sent ; " I was a witness of something that was 
 
 likewise very remarkable — though not such a 
 regular stunner as that." 
 
 "A what, sir?" — and Bulder surveyed Casey 
 with an awful dignity. 
 
 " Well, then, a buster," said Sylvester. " I'll 
 tell you what it was, my Lord Duke and gentle- 
 men. There was a cousin of mine who was a 
 terrible wild fellow, and always up to all manner 
 of sprees and capers. Well, one day, what should 
 he do but hang on to one of the sweeps of a mill 
 just as the miller was going to set it in motion. 
 Of course the miller didn't see Joe — which was my 
 cousin's, name ; and round went the mill. Joe 
 clung fast while being carried up into the air : but 
 the instant the sweep came near the ground again, 
 he jumped off. Well, what do you think ? poor 
 fellow, his brain was turned ! " 
 
 "And no wonder, sir," interjected Colonel 
 Bulder, who though very fond of telling remark- 
 able tales, never believed them when they were 
 narrated by others. 
 
 " Oh, but that's not all," ejaculated Sylvester : 
 " the wonderful part's to come. Joe was put into 
 a lunatic asylum ; and there he stopped for two 
 years without showing the slightest signs of reco- 
 very. Well, at last the lunacy doctor, or what- 
 ever you call him he was a ripping clever 
 
 fellow, mind— one of your regular out-and-outers 
 
 ani so he hit upon a method to put Tom's 
 
 brain " 
 
 " I thought it was Joe's ?" interjected Colonel 
 Bulder, somewhat triumphantly, as he fancied he 
 had caught his new friend tripping. 
 
 " Did I say Tom ? Why, of course you must 
 have known I meant Joe's, since I said Joe at 
 first. However, as I was going on to state, this 
 stunner of a lunacy doctor hit upon his plan ; 
 and that was to tie Joe to the sweep of the mill 
 again, and send him round just the contrairy 
 way-^ — " 
 
 " Ah ! so as to turn his brain right again ?" eja- 
 culated Bulder, with the most indignant sarcasm. 
 
 " Just so," replied Sylvester coolly ; " and it 
 had the effect too — for I can tell you that Jack 
 — Joe I mean, has been as right and tight in his 
 senses ever since as I myself r .haye." 
 
 " Haw ! very extraordinary ("'Baid Mr. Tiffany. 
 "But are you sure, my dear fellaw, you don't 
 draw a rather long bow?" 
 
 Sylvester turned very red indeed — and then 
 thought it best to burst out into a loud laugh. 
 
 This laugh was still ringing through the room, 
 when the man-servant entered ; and it was evi- 
 dent that there was a certain expression of dis- 
 may and consternation on his countenance. In- 
 deed, he seemed to be struggling for the power of 
 speech. 
 
 " Well, what is it ?" demanded his master, with 
 a sudden start of uneasiness. 
 
 I should like to speak to you alone, if you 
 sir," stammered out the domestic. " I 
 think you'd better come, sir." 
 
 " Who are those on the landing ?" demanded 
 Colonel Bulder. 
 
 At this moment a sergeant of police made his 
 appearance, followed by a constable. Every one 
 at the table st acted up : but the countenance of 
 Sir Abel Kingston was pale as death. 
 
 " I am sorry, gentlemen, to interrupt your har- 
 mony," said the sergeant : " but the truth is, Sir 
 Abel, you're wanted." 
 
THE YOUJIG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 121 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 "Wanted?" said Captain Cauliflower. " What 
 a strange word ! What on earth does the fellah 
 mean ?" 
 
 " What does the fellaw want ?" a3ked Tiffany. 
 
 "Ah! what does he mean?" growled Bulder, 
 in his hoarse voice. " There must be some 
 mistake." 
 
 " No mistake, gentlemen," responded the ser- 
 geant. " Sir Abel knows very well what it is, and 
 I daresay Mr. Casey was very sorry " 
 
 " Casey ?" cried Sylvester. " My name's 
 Casey." 
 
 "Maybe, sir. And yet you are nothing like 
 the gentleman that took out the warrant for this 
 forgery business." 
 
 " Forgery ?" echoed several voices. 
 
 " Sergeant, let us step outside together," said 
 Sir Abel, who trembled like an aspen leaf. " Per- 
 haps we can settle it." 
 
 " There's no way of settling it, sir, except by 
 the process of the law." 
 
 No. 16. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 " My lord," whispered Kingston to the Duke, 
 " what is your decision ? The cheque " 
 
 " I don't understand you, sir," responded Ard- 
 leigh, turning away with haughty coolness. 
 
 "Not understand me ?" ejaculated Sir Abel, lite- 
 rally becoming aghast ; and he felt as if the gulf 
 of black destruction were indeed opening under his 
 very feet. 
 
 ''Come, sir — come," said the sergeant, now 
 speaking sternly ; and assisted by his constable, 
 he hurried the Baronet, who was utterly over- 
 whelmed, out of the room. 
 
 " Poor fellah !" said Captain Cauliflower. 
 
 " Poor fellaw !" added Mr. Tiffany. 
 
 And then the party broke up : but as Sylvester 
 was about to separate from the rest at the front 
 door, the Duke of Ardleigh laid his hand upon 
 his arm, saying with ah easy half-familiar air, 
 " Perhaps you will walk with me a little way, 
 Mr. Casey, and tell me something more about 
 this unfortunate business." 
 
122 
 
 hie youno duchess; or, memoirs of a lady op qdAmtt. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI.; 
 
 HENDON COUKT. 
 
 We mast now return to Ethel Trevor, at her 
 humble little lodging in Camden Town. The 
 visit of Count Mandeville left her to a series of 
 varied and somewhat bewildering reflections. She 
 could not for the life of her comprehend how he 
 had discovered so much in reference to her affairs, 
 especially on those points wherein they frere con- 
 nected with the Duke of Ardleigfi and the stock- 
 broker Warren. It however seemed only too 
 evident to the unhappy lady that Warren had' 
 infamously plundered her of the money which she 
 had looked upon as a source of a future income for 
 herself and her child. Perhaps, she would have so 
 far departed from the resolve she had formed in 
 reference to the Duke, as to communicate to his 
 Grace Warren's villany and the position in which 
 he had left her : but she believed the tale which 
 the Count had toiS her to the effect that Herbert 
 had gone for a threfe years' tour on the Continent 
 and that no letters would reach him except through 
 his wife. For what seemed more probable than ' 
 that the Duke should go abroad after all that had 
 happened? — and could she possibly doubt the 
 statement of a gentleman who seemed so well in- j 
 formed on every subject as Couirt Mandeville? 
 
 Amidst all the painful topics of her thoughts, j 
 there was one slight consolation : namely, that - 
 she should noj; be left qiiite destitute, but that on [ 
 the morrow she should receive the two hundred ' 
 pounds which the C/oiint was to bring her. Provi- 
 dence did hot appear tp have altogether abandoned ] 
 her. Was hot this son of the old friend of her i 
 father sent by, heaven jit that most critical junc- j 
 ture to save her from, downright despair ? Yes ! j 
 — in this light did Mandeville's visit seeih to the | 
 contemplation of the ingenuous Ethel ; and as she ' 
 strained her beloved boy to her boSbirij she fer- 
 vently thanked her Maker for having permitted a 
 single ray of solace to steal in upon her thrdiigh 
 the dark clouds of her hapless destiny. 
 
 Ethel began to reflect seriously upon the course 
 which she ought to pursue. Her position was 
 utterly changed from what she had previously 
 conceived it to be. She had intended to seek 
 some pretty but economical seclusion, where she 
 might live in modest but respectable comfort upon 
 the income arising from the money in the Funds. 
 But now that hope was destroyed — that prospect 
 was dispelled ! She was constrained to look upon 
 herself as one about to begin the world again with 
 about a couple of hundred pounds of capital and 
 a few trinkets of some value. What could she 
 do? To become a governess would necessitate 
 separation from her child ; and this idea was hor- 
 rible. To embark her little funds in some business 
 was out of the question, for she was totally igno- 
 rant of trading matters. To hire a house, furnish 
 it and let it in lodgings, was the next project 
 which she revolved in her mind : but she presently 
 remembered that the landlady of her abode, when 
 in a garrulous mood, had in the morning of that 
 very; day expatiated on the venturous speculation 
 of embarking all one's little capital in a lodging- 
 house, and she had also mentioned how many 
 persons she herself had known who after dragging 
 themselves through no end of troubles and priva- 
 
 tions had been sold up by their landlords in the 
 long run. 
 
 Poor Ethel was bewildered by all the successive 
 j projects which she envisaged only to reject ; and 
 | she was sitting in a very desponding mood, when 
 [ the landlady entered and said, " Here is to-day's 
 ' paper, ma'am. I thought probably you might 
 like to look over it." 
 
 Ethel; thanked her, and the woman withdrew. 
 The journal lay for some few minutes untouched 
 upon the table, when Ethel suddenly recollected 
 that its advertising columns contained announce- 
 ments of all sorts : and who could tell but that 
 there might be something which would suit even 
 her peculiar position? With this idea she ran 
 her eyes over the advertisements ; and sure 
 enough J her regards presently settled upon some- 
 thing whict she fancied might suit. Indeed so 
 completely did the requirements set forth in that 
 advertisement appear to meet the peculiarity of 
 the young lady's position, that a thrill of hope 
 ' shot through her heart ; and again she murmured 
 ■ to herself, with a feeling of grateful enthusiasm, 
 " No !— heaven has not abandoned me !" 
 Sheretired to rest with a heart that was some- 
 i what lighter than but an hour back she could 
 have dared hope it could be ; and she arose at an 
 early hour in the morning. She had ascertained, 
 j by inquiry of the landlady, that she might pay 
 the visit which she had to make and return to her 
 lodging again by the hour of noon, with the 
 greatest facility. She dressed herself ill lier best 
 apparel: she bestowed equal care upon little 
 Alfred ; and she then set out with thjj infant in 
 her arms, having assured her maid Susan that 
 she should return by hiid-day, at which Tiour she 
 was to receive the promised visit from Count 
 Mandeville. A short walk of less than a quarter 
 of a mile took Ethel to a point where, after 
 waiting a few minutes, sine obtained a seat in a 
 public conveyance that plied between London and 
 Chipping Barnet. 
 
 " Do you go all the way, ma'am?" asked the 
 conductor. 
 
 " No : I wish to alight at a place somewhere 
 between Hendon and Finchley ; and I believe, 
 from the information I obtained, it is on the 
 road which your vehicle pursues. It is Hendon 
 Court." 
 
 " I know it well, ma'am, and will put you dawn 
 as near it as possible." 
 
 Away sped the equipage, which was already 
 filled with passengers: it entered Holloway— it 
 passed through Highgate — and in a very "short 
 time it stopped at the comer of a lane diverging 
 from the main road somewhere between Hendon 
 and Finchley. 
 
 "Down this lane, ma'am, about half a mile 
 — just beyond the trees — and there you are !" 
 
 The conductor was a civil man : he assisted Ethel 
 to alight — paid a passing tribute of admiration 
 to the beauty of her sleeping child — and touched 
 his hat as he received his fare together with some 
 little gratuity for his attention. Ethel entered 
 the lane, and continued her way quickly ; for it 
 was now ten o'clock, and she had only a couple of 
 hours before her to transact her business at Hen- 
 don Court and get back to Camden Town in time 
 for the appointment with Count Mandeville. In 
 about ten minutes she reached the group of trees 
 indicated by the conductor ; and then for a short 
 
THE YOT75G DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QtTAUTT. 
 
 123 
 
 distance she skirted a close fence which enclosed I severe dame, with looks as cold and features as 
 the grounds pertaining to Hendon Court. The rigid as if she were a portrait of other times jnst 
 building itself did not break suddenly upon the : descended out of its frame. But now, as she 
 
 1 glanced around this elegant drawing-room — so 
 
 ■view, but gradually revealed itself from amidst 
 the trees wherein it was more than half embow- 
 ered. It was an old gloomy-looking pile of dingy 
 red brick, with small windows ; and as there was 
 no flower-garden in front, but only a shrubbery of 
 evergreens, there was nothing to relieve the sombre 
 
 gay, so cheerful, so indicative of a refined and 
 exquisite taste on the part of its presiding genius 
 — she began to conjecture that Lady Langport 
 would turn out to be a very different being from 
 what she had at first conceived. Sbe was not 
 
 aspect of the scene. It was a large edifice, with ; left long in suspense ; for in about five minutes 
 a carriage-drive forming a semicircular avenue to the door opened, and a lady came forward with a 
 the entrance ; but there was not a soul to be seen smiling countenance, a light elastic step, and with 
 about the premises as Ethel entered the gate — and altogether a demeanour which at the very first in- 
 a chill sensation like that of a superstitious awe stant made a most favourable impression upon 
 
 struck through her as she advanced towards the 
 front door. 
 
 She knocked — and the sound seemed to be 
 hollow and sepulchral within. It was however a 
 matter of as much surprise as relief to her mind, 
 when a footman in a handsome and even gay 
 livery quickly answered the summons ; and when 
 Ethel inquired if Lady Langport could be seen 
 at that hour, he at once requested her to walk in. 
 
 EtheL 
 
 This was Lady Langport. Her age appeared 
 to be midway between thirty and forty. Her 
 hair was perfectly black, and was worn in plain 
 bands ; while an elegant French cap with gay- 
 coloured ribbons set off the well-shaped head. 
 The profile of her countenance was very good; 
 the brows, though somewhat thickly pencilled, were 
 well arched: the eyes, of a darkness correspond- 
 
 The hall was spacious, but low-pitched ; and it I ing with the hair, were clear and bright — though 
 was a step lower than the level of the ground out- a person disposed to be critical would have sug- 
 side. It was wainscoted, and was hung with old gested that they were the least thing sunken. In- 
 pictures, some of which were so black that it was | deed, the lady's cheeks were not so plump as they 
 almost impossible to discern the subjects. There might have been, considering that her figure was 
 
 were several doors opening from this hall ; and a 
 massive wooden staircase with immense balusters 
 led up to the firat floor. Thither Ethel followed 
 the footman, — who, throwing open the door of an 
 apartment, requested her to wait a few minutes, 
 at the same tune asking what name he should 
 take to her ladyship? 
 
 " You may give the name of Mrs. Trevor," re- 
 plied Ethel, "although Lady Langport is not 
 acquainted with it." 
 
 The footman, who was very respectful in his 
 demeanour, bowed and quitted the apartment, the 
 appearance of which had already struck Ethel as 
 being in singular contrast with all that she had 
 previously seen of the place. She now examined 
 
 of buxom proportions, its embonpoint however 
 being perfectly consistent with an admirable sym- 
 metry. She was a little above the middle height 5 
 and she was dressed in a morning-gown, which 
 modestly ascended to the very throat, and the 
 sleeves of which were fastened at the wrist. This 
 toilet set off her fine shape to the fullest advan- 
 tage, denning the contours of the bust without 
 permitting the slightest glimpse of them. We 
 should add that her complexion was singularly 
 beautiful : indeed it was of a wondrous fairness ; 
 and inasmuch as there was a carnation tint of 
 health upon the cheeks, it was only the eye of a 
 close and critical observer which would have no- 
 
 : ticed that those cheeks were at all hollow; while 
 it more attentively ; and she was astonished at j inasmuch as there was a total absence of any 
 the elegance with which it was furnished: the ap- ; blueish tint around the eyes, it was only a similar 
 pointments were all complete in the most modern degree of hypercriticism that would have found 
 style : chairs, tables, sofas, lounges, draperies, and ; them to be sunken. As for her lips, they were of 
 ornaments, — all had been selected with the most j vivid scarlet ; while the teeth which they revealed, 
 exquisite taste. The only fault in reference to ! were white as ivory, faultlessly even, and perfect, 
 that beautiful drawing-room was its want of j without loss, spot, or blemish, 
 height ; but this was in a measure compensated '. It was not at a glance that Ethel obtained a 
 for by the paper of a light panel-pattern chosen ' full idea of this portraiture ; but it was during the 
 for the walls, and by the colour of the curtains ■ first few minutes of the conversation which fol- 
 which were purple streaked with amber. Upon 1 lowed, that she was enabled thus to scan the per- 
 the tables were numerous little nick-nacks and sonal characteristics and attributes of Lady Lang- 
 curiosities, remarkable for their elegance : an open i port 
 
 portfolio showed that it contained a number of i "Pray be seated, Mrs. Trevor," were the words 
 choice and expensive prints : there was a piano in which her ladyship uttered as she came gliding 
 the room — and we should not forget to add that into the room. " I'suppose I may conjecture what 
 there were porcelain vases filled with flowers. A 
 door at the extremity standing half-open, afforded 
 
 a glimpse of an inner room, which seemed to be 
 furnished with a corresponding lightness and ele- 
 gance ; so that Ethel marvelled to find so much 
 cheerfulness enclosed within such gloomy walls, 
 and such pleasant places approached by means of 
 such an antiquated staircase and sombre hall. She 
 wondered what sort of a person Lady Langport 
 might prove to be. When first knocking at the 
 door she had fancied that the mistress of the man- 
 sion must be an elderly, haughty, old-fashioned 
 
 has brought you hither? Ah! that charming 
 child! I need not ask if it is your?g? Do not 
 awake the dear boy — lay him down upon that sofa 
 while you and I converse together." 
 
 Nothing could be more encouraging to Ethel 
 than such language as this, uttered in a pleasing 
 voice, accompanied by the sweetest smiles, and by 
 a manner utterly devoid of pride or pretension. 
 Indeed, the kindness with which the lady alluded 
 to the child, at once convinced Ethel that she 
 must possess a good heart. 
 
 " I hope your ladyship will excuse me," said 
 
124 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Ethel, "for calling thus early. I was afraid the 
 
 hour might be iinreasonable " 
 
 "*Oh, dear me, no !" ejaculated Lady Lang- 
 port. " I am always up early— at six o'clock in 
 the summer — at seven in the winter. I have in- 
 variably finished breakfast by nine. There is 
 nothing like early rising to keep one's self in 
 health !" 
 
 " I am glad that I have not come at an unsea- 
 sonable hour," resumed Ethel; "but I was so 
 fearful that other candidates might present them- 
 selves " 
 
 " Oh ! I have received several applications," in- 
 terjected Lady Langport ;. " for the advertisement 
 has been inserted several consecutive days." 
 
 " I only saw it yesterday," said Ethel : and 
 then with a sigh, and an anxious ' glance towards 
 her child, she added in the half-hushed tone of 
 acute suspense, "Perhaps your ladyship has 
 already engaged with some one ?" 
 
 "No — not yet. The fact is, I am very, very 
 particular. It is not every one who will suit me. 
 Some applicants are not lady-like in their man- 
 ners, nor presentable in society : others have rela- 
 tions and friends who would either come visiting 
 them here, or else whom they would want to go 
 and see frequently. Others have a giddy appear- 
 ance — ■ or else are reserved, ill-tempered, and 
 affording but little promise of proving willing and 
 obliging." 
 
 " I hope that in some of these particulars at 
 least, I may suit your ladyship," said Ethel : 
 " for I have no friends to visit me — none whom I 
 
 could go to visit ■" 
 
 "You are friendless?" said Lady Langport, 
 surveying her with earnest attention. 
 
 " Utterly and completely friendless !" answered 
 Ethel : and she hastily wiped away her tears. 
 
 " "While I pity you, for the reason that such 
 word3 should issue from your lips, yet on the other 
 hand "the fact of your friendlessness is not the 
 least of the many recommendations that evidently 
 exist in your favour. Perhaps you observed that 
 my advertisement, though worded as delicately as 
 possible, intimated that any young lady who was 
 orphaned and friendless, and to whom a comfort- 
 able home, with an ample pecuniary allowance, 
 together with the kindest treatment, were objects 
 
 of consideration " 
 
 "To me they are indeed!" murmured Ethel, in 
 the fervid hope that her visit to Hendon Court 
 would be crowned with success. 
 
 " And moreover," continued Lady Langport, 
 apparently heedless of the interruption, " I inti- 
 mated in my advertisement that a young widow 
 with one or two children would not be objected 
 
 to " 
 
 " I have only this child," said Ethel : and with- 
 out absolutely telling a falsehood, she thus gave it 
 to be understood that she herself was a widow, — 
 little reflecting at the moment that there might 
 seem something contradictory in the fact that she 
 was not in mourning — nor even in half-mourning 
 —and that her child was barely eleven months 
 old! 
 
 Lady Langport did not however seem to take 
 any notice of these little inconsistencies ; for she 
 went on to say, with that soft urbanity of manner 
 and good-nature which seemed so entirely her own, 
 " I will not ask you to enter into any particulars 
 which must naturally be painful to you. I know 
 
 what it is to lose an affectionate husband : in- 
 deed I have been less fortunate than you — for 
 you have something to console you" — and she 
 pointed towards the sleeping child — "while my 
 children have all gone down into the grave !" she 
 added, with a tremulous voice. " However, as I 
 was saying," she went on to observe, "I will 
 question you on nothing that regards the past : I 
 will not even insult you by asking for references. 
 Your looks tell me what you are : your counte- 
 nance is the best certificate of character. Having 
 said this much, you see, Mrs. Trevor, that I on 
 my side am prepared to conclude the compact : 
 but it remains for you to ascertain whether the 
 position which I offer may suit you." 
 
 " Oh, how is it possible that I can hesitate ?" 
 exclaimed Ethel, clasping her hands in grateful 
 fervour. " So much goodness on your part ! — so 
 much unexpected liberality !" 
 
 " I am sure that what I am doing, and all I 
 should like to do for you, are nothing more than 
 you deserve. But do not be so hasty, my dear 
 Mrs. Trevor, in rushing at the conclusion that the 
 position will suit you. In the first place, I will 
 tell you the advantages it holds out. You will re- 
 ceive an income of one hundred pounds a year to 
 begin with ; and if you remain with me, it shall 
 speedily be increased. You will be treated by me 
 as a friend and as an equal ; and nothing on my 
 part shall ever remind you that your condition is 
 at all a dependent one. Indeed, you shall be made 
 to feel as if you had as much right to be at 
 Hendon Court as I myself have. The servants 
 will treat you with the same deference and respect 
 which they show towards me. As you now find 
 me in temper and in manners, so shall I always 
 prove towards you. You will have no caprices to 
 submit to ; and you will never have to humiliate 
 yourself by addressing me in a tone of flattery or 
 compliment. It is no toad-eater that I require : 
 it is a. friend — a companion — and — and" — Lady 
 Langport hesitated for a moment, and then added 
 — " a confidante." 
 
 "And your ladyship thinks," cried Ethel, in 
 astonishment, " that I could hesitate for a single 
 moment in accepting a position which is in every 
 way so desirable?" 
 
 " Stop !" said Lady Langport : " I have told 
 you the advantages which I have to offer ; but on 
 the other hand I have to acquaint you with the 
 duties which you will have to fulfil." 
 
 "There are no duties," interrupted Ethel, 
 " which I would not gladly and cheerfully un- 
 dertake !" 
 
 " Again I say stop ! be patient, my dear Mrs. 
 Trevor !" interrupted Lady Langport, with a 
 smile, as she laid her gloved hand upon Ethel's 
 arm. " Suppose that having only shown you the 
 bright side of the picture, I was now to exhibit 
 the dark side, by explaining that I require vari- 
 ous menial offices to be performed by the lady 
 who becomes my companion — that having an aver- 
 sion to handmaids and abigails, I will not permit 
 female servants to approach me in my own cham- 
 ber — that therefore in all matters of the toi- 
 let " 
 
 " I understand your ladyship,'' cried Ethel : 
 
 " there is nothing that shocks me in all this ! I 
 
 have neither pride nor unwillingness — but on the 
 
 contrary, every desire to render myself useful." 
 
 " Pause 1 reflect !" interposed the lady. " Da 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OK, MEMOIRS OP A IADY O* QUALITY. 
 
 125 
 
 you know what are the duties of a lady's-maid ? 
 — are you prepared to perform all the offices that 
 are menial in respect to the toilet ?" 
 
 " Only suffer me to prove to your ladyship," 
 exclaimed Ethel, with fervour, " how anxious I 
 am to show my appreciation of the advantages 
 which I shall enjoy ! Believe me, there is 
 nothing I would not do for your ladyship ! — 
 nothing ! nothing ! I want a home — and you offer 
 me one ! I want to save up money for the benefit 
 of my child — and your bounty will afford me 
 the means ! Good heavens ! should I not be the 
 veriest ingrate if I did not strive day and night 
 to give you pleasure ? And if you were ill, I 
 would nurse you — I would never quit your bed- 
 side " 
 
 " And even if pestilence assailed me," inter- 
 jected the lady, " would you not fly from the in- 
 fection ?" 
 
 " No !" was Ethel's emphatic response. " I 
 would remain with you until the last !" 
 
 " Ah ! this is indeed the very best case that I 
 could possibly suppose, in order to put your sin- 
 cerity to the test ! What, then, if you found me 
 attacked by plague or pestilence — stretched in 
 my bed, an object loathsome to look upon and 
 to touch " 
 
 " Enough, enough, my lady !" exclaimed Ethel : 
 " you are supposing a case to put me to the test 
 — and I call heaven to witness that I should 
 not shrink from my duty ! I know not how I 
 can convince you of my truthfulness beyond 
 mere asseveration : but Oh ! if I assure you that 
 I possess a grateful heart, is not that a sufficient 
 guarantee " 
 
 " It is now my turn to say enough, enough V 
 interrupted Lady Langport. "The bargain is 
 concluded between us. When will you come to 
 me ? The young lady whom you are to succeed, 
 is anxious to leave as soon as possible — for the 
 simple reason that the death of a very distant 
 relative, at whose hands she never expected any- 
 thing, has suddenly put her in the possession 
 of riches " 
 
 u I will come to your ladyship with the least 
 possible delay," said EtheL " I need merely re- 
 turn to my lodgings in Camden Town to make 
 my final arrangements." 
 
 "Be it so," said Lady Langport. "You will 
 come to me in the course of this day. Ah ! by. 
 the bye, I should ask you, Mrs. Trevor, do you 
 require funds? Pray take the proposal in the 
 same kind and delicate spirit in which it is 
 made." 
 
 While thus speaking, Lady Langport drew off 
 the exquisitely fitting lemon-coloured glove from 
 her right hand, in order to unlock a writing-desk 
 that was on the table ; and Ethel could not help 
 noticing that the hand was thin and even lank, 
 considering the buxom embonpoint and symmetri- 
 cal richness of the lady's figure. But the com- 
 plexion of that hand was dazzlingly fair ; and 
 the nails, faultlessly formed hi the shape of 
 almonds, were of a healthful pinkness. She 
 opened the desk and displayed a quantity of gold 
 and bank-notes: but Ethel assured her, with 
 many expressions of gratitude, that she was not 
 without ready money and that she had no out- 
 standing debts. Lady Langport then offered re- 
 freshments : but Ethel did not require them. Her 
 ladyship however insisted upon having some milk 
 
 and cakes brought up for little Alfred, who was 
 now awaking ; and she played with the child for 
 a few minutes with a degree of kindness that still 
 further won the heart of Ethel. 
 
 The young mother took her temporary leave of 
 Lady Langport, inwardly blessing heaven for 
 having sent her so kind a friend. Indeed, when 
 beyond view of the windows of Hendon Court, 
 Ethel knelt down by the side of the lane ; and de- 
 positing her infant upon the grass, she joined her 
 hands together, murmuring, " I thank thee, O 
 God! that thou hast taken compassion upon me 
 for this dear babe's sake !" 
 
 She then continued her way, with the child in 
 her arms ; and on reaching the end of the lane, 
 she waited a few minutes until the omnibus made 
 its appearance on its way back from Chipping 
 Barnet. There was plenty of room inside ; indeed 
 there was only another passenger besides Ethel — 
 and this was a middle-aged person, who imme- 
 diately turned his back towards her in a some- 
 what uncourteous fashion. Ethel did not how- 
 ever notice his behaviour ; for she was thinking 
 of all that had taken place with Lady Langport. 
 Presently, however, her fellow-traveller in the 
 omnibus turned slowly round ; and as Ethel 
 glanced at his countenance, it instantaneously 
 struck her that those demure features were not 
 unfamiliar to her. She looked again : she re- 
 cognised the man: — he was Mr. Phipps, the 
 stockbroker's head clerk. 
 
 " You are Mrs. Trevor ?" he said, with the air 
 of one who after having averted his face with the 
 hope of passing unnoticed, had suddenly made up 
 his mind to speak. " Yes— and you know me — I 
 see that you do !" he continued. " It is for- 
 tunate I have fallen in with you." 
 
 " Indeed?" ejaculated Ethel, wondering whether 
 it were possible she could be about to hear that 
 her five thousand pounds were to be restored to 
 her. 
 
 "Yes," continued Mr. Phipps, speaking empha- 
 tically and rapidly, as if he wished to have done 
 with what he had to say before there was a chance 
 of any one else stepping into the omnibus : " you 
 have suffered enough !" — and it now struck Ethel 
 that he surveyed her with a compassionate air. 
 " Will you promise me that if I tell you a secret 
 you will not betray me as the author of it — and 
 indeed that you will not suffer it to be seen that 
 you know it, otherwise than by the prudential 
 course that you will adopt in consequence ?" 
 
 " If you mean me well, sir," answered Ethel, 
 almost in affright at this mysterious mode of ad- 
 dress, " I shall thank you — I shall be deeply 
 grateful!" 
 
 " Listen ! Put no faith in anything that Count 
 de Mandeville tells you!— he is pursuing you 
 only for the most infamous of purposes ! Hi» 
 father never knew your's — and the idea of the 
 debt of two hundred pounds is only a pretext ! 
 
 Take the money or not, as you like Perhaps 
 
 you had better, situated as you are : but " 
 
 At this instant the omnibus was hailed: Phipps 
 put his finger upon his lip ; and retreating to the 
 further end of the vehicle, did not agaiat meet 
 Ethel's eye for the remainder of the journey. 
 
 For some minutes the young lady sat in a 
 state of blank consternation on receiving that in- 
 telligence. But when she regained sufficient com- 
 posure to deliberate udou it, her good sense told 
 
126 
 
 THE TOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 her that it was indeed all too true. The mys- 
 terious mode of the Count's self-intrbduction^the 
 fact that he seemed about to take his jeave of her 
 when the idea of having a pecuniary obligation 
 to acquit might have, struck him as an "after- 
 thought — and then the manner in which he caught 
 up and echoed the words which he elicited from 
 Ethel's lips about her father Captain Fraser,' and 
 Southdale, — all these circumstances, as she now 
 calmly reviewed them, convinced her that the 
 warning which she had received from Phipps was 
 well founded. At first it was a shock iv her that 
 the two hundred pounds which she fancied were 
 so legitimately her own, should slip through her 
 hands : but on deliberate reflection she saw how 
 much better it was that the matter should stand 
 thus than that she should have accepted money to 
 which she had no right, and thus haye afforded 
 the perfidious Count a claim over her. 
 
 Her hope now was that she should be enabled 
 to get back to her lodging in Camden Town in 
 time to make her arrangements for departure 
 before midday, at whjch hour she had no doubt 
 the Count would be punctual. ' It was twenty 
 minutes to twelve when she reached the lodging- 
 house ; and she lost not a ' moment in explaining 
 to her nursemaid Susan, that circumstances ren- 
 dered it imperiously necessary for them to sepa- 
 rate, the faithful girl was much afflicted at the 
 intelligence ; but Ethel, assured her that if happier 
 times should come, she would not fail to commu- 
 nicate with her and give her the option of return- 
 ing into her service. '' She had ' ready money suffi- 
 cient to make Susan a liberal present ; and she 
 also gave her some little trinket of jewellery as a 
 memorial, — at the same time charging her not to 
 remain in London, but to return with the least 
 possible delay to her parents, who lived some- 
 where in the neighbourhood of Maidstone. 
 
 The bill at the lodgings was settled; and a 
 couple of cabs were fetched. Ethel, with her 
 child, took possession of one j and Susan departed 
 in the other to the terminus of the South Eastern 
 Railway. All this was accomplished by five 
 minutes to twelve o'clock. Punctually at noon a 
 handsome equipage drove up to the door ; ana 
 Count de Mandeville alighted. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Trevor at home?" he asked qf the 
 landlady, who appeared at his summons at the 
 front door. 
 
 '.' No, sir, she is gone," was the. reply. 
 
 " Gone ?" he - ejaculated in astonishment. 
 "When? where?" 
 
 " She went away just now, sir, without telling 
 me where she was going" — and I have no more 
 I idea than you have." 
 
 "Gone? Perdition!" muttered Mandeville to 
 
 himself: but as he sprang into hiSj carriage again, 
 
 he mentally ejaculated,""" Nevertheless I will find 
 
 her out yet ! She has suspected something ! 
 
 I But how?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 LADY LANGPORT. 
 
 Ethel was growing wiser with her experiences of 
 the world — which heaven knows were sufficient to 
 open her eyes somewhat to its duplicities and vil- 
 lanies, and to teach her those lessons of prudence 
 
 and caution whiph the natural ingenuousness of 
 her disposition would otherwise" never lave 
 dreamt of. Cln leaving the ' lodging-house she 
 thought it quite possible that Count Mandeville 
 might hasten in search of her or adopt some mea- 
 sures to find her out. She therefore first of all 
 ordered herself to be driven in a direction con- 
 trary to that which she subsequently meant to 
 take. Then she halted, dismissed the cab, and 
 took another into Holloway — whence a third bore 
 her to her destination. 
 
 It was quite early in the afternoon when Ethel 
 arrived the second time at Hendon Court. The 
 cab drove up to the door : the footman, and a 
 genteel-looking, well-dressed housemaid came 
 forth to take her luggage ; and when her boxes 
 were deposited in the hall, the footman said, " I 
 think, ma'am, you will find her ladyship in the 
 room where you saw her this morning." 
 
 " And I, ma'am," said the housemaid, "will 
 take charge of your little boy." 
 
 Ethel was now one of the family : there was 
 consequently no formality hi conducting her up- 
 stairs—while she herself hesitated not to proceed 
 to the apartment which the footman had indi- 
 cated. On entering that room, she beheld a lady 
 seated upon the sofa, busily engaged in reading a 
 letter, the contents of which seemed to afford her 
 much pleasure ; for her countenance was radiant 
 with happiness. And a very beautiful counte- 
 nance it was ! — and it might do any one's heart 
 good to "behold bliss depicted on such a face! 
 She seemed to be about ^hree-and-twenty years 
 of age :' she had dark brown hair and blue eyes— ■ 
 she' was tall and well formed — and altogether had 
 an air that was genteel, well-bred, and amiable. 
 
 She did not limnediately notice Ethel's pre- 
 sence ; and our heroine, not perceiving Lady 
 Langport there, began to make an excuse for 
 what might be an intrusion. 
 
 " I beg your pardon — I thought to find her 
 
 Oh, pray offer no apology !" exclaimed the 
 other, hastening' forward from the sofa: "you 
 have as much right here as I — for if I mistake 
 not, you are the young lady who is to succeed 
 me?' You are Mrs. Trevor ?" 
 
 " The same :" — and Ethel surveyed her "with 
 a considerable degree of interest 
 
 "Permit me to introduce myself as Martha 
 Crediton," resumed the other: and they now 
 both shook hands very cordially. " I am sorry 
 that we should be'about to separate almost at'the 
 very instant that our acquaintance commences: 
 but I only waited for your arrival as a signal for 
 my own departure. You have come earlier than 
 I expected— — I did not think you would" be here 
 until later in the afternoon — — " 
 
 "1 hurried my arrangements ; for I thought," 
 continued Ethel, "that her ladyship appeared 
 desirous for me to come with the least possible 
 delay." 
 
 "Oh, to be sure!" interjected Martha Crediton; 
 "because, you know, one Companion must never 
 leave until the other arrives." 
 
 "I do not exactly understand," said Ethel, 
 "why there is such a positive must in the case." 
 
 Miss Crediton opened wide her fine blue eyes, 
 and gazed upon Ethel with astonishment, as she 
 said in a low tone, " What ! has not her ladyship 
 acquainted you — -—" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 127 
 
 But she stopped short ; and Ethel said, " Her 
 ladyship has acquainted me with the nature of 
 the duties which I shall have to perform." 
 
 "Of course! I thought so! Well then, you 
 must surely understand why it is so absolutely 
 necessary that there should always be a new Com- 
 panion ready to succeed an old one?" 
 
 "Ah ! I suppose you mean," said Ethel, " be- 
 cause her ladyship entertains Such an insuperable 
 objection to be attended upon in her dressing- 
 room by lady's-maids ?" 
 
 Again Martha Crediton looked very hard it 
 Ethel ; and then she said in a peculiar tone, " Yes 
 — that is the reason." 
 
 "How long have you been with 1 her ladyship ?" 
 inquired Ethel. 
 
 " About three years. And I will tell you vei^ 
 frankly," continued Miss Crediton, in ari eariest 
 tone, " it is in your power to be as happy as posr 
 
 sible — if you can only bring your mind- 1 
 
 mean to say^ with the exception But no 
 
 matter!" and she glanced quickly around as if 
 afraid that her words might he overheard. 
 
 " If you mean," said Ethel, " that apart from 
 the performance of those little duties which some 
 persons might think too menial, it is possible to 
 be happy here, — I can assure you that I shall 
 be enabled to make myself perfectly happy — that 
 is to say," she added with a sigh, " as far as 
 other circumstances will permit." 
 
 " Her ladyship is of an even temper," pursued 
 Miss Crediton : " she never scolds — she is never 
 petulant — she will treat you just as if you were 
 her own daughter " 
 
 " But she herself is not so very old !" interjected 
 Ethel r " thirty-five, I should think, at the out- 
 side — while I am eighteen. So she would be 
 rather a young mother- " 
 
 But Ethel stopped short: for there was now 
 such a peculiar expression on Miss Crediton's 
 countenance that she was almost inclined to ask 
 whether there were not some mystery with which 
 'she herself was unacquainted ? But she did not 
 like to appear inquisitive within the first few 
 minutes of her installation beneath that roof; and 
 so she gave not utterance to the question which 
 rose up to her lips. 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Crediton, taking up the dis- 
 course from another point ; " I have been with 
 her ladyship three years ; and little did I think 
 that I should ever leave her, when all of a sudden 
 I received a letter to tell me that an old relative 
 of mine has died abroad and left me his entire 
 fortune. I keep reading that letter over and over 
 again," continued Martha, " for there are times 
 when I can scarcely believe in its truth !" 
 
 " I sincerely hope you will be happy with your 
 newly acquired fortune," observed Ethel. 
 . Miss Crediton gave a suitable answer ; and the 
 discourse soon reverted to Lady Langport. 
 
 " You must not think," continued Martha, "that 
 you will be dull here. On the contrary, you will 
 see a great deal of society— but it is very select. 
 Her ladyship is fond of company ; and all the 
 best families in the neighbourhood visit her. It 
 is for that reason she has modernized this suite of 
 rooms — which you will admit are very elegant. 
 Of course you understand," added Martha, sinking 
 ner"voice to the lowest possible whisper, " what 
 her ladyship's failing is : but as you will not have to 
 administer toil— indeed as it would be impossible, 
 
 knowing what you do, or what voti soon toill know 
 — it is of no consequence to you. It is a foible, 
 
 and ho crime Did you happen lb notice the 
 
 two portraits in the dining-room ?" 
 
 " I have not been in the dining-room ?" replied 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Oh, come with me !" exclaimed Martha : and 
 she bounded from the apartment, for she was 
 evidently of a gay and lively disposition. "' t 
 can spare you half-an-hour, my dear Mrs. Trevor, 
 before I order the carriage and.take hry departure. 
 Besides, her ladyship must be walking in the 
 grounds — she does" not expect you so soon — and 
 I cannot therefore leave yon alone." 
 
 Tins conversing in a lively strain, Miss 
 Crediton led the way down stairs, Ethel follow- 
 ing- . 
 
 " What a gloomy hall— isn't it? I have Often, 
 advised her ladyship to modernize the entire 
 edifice inside and out : but she takes a pride ill 
 the antiquity of the Court — particularly this old 
 hall, with its red tiled floor r and its great massive* 
 beams across the ceiling ! But here is the dining- 
 room." 
 
 Ethel was now conducted into a spacious apart- 
 ment, low-pitched like the rest. It was furnished 
 in that handsome massive Style which belonged 
 to the middle of the past century : but there was 
 something sombre and gloomy in the general effect 
 — the elaborately carved ch&irS with their cushions 
 of Utrecht velvety the dark wainscoat, and the 
 ceiling painted of the same colour. Martha drew 
 aside the heavy and dingy red moreen curtains at 
 one of the ivindowS — of which, by the bye, there 
 was an array oi five, though all narrow and low; 
 — and the additional light which was how admitted, 
 streamed upon the portrait of a fine handsome 
 man, in the priine pf life, and wearing some diplo- 
 matic uniform or Court dr'eSs. 
 
 " That is the late Lord Lamport," said Miss 
 Crediton. "He was. Ambassador at one of the 
 
 foreign Courts when that portrait was taken • 
 
 Yes, and also at the time when he married her 
 ladyship — who, I believe, was a Miss Malcolm 
 and belonged to a very good family. So now you 
 know who the noble couple were, even if you did 
 not know before." 
 
 "How long has his lordship been dead?" in- 
 quired Ethel. 
 
 " About fiftteen years," was the answer. 
 
 " Then her ladyship was left a widow quite 
 young !" observed Ethel : but she stopped short, 
 for again she saw the dark blue eyes of her com- 
 panion fixed upon her with a peculiarly mysterious 
 expression. 
 
 Then the next instant Martha exclaimed, " Here 
 is the other portrait !" — and bounding forward, 
 she drew back the draperies from the window at 
 the end of the array. 
 
 Ethel new found ner attention riveted upon the 
 portrait of a beautiful female, whom she at once 
 knew to be Lady LarigporV— only it delineated 
 her with a more slender figure and with a plump- 
 ness of countenance which she did not now pos- 
 sess. The expression of the features was pecu- 
 liarly sweet and pleasing— Seeming to indicate an 
 unalloyed amiability and goodness. Yet there 
 was a certain vanity evidenced in the picture, 
 either on the part of the lady herself, or else 
 uxoriously demonstrated on that of her husband 
 who might have been proud of his beautiful wife ; 
 
128 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 for she was represented as a being clad in the 
 most gorgeous costume, with pearls on her brow 
 and plumes in her hair, and decorated with jewels 
 and gems to an extent that might have perhaps 
 been striking and dazzling enough at an evening 
 party, but which were little becoming to her ap- 
 pearance when delineated in a picture. 
 
 " How long ago was that portrait taken ?" in- 
 quired Ethel: then, without waiting for an an- 
 swer to the question,- she ejaculated, "But it is 
 easy to perceive ! — her ladyship must have been 
 eighteen or twenty ! How young she must have 
 been married ! — for she spoke to me this morning 
 of having lost several children. You tell me that 
 his lordship died fifteen years ago ? Her lady- 
 ship, then, could not have been much more than 
 
 twenty or two and twenty at the outside ! 
 
 Dear me, Miss Crediton ! why do you look at me 
 in so peculiar a manner ? This is not the first 
 time ! I have been going to ask you once or 
 twice — but I really didn't like to seem inquisi- 
 tive." 
 
 "Hush!" said Martha: "hush!"— for her ear 
 had caught footsteps in the hall 
 
 " If you please, ladies," said the footman, who 
 now made his appearance, " luncheon is served in 
 the breakfast-parlour." 
 
 " We are coming, Frank,'' replied Miss Cre- 
 diton. 
 
 The footman retired ; and almost at the same 
 moment Lady Langport made her appearance on 
 the threshold. She was beautifully dressed ; she 
 had a gay French bonnet trimmed in the most 
 charming style — her mantelet was embellished 
 with the costliest lace — she wore flesh-coloured 
 silk stockings — and her shoes, also French, fitted 
 her in the most faultless manner. She seemed to 
 have a beautiful foot and ankle ; and she walked 
 with an elasticity which might have become a 
 girl of eighteen. The pink ties of her bonnet 
 tended to conceal that partial hollowness of the 
 cheeks to which we have before alluded ; and thus 
 her ladyship appeared absolutely charming. Ethel- 
 had given her about thirty-five years when she 
 had first seen her in the morning : she had just 
 now extended that age to thirty-seven when she 
 remembered the allusion to the children : but now, 
 as she contemplated the really beautiful face and 
 the superbly symmetrical form before her, she 
 marvelled how Lady Langport could be a day 
 older than thirty. 
 
 " Ah, my dear Mrs. Trevor," she said, shaking 
 her warmly by the hand ; " so you've kept your 
 word and come early ? I am indebted to you for 
 this consideration : I am also glad that you have 
 formed the acquaintance of my dear friend Martha 
 before she leaves. I suppose, Martha, you were 
 showing Mrs. Trevor over the house ? Has she 
 been up-stairs yet ?" 
 
 It struck Ethel that this question wqs put with 
 a certain degree of mystery ; for her ladyship leant 
 forward and lowered her voice while speaking to 
 Martha. 
 
 "No," responded Miss Crediton, also with a 
 certain peculiarity of look — or at least so it struck 
 Ethel. " Mrs. Trevor has not long been here, and 
 I was just beginning to show her the house when 
 Frank announced luncheon. By the bye, dear 
 Lady Langport, I think you said I might have 
 the carriage presently to take me as far as the 
 "West End?" 
 
 " To be sure, my dear friend !" replied her 
 ladyship. " Give your own orders. Mrs. Trevo* 
 and I will take a walk to-day — we can therefore 
 very well dispense with the carriage, for I will 
 show her over the grounds." 
 
 The three ladies repaired to the breakfast par- 
 lour, where an inviting luncheon was spread. 
 Lady Langport begged Ethel to make a good re- 
 past, intimating that they did not dine till seven 
 o'clock. When luncheon was over, Miss Crediton 
 hastened up-stairs to superintend the packing of 
 her last box : the carriage — which was a hand- 
 some one — drove round to the door ; and Martha 
 took an affectionate leave of her ladyship and of 
 Ethel. 
 
 " I will now show you over the house,'' said 
 Lady Langport. " By the bye, where is your dear 
 little Alfred?" 
 
 " The housemaid took charge of him," responded 
 Ethel. 
 
 " She is a good young woman, and will treat 
 him kindly. I have ordered a girl, whom I know 
 in Hendon, to be sent for to act as nursemaid for 
 little Alfred. She will be here presently. She is 
 
 about eighteen, and highly respectable. Ah, 
 
 you have seen these rooms on the ground floor — 
 the dining-room— the breakfast-parlour? — and 
 here is the library. That other apartment serves 
 as an ordinary dining-room when we have no 
 company." 
 
 They now ascended the staircase, and re-entered 
 the drawing-rooms, which Ethel found to consist 
 of a suite of three, occupying the entire length of 
 the house, in its front part, on the first floor. The 
 back apartments on this storey were also sitting- 
 rooms, and commanded a much more agreeable view 
 than the front windows. 
 
 They now ascended to the next floor ; and firet 
 of all Lady Langport led the way into a large 
 handsomely furnished bed-room, but fitted up in an 
 old-fashioned style, and which she announced to be 
 her sleeping-apartment. Opening a door, she led 
 Ethel into a bath-room. Then she opened another 
 door— but slowly and hesitatingly, and at the 
 same time flinging a peculiar look upon her com- 
 panion, — a look which the latter could by no 
 means comprehend. It was now a dressing-room 
 into which she was led ; and it contained a toilet- 
 table placed near the window, and a large bureau 
 of walnut wood very handsomely carved, at the 
 farther extremity. From that dressing-room a 
 door led into another chamber, almost as spacious 
 and quite as well furnished as the first which they 
 had entered. 
 
 " This is your room,'' said Lady Langport ; 
 and her eyes were now fixed upon Ethel's coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 "lam very much pleased with it — it is exceed- 
 ingly comfortable and airy. I presume that I may 
 have my little boy to sleep with me?" 
 
 Her ladyship at once answered in the affirma- 
 tive ; and then she said somewhat deliberately, 
 "Ton are not, therefore, surprised to perceive 
 that your chamber communicates with my apart- 
 ments.?" 
 
 " Not at all," replied Ethel, " considering the 
 duties which, as your ladyship intimated, I shall 
 have to perform." 
 
 A look of indescribable satisfaction appeared 
 upon Lady Langport's countenance ; and she said 
 in a low voice, which appeared to be full of emo- 
 
tion. " You are so amiable and kind, my dear 
 Ethel — for by this name yon must permit me to 
 call you— that I already feel as if I had known 
 you for years, and as if I could do anything on 
 the face of the earth to serve you! But now 
 come and let us walk out into the grounds." 
 
 Ethel accompanied Lady Langport down the 
 staircase into the grounds; and although there 
 was naught but a gloomy shrubbery in front of 
 the house, yet was there a beautiful fruit and 
 flower garden at the side, consisting of about half 
 an acre, enclosed within four walls, and contain- 
 ing hot-houses and conservatories. At the back 
 there was a spacious kitchen garden. The out- 
 houses were extensive and well kept : there was 
 a neat dairy ; and Ethel experienced considerable 
 interest in the inspection of all these premises. 
 Thence they passed into a pretty paddock, adjoin- 
 ing which there was alarge orchard ; and beyond 
 lay the fields, where sheep and cows were paster- 
 No. 17. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 ing, — the compact little estate comprising some 
 ten or a dozen acres. 
 
 While performing the part of cliaperon, Lady 
 Langport displayed the powers of a well-stored 
 mind, and gave great variety to the conversation. 
 She was affable and agreeable — slightly egotis- 
 tical — but not dictatorial nor imperious. Neither 
 did she play the part of a patroness or a supe - 
 rior ; but she maintained that species of well-bred 
 familiarity which was calculated to place Ethel 
 completely at her ease, and make her feel as if she 
 were with one who only considered herself to be 
 her equal. 
 
 There were however two things which were 
 floating somewhat uneasily in Ethel's mind. We 
 will allude to them separately. In the first place 
 she could not help thinking, from the nature of 
 her discourse with Miss Crediton — from that 
 young lady's strange looks— and from other little 
 circumstances — that there was some deeper mys- 
 
130 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 tery attached to Lady Langport than she had as 
 yet completely fathomed. It hung about her 
 mind like a cloud in the midst of the sunshine : 
 it was as a slimy puddle in her path : it was like 
 a cobweb on the wall of an elegantly appointed 
 apartment. She had a vague presentiment that 
 she did not as yet quite understand all the duties 
 which she had to perform, and that any farther 
 initiation would not be agreeable Vainly she 
 strove to balance against these contingencies all 
 the advantages of the situation into which she 
 had suddenly and most unexpectedly leapt : she 
 trembled lest something might transpire which 
 should render it impossible for her to keep it ! 
 
 "We now come to the second source of uneasi- 
 ness. Miss Crediton had told her that Lady 
 Langport saw a great deal of society, and that this 
 was of a select character. What if she were ac- 
 quainted with the Ardleighs ? Having detected 
 Count de Mandeville's duplicity in some respects, 
 she might reasonably doubt whether he had told 
 her the truth when declaring in so glib and off- 
 hand a manner that' the Duke had gone abroad 
 for three years. She began to doubt it : she now 
 fancied it was fat more probable that he was look- 
 ing after herselfr At all events the Duchess kne* 
 her ; and if her Grace happened to visit at Hendon 
 Court she might expose her. as the mistress of her 
 husband; To be brief) Ethel found it to be of the 
 greatest importance to her present peace of mind; 
 as well as to her repute 1 in the eyes of her pa^ 
 i troness, that she should: discover whether the Ard- 
 leighs visited at Hendon Court; But the conver- 
 sation took no turn which afforded Mrs. Trevor 
 an opportunity of incidentally putting such a 
 question; aud after a long fainble through the 
 grounds and ih the neighbourhood, thejr returned 
 to the house at about six ij'clocfe. ' 
 
 "As you and I are alone to-day at dinner, 
 Ethel," said Lady Langport, " I shall hot niake 
 any change in my own toilet. I am fatigued; and 
 shall repose Upon the. sofa- in the drawing-room 
 until dinner is announced! You call avail yourself 
 of the interval, if you think fit, to arrange your 
 clothes in your wardrobe and drawers." 
 
 Ethel accordingly ascended to her chamber, 
 where she occupied herself in the manner indi- 
 cated: but she had little Alfred with her — and 
 the presence of her child, by eliciting all the 
 mother's fond endearments, helped to wean away 
 her thoughts from the sources of uneasiness to 
 which we have before alluded. The new nursery- 
 maid arrived"; and at seven the child was 
 consigned to her care — while Ethel, dressed 
 in a becoming evening toilet, descended to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 . Dinner was shortly announced ; and she fol- 
 lowed her ladyship to that smaller dining-room 
 which was used on ordinary occasions. The re- 
 past was of an exquisite character and elegantly 
 served : there were several French dishes ; and 
 her ladyship incidentally mentioned that she kept 
 a French cook, for that having been a long time 
 on the Continent in all the early part of her life, 
 she was attached to that style of living. The 
 wines were choice ; and Ethel noticed that 
 though her ladyship ate with all the appearance 
 of a remarkable appetite, she was excessively 
 temperate in her beverage, and only drank her 
 wine mixed with water. On the other hand, 
 however, she partook of the several dishes to an 
 
 extent which almost amounted to what the 
 French would call gowmumMse and the English 
 "gormandising;" so that Ethel scarcely won^ 
 dered the form of her patroness should have ex- 
 panded into so fine an embonpoint. An excellent 
 dessert followed the dinner : the two ladies then 
 ascended to the drawing-room, where coffee was 1 
 served up ; and at ten o'clock they rose to retire 
 to rest. 
 
 Ethel's bed-chamber was entered by two se- 
 parate doors : the inner one communicated with 
 Lady Langport's dressing-room ; the outer one 
 with a passage. On reaching the upper landing, 
 Ethel did not know whether she was to ac- 
 company her patroness any farther, or whether 
 she was to pass round by the corridor to her own 
 chamber. Lady Langport perceived her hesila- 
 tion — Comprehended it — and for some reason or 
 another looked deeply distressed. Ethel knew not 
 what to' think : but obedient to some sudden im- 
 pulse, she hastily said, " Can I do anything for 
 your ladyship to-night ?" 
 
 " Yes— this" way :" and Lady Langport led her 
 into her chamber. 
 
 She shut the door and locked it : she then 
 passed through the bath-room into the dressing- 
 room, and thence into Ethel's own apartment. 
 Little Alfred was sleeping in the bed : Ethel, with 
 a strange and unaccountable nervousness, bent 
 over and kissed the child — while Lady Langport 
 proceeded to lock the outer door of that chamber 
 also. She then returned into the dressing-room, 
 whitheir Ethel mechanically followed. 
 
 " Shut that door, my young friend," said her 
 ladyship; pointing to the one which communicated 
 with Ethel's tooni: 
 
 This was done ; and now Ethel trembled so vio- 
 lently— she scarcely knew why — that her emotion 
 Was visible, notwithstanding that she strove her 
 hardest tfct control it. She felt as if she were 
 standing Upon the threshold of some strange and 
 fearful revelation-. . 
 
 " Bethel, s **d Lady Langport, in a voice which 
 was low and no* sounded hollow, " the moment 
 is come when you must learn my secret — my fear- 
 ful secret — to the very uttermost! I think — I 
 fear that you do not altogether suspect it. Per- 
 haps I was not sufficiently explicit with you this 
 morning ; and I am afraid that Miss Crediton did 
 not farther initiate you — though I intentionally 
 threw you together for that purpose." 
 
 "What does your ladyship mean ? Oh, what 
 do you mean ?" asked Ethel, quivering from head 
 to foot. 
 
 " You are about to know the full extent of your 
 duties," replied Lady Langport. "Ah! your 
 courage is failing you ! I warned you against 
 promising too much and pledging yourself too 
 precipitately ! Would you like to retreat ? But 
 no ! it is too late ! it is too late !— 'for Martha is 
 gone," added the lady bitterly; "and not for 
 worlds would I trust this secret of mine to any of 
 those hirelings who have no delicacy of feeling, 
 and who if thay quarrelled with me to-morrow 
 would go and proclaim to the world what I 
 am!" 
 
 " I will not retreat— I will do my duty, what- 
 ever it may be :" and Ethel summoned all her cou- 
 rage ; for she thought of her innocent child in the 
 | adjacent room, and of the- necessity of making 
 I any sacrifice of feeling, so long as it was compa- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OB' A 1ADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 181 
 
 table with honour, for the sake of that beloved little 
 one. . . 
 
 « Thank — thank you !" and Lady Langporf 
 spoke with a fervour that was even fearfully ener- 
 getic. " You are now about to see me unmasked ! 
 • — to behold the living lie that I am ! — to mark 
 in me a monstrous moving, breathing falsehood ! 
 , — a cheat as gross as it is stupendous ! Conceive 
 the skeleton divested of its flesh ! picture to your- 
 self the loathsome mummy unwrapped from its 
 bandages ! — and that abhorrent, revolting thing 
 am I ! You think me young? I am old ! You 
 fancy me possessed of fine proportions? — but I 
 am of a leanness that is appalling ! Instead of 
 tiie luxuriant fullness of health, it is an almost 
 fleshless skeleton, wasted by some unknown and 
 terrific disease, that you will see before you ! It 
 is atrophy personified ! Shut your eyes, if you 
 dread to look upon the loathsome mummy — the 
 revolting atomy !" 
 
 Ethel's brain was reeling while this appalling 
 speech was being addressed to her ;, but by the 
 time it was concluded, she had regained her self- 
 possession — for she once more thought of her 
 child ; and back to her memory came the assur- 
 ance of Martha Crediton, that apart from the one 
 hideous circumstance which she would have to 
 encounter, she might reckon upon enjoying the 
 most perfect happiness at Hendon Court. 
 
 " Now I understand your ladyship," she said, 
 in that soft tone of compassion which was so con- 
 sistent with her amiable nature ; " and I see that 
 you are to be commiserated ! Oh, you hive pro- 
 mised me all your kindness ! — and shall I hot be 
 kind to you in return ? Yes I yes 1" 
 
 An expression of mingled gratitude and joy 
 appeared upon the countenance of Lady Lang- 
 port ; and then sinking on a ehair, she was for 
 several minutes so overcome by lier emotions 
 that she could not give, utterance to a word. 
 Ethel accosted her, and spoke in the kindest, most 
 endearing terms. Nothing- could exceed the gen- 
 tleness — the affectionate ministration of that most 
 amiable lady. Her patroness was soothed, com- 
 forted, and encouraged ; and pressing her hand 
 she murmured, " Now I know you, Ethel, as 
 well as if we had been years together ! — and rest 
 assured that there is nothing on earth I will not 
 do for you ! Others have been good to me before 
 you — -and I have enriched them. I should have 
 behaved with an equal liberality to Martha Credi- 
 ton— only that she did not require it — an accident 
 gave her wealth. But I need say no more : for 
 if I comprehend your goodness of heart, you need 
 be at no loss to understand the extent of my 
 gratitude !" 
 
 Then commenced the night-toilet of Lady Lang- 
 port. It was indeed the unrolling of the mummy 
 from its wrappers ! Oh, it was a hideous disap- 
 parelling ! Garment after garment, corset after 
 corset falling off — heavens ! everything was false 
 — artificial — and succedaneous about her! Her 
 teeth were false : her complexion was the result 
 of cosmetics artistically laid on ; and if the dark 
 dye had not penetrated into the very tubes of her 
 hair, that would have appeared in all the white- 
 ness of age. At length the horrible process was 
 complete ; and there stood the wretched woman, 
 a living skeleton — a withered, toothless hag, 
 loathsome to contemplate — every bone visible be- 
 neath the skin, which just covered it without the 
 
 intervention of any flesh to yield to the pressure! 
 And she who had looked so fresh and blooming — 
 So young that Ethel had even at one time carried 
 back ,her age to thirty years — was veritably and 
 actually an old woman of nearly sixty I 
 
 We will not dwell upon the scene. Suffice it 
 to say that Ethel endured the shock with as much 
 delicate consideration for the unfortunate being 
 herself, as she could possibly command ; and 
 when she had performed such duties as the hor- 
 rible condition of her patroness required, and had 
 seen her to her couch, she retired to her own bed, 
 where with the cold shudderings of horror she 
 pressed her child to her bosom, wondering whether 
 even for his sake she could night after night and 
 morning after morning endure the repetition of 
 that loathsome spectacle for a very long period ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE USURER. 
 
 The clocks of the metropolis were striking the 
 hour of ten at night, when Mr. Casey senior en- 
 tered upon Waterloo Bridge ; and arriving at the 
 seat over 'the central arch, he stopped and looked 
 around him. He evidently expected some one : 
 but as he was not immediately accosted by any 
 person, he gazed upon the river and the countless 
 lights which bordered it on either side. But 
 whether the aspect of the mighty city, beheld from 
 that point of view and at that hour, with the 
 moonlight shining upon the water, and with all 
 the domes and pinnacles and spires of the huge 
 Babylon standing out in dim relief against the 
 dark-Jined' sky, produced any particular effect 
 upon the usurer — or whether his thoughts were 
 travelling to other scenes or fixed upon other 
 subjects — we cannot jsay. Five minutes elapsed: 
 then Mr. Casey heard footsteps approaching : he 
 looked round— and Tim Gaffney was almost im- 
 mediately by iis side. 
 
 In order to prevent any mistakes) let us at 
 once inform the reader that Tim Gaffney did not 
 know Casey by his name — did not even know for 
 certain that he was the Rupert Pringle of other 
 times — and, in short, was utterly ignorant of all 
 material circumstances in reference to the person 
 whom he was now meeting;. He had heard from 
 an acquaintance in the first instance that a cer- 
 tain individual was looking out for an active 
 and. trustworthy fellow or two to perform a par- 
 ticular piece of business. Tim Gaffney had prof- 
 ferred his services — an appointment was at once 
 made — and the meeting had promptly taken place 
 on Waterloo. Bridge, on the very same spot where 
 Casey and Gaffney now again met. That first 
 interview took place on the 5th of May : it was 
 arranged that precisely that day week there should 
 be another appointment ; and it was now there* 
 fore, in the evening of the 12th, that the employer 
 and the employed were at the rendezvous. We 
 may add that as Casey only knew Tim Gaffney in 
 the business, the latter had not deemed it neces- 
 sary to bring his friend Mr. Peppercorn with 
 him. 
 
 Casey was in reality full of anxiety in reference 
 to the results of the mission which had been en- 
 trusted 'to Tim Gaffney : but nothing on his hard 
 
132 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 cold features indicated what was passing in his 
 breast ; and it was on account of this impertur- 
 bability, as well as the passionless business-like 
 way in which Casey had treated the subject on 
 the first occasion, that Tim Gaffney was so com- 
 pletely at a loss to determine in his own mind 
 whether his employer were really Rupert Pringle 
 himself, or only some agent acting on that indivi- 
 dual's behalf. 
 
 " Well," said Casey, the instant he and Gaffney 
 met ; " what news ?" 
 
 " Good and bad — it's done and it ain't done — 
 but it's all safe :" such was the enigmatical an- 
 swer which came from Mr. Gaffney's lips. 
 
 " Explain yourself," said the usurer, almost 
 sternly, as he fixed his eyes searchingly upon his 
 agent. 
 
 " The papers are in existence — the letter and 
 the forged bill : they are no longer in the Squire's 
 hands — and you can get them with a very little 
 trouble." 
 
 " "What does this mean ?" demanded Casey. 
 " Are they in your possession ? do you mean to 
 fly from the bargain which we made together, 
 and to hold out for a larger .sum ? If so, you'd 
 be mistaken. I have no personal interest in the 
 matter — I am merely acting for another." 
 
 "That may or may not be," interrupted 
 Gaffney ; " and I am not going to pry into your 
 affairs. You've got hold of the wrong end of the 
 stick— there's no foul play on my part— I always 
 deal right with them which employ me. But it 
 was a strange business altogether down at the 
 Firs, and I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 Gaffney then proceeded to describe how he and 
 Jack Peppercorn obtained an entrance into Squire 
 Ponsford's chamber — how everything progressed 
 as could be wished until the point when he (Tim 
 Gaffney) repaired to the library to procure the 
 documents— how he was then seized upon by .a 
 person, and what took place between him and 
 that individual. 
 
 " Describe his appearance to me," said Casey, 
 who had listened with a sort of impatient atten- 
 tion to the preceding details. 
 
 " He was a good-looking fellow — not very tall 
 — deuced well made — light brown hair, all curling 
 — and blue eyes, I think." 
 
 " What name did he give ?" ' 
 
 " I found out next morning," replied Gaffney, 
 " that his name was Stephen Ashborne, and that 
 he was the Squire's new bailiff?' 
 
 " And his age ? his age ?" asked Casey. 
 
 " About five-and-twenty as far as I can judge." 
 
 " Ah ! and you say he kept the documents ?" 
 
 proceeded Casey : " and he told you that What 
 
 was it that he said ?" 
 
 " Just these words," rejoined Gaffney, — " that 
 I was to make my own bargain with the person 
 who employed me — that he wanted no reward — 
 and all that he required was that the person should 
 apply to him, for the papers." 
 
 " And you have nothing more to tell me ?" 
 
 " Nothing," responded Gaffney. 
 
 " Very good," said the usurer. " It was not 
 your fault that you did not bring the papers with 
 you : I can't blame you. I shall give ymi just 
 the same reward as if you had done so." 
 
 Gaffney did not know with what a penurious 
 individual he had to deal — or else he would 
 have been immensely astonished at this display of 
 
 liberality on his part. Without the slightest 
 haggling — without the slightest hesitation he 
 placed in Gaffney's hand a number of bank-notes, 
 to the amount originally agreed upon for the trans- 
 action of the business. He took Gaffney's word 
 for the truth of the entire tale, because it was so 
 well corroborated by other circumstances. 
 
 " Well, sir, whoever yon are," observed Tim, 
 " it's a pleasure to do business with such a genel- 
 man ; and if so be you should ever again want my 
 services, I'd better tell you where a note would 
 reach me. I used to live for the most part in Kent 
 — but so many things have of late turned up that 
 I mean to establish ■ myself in London for the 
 future. Thomas Gaffney, Esquire — or plain Mr. 
 Gaffney, if you think t'other's too pretentious — at 
 the Hog in Armour — a very respectable public it 
 is too — Marylebone Lane." 
 
 " I shall not forget — I shall not forget," said 
 Casey : and then in a significant manner he added, 
 " But I think, Mr. Gaffney, for the present that 
 your way lies in that direction, while mine lies in 
 this." 
 
 " To be sure, sir — to be sure !" and Tim, turn- 
 ing upon his heels, made a polite bow, and began 
 bending his way towards the Surrey side of 
 Waterloo Bridge. " I would follow him never- 
 theless," thought Tim to himself ; ■' only he is 
 evidently a deep old file, and he'll take half-a- 
 dozen cabs to baffle me. Besides, he pays well — ■ 
 and whoever he may be, he'll some day want my 
 services again — that's as sure as fate !" 
 
 Mr. Casey reached his home in Hatton Garden, 
 his mind full of all that he had learnt from the 
 lips of Tim Gaffney. There was much to move 
 him — yes, even him, that man of stony heart and 
 of utter selfishness ! — that man whose experiences 
 of the world had rendered him what he was ! But 
 he had acquired the habit of concealing what he 
 felt ; and thus, when he joined his wife and daugh- 
 ter at the supper-table, they could not perceive by 
 his countenance that anything peculiar had taken 
 place. 
 
 Presently some one was heard opening the street 
 door in a hasty manner and rushing into the hall ; 
 and Mrs. Casey exclaimed, "Deary me ! what can 
 be the matter with Sylwester ! what a flurry ha 
 seems to be in !" 
 
 " You've done it, father !" ejaculated the young 
 man as he burst into the room; "and it's all 
 dickey with him 1" 
 
 " What on earth do you mean, Sylwester ?" de- 
 manded his mother. 
 
 " Why, hasn't the governor told you by this 
 time? I wonder why he kept it so deuced 
 close " 
 
 " Because," interjected Mr. Casey, curtly, " I 
 am not accustomed to let my left hand know what 
 my right hand is doing. If you were to act more 
 on this principle, Sylvester, I should be better 
 pleased. But in reference to the matter to which 
 you are alluding, I suppose you mean that Sir 
 Abel Kingston is arrested ?" 
 
 "Sir Habel?" ejaculated the dame: "what 
 that perlite gentleman " 
 
 "Gentleman, indeed!" repeated Mr. Casey, 
 with an air of disgust : " he is a perfect villain— 
 he has robbed me infamously by means of forged 
 documents " 
 
 "Who would have thought it?" cried Mrs. 
 " Ah, Seljna dear ! I told you when wo 
 
TUB YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OB 1 QUALITY. 
 
 133. 
 
 came home that night from Hastley's, as how that 
 I thought there was summut that wasn't alto- 
 gether right about that Sir Habel — and I remem- 
 ber teflin' Mr. Sliinybrass next morning,"when he 
 called to ask your father's wote on putting up as 
 
 guardian of the 'Oborn Union " 
 
 " Well, well," interrupted Mr. Casey impa- 
 tiently, " I have no doubt you said a great deal 
 upon the subject. But how came you to hear, 
 Sylvester, that Sir Abel Kingston was arrested ?" 
 " I happened to be dining with him. It was 
 rather too bad, father, that you didn't drop me a 
 hint of what you was going to do : you might 
 have known that being intimate as I am with a 
 set of fellows at the West End, it was very pro- 
 bable I might get thrown in Kingston's way. 
 
 However, there's no harm done " 
 
 " And so you were actually dining there, Syl- 
 vester, at the time ?" said his sister, who with a 
 natural delicacy of feeling which was foreign to 
 every other member of the Casey family, was 
 shocked at the thought that her brother should 
 have been partaking of the Baronet's hospitality 
 at the instant when such a catastrophe ensued. 
 
 " I was there, as I tell you — and some other 
 friends of mine. I didn't see any of you when I 
 came home in the afternoon to dress for dinner : 
 you was all gone out — and so I couldn't tell you 
 where I was going." 
 
 " And who were these other friends of your's ?" 
 asked Mr. Casey senior, with a scornful sneer 
 upon his lip. " Silly young men about town, I 
 suppose — who, if they yield to dissipation and 
 debauchery, will one of these days come to the 
 same strait as the scoundrel Kingston himself." 
 
 " Come, come, sir," interjected Sylvester, with 
 a self-sufficient air, " that's being too strong on 
 my friends Colonel Bidder, Captain Cauliflower, 
 Lieutenant Tiffany, and though last not least, 
 the Duke of Ardleigh." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Mrs. Casey; "a Dook? 
 Sylwester, have I heerd with my hears that you've 
 been a-dinin' with a Dook ?" 
 
 " And why not ?" said the young man, stretch- 
 ing himself out and yawning in an affected man- 
 ner in the arm-chair in which he had thrown him- 
 self, at the same time that he ran his hand 
 through his horrible red hair. " I can assure you 
 that me and the Duke got very intimate together 
 — and a devilish nice fellow he is — quite a young 
 man, you know — not above six or seven and 
 twenty. Well, when the business was all over, 
 he took me by the arm ; and says he, ' Casey, my 
 dear fellow, let's you and me walk along the 
 street together, and chat about this business.' So 
 
 there we was " 
 
 "Quite fefmiliar, I dessay!" ejaculated Mrs. 
 Casey, tossing her head proudly ; " and all the 
 perlicemen a-touching their hats as you walked 
 past — and the werry cabmin a bowin' down to 
 the ground at the Dook's presence ! Selma dear, 
 if that there Dook should ever come up with Syl- 
 wester to take potluckin 'Atton Girding, it would 
 never do for his Greese to stand the chance of 
 meetin' Shinybrass. Besides, them Shinybrasses 
 is so wulgar ! We must cut 'em." 
 
 " And pray," asked Mr. Casey, " what did the 
 Duke of Ardleigh say to you ?" — for the usurer 
 was too much a man of the world not to suspect 
 that the Duke must have had some private reason 
 of his own to affect a sudden friendship for his 
 
 son, and go walking arm-in-arm with him 
 through the streets of London! 
 
 "Oh! we chatted on different things," replied 
 Sylvester, — " principally on the business that had 
 just took place — I mean Kingston's arrest. The 
 Duke said he always knew Kingston to be a 
 blackguard, and that he was in the habit of 
 boasting of his successes with the fair sex, telling 
 a pack of lies and compromising the characters of 
 ladies without the slightest rhyme or reason. In 
 fact, the Duke seemed to hint that he thought it 
 was by no means unlikely Sir Abel might have 
 spoken in an impudent way of his own wife, the 
 beautiful Dnchess : but I set the Duke's mind at 
 rest on that score. ' My lord,' says I, ' Kingston 
 and me have been pretty intimate together, and I 
 must do him the justice to declare that I never 
 heard from his lips any bragging or boasting in 
 respect to the Duchess.' — ' Well,' says the Duke, 
 ' I am glad of it :' and then he shakes hands 
 with me, bids me good night, and tells me that 
 when I am passing Ardleigh House I'm to look 
 in and give him a call."' 
 
 Mr. Casey senior now comprehended why the 
 Duke had affected a friendship towards his son. 
 
 " His Grace suspects something between his 
 wife and Kingston," thought the usurer to him- 
 self ; " and he wanted to ascertain to what extent 
 it might have been known or boasted of by that 
 scoundrel the Baronet." 
 
 The Casey family retired to rest ; and on the 
 following day the usurer deliberated with himself 
 whether he should write to Stephen Ashborne, or 
 whether he should proceed into Dorsetshire and 
 obtain a personal interview with him. Circum- 
 stances appeared to indicate that Stephen Ash- 
 borne was his son : but still there was a possi- 
 bility that it might be otherwise — he might have 
 some different motive for getting possession of 
 the papers — though it was difficult to conjecture 
 what such a motive could be. Nevertheless, 
 Casey was very prudent, and he scarcely liked to 
 commit himself by writing. On the other hand, 
 he did not much relish the idea of venturing into 
 Dorsetshire— especially to seek out one who was 
 now living upon the estate of his mortal enemy 
 Squire Ponsford. What was to be done? He 
 almost regretted that he had not sent off Tim 
 Gaffhey into Dorsetshire, 'to bring up Ashborne, 
 so that a meeting might take place under circum- 
 stances altogether favourable to Casey's views 
 and safety. 
 
 After a long deliberation, the usurer made up 
 his mind how to act ; and the following letter 
 was duly penned and despatched by the post : — 
 
 " Hatton Garden, May 13, 1847. 
 " Mr. Michael Casey is instructed to communi- 
 cate with Mr. Stephen Ashborne in reference to 
 certain papers which have fallen into Mr. Ash- 
 borne's hands. If Mr. Ashborne will therefore 
 acquaint Mr. Casey with his views upon the sub- 
 ject, they shall at once receive the best atten- 
 tion." 
 
 The usurer waited with much suspense the re- 
 sult of this communication. We should explain 
 that although he dressed in a sordid manner 
 and sneered at the extravagancies and frivoli- 
 ties of fashionable life, he was in his heart most 
 anxious to form high family connexions. He 
 
134 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 was rich — richer even than people generally 
 thought : he knew that he was looked upon as 
 an usurer and a miser, and he was secretly proud 
 of the appellations, for they were an. acknowledg- 
 ment of his wealth, if not an actual homage to 
 it — and he gloried in the power of riches. He 
 dressed meanly and looked shabby in order to 
 maintain the character which the world had given 
 him, and to play the part of the usurious miserly 
 qapitalist. . But he allowed his wife and daughter 
 tp spend whaj; they thoughj; fit upon their toilet; 
 and he furnished Sylvester with the means to 
 maintain a certain appearance among his friends 
 at the West End. For this reason he had allowed 
 him to set up his phaeton^— though he affected to 
 grumble at such a piece of extravagance, and to 
 grudge every guinea which he drew from his purse 
 for his son's behppf, , This was for the purpose of 
 keeping Sylvester within reasonable bounds, and 
 preventing him from launching out too fast. 
 
 JIaving afforded this litjtle insight into Mr. 
 Casey's character, we must proceed to explain 
 some of bos plans, and the reflections with which 
 they were associated. As we have already said, 
 he sought for aristocratic connexions ; and he had 
 laboured to bring abqut ah alliance between his 
 daughter and Launcelot Osborne, the heir of the 
 Trentham family. When this matter appeared to 
 be cpming to a successful issue, Casey thought 
 to himself that it would be expedient, if possible, to 
 put himself right in respect to the only thing which 
 could at any time materially threaten his peace. 
 This was the fact that he might probably he still in 
 the power of Squire Ponsford. Onjy conceive what 
 a thing it would he, if jusi when all his darling 
 ideas of ambition were .being gratified, and Selina 
 had become the Hon. Mrs. , Osborne, the deihon of 
 mischief should suddenly bring Ponsford upon the 
 spot and enable him to denounce him, Michael 
 Casey, alias Rupert Prjngle, as a forger ! Such 
 were the reflections which had passed thrpugh the 
 usurer's mind ; and hence the mission which had 
 been confided, to Tim Gaflney. Now, in respect 
 to the contemplated alliance with,, the Trentham 
 family, although.it seemed to hang fire somewhat 
 in consequence of the unaccountable cessation of 
 Launcelot Qshorne's visits to Hattori, G/arden, yet 
 Mr. Casey did not choose to precipitate matters 
 just for the present. He deemed it prudent to 
 await the issue of the business which Tim Gaflhey 
 had initiated ;, for he astutely reasoned that, when 
 he himself should cease to be in the power., of any 
 one, he could work out his views with all the more 
 confidence and implacability. 
 
 The reader may now understand wherefore, for 
 more reasons than one, Mr. Casey awaited with 
 no inconsiderable degpee of suspense the issue of 
 the communication which he had sent into Dor- 
 setshire. 
 
 One evening — three or four days after that 
 letter had been despatched — Mr. Casey was seated 
 alone in a little back room, which he called his 
 " office," but which his wife perseveringly denomi- 
 nated his " study" — when the servant entered and 
 said, "If you please, sir, a person named Ashborne 
 wishes to see you." 
 
 " Let him walk in," replied Casey : and for a 
 few moments he trembled violently after the do- 
 mestic had retired. 
 
 But by the time the door again opened, he was 
 perfectly collected ; and rising from his seat, he 
 
 steadily met the gaze oi the handsome young man 
 who was now ushered into his presence. Earnest 
 indeed was the contemplation on Stephen Ash- 
 borne's part ; and for the first minute he spoke 
 not a word : he was evidently studying to ascer- 
 tain whether or not he stood in the presence of 
 one whom he might claim as a father. At length 
 he threw himself upon a seat, and said, "lam 
 here in compliance with your letter. At least I 
 do not know whether you expected me to come to 
 London — or whether indeed you wished to see me? 
 Perhaps if would be better if you were to com- 
 mence by giving explanations ?" 
 
 " No," replied Casey : " it would be better for 
 you to commence by explaining for what object 
 you took those documents from the, man in the 
 library at the Firs." 
 
 "To hand them over to my father," replied 
 Stephen Ashborne, " whenever I may find him :" 
 — and there was an honest frankness in his coun- 
 tenance as he again fixed his large blue eyes 
 earnestly upon Mr. Casey. 
 
 " If you bear the name of Ashborhe," said the 
 usurer, "where do you expect to meet your father? 
 whp is he ?" 
 
 " He bears not my name," interjected the young 
 man. " I know hot even whether he now bears 
 the name which is properly his own. But you 
 can tell; sir ! If you yourself are not my father, 
 you must know who he is, for you are employed 
 by him." 
 
 "How came you to bear the name of Stephen 
 Ashborne ?" asked Casey, still betraying naught 
 by the expression of his countenance. 
 
 " Ashborne is the name which my mother took 
 after she was. deserted by my father. That was 
 before I was bbrri. To be brief, I am the son of 
 a certain Adelaide Clarke, who died six months 
 ago ; and on her death-bed she told me everything. 
 If you are my father, I will give you up the 
 papers which will for ever place you beyond the 
 power of the Villain Ponsford. But if you are not 
 my father— merely some friend acting on his be- 
 half—you must tell me where I can find my sire, 
 and I will seek him without delay." 
 
 " Would it please you to meet your father ? 
 Tou say that your mother on her death-bed told 
 you everything " 
 
 " Before you speak another word," interrupted 
 Ashborne, " listen to me ! It is in the nature of 
 man to respect the author of his being; and thus, if 
 I found myself in the presence of my father — no 
 matter who or what he may be — I should kneel 
 at his feet and implore his blessing. But on the 
 other hand, I could not love this father as a child 
 ought to love a parent : for it would be impossible 
 to forget that he abandoned my mother, and for 
 five-and-twenty long years he has never instituted 
 the least inquiry concerning her welfare; nor 
 whether the child which she bore in her hosom at 
 the time he left her ever saw the light or still 
 lived ! Thus I should not ask my sire to give me 
 a home, nor to acknowledge me unless he thought 
 fit : I would merely seek his blessing and I would 
 depart." 
 
 "Stephen, my son!" murmured the usurer; "I 
 bless you ! — yes sincerely bless you ! God knows," 
 continued Casey, in a tremulous voice, "I have 
 been guilty of immense wrongs towards your poor 
 mother and yourself; but I have suffered more 
 than I can. tell you my heart was not 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 135 
 
 originally a bad one — I have been compelled to 
 steel it against the influence of the most harrow- 
 ing and remorseful reflections and thus my 
 
 entire being was changed !" 
 
 While Casey was thus speaking, Stephen Ash- 
 borne had thrown himself at his feet — and he 
 was weeping and sobbing, not so much on 
 account of what he was hearing from his father's 
 lips, as because everything connected with his 
 departed mother was now vividly recalled to his 
 memory. The usurer stooped down, and raising 
 him up, embraced him. 
 
 " Here, father— here," said Stephen, " are the 
 documents which I promised to place in your 
 hands. God grant that under another name you 
 are atoning for whatsoever you may have done in 
 your earlier days! — though heaven knows it is 
 not for me as a son to speak thus to a father !'* 
 
 " I am rich and prosperous, Stephen," replied 
 Casey. " Tell me what I can do for you? Fear 
 not to make your demand. I take heaven to 
 witness that I shall not hold it to be too large a 
 one !" 
 
 " I require nothing, father,'' replied Stephen. 
 " Keep your wealth for your legitimate children. 
 
 I understand that you have two 1 made some 
 
 little inquiries in theneighbourhood before I called 
 here " 
 
 " And is there nothing that I can do for you ?" 
 asked Casey. 
 
 " Nothing, I repeat. Accept my thanks — but 
 I desire naught at your hands, father — except the 
 blessing which you have given me." 
 
 " And tell me, Stephen— tell me," continued 
 Casey, in a tremulous tone, "did she — your 
 mother — speak bitterly of me on her death- 
 bed?" 
 
 " No," replied Stephen. " On the contrary, 
 she hoped that you were well and prosperous — and 
 she wished that she might have heard of you be- 
 fore she died. And now, father, having acquitted 
 myself of the principal business which brought 
 me hither — and having told you as much as you 
 need know in reference to my poor departed 
 mother — I will leave you." 
 
 " Promise me this, Stephen," exclaimed Casey, 
 — ' ' that if matters should go wrong with you in the 
 world — or if you should require assistance of any 
 kind, you will hot hesitate to apply to me. I will 
 hasten to meet your wishes — believe me, I will! 
 —and if during my lifetime you will not afford 
 me an opportunity df doing anything for you, 
 rest assured that you will not be forgotten at my 
 death!" 
 
 " Farewell, father ! — farewell !" said Stephen, 
 his own voice now quivering with emotion, for 
 he saw that he was very far from being an object 
 of indifference to his sire. " Farewell, dear 
 father!" — and then wringing his parent's hand, 
 he rushed from the room and at once quitted the 
 house. 
 
 When the door closed behind him, Casey sat 
 dawn and fell into a deep reverie. At' length 
 slowly arousing himself, he exclaimed, " Would 
 that he were my recognised first-born !^ would 
 that he were my known and cherished son instead 
 of Sylvester!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 It was the evening appointed for Lady Todmor- 
 den's ball. Her ladyship was a widow, tolerably 
 well off, holding a distinguished position in the 
 fashionable world, and famed for the excellence of 
 her entertainments. She had been a patroness of 
 Almack's in its palmy times : she had on several 
 occasions filled posts about the person of Queen 
 Tictoria when the Tories were in power ; and her 
 deceased husband had been an eminent diplomatist. 
 Thus Lady Todmorden was one of the most elite 
 of fashionable society. Not to visit at Todmorden 
 House in Piccadilly was almost a stigma, and 
 certainly a humiliation, for any one pretending to 
 frequent the highest circles ; whereas on the con- 
 trary; to be seen in Lady Todmorden's saloons 
 was to make sure of the entr$e to all the other 
 mansions of the most exclusive aristocracy. 
 
 It is well known there are certain personages 
 in the upper sphere who exercise a species of 
 autocratic power in respect to aspirants for en- 
 trance into the fashionable world. " Lady Tod- 
 morden was one. If she introduced a person no 
 questions were asked : her approval was sufficient 
 — and the fortune of the individual was made so 
 far as entrance into the highest circles was con- 
 cerned. On the other hand, if it were hinted that 
 such-and-such a personage, male or female, ought 
 to be called upon and courted, a shrug of the 
 shoulders or a slight toss of the head on Lady 
 Todmorden's part was sufficient to destroy all the 
 hopes of the aspirant. The reader may thence 
 comprehend of what importance it was for the 
 novitiate in the fashionable sphere to win the smile 
 of her ladyship ; because it is one thing to get 
 into what is called " good society," but quite an- 
 other thing to soar into the sphere which is called 
 the " higher circles." ~ r 
 
 From all that we have been saying the reader 
 may perhaps he surprised to find that a mere 
 City-man, such as Mr. Warren the stockbroker, 
 should have the etitrte of Todmorden House. But 
 Warren's father had been useful to the late Lord 
 Todmorden ; young Warren was very gentlemanly 
 in manners — he was reputed to be immensely 
 rich — he lived in excellent style — and Lady Tod- 
 morden therefore ventured to introduce him. No 
 one asked any questions ; all who met him were 
 satisfied ; and her ladyship was pleased with 
 the exploit. She thought that she had conferred 
 a favour of stupendous magnitude upon Warren, 
 and that the very least he could do to testify his 
 gratitude would be to marry one of her daughters. 
 Of these interesting creatures she possessed three 
 specimens, — the eldest being two-and-twenty; the 
 youngest eighteen. They were not handsome, 
 nor even pretty : but they were fine grown young 
 women, of very distinguished appearance, highly 
 accomplished, and though imbued with no small 
 degree of aristocratic pride, yet perfectly ready 
 and willing to accept husbands from whatever 
 quarter they might come, so long as they were 
 presentable in person and rich in purse. For the 
 fact is that the three young ladies were portionless, 
 Lady Todmorden's income being composed partly 
 of an annuity and partly of a pension on account 
 
lse 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIK8 OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Of the "diplomatic services" of her husband, — 
 both of which sources of revenue would neces- 
 sarily die with her. 
 
 Having thus introduced the Todmorden family 
 as far as it is necessary for our present purpose, 
 let us at once proceed to the details of the ball 
 whereat all the elite of fashionable society were 
 to be present. It is not necessary to enter into 
 any lengthened description of the splendour of the 
 entertainment, the elegance of the costumes, or of 
 the urbane attentions of Lady Todmorden herself 
 towards her guests. We will suppose that equipage 
 after equipage has set down its exquisitely appa- 
 relled freight — that the greater part of the company 
 has arrived — that the saloons are nearly filled — 
 and that dancing has commenced in the principal 
 apartment, while in another the card-tables are 
 becoming occupied by the more elderly personages. 
 We will suppose likewise that nothing can be 
 more delightful to contemplate than the brilliant 
 scene, while the music pours its rich harmony 
 throughout the brilliantly lighted mansion. 
 
 In one of the smaller apartments to which some 
 of the guests who were not dancing retired for 
 the purpose of conversation, or to lounge away the 
 time until they thought fit to dance or were asked 
 to do so, the Duchess of Ardleigh was seated. As 
 her Grace was one of the most brilliant stars in 
 the higher sphere of the fashionable world, she 
 was quickly surrounded by a number of satellites, 
 male and female. The conversation progressed 
 for some little while on a variety of subjects, until 
 Lady Todmorden presently approached the group, 
 saying, with a smile, " I am every moment ex- 
 pecting a guest of whom I mean to make quite a 
 lion. I am told great things about him. He is 
 fresh from Paris, and can tell you everything 
 that has recently occurred in Parisian circles. 
 In fact, he has only been about ten days in 
 England." 
 
 " And pray," inquired a lady of title, " who is 
 this phoenix of perfection that you are going to 
 introduce amongst us ?" 
 
 "I'll be bound," cried Lord Aldershott — a 
 young nobleman of nineteen — " I know who her 
 ladyship means ! I dined in his company the day 
 before yesterday, with Warren and Tiffany, and 
 two or three others." 
 
 " And a very fine fellaw he is," interjected Mr. 
 Tiffany, who advanced towards the group at this 
 moment. 
 
 " Whom do you mean ?" inquired several 
 voices. 
 
 "Beally,'' said a young lady, " our curiosity 
 is now at the highest degree." 
 
 "Oh, I thought," ejaculated Lord Aldershott, 
 " that anybody would have guessed we were 
 talking of Mandeville." 
 
 " Ah ! Count de Mandeville !" said the lady of 
 title before-mentioned. " How foolish not to sur- 
 mise that it was he! My brother the General 
 was telling me that he met the Count yesterday 
 with Captain Cauliflower. He was intro- 
 duced " 
 
 "And what does the General think of him?" 
 inquired an elderly lady. 
 
 " He came home quite charmed with the Count," 
 was the reply. 
 
 "And this, then, is the lion whom your lady- 
 ship promises to introduce presently?" said a 
 Marchioness, who had not before spoken. 
 
 " Yes," _ responded Lady Todmorden, with the 
 satisfied air of one who perceived that she was 
 sure to make a hit by the introduction of an in- 
 teresting guest : " you shall see him presently." 
 
 " Has he been introduced to your ladyship 1" 
 asked some one. 
 
 " No — I have not seen him yet ; but in conse- 
 quence of certain representations that were made 
 to me through a mutual friend I sent the Count a 
 card of invitation. He called yesterday — unfor- 
 tunately I was not at home. He left his card 
 
 But, Ah ! here is some one who can tell you more 
 about the Count than perhaps you already know. 
 Mr. Warren!" — and Lady Todmorden beckoned 
 the stockbroker towards her. 
 
 " I was just observing to Lord Eagleton," said 
 Warren, "what delightful entertainments your 
 ladyship always gives. I don't know how it is, 
 but your ladyship contrives to have the atmosphere 
 so attempered that it is never too hot nor too 
 cold." 
 
 "Flatterer!" said Lady Todmorden, tapping 
 Mr. Warren with her fan. " Did I not see you 
 dancing with Alicia?" she asked, in a low tone, 
 thereby alluding to her second daughter. 
 
 "Yes — I have just handed the Hon. Miss 
 Alicia to her seat ; and I was now seeking for Miss 
 Catharine, to whom I have the honour to be en- 
 gaged for the, next quadrille." 
 
 " Hark ! the music is playing for a waltz," in- 
 terrupted Lady Todmorden ; " and therefore you 
 have plenty of time to remain here with us for a 
 few minutes, and tell us what you know about a 
 certain personage whose name is upon everybody's 
 tongue." 
 
 " Does your ladyship mean the Count de Man- 
 deville ?" asked Warren. 
 
 ■ " Whom else could I mean ? Are you sure he 
 will be here to-night ?" 
 
 " I am confident of it. Who could neglect an 
 invitation which is almost tantamount to a com- 
 mand?" 
 
 " Again I say flatterer !" interjected Lady Tod- 
 morden, with a satisfied smile and another gentle 
 tap of her fan. " Tell us about your Count de 
 Mandeville." 
 
 " What would your ladyship have me tell 
 yon?" asked Warren. "Not that he is a noble- 
 man of very ancient family — or that he is elegant 
 in manners and unsullied in reputation ? because 
 unless he had possessed these qualifications, I 
 should never have ventured to solicit your lady- 
 ship to smile upon him. But if you speak to me 
 
 in reference to his fortune " 
 
 " Well, after all," interjected the elderly lady 
 to whom we have before alluded, and who had 
 half-a-dozen marriageable daughters, "it is just 
 as well to obtain information on this head." 
 
 " Indeed I am quite unable to tell the extent 
 of the Count de Mandeville's fortune," continued 
 Warren : " but if one may judge by the easy in- 
 difference with which he flings eighty or a hun- 
 dred thousand pounds upon the Stock Exchange 
 
 by way of speculation Pardon me, my lady!" 
 
 Warren suddenly cut himself short; "but the 
 quadrille is about to commence :" — and away he 
 went to seek the fair hand of the Hon. Miss 
 Catharine Todmorden, who was engaged to him 
 for the next dance. 
 
 The moment Warren had disappeared, all the 
 members of the group began to renew their com- 
 
TUB YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 137 
 
 ments on the expected guest — all with one excep- 
 tion; and this was the Duchess of Ardleigh. She 
 seemed to listen with a cold indifference ; and 
 every now and then a smile, either contemptuous 
 or disdainful, curled her lip. Lady Todmorden 
 was piqued at finding that the idea of the ex- 
 pected lion of a French Count made no impression 
 upon the brilliant Duchess ; and having vainly 
 waited in the expectation that she would mingle 
 in the discourse, Lady Todmorden again said, 
 " Did your Grace happen to hear of our phoenix 
 from Paris before his name was mentioned this 
 evening ?" 
 
 " Yes — I think so," replied the Duchess, with 
 an air of careless indifference. " I believe the 
 Duke met the Count at Mr. Warren's offic a few 
 da3'S ago." 
 
 " Do tell us," cried a young lady, " what report 
 his Grace made of this famous French imperta- 
 tion!" 
 
 No. 18. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 " Oh, I believe my husband was very well 
 pleased with him," said the Duchess; still with an 
 air of indifference and listlessness. 
 
 " I wonder your Grace's curiosity should not 
 have been excited by the report of your own 
 husband," observed Lady Todmorden, still with 
 an air of pique, which, well-bred though she were, 
 she could not altogether conceal. 
 
 " Curiosity ?" echoed the Duchess ; and then 
 she gave a low mocking laugh, but which 
 was exquisitely musical. " I never experience 
 curiosity in such matters. I have no faith in 
 this system of lionising foreigners. Indeed I often 
 think that we English people pay ourselves a very 
 bad compliment in constantly turning our adoring 
 looks upon everything that is foreign." 
 
 The Duchess was so high an authority in the 
 fashionable sphere, that no one dared venture to 
 breathe a syllable in opposition to the sentiments 
 she had just delivered, — until Lady Todmorden 
 
138 
 
 THE TOUliG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS Or A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 remarked in a conciliatory tone, " We know her 
 Grace is thoroughly English in all her ideas ; and 
 ■we honour and respect her all the more on that 
 account. But still " 
 
 "But still, my dear Lady Tpdmorden," inter- 
 jected the Duchess, smiling with her wonted 
 affahility, " you have caught a lion for this 
 evening — and heaven knows that no one more 
 sincerely than myself wishes you to have the full 
 benefit of his presence !" 
 
 Having thus spoken, the Duchess of Ardleigh 
 rose from amidst the group, and passing into 
 another room, hastened to pay her warm greeting 
 to her friends, the Earl and Countess of Car- 
 shalton, whom she there encountered. The two 
 handsomest specimens of the female sex then 
 present were the Duchess and the Countess, — the 
 latter of whom was once the celebrated tragic 
 actress Ellen Percy. 
 
 There was now a sensation at the entrance of 
 the ball-room, and thither Lady Todmorden pro- 
 ceeded ; for she had a presentiment of the cause. 
 Nor was she mistaken : — Count de Mandeville 
 was just making his appearance. Her ladyship 
 was most intensely anxious that he should fully 
 come up to the mark of all that had been said fir 
 conceived of him ; for she felt that the Duchess, 
 had endeavoured to throw cold water upon her 
 system of lionizing, and she was therefore 
 naturally anxious to render it completely success- 
 ful. The first glance she flung upon the Count 
 was fpllowed by instantaneous satisfaction. He 
 was dressed with elegance, and yet with that; 
 plainness and absence of display which indicates 
 the well-bred person. There was an air of dis- 
 tinction about him. Strikingly handsome he was 
 not: but good-looking he certainly was — aye, 
 almost up to that point at which he might be 
 termed handsome. Then, when he smiled and 
 displayed his brilliant teeth — and when in a voice 
 of the most perfect masculine harmonj' he ad- 
 dressed himself to Lady Todmorden, apologizing 
 for being late — the mistress of the mansion was 
 as delighted with her new guest as it was possible 
 she could be. 
 
 "Tour ladyship has a brilliant assembly here 
 this evening," said the Count. 
 
 " There are the leading stars of fashion," re- 
 sponded Lady Todmorden, indicating two splendid 
 creatures who were just visible through the open 
 doorway of an adjoining room. 
 
 " Indeed ?" Baid the Count : and he looked in 
 that direction. 
 
 "The taller one of the two, with the glossy 
 black hair and the magnificent dark eyes, is the 
 Countess of Carshalton. You must not make 
 love to her, Count," continued her ladyship, with 
 a smile ; " for she is so devotedly attached to her 
 husband that it would be impossible to wean 
 away her thoughts from him even for a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " And her companion ?" said Mandeville, — 
 "the lady with the light brown hair and the 
 clear blue eyes?" 
 
 " The Duchess of Ardleigh ?" responded Lady 
 Todmorden. " Is she not beautiful ?" . 
 
 " She is very beautiful — though not so hand- 
 some as her companion the Countess of Car- 
 shalton And so that is the Duchess of Ard- 
 leigh ?" continued the Count, in a musing strain. 
 " I met her husband the other day Ah, by 
 
 the bye !" he ejaculated, with a smile — and he 
 spoke in a tone of good-humoured jest; " if it 
 be not permitted to make love to the Countess, 
 does one stand any better chance with the 
 Duchess ?" 
 
 " Go and try, and make yourself agreeable to 
 her Grace," said Lady Tormorden. 
 
 " Try I" and the Count was evidently struck 
 by the word, as well as by the tone and manner 
 in which it was spqken. 
 
 " Shall I tell you a little secret, Count?" asked 
 Lady Todmorden. " Listen — but mind you do 
 not betray me. You must know that you are 
 already exciting a sensation in our circles — every 
 one is talking of you " 
 
 " Of me ? so humble an individual — without 
 pretension •" 
 
 "Don't affect to be ignorant of it, Count!" con- 
 tinued her ladyship, half with an air of good- 
 humoured raillery, and half with a species of 
 mysterious confidence. " Before you entered the 
 room just now, every one was speaking of you — 
 some with praise, others with curiosity — all with 
 interest, with only one exception." 
 
 "Ah! but that one ?" said the Count. 
 
 " Can you not guess ? I mean the Duchess of 
 Ardleigh.'' 
 
 " Oh, indeed ? — the Duchess of Ardleigh ?" 
 
 '* Yes : but pray do not mention what I am 
 telling you. Indeed I shall tell you nothing more 
 than this much, — that if you could only induce 
 her \a hpstow her hand for a single dance, you 
 would achieve a triumph the magnitude of which 
 you cannot as yet fipjmprehend." 
 
 " Indeed ?" said tJi e Count, with an air of sud- 
 den indifference. ','■ If the Duchess of Ardleigh 
 choose tq speak lightly or contemptuously of me 
 
 — as I judge that she has done But Ah! 
 
 when I bethink me," he suddenly interrupted 
 himself, " her Grace is your ladyship's guest, and 
 it is my duty to render myself agreeable. Be 
 kind enough to introduce me to those ladies." 
 
 " With pleasure :" — and Lady Tormorden con- 
 ducted her newly arrived guest into the adjoining 
 room, where she at once introduced him to the 
 Duchess and the Countess. 
 
 The Duchess of Ardleigh really had no inten- 
 tion of being cool or distant to Count Mandeville, 
 neither had she conceived any prejudice against 
 him. On the contrary, she had heard more in 
 his favour than she had ere now chosen to admit. 
 But she had disliked the manner in which Lady 
 Todmorden was in the habit of lionizing in- 
 dividuals, and establishing as it were a particular 
 cynosure of attraction on every occasion of 
 giving an entertainment. For this reason only 
 had the Duchess spoken and acted in the manner 
 above recorded ; and she was thinking no more 
 of the affair, when all in a moment, as she was 
 conversing with her friend Ellen, she beheld 
 Lady Todmorden approaching, as if in triumph, 
 escorting the Count. 
 
 "Ah!" thought the Duchess to herself, "she 
 is determined, then, to thrust the Count upon 
 everybody, and to hurl him at us perforce !" 
 
 The consequence was that when the Count was 
 introduced, the Duchess simply inclined her head 
 with the most distant coldness, and turned away. 
 Lady Todmorden bit her lip for a moment : but she 
 was too well bred to display her rage and spite- 
 any further. As for the Count himself, he ap- 
 
. THE YOUNG DUCHESS ! OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 130 
 
 peared not to notiee the behaviour of the brilliant 
 Duchess : but he at once glided into conversation 
 with the Countess of Carshalton, the Countess of 
 Belgrave, and two or three other ladies to whom 
 he was successively introduced. 
 
 At the expiration of a little while, the Count 
 sauntered away from the group with whom he 
 had been thus conversing, and whom he had 
 impressed with the elegance of his manners and 
 the fascinations of his powers of discourse. On 
 proceeding intp another room, a glance showed 
 him the Duchess of Ardleigh seated a little apart 
 from the rest ; for just at that moment three or 
 four ladies and gentlemen with whom she had 
 been talking, moved away into the ball-room. 
 The Count advanced up to the Duchess — bowed 
 with an air that was most unexceptionably well 
 bred — and lounging with fashionable ease over 
 the baok of a chair near her, he Said, "Your 
 Grace does not dance ?" 
 
 "Yes — sometimes — but not this evening:" 
 and the Duchess of Ardleigh's manner was cold 
 and distant — as contemptuous and repelling in- 
 deed as her sense of good-breeding could allow 
 it to be. 
 
 A' I am glad to hear that your Grace dances 
 occasionally," resumed the Count, with the most 
 perfect self-possession ; " as I shall have the 
 honour of soliciting your hand for the next 
 quadrille." 
 
 The Duchess drew herself up : her very air was 
 as much as to proclaim with an indignant 
 eloquence, "This is an insolence on your part 
 after the unmistakable coldness which I have 
 shown towards you!" — but- though her loo h ex- 
 pressed this much, she simply said m words, " I 
 beg, sir, to decline the honour." 
 
 " Perhaps your Grace is afraid to trust your- 
 .self with a stranger so little known as I," said the 
 Count : " and yet I will conduct your ladyship in 
 safety anywhere — even though it were amidst the 
 mazes of the grounds at Thornbury, and with the 
 danger of falling into the tank of ornamental 
 water." 
 
 The Duchess started as if a serpent had stung 
 her; and she flung her searching looks upon 
 Mandeville's countenance : but it was serene with 
 its well-bred smile upon it. Yet what could his 
 words signify ? They were pure nonsense unless 
 .they were to be regarded as fraught with a deep 
 covert meaning. 
 
 " Not that I myself have ever been to Thorn- 
 bury, nor in its neighbourhood," continued the 
 Count : " but I have heard a great deal of it. 
 Indeed, as a matter of course, on arriving in the 
 British metropolis, I could not possibly fail 
 to hear the eulogies of the brilliant Duchess " — 
 and here he bowed gracefully — " proclaimed from 
 every tongue. The curiosity that was excited in 
 reference to the beautiful patrician, extended itself 
 -to the very places of- her abode; and thus your 
 Grace may comprehend how I came to acquire 
 any knowledge of that residenoe which I believe 
 is your favourite one." 
 
 The Duchess was now perfectly convinced that 
 it was merely a random observation which had 
 alarmed her for a moment ; and as she happened 
 , to glance around the room, she beheld Lady Tod- 
 morden evidently watching herself and the Count 
 with a degree of unmistakable interest. It is 
 true that her ladyship instantaneously withdrew 
 
 her looks as she caught the eye of the Duchess ; 
 and then she affected to be gazing intently oh a 
 charming group of young ladles Standing near: 
 but the Duchess was not deceived by the subter- 
 fuge — and she even began to suspect that it was 
 not altogether without a hint from Lady Todmor- 
 den's lips that the Count had now accosted her. 
 She therefore resumed all her cold dignity ; and 
 she was just making a movement as if about to 
 rise from her seat, when Mandeville said, " Maty I 
 hope for the honour of your Grace's hand for the 
 next quadrille?" 
 
 " I have already given you to understand, 
 Monsieur le Comte," was the patrician lady's 
 frigid reply, " that I do not intend" to dance this 
 evening." 
 
 Instead of looking at all embarrassed or discon- 
 certed, Count Mandeville burst into a laugh — not 
 loud nor yet prolonged— but short, low; and har- 
 monious, and likewise accompanied with such an 
 air that it was impossible to take it as a piece of 
 rudeness. Nevertheless the Duchess drew herself 
 up as she rose from her seat ; and bending an in- 
 dignant look upon Mandeville, she said, " That 
 laugh, Monsieur le Comte, was almost an in- 
 sult!" 
 
 " On the contrary," replied the Count, with an 
 easy air of confidence ; " if your Grace knew what 
 provoked it, you would acknowledge that it was 
 tantamount to a compliment in respect to one of 
 the highest qualities possessed by your lady- 
 ship." 
 
 The Duchess was bewildered by this answer, 
 which evidently seemed to contain some hidden 
 significancy.; and instead of moving away from 
 the spot, she flung upon the Count' a look of per- 
 plexed inquiry. 
 
 " I was only thinking," resumed Mandeville, 
 " how well a certain person deserved a drenching 
 in a tank on a particular occasion, and what a 
 pity it is that he escaped. But the idea on your 
 Grace's part was so good ! — the design was so 
 excellent ! — there was such an antithetical singu- 
 larity in your project of thus cooling tne ardour 
 which your own beauty had kindled ! Ah, it 
 ought to have succeeded'! — but your Grace's 
 powers of invention are not the less to be admired 
 in consequence of the failure." 
 
 It was now impossible to doubt any longer that 
 the Count was speaking with & purpose and a 
 meaning ; but the Duchess was too much bewil- 
 dered and perplexed to be enabled to determine all 
 in a moment how she should take the matter. 
 
 " And if I may be permitted to admire your 
 ladyship," continued Mandeville, " for that readi- 
 ness of invention to which I have just alluded, I 
 may also speak in eulogistic terms of that love of 
 adventure which elevates your Grace to the rank 
 of a perfect heroine. Ah ! it is not every d'elf- 
 cately nurtured lady who would know how to 
 frustrate the schemes of a Gaffney, and turn the 
 tables by giving a cheque that was never intended 
 to be paid. Ha ! ha !— how your Grace must 
 have laughed and enjoyed the joke !" 
 
 There was not the slightest tincture of sarcasm 
 nor irony in the Count's tone of looks ; but he 
 went on speaking in a good-tempered; chatty, 
 familiar style, as if in reality experiencing the 
 most genuine admiration 1 of her Grace's feats, and 
 enjoying the joke respecting Gafrhey as much as 
 she herself could possibly have done at the time. 
 
 I 
 
140 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "It is not every lad}'," he continued, "who 
 looks well in masculine attire, or who can adapt 
 herself, so to speak, to the costume which she may 
 thus put on for her own purposes. But I can 
 easily conceive that your Grace must have looked 
 the perfect gentleman, and that your appearance 
 was calculated to have made the female heart sigh. 
 For no doubt the disguise was so excellent that it 
 was impossible to believe you otherwise than the 
 gay handsome young gallant for which you chose 
 to be taken." 
 
 It would be impossible to depict the varied 
 feelings with which the Duchess of Ardleigh list- 
 ened to these speeches which Count de Mandeville 
 addressed to her. It is true that he seemed to be 
 speaking without any special aim or purpose ; but 
 she nevertheless felt convinced that there was a 
 signiflcancy as well as an object, and indeed that 
 he was playing some deep game which she could 
 not at the moment fathom. Terror, amazement, 
 rage, consternation, blending with the cruellest 
 perplexity, constituted the phases of feeling 
 through which her mind passed. She suffered 
 him to go on speaking : she did not interrupt 
 him ; she knew not what to say. How on earth 
 did he know all these particulars ? who' could 
 have informed him? who could have betrayed 
 her ? 
 
 "I hope,'' said Mandeville, after a moment's 
 pause, " that your Grace is not offended with me 
 for having enumerated those qualities on your 
 part which have so- much excited my admiration? 
 These are not topics whereon I should speak in- 
 discriminately or generally. Ah ! the music is 
 
 striking up, and your Grace has promised me 
 your hand for the next quadrille." 
 
 The promise had not in reality been given ; but 
 how could the Duchess refuse anything to this 
 man in whose power she so completely found her- 
 self, and who with a breath could blast her repu- 
 tation in a minute ? There was but an instant's 
 hesitation; and then the next moment her hand 
 was laid in his. 
 
 All the coldness — all the frigid dignity — all the 
 haughty indignation which the Duchess of Ard- 
 leigh had previously been displaying towards 
 Count de Mandeville, were now succeeded by the 
 utmost affability of demeanour. Indeed, every 
 look which the Duchess bent upon him, and every 
 accent of her voice, seemed to imply that she was 
 as anxious to render herself agreeable, to con- 
 ciliate, and to gain his esteem, as she had previ- 
 ously studied to repel and insult him. 
 
 " Well, I declare," exclaimed Lady Todmorden, 
 as she rushed up to some old lady of title who was 
 immensely fond of a gossip as well as of a piece of 
 scandal, " the Count has led out the Duchess to 
 dance ! You heard how she went on against him 
 — how she almost reviled him ? And now look ! 
 — there she is, smiling, and listening with evident 
 satisfaction to the words he is addressing to her ! 
 Well, after this we must never be told that the 
 Duchess of Ardleigh is a stranger to caprice !" 
 
 Several other persons who heard the manner in 
 which the Duchess had in the first instance spoken 
 of Count Mandeville, were now amazed to find 
 that she was accompanying him in the dance ; 
 and this triumph on his part was attributed to an 
 exquisite polish of manners and to a power of 
 conversation which were in reality much greater 
 than Mandeville actually possessed. If anything 
 
 therefore had been wanting to establish the repu- 
 tation of the new-comer as the very phoenix of 
 perfection, and to give him a repute high above 
 that of all the other gentlemen of the fashionable 
 world, this triumph at Lady Todmorden's house 
 was the very incident best calculated for that 
 purpose. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE USURER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The usurer's daughter, Selina, has been already 
 introduced in some slight manner to the reader : 
 but it is now time that we should make them 
 better acquainted with a young lady who is des- 
 tined to play no inconsiderable part upon the 
 stage of our story. Selina was about nineteen 
 years of age : she was exceedingly pretty, even if 
 she did not altogether deserve the appellation of 
 beautiful. She had dark brown hair, which was 
 luxuriant and naturally wavy, so that when seen 
 in particular lights it seemed to be darker in some 
 parts" than in others, — darker, we mean,- in 
 what may be termed the hollows of those soft 
 and silky undulations. Her eyes were not large : 
 they were of a clear blue, with a peculiar softness 
 and sweetness of expression, and were unmistak- 
 ably indicative of an amiable disposition. She 
 had a good mouth and a fine set of teeth : her 
 nose was straight; — her chin softly rounded. A 
 little above the middle height, her figure was per- 
 fectly modelled ; and we may add that her hands 
 andfeet were of a faultless symmetry. 
 
 But not only was Selina thus attractive in per- 
 son — she was likewise endowed with the most 
 fascinating mental qualities. Nothing could ex- 
 ceed the' sweetness of her disposition nor the ex- 
 cellence of her moral principles. She possessed 
 many' accomplishments, for she was gifted with 
 a rare intelligence ; and at a time when her father 
 was niggard to a degree in supplying her with 
 the means of a good education (before his am- 
 bition soared to the establishment of his family 
 upon a high place in the world) she eagerly caught 
 at all the means of self-instruction and speedily 
 became proficient in whatsoever she undertook. 
 
 In no possible respect did she resemble her pa- 
 rents or her brother : she seemed a complete alien 
 to the stock — : as different from the common vul- 
 gar level of the rest as a beautiful white dove 
 might appear if thrown amidst a troop of un- 
 couth ducks waddling in the mire. She herself 
 could not fail to perceive that her parents and her 
 brother possessed many faults : nor indeed, with 
 all her amiability and her sweetness of temper, 
 could she help sometimes blushing for the gross 
 solecisms in respect to good manners perpetrated 
 by her mother, or the vulgar pretensions and self- 
 sufficiencies of her brother. And what is more, 
 her gentle bosom had often been wrung by a sigh 
 when she heard how her father mercilessly pur- 
 sued some unhappy debtor with all the rancour 
 that he might bestow upon a mortal enemy — 
 plunging him into gaol — driving him through the 
 Insolvents' Court — and hunting him down into 
 the vortex of irreclaimable ruin. Nevertheless, 
 Selina was loving and dutiful towards her pa- 
 rents ; or at least she strove to perform her filial 
 
THB YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 141 
 
 duties to the utmost of her ability, — though 
 there had of late been two or three little points 
 on which for the sake of her dignity and self- 
 respect she had been compelled to manifest a will 
 of her own. 
 
 A week had now elapsed since Mr. Casey had 
 received from the hands of his illegitimate son 
 Stephen Ashborne those documents which might 
 have done him an injury so long as they remained 
 in the hands of Squire Ponsford. But now the 
 usurer felt himself to be in safety and security ; 
 and he became impatient at the delay which his 
 plans were experiencing in reference to the mar- 
 riage of his daughter and the Hon. Launcelot 
 Osborne. That interview with his son Stephen 
 Ashborne, had excited him to a degree which pro- 
 duced a shock upon a constitution that was by no 
 means strong. He was exceedingly indisposed 
 several days afterwards ; and thus a week elapsed 
 ere he began to feel that he had energy sufficient 
 for the execution of his most favourite project. 
 
 One morning, after breakfast, he desired his 
 daughter to follow him into the little back room 
 which he called his office. Selina looked agitated, 
 for she full easily conjectured on what topic her 
 father was about to address her. 
 
 " Sit" down, Selina," said Mr. Casey, when they 
 were alone together. " You know, my dear," he 
 continued, " that it is my most earnest desire to 
 behold you comfortably and honourably settled 
 in life. Indeed certain arrangements were made 
 
 1 need not recapitulate them — but I must 
 
 ask you — and it is not for the first time — whether 
 you are conscious of any reason for which Laun- 
 celot Osborne continues to absent himself from 
 the house ?" 
 
 " I have before told you, my dear father," an- 
 swered Selina, casting down her looks, and blush- 
 ing at the same time, while it also seemed as if 
 her bosom were agitated with a sigh, " that I on 
 my part have given Mr. Osborne no cause to dis- 
 continue his visits ; but at the same time I should 
 be very sorry if — if" — and here her voice trembled 
 — " he were to continue them on my account, if 
 
 he had any disinclination— or — or " 
 
 Selina stopped short: she was full of confu- 
 sion: indeed it almost seemed as if she were 
 deeply afflicted likewise. Her father surveyed 
 her earnestly for upwards of a minute ; and then 
 he said, "There is something, Selina, which I 
 cannot understand in all this! — there has been 
 more or less mystery in your conduct! What 
 does it mean ?" 
 
 The young lady remained silent; and Mr. 
 Casey continued as follows : — 
 
 " When in the first instance your mother and I 
 asked you if it would be agreeable for you to re- 
 ceive the addresses of Launcelot Osborne, you 
 replied in the affirmative. Indeed, I think I 
 understood from your mother's lips that you even 
 admitted you could love him, or that he was not 
 indifferent to you — or something to that effect. 
 Was it not so, Selina ?" 
 
 " Yes, father — it certainly was so 1 do not 
 
 attempt to deny it." 
 
 " Well," continued the usurer, " matters went 
 on — the negotiations between myself and Lord 
 Trentham took a tangible shape — and it was 
 arranged that you should go on a certain day and 
 at a particular hour to pay your respects to the 
 noble parents of your intended husband. But 
 
 when the time came you would not go, — you 
 would not keep the appointment ! Your mother 
 entreated — I commanded — but all in vain ! — and 
 thus was it, Selina, that for about the first time 
 in your life you proved disobedient, wilful, and 
 headstrong." 
 
 "Do not blame me, my dear father!" inter- 
 jected the young lady, with difficulty stifling a 
 sob. " I told you that I could not go under such 
 circumstances !" 
 
 " Under what circumstances ?" asked Mr. Casey 
 sharply. "Three or four times I have desired 
 you to give explanations — and you have in- 
 variably returned me some evasive answer." 
 
 "Oh, my dear father," cried Selina — "could 
 you not comprehend wherefore I shrank from 
 giving those explanations ? Ah ! but I will give 
 them now, since we are talking so seriously on 
 the subject, and since you appear determined that 
 it should be brought to a thorough understanding 
 between us. I will confess that at first I was 
 rejoiced and flattered — proud and happy, at the 
 idea of proceeding to Trentham House, to be 
 welcomed by Launcelot's parents as his future 
 wife." 
 
 " Ah, then you really do love Launcelot?" eja- 
 culated the usurer. 
 
 A deep blush passed over Selina's countenance ; 
 and without answering the question, she went on 
 somewhat hurriedly to speak in the following 
 strain : — 
 
 " When I came to reflect calmly and de- 
 liberately — I will even say seriously and earnestly 
 upon that appointment which was made for me to 
 visit Lord and Lady Trentham, I found that so 
 far from having any reason to feel flattered by 
 it, there was every motive why I should be shocked 
 and humiliated." 
 
 " Eh ? what ?" ejaculated the usurer, in mingled 
 petulance and surprise. 
 
 " Yes, certainly," pursued Selina ; " for now 
 that the moment of explanation is come I will not 
 shrink from it. Oh, my dear father ! think you 
 that I could be otherwise than chafed, galled, and 
 humiliated when on reflection I comprehended how 
 that haughty peer and peeress intended to receive 
 me as a favour and not through any love or 
 friendship ! — yes, to receive me alone — unaccom- 
 panied by my parents, who ought to have been 
 with me on such an occasion ! And then my eyes 
 
 were opened " 
 
 " Opened to what ?" demanded her father im- 
 patiently. 
 
 Selina averted her countenance for a few mo- 
 ments ; but a burning blush was still lingering 
 upon her cheeks as she again looked towards her 
 sire. 
 
 " Opened to the fact," she said, "that Launce- 
 lot Osborne had not sought me in marriage be- 
 cause he loved me, but for pecuniary reasons ; and 
 my soul revolted against the idea of being 
 wedded on such terms. For, Oh ! if those haughty 
 parents of his were too proud to receive my father, 
 my mother, and my brother, how could I suppose 
 that there would be any happiness for me if ad- 
 mitted by sufferance into such a family? And 
 therefore I would not go to Trentham House on 
 that occasion to see the parents of Launcelot 
 Osborne." 
 
 "But, my dear child," said Mr. Casey, "mar- 
 riages are not always contracted for love — the 
 
142 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 days of romance are gone by — people think only 
 of ensuring for their sons and daughters a good 
 social position " 
 
 " Oh, my dear father," interrupted the young 
 lady, " I beseech you not to talk to' me in this 
 strain ! I hoped that you would not humiliate 
 yourself nor sacrifice me !" 
 
 " Silly girl ! Why, you just now confessed — 
 or at least admitted by your silence when' I put 
 the question point-blank, that you da, love La'un- 
 celot Osborne." :i 
 
 Again the vivid carnation mantled upon Selina's 
 countenance ; and she said, " But if, father, hi 
 does not love me ?" 
 
 Mr. Casey laughed ironically ; and then he re- 
 plied, " Launcelot is a good young man — he loves 
 his parents — and for their sake he will love you. 
 Never mind what I mean-; " 
 
 " But I understand you, father !" cried Selina. 
 " You mean that Lord and Lady Trentham are in 
 your power, and that Launcelot will sacrifice him- 
 self to effect the salvation of his parents." 
 
 " Well, if such be my meaning, Selina, it is 
 for you to act as an obedient daughter and a 
 prudent young woman. You will ^acquire station 
 and name — in time you will become' a peeress " 
 
 " But if I marry one who does not love me, 
 and into a family that will be ashamed of 'me," 
 exclaimed Selina vehemently, " of what avail 
 will be all the advantages of patrician rank ?" 
 
 "Enough of" this argument!" interrupted the 
 usurer. " Will you tell me, Selina, how it is that 
 for the last fortnight or more Mr. Osborne has 
 discontinued his visits ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you, father." 
 
 " Do you mean you will not ?" ' 1( . 
 
 " I mean that I have had no explanations with 
 Mr. Osborne," rejoined Selina, with her accus- 
 tomed mildness. " But I will confess that I am 
 not sorry he has remained away — the cessation of 
 his visits has proved a relief to my mind — 
 although " 
 
 " And now, Selina, we must come to the point," 
 said her father curtly. " I wrote yesterday to 
 Lord Trentham — and I have no doubt his son will 
 be here presently. I am resolved that this match 
 shall take place. I rely upon your filial obedience: 
 I am not going to suffer any maudlin reasons of 
 love or nonsense to interfere with these arrange- 
 ments which have been made for the ensurance of 
 your wellfare. It is my duty as a. parent to pro- 
 vide for my children ; and it is not for them to 
 dictate to me the sort of provision they wish to 
 have made on their behalf. You can now retire, 
 Selina, and reflect well upon all that I have just 
 been saying to you." 
 
 There was a sternness in Mr. Casey's tone, as 
 well as a resoluteness in his look — aye, and a 
 harshness in his very manner, which forbade the 
 hope that any further remonstrance, representa- 
 tion, or entreaty on Selina's part would avail to 
 move him from his purpose. She accordingly re- 
 tired from his presence and sped to her own 
 chamber. She knew how useless it would be to 
 endeavour to enlist her mother in her cause ; for 
 the ambition of the maternal parent was as im- 
 moveably set upon this aristocratic alliance as 
 that of her father. As for falling back upon her 
 brother, this was out of the question : — he would 
 only laugh at her for what he would term her 
 stupid punctiliousness, and he would bid her 
 
 marry Launcelot whether he loved her~6F nof. 
 The poor girl felt completely and utterly friend- 
 less; and retiring to her chamber, she gave way 
 to a flood of tears. 
 
 Her surcharged heart was thus relieved ; and 
 she was now more competent to lopk her position 
 in the face and deliberate upon the course which 
 she ought to pursue: She loved Launcelot — 
 dearly loved him ! It was riot so much the beauty 
 of his person as the amiability of his disposition 
 and the intelligence of his mind which had made 
 an impression upon her heart. Oh, if he only 
 loved her in return, how happy should she be ! 
 Jiut he did not : of this she felt convinced ; and 
 wfth the delicate sensitiveness of her own mind, 
 she thought she could understand how it was pos- 
 sible that Launcelot should never be enabled to 
 love her,, She fancied that he would recoil from 
 any position into which it was sought to drive 
 him perforce ! But though Selina, loved him s6 
 tenderly, and could have even worshipped the 
 very "ground on- which he trod, — yet she was far 
 too high-minded, too well-principled, and too 
 deeply imbued with a proper delicacy of feeling 
 to accept him under existing circumstances as a 
 husband. 
 
 A couple of hours passed ; and it was approach' 
 ing one o'clock hi the afternoon, when a maid- 
 servant tapped at the door' Qf Selina's chamber, 
 and informed her that the Hon., Mr. Osborne "was 
 in the drawing-room. Selina had by this time 
 perfectly "recovered her self-pos'se?sion: she was 
 pale, it is true ; but upon her countenance there 
 were no traces" of recent grief, as she walked with 
 a firm step down the staircase to the' apartment 
 .where Launcelot was awaiting her presence. 
 
 ! The young gentleman was pacing to aim fro in 
 the drawing-room when Selina entered ; and she 
 at once saw- that he was labouring under a vio- 
 lent agitation. Some few moments elapsed ere 
 he noticed her presence *, and then, instead of 
 hastening towards her, he stopped short, while 
 his countenance "became very pale, his lips 
 quivered, and he trembled visibly from head to 
 foot. 
 
 " Mr. Osborne," said Selina, closing the door 
 behind her, and accosting him with a modest 
 dignity of demeanour, " you need not labour 
 under any excitement on beholding me. You 
 have no apologies' to offer for any supposed 
 neglect on your part : you need not commence 
 by explaining wherefore your visits have ceased 
 for a period ; — -for, in plain- terms, everything is 
 at an end between you and me !" 
 
 Launcelot gave a start of amazement : — for a 
 moment an expression of wild hope swept over 
 his countenance ; but the next instant it was 
 succeeded by a look of doubt and sadness — and 
 he was evidently under the influence of varied 
 feelings. 
 
 "You say that everything is at an end between 
 us, Selina ?" he cried ; " but I do not under- 
 stand " 
 
 " I have made up my mind to speak frankly 
 and candidly to you," she interrupted him ; "for 
 this is no subject for a fastidious punctiliousness : it 
 is one on which I, although of the softer sex, have 
 as much right to speak resolutely and unreservedly 
 as you yourself can have." 
 
 "No doubt,' Selina! no doubt!" said Laun- 
 celot, wondering more arid more to- what issus 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; Oft, MEMOIRS OB A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 143 
 
 this preface was to lead. " What am I to under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " That I hive reasoned with myself," con- 
 tinued Selina, — " that by means of a variety of 
 circumstances I have been led to comprehend the 
 basis on which it was proposed this alliance 
 should be settled; and my soul revolts against 
 the idea of being forced as a bride upon one who 
 loves me not and who perhaps loves an- 
 other?" 
 
 "But your father, Selina?" exclaimed Os- 
 borne: "he has written a terrible letter to my 
 father — its terms are peremptory — he even fixes 
 the day " 
 
 "They cannot drag me to the altar," responded 
 the young lady firmly; " and of my own accord 
 I will not go." 
 
 Launcelot gazed upon her with mingled asto- 
 nishment and admiration: he wondered to hear 
 her speak thus — and he admired her for the noble, 
 the independent, and the spirited part which she 
 was performing. He -had - never understood her 
 real disposition nor comprehended the excellence 
 of her qualities until now. 
 
 " This morning," she continued, " I had a long 
 and serious discourse with my father. I fear that 
 your parents are in his power — I know not how, 
 nor to what extent — but this I do know, that you 
 are called upon to make a tremendous sacri- 
 fice " 
 
 " It would be paying the worst possible com- 
 pliment to yourself, amiable and excellent young 
 lady that you are 1" eried Launcelot, "if I were 
 to allow you to speak of this sacrifice in such 
 strong terms. For any man might be happy in 
 
 possessing you for his wife unless indeed — 
 
 unless " ^— Osborne paused, hesitated, and then 
 added,^" unless, indeed, he should chance to love 
 another !" 
 
 "And this" — Selina's voice trembled, but it 
 instantaneously grew firm — " and this, Mr. Os- 
 borne, is your case ?" 
 
 " With you I can practise no dissimulation — 
 much less deal in falsehood. Yes, Selina — for I 
 continue to address you thus familiarly, because 
 even if I do not become your husband, there is no 
 reason why I should not remain your friend, — 
 yes, I will confess that I love another — one whom I 
 bad seen before I knew you But, Oh, heavens ! 
 you are ill ? you seem as if you were about to 
 faint ?" 
 
 " So, Mr. Osborne — it is nothing. I am better 
 now :"— and Selina, disengaging herself from his 
 arms, as he sprang forward to support her, sank 
 upon a seat. 
 
 Though she had suspected that it was probable 
 Launcelot might love another, yet when the 
 avowal was made — when there was no longer a 
 doubt, and consequently no room for a hope — the 
 effect was like that of a shock upon her ; and for 
 an instant she had been unable to bear up against 
 it The little incident served to open Launeelot's 
 eyes to the fact that he was truly and veritably 
 beloved by this young lady who was making the 
 most magnanimous sacrifice of her own passion on 
 his behalf. 
 
 "Selina," he said, in a low and tremulous 
 voice, "it rends my soul to think that there 
 should be unhappiness or sorrow in any quarter 
 on account of the part' that I may have taken in 
 these transactions. When I offered you my hand, 
 
 I did not tell you that you possessed my heart — I 
 did not altogether deceive you — but I feared that 
 
 on the other hand you loved me 1 am now 
 
 convinced of it — and Oh ! I feel as if I were a 
 wretch who has trifled with the best and purest 
 feelings of one so good, so amiable, and so mag- 
 nanimous as thou !" 
 
 " Do not reproach yourself," said Selina. " To 
 my father's ambition must all these evils be 
 traced. But you shall not be sacrificed. I will 
 presently tell my father that of my own accord I 
 have broken off everything betwixt you and me : 
 I will acquit you of all blame — I will even declare 
 that you yourself are still ready to make the 
 sacrifice — but I will vow and protest that I will 
 sooner perish by my own hand than be dragged 
 to the altar !" 
 
 " Oh, Selina !" murmured Launcelot, deeply 
 affected ; " are you to make your own life miser- 
 able " 
 
 "Yes, sooner than steep your's in misery ! 
 Listen to me, Launcelot :" — and now for the first 
 time during this interview she called him by his 
 Christian name. " I will confess that I love you 
 —heaven knows how well ] — -too well to' render 
 you miserable ! I will therefore do all I can to 
 promote your happiness. If I refuse to accom- 
 pany you to the altar, my father cannot prove 
 so unjust and cruel as to punish your family for 
 his own daughter's disobedience." 
 
 " Alas, Selina, he will do it ! he will do it !" 
 cried Osborne. " In his letter of yesterday to my 
 father, he spoke of the possibility of certain fasti- 
 dious punctiliousness existing between' 1 the young 
 people' — for thus he spoke of us; and he went on 
 to say that he should hold me accountable for the 
 result if I failed at the next interview with his 
 daughter to convince her of my love and of my 
 readiness to make her happiness the study of my 
 life." 
 
 " Do your parents know that you love an- 
 other ?" inquired Selina. 
 
 " Yes," replied Launcelot. " I will tell you an 
 incident. You remember that afternoon on which 
 you were to call at Trentham House ?" 
 
 "Yes : it was exactly three weeks ago." 
 
 " True/ And a marvellous coincidence to»k 
 place," continued Osborne. " On that day, and 
 precisely at that hour, the very being whom I 
 love beheld me in the street — she followed me to 
 the house She was closely veiled tfhe cir- 
 cumstances are so peculiar you will scarcely be- 
 lieve them : but as heaven is my judge, I am 
 speaking the truth !" 
 
 " Oh, I believe you, Launcelot ! I believe you !" 
 interjected Selina, as she gazed upon that hand- 
 some countenance, with its frank honest expres- 
 sion, and the pure .light of intelligence that shone 
 in the fine blue eyes. " Proceed — proceed ! What 
 happened ?" 
 
 "A strange series of mistakes and errors. That 
 veiled one — the being whom I love — was greeted 
 by my parents, who thought that they were wel- 
 coming you. Then there was a scene between 
 her and me — and I, thinking the while it was 
 you, made a confession — told the tale of my real 
 love " 
 
 " Yes — I understand !" murmured Selina. " You 
 told the tale of real love to her whom it most 
 nearly and dearly concerned ?" 
 
 " It was so. But let me make an end' of this tale 
 
 I 
 
144 
 
 THE YOClfO DUCHESS; OR, jtEMOIRS OP A I/ADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 What could I do ? I was compelled to explain 
 everything to my parents, — everything except the 
 name of her whom they had welcomed and who 
 owned my love !" 
 
 " Then Lord and Lady Trentham," said Selina, 
 "know that you love another — but know not 
 who that other is ? Is it thus that you mean me 
 to understand the matter ?" 
 
 " It is so. — Ah, Selina ! if she whom I love 
 were in a high position and wealthy, and enabled 
 to bring riches into the family, so that our own 
 ruined fortunes might be rebuilt, it would be 
 different ! She whom I love is poor and depen- 
 dent " 
 
 "Would to heaven that I could enrich her, 
 Launcelot," murmured Selina ; " for assuredly this 
 would I do for your sake ! But are you certain 
 that my father would be so harsh — so wicked-: " 
 
 " Listen to me, Selina," interrupted Launcelot; 
 " and I will tell you exactly how the entire mat- 
 ter stands. This is the 24th of May: your 
 father has fixed the 31st for the bridal. My pa- 
 rents have implored and entreated that I will 
 throw no obstacle in the way " 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Selina: "they ask you 
 to sacrifice yourself ?" 
 
 " Alas, yes ! Perhaps they have a right to de- 
 mand this sacrifice at the hand of their son ! — 
 perhaps they are justified in looking to me as the 
 one who shall redeem the fortunes of an ancient 
 family from destruction, and the name of a proud 
 lineage from disgrace !" . 
 
 Selina reflected for upwards of a minute ; and 
 then she inquired, " What answer did you make 
 them?" 
 
 "I gave them none : I quitted their presence in 
 despair ! I could not tell them that I would see 
 ruin brought down upon their head without taking 
 the steps that "should avert it: — neither could I 
 on the other hand " 
 
 He stopped short ; and Selina said, " I under- 
 stand you ! You could not on the other hand 
 trample all your hopes under foot, and in a mo- 
 ment seal your own unhappiness ! But what is to 
 be done ? One week — one short week " 
 
 "That is all," said Launcelot. 
 
 " And what— what would be the consequences," 
 pursued Selina, " if I were to give the most posi- 
 tive and absolute refusal to accompany you to the 
 altar ? Would ruin be immediate ? would, it come 
 with a crash ? or would there be yet a chance of 
 staving it off for a period ?" 
 
 "No chance!" replied Launcelot. - "Such is 
 the position of my father's affairs that your father 
 could at any moment seize the estates for no less 
 a sum than fifty thousand pounds. Yes — and the 
 house in London and all the furniture for a further 
 sum of ten thousand " 
 
 " I did not know that my father had ever been 
 wealthy enough to lend such large amounts," said 
 Selina, in bewildered amazement 
 
 " Oh ! I have not even mentioned the worst," 
 proceeded Launcelot. " My father is indebted to 
 your's altogether to the amount of eighty thou- 
 ' sand*pounds : but the first seizure that would be 
 made is for fifty only. However, it would require 
 little of additional legal processes to consummate 
 the ruin of the Trentham family!" 
 
 "And we have but one week before us !" said 
 Selina, who spoke abstractedly, as if she were 
 ■ revolving in her mind some idea that had occurred 
 
 to her : " only one short week to avert this de- 
 plorable catastrophe ! Nevertheless," she added, 
 "something shall be done — something must be 
 done ! Heaven itself will not permit so much 
 infamy to be accomplished ! Launcelot, we are 
 friends. I swear to you that I will never seek 
 against your will to be anything more. And now 
 leave me. Alas ! I have no words of hope to hold 
 
 out at this moment But still — but still — there 
 
 is something in my, mind which prevents me from 
 sinking altogether into despair." 
 
 " Such an assurance from your lips," exclaimed 
 Launcelot, almost with enthusiasm, " is tanta- 
 mount to the proclaiming of a hope. But in 
 whatever manner all these things may result, I 
 shall never forget, Sejinay your goodness — your 
 magnanimity ! May God in heaven.bless you !"'. 
 
 He wrung her hand with the impassioned fer- 
 vour of the most heartfelt gratitude, and then 
 hurried from the apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 astley's. , 
 
 Theke were unusual attractions at Astley's in the 
 evening of the day of which we have just been 
 wrifing. ' A magnificent equestrian spectacle was 
 announced under the name of " Valentine and 
 Orson," and a real bear, was to appear in the cir- 
 cus, supposed to be the veritable animal who 
 nourished Orson along with its own little cubs in 
 the forest. The celebrated acrobat, Mr. BlundelL 
 was to perform the part of Orson — an impersona- 
 tion which would afford that individual an oppor- 
 tunity of displaying his skill by climbing, up and 
 down "trees, and performing a thousand antics, 
 such as the wild man might be supposed to have 
 indulged in. Mademoiselle Imogene, arrayed in a 
 complete suit of beautiful armour, was to enact 
 the part of the young knight Valentine ; and it 
 was expected that with her equestrian skill, her 
 fine Bayadere-like form, and her remarkably 
 handsome countenance, she would perform that 
 chivalrous rale with the most striking effect Miss 
 Alice Denton and Mademoiselle Rose were also to 
 figure conspicuously in the Gh-and Spectacle, the 
 announcement of which produced an immense 
 sensation throughout the neighbourhood of Lam- 
 beth in particular, and the frequenters of Astley's 
 in general. 
 
 A little while before the doors of the theatre 
 were opened, Mr. Sylvester Casey sauntered over 
 Westminster Bridge, smoking his cigar. He had 
 dined at a coffee-house in Bridge Street, — his 
 repast having consisted of a couple of mutton 
 chops, potatoes, bread, and a pint of ale, the Whole 
 coining to sixteen pence, leaving twopence for the 
 waiter when a shilling and sixpence were thrown 
 down upon the table. 
 
 Just at the foot of the bridge Sylvester ran 
 against Launcelot Osborne, who seemed to be 
 walking along in a thoughtful and abstracted 
 manner. 
 
 "Why, my dear fellow!" exclaimed young 
 Casey, " people don't keep their eyes fixed on the 
 pavement when they're walking through the 
 crowded thoroughfares of London in the evening." 
 
THE YOUXO DUCHESS; OB MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " Oh, indeed. — I — I — mean to say — I did not 
 observe yoi» at the moment." 
 
 " I know you didn't," laughed Sylvester. "A 
 pr«tty rig it would be if you was to go and get 
 run over by a cab just as the wedding day's fixed 
 And you're to be spliced to my sister in a week." 
 
 " Ah, then your father has told you " 
 
 " Told me that it's all arranged, and that you 
 nras in the house with Selina when I went in to 
 lunch. I didn't choose to disturb you — I thought 
 you was having a nice little tete-a-tete together." 
 
 " Oh, then you have not been home to dinner ?" 
 asked Launcelot, anxious to know what account 
 Selina might have given of the result of the in- 
 terview. 
 
 " Ko— not I. I dined up at the Clarendon m 
 Bond Street. Just a little turbot, some turtle, 
 No. 19.^The Young DuchBss. 
 
 1 and a neck of venison — a pint of champagne and 
 a bottle of claret, — that was my dinner," added 
 Sylvester, giving three or four complacent puffs 
 at his. cigar. 
 
 " Well, it is very strange," said Launcelot, 
 "but I was coming along Bridge Street about 
 an hour ago, and I could have declared that I saw 
 you enter that little coffee-house near the news- 
 shop " 
 
 " What !" — and Sylvester became scarlet. "Me 
 go to a coffee-house ? Well, by jingo, Launcelot, 
 if you think so ill of me as all that, I'd better go 
 and pistol myself " 
 
 " 111 of you ? Indeed I should not think ill of 
 you on that account." 
 
 " Come, d it, man !" cried Sylvester, affect- 
 ing to be half-indignant, " a joke's a joke : but 
 
146 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 to say that I did anything so precious low as to 
 go to a coffee-house — a slap-bang perhaps — a 
 trough " 
 
 " Well, I daresay I was mistaken," interrupted 
 Osborne; "and this is all the more likely inas- 
 much as the person whom I took for you, seemed 
 to dive suddenly in, holding down his head Some- 
 what, just a3 if he did not care particularly to be 
 seen." 
 
 "Ah, well — now you're convinced it wasn't 
 me," exclaimed Sylvester. " I almost wish it had 
 been ; for now I've got the turtle and venison 
 rising in my throat. It was too rich a dinner. 
 I'm afraid I feed too well. — But where are you 
 going ? To Astley's, no doubt ?" 
 
 " Well," faltered out Launcelot, " I was think- 
 ing of looking in there for a few minutes : but I 
 am not sure " 
 
 "Oh, nonsense! come along. We'll pass 
 round to the stage-door. I won't tell Selina that ' 
 ' you go behind the scenes " 
 
 " Thank you. I shall not go behind the scenes 
 this evening." 
 
 "Well, I will join you presently," resumed 
 Sylvester, " in the boxes. I just want to step 
 behind the scenes to say a word to my pretty 
 Alice. I haven't seen her these two days ; and 
 the truth is her weekly money was due yesterday 
 — ten guineas, you know — and I must go and 
 give it to her. I hate being behindhand in these 
 sort of things — and I can't bear to look mean." 
 
 The two young gentlemen now separated, — 
 Launcelot bending his way towards the principal 
 entrance, the doors having been just thrown 
 open — and Sylvester passing round to the rear of 
 the theatre, so that he might get upon the stage. 
 On ascending into that region, young Casey found 
 that a part where a light usually burnt, was now 
 involved in darkness ; and he was groping Ms 
 way along, when he heard voices in whispering 
 conversation close by. He was mean and paltry 
 enough to have listened under any circumstances.: 
 but still less likely than ever was he to hesitate 
 when he recognised one of the voices to be Miss 
 Alice Denton's. But to whom was she talking in 
 this mysterious manner ? and who could be the j 
 subject of her discourse ? 
 
 " Of course I hate him," she was saying at the 
 moment: "how could it be possible to do other- 
 wise ? a stupid conceited fellow ! as ugly as a 
 baboon — and giving himself as many airs as if he 
 were the greatest lord in the land !" 
 
 " Why, who can she mean?" asked Sylvester of 
 himself. 
 
 " With that horrid red hair of his — and 
 those green eyes — and his face covered with 
 freckles " 
 
 "A whipper-snapper coxcomb !" said the other 
 voice : "I should like to punch his head for 
 him !" — and now Sylvester discovered* that his 
 beautiful Alice wa3 in discourse with no less a 
 person than the famous acrobat Mr. Blundell. 
 
 " He is the meanest fellow too on the face 
 ot the earth," continued the young lady: "he 
 did not bring me my paltry allowance the day 
 before yesterday — and so I suppose I shall see 
 him to-morrow; — and then next pay-day he will 
 make to-morrow week, so that by these means he 
 will gain three clear days ! That's the way he is 
 accustomed to serve me, with his nasty mean 
 tricks !" 
 
 " Well, never mind, my dear Alice," said 
 Blundell : " he doesn't suspect how thick you and 
 me are together ; and you had better :ceep friends 
 with him just for the present. But I say, come 
 along — we shall be wanted." 
 
 Sylvester heard a sound very much resembling 
 the meeting of two pairs of lips ; and this was 
 followed by the creaking of footsteps moving 
 away from the spot where the preceding colloquy 
 had taken place. Sylvester's blood was boiling : 
 the place was pitch dark — and he could not resist 
 the temptation of doing what Mr. Blundell had 
 expressed a desire of doing towards himself— 
 namely, of inflicting that species of chastisement 
 which is called " punching the head." Sylvester 
 therefore groped his way hastily forward in the 
 direction which he fancied his faithless mistress 
 and his rival had taken : he proceeded some dozen 
 paces — he paused to listen — he thought he heard 
 the sound of persons breathing close by him ; he 
 advanced — stretched out his arms — and was 
 already gloating at the idea of the punishment 
 which he was about to inflict on the acrobat, 
 when, behold ! as he crept noiselessly on, he sud- 
 denly came in contact with a hairy object — and 
 he found himself hugged in a couple of hirsute 
 arms that seemed to be ready extended to receive 
 him in their embrace. Sylvester comprehended 
 
 the truth in a moment- -he was in the grip of 
 
 the bear — and a terrified cry pealed from his 
 lips ! 
 
 We must here explain that the bear was 
 tutored to perform particular antics in the pre- 
 sence of a -certain number of lights, — which lesson 
 the sagacity of the animal had enabled it to 
 acquire with the utmost proficiency. But inas- 
 much as there was no necessity for the brute to 
 practise its tricks behind the scenes, it had been 
 placed in a secluded spot where there was no need 
 to have any lights at all for the time being ; and 
 thus the gas which was usually flaming there at 
 that hour had been extinguished. Hence the 
 miserable dilemma into which poor Sylvester Casey 
 plunged with so fearful a suddenness. 
 
 The cry that pealed from his lips rang through 
 all that portion of the establishment : lights 
 quickly flamed around — carpenters and scene- 
 shifters came rushing to the spot — the doors of 
 the several dressing-rooms opened — and out 
 rushed a number of actors and nymphs in their 
 theatrical costumes. Ejaculations of dismay and 
 shrieks of terror at first indicated the feelings 
 which were inspired by the spectacle : but in a 
 very few moments a peal of laughter broke in 
 upon the other sounds — this was followed by an- 
 other, and then another — until all who were as- 
 sembled there yielded to the hilarious inclinations 
 engendered by the ludicrous figure which poor 
 Sylvester cut in the embrace of the bear. And 
 we are compelled by a strict regard for truth to 
 add that no explosion of merriment was more 
 jocund — we had almost termed it boisterous — 
 than that which emanated from the faithless Miss 
 Alice Denton. 
 
 The carpenters and scene-shifters quickly com- 
 menced an assault upon the bear, in order to in- 
 duce the animal to relax his hold upon the un- 
 fortunate victim who was roaring and screaming, 
 and crying and yelling in the hirsute arms that 
 held him tight. The brute's muzzle was over his 
 shoulder : but fortunately it was a good-natured 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A IADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 147 
 
 specimen of the ursine race — and it had been drilled 
 by theatrical discipline into comparative harmless - 
 ness. In a short time, therefore, Mr. Casey junior 
 was rescued from the embrace of the bear — but 
 only to encounter a tremendous horse-laugh 
 sounding in his ear ; and on turning with rage 
 and humiliation to see from whom the taunting 
 cachinnation emanated, his looks met the malicious 
 regards of Mr. Blundell, the acrobat, dressed as 
 Orson. 
 
 Sylvester was in his heart a desperate coward : 
 but there are moments when even the greatest 
 poltroons in the universe may be goaded to despe- 
 ration. Such was the case in the present instance. 
 Sylvester thought of his wrongs : — back to his 
 memory flashed all that he had heard pass betwixt 
 Alice and Mr. Blundell ; and though nearly all 
 the breath had been squeezed out of his body, and 
 he had at first sunk panting and exhausted into 
 the arms of one of the scene-shifters, he now 
 made a desperate rush at the acrobat, and 
 hurled him against the King, who in his 
 royal robes of tinsel and a crown of pasteboard 
 on his head, was gazing with all the majestic 
 condescension of hilariousness upon the scene. 
 The royal personage began to blaspheme in a 
 manner highly inconsistent with the dignity 
 of his regal office ; while Mr. Blundell, picking 
 himself np, flew at Sylvester, vowing amidst 
 a series of imprecations which even out-Heroded 
 the King's, that he would smash his assailant 
 everlastingly. But all of a sudden a beauteous 
 form, clad in aerial garments, glided betwixt the 
 fierce Orson (Mr. Blundell), and his intended 
 victim (Mr. Sylvester Casey) : so that the effect 
 was magical. Mr. Blundell fell back ; and Syl- 
 vester was dragged by a pair of naked white 
 arms into the ladies' dressing-room, where his fair 
 deliverer at once bolted the door. She and Syl- 
 vester were now alone there together ; and per- 
 haps our readers may not be altogether very 
 much surprised when we inform them that the 
 beauteous being was none other than Miss Alice 
 Denton. 
 
 Mr. Blundell fell back so suddenly, and ab- 
 stained from any remonstrance against the fact of 
 Miss Denton's thus bearing off the object of his 
 hatred, for the simple reason that it all in a mo- 
 ment flashed to his mind how expedient it would 
 be to suffer the syren to make her peace with the 
 person who allowed her two guineas and a half 
 a week: for the worthy acrobat suddenly sus- 
 pected that as Sylvester had evidently entered 
 the premises in darkness and stealthiness, he 
 might have overheard what took place between 
 himself (Mr. Blundell) and the frail fair one. As 
 for the rest of the company, they likewise winked 
 at Alice taking the young man into the dressing- 
 room ; for it was pretty generally known that she 
 was under his protection. 
 
 But let us re-enter that dressing-room. Syl- 
 vester threw himself on a seat, panting for breath — 
 bewildered and discomfited — half enraged against 
 Alice, yet half inclined to be thankful for the 
 timely succour with which she had rescued him 
 from the fury of the acrobat and the terrible im- 
 precations of the King. As for the young lady 
 herself, she leant against the wall and burst out 
 into as merry and genuine a peal of laughter as 
 was ever heard within that sanctum of Thespian 
 toilet. At length the laughter died away — and 
 
 Sylvester began to recover breath as well as self- 
 possession. 
 
 "Well," he said, in a sulky tone, "this is a 
 precious rum start, and as queer a go as ever I 
 knew in all my life ! To be hugged by a bear, 
 and insulted by a set of brutal wretches " 
 
 "Who do you mean, Sylvester?" asked Alice 
 quickly. 
 
 " Well — and I may add too to be made a fool 
 of and laughed at by one that ought to know 
 better — particularly after the blow-out of white- 
 bait and champagne I gave you a fortnight, 
 ago " 
 
 " Oh ! you are alluding to me — are you?" cried 
 Alice. " And pray, who could help laughing ?" 
 
 " Well, I tell you what it is," interrupted Syl- 
 vester : " the game's up between you and me, 
 Alice — I'll have nothing more to do with you " 
 
 "What! just because I laughed at what was 
 enough to make the gravest judge or bishop split 
 his sides ? Come, Sylvester dear — don't be a 
 fool :" and Miss Denton passed her hand caress- 
 ingly over his cheek. 
 
 " You false creature, you !" cried the young 
 man. " I've found you out at last ! I always 
 suspected it : but now I know it ! And to abuse 
 me too behind my back, with that odious fellow 
 Blundell!" 
 
 " Ah !" and now a light flashed in unto Miss 
 Denton's comprehension : but instantaneously 
 assuming the part of an injured woman, she said, 
 " Oh, Sylvester ! who could ever have thought 
 that you were capable of playing the eavesdropper 
 and listening ?" 
 
 "Never mind ! I know what I heard, Alice — 
 and I'll never forgive it." 
 
 "Yes, you will, dear:" — and she coaxingly 
 threw one of her white arms round his neck. 
 " The truth is, I was very cross indeed with you 
 because you did not come to see me either to-day 
 or yesterday " 
 
 "And you wanted your money?" interjected 
 Sylvester tauntingly ; " and you accused me of 
 meanness. Oh, I heard all you said! And 
 then — and then — about my complexion too " 
 
 " Well, Sylvester, I have always told you that 
 it is your own fault for being rather freckled ; be- 
 cause if you'd only use some elder-flower water, 
 or something of that sort, you would soon have a 
 very beautiful complexion. I am sure I always 
 stick up for you, unless you put me into a pet ; 
 and then of course, you know, a woman is apt to 
 say things that she's afterwards sorry for." 
 
 While Alice thus spoke, her countenance gradu- 
 ally approached Sylvester's ; and now she looked 
 so sweetly and entreatingly into his face with her 
 large blue eyes, that he began to melt. 
 
 " Well," he said, " suppose you were in a pet 
 with me, why should you go and tell your grievr 
 ances to that fellow Blundell ?" 
 
 " I met him by accident." 
 
 " What ! in the dark I suppose ? Oh, ah ! a 
 jolly accident !" 
 
 " Well, my dear Sylvester, it was not my fault," 
 rejoined Alice mildly, "if the manager ordered 
 the gas to be put out in that part of the theatre 
 on account of the bear." 
 
 Everything was going on well up to this 
 point : Sylvester was melting beneath the warmth 
 of the syren's caresses : but now, as she unfortu- 
 nately recollected the figure which he cut in the 
 
148 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 embrace of the bear, her natural love of gaiety 
 prevailed over every consideration of policy, and 
 she once more burst forth into a merry peal of 
 laughter. 
 
 "Well, after this," cried Sylvester, springing 
 up from his seat, " I'm done ! It's all up, Alice ! 
 I was a fool to think of forgiving you. I ought 
 to have recollected how you and Blundell chuckled 
 at the idea of my not knowing of your intimacy 
 
 And then too there was a sound — a smacking 
 
 sound, Alice !" he vehemently exclaimed ; " and 
 it was just like when lips are meeting. So, as I 
 don't pay you two and a half guineas a week, 
 besides whitebait and champagne dinners, to be- 
 stow your favours on a coarse vulgar fellow like 
 Blundell, I'll cut it at once." 
 
 "Then if this be your resolve, sir," replied 
 Alice, " you had better separate from me in a 
 gentlemanly manner, instead of indulging in this 
 abuse. Mr. Blundell would be incapable of such 
 conduct !" 
 
 " Oh, I dare say you think him a very fine fel- 
 low," exclaimed Sylvester spitefully : " but de- 
 pend upon it I'll punch his head yet before I've 
 done with him !" 
 
 Thus speaking, Mr. Sylvester Casey flung open 
 the door and rushed out of the dressing-room — 
 Alice Denton not thinking it worth while to make 
 another effort to conciliate or retain him. He 
 caught a glimpse of the ominous countenance of 
 Mr. Blundell peering round a piece of stage- 
 machinery at a little distance ; and not feeling 
 pugnacious on the present occasion, he dashed 
 clown the stairs and made his exit from the rear- 
 ward premises of the theatre. Full of spite and 
 vexation at the incidents which had just occurred, 
 he did not think of rejoining Launcelot Osborne : 
 but recrossing Westminster Bridge, he wandered 
 about the streets smoking cigars for a couple of 
 hours, and on his return to Hatton Garden as- 
 sured his mother that he had passed a most de- 
 lightful evening in company with some dozen 
 young aristocratic friends of his acquaintance. 
 
 As for Launcelot Osborne himself, he soon for- 
 got that Sylvester had promised to meet him in 
 the boxes ; for until the performances commenced, 
 the young patrician was profoundly occupied with 
 his own reflections : but when the object of his 
 devoted love, the beauteous Imogen, appeared in 
 the circus, all his attention became at once con- 
 centrated in that cynosure. How well she looked 
 in the chivalrous attire which she now wore ! — 
 how admirably it fitted her symmetrical form ! — 
 and with what mingled grace and skill did she 
 sit upon the steed that bore her ! Tet, Oh ! to 
 be enabled to take her away from this atmosphere 
 —to bear her off from that arena — and to retire 
 with her into some seclusion where they might 
 dwell in love and happiness together, — Oh, this 
 was the acme of all the young man's hopes and 
 desires ! 
 
 Launcelot waited until the conclusion of the 
 piece in which Imogen had to bear a part ; and 
 then he quitted the theatre. On issuing forth 
 he stopped and hesitated: then he walked on 
 again : once more he paused to reflect — and again 
 he continued his way. Passing round to the rear 
 of the theatre, he waited at a short distance for 
 the appearance of his beloved one. This was the 
 first time that he had ever attempted to see her 
 after the performances, — the first time that he 
 
 the first time, in a word, that he had done aught i 
 which was at all calcuated to compromise her 
 reputation, apart from visiting her regularly every 
 day at her own dwelling and there passing hours 
 in her company. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 ALONE TOGETHEK. 
 
 It was Imogen's general custom to dress in her 
 theatrical costume at her own abode, and thence 
 pass to the theatre enveloped in a cloak, and 
 further protected by the shades of evening in a 
 neighbourhood which was not too plentifully sup- 
 plied with gaslights. But on the present occasion 
 she had been compelled to dress at the theatre 
 itself, as she could not very well go walking 
 through the street in a suit of armour, although 
 it was made of tin plates instead of steel, and was 
 thus of the lightest material. After the perform- 
 ance of the grand equestrian spectacle in which 
 she achieved a fresh triumph, she put off her 
 armour in a private dressing-room allotted to her 
 own use, and resumed her ordinary apparel. 
 Laimcelot was thus kept waiting nearly half an 
 hour until he beheld Imogen approaching ; and it 
 was now verging towards eleven o'clock. 
 
 "Dearest Imogen!" he said; "forgive me for 
 thus waylaying you -" 
 
 " Heavens, Launcelot ! is anything the matter ?" 
 inquired the actress, at once smitten with the idea 
 that there must be something amiss. 
 
 " I want to speak to you particularly," replied 
 Osborne: "there is something on my mind — I 
 feel that I cannot go to rest until I have told you 
 everything " 
 
 "Launcelot," interrupted Imogen, laying her 
 hand upon his arm, and fixing her beautiful blue 
 eyes upon his countenance, while the expression 
 of her own features indicated a deep anxiety, — 
 " you are not going to tell me that you have ceased 
 to love me ? nor that something has occurred which 
 must compel us to separate? I could endure 
 almost anything but such tidings as these !" 
 
 "Oh, Imogen!" exclaimed Osborne in an im- 
 passioned tone, " it were impossible that I should 
 ever cease to love you! — and heaven forbid that 
 circumstances should ever separate us !" 
 
 " Now my mind is relieved," said Miss Hart- 
 land, with a sigh that showed how the weight of 
 suspense was indeed lifted from off her bosom : 
 and she added, "A thousand thanks, dear Laun- 
 celot, for those assurances ! But still it must be 
 something important " 
 
 " Imogen," he said, in a hesitating tone, " may 
 I accompany you ? — or is it too late — and do you 
 fear that I shall compromise you ?" 
 
 " What care I for all the world in comparison 
 with yt>%, Launcelot ?" interrupted Imogen. " So 
 long as I possess your good opinion, it is sufficient 
 for me. Come." 
 
 She took his arm with that air of confidence, so 
 bewitchingly ingenuous, which the woman who 
 loves for the first time is ever wont to display to- 
 wards the object of her attachment. A sense of 
 indescribable rapture thrilled through the heart of 
 the young patrician, as he felt the arm leaning 
 
TIIE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY Or QUALITY. 
 
 149 
 
 upon his own and met the upturned gaze of his 
 beautiful companion ; for it seemed to him as if 
 she had become doubly clear to him since she had 
 just given that proof, so artless and yet so signal, 
 that he was all in all to her. 
 
 Fanny, the maid-servant, was in the habit of 
 sitting up for the return of her mistress from the 
 theatre; and as she opened the front door she 
 gave a momentary look of surprise on finding that 
 Miss Hartland was accompanied by Launcelot 
 Osborne. Imogen did not however notice it, or 
 care to observe it ; while Launcelot himself of 
 course said nothing. Supper was spread upon the 
 table in the neat parlour : the child had long ago 
 »unk off to sleep in its little couch up-stairs. 
 
 " You need not sit up, Fanny," said Imogen, in 
 the most innocent and artless manner in the world, 
 as she tossed off her bonnet and shawl. " Mr. 
 Osborne will stay and take some supper with me ; 
 and I will presently let him out." 
 
 Fanny's countenance brightened up; for she 
 knew her mistress well enough to perceive in a 
 moment that she was not playing any hypocritical 
 part ; and as she had been assured that Mr. Os- 
 borne was paying his addresses to her mistress 
 with the most honourable intentions, though under' 
 circumstances of caution and privacy, she thought 
 that it was not very strange, after all, that he 
 should escort Miss Hartland home from the 
 theatre, or that having so done, he should enter 
 the house to take a morsel of Slipper in her com- 
 pany. 
 
 Fanny retired : Launcelot and Imogen were 
 now alone together in the parlour. Neither 
 needed any refreshments ; for the former was too 
 anxious to disburden his mind of what he had to 
 say— and the latter was too eager to learn what 
 important matters had made him seek her at that 
 late hour. And perhaps also they were both too 
 much absorbed in the pleasure of being in each 
 other's company to care for all the possible delights 
 of the table, even if the most splendid banquet 
 had been spread before them instead of the com- 
 paratively frugal repast that was there. 
 
 " I should have come to you this afternoon, or 
 in the evening before the performance commenced," 
 began Launcelot, " only that I knew you had 
 to be at the rehearsal, and therefore I had no 
 opportunity of seeing you except at this late 
 hour." 
 
 "What has transpired, Launcelot, since you 
 were with me this morning ?" asked Imogen 
 anxiously. 
 
 "I will tell you. When I left you — it was at 
 about noon — I returned home. My father had 
 been inquiring for me — he was in the library, with 
 my mother and sister — they were all much agi- 
 tated " 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed Imogen. " I 
 foresee what is coming ! That odious usurer " 
 
 "Yes — he had written in a peremptory and 
 even menacing strain. My father implored me to 
 lose no time in calling at Hatton Garden. I went 
 — in a state of mind which you may conceive, 
 Imogen, but which I cannot describe " 
 
 " Dearest, dearest Launcelot !" — and she pressed 
 his hand to her bosom. " Is the love that you 
 bear for me destined to be fatal to your hap- 
 piness !" 
 
 " Oh, speak not thus, sweet Imogen ! How can 
 that be fatal to my happiness which constitutes 
 
 it ? And Oh ! I possess a noble-minded and 
 magnanimous friend in Selina Casey. I told you 
 that I thought she was different from the rest of 
 the family to which she belongs : — but, Oh ! I 
 little expected to find a being so replete with the 
 loftiest sentiments and most generous ideas as 
 she !" 
 
 Launcelot then proceeded to give Imogen Hart- 
 land the details of all that had occurred between 
 himself «and the usurer's daughter ; and the reader 
 may imagine with what varying sentiments of in- 
 terest Imogen listened to the narrative. At one 
 moment the tears ran down her beautiful cheeks, 
 as Osborne repeated all the feeling and eloquent 
 language in which Selina had declared that she 
 would not permit him to sacrifice his own happi- 
 ness to any worldly or selfish considerations ; and 
 when the young patrician ^eased speaking, Imo- 
 gen threw herself into his arms, murmuring, " Oh, 
 Launcelot, you are advancing up to the very brink 
 of ruin for my sake ! — aye, and not alone are you 
 proceeding to the verge of the precipice— but you 
 are dragging your parents and your sister along 
 with you and all this for my sake, I repeat !" 
 
 " No — not for your sake only, dearest, dearest 
 Imogen !" he replied, pressing her again and again 
 to his heart ; " but for the sake also of that love 
 which I bear you, and for mine own happiness ! 
 It is not only because you love me, dearest Imo- 
 gen, so truly and fondly ; but it is also because on 
 my own side I feel that I cannot live without you. 
 But let us not despair ! There is a little star of 
 
 hope shining in the distance 1 mean those last 
 
 words which Selina spoke to me— vague, inde- 
 finite, and uncertain though they were " 
 
 "But if that hope should be disappointed, 
 Launcelot," interrupted Imogen, " what is to be 
 done ? One short week ! Oh, my beloved ! I 
 almost fear that I ought to say Something for 
 your sake— I ought to perform a duty — to make a 
 
 certain sacrifice aye, and not only to make 
 
 one on my own account, but also to dictate one 
 on your's !" 
 
 " Good heavens, what mean you, Imogen ?" 
 cried Launcelot : for while she was speaking she 
 gently and gradually disengaged her form from 
 his embrace — she withdrew her waist from his 
 circling arm — she released his hand from the clasp 
 in which her own had held it — she retired to a 
 little distance upon the sofa where they were 
 seated. "What mean you?" he again asked, 
 with rapid and excited utterance. 
 
 " I mean, dear Launcelot," she resumed, in a 
 low tremulous voice, and with an expression of 
 countenance which seemed to indicate that despair 
 was taking possession of her soul, — " I mean that 
 we ought to separate — that this dream of love 
 and bliss cannot last — it is too beautiful and too 
 elysian to belong any more to the condition of 
 earthly beings !" 
 
 " Imogen! Imogen ! You would not — you 
 could not tell me to separate from you ?" and 
 Launcelot extended his arms towards her. 
 
 " Listen for a moment," she said, waving him 
 back by a gesture ; and her . look grew mora 
 placid, while her voice became firmer, as if she 
 were inspired by a growing sense of duty. " The 
 happiness of an entire family is at stake ! — the 
 prosperity of your father, your mother, your 
 sister — aye, and your own " 
 
 " Imogen !" interrupted Launcelot vehemently, 
 
150 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " much as I love and rerere my parents — fondly 
 attached as I am to my dearest sister Avaline — 
 yet I love thee incomparably more ! Oh ! it 
 may be a crime thus to feel and thus to speak : 
 but I am not the master of my actions or my 
 thoughts ! Were I only concerned there is no 
 sacrifice that I would not make to ensure the 
 welfare and happiness' of all whom I love! — aye, 
 even to being stretched upon the rack, or to 
 undergo any other hideous tortures that ever 
 were invented by demon-hearted men ! But 
 there is no such sacrifice to be made !" 
 
 " Yes !" exclaimed Imogen, rising up from her 
 seat ; " sacrifice your love for me to your duty 
 towards your parents ! — sacrifice it, I say, 
 Launoelot— and in so doing, take to yourself 
 all the merit of enduring the hideous tortures to 
 which you have alluded !" 
 
 " Do I not tell you, Imogen," replied Launoe- 
 lot, " that if it regarded me alone, I would do 
 this ? But you, my well-beloved — you who are 
 the angel of my life — how can I think of plung- 
 ing yon into the vortex of unhappiness ! Oh, I 
 know that you love me " 
 
 " Yes, Launcelot," answered Imogen, tremu- 
 lously :- " too well — too well to suffer you to com- 
 mit a thousand follies for my sake ! Oh, you 
 would feel like one accursed " — and she shuddered 
 visibly as she spoke — " if you were to bring down 
 destruction on the heads of your parents and your 
 sister !" 
 
 " Now, hear me, Imogen," said Launcelot ; and 
 he also rose from his seat, while he spoke in a 
 voice that had a terrible seriousness for one natu- 
 rally so amiable and mild as he. " No one is 
 more impressed with his filial duty than I : no 
 one is more sensible of all that he owes to kith 
 and kindred ! But I take God to witness that I 
 will not sacrifice your heart's happiness, Imogen, 
 for these selfish considerations that would send 
 me perforce as Selina's bridegroom to the altar ! 
 "What ! for the sake of acquiring the dross that 
 shall restore the fortunes of my family, am I 
 to be thus sacrificed ? It was not I who 
 ruined those fortunes ! Or to save the name 
 of Trentham from disgrace am I to be offered 
 up as a victim ? It was not I who brought 
 the black clouds of menace and danger to gather 
 above the noble house of Trentham ! Then 
 wherefore should I be called upon to plunge 
 a dagger into your heart, Imogen — to bring a 
 curse and a blight upon your existence — to poison 
 the very springs of your life — and to drag you 
 down perhaps in sorrow to an untimely grave ? 
 For if you love me to the extent that you have 
 declared, and as I love you, such would be your 
 fate ! And as for mine own — God help me, 
 Imogen, if I be compelled to work all this tre- 
 mendous mischief against thee !" 
 
 He sank upon the sofa, exhausted by his feel- 
 ings ; and Imogen, weeping and sobbing — full of 
 indescribable emotions — fell upon her knees by 
 his side. She took his hand — she pressed it to 
 her lips — her eyes gazed earnestly and lovingly 
 up at him through her tears — her bosom was 
 heaving and swelling like the billows of the 
 tumultupus ocean. 
 
 "Launcelot, Launcelot," she murmured, " I do 
 Indeed love you! — heaven knows how fondly I 
 love you ! But " 
 
 " We will never separate, Imogen !" he cried, 
 
 in an impassioned tone ; and the next instant she 
 was clasped in his arms. " I love you before all 
 the world! — ten thousand times more than 
 parents or kindred ! — and I swear that your hap- 
 piness only will I consult ! What ! to bring tor- 
 rents of tears from those beauteous blue eyes — to 
 let the floods of weeping furrow these damask 
 cheeks, so soft and warm — or to think that these 
 sweet lips which I kiss thus — and thus — should 
 ever writhe in anguish instead of wreathe in 
 smiles ! Oh, no ! no ! — never ! never !" 
 
 Then again and again did he press the superb 
 creature to his heart : he imprinted a thousand 
 tender kisses upon her face — and she gave them 
 back again. 
 
 " Oh, Launcelot," she murmured, " you have 
 shown to me that your love is the strongest and 
 most devoted that ever yet was cherished in the 
 heart of man ; and I will prove to you that mine 
 is the tenderest and the most devoted which ever 
 harboured in the soul of woman ! Illimitable are 
 the sacrifices which you are making for my sake ; 
 and there are none which I will refuse to make 
 for yours ! I will be your slave, if in such capa- 
 city I can serve you! Oh! no thought will I 
 have but for you ! — your will shall be my law 
 — and my greatest happiness shall consist in 
 obeying you with the blindest confidence ! I am 
 your's, Launcelot — your's in all the strength of 
 this first love which my soul has ever known !" 
 
 " And I am your's, Imogen, — your's — your's 
 only !" replied Launcelot ; " and I take heaven 
 to witness that never by deed or word of mine 
 shall the teardrop be drawn from those eyes or 
 the smile be crushed upon those lips !" 
 
 It was thus in terms the tenderest and the most 
 fervid, that the lovers pledged themselves to each 
 other. They were alone — the night was advanc- 
 ing — silence was around them — all the circum- 
 stances in which they were placed were peculiar — 
 and they were frail and fallible like other mortals, 
 Their love was deep and impassioned : they felt 
 as if they were indeed all in all to each other ; 
 and while on the one hand Launcelot had vowed 
 to" make every earthly sacrifice for Imogen, she on 
 her part felt that there was none which she could 
 refuse to offer as a proof of her own devotion. 
 Need we say more ? — unless it he to add that this 
 was no deliberate seduction on Launcelot Osborne's 
 part, nor was it a meretricious surrender on the 
 part of Imogen : but it was the almost inevitable 
 result of the circumstances which surrounded 
 them and the influences which had been brought 
 to bear upon this young loving couple. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 TIIE MYSTERIES OP A TOILET. 
 
 A fortnight had elapsed since Ethel had entered 
 upon her situation at Ilendon Court ; and she 
 found that Martha Crediton's assurance had been 
 fulfilled to the very letter, that apart from the one 
 drawback she would experience perfect happiness 
 under Lady Langport's auspices. She was treated 
 with kindness and consideration — as an equal by 
 her ladyship, and as a mistress by the domestics. 
 All her wants seemed to be anticipated ; and on 
 two or three occasions she received an intelligibls 
 
THE rOCXO DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OB A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 151 
 
 though delicately conveyed hint that the future 
 welfare of herself and her child should prove the 
 care of Lady Langport. 
 
 During this fortnight her ladyship invited no 
 company to the house, — observing that " she 
 would wait until her friend Ethel became more 
 settled and found herself perfectly at home ere she 
 would ask her to mix in gny society." Several 
 visitors of distinction however called daily at the 
 Court;" and Ethel found that Miss Crediton was 
 again right when she informed her that all her 
 ladyship's acquaintances were of a select descrip- 
 tion. We should remark that Ethel had succeeded 
 in discovering that Lady Langport was not ac- 
 quainted with the Duke and Duchess of Ardleigh; 
 and thus one very serious cause of apprehension 
 which she had at first entertained was removed 
 from her mind. 
 
 We must now speak somewhat more in detail 
 of Lady Langport herself. She was in reality an 
 old woman of nearly sixty, though she contrived, 
 by the most exquisite refinement of a particular 
 art, to give herself the air of a person of little 
 more than half that age. Every species of cos- 
 metic was to be found in the dressing-room. We 
 have spoken of the toilet-table that was placed 
 near the window, and the large bureau of walnut- 
 wood very handsomely carved which stood op- 
 posite. The drawers of the table and the drawers 
 of the bureau were always kept carefully locked. 
 And no wonder ! — for when their contents were 
 displayed, they made such an assemblage of jars, 
 bottles, gallipots, phials, boxes, and canisters, that 
 it might seem as if it were purposed to convert 
 that dressing-room into an apothecary's shop. 
 The labels upon some of those bottles and cases 
 indicated that her ladyship's cosmetics came from 
 various parts of the world, — from Oriental climes 
 as well as from the cities of the West — from Cairo 
 and Constantinople as well as from Paris and 
 Brussels. 
 
 There were jars and large bottles full of per- 
 fumes ; for her ladyship took fragrant baths 
 morning and. evening. There were chemical pre- 
 parations to dye the hair a perfect black, without 
 staining the skin ; and there were oils and cas- 
 tonnades, pomatums and other unguents, to give 
 it that gloss which should conceal the dye and 
 simulate a natural lustre. There was the Oriental 
 rusma — a strong depilatory- which removed that 
 down from the upper lip and those hairs from the 
 chin which are apt to appear upon the counte- 
 nances of elderly females. There was the Da- 
 mascus nut which gave to the eye-brows and 
 eye-lashes that lustrous blackness which was con- 
 sistent with a youthful appearance ; there was the 
 Egyptian Kahol, an impalpable powder which 
 when thrown into the eyes themselves gave them 
 a clearness and a brilliancy remaining unimpaired 
 and undimmed for many hours. Then too there 
 was the enamel for the complexion, in addition 
 to an infinite variety of washes, lotions, kalydors, 
 and other cosmetics for the beautifying and purifi- 
 cation of the skin. There was the Parisian car- 
 mine, or rouge, which if laid on with artistic 
 carefulness, would defy the penetration of even 
 the most scrutinising observer to distinguish its 
 artificial existence from the natural tint of the 
 carnation on the cheeks of healthy youthfulness. 
 There likewise was the Moorish preparation for 
 the lips — a crimson salve, which if used once or 
 
 twice a-day (once being generally sufficient) im- 
 parts to them the hue of a vivid scarlet, together 
 with the appearance of a wholesome moisture. 
 We must not forget to observe that there was the 
 Oriental henna, to bestow a delicate pinkish tint 
 upon the nails ; and we might mention numerous 
 other cosmetics and appliances if we were to enter 
 more minutely into the mysteries of all the auxi- 
 liaries and artificial aids that were associated 
 with this lady's toilet. 
 
 We may proceed to state that in her earlier 
 years she had been eminently beautiful, and her 
 profile was perfect. By the loss of her teeth her 
 mouth would have fallen in : but by the presence 
 of a complete set of false teeth the regularity of 
 the profile was preserved. These teeth were made 
 in Paris : her ladyship possessed half-a-dozen 
 sets, and each set cost about three hundred 
 pounds. Never was the triumph of the succeda- 
 neous art of dentistry more complete than in the 
 present instance. It was impossible to discern 
 that those two rows of ivory were not the natural 
 growth of the wearer's mouth ; and when they 
 were shining between the moist vivid scarlet of 
 the lips, there seemed to be all the delicious fresh- 
 ness of youth in that mouth. 
 
 When Lady Langport represented herself to 
 Ethel Trevor as a skeleton divested of its flesh, 
 or a mummy unwrapped from its bandages, she 
 scarcely exaggerated the hideous truthfulness of 
 her deplorable condition. Indeed this condition 
 was, as we have described it, that of a living 
 
 skeleton a withered, toothless hag, loathsome 
 
 to contemplate — every bone visible beneath the 
 skin, which just covered it without the interven- 
 tion of any flesh to yield to the pressure ! Yes — 
 wrinkled and withered she was ; but in respect to 
 her face the process of enamelling filled up the 
 lines, indentations, and furrows traced by age ; 
 while the application of a pearly powder most ar- 
 tistically laid on, concealed the blueish tint around 
 the eyes. This, together with the dazzling bright- 
 ness imparted by the Kahol to those eyes, brought 
 them out as it were into relief, and prevented 
 them from appearing sunken or haggard. Then, 
 as for the eheeks, the carnation tint redeemed 
 them from hollowness : — or, at all events, by means 
 of the aids which we have just described, those 
 eyes looked less sunken and those cheeks less hol- 
 low than they actually were. 
 
 Lady Langport's hands were, as we have 
 already said, thin and lank, — though by means of 
 the same cosmetics and auxiliaries that were used 
 for the face, the withered, wrinkled appearance of 
 old age in respect to those hands was diminished 
 if not altogether changed. She however usually 
 wore gloves : but when it was seen how dazzlingly 
 fair were those hands, and of what a pellucid 
 pinkness the almond-shaped nails appeared to be, 
 the eye of the observer speedily ceased to dwell 
 upon the leanness and thinness that might for a 
 moment have attracted him . Lady Langport's 
 feet were excessively high-arched, long, and very 
 narrow ; so that it was easy to give to them an 
 admirable shapeliness. By the very configuration 
 of those feet in respect to the height of the instep 
 and its arching gracefulness, her steps were elastic. 
 Though reduced to a mere skeleton she was not 
 physically weak ; and thus she was perfectly up- 
 right in figure — she had tutored herself to main- 
 tain a statuesque elegance of deportment — and she 
 
,152 
 
 THE YOtJXG DUCHESS J OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF Qt'ALJTY. 
 
 moreover -walked at a quick pace ; so that in her 
 gait, her movements, and her gestures, there was 
 a lightness as well as an ease and a flexibility 
 which tended to maintain the illusion in reference 
 to her age. 
 
 In respect to her toilet, she invariably wore her 
 dresses ascending to the throat, with long sleeves 
 reaching to her wrists. There were no cosmetics 
 nor aids by which she could conceal the hideous 
 leanness of her breast if she half-bared it, or the 
 skeleton-like thinness of her arms if she wore them 
 nude. But she always dressed in a certain style 
 which impressed the mind with an idea that there 
 was a scrupulous modesty in those evening toilets 
 where the bosom and the arms were covered as 
 well as in the morning ones. Everybody fancied 
 that the folds and plaits of those robes of silk, or 
 satin, or moire antique, covered the contours of a 
 well-developed bust, and that the sleeves enclosed 
 plump and well-rounded arms. The reader now 
 knows the reverse ; and he has obtained a suffi- 
 cient insight into the mysteries of Lady Lang- 
 port's toilet to be aware how she gave fulness to 
 her skeleton shape and confectioned the appear- 
 ance of that glorious embonpoint which might so 
 well have belonged to a gay and buxom widow of 
 five-and-thirty. 
 
 Apart from the terrible wasting away of her 
 ladyship's form — apart, we mean, from that 
 fearful atrophy which was in itself a cruel and 
 hideous malady — she enjoyed excellent health. 
 She was never seriously ill ; and if occasionally 
 indisposed, v she knew how to act as - her own 
 physician. Her appetite was voracious ; and she 
 was frequently compelled to smuggle food privately 
 up into her chamber that she might thus -partake 
 of it by stealth. Was it a tapeworm which de- 
 voured all the nutriment that ought to have gone 
 into her system, and that required for its own 
 reptile-like existence the wholesome juices that 
 ought to have passed into the circidation of this 
 poor lady's blood ? We know not what it was 
 that had reduced her to the sapless, withered, 
 emaciated creature that she was. But if she ate 
 voraciously, and by this fact might encourage the 
 idea that she was possessed of a tapeworm, she 
 was very careful in respect to drinking. She 
 seldom or never drank wine unmixed with water 
 — and then only in very moderate quantities. 
 The truth was, the influence of alcoholic beverages 
 very soon reached her head and obfuscated the 
 brain ; whereas there was no person on the face 
 of the earth who had more need to keep the head 
 clear and the brain collected. She was a living 
 lie — a walking counterfeit — a breathing, moving 
 cheat ; and therefore she was ever compelled to 
 be upon her guard ! The least inadvertence 
 might raise suspicion, and ultimately lead to ex- 
 posure in reference to the stupendous secret that 
 was concealed beneath all those cosmetics and 
 auxiliaries, those aids and those artificialities, 
 those paddings and waddings, those nume- 
 rous under-garmonts and countless layers of 
 corset ! 
 
 Now, was vanity the sole cause which influenced 
 Lady Langport in leading an existence alike 
 strange and terrible, false and inconvenient ? 
 Was this the sentiment that could alone account 
 for so much self-martyrdom 1 — those weary hours 
 spent in the morning in making up a being whom 
 it took almost as many hours to pull to pieces 
 
 again at night ! But if vanity were the motive 
 power, of what use was it ? Lady Langport did 
 not seek to captivate a heart — to obtain a husband 
 or a lover : it was obvious that she had done with 
 all such tender sentiments as these. But if it 
 were not vanity, what other motive could there 
 be? Ethel could discern none. Almost every 
 day did she ask herself the questions which we 
 have just been putting; and she could find no 
 other solution than this — " It must assuredly be 
 vanity !" 
 
 If, then, it was vanity, of what a singular 
 nature! — surpassing any other phase of that 
 feminine weakness which had ever come within 
 the cognizance of Ethel ! That a woman of sixty 
 might use all the advantages of the toilet to make 
 herself look fifty, was natural enough, and was 
 indeed an every day occurrence : but that a 
 woman should be sufficiently bold to say to her 
 toilet, " By your means I will strike off almost 
 half my age !" this was the perplexing point for 
 Ethel's mind. Or to go further,. — that' Lady 
 Langport should endeavour to conceal as much as 
 possible her horrible emaciated condition, was 
 likewise conceivable and natural enough : but 
 that she should simulate the possession of buxom 
 beauty, and an almost juvenile freshness of 
 charms, was indeed sufficient to make Ethel 
 marvel ! 
 
 v One evening, when Mrs. Trevor had been about 
 a fortnight at Hendon Court, she lounged into 
 the large dining-room, — being partly impelled 
 by a sentiment of curiosity to contemplate the- 
 portraits which had so much attracted her atten- 
 tion the first day she was beneath that roof. 
 She had not seen them since that occasion, and 
 she thought she should like to view once more that 
 portrait which represented Lady Langport. Cur- 
 tains had been suspended to gilt rods in order to 
 be drawn over the portraits and protect them at 
 such times when the dining-room was not in use. 
 Ethel therefore drew aside those draperies, and 
 began to contemplate the portraits which they re- 
 vealed. 
 
 " How long ago could they have been painted ?" 
 she asked herself. " That Lord Langport was 
 about forty years of age when his lineaments were 
 transferred to the canvass, is evident enough. But 
 how old was her ladyship ? Eighteen or twenty, 
 according to those appearances J" and Ethel 
 fixed her eyes earnestly on the portrait. " Ah, 
 but appearances are so deceitful ! It is impossible 
 to surmise!" 
 
 At this moment Ethel heard footsteps approach- 
 ing from behind ; and glancing quickly round, 
 she beheld Lady Langport. Colouring deeply, 
 Ethel said, " I hope, my dear madam, I have been 
 guilty of no indiscretion " 
 
 " IndiscreMon, my dear friend ?" cried her 
 ladyship. " Oh, no, no ! How could you pos- 
 sibly dream of such a thing ? Have I not told 
 you over and over again that you are to look upon 
 this house just the same as if it were your own — 
 to go whithersoever you will " 
 
 " You are very kind," said Ethel : and then, 
 with an air of the most ingenuous frankness, she 
 added, " I only was afraid you might think it 
 impertinent curiosity on my part " 
 
 " Silly girl ! silly girl !" interrupted her lady- 
 ship gaily: "impertinent curiosity indeed! So 
 now tell me, my dear, whether you wish to ask 
 
154 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIES OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 me any questions in reference to those portraits ? 
 Come, speak out !" 
 
 "His lordship, I believe," said Ethel, "has 
 
 been dead about fifteen years at least so Miss 
 
 Crediton gave me to understand " 
 
 "True," said her ladyship. "That portrait 
 ■was painted in the very same year that he died. 
 You see that he was in the prime of life — he had 
 just completed his fortieth birthday." 
 
 Ethel's eyes travelled from the portrait of the 
 nobleman to that of the lady. There ^ras a 
 silence of some moments ; and then her ladyship 
 whispered in a very low tone in Ethel's ears, 
 " My portrait was taken at the same time. That 
 was fifteen years ago, I repeat. I was then nearly 
 forty-five, and consequently between four and five 
 years older than my husband. I know what you 
 would say. That portrait represents me as a girl 
 of eighteen or twenty !"-^she paused, and then 
 added in a tone which was only just audible, " I 
 was almost as hideous a wretch then, Ethel, as I 
 am at this present moment !" 
 
 Mrs. Trevor started ; for she at once compre- 
 hended, from the announcement just made, that 
 Lady Langport must have therefore been in her 
 husband's lifetime a living lie and cheat as she 
 was now. 
 
 " I deceived him — yes, I deceived him," her 
 ladyship proceeded to say: and it was still in 
 a very low voice that she spoke. 
 
 Again Ethel started, and turned her looks in- 
 quiringly upon her patroness. 
 
 "Ah ! but the deception was mutual," rejoined 
 her ladyship, — " yes, mutual ! We were both to 
 blame! There was vanity matched against 
 cupidity! — diamond cut diamond! Never was 
 there a more striking illustration of that saying ! 
 — You would like to know my history, Ethel ?" 
 
 " I have no undue curiosity " 
 
 " Oh, but I am sure you would wish to leam 
 it ! — and you shall. Come with me." 
 
 Ethel lingered for a moment to draw the drape- 
 ries over the two portraits ; and then she accom- 
 panied Lady Langport from the dining-room. 
 Her ladyship led the way up-stairs: Ethel 
 thought that she was about to pass into one of 
 the drawing-rooms ; but instead of doing so, she 
 continued to mount the next staircasei On reach- 
 ing the second landing, Lady Langport 4i& not 
 enter her own chamber as Ethel fancied she was 
 now about to do : but she stopped at the entrance 
 of a passage in another direction, and at the end 
 of which was a door, leading Ethel kneisy jiot 
 whither — for when she was shown over the Jiousft) 
 this particular door had not been opened, — an in- 
 cident that the young lady had since forgotteji. 
 
 " Go to my dressing-room, dear Ethel," said 
 her patroness, " and* bring me a key which you 
 will find hanging just inside the bureau." 
 
 Lady Langport always kept about her own 
 person the keys of the toilet-table and the walnut- 
 wood bureau : she now handed Ethel the latter 
 key — and the young lady hastened to the dress- 
 ing-room to fulfil the request that had been made. 
 She quickly returned, with the ' particular key 
 for which she had been sent ; and Lady Langport 
 now proceeded to open the door at the extremity 
 of the passage. 
 
 "Start not, my dear friend, at what you will 
 see," she said, in a low tone, as she stood with her 
 fingers upon the handle. 
 
 She then pushed the door open ; but in spite of 
 the injunction that had been given, Ethel did 
 start — for the first object which met her eyes was 
 a coffin standing upon tressels. It was in a very 
 small room, and appeared to serve as a sort of 
 lumber-pjoset : for there were several trunks, 
 pieces of old bedsteads, and other articles of fur- 
 niture there ; — but the one conspicuous object 
 was that which SQ ^Riinously met Ethel's regards 
 in the manner just described. 
 
 " Do not be timid nor foolish, my .dear friend," 
 said her ladyship, with a smile wherein a certain 
 degree of solemn mournfulness mingled with its 
 wonted amiability. " Come in, and shut the door." 
 
 Ethel did as she was requested ; and then she 
 glanced with a look of shuddering inquiry from 
 the coffin to her patroness. 
 
 "Are we npt all mortal, my sweet friend?" 
 asked Lady Langport, in a low mild voice ; " and 
 must we not all die sooner or later? Has not 
 some celebrated French author remarked that we 
 are all condemned to death, with reprieves of a 
 longer or shorter date? Well, then, wherefore 
 should we hesitate to look upon the preparations 
 for our own obsequies ?" 
 
 "What does your ladyship mean?" inquired 
 Ethel, again shuddering. " That coffin " 
 
 " Is mine. Yes — it is for me, when my mortal 
 career shall have reached its end ! And that, 
 dear Ethel," added her ladyship, now heaving a 
 profound sigh, "cannot in the course pf nature 
 be far off. Ah ! you "think, perhaps, that this 
 sigh indicates a regretfulness to leave the world 
 which is but little consistent with the philosophy 
 of the remarks that I was ere now making. But 
 I will confess that the world has its charms for 
 
 "And yet, perhaps," said Ethel, "it is after all 
 as well that we should occasionally — aye, fre- 
 quently, have our attention directed to the solemn 
 certainty of our fate " 
 
 " It was not for so moral a purpose," inter- 
 rupted Lady Langport, " that I caused this coffin 
 to be made secretly, in some low neighbourhood 
 of London, and had it brought here privily in 
 the middle of the night, so that there is not a 
 single domestic in my household whp suspects 
 that it is beneath this roof." 
 
 "for what purpose, then," asked Ethel, "if 
 not for occasional contemplation — — " 
 
 "' Cannot you guess, my friend ? It is that so 
 soon as I shall be no nj#re, my cold corpse may 
 be at once consigned to this long narrow tene- 
 ment, sp that there may be no need nor excuse 
 for undertakers to come and measure me " 
 
 "ElMUgh! enough!" interrupted Ethel, who 
 was almost shocked at the idea that this woman 
 was suffering her vanity to extend itself even 
 beyond the limits of this life, and cross the 
 threshold of the tomb ! 
 
 " Nay, but I have a promise to exact from you, 
 dear Ethel," said Lady Langport, — " a solemn 
 promise ! I do not ask you to bind yourself by 
 an oath — because I know that you are all faith- 
 fulness and integrity, and you will keep your 
 word. Promise me, therefore, that if you are 
 with me when I shall be no more, you will keep 
 away from my remains the vultures that would 
 otherwise fasten upon them — that you yourself 
 will lay me out — and that you will with the 
 least possible delay consign me to this coffin ■ 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 155 
 
 bo that my terrible secret," added her ladyship, 
 in a voice that became subdued and hollowed as 
 6he spoke, " may be entombed with me !" 
 
 There was something so horrible, or at least so 
 awful in the terms of the speech thus addressed to 
 Ethel, that she recoiled with a ghastly counte- 
 nance from her patroness : and then she was 
 smitten with a sensation that resembled a re- 
 morse, as she caught the look of indescribable 
 anguish that settled itself upon the features of 
 that lady. 
 
 " Pardon me, dearest madam ! pardon me !" 
 cried Ethel, grasping Lady Langport's hand : 
 " pardon me if even for a single instant I seemed 
 to hesitate ! But now, when I assure you after 
 a few moments of deliberation that your injunc- 
 tions shall be complied with, you may place all 
 the greater reliance thereon than if I had inconsi- 
 derately and precipitately rushed forward to give 
 my answer f" 
 
 " Dear Ethel," murmured Lady Langport, " I 
 felt convinced that I possessed a sincere friend in 
 you ! You have spoken with so much genuine 
 fervour that I will not ask you to ratify your 
 promise with an oath." 
 
 " And yet if needful to ensure your peace of 
 mind," said Ethel, " I will do so ; — and therefore 
 without any further hesitation, I swear that if I 
 should be with you at the time when your Maker 
 summons you into his presence, I will to the best 
 of my ability superintend your obsequies accord- 
 ing to yonr instructions " 
 
 Lady Langport made no answer : but she bent 
 upon her fair companion a look of indescribable 
 gratitude. They then passed forth from the room 
 containing the coffin ; and they descended to one 
 of the sitting-apartments, where the curtains were 
 now drawn and the lamp was lighted, for the 
 dusk of evening had by this time closed in. 
 
 " I promised to tell you my history, Ethel," 
 said Lady Langport, after an interval of silence 
 and meditation both on her side and on that of 
 her companion ; "and I will fulfil my word. It 
 is an extraordinary narrative and contains one 
 incident so remarkable But let me not antici- 
 pate !" 
 
 "If the narration of this history will" cause 
 your ladyship the slightest pain," said Ethel, in 
 her kind, gentle voice and with her sweet looks of 
 a ministering angel, " I would not for the world 
 that any little sentiment of curiosity on my part 
 should be gratified at such a price." 
 
 " It is impossible, Ethel, that situated as I am 
 — living under such circumstances," replied Lady 
 Langport, "my former existence can be looked 
 back upon with the utmost complacency. No ! — 
 this is impossible ! Besides, methinks that when 
 we were just now in the dining-room, contemplat- 
 ing the portraits, I let slip a few syllables which 
 startled you at the moment : I spoke of decep- 
 tion on my side — deception also on that of my 
 late husband ! — and for my own sake I must now 
 explain to you in what that deception consisted. 
 I will therefore tell you my history, Ethel." 
 
 Her ladyship paused and reflected for a few 
 moments : then she drew forth a little bunch of 
 keys which she invariably carried about her own 
 person ; and indicating one of the keys, she 
 pointed to a piece of furniture at the-extremity of 
 the apartment — a species of console richly inlaid 
 and ornamented. 
 
 " Open the drawer in that cheffonier, Ethel," 
 She said ; " and bring me the book which you will 
 find there." 
 
 The young lady did as she was directed. The 
 book, which was very handsomely bound, had the 
 word Album upon it ; and it was one of the large 
 quarto size usually characterizing lady's scrap- 
 books. She handed it to her patroness, who 
 opened it upon the table ; and first of all she 
 turned over some beautiful drawings in water- 
 colours and some pages containing pieces of 
 poetry. At length a portrait was displayed, 
 which instantaneously made Ethel exclaim with 
 a start, " Ah, your ladyship ?" 
 
 "No," said Lady Langport. "Examine it 
 well." 
 
 Ethel took the volume and contemplated the 
 portrait with attention. It was in water-colours, 
 and beautifully executed. It represented a young 
 lady whose age might be about eighteen or 
 twenty, and who was half reclining in a large 
 easy chair in a morning dcshabillee. The coun- 
 tenance was exceedingly beautiful, yet with a 
 certain expression which Ethel could not quite 
 understand, but which a more experienced eye 
 would have perceived to be a soft voluptuousness 
 bordering even upon sensuousness. And now, as 
 Ethel surveyed it with attention, she remarked 
 that though the profile bore a striking resem- 
 blance to that of Lady Langport — and although 
 there was a certain look about the face of this 
 portrait which reminded her of the large picture 
 in the dining-room — yet it became evident that 
 they did not represent the same person. For in 
 Lady Langport's portrait the hair was black, and 
 the eyebrows, though thickly pencilled, were well 
 arched : whereas in this little water-colour por- 
 trait in the Album, the hair was brown, and the 
 brows, also strongly marked, were nevertheless 
 by no means highly raised ; and this perhaps was 
 the only defect in a face whieh otherwise would 
 have been of faultless beauty. 
 
 And as Ethel still "dwelt upon that beautifully 
 executed portrait, she remarked that the hair was 
 drawn to represent the most redundant luxu- 
 riance and that it undulated in rich glossy waves. 
 The brows were many shades darker than the 
 hair, and the eyes were darker still. The nose 
 was beautifully formed ; the mouth was of cor- 
 responding perfection ; and the configuration of 
 the countenance was oval. In respect to figure, 
 the drawing conveyed the impression of a some- 
 what voluptuous fulness ; for the draperies were 
 so disposed as to afford a glimpse of a luxuriantly 
 developed bust. At the bottom of the portrait 
 some turtle-doves were represented as billing and 
 cooing amongst roses, as if illustrating the beau- 
 tiful oriental legend of the Loves of the Bulbul 
 and the Gul ; — and below the doves, at the foot 
 of the page, appeared the name of Mildred. 
 
 "What think you of that portrait?" asked 
 Lady Langport, after she had afforded Ethel a 
 sufficient opportunity for contemplating it with 
 attention. 
 
 " At the first glance I thought it was intended 
 for your ladyship : but now I perceive that this 
 could scarcely have been. And yet there is a cer- 
 tain expression — a certain air — something that 
 one would be apt to regard as a family like- 
 ness " 
 
 " Ah !" interjected her ladyship i and then aftei 
 
156 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 a few moments' hesitation, she added in a lower 
 voice, '.'You are right, Ethel — you are rightr 
 You are gazing upon the portrait of — of — my 
 daughter." 
 
 " Your daughter ?" repeated Ethel : and then 
 recollecting how her ladyship had informed her, 
 on the very first day of their interview, that all 
 her children had gone down into the grave, she 
 sighed and bent a deeply compassionating look 
 upon her patroness. 
 
 " Restore that volume to the place whence you 
 took it," said Lady Langport ; " for now that you 
 have seen Mildred's portrait, I will without 
 further delay enter upon my own strange romantic 
 history." 
 
 The Album was returned to the console — the 
 drawer was locked — the bunch of key3 was re- 
 stored to Lady Langport's keeping ; and Ethel 
 prepared herself to listen to the narrative which 
 will be found in the ensuing chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 LADY LANGPORT S HISTORY 
 
 " You already know that I am close upon my 
 sixtieth year. It is a long time to look back to 
 my youthful period ; and the retrospect cannot be 
 otherwise than accompanied by many a bitter 
 pang. Perhaps you have not altogether fathomed 
 my true character, Ethel ! — perhaps you have 
 not entirely comprehended my besetting sin — the 
 vice, the weakness — the foible, the failing — I 
 scarcely know how to denominate it — which has 
 exercised so vast an influence over my entire life. 
 Its name is however expressive enough. It is 
 Vanity. As' a girl I was exceedingly beautiful. 
 I was an only daughter — the darling of doting 
 parents, who spoilt me. Every one told me that 
 I' was beautiful, until my head was completely 
 turned with this incessant adulation. My father 
 was a country-gentleman, living in very tolerable 
 style : he was a good easy man, exceedingly hos- 
 pitable, and very careless in money matters. My 
 mother belonged to the younger branch of some 
 very grand aristocratic family ; and though so 
 excessively fond and indulgent in respect to my- 
 self, I am afraid that if I represent her in her true 
 character, I must depict her as frivolous and 
 narrow-minded, of a boundless extravagance, very 
 proud of her high birth, and very supercilious 
 towards those who were of an inferior degree. 
 My father died when I was about fourteen or 
 fifteen ; and it then transpired that his pecuniary 
 affairs were in a most desperate condition. His 
 estates were mortgaged — heavy debts were claimed 
 by wine-merchants, lawyers, and money-lenders ; 
 and as if nothing should be wanting to achieve 
 the catastrophe, my mother's creditors, consisting 
 of jewellers, linendrapers, and milliners, whom 
 for years she had managed to keep quiet or to 
 pacify with small payments, became clamorous 
 for the settlement of their accounts. Everything 
 was therefore seized and sold ; and my mother — 
 overwhelmed with shame and grief, unable to lift 
 up her head amongst her former friends, and 
 having nothing to hope for on the part of her own 
 poor but proud family — retired with me to u. 
 
 humble residence in a village far distant from the 
 county where these misfortunes occurred. 
 
 " My mother had no moral courage to sustain 
 her under the weight of adversity. Instead of 
 striving to bear up against her evil fortune, she 
 seemed to abandon herself willingly to despair. 
 In me she found no consolation — but quite the re- 
 verse. She loved me as tenderly as ever — but 
 not with the love that could teach her to summon 
 all her fortitude to her aid and try to live for her 
 daughter's sake: but it was with that doting 
 blindness and weakness, and prostration of energy, 
 which made her incessantly weep over me, won- 
 dering what was to become of her ' dear darling 
 child !' She had fancied in the days of her 
 frivolity and fond maternal vanity, that I should 
 form some very high and grand matrimonial 
 alliance : but now that we were completely down 
 in the world, and had suddenly fallen from the 
 higher circles of society, my mother was inces- 
 santly deploring the destruction of all her brilliant 
 hopes in that respect. Thus, what with continued 
 fretting, she brought herself to the very verge of 
 the grave; and her medical attendant recom- 
 mended her to remove to the sea-side that with 
 change of air and scene there might be yet a 
 chance of saving her life. We accordingly re- 
 paired to a watering-place, where after a lingering 
 illness my poor mother breathed her last, leaving 
 me at the age of sixteen an orphan and almost 
 penniless. 
 
 "Amongst the very few acquaintances that we 
 had formed at the watering-place, was a Mr. Mal- 
 colm. He was about thirty years of age at the 
 time of which I am speaking — by no means good- 
 looking, but of gentlemanly appearance, and of 
 manners that were sufficiently agreeable although 
 they had something in them which bespoke a 
 business-like precision. He was the son of a 
 wealthy merchant in London ; and he was in 
 partnership with his father. His mother was 
 dead — he was an only child — and his present 
 position was not only good, but his prospects were 
 excellent. The mercantile firm traded chiefly in 
 Baltic produce, and had established a branch at 
 St. Petersburgh in Russia. Edward Malcolm had 
 been for the last five or six years superintending 
 that branch : his health had suffered — and for its 
 renovation he had returned to his native country. 
 As I have already said, he was staying at the 
 watering-place in Devonshire where my mother 
 died ; and I may now add that he displayed the 
 greatest sympathy towards myself. He remained 
 at the watering-place much longer than he had 
 originally intended; his attentions soon became 
 marked, though they were indeed most delicately 
 paid, for I was wearing mourning for the parent 
 whom I had only so recently consigned to the 
 tomb. At length he made me an offer of his 
 hand: and I accepted it. I was then barely 
 seventeen years of age — friendless otherwise than 
 in his friendship, and with but a slender purse, the 
 bottom of which would in a short time be reached. 
 What, then, could I do but accept Edward Mal- 
 colm's proposal ? I did not love him — but I liked 
 him. There was not the slightest romance in 
 the feeling which I entertained towards him. I 
 could have lived with him altogether as a friend 
 or companion, without any emotion or desire be- 
 yond. I even reproached myself for egotism and 
 interested motives at the very time when I gavj 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, SfEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 157 
 
 him an affirmative response. But I could not 
 endure the thought of poverty — equally averse 
 was I to the notion of toiling for my own bread. I 
 loved to dress well, and to have leisure to attend 
 to all the details of the toilet. The humilia- 
 tions which had killed my mother, had by no 
 means destroyed, but merely sobered down my 
 own peculiar vanity. I thought that if I could 
 not marry a title and wealth combined, I would 
 at least secure the latter when the opportunity 
 • presented itself. I do not know that I actually 
 reasoned deliberately and coolly in this strain with 
 myself : but these were assuredly the influences 
 under which I acted in consenting to accompany 
 Edward Malcolm to the altar. 
 
 " He placed me for a few months as a boarder 
 in a highly respectable family, so that our mar- 
 riage should not follow with indecent haste upon 
 my mother's funeral. He visited me occasionally ; 
 and brought his father to be introduced. To be 
 brief, when I was about seventeen I became Mrs. 
 Malcolm. A year or two after our marriage the 
 business of the mercantile firm compelled my 
 husband to return to St- Petersburgh, with every 
 prospect of remaining there for a lengthened 
 period. He generously left me to decide between 
 the alternatives of accompanying bim or remain- 
 ing in London with my father-in-law. I did not 
 like the old man : he was severe and exacting in 
 his conduct towards me : he lived too in a dingy 
 old house, which though spacious and well-fur- 
 nished, was nevertheless exceedingly gloomy ; 
 and moreover I wanted to see the world. I there- 
 fore at once decided upon accompanying my hus- 
 band : and my-answer was given with a readiness 
 which might very well be mistaken for the enthu- 
 siasm of love. He was delighted — for he loved 
 me devotedly ; and perhaps he beheld in me none 
 of those faults of frivolity, vanity, and love of 
 admiration, which I had more or less inherited 
 from my mother, and which the clearer eyes of 
 old Mr. Malcolm had not failed to discern. We 
 set off for St; Petersburgh ; and arriving there, 
 were speedily established in a handsome house 
 which my husband hired and furnished. 
 
 " Tears passed away. We had several children 
 — but all died in their infancy with the exception 
 of our first-born, Mildred ; and her we succeeded 
 in rearing. My husband was the kindest and 
 best-tempered of men : he was fond and affec- 
 tionate, without being uxorious ; he was proud of 
 his beautiful wife, without the fault of rendering 
 himself or me ridiculous by the display of an ex- 
 cessive admiration. He was a reasonable and a 
 sensible man; and there was not a particle of 
 jealousy in his disposition. Neither did I give 
 him any cause for such a sentiment. My own 
 principles were naturally good, and my mind only 
 required to experience the warmth of genial influ- 
 ences in order to develop those better qualifica- 
 tions which had lain dormant during the period 
 of a spoilt childhood and a girlhood's defective 
 education. I studied my utmost to accomplish 
 my husband's happiness — and perhaps all the 
 more sedulously because I felt that I did not love 
 him in the true sense of the term : I merely liked, 
 esteemed, and admired him. Besides, I experi- 
 enced a boundless gratitude towards him for the 
 many kindnesses he heaped upon me ; and mine 
 is no ungrateful heart. Thus nothing could ex- 
 ceed the happiness which in our married state we 
 
 enjoyed, and the only drawbacks to which were 
 the loss of our children. In a pecuniary sense 
 everything was most prosperous : my husband 
 amassed wealth — and the death of his father, 
 which occurred some few years after our marriage, 
 left him the sole representative of the firm. 
 
 "We were now possessed of riches; and my 
 husband consulted me on a very important point : 
 that is to say, whether we should continue to re- 
 side at St. Petersburgh, or whether we should re- 
 turn to England. I considered myself bound to 
 pay the utmost deference to his will ; and I ex- 
 pressed myself accordingly. He then informed 
 me that it would assuredly suit him better to re- 
 main in Russia for three or four years longer — 
 that certain mercantile operations which he had 
 undertaken would then be effected — and that he 
 should then be in a position to close his affairs in 
 such a manner as to enable him to give up alto- 
 gether the cares attendant upon the maintenance 
 of a branch house in the Russian capital. In St. 
 Petersburgh we accordingly remained, moving in 
 the best society, and with our daughter Mildred 
 growing up in the possession of a beauty that 
 promised to equal if not eclipse her mother's. At 
 length the period arrived when my husband's 
 affairs were to be wound up in Russia and our 
 preparations for departure were to commence. We 
 had then been married exactly twenty years, and 
 our daughter Mildred was eighteen. She had never 
 been to England : she was educated in St. Peters- 
 burgh — but she spoke English with the utmost 
 fluency; and she possessed every accomplishment 
 requisite for the adornment of a young lady of 
 her station and prospects. She was longing to 
 visit England ; and she was looking forward with 
 anxiety to the day when we should bid farewell 
 to the "city on the banks of the Neva, when a 
 sudden calamity occurred which plunged us into 
 affliction. This was the death of my husband, 
 who was smitten down by the lightning-stroke of 
 apoplexy, and who having risen to all appearances 
 in the full vigour of health in the morning, was a 
 cold corpse at night. 
 
 " The shock occasioned by this incident threw 
 me upon a sick bed, where I remained hovering 
 between life and death for some months. Fever 
 had supervened ; and for weeks together my senses 
 were lost in delirium. As I began slowly to re- 
 cover, I became conscious of the attentions which 
 I received from my daughter ; and I was assured 
 that I had likewise to thank the venerable physi- 
 cian whose skill, added to Mildred's ministrations, 
 had brought me back from the very verge of the 
 grave. I found that in consequence of my hus- 
 band's sudden death the managing clerk of the 
 London establishment had arrived in St. Peters- 
 burgh ; and he was waiting to submit to me a 
 statement of the circumstances in which I had 
 been left — for I should observe that my husband 
 had made a will leaving me sole executrix. I 
 likewise discovered* in his desk a paper recom- 
 mending me, in case of his premature or sudden 
 demise, to dispose of the business with the least 
 possible delay — for which purpose I might fully 
 trust Mr. Lea, the head clerk above alluded to. 
 On going into my affairs with this gentleman, I 
 found that I was left in possession of a very large 
 fortune ; and I empowered him to dispose of the 
 London branch of the business. To be brief, Mr. 
 Lea accomplished this matter in the course of a 
 
168 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 few months ; and I had every reason to be grati- 
 fied with his straightforward conduct as well as 
 ■with my pecuniary position. 
 
 " My recovery was slow : the winter had set 
 in — and it was impossible that weak and feeble as 
 I was, I could undertake a journey from St. 
 Fetersburgh. I therefore yielded to the represen- 
 tations of Dr. Nevel, the physician to whom I 
 have before alluded ; and I abandoned all thoughts 
 of leaving the Russian capital at that season. I 
 however dreaded the effect which would be pro- 
 duced upon the mind of Mildred, and what a dis- 
 appointment it would be when she learnt that for 
 another six months her desire of visiting England 
 must be postponed. But to my joy — and I must 
 also add to my amazement, Mildred received the 
 intelligence with the most perfect good-humour : 
 she threw her arms round my neck, declaring that 
 she could be happy anywhere with me, and im- 
 ploring that I would not on her account precipi- 
 tate a journey which might cause a relapse in 
 my delicate condition. I wept tears of delight at 
 this affectionate demonstration on Mildred's part ; 
 and Dr. Nevel, who entered the room at the time, 
 passed some high compliments on her filial devo- 
 tion and obedience. 
 
 " Nevel was a man past sixty years of age : he 
 was one of the most celebrated practitioners in St. 
 Petersburgh, and was much patronised by the 
 Russian Aristocracy. He had never attended at 
 our house until the day when my husband was 
 stricken with apoplexy ; and then he was hurriedly 
 sent for, his abode being nearer than that of the 
 medical man who was wont to visit us. Thus, 
 having once gained a footing in the house, Dr. 
 Nevel was requested by Mildred to attend upon 
 me: and so soon as I recovered the faculty of 
 appreciating the circumstances in which I was 
 placed, I felt deeply grateful that one so talented 
 in his profession, so amiable in his manners, and 
 so paternal in his conduct should become our 
 friend as well as our physician. 
 
 " Time passed on : the winter was wearing 
 away, — that long Russian winter of whose severity 
 people in England can have no conception ! — and 
 my recovery was slow but sure. Months had 
 elapsed during which nothing was said of a visit 
 to England — until at length I one day casually 
 observed to Mildred that we might soon think of 
 making our preparations for leaving St. Peters- 
 burgh altogether. She begged me not to think of 
 hurrying, but to recover my health completely ; 
 and she added that for her part she felt herself to 
 be so entirely Russian, that she did not on mature 
 reflection care whether she ever quitted a country 
 wherein she almost considered herself to be natur- 
 alised. I was somewhat astonished at this dis- 
 course when I recollected her anxiety to visit 
 England a twelvemonth back : but still I thought 
 that she might be speaking with a kind considers ... 
 tion on my behalf. I think it must have been at 
 about the period of which I *m now speaking, 
 that the portrait of my daughter was taken in 
 water-colour 'by u, lady who had formerly been 
 her drawing preceptress, and who occasionally 
 called to see her old pupil. The likeness was 
 perfect : but, alas ! little did I think at the time 
 when those beautiful features were being deline- 
 ated, there was so sad a fate in store for my un- 
 fortunate Mildred ! 
 " Dr. Nevel was a married man ; but he had no 
 
 children. His wife seemed to be just as amiable, 
 good-tempered, and well-meaning as he himself 
 was. She called upon me when I became conva- 
 lescent, and thenceforth was a frequent visitress 
 at the house. She professed to have taken a very 
 great fancy for Mildred ; and at this I was well 
 pleased, inasmuch as I looked upon it as a change 
 of scene for her to be enabled to visit the phy- 
 sician's wife. I encouraged her to pass her time 
 with Madame Nevel as much as she thought fit ; 
 and her visits to that lady accordingly became ■ 
 more frequent and longer. Months had now 
 elapsed — indeed nearly an entire year since I had 
 crossed the threshold of my dwelling; and one 
 forenoon I took it into my head to indulge myself 
 with a drive in a droshky, or hired carriage. It 
 was the warmest and most cheerful day that had 
 yet succeeded that long gloomy night of winter : 
 I felt in good spirits — and I thought to myself 
 how surprised the Nevels would be if I were to 
 make my appearance suddenly at their house and 
 pay my respects on thus going abroad again for 
 the first time ! And Mildred too, who I knew had 
 gone as usual to see Madame Nevel, — Oh ! I pic- 
 tured to myself the delight the dear girl would 
 experience on beholding me ushered into the phy- 
 sician's drawing-room ! Invalids — or rather, I 
 should say, persons who have just recovered from 
 long illnesses, frequently entertain little caprices 
 of this kind, — childish whims which when in a 
 stronger frame of mind they would possibly dis- 
 card as ridiculous. Well, to be brief, I took my 
 seat in the droshky, being well wrapped up with 
 warm furs ; and having made a short tour through 
 the principal streets, I was just on the point of 
 ordering the equipage to be driven to Dr. Nevel's, 
 when I was suddenly struck by the idea that I 
 beheld Mildred leaning upon the arm of a gentle- 
 man, and looking lovingly up into his counte- 
 nance, as they both turned into a bazaar close by. 
 I was so astounded that I sank back in the 
 vehicle, which had just stopped in front of that 
 bazaar in obedience to the cheek-string which the 
 driver held and which I had pulled. While he 
 dismounted from his seat, a thousand thoughts 
 flashed through my brain. Could it possibly have 
 been Mildred ? or could I have been mistaken ? 
 But if it were she, who was the person escorting 
 her ? That he was tall, slender, and distinguished- 
 looking, I had perceived at a glance ; but I had 
 not obtained more than a transient glimpse of his 
 countenance, and did not think "that I should be 
 enabled to recollect him again. That the lady — 
 whether Mildred or not — was gazing up with un- 
 mistakable tenderness into his face at the time, 
 was a deeply-seated conviction in my mind. The 
 driver of the droshky asked me three or four times 
 what my instructions were, before I could so far 
 gather my ideas or regain my self-possession 
 as to be enabled to give him a response. I 
 then desired him to let me alight ; and I rushed 
 rather than walked into the bazaar, the folding- 
 doors of which at once closed behind me as I had 
 seen them abruptly close behind her whom I had 
 taken for Mildred and her companion. The 
 bazaar was a spacious one, and consisted of three 
 storeys. I rapidly made the tour of each floor : 
 there were crowds of people, and in some in- 
 stances it was almost with rudeness that I forced 
 a passage amidst them. I behsld no Mildred — > 
 no one at all answering her description. There 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS Off A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 159 
 
 was an entrance from another street ; and it was 
 therefore possible that she might have left the 
 bazaar fey that means of egress. I returned to 
 the droshky, took my seat therein again, and 
 ordered the man to drive to Dr. Nevel's. 
 
 "During the quarter of an hour that was occu- 
 pied in proceeding thither, I thought to myself 
 that if after all I should be mistaken, it would he 
 outrageous to accuse Mildred unjustly, or to show 
 that I had such little confidence in my own 
 daughter as to rush to the immediate conclusion 
 that she could be guilty of the grossest hypocrisy 
 and indiscretion. I therefore calmed the violence 
 of my emotions as well as I was able ; and at all 
 events I resolved to act with caution and pru- 
 dence. In this frame of mind I alighted at Dr. 
 Nevel's house. I was at once conducted up into 
 the drawing-rooms and there I found Mildred 
 quietly seated over her embroidery, which she 
 had brought with her, .while Madame Nevel was 
 reclining on a sofa near her. Both gave vent to 
 an ejaculation of Surprise on beholding me ; and 
 Mildred, throwing herself into my arms, exclaimed 
 in accents of joy, ' Ah, what a surprise, dearest 
 mother 1 what a surprise !' — I embraced her with 
 effusion. Never, never had she seemed so dear 
 to me ! I was convinced I had wronged her most 
 cruelly ; and, Oh ! what a relief it was to my 
 mind to be enabled to greet her with these feel- 
 ings ! Having remained to chat with Madame 
 Nevel for about half-an-hour, I rose to depart ; 
 and Mildred offered to accompany me. But in- 
 asmuch as it was yet early in the day, and she 
 was accustomed to remain until a later hour with 
 Madame Nevel, I did not choose to take her away 
 with me. I bade her remain and return home in 
 time to dress for dinner. 
 
 " With a light heart I descended to resume my 
 seat in the droshky, when I found that I had left 
 my fur cuffs in Madame Nevel's drawing-room, 
 and I retraced my way up-stairs to fetch them. 
 As in most Russian houses, there was an ante- 
 room leading to the saloon by means of folding- 
 doors. As I approached those doors, and was 
 just on the point of opening one of them, I heard 
 Madame Nevel say, ' Well, I declare, Mildred, I 
 was at first quite frightened I' — 'Oh, I could tell 
 by my mother's looks,' responded Mildred, ' that 
 .nothing was the matter. But how all this is to 
 end I know not, unless he fulfil his vow and 
 make me his wife speedily.' — 'My dear young 
 friend, you must have patience,' answered Madame 
 Nevel. — 'Patience indeed!' cried Mildred, almost 
 in accents of despair : ' how can you talk to me 
 of patience when in another month I shall be 
 utterly unable to conceal my situation any longer ?' 
 — ' Trust to the Doctor, my dear friend,' rejoined 
 Madame Nevel, ' to devise some excuse : he has 
 immense influence with your mother ; he will re- 
 commend her to go to England by herself, or 
 visit Italy or the South of France, and leave you, 
 my dear, behind, on the plea that as you are so 
 completely acclimatised in this region of our's it 
 would injure your health to remove you hence.' — 
 'Ah, but why all these subterfuges?' demanded 
 Mildred. ' Tell me, I conjure you, have you any 
 doubts of the fulfilment of his pledge ? Tell me 
 not that he is too highly placed to wed one jso 
 comparatively obscure as I! It was not thus 
 he spoke when he declared his love and triumphed 
 ever my weakness ! No, nor was it thus that 
 
 you or your husband spoke when you first intro- 
 duced him to me. Oh, it smites me with the 
 effect of a remorse when I think how I used to 
 steal forth from the side of my poor mother's 
 couch as she lay steeped in the torpor that fol- 
 lowed the ravings of delirium, to meet '. — 
 
 ' Hush, my dear young friend 1' interrupted 
 Madame Nevel, ' do not reproach yourself.' — 
 ' Ah ! methinks,' proceeded Mildred, ' I am now 
 so steeped in hypocrisies, so thorough a mistress, 
 of dissimulation's art, that there must be some- 
 thing inherently base and vile in me that I am 
 become such a proficient in duplicity in so short 
 a time I But let that pass, and reply to me, 
 Madame Nevel! Do you apprehend any pos- 
 sibility of further delay in the fulfilment of his 
 vows ?' — ' You saw his lordship just now, my 
 dear,' responded Madame Nevel : ' surely you 
 must know what he said to you ?' — ' Ah ! it is 
 always the language of love and affection when 
 we are together,' cried Mildred ; ' and then I am 
 so devoted to him that it is so easy for him to 
 satisfy my fears for the time being, or to seal my 
 lips with a kiss ! As for the interview just now, 
 it was so brief a one — he had some particular 
 business on hand at the palace — that we merely 
 walked from the bridge to the bazaar, which we 
 traversed, and then we separated at once. In- 
 deed it was fortunate that we did.; for what 
 would my mother have thought if she had come 
 hither and fpund me out?' — 'Did you not tell 
 me,' asked Madame Nevel, 'that he is coming 
 hither to meet you to-morrow ? If so, we must 
 take more than usual precautions, inasmuch as 
 your mother is now getting about again.' — ' It 
 is not here that we are to meet to-morrow,' re- 
 plied Mildred. ' It is on the Neva.' — ' Ah, to be 
 sure !' ejaculated Madame Nevel : ' I forgot the 
 fancy-fair ! Well, of course,' she added, with a 
 chuckling laugh, ' you will go to the fair with 
 the Doctor and me, and your mother will feel 
 certain that you are under the escort of friends 
 who would not for a moment suffer you to roam 
 out of their sight, much less get into mischief.' 
 — 'Do not be ironical, Madame Nevel! do not 
 make a mockery of the matter !' interrupted 
 Mildred seriously; 'for I can assure you that 
 scarcely even the immensity of my love recon- 
 ciles me to the detestable part of a* dissembler 
 which I am now compelled to play towards 
 my dear mother !' — ' Why, my young friend, 
 I was only jesting !' cried Madame Nevel. ' Do 
 you think that the Doctor or I would lend our- 
 selves to anything of this sorf, unless it were 
 under very peculiar circumstances?' — 'I should 
 hope not ; nor unless it were with a certain con- 
 viction,' continued Mildred, 'that there are the 
 most honourable intentions on one side as there 
 has assuredly been the tenderest confidence on the 
 other. However, to-morrow, precisely at four 
 o'clock in the afternoon, I shall meet him ; and 
 then I will appeal to his goodness, his love, and 
 his sense of honour, to delay not in making 
 me his wife ! Yes, I will appeal more ener- 
 getically than I have yet done ; and if he 
 love me as fondly as his tongue incessantly 
 proclaims, he will not torture me with excuse or 
 evasion !' — ' You are exciting yourself, my dear 
 
 Mildred,' said Madame Nevel. 
 yourself. Let me ring for wine : 
 you good.' 
 
 ' Pray compose 
 a glass will do 
 
ICO 
 
 the yourg Duchess; oe, memoirs op a lady of quality. 
 
 " I now effected a precipitate retreat from the 
 folding-doors. I did not eater the drawing-room 
 to letch my fur cuffs. I threw myself into the 
 droshky in a state of mind that may perhaps 
 better be conceived than described. I was half 
 confounded, half distracted. What terrible reve- 
 lations hod met my ears ! Mildred seduced — un- 
 done — in a way to become a mother ! The Nevels 
 no doubt the infamous tools and agents of some 
 licentious nobleman of distinction ! Oh, with what 
 feelings had I listened to the terrible tale ! How 
 it was that I restrained myself from bursting into 
 the apartment, overwhelming Mildred with re- 
 proaches; and inflicting summary vengeance upon 
 the base wretch Madame Nevel, I do not know. 
 But perhaps there was at the time in my thoughts 
 the consideration that I had better proceed cau- 
 tiously, and first of all ascertain who my child's 
 seducer was. Indeed, when I grew comparatively 
 calm— or, at least, when after my return home I 
 was enabled to deliberate upon the entire circum- 
 stances of the case, I determined' to adopt this 
 prudential policy. And yet how difficult to dis- 
 semble my feelings when Mildred came back ! — 
 and Oh ! as I looked in her face, and saw how 
 eminently beautiful she was, I could not help 
 mentally apostrophizing her a thousand times 
 during the remainder of that day, to this effect, 
 'Art thou indeed a wanton and a hypocrite ?' 
 
 " At length I retired to rest — but still to pon- 
 der painfully and in sleeplessness the ruin that 
 had overtaken my daughter. I now recollected a 
 thousand little circumstances which previously 
 seemed trivial, but which were now all significant 
 in their connexion with the one tremendous fact. 
 Her change of mind in respect to leaving St. 
 Petersbnrgh — the encomiums which Dr. Nevel 
 had passed upon her filial devotion — the praises 
 which she in her turn had accorded unto the phy- 
 sician — the growing frequency and increasing 
 length of her visits to Madame Nevel — every- 
 thing was now explained ! Yes — and I even re- 
 member that it was her own hand which had 
 added the turtle-doves to the water-colour portrait 
 drawn by her late governess ; so that I had now 
 no doubt in my mind she had intended that por- 
 trait as a present to her seducer if I had not in 
 my maternal love taken a sudden fancy to it and 
 insisted upon having it to place in my Album. 
 
 " But let me not dwell upon trifling details ; 
 for I am now approaching a stupendous incident 
 in my narrative. It is the custom at St. Peters- 
 burgh — or at least was during the many years of 
 my sojourn there, to hold a fancy-fair upon the 
 frozen bosom of the Neva just before the arrival 
 of the season for the breaking up of the ice. 
 There was no particular date for the holding of 
 the fair : it was annually regulated by the seve- 
 rity and duration of the colifweather, and it was 
 considered as a sort of farewell to "Winter and 
 welcome to Summer. Madame Nevel sent a note 
 early in the morning to Mildred, requesting her 
 company to visit the fair. The billet was of course 
 written for the purpose of blinding my eyes to 
 what was going on ; and I could scarcely prevent 
 myself from springing in a rage at my daughter 
 when with every appearance of deferential meek- 
 ness she handed it to me, requesting my permis- 
 rion to accept the invitation. I however restrained 
 myself and bade her go. The appointment' she 
 had made with her seducer was for four in the 
 
 afternoon. Slowly — Oh, how slowly passed the 
 long hours until three o'clock! — and then, en- 
 veloping myself in my furs, I issued forth from 
 the house, took my seat in a droshky, and re- 
 paired to the banks of the Neva. The dusk was 
 already closing in ; and myriads of lamps were 
 springing as it were into light. The frozen sur- 
 face of the river was covered with booths and 
 wooden sheds — places of refreshment and of 
 amusement — theatres and dancing saloons. It 
 was a sort of carnival amongst the lower orders, 
 who were dressed in masquerading costumes, pic- 
 turesque and grotesque — droll or serious — in short, 
 representing all the various features which are 
 usual on such occasions. There was the usual 
 sprinkling of police-officials, and numbers of the 
 Imperial Guards strutting about in their green uni- 
 forms. There were ladies and gentlemen — nobles 
 and the female members of the highest aristocracy 
 — and I heard a whisper to the effect that some 
 of the Princes of the Imperial family had also 
 mingled in the busy scene. However, I had no 
 interest in any circumstance of this kind : all 
 my ideas were concentrated on one object. I 
 passed amidst the crowd with a thick veil over 
 my face, and in a short time I beheld the physi- 
 cian and his wife glancing behind them in a par- 
 ticular direction as they walked forward with a 
 certain air of mystery. Keeping out of their 
 view, I sped towards the same point in which 
 their looks had travelled ; and by aid of the bril- 
 liant illuminations, I presently discerned Mildred 
 leaning upon the arm of the same tall gentleman 
 in whose company I had seen her on the preceding 
 day. I knew him by his gait and his height, for 
 he was muffled in a cloak the fur collar Of which 
 almost completely concealed his countenance. A 
 sudden sickness at the heart seized upon me— my 
 brain reeled — and I staggered against the wooden 
 wall of an amphitheatre. The spectacle of my 
 daughter walking so familiarly with a paramour, 
 and the doubt which existed whether he would 
 make her an honourable woman, were almost too 
 much for me to bear up against ! To the little 
 incident which I am just relating I was probably 
 indebted for my life. For all of a sudden a fear- 
 ful din, or rather a horrible assemblage and suc- 
 cession of sounds smote the ear. The cracking 
 of the ice — the escape of the previously confined 
 air, exploding with the roar of thunder or of 
 cannon — the falling-in of wooden structures, min- 
 gled with the cries, the screams, the yells of hor- 
 ror and shrieks of anguish which indicated the 
 terrible catastrophe. Long lines of illuminations, 
 which had crossed the Neva in every direction, 
 sank and disappeared from the view, so that dark- 
 ness soon lent its added horrors to the scene. Ten 
 paces from the spot where I halted the ice opened 
 at my feet like a yawning gulf ; and if I had not 
 been held back by the force of my own feelings I 
 should have perished. Oh, it was an awful scene ! 
 I cannot dwell upon it. Even now the brain 
 reels and memory recoils from the retrospective 
 contemplation. How I got away from that stage 
 of horrors I know not : I had no distinct remem- 
 brance of anything definite until I found myself 
 alighting from a vehicle at my own door. Had 
 Mildred returned ? ' No,' was the answer. — ' Let 
 some one speed at once to Dr. Nevel's house and 
 inquire for her there !' — One of the servants 
 went. Oh, the agonies of suspense that I en- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OV QUALITY. 
 
 161 
 
 r .'ii uip-v 
 
 mm&<, 
 
 caawMt ===sSg?ri 
 
 dured while he was gone ! He came back : the . 
 physician and his wife were still absent from their . 
 own house. I could no longer bear up against the 
 horror of my feelings : I sank into a swoon, which 
 lasted for hours and resembled a trance. Mean- 
 while Mildred did not come back : neither did the 
 physician and his wife return to their own home. 
 They were amongst those who perished on that 
 terrible occasion when upwards of » thousand 
 souls were engulfed in the bosom of the Neva ! 
 
 " When I could no longer close my eyes against 
 the terrible truth nor shut out from my conviction 
 that the very worst had happened, I grew compa- 
 ratively calm ; or at least I did not abandon my- 
 self to any more passionate paroxysms of grief. 
 I almost began to think it was better that my 
 daughter should have thus perished than have 
 lived on in dishonour. Her secret had died with 
 her, except in reference tonryself ; for there could 
 be no doubt that her seducer, whoever he was, 
 No. 21.— The Young Duchess. 
 
 had been engulfed with her, and that the physi- 
 cian and his wife — the base intermediaries in the 
 affair — had perished also. Time passed on — 
 months went by— and I gradually became aware 
 that I was growing thinner and thinner all over 
 my body except in the face. I consulted a phy- 
 sician : but he candidly told me that he could do 
 me no good, nor did he think this emaciation was 
 the result of the illness through which I had 
 passed. He recommended me to remain for the 
 summer in St. Petersburgh, and to spend the en- 
 suing winter in the South of Europe. I resolved 
 to follow his advice ; but to my increasing alarm 
 and horror I was getting thinner and thinner, al- 
 though in every other respect my health seemed 
 to improve rapidly, for I grew strong and vigorous, 
 and my appetite augmented in the inverse ratio 
 that the food I ate fatted to benefit me. 
 
 " I must here observe that the Russian Govern- 
 ment had ordered a report to be drawn up of the 
 
162 
 
 THE YOUJSG Dt/CITESSj OK, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 accident on the Neva, and a list to be prepared as 
 carefully as possible of all the persons who disap- 
 peared on that particular evening and who might 
 therefore be supposed to have perished in the 
 catastrophe. Those who had missed relatives or 
 friends on that special occasion, were enjoined to 
 give the names of the lost ones at a particular 
 Government Office. J proceeded to fulfil the 
 melancholy task in respect to my poor child ; and 
 the following entry was made in the books : — 
 ' Mildred Malcolm, daughter of Widow Malcolm 
 and the late Edward Malcolm, merchant. 'Eng- 
 lish.' A few days afterwards the report was 
 published, when by some mistake or another the 
 entry appeared as follows :— i-' Mildred Malcolm, 
 Widow of the late Edward Malcolm, merchant, 
 English.' As weeks went by I observed that the 
 principal Continental newspapers, in recording the 
 most notable names of those who perished by file 
 accident on the Neva, mentioned my name as one 
 of those who were lost. It was the same with 
 the English newspapers, and then in due course 
 came letters from Mr. Lea and other persons who 
 happened to have known me, addressed to Miss 
 Malcolm, and offering the sympathies of the 
 several writers to that* young lady on account of 
 her mother's death ! 
 
 " -|tnd while time was thus passing, and these 
 little incidents were occurring, I was shrivelling 
 away into a skeleton : bu]& my countenance re- 
 tained a marvellous juvenility of appearance. I 
 was distressed beyond degree at the thought of 
 the loathsome object I was becoming in respect to 
 my shape ; and my vanity quickening within me 
 — that vanity which had only slept and had never 
 diedTr-experienced a mortification which grew 
 more and more intolerable. It became a demon 
 gqading me almost to suicide : it appeared like a 
 fiend bent on driving me to desperation! What! 
 at the age of forty to shrivel up into a wretched 
 old hag? — to become a living skeleton? The 
 thought was madness ! If I could not ward off 
 the hideous calamity, at least I might conceal it 
 from the world ! And then, as I brooded over all 
 these things — as I plunged deep into the study of 
 the uses of cosmetics, and gained experiences in 
 those succedaneous arts, which are now, so to 
 speak, the very conditions of my existence, — a 
 certain idea gradually took growth in my brain. 
 At first I repelled it as outrageous : next smiled 
 at it as ridiculous : then I envisaged it more at- 
 tentively — until at length I suffered myself to 
 grow familiar with ft, to contemplate it earnestly, 
 and finally to calculate all the chances of success 
 which would attend upon its adoption. And this 
 idea — what was it ? Oh, the immensity of that 
 human vanity which could conceive it ! Tor that 
 idea was nothing more or less than to profit by 
 the species of suggestion thrown out by the report 
 in the newspapers — to personate as it were my 
 own daughter — to maintain the idea that it was 
 indeed Mrs. Malcolm herself who had perished, 
 and to go forth into the world as Miss Malcolm ! 
 
 " Never, I must again repeat, did human vanity 
 present so singular a phase or take so strange a 
 development ! Yet I can assure you that at the 
 time when my resolve was taken, it was not with 
 the least idea of forming another matrimonial 
 alliance. It was not love which I courted : it 
 was admiration. Indeed the very fact of entering 
 upon a course of such extraordinary hypocrisy 
 
 nvust serve as a sufficient proof that a second 
 marriage was with me altogether out of the ques- 
 tion at the time, and that as I intended to as- 
 sume the name of Miss Malcolm, so did I intend 
 to remain Miss Malcolm for the rest of my life. 
 However, not to dwell too much upon details, I 
 must proceed to relate that when my mind was 
 made up to accomplish the stupendous fraud — the 
 counterfeit — the deception — or whatsover you may 
 choose to term it, I quitted St. Petersburgh and 
 retired into an obscure town at a considerable dis- 
 tance. There I resided for » twelvemonth in 
 the strictest seclusion. Meanwhile the hideous 
 atrophy which had seized upon me, continued to 
 make its frightful inroads, and I became reduced 
 to a mere being of skin and bone, save and ex- 
 cept with regard to the countenance, which most 
 singularly retained its plumpness and its freshness. 
 Indeed, although I had then accomplished the 
 grand climacteric of forty years, my face seemed 
 to belong to a person of no more than five-and- 
 twenty. And here I should observe that I had 
 always been remarkable for an exceeding juve- 
 nility of appearance in respect to the counte- 
 nance. During this retirement of a twelvemonth 
 I carefully and minutely studied the art which 
 has ever been to me as a second nature : I procured 
 all kinds of cosmetlcs^-got them analyzed by a 
 chemist — and thus found out which were calcu- 
 lated to be useful, which were deleterious, or which 
 empirical and ineffective. There was an amuse- 
 ment in the study ; and thus I obtained a means 
 Of recreation while adopting the requisite pro- 
 cesses to gratify my inordinate and most wondrous 
 vanity. 
 
 " At length I quitted my retirement, and leav- 
 ing the Russian territory altogether, I proceeded 
 to Vienna, where I made my appearance as Miss 
 Malcolm. I had taken care to provide myself 
 with handmaidens who knew nothing of my ante- 
 cedents ; and at that time my disguise was not of 
 so elaborate and detailed a complexity as to render 
 it requisite for me to have a confidential assistant 
 at niy toilet. Having the command of money, 
 and at once beginning to live in good style, I was 
 soon spoken about and visited by persons belong- 
 ing to the highest grades of society. There were 
 several mercantile firms in Vienna to whom tho 
 name of Malcolm was well known alike in its 
 connexion with St. Petersburgh and London ; and 
 thus the tale which I wished to be circulated 
 was set afloat and corroborated for me from those 
 sources — namely, that I was the daughter of Mr. 
 Malcolm, an eminent deceased merchant, and that 
 my mother had perished at the time of the ter- 
 rible accident on the Neva. The same tongues 
 which spread these statements, superadded the 
 fact that I possessed great wealth ; and thus I 
 was quickly courted, flattered, and welcomed by a 
 host of admirers. 
 
 " I have no doubt that in making these revela- 
 tions — these confessions indeed — I must appear in 
 the most contemptible light, as the most frivo- 
 lous of human beings. But the danger of incur- 
 ring this opinion will not prevent me from telling 
 the exact truth. Frankly, then, do I avow that 
 I was intoxicated with joy at the adulation I re- 
 ceived : my heart was elated — my pride was flat- 
 tere, "V— my vanity gratified. There was even the 
 gidv 'iess of joy in my brain when I found my- 
 self courted and sought after in preference to 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 163 
 
 many women who were really young and really 
 beautiful without artifice, fraud, or disguise. The 
 triumphs which the telle of a season may achieve, 
 were nothing to those which I accomplished. It 
 is only natural that some beauteous creature of 
 eighteen or nineteen should succeed in attaching 
 hosts of admirers to the wheels of her chariot ; 
 but that I, a woman past forty years of age, 
 should be enabled to effect similar conquests, 
 was indeed something only too well calculated to 
 make my brain reel as if with the ebriety of wine. 
 But although I received the homage that was 
 thus paid to me, I did not play the part of a 
 heartless coquette, at times giving encouragement, 
 and then bestowing cold looks instead of smiles. 
 My behaviour was one unvaried system />f courtesy 
 and affability towards all who approached me. I 
 could not give it out that I did not mean to marry 
 and did not therefore wish to be courted for ma- 
 trimony's sake ; because that would have seemed 
 most unnatural — indeed most strange and extra- 
 ordinary for a y^ng lady of only three or four 
 and twenty year) ' of age 1 — and suspicions would 
 have been excited. But on the other hand, I 
 was not heartless nor base enough to encourage 
 hopes in any special quarter, or to single out any 
 one of my numerous admirers as a particular 
 favourite. 
 
 " Having remained some months at Vienna, 
 I visited Baden-Baden, where I was again courted 
 and admired ; and thence I proceeded to Berlin. 
 It was there that I first formed the acquaintance 
 of Lord Langport. He was principal attache" to 
 the British Embassy at the Prussian Court : he 
 was unmarried — handsome in person — elegant in 
 manners — and agreeable in conversation. In re- 
 spect to his age, he was between four and five 
 years younger than what I actually was, though 
 ten or fifteen years older than what I then seemed. 
 He was immediately struck by my appearance : 
 he told me that my fame had preceded me from 
 Baden and Vienna ; and our acquaintance had 
 not lasted very long before I comprehended that 
 Lord Langport was bent npon paying his court to 
 me. I endeavoured to show him that his atten- 
 tions were not agreeable if meant to exceed the 
 mere politeness of friendship : but he was not a 
 man to be so easily baffled ; and situated as I was 
 — cherishing a hideous secret— his addresses 
 amounted to a veritable persecution. I abruptly 
 left Berlin, and came to London. On my arrival 
 in the British metropolis, I was resolved to put 
 my stupendous imposture to a test of a far more 
 severe character than it had yet experienced. I 
 went boldly and called upon Mr. Lea, my late 
 husband's managing clerk, bnt who had now be- 
 come a leading member of the new firm. He was 
 an elderly man ; and he welcomed me with pater- 
 nal cordiality. Addressing me as Miss Mal- 
 colm, be evidently felt convinced that I was Miss 
 Malcolm. He spoke to me of my ' dear deceased 
 parents,' and with tears in his eyes deplored the 
 dreadful catastrophe of the Neva whereby I had 
 ' lost a tender mother.' I felt shocked at the turn 
 the discourse took : for it seemed to me as if there 
 Irere something criminal, wicked, and impious in 
 the part that I was playing. I accordingly ab- 
 breviated the interview as much as possible ; and 
 I did not breathe freely until I was outside Mr. 
 Lea's office. Then however, so soon as that so- 
 jemnly moral impression was removed from my 
 
 mind, I rejoiced infinitely at the success of the 
 test to which I had put my imposture. 
 
 " I did not remain very long in London ; 
 for all my habits and tastes were so entirely 
 foreign that I longed to get back to the Con- 
 tinent. Another reason induced me to shorten 
 my sojourn in the British metropolis ; and this 
 was the appearance of Lord Langport, who 
 had obtained leave, of absence from Berlin that 
 he might follow upon my track. He again 
 began to persecute me with his addresses ; but I 
 fled and paid a visit to Italy. I resolved to settle 
 myself for awhile in Borne ; and I had just con- 
 ducted a negotiation for a suitable mansion, when 
 Lord Langport again appeared in my presence. 
 He vowed that he was desperately enamoured of 
 me — declared that my beauty and accomplish- 
 ments were the only attractions, inasmuch as he 
 had far greater wealth on his own side than I 
 could possibly have on mine. Indeed, to convince 
 me of his sincerity, he offered to settle all my for- 
 tune on myself; and he swore that it would prove 
 the proudest moment of his life when he might 
 conduct me to the altar and place a coronet on 
 my brow. To this torrent of eloquence he gave 
 vent before I could possibly check him ; and in- 
 deed I will confess that for the first time since I 
 ■had commenced my career of imposture, I expe- 
 rienced a woman's weakness in the presence of a 
 handsome man proclaiming the language of love. 
 I felt towards him as never before I had felt to- 
 wards man — no, not even to my own husband 
 Edward Malcolm. But suddenly exercising a 
 strong power of control over my feelings, 1 im- 
 plored Lord Langport to rise from his suppliant 
 posture ; and I promised that he should receive 
 my decision on the morrow. He departed, con- 
 soling himself with this pledge, and buoyed up 
 with a hope which in a moment of weakness I 
 had suffered him to conceive, and which I had 
 not subsequently the moral courage to dispel upon 
 the spot During the night that followed I 
 abruptly quitted Borne, leaving a letter to be de- 
 livered to his lordship. I therein told him that I 
 felt flattered by his addresses, but I could not re- 
 ceive them ; and I besought him not to follow me 
 elsewhere. 
 
 "I went to Paris, where I mingled less in 
 society than for some time past I had been doing. 
 I felt restless and unsettled : it seemed as if new 
 ideas had taken birth within me, and as if there 
 were a void in my heart which required to be 
 filled- up. Some months passed ; and one day I 
 read in the English journals of the appointment 
 of the Bight Hon. Lord Langport to the post of 
 Ambassador at the Court of Wurtemberg. A 
 thrill passed through me ; and I could no longer 
 doubt that which for some time past I had been 
 suspecting, but to the truth of which I had been 
 endeavouring to blind myself. I loved Lord 
 Langport ! And Ah ! while his image was thus 
 vividly conjured up anew in my mind, who should 
 be introduced into my presence but he himself? 
 He was on his way to assume the duties of his 
 exalted diplomatic post; and now again I beheld 
 him at my feet. Again too did he pour forth the 
 language of love, assuring me of the disinte- 
 restedness of his affection. I burst into tears : 
 — in a passionate tone I declared that there 
 were reasons why I could not marry; and I 
 begged him never to approach me again. I then 
 
164 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 rushed from the room. An hour or two after- 
 wards I received a letter -from him, in which he 
 most delicately, yet feelingly and kindly, as I 
 thought, alluded to the unguarded ejaculation to 
 which I had given vent, ' that there were reasons 
 why I could never marry.' He said that if my 
 affections had on some former occasion heen en- 
 gaged and blighted, it should be the study of his 
 life to restore happiness unto my soul. He pro- 
 ceeded to observe that if my weakness had been 
 triumphed over by some unscrupulous villain, this 
 need not be a barrier to our union, and that he 
 should admire me all the more for the candour 
 with which I was disposed to treat him. He con- 
 cluded by declaring that his own happiness was 
 at stake, and by imploring me to reconsider my 
 decision. I sent no answer to the letter, and fled 
 at once from Paris, thinking that after such con- 
 duct he would never approach me again, and that 
 I should thereby be putting an end to an affair 
 which had already grown to a point of serious 
 perplexity and embarrassment. 
 
 " I went to Madrid ; but still I felt restless and 
 unhappy. I loved Langport — passionately and 
 devotedly loved him. Oh ! how keenly, keenly I 
 felt my position, which prevented me from accept- 
 ing his addresses and becoming his wife ! I now 
 knew what love was : I found that I had only 
 liked my deceased husband, but that he had never 
 possessed that same hold upon my heart which 
 Langport had obtained. I wept bitter, burning 
 tears ; and there were moments when I was even 
 mad enough to think of writing to Langport, 
 telling him the whole stupendous truth, trusting 
 to his love, and throwing myself on his mercy. 
 But when I thought of what I was, I rejected the 
 idea with mingled horror and affright. — 'Mise- 
 rable personification of vanity that I am,' I 
 thought to myself in my calm and reasonable 
 moments ; ' it is not the woman as she really is 
 whom Langport loves — but the woman as she 
 seems to be! — and if I throw off my disguise and 
 reveal myself in my true condition, will he not 
 turn from me in disappointment, loathing, and 
 disgust ? Yes ! — I must abandon all these mad, 
 these insane ideas which have been revolving in 
 my brain of late !' 
 
 " Being, restless and unsettled, I was more 
 accessible to caprices, whims, and fantasies than 
 perhaps under other circumstances I should have 
 been ; and I resolved to travel to remote places. 
 I went to Cairo and Constantinople ; and at the 
 latter city a strange occurrence took place — an 
 incident so fraught with mystery that I have 
 never heen enabled to penetrate it — no, nor 
 even to form the slightest conjecture that might 
 lead to a solution of the enigma. I will enter 
 into details. There is a splendid hotel at Con- 
 stantinople for the accommodation of foreigners, 
 and it is kept by a Frenchman. It was there 
 that I took up my quarters ; and I soon received 
 visits from the leading English families who were 
 settled in the imperial city. The British Am- 
 bassador's wife left her card ; and I was invited 
 to a soiree at the Embassy. I went. The enter- 
 tainment was a splendid one, and all the members 
 of the other foreign Embassies were present. 
 Amongst them was Count Olonetz, the Russian 
 Ambassador. He was an old man, with a severe 
 intelligent countenance, courtly yet formal man- 
 ners, . and of distinguished appearance. It hap- 
 
 pened that in the course of the evening he was 
 lounging with the English Ambassador round the 
 principal apartment, where I was seated in com- 
 pany with a French gentleman and lady whom 
 I had known in Paris, and whom I now met in 
 Constantinople. At the moment the two Am- 
 bassadors approached, my French friends rose 
 and hastened away from me, for they had just 
 recognised an intimate acquaintance on the oppo- 
 site side of the saloon. — 'Ah!' ejaculated the 
 British Ambassador, speaking in French, ' Miss 
 Malcolm all alone by herself! Count,' he con- 
 tinued, turning towards the Russian diplomatist, 
 ' let me present you to a lady who is well 
 acquainted with your aountry, and who speaks 
 its language as well as you yourself. Miss 
 Malcolm, my friend Count Olonetz.' — The Rus- 
 sian gave a slight start for a moment, and then 
 he bowed with formal politeness. The British 
 Ambassador strolled away to another part of the 
 room ; and the Count, seating himself by my side, 
 said, 'And so, Miss Malcolm, you are well ac- 
 quainted with Russia ?' — ' I lived there for many 
 years, my lord,' was my answer ; and we were 
 speaking in the Muscovite tongue. — ' Indeed,' he 
 ejaculated, 'you do veritably pronounce our 
 language like a native.' — ' And no wonder,' I re- 
 joined with a smile, ' for I was brought up in 
 Russia from my infancy.' — ' I know the name of 
 Malcolm well,' said the Ambassador. — 'Ah?' I 
 observed : and then I remembered how he had 
 given a slight start as if of recognition when my 
 name was mentioned. — ' Yes, the name of Mal- 
 colm,' he contined, ' had an honourable repute in 
 St. Petersburgh when it was borne by the great 
 English merchant who was so long established 
 there. Surely you cannot be a relation of that 
 gentleman ?' — ' Indeed,' I answered, with another 
 smile, ' that gentleman was most nearly related to 
 me: he was my father.' — 'Your father?' ex- 
 claimed Count Olonetz ; and methought he again 
 started as he looked very hard at me. ' How 
 many children had he?' — The question seemed 
 strange ; and without immediately replying to it, 
 I inquired, 'Did your Excellency know my 
 father?' — 'Yes, a little,' was his immediate re* 
 spouse; 'and methought that he had only one 
 daughter living, who was looked upon as an 
 heiress ?' — ' Well,' I said, smiling, ' I am that 
 daughter.' — 'Tow?' and he now started more 
 visibly than before, so that I was seized with a 
 sudden fright ; for I thought to myself, ' At last 
 my secret is detected ! he has penetrated the im- 
 posture I or at all events he sees enough of me to 
 be convinced that I am not the young and hand- 
 some Mildred whom he may have known in St. 
 Petersburgh !' — ' Pardon me,' he instantaneously 
 added, recovering his self-possesaion, and even 
 smiling most affably j ' but it seemed to me so ex- 
 traordinary that I should thus meet at Constan- 
 tinople a young lady of whom I heard so much 
 when at St. Petersburgh, that I was astonished 
 to hear you were the same. May I ask if your 
 mother is with you?' — 'My mother?' and for a 
 moment I felt as if I should drop at his feet. — 
 ' Ah, pardon me,' he again said, with increasing 
 politeness, and even kindness: 'perhaps I have 
 touched upon a mournful topic, and you have had 
 to deplore the death of your mother as well as 
 your father ?'—' Yes, my lord,' I said; 'it is 
 evident that you are ignorant of the fact that my 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 j.0'5 
 
 poor mother perished at the time of the accident 
 by the breaking up of the ice on the Neva.' — 
 1 Ah ?' said the Ambassador after a pause : ' I was 
 not aware of this circumstance : and once more 
 I must crave your pardon for having alluded to a 
 painful topic. May I inquire whether it be your 
 intention to revisit Russia ? have you no inclina- 
 tion to return to St. Petersburgh ?' — I thought it 
 might seem singular, and even excite suspicion, if 
 I were to proclaim my resolve never to set foot in 
 the Russian capital again, or even if I were to 
 show any distaste for so doing ; and I therefore 
 said, with an air of easy carelessness, ' Oh, I 
 think it is very probable I shall some day take 
 St. Petersburgh in my way ; for I am a very great 
 traveller. I cannot tell how many thousands of 
 miles I have journeyed in my time.' — ' Ah, in- 
 deed?' said Count Olonetz; and again I could 
 not help thinking there was something peculiar 
 if not mysteriously significant in his look, his 
 manner, and his accents. But this impression was 
 almost immediately effaced, when rising from his 
 seat, he took me by the hand, saying, ' It will afford 
 the Countess the greatest pleasure to welcome you, 
 Miss Malcolm, at the Russian Embassy. I am 
 sorry her Excellency is not here this evening, or 
 I should be gratified in presenting you.' — I 
 thanked the Count for his kindness ; and as my 
 French friends, accompanied by other acquaint- 
 ances, now came to rejoin me, his lordship bowed 
 and retired to the upper extremity of the saloon. 
 
 " On the following day I received a card of in- 
 vitation from the Countess Olonetz for a party in 
 the evening. I went with a number of friends for 
 an excursion upon the waters of the Golden 
 Horn and the Bosphorus : and I greatly admired 
 the scene, for there were war-ships of nearly all 
 nations assembled there. Amongst the crowd of 
 vessels my attention was particularly attracted 
 by a superb steamship bearing the Russian flag ; 
 and I was informed that it was there at the orders 
 of Count Olonetz for any service in which a fast- 
 going ship might be required. Steam-vessels were 
 not then quite so plentiful as they are now-a-days, 
 particularly in that part of the world : and thus 
 it was no wonder that the particular one to which 
 I am alluding should have been an object of such 
 special admiration on the occasion. I returned 
 to the hotel ; and after dinner, I was thinking of 
 my toilette for the soiree at the Russian Embassy, 
 when the landlord entered my sitting-apartment. I 
 have before said that he was a Frenchman : he was 
 a little active bustling person, of middle age, very 
 intelligent and good-natured. He closed the door ; 
 and advancing towards me with a mysterious air, 
 apologized for the intrusion, but excusing himself 
 on the ground of the importance of the purpose 
 which he had in view. I begged him to explain 
 himself. — ' Do not be frightened, madam,' he said : 
 ' but you incur a very great danger, and it is 
 against this that I come to warn you ; not only 
 to warn you, but also to aid your escape from 
 it.' — 'A great danger?' I ejaculated. 'Good 
 heavens ! what can you mean ?' — ' You yourself, 
 madam, can best tell,' continued the landlord, 'how 
 you have drawn down upon your head the anger 
 of the Russian Government, or else of the Russian 
 Ambassador individually; but so is the fact.' — 
 I looked confounded, for such indeed I felt ; and 
 then I assured the Frenchman that he must be 
 mistaken, for that I could never have possibly 
 
 given any offence to the Russian Government, 
 that I was on good terms with the Russian Am- 
 bassador, and that I was going that evening to 
 a soiree at the Russian Embassy. — ' To be sure,' 
 said the Frenchman, ' tliat is a part of the 
 stratagem. You will go to the soiree ; but when 
 you leave the Russian Embassy, it will only be 
 to be carried forcibly and stealthily on board 
 yon steamship, to be borne to Sebastopol or Cher- 
 son, and thence God knows whither ; either to be 
 plunged into a Russian fortress, or to be sent 
 thousands of miles away into the awful wilds of 
 Siberia.' — I shuddered for a moment at the 
 picture that was thus drawn ; and then I smiled 
 and said, ' I thank you for your kindness, which is 
 evidently well meant ; but believe me you are 
 labouring under some egregious and unaccount- 
 able mistake.' — ' Madam, I am not. You do not ■ 
 think that I should be fool enough to frighten 
 away a good customer from my hotel ; but if j'ou 
 value your safety yon will depart. I know not 
 how you have offended the Russians, and if you 
 yourself do not know, there must either be a 
 mystery or mistake on their part, but of which 
 you will not the less become a victim. Youi 
 name is Mildred Malcolm; your father was a 
 merchant at St. Petersburgh ; he died there ; and 
 your mother was drowned in the Neva ? Is all 
 this correct?' — 'It is,' I answered, beginnip^ 
 to grow alarmed for more reasons than oi»e; 
 for if anything unpleasant occurred or seomed 
 to threaten me, I invariably associated it with 
 the secret of the imposture which I was prac- 
 tising upon the world. — ' Well then. ' pursued 
 the Frenchman, 'you must not delude yourself, 
 madam, with the idea that I am labouring under 
 any error. I will briefly tell yon my authority, 
 and then you must act for yourspif. The fact is, 
 the chief engineer of yon st/.am-vessel is an 
 Englishman, as most of the fcngineers in foreign 
 steamers are. He is a worthy man, has a. good 
 situation, and is engaged to my niece. This 
 morning one of the persons employed in the 
 Russian Embassy went on board the steamer, was 
 closeted with the captain, and told him to get 
 ready to start in the middle of the coming night, 
 for that he was to receive on board his ship, under 
 certain circumstances, an English lady naiiud 
 Mildred Malcolm, who was at present staying at 
 this hotel. Some little farther conversation took 
 place, every portion of which the worthy English 
 engineer overheard, for he happened to be at the 
 time in a position to catch what was going on, 
 though his presence so close at hand was unsus- 
 pected. Not choosing to let a fellow-country- 
 woman of his suffer such villanous treatment 
 when no real crime seems to be brought against 
 her, he obtained leave to come ashore just now, 
 and he made me acquainted with the facts of the 
 case. Now, madam, I repeat, you can judge for 
 yourself. But, Ah ! here is some little corrobo- 
 rative evidence at all events ! The Russian 
 steamer, which has been lying perfectly quiet 
 for the last six weeks, has now got her steam 
 up, and she has. laid herself right opposite the 
 steps leading down to the water from the garden 
 of the Russian Embassy ! There, madam ! look 
 from this window, and you will see that it is 
 so !' — The moonlight was shining brilliantly upon 
 the waters ; and on glancing forth, I saw every- 
 thing precisely as the Frenchman had described 
 
166 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIBS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 it. I had listened to his speech with increasing 
 alarm ; and I was now fully convinced that for 
 some unaccountable purpose or another it was in- 
 tended to render me the victim of Russian hatred 
 or tyranny. I implored the Frenchman to save 
 me. — "That is precisely what I came to do, 
 madam, if you would permit me,' he answered ; 
 ' and I should counsel you not to throw yourself 
 henceforth in the way of Russian Embassies in 
 countries where they may possess the power to 
 injure you. Moreover, I hope for my intended 
 son-in-law's sake, you will keep the business 
 strictly private ; and in order to avert suspicion, 
 you will have the goodness, madam, to write a 
 letter to the Countess Olonetz excusing yourself 
 for not being present at her sovrfo and alleging 
 some reason for your precipitate departure from 
 Constantionple. I will take care that your note 
 shall not be delivered until the first thing in the 
 morning.' — I expressed my most grateful thanks 
 to the good-hearted landlord ; and I insisted 
 upon leaving a very handsome pecuniary present 
 for his intended son-in-law, the engineer of the 
 Russian steamship. He then accompanied me 
 on board a Genoese vessel, which, as he had pre- 
 viously ascertained, was to weigh anchor that 
 evening ; and I was soon beyond the reach of my 
 Russian enemies. Thus terminated this strange 
 episode; but for the solution of the mystery 
 thereof I have never been enabled to obtain the 
 slightest clue ; and the only conjecture I can 
 form is that the whole proceeding must have been 
 the consequence of some strange mistake on the 
 part of the Russian Ambassdor at Constanti- 
 nople. 
 
 " And now let me turn to other subjects, and 
 hasten to bring this narrative of mine to a con- 
 clusion. I arrived in safety at Genoa, where I 
 determined to remain for a few weeks : but on the 
 very day after I landed there, whom should I 
 meet inhaling the pure Mediterranean breeze upon 
 one of the noble quays of that city, but Lord 
 Langport 1 He was looking pale and ill ; and he 
 informed me th'at it was as an invalid he came to 
 acquire new health from that delightful region. He 
 had recently been elevated from the embassy at 
 Wurtemburg to that at Turin ; and I had re- 
 mained in ignorance of the change, for during 
 my sojourn in the East I had seldom seen any 
 English newspapers. His lordship mournfully 
 and reproachfully gave me to understand that his 
 illness had chiefly arisen from grief and annoyance 
 at my conduct in so abruptly flying from Paris 
 without condescending to afford him so much as a 
 single line in answer to the letter he had sent me. 
 I told him that it would be painful for me to 
 enter into explanations relative to the particular 
 phrase of which I had made use on the occasion 
 of our last interview ; but I begged him to under- 
 stand that there was no criminal weakness for 
 which a woman might blush at the bottom of my 
 resolve to remain unmarried. — ' My dear Miss 
 Malcolm,' he answered, ' whatever your real 
 reason may be, I swear that if you reveal it, it 
 can make no difference in my sentiments. I 
 love you for yourself only ; but I fear you do not 
 give me credit for sincerity ?' — I sivffered him thus 
 to continue talking to ine, for there was an inde- 
 scribable rapture in listening to his voice and I 
 felt touched by his pale pensive appearance. — ' At 
 all events, my dear Miss Malcolm..' he said, as I 
 
 was about to bid him farewell, ' let us see each 
 other as friends, even if it be impossible that we 
 may meet on other terms. I swear to yon that if 
 you agree to this, I will not again mention the 
 word love in your hearing.' — What could I say ? 
 I deeply loved that man, and I was weak enough 
 to suppose that we could meet only as friends 
 without any further detriment to my peace of 
 mind. And thus we did meet; and we walked 
 together daily upon the quSyS-^ahd he kept his 
 word, for he breathed not again the language of 
 love, though I must confess that on the other 
 hand he was always giving me the most fervid 
 assurances of his friendship. His health improved, 
 the colour came back to his cheeks, and at the 
 expiration of three or four weeks after we thus 
 met at Genoa, he looked handsomer than eve* 
 One day he told me that as his strength was per- 
 fectly restored, he must return to his post at 
 Turin. There was a pause, during which I felt 
 deeply affected. At length the silence was broken 
 by Langport himself, who in a tremulous voice 
 asked me what my plans were — wbether I pur- 
 posed to remain at Genoa, or whether I intended 
 to go elsewhere ? He then in a cold tone apolo- 
 gized for asking these questions, adding that he 
 knew he lad no right on the mere ground of 
 friendship to interrogate me in respect to my 
 movements. Although then a woman of forty- 
 three years of age — too old, you will think, to make 
 such a silly fool of myself — I nevertheless felt in- 
 clined to cry like a child at these remarks and at 
 the tone in which they were delivered. Lang- 
 port saw his advantage, and he exclaimed in 
 passionate accents, ' Oh, why have you yourself 
 restrained me to the cold language of friendship 
 when it is in far other terms I would address you 
 now that we ' are about to separate ? Who can 
 tell when we shall meet again ? It is your pre- 
 sence which has given me health here, at Genoa ! 
 I know not how it may fare with me on my return 
 to Turin ! Really, Mildred, you make me think 
 that there is some terrible mystery at the bottom 
 of all this : but if so, believe me when I declare 
 that however nearly or closely this mystery may 
 concern yourself, it could have no possible in- 
 fluence with the strength of my affection.' — 
 1 Leave me now,' I said, my heart palpitating 
 violently ; ' and to-morrow we will meet here 
 again and at the same hour.' 
 
 "We separated accordingly ; and I returned to 
 my hotel, pondering everything which had taken 
 place, and becoming more and more resolved to 
 reveal everything to Langport on the morrow. 
 ' He is so noble-minded, so generous-hearted, so 
 disinterested,' I said to myself, ' he will sympa- 
 thise with me ; he will not blame me ; he will 
 regard m« with friendship and not with disgust ! 
 We may go to the altar for the sake of maintain- 
 ing appearances before the world ; but it shall be 
 as a brother and sister that we must live to- 
 gether !'~- And then, silly fool that I was ! I aban- 
 doned myself to this dream with as much ardour 
 as a young maiden in yielding, deliciously to the * 
 impressions of a first love : I conjured up visions 
 of happiness more fantastic than those which had 
 ever appeared through the vapours of opium to 
 the oriental reveller nVthe drug. But let me not 
 dwell upon this phase of my weakness, my silli- 
 ness, my vanity : let me pass on to the next inci« 
 dent in my narrative. 
 
THE VOtrSG DUCHESS, OE, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QDALITr. 
 
 107 
 
 " The hotel where I had taken up iny quarters, 
 w.i3 built in the form of a square, as most of 
 these establishments are upon the Continent. On 
 the inner side there was a verandah, screened 
 from the court-yard itself by an array of ever- 
 greens, orange-trees, and other shrubs, the inter- 
 mediate spaces being filled up with blooming 
 flowers. In the evening of the day of which 
 I have been speaking, I descended into this arbour 
 for the sake of its refreshing coolness ; and seating 
 myself in the obscurest nook, I gave way to my 
 reflections. Presently I was startled by hearing 
 my name mentioned close by ; and I soon ascer- 
 ' tained that there were two English gentlemen 
 walking to and fro in the court-yard, smoking 
 their cigars and chatting familiarly. To, make 
 myself more intelligible, I should explain that 
 they were pacing just outside the barrier of ever- 
 greens and flowers, while I was thus ensconced 
 behind it. And now let us see what they were 
 saying. — ' Well,' observed one, ' Miss Malcolm is 
 no doubt a great catch :' and this was the first 
 sentence that drew my attention. — ' I should 
 think she is too ! How the deuce could Langport 
 do better ? If she is not a lady of title, she de- 
 scends from a very good family by her mother's 
 side, while her father was an eminent merchant.' — 
 ' True,' replied the first speaker ; ' and now-a- 
 days the blood of patricians is brought to mingle 
 with that of plebeians when self-interest is the 
 motive power.' — ' No doubt : and God knows,' 
 continued the other, ' self-interest is the motive 
 power in this instance. Langport was telling me 
 just now that he thinks he shall bring the busi- 
 ness to book to-morrow ; for the fair Mildred got 
 very spooney upon him this afternoon when they 
 were walking together on the quay. He does not 
 think that she has the slightest suspicion of the 
 desperate state of his circumstances : in fact he is 
 sure she knows nothing about the matter ; as 
 how can she indeed ? for she is scarcely ever in 
 England. So it is not that circumstance which 
 has made her hesitate to marry him. He thinks 
 she has perhaps been in love before, and got dis- 
 appointed, and so made a vow to remain single all 
 her life ; which vow she now repents of, but does 
 not exactly know how to break it.' — ' And I 
 suppose,' said the other, ' that if Miss Malcolm 
 refuses after all to marry Langport, it is all up 
 with him?' — ' All up entirely. Why, all his 
 estates have been sold by private contract to pay 
 off the mortgages ; he has got executions in his 
 little property of Hendon Court ; and he is so 
 overwhelmed with debts at Berlin, Wurtemberg, 
 and Turin, wherever indeed he has been in a diplo- 
 matic capacity, that if he cannot liquidate them 
 immediately, he must give up his embassy. It is 
 all this that worried him so terribly and made 
 him ill, and brought him down to Genoa to seek 
 for health ; when as good luck would have it, 
 who the deuce should arrive at the same time 
 hut Miss Malcolm ?' — ' So it really does look,' 
 observed , the other gentleman, ' as if the two 
 were destined for each other, and fate throws 
 them together in this way ?' — ' Well,' proceeded 
 the other individual, ' Langport has been playing 
 an uncommon knowing game, and he deserves to 
 win her. I hope he will.' — ' But what,' inter- 
 jected the other, .' if the lady really does happen 
 to suspect that his lordship's circumstances are so 
 desperate ?' — ' There is no fear of her suspecting 
 
 I anything of the sort. Langport has sounded her 
 two or three times when he has been making love 
 to her i he has offered to settle all her own for- 
 tune on herself, and then he has narrowly 
 watched her countenance to see what effect it 
 would produce.' — 'Well?' asked the former 
 speaker. — ' Well,' said the other, ' there has been 
 nothing on the fair Mildred's part to indicate the 
 faintest suspicion of any double-dealing on her 
 noble suitor's side.' 
 
 "Here the conversation terminated; for the 
 two gentlemen haying finished their cigars, re- 
 entered the hotel. I remained for some minutes 
 jn the arbour, pondering everything I had heard ; 
 and then abruptly quitting the place, I sought 
 my own chamber. How completely the veil had 
 fallen from my eyes! how rudely had it been 
 thence snatched ! ' What a villain is Langport !' 
 I for a moment thought to myself ; and then I 
 mentally ejaculated, ' No ! for there has been 
 mutual deception !' — And now, would you believe 
 it, all the love I had previously experienced for 
 him suddenly became absorbed in my own im- 
 mense, illimitable vanity ? Might I not become 
 Lady Langport ? If so much adulation and flat- 
 tery were offered in society to plain Miss Mal- 
 colm, how much greater the court that would be 
 paid to Lady Langport ? Ah ! and to become 
 the wife of an Ambassador — the Ambassadress, 
 as I should be styled abroad ! To have the pass- 
 port within the limits of royal circles ! to become 
 the associate of queens and princesses ! My silly 
 head was again turning, if not with visions of love 
 at least with ambition ; and I slept serenely enough 
 that night— perhaps far more so than those two 
 English gentlemen could have suspected if they 
 had happened to have discovered that then- con- 
 versation had been overheard by me. 
 
 "On the following day I met Lord Lang- 
 port according to appointment upon the quay. 
 He immediately assumed a tender look and 
 tone, and he said, ' Methinks, Mildred, that 
 from the concluding part of our conversa- 
 tion yesterday, the interdiction laid upon me 
 has ceased to exist, and that I may again 
 mention the word love instead of friendship ?'— 
 ' You doubtless understood from my manner,' I 
 said, ' and from the terms on which we parted, that 
 I should give you a decided answer to-day. I am 
 now prepared to dp so. You have often most 
 generously suggested that my own fortune should 
 be settled on me ; but I could not think of render- 
 ing myself so thoroughly and completely inde- 
 pendent of the man whom I may take as my hus- 
 band. I therefore stipulate that one-half be 
 secured by settlement on me, while I cheerfully 
 abandon the other half to your disposal, confident 
 that you wijl make an excellent use of it.' — I saw 
 with how much intense anxiety Langport listened 
 to the first part of my speech : I noticed how a 
 slight shade of vexation passed over his counte- 
 nance when I mentioned the settlement ; and then 
 I observed that Ins features altogether brightened 
 u-". is if he were struck by the reflection that the 
 p-xsent arrangement was better than the loss of 
 me and my fortune altogether. Our arrangements 
 were quickly made : he on his side was anxious 
 to secure me, and I on my part was solicitous to 
 avoid as much as possible the endearments, whe- 
 ther feigned or real, which he might think it ne- 
 cessary to bestow upon me during the period of 
 
168 
 
 THE YODNO DUCHESS; OR, MEMOtRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 courtship. I requested that the ceremony should 
 be conducted with as little parade and pomp as 
 possible ; and it was therefore agreed that he 
 should return in two or three days to Turin, that 
 I should follow him in a week afterwards, and 
 that the nuptials should be solemnized by his own 
 chaplain at the Embassy. Let me pass over 
 whatsoever reflections I made to myself during 
 the interval; and let me proceed to state that 
 everything, was, carried put according to agree- 
 ment. I followed Lord Langport to Turin ; and 
 there, in as private a manner as possible, I became 
 Lady Langport. On the Continent there is no 
 departure of the happy couple to spend the honey- 
 moon elsewhere; and English people, when 
 sojourning abroad, usually follow in this respect 
 the custom of the country where they may hap- 
 pen to be. The wedding-day is generally passed 
 in festivity with the members of the two families 
 whom the ceremony has united, as well as with 
 the most intimate friends of both. But as neither 
 Lord Langport nor myself had any relations to 
 invite, a dinner was given to a select few of his 
 acquaintances, including of course the ladies who 
 had officiated in my train at the bridal cere- 
 mony. 
 
 " The banquet was over — the guests had de- 
 parted — it was eleven o'clock at night: Lord 
 Langport and I found ourselves alone together in 
 the splendidly-furnished saloon at the Embassy. 
 He looked tenderly upon me ; and then I said to 
 him calmly and mildly, ' The moment has come 
 when all dissimulation must cease. You have 
 been already by an accident fully unmasked to 
 me ; and I can no longer help unmasking myself 
 to you. You wanted money; and by this mar- 
 riage you have obtained it. I wanted a title, and 
 by the same means I have secured it. You vowed 
 that whatsoever might be the nature of the mys- 
 tery attaching itself to me, you would not esteem 
 me the less ; and I hold you to your promise. On 
 the other hand I did not pledge myself to esteem 
 you just the same when the mask should fall 
 from your countenance : but I will nevertheless 
 act precisely as if I had made such a vow. When 
 the word love was first mentioned between us, and 
 when at Genoa we began to grow intimate, so that 
 marriage might be naturally looked forward to as 
 the result, I thought I was being wooed by an ho- 
 nourable and upright man, and you thought you 
 were wooing a young lady of beauty. I did not 
 bargain for a ruined spendthrift ; nor you for a 
 withered hag in her forty-third year, but as shri- 
 velled and wretched as if she were sixty. Yet 
 these are the facts. You are that man: I am 
 this woman. You have half my fortune, where- 
 with to settle your debts, save your honour, and 
 prevent yourself from being ignominiously recalled 
 from your ambassadorial post : the remaining half 
 will serve to produce a handsome income in ad- 
 dition to your salary. So long as you treat me 
 with friendship and brotherly kindness, the in- 
 come so produced shall be entirely at you r rwu 
 disposal : the instant you treat me otherwise, I 
 leave you, taking that income with me. Thf-re 
 has been dissimulation on each side : we need not 
 blame each other. There are also secrets on both 
 sides, which perhaps neither will think it worth 
 while to reveal. Husband and wife in the pre- 
 sence of the world, brother and sister only in the 
 privacy of our domestic life ! Is all this a bargain T 
 
 " I will not tell you how astounded, how bewil- 
 dered Lord Langport looked when I first began to 
 address him. Indeed, I would rather hurry, over 
 this scene, and bring my narrative to a conclusion 
 with the least possible delay. Lord Langport lis- 
 tened in profound silence: lie reflected when I had 
 finished speaking ; and then he said, ' Yes, it is a 
 bargain.' — ' Good night,' I answered ; and shaking 
 him by the hand, I took a taper and proceeded to 
 the bridal chamber. There I remained alone; 
 and he slept in another apartment. . 
 
 " It was almost immediately after our marriage 
 that the two portraits which hang in the dining- 
 room down stairs were painted at Turin. As you 
 may have observed,. that portrait which is sup- 
 posed to represent me, delineates my figure more 
 slender than it seems now, and my cheeks fuller. 
 Indeed my countenance still retained a marvellous 
 plumpness, and it is only within the last four or 
 five years that my cheeks have begun to sink. As 
 for my figure, I gave it at the time when that 
 portrait was painted, just such a symmetry- 
 only slightly verging upon embonpoint — which 
 Mildred would herself most probably have pos- 
 sessed if she had been alive. Her figure was 
 inclined to a luxurious /ulness ; and as all who 
 knew her in St. Petersburgh must have remarked 
 this circumstance, I was naturally careful to keep 
 it continuously in view. For was I not personat- 
 ing my own daughter ? Therefore, as year has 
 succeeded year, and time has gone on, I have gra- 
 dually given my own shape the appearance of a 
 greater development ; so that if I now happen to 
 meet any one. who knew Mildred at St. Peters- 
 burgh, the impression to ■ be made might thus be 
 expressed in words if we suppose the individual 
 ejaculating to himself, ' Ah ! this is exactly the 
 embonpoint at which Miss Malcolm always gave 
 promise of arriving !' 
 
 " My married life — If such I may term it — with 
 Lord Langport, lasted only a couple of years; 
 and he weiit down into the tomb. We lived upon 
 precisely the terms which I had specified on our 
 bridal evening: he disposed of my income — he 
 respected my secret — and he treated me with a 
 sufficient degree of kindness. Of all his own 
 former possessions, nothiDg but Hendon Court, 
 with its petty domain, could be rescued from his 
 creditors ; and since his death I have for the most 
 part resided here. I have grown weary of the 
 Continent ; and have now no other wish than to 
 end my days in peace beneath this roof. If you 
 feel inclined to ask me a certain question — namely, 
 why I still maintain that cheat whereof I have 
 made you the confidant ? — yon may read the an- 
 swer in all the previous circumstances of my life.. 
 Vanity is still my failing. It is not now that 
 vanity which makes me seek the admiration of 
 the young; but it is the vanity which will not 
 permit me to expose myself to the world — to tell 
 how much of my life has been a fraud and a lie 
 —or to draw down upon my head the contempt 
 and ridicule of the universe by avowing that I 
 am not Mildred the daughter, but neither more 
 nor less than that same perished Mildred's 
 mother !" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS, OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY Of QUALITY. 
 
 169 
 
 THE PRINCESS KOXAN.A. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A STRANGE MEETING. 
 
 Wk shall not attempt to describe the varied feel- 
 ings and emotions, the strange sensations and 
 conflicting thoughts, which were excited in Ethel 
 during her narration of this most marvellous 
 history. Suffice it to say that when it was 
 brought to a conclusion, she assured Lady Lang- 
 port that it would effect no change in the devotion 
 No. 22. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 with which she was resolved to execute the duties 
 of the office she had undertaken, but she could 
 not of course promise that it would increase her 
 esteem for her patroness— neither did Lady Lang- 
 port endeavour to extort from her any such pre- 
 posterous pledge. 
 
 And presently, when the house was all hushed 
 in silence, and Lady Langport had retired to 
 her couch, and Ethel stood in the. dressing-room, 
 contemplating the cosmetics and succsdaneous 
 auxiliaries which the drawers and the bureau fur- 
 nished forth, she could not help mentally ejacu- 
 
170 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 lating, " Good heavens ! is it possible that so 
 tremendous a sacrifice can be made to the shrine 
 of Vanity ?" 
 
 She was almost disposed to hate herself for re- 
 maining any longer in such a position : but when 
 she sought her couch and strained her dear child 
 to her bosom, she thought that she could- do any- 
 thing for her beloved little Alfred's sake ; and it 
 was with a thrilling heart that she remembered 
 how Lady Langport had assured her that the 
 future welfare of herself and her child should be 
 her care. And thus serene was the slumber that 
 presently stole upon the eyes of the beauteous 
 Ethel, while the charming head of her cherished 
 boy was pillowed upon her snowy bosom. 
 
 On the following day Lady Langport requested 
 Ethel to go into London and purchase at the 
 eminent perfumer's in Bond Street certain articles 
 that were required for her ladyship's mysterious 
 toilet. One of the carriage-horses had met with 
 an accident : the carriage could not ib refore be 
 used. Lady Langport did not thin ;ii to make 
 u3e of an omnibus ; neither would she have asked 
 Ethel to have recourse to this means of convey- 
 ance, if it were not that the young lady had ex- 
 pressed a desire to go into London shortly to make 
 some purchases for herself. She required summer 
 dresses, and likewise lighter clothing for her little 
 boy ; for it was now verging close towards the 
 end of May. 
 
 As Ethel wished to be as expeditious as pos- 
 sible, and had several shojs to visit, she did not 
 take the child with her. Nor indeed was it 
 necessary, inasmuch as a nursemaid had been 
 provided to look after him : she therefore pre- 
 ferred leaving him with the girl, who was a very 
 steady young person, to inhale the fresh air in 
 the country. She accordingly proceeded alone on 
 her business-visit ; and with the least possible 
 delay she made her purchases, not forgetting the 
 commissions entrusted to her by Lady Langport. 
 She was just issuing from the perfumer's shop in 
 Bond-street, when she was suddenly struck by 
 amazement on beholding a female hurrying past 
 her, dressed in a plain style, if not with actual 
 shabbiness, at all events in a manner which was 
 sufficiently poor and humble to strike Ethel with 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Is it possible ? Lady Langport here, in this 
 sort of disguise !' hurrying along in this manner ! 
 passing me by, evidently without seeing me ! 
 Good heavens ! what can it mean ? what new 
 mystery is this ? Why should she have sent me 
 into town, pretending that she purposed to remain 
 at home ? — and above all things, why that plain 
 and sordid apparel, so different from the usual 
 toilet of Lady Langport !" 
 
 Ethel asked herself all these questions as ra- 
 pidly as if they were so many flashes of lightning 
 darting in quick succession through her brain. 
 She was transfixed to the spot with amazement : 
 but suddenly resolving to clear up the mystery, 
 she rushed after the object of all her curiosity 
 and interest, along Old Burlington Street into 
 Cork Street. 
 
 " Good heavens, my lady ! what is the meaning 
 of this ?" cried Ethel, catching her by the folds of 
 her meagre shawl • " has anything happened ? I 
 beseech your ladyship " 
 
 "Ladyship? happened?" repeated the female 
 whom she had thus accosted. "What on earth 
 
 does this signify ? It must be a mistake !" — and 
 breaking away from Ethel, she hurriedly pursued 
 her way. 
 
 "A mistake ? No ! no !" — and in another in- 
 stant Ethel was again by her side. 
 
 " What do you want, young lady ?" asked the 
 woman, stopping short, turning round, and fixing 
 her eyes full upon Ethel. 
 
 "Ah!", said the latter: and now, as she was 
 enabled to survey the female more attentively, she 
 began to; think that she must indeed have made a 
 mistake ; for this person's eyes were blue, whereas 
 those of Lady Langport were much darker : the 
 hah- of this female was brown, while her ladyship 
 wore her's dyed a deep glossy black. . " I beg 
 you a thousand pardons," faltered Ethel. " Yes 
 — I now really perceive that I have made a mis- 
 take But the likeness — the expression of coun- 
 tenance! Good heavens!" cried the young 
 
 lady, as a strange wild idea abruptly smote her ; 
 "is it possible ? No ! no ! it cannot be ! And 
 
 yet Oh ! I conjure you to tell me who you 
 
 are?" 
 
 The female now became excited with curiosity 
 and interest in her turn ; and she said, " Rather 
 do you tell me in the first place, young lady, why 
 you thus accosted 1 me — for whom you at first took 
 me, and whom you take me for now ?" 
 
 " No, no — I cannot answer you !" replied Ethel 
 quickly. " You must speak first !' Good heaven3 ! 
 the more I look at you " 
 
 " This is indeed very remarkable," said the wo- 
 man, evidently growing more and more interested. 
 " What on earth can you mean ? But perhaps," 
 i she instantaneously added, her manner at the 
 same moment changing into an expression of in- 
 difference, "it is a Mistake — or a mere coin- 
 cidence—: — " 
 
 " A coincidence ?" treated Ethel, vaguely 
 and dubiously, for she was" in a state of utter be- 
 wilderment : "a coincidence ? It is possible. No 
 ', — it is impossible ! And yet " 
 
 At this instant an ejaculation of mingled aston- 
 ishment and terror burst from the lips of the 
 woman, as her blue eyes suddenly became riveted 
 in a particular direction. Ethel mechanically 
 flung her own looks towards the same point ; and 
 it was almost a cry of alarm which started from 
 her- own tongue as she caught sight of the same 
 object on whom the woman's regards were fixed. 
 There, at a little distance — having just turned the 
 corner of a neighbouring street — dressed with his 
 usual fashionable elegance — his lips apart with a 
 strange supercilious smile, and his white teeth 
 gleaming in contrast with his glossy black mous- 
 tache, — there stood Count Mandeville ! 
 
 "Devil!" fiercely burst from the woman's 
 lips as she suddenly accosted him : and Ethel — 
 disenchanted from the spell-like impression which 
 the woman's appearance had made upon her, and 
 feeling only that she was in the presence of a man 
 who had pursued her for infamous purposes — 
 glided away from the spot. 
 
 Glancing over her shoulder at the corner of the 
 street, she beheld the Count and the woman stand- 
 ing where she had left them, apparently in earnest 
 conversation; and the young lady pursued her 
 way. She was beginning to relax her pace and 
 was recovering from the fright into which Mande- 
 ville's appearance had thrown her, when she felt a 
 light touch upon the arm ; and stopping short, she 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 171 
 
 found herself face to face with an individual of 
 imposing appearance. 
 
 He was a man whose age could not possibly 
 have been less than seventy-five : he was tajl, and 
 stooped slightly : his countenance was expressive 
 of intelligence — age had not dimmed the mental 
 fire in the eyes that gazed so steadily ; and there 
 was an air about him which bespoke firmness of 
 character, severity of disposition, and a certain 
 degree of haughtiness, the combined effects of 
 which were more or less subdued by that gloss 
 which a polished manner and a distinguished look 
 threw over all. He was dressed in a complete 
 suit of black, with a singfe-breasted surtout coat 
 buttoned nearly up to the neck, but the upper 
 part being just sufficiently open to display a dia- 
 mond pin evidently of immense value. There 
 was nothing of the old bean about this personage ; 
 but yet his entire toilet — the well-brushed hat, 
 the gloves fitting with precision, the well-shaped 
 polished boots, without a speck of dust irpon them, 
 and the admirably cut garments — all denoted an 
 individual of refined tastes. We should add that 
 he wore a thick grey moustache ; but the hair of 
 his head was quite white and so thin that the flesh 
 could be seen through, or rather beneath it. 
 
 Such was the personage who stopped Ethel in 
 the manner already described ; and as the young 
 lady was too unsophisticated and pure-minded to 
 be ever ready to jump at unfavourable conclusions, 
 as so many people are, she did not at once resent 
 the circumstance before it was explained. It was 
 therefore only with mingled curiosity and respect 
 that she looked at the stranger, who on his own 
 side was for the moment contemplating her with 
 attention. 
 
 " You will pardon me, young lady,'' he said, 
 now raising his hat and bowing with what may 
 be described as a dignified politeness — somewhat 
 cold and lofty perhaps, but on the other hand 
 utterly without the semblance of a libertine super- 
 ciliousness, — " you will pardqn me, yqung lady, 
 for the liberty I have taken in stopping you, but 
 I should very much like to have a few minutes' 
 
 conversation with you on a subject that to me 
 
 and to others 43, pf the utmost importance." 
 
 This distinguished - looking personage spoke 
 English with a perfpet accuracy, but with a foreign 
 accent. Indeed he was evidently a foreigner. 
 
 " Surely, sir, there must be some mistake ?" 
 said Ethel ; " it is impossible there can be any 
 subject of such importance wherein I can either 
 be interested or enabled to give you any informa- 
 tion." 
 
 " Pardon me," interrupted the stranger. " I 
 know not whether you may be inclined to deal 
 
 candidly on the subject 1 know not even on 
 
 what terms you may be with certain persons whose 
 images are now uppermost in my mind : but when 
 I look at you pardon me, young lady, for say- 
 ing that there is something so candid and inge- 
 nuous in the expression of your countenance " 
 
 "Believe me, sir," said Ethel, "that if there 
 were really any topic of such importance whereon 
 I might be enabled to speak, I should deal with it 
 in a sincere and straightforward manner. In this 
 you only do me justice. But you evidently mis- 
 take me, sir, for some one else." 
 
 " It is true I know not who you are," said the 
 gentleman ; " but let me prove to you in a few 
 words that I am not speaking erroneously, nor at 
 
 random. You are acquainted with a person" 
 
 the stranger paused -^-.corrected himself by sub- 
 stituting the term "a lady": — and then went on 
 to say, " a lady who once bore the name of Mal- 
 colm. What she calls herself now I know not." 
 Ethel started visibly ; and her countenance, 
 always so beautiful, became still more interesting 
 and attractive as it suddenly grew animated with 
 surprise and curiosity, 
 
 " Ah !" said the stranger — and a smile, though 
 scarcely perceptible, for an instant wavered upon 
 his thin lips, — " I thought that I should be en- 
 abled to convince you that I gm not speaking 
 wide of the purpose. And now let me add that 
 you are also acquainted with a person who bears 
 the name of Count Mandevijle," 
 
 Again Ethel started with evident surprise ; and 
 this time an exclamation burst from her lips. 
 •' Yes, sir," .she cried: "it was only just this 
 
 moment that I met " 
 
 "I know it," interrupted the stranger: and 
 now the smile was more perceptible and more sig- 
 nificant, as it wavered upon his thin lips. " But 
 might I ask you to favour me with a brief inter- 
 view ? — for it is impossible we can continue to 
 discourse here in the street." 
 
 " Sir," interrupted Ethel, drawing herself up 
 with a becoming feminine dignity, >' I have no 
 place to which I can ask you to accompany me ; 
 and moreover, it is not probable that I can have 
 anything of importance to communicate to you. 
 With Count de Mandeville my acquaintance is 
 very, very slight. With the other — the lady 
 whom you describe as having once borne the name 
 
 of Malcolm " 
 
 " Do not be offended, madam," interrupted the 
 stranger, " at the request which I made, to the 
 effect that you would grant me an interview else- 
 where. I am incapable of insulting you^and 
 all the more so, indeed, from the manner in which 
 you have just vindicated your feminine dignity 
 when for an instant you supposed it to be assailed. 
 My carriage is close at hand — the Countess is 
 
 seated in it " 
 
 " The Countess ?" repeated Ethel. 
 " Ah, I forgot," said the old man, with another 
 partial smile, " you do not know who I am :" 
 then fixing his eyes with an earnest significancy 
 upon her, he inquired, " Do you ever happen to 
 have heard mention made of the name of Count 
 Olonetz ?" 
 
 Ethel started. Here was a fresh surprise for 
 her To be sure ! she had heard of Count Olo- 
 netz ! Was not he the Russian Ambassador who 
 upwards of fifteen years back had plotted so trea- 
 cherously to carry off Lady Langport — or rather 
 Miss Malcolm as she then called herself — from 
 Constantinople ? For a moment Ethel was smit- 
 ten with an uneasy feeling in the presence of this 
 man who produced upon her mind the impression 
 of one who wielded great powers and used them 
 unscrupulously. 
 
 " You have heard my name mentioned," he 
 said. "lam not surprised at it. And now 
 will you grant me the favour I ask? My 
 residence is at no great distance — indeed it 
 is close at hand — in Grosvenor Square — and 
 the Countess will give you a kind welcome ; 
 for it is impossible from your appearance to 
 think otherwise than well of you." 
 
 Ethel was on the point of giving a decided 
 
172 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS \. OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 negative in response : she was abont to say that if 
 Count Olonetz desired to converse with her he 
 must call at Hendon Court for the purpose : but 
 all in a moment her ideas totally changed, and 
 she said, " Yes, my lord — I will accompany 
 you." 8 
 
 They proceeded together into Bond Street ; and 
 indeed it was only a walk of some fifty yards 
 which they had to take in order to reach a 
 splendid equipage waiting at the door of a 
 fashionable jeweller's shop. It was an open 
 barouche, with immense armorial bearings painted 
 on the panels : it was drawn by two magnificent 
 iron grey horses, and was attended by domestics 
 in gorgeous liveries of green and gold. In the 
 carriage was seated a lady whose age might be 
 about sixty, and who was elegantly-dressed, but 
 with that good taste which was appropriate for 
 one of her years, and which did not aim at the 
 appearance of juvenility. She looked surprised 
 for a moment when her husband appeared in the 
 companionship of a young and beautiful lady — 
 for the Count had only in the first instance 
 strolled into the neighbouring streets without any 
 particular object while his wife was engaged at 
 the jeweller's. He rapidly spoke a few words 
 to her in their own native tongue ; whereupon 
 her ladyship bestowed on Ethel a bow sufficiently 
 affable though somewhat condescending, and mo- 
 tioned her to take a place by her side in the car- 
 riage. The Count then entered it also — the 
 equipage drove away — and in a few minutes it 
 stopped in front of one of the handsomest houses 
 in Grosvenor Square. Meanwhile the Countess 
 Olonetz had exchanged a few observations on 
 general topics with Ethel ; and we may observe 
 that her ladyship spoke English with quite as 
 much fluency as her husband. 
 
 But let us pause for a moment to explain why 
 it was that Ethel so suddenly changed her mind, 
 and instead of positively refusing to accompany 
 the Count, she the next instant most readily as- 
 sented. Her first impression was that she must 
 look upon Olonetz as a secret enemy, for some 
 reason or another, of her patroness Lady Lang- 
 port — and that therefore she herself was bound 
 to have nothing to do with him. But all in a 
 moment it occurred to her that the time had come 
 when the cause of the Count's conduct towards 
 Lady Langport — or rather the Miss Malcolm of 
 that period, fifteen years ago, at Constantinople 
 — was no longer to be shrouded in mystery ; and 
 Ethel said to herself, " Her ladyship will doubt- 
 less be pleased if I can fathom the secret !" 
 
 But still there was much surprise, bewilder- 
 ment, and even confusion in Ethel's brain, as she 
 rode along in the splendid equipage; for she 
 thought of Lady Langport — of the woman in the 
 mean attire whom for an instant she had taken 
 for her ladyship — then of Count Mandeville — 
 likewise of everything that had fallen from the 
 lips of Count Olonetz ; and she felt as if there 
 were more mysteries than one to be unravelled 
 and more than one strange secret to be cleared 
 up. 
 
 The equipage stopped, we said, at one of the 
 handsomest mansions in Grosvenor Square. The 
 Count alighted, gave his hand to the Countess, 
 and then assisted Ethel to descend. On entering 
 the house, the Count said to Ethel, " Will you be 
 kind enough to accompany the Countess ? I will 
 
 rejoin you almost immediately. I am expecting 
 a despatch of importance and must-ascertain if it 
 have arrived." 
 
 The Countess led the way up a magnificent 
 staircase ; and opening the door of an apartment 
 on the first landing, she was about to enter, when 
 she suddenly stopped short upon the threshold, as 
 if surprised at finding some one already in that 
 room. She curtsied with an air of the pro- 
 foundest respect, and saying something (which 
 Ethel could not understand, but which she fan- 
 cied must be an apology for the intrusion) she 
 was about to retreat. The lady- however who 
 was seated in that apartment, and of whom Ethel 
 had caught a glimpse, now bounded forward, ex- 
 claiming first in French, and then repeating it in 
 excellent English, "Who is this lady? why did 
 you bring her ? why were you going away with 
 her again?" 
 
 The Countess, with a most respectful de- 
 meanour, as if speaking to one who was infinitely 
 her superior, said something in her native tongue. 
 
 " Ah, you are an English lady ?" cried the 
 beauteous creature — for beautiful she indeed was 
 — as she now turned again towards Ethel. " I 
 thought so. 'Tis so easy to tell you English 
 ladies ! Heavens ! how handsome you all are ! 
 But pray walk in. It will please me to converse 
 with you for a little while." 
 
 The Countess looked serious, and even an- 
 noyed — we might almost say displeased — as she 
 again said something in her own native tongue. 
 Nothing could exceed the haughty dignity with 
 which the young lady then suddenly drew herself 
 up, as she said in English — emphasizing her 
 words, and glancing towards Ethel, — " There is 
 no improper unbending from one's rank in con- 
 versing with an English lady. If she were not 
 a lady in every sense of the term, I should 
 scarcely have found her in your company, 
 Countess ; and since I happened to be in this 
 room — where you did not expect to find me — I 
 shall now avail myself of the pleasure which ac- 
 cident has procured me 1 mean that of con- 
 versing for a little while with the English lady." 
 
 The Countess evidently saw that the beauteous 
 young creature was decided ; and she dared not 
 any further dispute her will. She therefore 
 turned to Ethel, saying, " Her Highness ex- 
 presses a desire that you should remain here for a 
 few minutes." 
 
 Ethel saluted the young Princess — for such 
 she thus discovered her to be ; and her Highness 
 exclaimed in a most affable manner, " Come and 
 sit next to me on this sofa. There ! and do not 
 be embarrassed— make yourself quite at home — 
 which is a true English phrase," she added, 
 laughing; " and let us converse without restraint. 
 I am very fond of the English. I was for two or 
 three years in England when a yoxmg girl — I had 
 an English governess— and you see, my dear 
 madam, I do not speak your language very in- 
 differently." 
 
 But before we continue our description of the 
 present scene, let us pause to say a few words in 
 reference to the personal appearance of the Prin- 
 cess. She was beautiful — not strikingly so, but 
 sweetly beautiful. Her features were delicately 
 formed and of faultless regularity. Her hair was 
 of a light brown — almost of a chestnut hue : her 
 eyes were of a soft limpid blue — and they were 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 173 
 
 fringed with long lashes which were dark at the 
 roots but grew lighter towards the points, as if 
 the auburn beams of a sunny reflection tipped 
 them goldenly. She was not tall : her figure was 
 slightly formed, -and exquisitely symmetrical. 
 There was an expression of angelic innocence in 
 her countenance — an air of fairy lightness about 
 her form. She seemed to be about seventeen or 
 eighteen years of age ; and she had that silvery 
 joyousness of voice, those gushing spirits, and 
 that look of artlessness and candour which made 
 her appear as if she were yet in all the freshness 
 of girlhood's still earlier period of fifteen or six- 
 teen. We should add that she was dressed with 
 mingled richness and elegance, in that species of 
 Russian toilet which borrows something from the 
 French, something from the Italian, and some- 
 thing from the Spanish. Thus, for instance, her 
 robe was of the most exquisite Parisian fashion : 
 but she wore a high comb at the back of her 
 head, to which a long flowing black veil was fas- 
 tened — so that if she had possessed an olive com- 
 plexion instead of the one that seemed formed of 
 milk and roses, and with hair and eyes to corre- 
 spond, she might have been taken for a daughter 
 of the sunny South on account of that portion of 
 the toilet. But the veil was not drawn over the 
 beautiful face ; and as she threw herself loung- 
 ingly on the sofa by Ethel's side, it formed a vast 
 sable back-ground to show forth her sweet face 
 and sylphid figure in most advantageous relief. 
 
 As the reader may have perceived, the Princess 
 instantaneously began conversing familiarly with 
 Ethel — but it was that lady-like, polished, and 
 well-bred familiarity which springs from a. kind 
 heart, gushing with the most generous feelings, and 
 yearning towards any one of the same age who 
 may seem fitted to become a companion. Countess 
 Olonetz seated herself at a little distance ; and 
 though she was too well-bred, and perhaps too 
 discreet, to continue to display either annoyance 
 or uneasiness at this proceeding on the part of the 
 good-natured, artless,' but self-willed Princess, she 
 could not altogether conceal a certain impatience 
 and a desire that the interview should be as short 
 as possible. 
 
 " So you see," continued her Highness, " being 
 very fond of the English people, and liking to 
 have an opportunity of speaking your language, 
 I am quite glad that accident should have thrown 
 you in my way. I have only been in London a 
 few days — I mean on this present occasion. I 
 have scarcely yet seen a soul — and I was getting 
 tired 'of being cooped up in this house just as if it 
 were a cage !" 
 
 " I offered to take your Highness in the carriage 
 just now," said the Countess Olonetz. 
 
 "Ah, but that was to go shopping !" cried the 
 Princess; "and nothing is more tedious. Pray 
 tell me, my dear madam," she continued, turning 
 towards Ethel, " by what name I may address 
 you ?" 
 
 Ethel named herself as Mrs. Trevor ; ' and the 
 Princess, gazing upon her with an air of even 
 affectionate interest, exclaimed, " Ah, you are 
 married, then ?" 
 
 A rapid change took place in Ethel's looks ; 
 and the Princess, grasping her hand, said in a 
 tone that was full of tenderness, " Ah, I fear that 
 I may have inadvertently said something to 
 grieve and afflict you ! Perhaps — perhaps — your 
 
 husband is no more ? Ah, forgive me ! I see 
 that it is so ! And now tell me," pursued the 
 Princess, throwing cheerfulness into her voice and 
 making her countenance brighten up as if it 
 were an invitation to her companion to start away 
 from a melancholy topic, — " tell me what is your 
 Christian name f " 
 
 Ethel could not help smijing at the artless 
 good-nature, and unsophisticated familiarity of 
 the youthful Princess : but she at once mentioned 
 her Christian name. 
 
 " Ethel ! what a beautiful name !" cried the 
 Princess. "Oh, what a beautiful name !" — and 
 she literally clapped her small white hands with 
 all the joyousness of girlish approval. " I must 
 now tell you my name ; for I daresay that you do 
 not already know it. It is Boxana " 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and Count 
 Olonetz made his appearance. He started and 
 looked surprised for an instant — but only for an 
 instant ; and with a respectful bow towards the 
 Princess, he said, "I am sorry to deprive your 
 Highness of the companionship of the young lady 
 with whom ybu are conversing ; but I happen to 
 know that her time is precious :" — and he evidently 
 said these words in English that Ethel might 
 profit by the hint. 
 
 "Oh, you must not take her away from me!" 
 cried the Princess, seizing Ethel by both hands. 
 " We have only this instant become acqviainted !" 
 
 " Indeed, I fear," said Ethel, who was affected 
 almost to tears by the friendship displayed to- 
 wards her by the youthful Princess, — "I fear 
 that I must leave your Highness." 
 
 " Then you will come and see me again ?" ex- 
 claimed Koxana, her beautiful countenance light- 
 ing up with the idea that had just struck her that 
 they might meet again. 
 
 Ethel glanced in an embarrassed manner towards 
 the Count and Countess : she naturally felt that 
 her position was an awkward one. 
 
 " To be sure !" said the Count, with the utmost 
 self-possession, " this young lady " 
 
 " Mrs. Trevor !" ejaculated the Princess. " Oh, 
 you see I know her name ! Ethel Trevor ! But 
 I told her that mine is Boxana Mildreda " 
 
 Ejaculations burst from the lips of both the 
 Count and the Countess, — ejaculations Which 
 seemed to be full of mingled alarm and annoyance 
 — nay, almost of affright. There was likewise a 
 cry from the lips of Ethel; for that name of 
 Mildreda naturally struck her as strange, — 
 strange when associated with all the incidents 
 that were uppermost in her mind — strange when 
 suddenly flung at her as it were from the midst 
 of the cloud of mysteries that enveloped all the 
 purposes for which she had been brought thither ! 
 
 "Ah, I forgot," said the Princess, suddenly 
 turning pale, and for a moment looking terrified, 
 — " I forgot that injunction which has been more 
 than once so solemnly repeated " 
 
 "Enough, Princess dear Princess!" inter- 
 jected the Countess Olonetz, earnestly and en- 
 treatingly. 
 
 " But "why, my dear Mrs. Trevor," ejaculated 
 the volatile Boxana, " should you also have cried 
 out as you did when I happened to let slip " 
 
 " I beg your Highness a thousand pardons," 
 said the Count, in a firm and decisive tone: "but 
 Mrs. Trevor's time is precious " 
 
 "Mrs. Trevor did not say so for her herself," 
 
174 
 
 THE YOUNO DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY-. 
 
 cried Roxana, with all the petulance of a self- 
 willed child — yet a child that was also innocent 
 and good, with every intention welj.-meant, and 
 with no sinister thought kept in the back-ground. 
 " I daresay if I were to ask Mrs. Trevor to remain 
 a little while longer with me " 
 
 " Indeed, your Highness," said Ethel, who felt 
 that it was her duty to put an immediate end to 
 a scene so awkward and embarrassing for the 
 Count and Countess as well as for her own 
 self, " nothing would afford me greater pleasure 
 than to prolong the honour which I am experienc- 
 ing by the condescension of your Highness in 
 favouring me with your notice " 
 
 " Oh, these formal terms ! these ceremonial ex- 
 pressions !" cried Roxana, with an air of unmis- 
 takable impatience bordering even on disgust. 
 " They are not natural ! I hate them ! And you 
 who look so frank and candid — so guileless and 
 ingenuous, as if you could not for an instant 
 dissemble " 
 
 "Well then," said Ethel, with her sweetest 
 smile, "let me assure your Highness in all 
 genuine sincerity that I wish I might remain a 
 little longer with you — but I really cannot 
 now." 
 
 " You will come again ?" asked Roxana, her 
 large liquid blue eyes looking entreatingly upon 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Yes," hastily interjected the Countess, '• Mrs. 
 Trevor will do herself the honour of again paying 
 her respects to your Highness." 
 
 Roxana made another movement of impatience 
 at those ceremonial terms : then taking Ethel's 
 hand, she said emphatically, " There shall be no 
 paying of respects in the case ; but you shall 
 come and see me in friendship and as an equal — ■ 
 and it will be with the arms of friendship also 
 that I will receive you." 
 
 She then suffered Ethel to leave the apartment, 
 in company with the Count, who hastened to 
 conduct Mrs. Trevor to another room, the door of 
 which he closed — and they were now at length 
 alone together. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 COUNT OLONETZ. 
 
 If Ethel had entered that house with a feeling of 
 considerable curiosity and interest, this sentiment 
 had now become immensely enhanced by the in- 
 terview with that fair young creature whose ap- 
 pearance, whose manners, and whose discourse 
 were of themselves so well calculated to make an 
 impression upon even the least sensitive mind. 
 But when to these circumstances of interest was 
 superadded the mysterious fact that she bore the 
 name of Mildreda — that she had evidently been 
 enjoined not to mention this name — and that 
 both the Count and Countess were vexed and 
 alarmed when in a, sort of artless inadvertence 
 and girlish carelessness she had let it fall from 
 her tongue, — Ethel was lost in a perfect maze of 
 wonderment, marvelling what could be the issue 
 from the bewildering labyrinth, and whether the 
 mystery was now to be cleared up during her in- 
 terview with Count Olonetz. 
 On the other hand, the Count himself seemed 
 
 to feel as if he were placed more or less in a per- 
 plexing and embarrassing position, — as if he 
 knew not precisely how to commence the conver- 
 sation anew, or whether he ought to begin by 
 seeking or giving explanations. Having very 
 courteously motioned Ethel to be seated, he re- 
 flected for a minute or two — and then said, " Mrs, 
 Trevor — for by an accident I haye learnt your 
 name — you cannot have lost sight of the object 
 for which I requested you to come hither." ' 
 
 " No, my lord," she replied. " I have not for- 
 gotten the discourse which just now took place 
 between ns." 
 
 " Permit me first of all to inquire," resumed 
 the Count, " whether you know much — anything 
 indeed of the person calling himself Count Man- 
 deville?" 
 
 " I informed your lordship that my acquaint- 
 ance with him was very slight." 
 
 " True, madam ! — and I have not forgotten the 
 observation. But an acquaintance with a person 
 may be slight," he added, with a smile, " though 
 there be a thorough knowledge of the individual's 
 character and antecedents." 
 
 " I know scarcely anything of Count Mande- 
 ville," responded Ethel : " I never saw him but 
 onpe before to-day — and to speak candidly, my 
 lord, the little I have heard concerning him was 
 not calculated to make me desire his acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 " Then perhaps you can tell me nothing of his 
 present proceedings ?" said the Count. 
 
 "Qh, no, my lord — nothing!" ejaculated Ethel, 
 almost with surprise at the question : and then 
 she immediately added, " Your lordship really 
 seems to think that 1 have some greater know- 
 ledge " 
 
 " We will say no more of Count Mandeville 
 for the present," interrupted Olonetz. " Let us 
 speak of the other." 
 
 "The other ?" said Ethel, half dubiously ; for 
 she thought it was a somewhat supercilious way 
 of alluding to a lady. " Do you mean " 
 
 " I mean her who once bore the name of Mal- 
 colm. Of course you admit knowing her ?" 
 
 " Yes — I have admitted it, my lord." 
 
 " Truly !" observed the Count, with a smile, 
 " you could not very well have helped admitting 
 it." 
 
 " I scarcely understand your lordship. But 
 Ah !" she abruptly ejaculated,- "if you know so 
 much as you apparently do, why put these ques- 
 tions to me ? In short, my lord, I know not even 
 whether I am right to remain here to suffer my- 
 self to be interrogated " 
 
 "Mrs. Trevor," said Olonetz, fixing a cold 
 severe regard upon her, " I had formed a very 
 favourable opinion concerning you. I am not 
 a man accustomed to judge hastily — and perhaps 
 not half a dozen times in my life have I put faith 
 in first appearances. But in your case I certainly 
 did so. I took you to be sincere and straightfor- 
 ward — incapable of dissimulation or evasiveness ; 
 and it wa3 to your supposed uprightness that I 
 meant to appeal when I requested you to accom- 
 pany me to this house." 
 
 "Are all these reproaches addressed to me, my 
 lord," asked Ethel, with ill-concealed indignation, 
 " because I reserve to myself the right of fixing 
 on those questions which I may choose to answer, 
 and those which I decline to notice ?" 
 
THE YOTJNG DUCIIESS; OK, MEilOIKS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 175 
 
 "I really cannot altogether understand you, 
 Mrs. Trevor," said the Count. " It struck me 
 that Only a few moments ago you Were inclined to 
 throw a veil of doubt and mystery around your 
 acquaintance with her who once bore the name of 
 Malcolm." 
 
 " Let me ask, my lord, why you invariably 
 speak of her in this manner ?" 
 
 " I told you just now that I did not know what 
 name she now bears. How, then, am I to speak 
 of her otherwise than I do ?" 
 
 " But — but, my lord," continued Ethel, having 
 a thousand contacting ideas in her brain, but' 
 scarcely knowing how to. give expression to them, 
 " there is a superciliousness — a contemptuOusness 
 m your tone and manner, when referring to that 
 ladv--^-" 
 
 " Ah, then," said the Count drily — aid he fixed 
 a peculiar look upon Ethel — " you must know 
 very little indeed of that person if yon think that 
 I ought to speak of her in other of more honour- 
 able terms." 
 
 Ethel coloured and looked confused, as she mur- 
 mured to herself, " Good heavens ! can he know 
 Lady Langport's secret ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said the Count, who caught those evi- 
 dences of emotion ; " you do know something, 
 then, concerning the object of our discourse — and 
 you are not surprised that I should speak of her 
 in terms of contempt and disgust — aye, almost 
 with aversion. Pray might I ask how long you 
 have kno\yn her ?" 
 
 "But a very, very short time," answered Ethel, 
 trembling with emotion, — " only little more than 
 a fortnight." 
 
 " Ah ! then perhaps you do not know how long 
 she has been in England ?" said the Count. 
 
 " Eeally, my lord," cried Ethel, frightened, " I 
 ought to ask why you put all these questions ? 
 She could have done you no harm " 
 
 " In one word, Mrs. Trevor," interrupted Olo- 
 netz, " will you tell me where sh« lives, or where 
 I may find her, and our interview need not last 
 another minute. I shall thank you. My car- 
 riage — which I have ordered to wait on purpose 
 — shall take you whithersoever you think fit ; and 
 if you would permit me — an old man-r-old enough 
 to be your grandfather — to offer you this testi- 
 monial of gratitude, I shall still consider myself 
 your debtor. Now then, the address of that 
 woman — where is it ?" — and as he put this ques- 
 tion, the Count drew a splendid diamond ring 
 from his finger. 
 
 "Good heavens!" ejaculated Ethel, again start- 
 ing up from the seat which she had a few minutes 
 back resumed, " do you think me capable, my 
 lord, of betraying one who, no matter what she 
 may be, has demonstrated naught but kindness 
 towards myself? For what do you take me? — 
 a traitoress — a spy ? Oh ! are you still bent upon 
 pursuing that unfortunate lady With your dark 
 mysterious vengeance ? But, remember, my lord 
 this is London — it is not Constantinople ! You 
 may have your steam-ship moored in tie Thames 
 — but lift your finger, rf you dare, to carry off 
 an English subject! Ah, I told you that your 
 name was not unknown to me! — and now you 
 comprehend in what sense I became acquainted 
 with it ?" 
 
 "By heaven, this is more and more bewilder- 
 ing !" exclaimed Olonetz, who, though ordinarily 
 
 the calmest and most phlegmatic diplomatist in 
 the world, now stamped his foot with veritable 
 rage and impatience. "When I just now said 
 that my name must be known to you, it was not 
 i in reference to.that subject ; for how in the name of 
 | heaven this affair which you have just mentioned, 
 ever transpired to Miss Malcolm's knowledge, I 
 cannot guess. But let it pass. It is Simply ridicu- 
 lous to suppose that here in England I could think 
 of attempting a mistehief to one Who may possibly 
 claim the rights of a British subject. No ! And 
 here again i, am perplexed and bewildered ; for 
 you seem to know some things and to be entirely 
 ignorant of others, as if it were only by the 
 veriest fits and starts that she — call her what you 
 will — could have ever given you any insight into 
 her antecedents. Now the fact is, it may be to 
 her interest to communicate with me. I have 
 certain proposals to make; and if you do not 
 choose to tefl me where she lives or where I may 
 find her, at least tell her that Count Olonetz, who 
 arrived three days ago in London, and who has 
 seen her, as she knows- " 
 
 " Seen her ?" echoed Ethel. 
 
 The Count made a gesture of disgust and im- 
 patience as he, rose from his seat, adding coldly, 
 " Yes, madam — after all I am deceived in you ! 
 You are trifling with me — you are piaying with 
 evasions an4 dissimulations — heaven only knows 
 for what purpose ! — and in the same unaccount- 
 able manner you are even going so far as to strive 
 to make me doubt the evidence of my own 
 senses I" 
 
 Again Ethel looked bewildered : she pressed 
 her hand to her brow ; for strange thoughts were 
 again creeping into her brain — strange mysterious 
 ideas which were growing a trifle stronger than at 
 first, though still vague and indefinite. 
 
 " Madam," cried the Count, with a certain de- 
 gree of eagerness, as if snatching at a thought 
 which had just occurred to him — -" more than 
 once during this interview has it struck me that 
 we were playing at cross purposes — of course un- 
 intentionally and ignorantly, — that we were pursu- 
 ing lines of thought Which though they sometimes 
 seemed to meet and combine, were in reality 
 different and separate ; and nothing could' afford; 
 me greater pleasure than to be enabled to recall 
 the harsh expressions to which I just now gave 
 utterance concerning you." 
 
 " Ah, my lord," said Ethel, with tears in her 
 eyes, " if you only knew how incapable I am of 
 prevarication and duplicity, you would indeed 
 give me credit for the most genuine sincerity in 
 the present case !" 
 
 "By heaven, it must be so !" said Olonetz em- 
 phatically : then, as he regarded that beautiful 
 face with earnest interest, and looked into the 
 depths of those hazel eyes, so soft and candid in 
 their expression — as he' regarded the exquisitely 
 cut lips on which it seemed impossible that guile 
 could ever linger — he went on to say, " For forty- 
 five years have I been in the schools of diplomacy 
 and it has been my business to look deep down 
 into the' human heart through the mirror of the 
 countenance. If ever the hand of an angel traced 
 the purest thoughts upon a mortal brow, it is 
 here ! it is here !" 
 
 The stern severe diplomatist was almost affected 
 by the direction Which his thoughts were thus 
 taking, as he continued to gaze upon that beauti- 
 
176 
 
 TIIE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 ful face — but only as a father might gaze upon 
 the face of a beloved daughter ; and with a kind 
 smile he said, " Now let us sit down once more, 
 and see if we can understand each other. Do 
 you mind trying ?" 
 
 " No, my lord," answered Ethel, touched by 
 the old man's altered bearing towards her. " I 
 do really think that there is something to be 
 cleared up !" — and then, after a pause, and with 
 a deep mysterious look, she 'added, hesitatingly 
 and diffidently, " Think you, my lord, that we are 
 both alluding to the same person ?" 
 
 " Oh, as for that," cried the Count, with 
 another smile, "it is impossible there can be any 
 mistake !" 
 
 "And I should think so too, my lord," said 
 Ethel, again renouncing as preposterous and 
 ridiculous a certain idea which had floated 
 vaguely and dimly in her brain. 
 
 "Even" if you could have no certitude on the 
 point,", continued his lordship, " I myself am 
 utterly beyond doubt. Now, . listen ! It seems 
 that you know how Miss Malcolm and I met at 
 Constantinople. Well, that was between fifteen 
 and sixteen years ago. I never saw her again till 
 yesterday " 
 
 " Yesterday, my lord ?" said Ethel dubiously. 
 
 " Yes — I repeat yesterday. , I was in Regent 
 Street — on foot at the time. I ran against Count 
 de Mandeville — as he calls himself : we were 
 speaking on certain matters, when all in a moment 
 an exclamation burst from his lips. ' By heaven, 
 there she is 1' he cried; and" she was appearing 
 round a corner as he spoke. There she stood, 
 transfixed for nearly a minute ; and thus I had a 
 full opportunity of surveying her. I confess that 
 I had somewhat forgotten her since we met in 
 Constantinople : but sixteen , years make differences 
 in personal appearances as well as in memories. 
 However, there she was ! Mandeville pointed her 
 out to me ; and even after she had vanished "as it 
 were from our view, her image remained strongly 
 imprinted on my mind. I ran after her — but she 
 was nowhere to be seen. I must confess that for 
 the first time in my life I was so completely taken 
 aback by the suddenness of that unexpected ap- 
 pearance — I was so entirely riveted to the spot — 
 that she escaped from me as it were before I even 
 thought of accosting her. As for Mandeville, he 
 had of course his own good reasons for not caring 
 to meet her — " 
 
 " My lord," interrupted Ethel, who had hitherto 
 listened with breathless attention : " that lady — 
 that female whom you saw yesterday " 
 
 " "Well," ejaculated the Count, " was she not 
 the same whom I again beheld to-day — just now 
 — not an hour ago — in Cork Street — and yourself 
 and Mandeville in her company ?" 
 
 Ethel sank back in her chair, like one who was 
 overpowered with consternation and dismay ; and 
 she gazed with a species of fearful, awe-felt, bewil- 
 dered vacancy upon Olonetz. That idea which 
 had already undergone so many fluctuations — so 
 many transitions from light to darkness, and 
 from darkness to light — now appearing suddenly 
 to flame up into a blaze potent enough to illumine 
 the whole mystery. 
 
 " Good heaven, what ails you, madam ?" asked 
 the Count, frightened at her appearance. " You 
 are ill ! — I will summon assistance !" 
 
 "No, my lord— no," said Ethel. "I thank 
 
 you — I am better:" and she raised herself up in 
 her seat again. "But that lady whom you saw 
 at Constantinople, between fifteen and sixteen 
 years ago " 
 
 "Now I will tell you something strange, 
 madam," interrupted the Count. " It did strike 
 me that Miss Malcolm, when I knew her by that 
 name at Constantinople, had dark eyes and hair 
 — whereas this woman's hair and eyes are lighter. 
 Ah ! is it possible," he exclaimed, " that there can 
 be any error — any mistake ?" He looked bewil- 
 dered for a moment — then he reflected profoundly 
 —and then he said, " No, it is impossible ! there 
 is no mistake !" 
 
 At this moment the door opened ; and a fine 
 tall man, of very distinguished appearance, and 
 whose age might be about forty, entered the room. 
 He was fashionablydressed, but with perfect good 
 taste ; and he carried a riding- whip in his hand, 
 as if he had just come from taking exercise on 
 horseback. His hair was of light brown : his 
 whiskers, of a vivid auburn' at the roots, darkened 
 towards the extremities : his moustache was 
 lighter still than his whiskers, and had the points 
 curled inward towards the corners of the lips. He 
 had large blue eyes, a .very high forehead, and 
 well-arched brows. He was well made, and of a 
 firmly knit' frame, but with a perfect symmetry of 
 proportions. 
 
 He entered the room without knocking, and 
 without apology— moreover with only a slight in- 
 clination of the head, somewhat partaking of the 
 off-hand condescending familiarity of a nod,. in 
 acknowledgment .of the profoundly respectful 
 salutation made to him by the Count. His eyes 
 immediately settled upon Ethel, to whom . he' 
 bowed most courteously, and whom he at once 
 regarded with an air of unmistakable interest. 
 Yet there was nothing bold nor insolent — much 
 less of a libertine character in his looks ; it was 
 with a respectful interest and admiration that he 
 contemplated her, and also as if he had previously 
 heard her spoken of in a manner which had im- 
 pressed him favourably with her. 
 
 " Your Imperial Highness," said Count Olo- 
 netz, in a manner which was coldly significant, 
 though perfectly respectful, " I am engaged at 
 present " 
 
 "Is this lady Mrs. Trevor?" asked the Grand 
 Duke — for no less a personage was the individual 
 whom we are now introducing to our readers ; and 
 it may be easily supposed that Ethel started when 
 she thus abruptly and unexpectedly found herself 
 the object of such an inquiry. 
 
 " Yes, my lord," responded Olonetz, with an- 
 other bow : " this lady is so named. Has your 
 Highness any particular reason " 
 
 "What? for asking who she is?" said the 
 Duke. "Yes — certainly I have. Roxana " 
 
 "Ah!" — and the ejaculation faintly escaped 
 the Count's lips. It might be either an expression 
 of relief experienced on account of some cause of 
 apprehension being suddenly removed ; or it might 
 have been in surprise at the mention of the name 
 of the youthful Princess, in connexion with the 
 Duke's appearanoe there at the moment and his 
 inquiries concerning Mrs. Trevor. 
 
 "Roxana," pursued the Grand Duke, not heed- 
 ing that faintly uttered ejaculation from the 
 Count's lips, "has just been telling me that she 
 experienced very great pleasure from your society 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 177 
 
 ere now, Mrs. Trevor. She is as lively as a kitten, 
 and full of whims and caprices. But I suppose 
 she must be humoured. In a word, then " 
 
 "My lord," interrupted Count Olonetz, "Mrs. 
 
 Trevor's time is really precious " 
 
 . "Time?" echoed the m Grand Duke, fixing a 
 haughty regard upon Olonetz — and it was as if to 
 demand who would dare to think of time at a 
 moment when he, one of the Imperial Princes of 
 Russia, chose to disregard it ? 
 
 " I beg your Highness's pardon," said Olonetz, 
 with a very profound bow. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor," continued the Grand Duke, 
 who spoke English almost as well as the Princess 
 Roxana herself, "from what my daughter has 
 told me, you are a widow. Of course you are 
 well born and respectable? Your appearance 
 indicates that much. Well, the next point 
 is " 
 
 "Really, my lord," interrupted Olonetz, speak- 
 No. 23. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 ing in a whisper, which was however loud enough 
 to be heard by Ethel, "you will offend this 
 young lady. Remember, this is not Russia — it 
 
 is England " 
 
 "Ah, my lord!" interrupted the Grand Duke, 
 with an accent of bitterness in his tone, and a 
 strange flashing significance in his eye, " I know 
 what England is, and what the English are, as 
 well as your lordship — although you have twice 
 before visited this country as Ambassador, and 
 are now here on an extraordinary and special 
 mission. — Mrs. Trevor," proceeded ■ the Prince, 
 "I have only a very few words to say. My 
 daughter, the Princess Roxana, has taken a 
 fancy to you ; and I am accustomed to humour 
 her whims to the utmost of my power. I should 
 like her to have a respectable well born English 
 lady as her companion. Think of the matter ! 
 As for terms, you may name them : — or if you 
 leave them to me, I have not the slightest doubt 
 
178 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 I shall fix upon a sum four times as large as you 
 "would think of asking. You know who I am : — 
 yon will let me know who you are. Prove your- 
 self a gentlewoman in fact, as you are in appear- 
 ance — and the matter is settled." 
 
 Ethel listened in astonishment; while Count 
 Olonetz looked on in mingled alarm and curiosity 
 in respect to the manner in which this singular 
 scene might end. 
 
 " I thank your Imperial Highness," said Ethel, 
 at length recovering her self-possession : " I also 
 desire to express my heartfelt gratitude for the 
 favourable opinion entertained of me by the 
 Princess ; but , I am so situated as to be beyond 
 the necessity of accepting" — she hesitated, and 
 then said, " at least for the present, the position 
 which through so much good feeling has been 
 offered me." 
 
 At this instant the door of the apartment again 
 opened ; and a footman entered, presenting a card 
 upon a silver salver, and saying, " I told the lady 
 that your Excellency was 'engaged : but her lady- 
 ship says that she will either wait, or call again 
 to-morrow, according as your lordship may ap- 
 point." 
 
 The Russian Plenipotentiary took up the card 
 — glanced at it — and muttered audibly, " I do 
 not know the lady." 
 
 " I daresay your Excellency wishes to see her," 
 said the Grand Duke, with a smile ; " for you are 
 very gallant towards the fair sex; and in the 
 meantime Mrs. Trevor shall come and sit for half- 
 an-hour with Eoxana, who appears very anxious 
 to see her again." 
 
 " Indeed, your Imperial Highness," said Olo- 
 netz, who was most anxious to continue with Ethel 
 that discourse which had arrived at so interesting 
 a point, " I know that Mrs. Trevor is even now 
 kept much to her inconvenience " 
 
 "Let Mrs. Trevor answer for herself," inter- 
 rupted the Prince curtly. " Madam, I ask you 
 as a favour to grant ftalf-an-hour of your time 
 to my pretty, whimsical, self-willed, and really 
 amiable daughter ; and I am sure you will not 
 refuse her ?" 
 
 Ethel felt all the magnitude of the compliment 
 conveyed her — her society being thus earnestly 
 solicited by this Grand Duke on behalf of that 
 youthful Princess, utterly unknown although she 
 was to them both, and with no other guarantee 
 for her character and social position than having 
 been accidentally brought thither by the Count and 
 Countess Olonetz. "With these considerations, 
 therefore, she could not refuse ; and there was an 
 additional motive which induced her to give an 
 assent — namely, that she on her own side had 
 conceived no ordinary sentiment of interest and 
 even of affection, if so strong a feeling could arise 
 in so short a space, for the beautiful Roxana. 
 Count Olonetz — a thorough man of the world — 
 comprehended what was passing in Ethel's mind : 
 he also perceived that the Grand Duke was bent 
 upon having his daughter's whim gratified ; and 
 therefore, making a merit of the necessity, he 
 said with a low bow, as he glanced at the card 
 which he held in his hand, " Your Highness is 
 right : I will see this lady who desires an inter- 
 yiew with me ; and perhaps you, Mrs. Trevor, 
 will have the goodness to signify to me when you 
 have concluded your present visit to the apart- 
 ment of the Princess ?'' 
 
 " Good," said the Grand Duke. " In half-an- 
 hour Mrs. Trevor shall return to you :" and he 
 moved towards the door to open it. 
 
 Then Olonetz, hastily placing his finger upon 
 his lips, whispered in rapid utterance to Ethel, 
 " Not a syllable with regard to the subject of our 
 late discourse !" 
 
 Mrs. Trevor bent upon him a look which was 
 as much as to imply that she should scarcely think 
 of betraying communications that were confiden- 
 tial ; and she followed the Grand Duke from the 
 apartment. His Highness led her to a different 
 room from that in wljich she had first seen 
 Roxana ; it was larger, and, if possible, more 
 sumptuously furnished. The youthful Princess 
 was alone there when Jthe door opened ; and 
 flinging down her book, she bounced from the 
 sofa with a joyous cry, while her lovely counte- 
 nance lighted up with a kindred feeling at the 
 appearance of Ethel. 
 
 ." Now, my dear child," said the Grand Duke, 
 affectionately tapping his daughter's cheek, " I 
 have brought this new friencl of yours to see you 
 for one short half-hour : but whether she will ulti- 
 mately consent to the proposition which I have 
 made her on your behalf, must depend upon your 
 powers of persuasion — for mine have totally failed 
 to accomplish the purpose." 
 
 " Ah, we shall jee !" exclaimed Roxana, clap- 
 ping her little hands joyfully. " At all events I 
 have you here for half-an-hour, Mrs. Trevor!" — 
 then as the Duke quitted the room, she added, "But 
 I shall call you Ethel. It is such a sweet pretty 
 name ! You will not be offended — will you 9" 
 
 " By no means," answered the young lady, who 
 was irresistibly attracted towards that fairy-like, 
 sylphid, unsophisticated young creature, in whom 
 so many natural graces blended with such venial 
 faults as self- wall, caprice, and petulance, as if 
 she were a spoilt child. 
 
 " Now come and sit down with me," continued 
 Roxana, leading her new friend to the sofa. " I 
 do not know how it is that I learnt to love you so 
 dearly all in the space of a few minutes : but so 
 it was ! Perhaps it is because there is such soft- 
 ness in your looks — so much kindness — so much 
 unmistakable goodness ! But no matter ! because 
 the fact is as I tell you." 
 
 " You are very kind, my dear Princess," said 
 Ethel ; " and I feel very much flattered " 
 
 "No compliments, my dear friend!" inter- 
 rupted Roxana. " I am wearied — Oh, I am so 
 wearied of those ceremonial expressions which 
 make life one dreary cold formality ! — yes, almost 
 as cold as that horrible region in which I was 
 born J" 
 
 " Do you speak thus, dear Princess, of your 
 native Russia ?" 
 
 " Russia ? Ah, true ! Siberia is a part of the 
 Russian Empire." 
 
 " Siberia ?" ejaculated Ethel. " Were you 
 bom in Siberia ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," ejaculated Roxana, as if the ques- 
 tion surprised her. " But, Ah ! I forgot ! You 
 of course can know nothing of all that ! You do 
 not know how many miles I have travelled, 
 young as I am! — thousands and thousands of 
 mUes !" 
 
 " Indeed ? you astonish me !" said Ethel. 
 " But perhaps your imperial father held some 
 htgh command in Siberia at the time ?" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 179 
 
 " Oh, no," exclaimed the Princess, shaking her 
 beautiful head with a singular expression of coun- 
 tenance : " the circumstances were very different. 
 I myself am not very rightly acquainted with 
 them — I merely seem to have a dim notion thereof 
 floating in my brain ; for no one has ever given 
 me the narrative in detail, and the little that I do 
 know has been gleaned from certain mysterious 
 hints which my female dependants-have sometimes 
 dropped in my hearing, or which I have otherwise 
 heard whispered around me." 
 
 "Ah!" said Ethel, surveying the fair young 
 creature with an additional interest, now that she 
 learnt that there was a mystery of some kind or 
 another attending upon her early being. 
 
 " Of course, you know, my dear Ethel," con- 
 tinued Koxana, " that Siberia is a place of exile ?" 
 
 " You seem to shudder, dear Princess, when you 
 think of it. Is the aspect of that dire wintry 
 region so very awful that it has made such a 
 powerful impression upon you ?" 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Koxana, smiling and opening 
 her beautiful eyes quite wide, _" you have mis- 
 understood me, Ethel ! I only know Siberia from 
 what I have heard and read of it." 
 
 " I thought you said that you were born 
 there ?" 
 
 " And so I was : but when only a year old," 
 continued the Princess, " I was borne away from 
 Tobolsk along with my father and taken into 
 Russia. So you see, my dear Ethel, that from 
 actual experience I know no more of that fearful 
 hyperborean region than you do yourself." 
 
 Ethel was on the very point of asking the 
 Princess whether her mother was dead — and if so, 
 how long a time had elapsed since her decease — - 
 but she feared lest it might prove delicate ground 
 to touch upon ; and she remained silent. 
 
 "You must know, my dear Ethel," continued 
 the Princess, " that my poor mother was herself 
 
 an exile she had been banished into the wild 
 
 Siberian clime!" 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed Mrs. Trevor, " do 
 they banish duchesses and princesses in this man- 
 ner in your country ?" 
 
 " Ah ! my mother was neither a duchess nor a 
 princess when she was banished. Indeed, I know 
 not to What family she belonged, nor what her 
 position in life was : 1 have never heard. But I 
 fancy she must have been of humble condition — 
 which did not however prevent her from being 
 exceedingly beautiful." 
 
 " So I should conceive," said Ethel, gazing 
 with the most earnest interest upon Koxana. 
 
 "Oh, you must not judg# by me!" exclaimed 
 the young Princess, laughing : " for I have heard 
 my dear father on one or two occasions observe 
 that I by no means resemble my poor deceased 
 mother. And an old nurse who brought me from 
 Siberia, and who died some four or five years ago 
 — she also used to look at me attentively some- 
 times and declare that I did not take much after 
 my maternal parent. But let me go back to 
 what I was saying. Where was I ?" 
 
 " You were telling me, dear Princess, that your 
 mother was not in » very high social posi- 
 tion " 
 
 " On the contrary — methinks she must have 
 been in a very humble one ; and this was most 
 probably the reason they exiled her into Siberia 
 — because she had the misfortune — or shall I call 
 
 it the good,fortune ? — I know not which Alas, 
 
 poor mother ! — to win the heart of a Prince of 
 the Imperial House of Russia. You see, my dear 
 Ethel," pursued Koxana, wiping away a tear from 
 
 her eye, " the tale is quite a romance at least 
 
 so much as I know of it." 
 
 "It is indeed a romance," said Ethel; "for I 
 now foresee you are about to tell me that this 
 illustrious Prince — who of course is none other 
 than your father — followed the obscure young- 
 lady into her far-off place of exile and there 
 married her!" 
 
 " Yea — it was so," rejoined the princess. " Ah, 
 what devotion on the part of my father ! — was it 
 not ? But from all that I have learnt, an interval 
 of at least two or three years must have occurred 
 between the time when the object of this tender 
 love was sent into exile, and the period when my 
 father was enabled to find an opportunity and 
 take measures to follow her. So you see, Ethel, 
 that having once loved her, he retained her image 
 deeply impressed upon his heart — he remained 
 faithful and constant — and absence and separation 
 impaired not the first freshness of the passion he 
 had conceived for her >" 
 
 "The history of Love's deeds, and sacrifices, 
 and incidents of noble daring, does not contain a 
 finer episode than that which you are reciting to 
 me, dear Princess ;" — and Ethel sighedobut in- 
 wardly and inaudibly, as she thought ofTier own 
 devoted love and what cruel misadventures it had 
 experienced. 
 
 " And yet," continued Koxana, " it was almost 
 impossible that a history so romantic could be 
 without its tragedy. My father had managed to 
 conceal his princely rank at the time when he 
 penetrated into Siberia — he had revealed it only 
 to the venerable Greek priest, who was induc^l 
 by the spectacle of so much devoted love to pro- 
 nounce the nuptial blessing — and in addition to 
 that priest, to three witnesses or confidants, one 
 of whom was the old nurse that I just now told 
 you of " 
 
 " But I suppose the secret could not be very 
 long kept ?" said Ethel, deeply interested in the 
 narrative. 
 
 " No," responded Eoxana, — " barely two years. 
 When I was a twelvemonth old, guards suddenly 
 surrounded the humble tenement where we dwelt 
 — they seized upon my father — tore him away 
 from hia wife — yes, tore him away from my poor 
 mother ! Ah, it is a sad history ! — and — and he 
 was brought back to St. Petersburgh." 
 
 The Princess paused, wiped away a tear from 
 her eye, and then proceeded as follows : — 
 
 " I believe — but I am not sure — it is only one 
 of the whispers which at one time I heard circu- 
 lating about me — that those wretches Of soldiers 
 would not at first accede to my father's earnest 
 entreaty that he might be allowed to take me, 
 his infant child, with him: but at length they 
 yielded " 
 
 " I should have thought, dear Princess," said 
 Ethel, gently, " that at your tender age — at that 
 time only a year old — it would have been deemed 
 more prudent to leave you with your mother ?" 
 
 The Princess seemed struck by the observation : 
 she reflected for a few moments— and then she 
 said, " I never thought of this before !" 
 
 " However," interjected Ethel hastily — for she 
 did not wish to leave the young and delicate 
 
180 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 mind of the Princess brooding upon anjt particular 
 point to which she herself had directed her atten- 
 tion ; — " the fact is as you have stated it ; and 
 thus at that tender age of only a twelvemonth, 
 you were borne amidst the eternal snows of 
 Siberia, for thousands of miles, to the Russian 
 capital ?" 
 
 "Yes. And now, dear Ethel," proceeded the 
 Princess, in a low soft melancholy voice, " you 
 would doubtless ask me of my poor mother? 
 Think you that Bhe could survive the terrible 
 blow which she had sustained ? Her husband 
 torn from her, and separated from her child ! No 
 — she sank under the weight of these calamities ! 
 It is however*a consolation to know that she was 
 not persecuted during the short time that she did 
 survive those fearful incidents. She was taken 
 into the house of the Governor of Tobolsk ; and 
 there she was treated with all possible considera- 
 tion. There too she died !" 
 
 " You have given me a most interesting narra- 
 tive, dear Princess," said Ethel : " it is also a 
 longer one — more collected in its form, and more 
 consecutive in its details, than I could have ex- 
 pected at the outset, when you began by inform- 
 ing me that you knew so little, and that the 
 vague ideas which you did possess concerning the 
 past were merely the results of whispers that had 
 floated around you." 
 
 " Oh ! can you not understand," exclaimed 
 Roxana, "that to my mind the history is a 
 meagre and disjointed one — lacking a thousand de- 
 tails of interest ? — a mere skeleton which it would 
 require so much in the form of substantial ex- 
 planation to fill up ! The history of so much love 
 and so much misfortune belonging to one's parents, 
 must naturally possess a vivid interest for the 
 child ! And that interest involves an ardent curi- 
 osity to know everything. But with me this curi- 
 osity is not permitted to be gratified. For in- 
 stance, fain would I learn to what family my 
 poor mother belonged. Perhaps that family may 
 be in distress ; and I, who am rich, might alle- 
 viate their affliction. But no ! not even the name 
 of that family has come within the scope of my 
 knowledge! Ah,, and what is more — I am not 
 permitted to speak of the past :" — and then sink- 
 ing her voice to the lowest whisper, the Princess 
 added, " Although I was christened Roxana Mil- 
 dreda, I am only permitted to sign one name, 
 Roxana." 
 
 "Then, I suppose, Princess," said Ethel, in a 
 subdued tone — for it was a deep mysterious con- 
 fidence which appeared to be establishing itself 
 between herself and the beauteous Roxana, — " I 
 presume that Mildreda was the Christian name of 
 your mother ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered the Princess. " But I have 
 no doubt that because my poor mother was of a 
 humble family and of obscure position, and be- 
 cause it was held that she had no right to marry 
 a scion of the Imperial House of Romanoff — it 
 was for this reason, no doubt, that anything 
 which was in any way connected with her must 
 be suppressed, exterminated, cast into oblivion, 
 buried in profound silence, annihilated if possible ! 
 And therefore, you saw just now how angry and 
 how frightened the old Count and Countess were 
 when in a moment of inadvertence I mentioned 
 the forbidden name." 
 
 "Yes— I noticed it," said Ethel. " Is— is " 
 
 and she half hesitated to put the question, — " is 
 Mildreda a veritable Russian name ? is it common 
 in your country ?" 
 
 "Ah, I do not know," cried the Princess : and 
 then she reflected for nearly a minute. " Well, 
 now you mention it, I do not think I ever heard 
 the name breathed from the lips except in con- 
 nexion with my poor mother or myself." 
 
 " In English we call the name Mildred," said 
 Ethel : " but even with us it is by no means a 
 common one." 
 
 " No more is that of Ethel either," interjected 
 Roxana. "But Ah, my dear friend! when I 
 think of it," she continued, with a half suppli- 
 cating, half frightened look, " you must be sure 
 and keep silent .with regard to all these things I 
 have been telling you. My dear father never 
 speaks to me of the past : from his lips I have never 
 learnt any of these details. Indeed I am con- 
 vinced he does not suspect I know even as much 
 as I really do. As for the old Count and Countess, 
 they have no idea that I have picked up so many 
 facts concerning my past history; and they would 
 be excessively angry and annoyed if they thought 
 that I touched upon the subject at all." 
 
 " You may rely upon my discretion, dear Prin- 
 cess," answered Ethel. 
 
 " Oh, I knew that I could fully trust you !" 
 exclaimed Roxana : " your looks tell me so !" 
 
 " Have you dwelt long," asked Ethel, " with 
 the Count and Countess of Olonetz ?" 
 
 " Oh, they were for a long time my guardians, 
 so to speak," replied Roxana. " I will tell you 
 how it was. After my father returned from 
 Siberia in the custody of the Imperial Guards, 
 bearing me with him, he naturally found himself 
 in disgrace at Court, and he was ordered to go 
 and take the command of a division of the army 
 at Moscow. That was really a punishment, and 
 also a prisonage — although the Emperor did not 
 ot course choose to brand a. scion of his family 
 with a disgrace more signal or a chastisement 
 more flagrant. But that punishment lasted for 
 some years — during which I was placed under the 
 guardianship of Count and Countess Olonetz, 
 who had just returned from the Embassy at Con- 
 stantinople. Then the Count was appointed to 
 the ministry of Foreign Affairs, so that he fixed 
 his abode at St. Petersburgh ; and thus for a few 
 years I was brought up in the capital. After- 
 wards he came as Ambassador to England. Then 
 it was that I visited England also ; and for three 
 years my education was principally superintended 
 by English governesses. On our return to St. 
 Petersburgh, my father, having in the meanwhile 
 been restored to the Imperial favour, took me to 
 live with him. Thus a few more years passed 
 away — which brings down my narrative to the 
 present period. I need only add that Count 
 Olonetz was charged the other day with a special 
 and secret mission to the British Court ; and it 
 was deemed advisable — I know not exactly for 
 what diplomatic reason — that an Imperial Prince 
 should accompany him. My father was fixed 
 upon for this particular service. But he does not 
 come with the state and pomp of a Russian Grand 
 Duke : he is here under the incognito of Count 
 Simarova ; and I, my dear Ethel," added the 
 Princess, laughing, " ought according to the 
 strictest rules of etiquette to be only known to 
 you as the Viscountess Roxana." 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 181 
 
 " And were you well pleased to revisit England 
 on the present occasion ?" asked Ethel. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I have already told you that I en- 
 tertained the most pleasing reminiscences of my 
 former sojourn in this country — I am very fond 
 of England and of the English people : I like 
 them much better," she added, in a lower tone and 
 with a more serious look, " than such cold, for- 
 mal, ceremonial, stately people as the old Count 
 and Countess. They seem to worship me as a 
 goddess at one moment, and to do all they can to 
 coerce and annoy me the next. Only think ! I 
 cannot go to the English Court — I must not re- 
 ceive visits openly — because I am here under an 
 incognito I . This is diplomatic etiquette !" added 
 Boxana, with a look of contempt and disgust as 
 she pouted her beautiful coral lips. " But never 
 mind !" she added, smiling, and thus uncon- 
 sciously displaying two rows of pearly teeth 
 which embellished that sweet mouth of youthful 
 freshness ; " I have made your acquaintance — I 
 ought to say I have formed your friendship — and 
 I do not now care if no other English lady comes 
 near me." 
 
 " You are very kind, dear Princess, to say 
 so." 
 
 "Do not say kind! I only tell you what I 
 feel. I dare say you think me a strange, wild, 
 impulsive creature : and perhaps you wonder how 
 I can be so giddy, and laugh, and show so much 
 cheerfulness, when it might be supposed that all 
 I know of the sorrowful past ought to be hanging 
 as a dark cloud upon my mind? But no doubt 
 I was naturally from the very first of a gay and 
 lively disposition ; and then too, my mind and 
 temper were formed, so to speak, before I was 
 old enough to catch up any of those whispers 
 which floated around me and which gave me an 
 insight into the past. Moreover, let it be borne 
 in recolleetion that such little knowledge as I do 
 possess on those subjects, came to me gradually 
 — never with a shock : the details stole into my 
 comprehension by degrees ; and thus the natural 
 liveliness of my disposition has survived the or- 
 deal." 
 
 "Oh, this is easily to be understood," said 
 Ethel. " And God grant, my dear Princess," 
 she added solemnly, " that naught will ever occur 
 to mar this innocent cheerfulness on your part ; 
 nor to sadden a disposition which heaven itself 
 has imbued with the pure and ingenuous bliss 
 that angels themselves enjoy!" 
 
 Boxana seized Ethel's hand and carried it to 
 her lips. There was a pause, during which the 
 young lady and the youthful Princess contem- 
 plated each other with that affectionate earnest- 
 ness which belonged to a friendship that was 
 already sincere though of such recent growth. 
 At length, Boxana, bending her beauteous head 
 towards Ethel, and speaking in a very low voice, 
 said, " I see that you already love me very much 
 — as I also love you ! It appears to me as if we 
 had known each other for a long — long time ! I 
 have told you all my secrets except one " 
 
 " Except one 7" repeated Ethel, with a smile 
 and a look expressive of renewed interest. 
 
 " Yes — I have one more secret — the greatest of 
 all!" continued Boxana, with an air of such 
 artless, sweet ingenuous confidence that shelooked 
 more irresistibly interesting than ever. "Not 
 even my father entertains the remotest idea that 
 
 I am in possession of this secret ! As for the old 
 Count and Countess — heaven help me if they 
 were to know it ! I should never hear the last of 
 it!" 
 
 " Then this secret must be a very important 
 one," said Ethel. " Pray do not think of reveal- 
 ing it to me, dear Princess, without the calmest 
 deliberation and forethought." 
 
 "Not reveal it to you? Why, you would not 
 betray it!" 
 
 " Betray it ? Heaven forbid ! Nothing that 
 ever comes in sweet confidence from those lips of 
 your's, dear Princess, shall be revealed by me!" 
 
 " I knew that such was your disposition," said 
 Boxana. "And now listen to me, my dear friend. 
 You know I have two or three times mentioned an 
 old nurse — Dame Ladoiska as she was called " 
 
 " The one who brought you in her arms from 
 Siberia," interjected Ethel. 
 
 " The same. Well," pursued the Princess, 
 " this good nurse died between four or five years 
 ago — that was soon after I left the Count and 
 Countess and went to live with my father, at the 
 time when he was restored to the Imperial favour. 
 When on her death-bed, the worthy Ladoiska 
 took an opportunity of saying something par- 
 ticular to me. She told me that she had brought 
 away with her from Siberia, and had ever since 
 preserved, a miniature portrait of my poor 
 mother " 
 
 " A portrait of your mother ?" ejaculated Ethel, 
 with increasing curiosity. 
 
 "Yes — a portrait of my poor mother," resumed 
 Boxana. " The good dame said that she had all 
 along intended to bequeath it into my keeping — 
 but that I must treasure it in secret — I must never 
 let my father, nor indeed any one know that I 
 possessed it " 
 
 " And yet you are telling me this great secret, 
 dear Princess ?" 
 
 "Oh! because I feel as if I could have no 
 secrets from you! No — I will conceal nothing 
 from you! I long to possess your friendship! 
 There is something — I know not what — which 
 attracts me towards you. But, Ah! I have 
 already conjectured it must be your sweet looks 
 and the goodness which shines in your eyes ! 
 In your bosom therefore, dear Ethel, all my 
 thoughts shall be poured forth. And now let 
 me give you the crowning proof of this friendship 
 — this love of mine. Stay one moment !" 
 
 The volatile young Princess sprang up from 
 her seat by Ethel's side ; and she bounded across 
 the room — light as a fawn — graceful as a fairy — 
 her well-shaped feet and beautifully rounded 
 ankles moving glancingly as it were over the thick 
 carpet which her steps scarcely seemed to touch. 
 A door at the extremity shut her out from the 
 view of Ethel for a few instants : but during those 
 few instants Mrs. Trevor experienced a strange 
 agitation — a feeling that resembled a presentiment 
 — a forecasting of something important or wildly 
 romantic. She felt indeed as if she were standing 
 on the threshold of some stupendous revelation. 
 
 The door at the extremity again opened ; and 
 the youthful Princess came bounding forward, 
 with something in her hand. It was a miniature 
 portrait, beautifully painted in water colours, and 
 so well preserved in the frame and glass that en- 
 closed it that none of the vividness of that colour- 
 ing was dim. 
 
182 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; 018, MEMOIRS OF A LADY CF QUALITY. 
 
 "Here, dear Ethel," said the Princess, "is the 
 portrait of my mother." 
 
 One glance — yes, one glance was sufficient; 
 and then from Ethel's lips started the ejaculation 
 ' Mildred !" and she gazld up in a land of 
 
 vacant wonderment into the' countenance of thevdered and perplexed. 
 
 astonished and almost affrighted Princess. 
 
 At that very instant the door opened, and the 
 Grand Duke made his appearance. 
 
 "My father!" exclaimed Eoxana: and she 
 snatched at the portrait in order to conceal it 
 about her person. 
 
 But it dropped upon the carpet: the Grand 
 DiUte — who had at once perceived that there was 
 something strange on the part of his daughter 
 and Mrs. Trevor — sprang forward, and caught 
 the miniature from Roxana's hand just as she 
 had picked it up again. 
 
 "Good God! — Mildred!" exclaimed the Grand 
 Duke ; and with a countenance suddenly smitten 
 by a haggard and ghastly expression, he stag- 
 gered back and sank upon a chair, while ejacu- 
 lations of terror and dismay burst from the lips 
 of Ethel and the Princess. 
 
 yet I scarcely think you rightly know who I am, 
 or that your memory serves you with a faithful 
 accuracy." 
 
 "But how — where — when" — faltered out the 
 Russian plenipotentiary, more and more bewil- 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 
 THE AMBASSADOE'S VISITRESS. 
 
 We must now return to Count Olonetz, whom we 
 left at the moment when he was about to receive 
 the lady whose card had been sent up and duly 
 handed to him by the footman. 
 
 " Lady Langport," muttered the Count to him- 
 self, as he again glanced at the card, after the 
 Grand Duke had conducted Ethel away from the 
 apartment, and while a footman was gone to 
 escort the visitress thither. "Now that I bethink 
 me, this name of Langport is not altogether un- 
 familiar to me. There was an English diplo- 
 matist of this name. To be sure ! Lord Lang- 
 port ! I met him somewhere a great many years 
 ago " 
 
 At this moment the door opened ; and the foot- 
 man announced Lady Langport. 
 
 Count Olonetz advanced a pace or two in order 
 to salute his visitress with becoming courtesy : but 
 he suddenly stopped short — started — passed his 
 hand rapidly across his eyes — and then looked at 
 her again with a strange, wildly wondering and 
 bewildered expression of countenance. 
 
 " I see that your Excellency has a recollection 
 of me," said Lady Langport, advancing with a 
 smile upon her countenance — and there was 
 something more or less significant or malicious 
 in that smile: "but you cannot quite call to 
 mind where you have seen me before ; and there- 
 fore I will refresh your memory." 
 
 "My memory?" repeated Olonetz, as if me- 
 chanically; and he looked bewildered — con- 
 founded. 
 
 "You need not think, my lord," continued 
 Lady Langport, with a more marked expansion 
 of that smile of malicious significancy, " that I 
 am come to pick a quarrel with you or cover you 
 with upbraiding; for I see that your conscience 
 is unpleasantly reminding you that it is not alto- 
 gether clear in respect to myself — though even 
 
 I will come to your assistance/' interjected 
 Lady Langport: then fixing her black eyes, so 
 vividly brightened byKahol, upon the Ambassador, 
 she said with peculiar significancy, "Your Excel- 
 lency will remember a certain Miss Malcolm who 
 was introduced to your lordship at the British 
 Embassy at Constantinople, and whom you sub- 
 sequently intended to have carried off in your 
 steamship." 
 
 Count Olonetz stared as never before that 
 accomplished diplomatist and polite courtier had 
 stared upon a human being. Never until then 
 had he so completely lost his self-possession ! — 
 never had he shown himself so utterly at fatilt ! 
 — never had he so completely betrayed the fact of 
 being surprised in a manner that was astounding, 
 almost overwhelming. 
 
 " You see, my lord," continued Lady Langport, 
 " I have rightly accused you. Your conscience 
 ! pricks you." 
 
 "And you — and you," he faltered out, "are— 
 Miss Malcolm ?" 
 
 " The Miss Malcolm of that time," rejoined the 
 visitress; "but Lady Langport now. Indeed I 
 became Lady Langport a very few weeks after I 
 had the honour of meeting you at Constantinople 
 — and when," she continued, in an ironical tone, 
 " you entertained such pleasant and agreeable 
 designs concerning me." 
 
 While Lady Langport was thus speaking, Count 
 Olonetz was recovering his self-possession and his 
 faculty of deliberation — though, if possible, he 
 grew more and more bewildered as He gave way 
 to his reflections and as he gazed on the lady be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " Ah !" thought he to himself, " there is indeed 
 a difference ! my memory had not failed me ! 
 Here we have dark hair and eyes — and this is 
 assuredly the same whom I knew as Miss Malcolm 
 at Constantinople. She then seemed to be about 
 four or five and twenty — that was fifteen or six- 
 teen years ago — and now she seems to be ap- 
 proaching forty. So it is the same ! But good 
 God ! that other ! " — and again all the Count's 
 ideas were lost in a bewildering fog, and in a 
 mist which it appeared impossible for reason or 
 discrimination to penetrate. 
 
 " You "evidently take very much to heart, my 
 lord," resumed Lady Langport, utterly ignorant 
 of what was really passing in his mind, "the 
 coriduct of which you were guilty — or rather, I 
 should say, which you sought to practise towards 
 me fifteen or sixteen years ago at Constan- 
 tinople. But pray be at your ease. I will forgive 
 you on one condition — and that condition is that 
 you will be candid with me." 
 
 "Candid with you?" repeated Olonetz, motion- 
 ing for her ladyship to be seated, while he him- 
 self sank into a chair ; and that politeness to his 
 visitress was mechanical rather than deliberate 
 and intentional at the moment. 
 
 "Yes-— I will explain myself," said her lady- 
 ship, accepting the chair which was proffered her. 
 " But in the first instance I should inform your 
 lordship that I only just now heard of your 
 
TIIK VOVM: Dl CHESS; OP., MEMOIES OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 183 
 
 arrival ia Londou. A friend of mine — Lady Bel- 
 grave — called upon me this afternoon ; and in the 
 course of conversation she happened to mention 
 the fact that a Russian Plenipotentiary Extraor- 
 dinary arrived three or four days ago on a special 
 mission. I asked the name, little thinking that it 
 would prove to be one so familiar to my ears. Con-' 
 ceive my astonishment when the Countess of Bel- 
 grave mentioned the name of Count Olonetz. I 
 was at once seized with a curiosity that could not 
 rest until it gratified itself: I determined to call 
 without delay upon your Excellency. I besought 
 Lady Belgrave to bring me into London in her 
 carriage — for I live a little way in the country : 
 she assented — and I am here." 
 
 Count Olonetz bowed. He was still lost in 
 thought : but he had nevertheless so far regained 
 his self-possession as to decide upon remaining a 
 listener for the present, so long as her ladyship 
 chose to speak and be explanatory. 
 
 " A nobleman of your keen perception," re- 
 sumed Lady Langport, " can scarcely fail to com- 
 prehend in what sense my curiosity is excited. 
 We are in England, my lord : and here" she 
 added, with a smile, " you are no longer danger- 
 ous. Our laws rob the fiercest foreign lions of 
 their claws when they come amongst us. Indeed, 
 I knew that you were in England some few years 
 ago as Russian Ambassador : but then I did not 
 perhaps possess quite so much courage as I do 
 now — I thought you might still be formidable — 
 and therefore I came not near you. But now I 
 have grown braver. Indeed, my lord, I should 
 not hesitate to appeal to the Home Secretary for 
 protection against you if I thought you had the 
 slightest intention of renewing the treacherous 
 design which you harboured against me at Con- 
 stantinople in the year 1831." 
 
 Again the Count bowed : but he remained 
 silent ; and Lady Langport continued in the 
 ensuing strain : — 
 
 " What I wish you to tell me, my lord, is why 
 you conceived that treacherous plot to which I 
 have just alluded ? What was your motive for 
 making me the object of so dark and bitter a per- 
 secution ? How had I been unfortunate enough 
 to offend your Excellency? or how had I in- 
 curred the displeasure of the Russian Government, 
 supposing that you were merely the instrument 
 of its vindictive wrath at the time ? The mys- 
 tery was to me impenetrable then : it has remained 
 so ever since. Heaven be thanked ! your dire 
 intent oozed out by certain means, which I shall 
 assuredly never betray ; and I was warned in 
 time to enable me to escape from the hideous 
 danger that threatened me. Now, my lord, 
 you understand wherefore I have called upon you, 
 and the nature of the explanations which I ex- 
 pect from the lips of your Excellency." 
 
 " Madam," replied the Count, " there is indeed 
 a grave mystery — but it is one into which I myself 
 scarcely know how to penetrate. Let me however 
 take some steps towards unravelling the skein of 
 difficulties, embarrassments, and complications. 
 You are assuredly the Miss Malcolm to whom I 
 was presented at the British Embassy at Constan- 
 tinople. That is beyond a doubt. But now per- 
 mit me to ask whether you really told me the 
 
 truth when on that particular evening you see 
 
 I have a good memory you suffered me to un- 
 derstand that you were the only daughter of the 
 
 deceased Mr. Malcolm, merchant of St. Peters- 
 burgh?" 
 
 Lady Langport started — an uneasy feeling 
 seized upon her — it was her turn to become be- 
 wildered: but regaining her self-possession she 
 said, " Why do you ask this question, my lord ?" 
 
 " Will your ladyship allow me to inquire," con- 
 tinued the Count, " whether your father left two 
 daughters behind him." 
 
 Lady Langport was astonished at the question, 
 and painfully perplexed, inasmuch as she always 
 dreaded that anything which she could not pre- 
 cisely comprehend at the moment, must bear 
 reference to the stupendous secret which she 
 cherished and concealed. She did not immedi- 
 ataly reply : but after a minute's reflection, she 
 fancied there could be no possible harm in say- 
 ing, " My father left but one daughter behind 
 him." 
 
 "And you mean me to understand," said the 
 Count, " that you are this daughter ?" 
 
 Lady Langport looked aghast for a moment: 
 and then she hurriedly said, " Tes, yes ! — you 
 know that I must be ! I told you so at Constan- 
 tinople ! Why should you doubt it ?" 
 
 " Ah ! and you told me other things at Con- 
 stantinople," pursued Olonetz. "You said that 
 you had travelled many thousands of miles in your 
 time ? ' 
 
 " And it was the truth that I told you," inter- 
 jected Lady Langport. 
 
 " And yet it was that very observation on your 
 part," rejoined the Count, " which served to con- 
 vince me that you were But no matter! 
 
 There is a mistake, madam !" he added vehe- 
 mently ; " and you evidently are not the person 
 for whom I took you !" 
 
 It was almost a scream which burst from Lady 
 Langport's lips, as the terrible throught struck 
 her that her secret was at length known — even if 
 it had not previously been — to Count Olonetz, 
 and that the conviction had burst upon him that 
 she, the mother of Mildred, had for years been 
 playing the part of Mildred herself ! 
 
 "Madam," resumed Count Olonetz, "if you 
 were not -the Miss Malcolm for whom I took ybu 
 — and it is now quite clear that you were not- — a 
 fearful mistake would have been committed if you 
 had been stealthily carried off that time from 
 Constantinople. Now that I have given you this 
 assurance, you can all the more readily believe 
 me when I declare that I harbour no sinister de- 
 sign against you. You need not appeal to your . 
 Home Minister: I pledge you the word of a 
 nobleman and a gentleman that even if I had the 
 power to effect your extradition from this country, 
 I would not do it. You are altogether the wrong 
 
 person in one sense and yet you are the Miss 
 
 Malcolm of St. Petersburgh !" 
 
 " This is most bewildering !" said Lady Lang- 
 port, who began to breathe more freely, as the 
 i Count made no positive nor pointed allusion to 
 her secret. 
 
 "Bewildering indeed!" he said, as he now 
 mentally reviewed all that had previously taken 
 place betwixt himself and Mrs. Trevor. " Again," 
 he muttered to himself, " it seems to be a play of 
 cross purposes! Madam," he continued, turn- 
 ing towards her ladyship, "it is a point on which 
 I should like to set myself right." 
 
 "And I also," said Lady Langport; "for there 
 
184 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 is evidently some strange mystery or misunder- 
 standing between us." 
 
 " Well, then, madam," continued the Count, 
 " let us endeavour to get upon the right track; 
 and in order to do so, let us start from the be- 
 ginning. The late Mr. Malcolm, of St. Peters- 
 burgh, who died in the year 1824, left a daughter 
 named Mildred behind him." 
 
 " He did," answered Lady Langport, somewhat 
 faintly. 
 
 "And you tell me that you are that daughter ? 
 — that you were Mildred Malcolm ?" 
 
 "The same," rejoined Lady Langport: but her 
 tone grew fainter still. 
 
 " Then, madam, all I can say is," exclaimed 
 Count Olonetz abruptly, " that there must have 
 been two Mildred Malcolms !" 
 
 "Two Mildred Malcolms? What do you 
 mean, my lord ?" 
 
 " Yes — I mean two ! — one with dark hair and 
 eyes — and that is yourself : the other with brown 
 hair and blue "eyes — and that is the one whose 
 proceedings in the world have commanded my 
 attention." 
 
 "Two Mildreds? My God! what does this 
 mean ?" murmured Lady Langport, now quiver- 
 ing violently ; so that her trembling was seen de- 
 spite all the layers of corsets and casings of gar- 
 ments which enveloped her form. "Brown hair 
 and blue eyes? Just heaven! But no! no! no! 
 
 it is impossible ! The Neva " 
 
 " Ah ! what say you ?" cried the Count, catch- 
 ing at the word : "the Neva? Tes, to be sure! 
 the accident on the Neva in the year 1825? 
 
 That was the very time when " 
 
 "When what? when what?" demanded Lady 
 Langport. " But what is it that you can possibly 
 mean ?" 
 
 " What is it that you mean ?" asked the Count, 
 fixing hi3 keen eyes scrutinizingly upon Lady 
 Langport ; for all her increasing trouble was dis- 
 cerned by him — not a single alteration of her 
 countenance passed unnoticed. " So far as I my- 
 self," he continued, " can have any reference to 
 make to that terrible accident on the Neva, is to 
 mark it as the date when a particular arrest was 
 effected. But now I bethink me, madam — I re- 
 member you told me at Constantinople that your 
 mother perished on the occasion of the acci- 
 dent ?" 
 
 "An arrest? What means your Excellency?" 
 — and it was in a quick feverish tone that Lady 
 Langport spoke. 
 
 The Count reflected for a few instants; and 
 then he said, " Yes — I may as well be explicit 
 to this little extent. — The arrest, madam, to 
 which I allude, was that of a young lady, who 
 was identified beyond all possibility of doubt, so 
 that there could have been no mistake. Besides, 
 subsequent circumstances corroborated the fact of 
 
 that identity " 
 
 "My God! what do you mean?" cried the 
 wretched woman, in a broken voice ; for she felt 
 as if the glare of a tremendous light were about 
 to burst upon her, with blinding, searing effect. 
 "The arrest of a young lady?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Count Olonetz, steadily and 
 decisively ; " the arrest of a certain Mildred Mal- 
 colm, the daughter of the deceased merchant — no 
 matter who you yourself might have been, or how 
 you could have been a Mildred Malcolm also !" 
 
 The wretched woman now clasped her hands 
 and sank back like one annihilated in her seat ; for 
 the glare of light had indeed blazed in upon her. It 
 was like the flame of a volcano environing her : 
 it was as one terrific glare of lightning, searing 
 her eye-balls. Her daughter had not been swal- 
 lowed up in the depths of the Neva: she had 
 been arrested and carried off! Perhaps she yet 
 lived ! 
 
 It was a wonder that Lady Langport's senses 
 did not abandon her : but no doubt that for the 
 retention of her consciousness she was indebted 
 somewhat to that habit of self-command which 
 she had so long experienced, and to her constant 
 state of mental preparation to receive any evil 
 tidings without suffering them to have the effect 
 of a shock. Thus, immense though the effect 
 was which the Count's words produced upon her, 
 it was still less than it might have been if she 
 were less prepared by the habits of her strange life 
 to encounter the blow. 
 
 "Madam," said Olonetz, "I have evidently 
 told you something that affects you deeply. How 
 will you now account to me for the fact that 
 Mildred Malcolm was arrested on this particular 
 occasion while you have persisted that you your- 
 self were that same Mildred Malcolm ?" 
 
 " For God's sake do not question me, my lord," 
 moaned the unhappy woman : " do not question 
 me, I implore you ! — but tell me how this hap- 
 pened — why Mildred was arrested — whither she 
 was borne ? Tell me, in short, everything that 
 you know !" 
 
 "Madam," interrupted Count Olonetz, rising 
 from his seat and speaking with severity, " I will 
 tell you nothing more so long as you continue to 
 envelope yourself in a mystery which begins to 
 savour of a fraud— a cheat! — though heaven 
 only knows for what earthly purpose !" 
 
 "Be not harsh— be not cruel with me!" cried 
 Lady Langport, clasping her gloved hands en- 
 treatingly. "Oh you know not the agony of 
 suspense which at this instant is rending my 
 heart!" 
 
 " It may be so, madam," interrupted the Count 
 coldly ; " but I have placed a seal upon my lips. 
 If I were to give utterance to another word on 
 that topic, I might be trenching on State secrets." 
 
 " State secrets, my lord ?" repeated the 
 wretched woman, with an agonized and bewildered 
 air. 
 
 "Yes — State secrets," repeated the Count 
 " Madam, my time is precious. It is sufficient 
 for me to know that you are not — and never were 
 — the Miss Malcolm who But no matter!" 
 
 "I conjure your Excellency," cried Lady Lang- 
 port, sinking upon her knees, " to -have mercy on 
 me, and give me some further explanations ! . Oh, 
 I will be candid ! I thought that Mildred was 
 dead — that she was swallowed up in the waters 
 of the Neva " 
 
 "Ah, then, madam, you confess yourself to be 
 an impostress?" said the Count sternly and 
 severely. " Rise — rise, I command you ! By 
 heaven, I scarcely know whether the matter ought 
 to end here : for now that I bethink me, I always 
 heard that the Malcolms of St. Petersburgh were 
 very rich — and as we know that Mr. Malcolm 
 assuredly died in 1824, and you have told me 
 that the Widow Malcolm perished in the accident 
 on the Neva in the following year — why, then, 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS, OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 185 
 
 it results that Mildred would be the heiress of all 
 their wealth. And therefore," continued the 
 Count, his looks becoming more and more 
 ominous, . " if you, madam, personated Mildred 
 Malcolm after her disappearance, in order to' get 
 possession of her property, you have- committed 
 a cheat so stupendous " 
 
 " No, no I" moaned the wretched Lady Lang- 
 port, sinking back into a chair ; " it is not so ! I 
 am incapable of such a crime!" — and she was ap- 
 palled by the aspect of the perils which were 
 gathering in around her — gulf after gulf appear- 
 ing to open at her feet^-chasm after chasm seem- 
 ing to yawn in readiness to swallow her up ! 
 
 "Then what am I to understand?" demanded 
 the Count. "Ah!" he ejaculated, as a sudden 
 idea struck him, reminding him of all the cross- 
 purposes into which he had evidently been led with 
 ■ Ethel, and also of the fact that she had mentioned 
 No. 24. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 [ the incident which had occured at Constantinople 
 ;. between fifteen and sixteen years back: " do you 
 happen to be acquainted with a young lady 
 named Mrs. Trevor ?" 
 
 Lady Langport started up to her feet ; and for - 
 an instant a horrible idea of some treachery on 
 the part of Ethel struck through her brain. 
 
 "Yes — I see that you know her," said the 
 Count quickly. "Oh, ho! now then, indeed, 
 there dawns a light of explanation upon what 
 took place betwixt her and me." 
 
 "And your Excellency knows Mrs. Trevor?" 
 said Lady Langport, gasping for breath ; and she 
 would have looked pale and ghastly as death, 
 were it not for the exquisite art with which her 
 cosmetics were applied. 
 
 " It is but justice to Mre. Trevor," the Count 
 hastened to say, " that I should lose no time in 
 declaring how well she spoke of you. Yes : I 
 
186 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 recollect she protested vehemently, when I ques- 
 tioned her, against being made a traitress and a 
 spy in respect to your ladyship " 
 
 " Ah, kind, good Ethel," murmured Lady Lang- 
 port: and amidst all the torturing sensations 
 which were harrowing her, there was a feeling of 
 relief to bo derived from the source of Ethel's 
 goodness. " But how came Mrs. Trevor here ?" 
 she inquired. 
 
 " Accident — accident," replied the Count im- 
 patiently : then, as he paced rapidly to and fro in 
 the apartment, he mentally asked himself, " What 
 can all this mean ? This Lady Langport does 
 not look like a base cheat. What mystery is at 
 the bottom of her conduct ? what part can she 
 be playing .? — Madam," he suddenly demanded, 
 stopping short and confronting her ladyship, "who 
 inherited the property left by the deceased Ed- 
 ward Malcolm, of St. Petersburgh ?" 
 
 " Who inherited it ?" she said, with a fright- 
 ened look. 
 
 "Yes — who? The fact can be easily dis- 
 covered ; for there was a commercial branch of the 
 house in London. Indeed, one of my secretaries 
 would ascertain the point for us in the course of 
 an hour or two :" and the Ambassador advanced 
 towards the bell-pull. 
 
 " Stop, my lord !" cried Lady Langport ; 
 "why do you thus seek to push matters to an 
 extreme ?" 
 
 Olonetz fixed his keen piercing eyes upon the 
 lady's countenance ; and in a peculiar tone he de- 
 manded, "What if the true Mildred Malcolm were 
 to come forward and demand ah account of that 
 f fortune which she never inherited ? — aye, demand 
 it of those who are bound to give such an account, 
 I be they who Or what they may ?" 
 j " Good God ! Mildred lives!" ejaculated Lady 
 Langport, all the feelings of a mother suddenly 
 getting the better of any other consideration : — 
 then throwing herself upon fter knees, she cried, 
 " My lord, my lord ! keep me not "* suspense ! , If 
 you know where she is, tell me ! tell me ! — that 
 I may go and embrace my child !" 
 
 Olonetz started. The words which had just 
 been uttered, constituted of themselves a complete 
 revelation in one sense: but when he lobked at 
 this woman who knelt at his feet, how could he 
 possibly believe that she was the mother of Mil- 
 dred whom he knew to be forty-one years of age, 
 and who indeed looked as old as this mother 
 herself ! 
 
 " You do not believe me, my lord ?" cried Lady 
 Langport passionately : " hut it is the truth ! Oh, 
 spare me! spare me! It is a terrible secret which 
 has been revealed to you ! — a secret which for so 
 many years Ihave kept !"— then rising from her 
 suppliant posture she murmured in a hallow voice, 
 " I am a wretched thing of vanity, my lord ; and 
 in this I take heaven to witness lies the only cheat 
 that I have practised !— herein is the only im- 
 posture !" 
 
 Count Olonetz, beginning to comprehend the 
 actual state of the case, said, "Then I am to sup- 
 pose, madam, that the Widow Malcolm did not 
 perish amidst the crashing ice of the Neva ?" 
 
 "No, my lord — no, she lived: she is here! 
 I am she ! Yes — sixty years have I numbered j 
 and if my Mildred be indeed alive, she will have 
 just seen her forty-first birthday." 
 
 The Count looked very, very hard at Lady 
 
 Langport — until he perceived that this survey 
 was most disagreeable, most humiliating, most 
 painful, because she understood why he was thus 
 looking at her ; and as she east down her eyes, he 
 hastened to say, " Pardon me, madam : I have no 
 right to be rude towards you. But by heaven ! 
 you were nearly suffering severely for this freak 
 which has made you personify your daughter; 
 for if you had not fled from Constantinople on a 
 certain occasion, you would assuredly have been 
 sent thousands of miles into the intetior of 
 Siberia !" 
 
 A cry burst from Lady Langport's lips ; for the 
 Count's words seemed suddenly to afford her a 
 horrible insight to what had been the fate of her 
 unhappy daughter. 
 
 "I have no right to be rude to you," continued 
 the Count, who spoke with a tone and air which 
 showed that he despised her very much and pitied 
 her very little: "neither have I a right to keep 
 you in Suspense relative to your daughter. She 
 lives — She has passed through a thousand vicis- 
 situdes—some of her own creating — some created 
 for her, so to speak " 
 
 " Where is She ? Oh, tell me, my lord ! tell 
 me !" cried the wretched mother : " where is she, 
 that I mayfly to her?" 
 
 " She is in London, Lady Langport," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " Oh !" — and her ladyship was almost overcome 
 with the idea of meeting her daughter after a 
 separation of nearly twenty-two years. 
 
 " I know not where she dwells — nor where she 
 is to be found," continued Olonetz ; " but this 
 will not prove difficult to be discovered. I myself 
 wanted to see her : — perhaps the business which 
 I should have sought to transact with her in a 
 direct manner, can now be accomplished through 
 your ladyship, her mother. Ah, by the bye !" 
 added the Count, as he recollected that he had 
 just now seen Mandeville with her, " I may per- 
 haps be enabled presently to lay my hand upon a 
 person who will teU us where your daughter is to 
 be found : though, on second reflection, it is 
 scarcely probable," he muttered to himself, " that 
 she will tell him where she lives." 
 
 Lady Langport clasped her hands; and she 
 could scarcely keep back her sobs or restrain her 
 tears as she thought of the prospect of meeting 
 that offspring whom for so many many years she 
 had looked upon as one numbered with the 
 dead. 
 
 " I do not exactly know whether it is my duly 
 to inform your ladyship," resumed Olonetz, after 
 a pause ; " but perhaps it were as well to prepare 
 you for certain startling revelations. Listen. 
 Let us go back to the year 1825. Your daughter 
 at that time became engaged in a certain ama- 
 tory intrigue. Your friends the Nevels were the 
 secret go-betweens. You were ignorant of all 
 that was passing ; and thus, when the crisis came, 
 the Government intended not to interfere with 
 yon." 
 
 " Alas !" interjected Lady Langport, " I disco- 
 vered that my poor girl had been seduced — I 
 knew not by whom. It was only the day before 
 the accident on the Neva that I had my eyes 
 opened to the fact of her dishonour and ruin. 
 Until this day I am still ignorant of the name 
 of her seducer'" 
 
 " I may a3 well tell you the facts," said the 
 
I 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 187 
 
 Count, " because you will doubtless learn them from 
 your daughter's lips when you meet He whom 
 Mildred's beauty fascinated, and who became in- 
 fatuated with her to a degree that it was believed 
 and feared he would commit the folly of privately 
 marrying her — her lover — her seducer, as you 
 have called him — was a personage of the highest 
 distinction : — he was one of the Imperial 
 Princes !" 
 
 "Ah!" ejaculated Lady Langport: "and it 
 was for this, then, that my poor child was ar- 
 rested?" 
 
 " Yes. The opportunity of the fancy-fair upon 
 the Neva was seized upon," continued the Count, 
 " because it was somehow or another ascertained 
 by the police that she was to be there to meet her 
 Imperial lover. From the information which I 
 have received concerning the incident, I believe 
 the arrest took place on one part of the frozen 
 river while the accident occurred at another. Tour 
 daughter Mildred was dragged away from the 
 arms of her paramour — hurried to a carriage — and 
 carried off into Siberia." 
 
 Lady Langport groaned. 
 
 " The young Prince," continued Olonetz, " was 
 borne a prisoner to the Winter Palace, where he 
 was kept for some time ; and when it was deemed 
 that he had become reasonable and was cured of 
 his foolish passion, he was suffered to go at large 
 again, but always closely watched. Those inci- 
 dents occurred, as I need scarcely remind yon, in 
 the year 1825. Between two and three years 
 passed away ; and then all of a sudden — I think 
 it was in the middle of 1S28 — the young Prince 
 disappeared. By some means he had ascertained 
 to which part of the empire his Mildred had been 
 borne : or else he set off at a venture, under a 
 deep disguise,' and a false name. But no matter 
 how the fact may be ; it is certain that in due 
 time he reached a village in the neighbourhood of 
 Tobolsk, where " 
 
 " Your Excellency has forgotten to mention one 
 thing," interposed Lady Langport, in a tone that 
 was full of anguish ; "for the unfortunate Mildred 
 was in a way to become a mother when she was 
 carried off from St. Petersburgh ■" 
 
 "Ah, I forgot!" said the Count. "She was 
 prematurely confined on the way, in the midst 
 of the wilds of Siberia — and the child was boru 
 dead." 
 
 •'In the midst of the wilds of Siberia !" re- 
 peated Lady Langport, in a tone of affliction. 
 "Alas, poor Mildred! My God! how much she 
 must have suffered ! But proceed, my lord. You 
 were telling me how the Imperial Prince journeyed 
 into Siberia, and how at a village in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Tobolsk— — " 
 
 '• He found the object of his search," continued 
 the Russian Ambassador. " I have already said 
 that he was in a deep disguise and under a false 
 name ; and thus his presence was utterly unsus- 
 pected by the authorities. He married Mildred : 
 —a priest of the Greek Church was bribed to per- 
 form the ceremony. A year elapsed, and a daugh- 
 ter was born." 
 
 " A daughter to Mildred ! — a granddaughter to 
 me !"' murmured Lady Langport. " And that 
 daughter, my lord — the child of that marriage — 
 the oflspring of so much devoted love ?" 
 
 Olonetz reflected : and then said, " Your grand- 
 daughter lives, madam : but whether you will Jfe 
 
 permitted to see her, even if it should suit youl 
 own circumstances to recognise her, is a point 
 which at the present instant I cannot decide." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I will recognise her !" exclaimed 
 Lady Langport wildly. " Farewell henceforth to 
 all duplicities and hypocrisies !" 
 
 "Perhaps, my lady," interjected Olonetz curtly, 
 " you would have done better if you had never 
 adopted them. But that is your business— not 
 mine.*' 
 
 " Proceed, my lord — proceed," Baid Lady Lang- 
 port, deeply humiliated. 
 
 " I need not enter into particulars to show how 
 the young Grand Duke, on disappearing from St. 
 Petersburgh to visit Siberia, had put his family 
 on the wrong scent and had taken measures to 
 bailie for a considerable period all the conjectures 
 which they might possibly form in respect to his 
 whereabouts. Such however was the fact," con- 
 tinued Olonetz. "At length — it must have been 
 about a couple of years after that most inauspicious 
 marriage, and therefore when the infant offspring 
 thereof was about a twelvemonth old — the facts 
 became known by some means to the Russian 
 Government; the Prince was seized upon, and 
 borne back to St. Petersburgh." 
 
 "And his wife ? his child ?" exclaimed Lady 
 Langport, with acutest suspense. 
 
 " The wife was left behind — as your own good 
 sense, madam, ought to have suggested would have 
 been the case : but the father was allowed to take 
 his child with him. The marriage was then dis- 
 solved." 
 
 "Dissolved?" echoed Lady Langport. "Alas, 
 poor Mildred ! persecuted in every sense !" 
 
 "Wait, madam," interrupted Count Olonetz, 
 with a slight smile of irony wavering upon his 
 lips ; " and see how much your daughter Mildred 
 tpok her persecution to heart ! But first let me 
 observe that the Russian Government did not dis- 
 pute the validity of the marriage while it existed: 
 it only exercised its sovereign privilege of dissolv- 
 ing it. Thus it did not stamp the offspring thereof 
 with the stigma of illegitimacy : but the child 
 has been brought up with the title, the rank, and 
 the consideration of a Princess. So that it is a 
 Princess, madam, whom you may boast of as a 
 granddaughter !" 
 
 There was again a certain tincture of irony and 
 sarcasm on the part of Olonetz ; but his contempt 
 was directed only towards that wretched creature 
 of conceit and vanity who was now in his pre- 
 sence, and was not reflected even with the slightest 
 scintillation upon the beautiful young Princess 
 Roxana. 
 
 "And now, madam," he said, after a brief 
 pause, " I will tell you what effect the dissolution 
 of that marriage produced upon your daughter 
 Mildred. Out of consideration for all that she had 
 endured on account of the circumstance of her 
 being beloved by an Imperial Prince — for it was 
 impossible that the Russian Government could 
 blind itself to the fact that she was in reality a 
 victim and not an offender, and ought to be pitied 
 rather than persecuted — she was removed to the 
 mansion of fie Governor of Tobolsj: and placed 
 under the care of his Excellency's wife. Perhaps 
 the generosity thus displayed her was coupled 
 with a prudential motive ; and in affording her 
 an asylum beneath the roof of the Governor's 
 palace, it was also sought to establish additional 
 
188 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 guarantees against her escape and against the pos- 
 sibility of her reunion elsewhere with the Grand 
 Duke. But it would seem as if the precaution 
 was needless and that the image of the Imperial 
 Prince was not very strongly impressed upon her 
 mind ; for scarcely had a twelvemonth elapsed 
 after her separation from the Grand Duke and 
 her child, when she fled — yes, she did manage to 
 make her escape — hut it was with the connivance 
 — aye, and in the company too, of a handsome 
 young fellow — an aide-de-camp of the Governbr !" 
 
 Lady Langport started and gave vent to an 
 ejaculation of dismay. 
 
 "What!" she cried : "Mildred a profligate? 
 Mildred guilty of such flagrant wantonness ? Oh, 
 but perhaps you judged hastily, and the young 
 man who accompanied her may have been inspired 
 only by motives of a chivalrous generosity to suc- 
 cour one whom he beheld the victim of cruellest 
 persecution !" 
 
 Again did a scornful smile play upon the thin 
 lips of the Russian Ambassador, as he shook his 
 head, saying, "It is pardonable in you as a 
 mother to resist unto the very last against the evi- 
 dences of your own daughter's profligacy : but 
 you must disabuse yourself on the point, madam, 
 and yield to conviction. Your daughter Mildred 
 fled with a paramour — and no trace of either re- 
 mained. At that time I was Ambassador at Con- 
 stantinople ; and as it happened that the Governor 
 of Tobolsk was a nephew of mine, I received from 
 him a full account of all the proceedings. Thus, 
 madam, when at that period I was introduced to 
 you at Constantinople, and when you told me that 
 you were Miss Malcolm of St. Petersburgh, I 
 naturally concluded that you were the Miss Mal- 
 colm of Tobolsk also ; and every detail of the 
 conversation which took place tended to con- 
 firm the impression. Indeed, methought it was 
 even with a sly covert irony that you spoke of 
 having been a great traveller in your time, and 
 that you had journeyed thousands and thousands 
 of miles. And therefore, believing you to be the 
 Miss Malcolm who had escaped from Tobolsk, I 
 took prompt measures to capture you and send 
 you off into the heart of Siberia. However, you 
 fled : — and fortunate enough, as I have before de- 
 clared, was it that you by some means or another 
 received a timeous warning. I think you told me, 
 madam, that you married Lord Langport a very 
 few weeks after you fled from Constantinople ?" 
 
 " Yes," was the response. 
 
 "Ah !" said the Ambassador : " and thus, as 
 the name of Miss Malcolm from that moment 
 ceased to be heard of in Europe, I concluded that 
 Mildred had sunk into the seclusion of utter pro- 
 fligacy with some new paramour. Then years 
 passed away — and the incidents which I am now 
 about to mention belong to 1838." 
 
 Lady Langport made a movment of increasing 
 curiosity ; and Count Olonetz continued as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 » y es — it was in the year 1838 that Mildred 
 was next heard of. She was then in Australia. 
 She was living hi Sydney, with an Englishman 
 whose name I do not now choose to mention. 
 She accompanied that Englishman to India ; and 
 from something that transpired it became known 
 to' the Russian Consul at Bombay that Mildred 
 was endeavouring to renew her correspondence 
 with the Grand Duke. Indeed, she had written 
 
 a letter to his Imperial Highness : but it did not 
 reach the post — for the person to whom she en- 
 trusted it handed it over to the Russian Consul. 
 The person who betrayed her in this manner was 
 none other than her paramour the Englishman. 
 Thus profligacy prepared the way for its own 
 punishment. The Russian Consul's measures 
 were promptly taken in concert with the Eng- 
 lishman, who was in his pay. Mildred was 
 seized — placed on board a vessel— conveyed up 
 the Persian Gulf — borne through Asia Minor to 
 the mountains of the Caucasus — and thence sent 
 back to her old place of exile in Siberia !" 
 
 " Good God !" moaned Lady Langport, clasp- 
 ing her hands together : " wretched, wretched 
 Mildred ! Oh, how many thousands and thou- 
 sands of miles must she have journeyed !" 
 
 " Many thousands and thousands," said 
 Olonetz coolly. " Well, madam, do you know," 
 he continued, again with a slight tincture of 
 irony in his tone, " that this daughter of yours is 
 a perfect heroine of endurance and perseverance ; 
 and if all her courage and astuteness — her bold 
 daring — and her fearless encounter of perils which 
 would appal even the minds of strong men, — if all 
 these qualities, I say, had been displayed in some 
 grand, righteous, and sacred cause she would 
 have won immortal renown ! I will explain nry- 
 self. It was in 1839 that Mildred was borne 
 back to Tobolsk : and would you believe it — in 
 three or four years she managed to escape again ! 
 — and on this occasion I cannot say that it was 
 in company with any handsome aide-de-camp. 
 In the year 1845 I was Ambassador at the Court 
 of Madrid ; and behold ! I was one day waited 
 upon by an Englishman, who came to me with an 
 air of mystery, and who after somg circumlocu- 
 tion informed me that he was the person who had 
 betrayed Mildred into the hands of the Russian 
 Consul at Bombay. I asked what he required of 
 me ; and he proceeded to state that Mildred was 
 at that moment in Madrid — he had seen her — he 
 had recognised her — he had traced her to her 
 lodgings ; but he was not sure whether she had 
 perceived him. On* receiving this communication 
 I lost no time in sending an attachi to Mildred. 
 He found that she had recognised the English- 
 man ; and she knew therefore that it was he who 
 now sought to betray her a second time into the 
 hands of her Russian enemies. But she was in a 
 state of destitution and unable to flee from 
 Madrid : she was ill, desponding, and temporarily 
 deprived of all the wondrous energy which had 
 sustained her throughout so many trials and ad- 
 ventures. No wonder that such a reaction had 
 taken place!" 
 
 " Alas, poor Mildred 1" murmured Lady Lang- 
 port. 
 
 "My attachi pitied her," resumed Count 
 Olonetz ; " and he at once gave her the assur- 
 ance on my behalf that I would take no steps to 
 send her back to Siberia. For,' he said to her, 
 ' the profligacy of your conduct is well known to 
 him who was once your husband ; and it will be 
 utterly useless for you to seek, t by means of cor- 
 respondence or otherwise, to regain over that 
 imperial heart a sway which is lost for ever. 
 Your daughter,' continued the attach^, ' has been 
 reared in the belief that you have long been dead, 
 so that she may never have to blush on account 
 8f a mother's wantonness. Surely you will not 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A £ADY OP QUALITY^ 
 
 189 
 
 take any step that will prove to your innocent 
 daughter that you still live, and lead her to make 
 those inquiries which can only result in the full 
 development of your shame and in the engender- 
 ing of a source of sorrow and affliction for her ?' — 
 It was thus that the attache" addressed himself to 
 Mildred ; and she seemed deeply affected by all 
 that he said to her. In the course of the conver- 
 sation which ensued, Mildred stated that she had 
 heard of her mother having perished in the Neva 
 at the time of the accident ; and she added that 
 as she had not a relative or a friend left on the 
 face of the earth to whom she could apply for 
 succour, she cared not whither she went nor what 
 became of her. The attacht, who had full powers 
 from me to act as he thought fit, but who was 
 also instructed to take his measures promptly and 
 at the moment, proposed that she should depart 
 for the United States of America. She assented : 
 ample funds were furnished her — and she disap- 
 peared from Madrid. On that occasion I did 
 not see her : the negotiation was conducted en- 
 tirely by means of my attachf; and thus I con- 
 tinued to believe that it was still the same Mil- 
 dred whom I had seen at Constantinople. Just 
 now, Lady Langport, when I was speaking to 
 Mrs. Trevor, and some allusion was made to the 
 fact that my name was familiar to her who was 
 once known as Miss Malcolm, methought that 
 reference only was intended to that negotiation at 
 Madrid ; and therefore you may conceive how I 
 was astonished when I found from what Mrs. 
 Trevor said, that the design I had formed at Con- 
 stantinople in reference to the steamship had 
 transpired and was indeed no secret." 
 
 Lady Langport was buried in deep thought, 
 from which she abruptly awakened, ejaculating, 
 "And thus poor Mildred disappeared from Ma- 
 drid? and that, you tell me, was about two years 
 ago — in, 1845 ? Did she proceed to America ?" 
 
 " I know not," rejoined Olonetz : " I never 
 heard of her again until yesterday ; and then 
 she was pointed out to me in Regent Street. I 
 had not the least idea that she was in England." 
 " And now, my lord," asked Lady Langport, 
 " what are your intentions ? what are your 
 wishes? Tou said just now that perhaps the 
 business which you were seeking to transact with 
 her in a direct manner, might under the altered 
 circumstances which at present exist, be accom- 
 plished by me as her mother ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Count Olonetz : then, after a few 
 moments' reflection he observed, " I see that it is 
 necessary to tell yon everything. Enow, then, 
 that the Grand Duke is beneath this roof — tie 
 
 Princess Roxana also is here " 
 
 " My grandchild !" murmured Lady Langport, 
 clasping her hands. 
 
 " Yes," continued Olonetz ; " he who was once 
 the husband of Mildred is here beneath this roof; 
 but he does not know that Mildred is in England. 
 I have kept that circumstance from his know- 
 ledge. Now then, madam, cannot you comprehend 
 how it is my object — aye, my immediate object, 
 to induce Mildred to depart hence — to flee away 
 from a city where she might chance to encounter 
 him who loved her in other times, but who loves 
 her now no more? By such a meeting many 
 painful feelings might be resuscitated — many old 
 wounds opened ; and then too, it were impossible 
 —aye, impossible," added the Ambassador vehe- 
 
 mently, " that Mildred could be allowed to pre- 
 sent herself to her child, even if she were mad 
 enough and wicked enough to entertain the idea. 
 Listen, madam ! Any sum that your daughter 
 Mildred may require—" 
 
 " She shall not want for wealth, my lord !" ejacu- 
 lated Lady Langport. " All that I possess shall 
 be tier's ! — or at least she shall share it with me ! 
 My arms shall be extended to welcome the un- 
 happy wanderer home. I will soothe her for all 
 her misfortunes — I will lead her into penitence for 
 her frailties. She shall cease to be an object of fear 
 or suspicion to the Russian Government." 
 
 " She has long ago ceased to be an object of 
 fear," replied Olonetz, " because the Grand Duke 
 entertains not the slightest doubt in reference to 
 her profligacies. But I do not deny that it would 
 be a matter of inconvenience and a subject of 
 grievous scandal, if this woman should start from 
 her obscurity and suddenly proclaim her past re- 
 lations with a Prince of the Imperial family. Nay, 
 more — it would be trying to the feelings of the 
 young, artless, and amiable Princess Roxana to dis- 
 cover suddenly that her mojher still lives, and to 
 be initiated into the reasons which must ever main- 
 tain a wide gulf betwixt that profligate mother 
 and this innocent young daughter ! Lady Lang- 
 port," added Count Olonetz, " I have spoken 
 openly and candidly : — circumstances have com- 
 pelled me to do so, even at the risk of wounding 
 your feelings to an inordinate degree." 
 
 " Leave Mildred to me, my lord," cried Lady 
 Langport ; " and, Oh ! I will answer on her ac- 
 count that everything shall take place as you can 
 wish ! You do not know where she lives ?" 
 " No," replied Olonetz. 
 
 " But methinks you said," added her ladyship, 
 " that you might possibly lay your hand upon a 
 person who can tell you ?" 
 
 " Count Mandeville," said the Ambassador, in 
 a musing tone. 
 
 " I have heard of that gentleman," said Lady 
 Langport : " he is a French nobleman lately ar- 
 rived in this country — and he moves in the highest 
 circles. What can he know of Mildred, or she of 
 him?" 
 
 "At all events," said Olonetz evasively, "Man- 
 deville does know something about her — and I 
 will see whether lie can ascertain her abode. But 
 if not, I promise you, madam, that within three 
 days I will discover it. If it were in any city 
 upon the Continent, where they have a system of 
 police spies and passports, I would ascertain the 
 point in three hours. But here, in the British 
 metropolis, where there are none of those auxili- 
 aries, we are compelled to proceed differently. 
 Favour me with your address, madam, and in due 
 course I will communicate with you." 
 
 "I will now take my departure," said Lady 
 Langport, as she placed her card upon the table. 
 
 "Your friend Mrs. Trevor is still here," an- 
 swered the Ambassador, "and she shall follow 
 you to your carriage." 
 
 Olonetz then bowed, with some slight demon- 
 stration of friendliness ; and he rang the bell as 
 Lady Langport issued from the room. A footman 
 escorted her to the carriage which Lady Belgrave 
 had lent her ; and almost immediately afterwards 
 Ethel was likewise conducted forth from the 
 mansion. She had been already informed by 
 Count Olonetz — who had conducted her down 
 
190 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; Oft, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 the staircase — that Lady Langport had been there, 
 and that the entire mystery was now cleared up ; 
 so that as she stepped into the carriage, she was 
 not surprised at beholding the agitated appearance 
 of her patroness. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 TWENTY THOUSANP POUNDS. 
 
 It was in the forenoon of the same day on which 
 these incidents occurred, that a tall, handsome 
 young man, about seven-and-twenty years of age, 
 entered that narrow and obscure street behind 
 Astley's Theatre, where Mademoiselle Imogene 
 dwelt. He gave a short and subdued double- 
 knock at the door ; and when the summons was 
 answered by the servant-woman Fanny, he asked, 
 " Is Miss Hartland within?" " 
 
 "Yes, sir — she is at home," was the reply. 
 
 " Is she alone ?" asked the gentleman ; " or can 
 I see her ?" 
 
 " Miss Hartland is'alone, sir. I will inquire 
 whether she will receive you, if you favour me 
 with your name." 
 
 " It is of no consequence for me to give my 
 name," rejoined the gentleman, somewhat im- 
 patiently. " Tell your mistress that I wish to 
 see her for a few minutes, on business of some 
 little importance." 
 
 Imogen was in her little parlour, absorbed in 
 delicious meditation, her love for Launcelot being 
 now the sole engrossing thought ; and little Annie 
 was, as usual, playing with some new toys which 
 the capricious yet unmistakable fondness of the 
 actress had provided for her. Imogen was aroused 
 from her reverie by that subdued knock at the 
 door : she knew it was not Launcelot's knock,— 
 she thought it might be one of her theatrical 
 friends, either Alice Denton or Mademoiselle Rose, 
 paying her a visit : but when she heard a mas- 
 culine voice, she listened to the colloquy which 
 took place between her servant and the stranger. 
 When it had reached the point whereat we broke 
 it off, Imogen opened the parlour door and said to 
 Fanny, " Let the gentleinah walk in." 
 
 The stranger was accordingly ushered into the 
 little parlour. For a momenf his eyes settled 
 upon the handsome countenance and brilliant figure 
 of Imogen ; and then they were ajniost instanta- 
 neously riveted upon the little girl, whose tran- 
 scending infantile loveliness seemed to inspire him 
 with a profound and even peculiar interest- Al- 
 together there was something so respectful in the 
 demeanour which he at the outset bore towards 
 Imogen, and then so kind towards tlie child, that 
 an impression was at once created in his favour. 
 For upwards of a minute did he keep his eyes 
 bent upon little Annie, as if he quite forgot that 
 any one else was present : and then suddenly 
 turning towards the actress, he gajd with a cour- 
 teous bow, " And yon, then, are Miss Hartland 1 ?" 
 
 Imogen inclined her head to Express an affirm- 
 ative ; and at the same moment the visitor's eye 
 caught sight of the portrait suspended over the 
 sofa, and which represented Mademoiselle Imogene 
 in the fantastic dress that constituted her favourite 
 theatrical garb, and which set off the admirable 
 symmetry of her shape to such striking 'advantage. 
 
 "Then, pray, sir, 
 
 She herself was now attired in a plain morning- 
 dress : but the stranger gave a slight smile of 
 recognition as he glanced from her "to the portrait, 
 and then from the' portrait back again to the 
 original. 
 
 Imogen, having overheard the visitor say that 
 it was upon important business he had called, 
 experienced somfe little degree of suspense ; for as 
 all her ideas were absorbed in her love for Laun- 
 celot Osborne, she was led more or less to asso- 
 ciate this visit therewith — and she fancied that 
 the distinguished-looking young man now before 
 her might possibly be a relation or friend of hei,' 
 lover's whom he had taken into his confidence, 
 and who had brought her some message front 
 him. 
 
 " Might I ask, , sir," she said, with a glitter of 
 suspense in her beautiful blue eyes, Lt to What cir- 
 cumstance I am indebted for the honour of this 
 visit?" 
 
 " You do not know who I am, Miss Hartland ?" 
 he said inquiringly. 
 
 She answered in the negative ; and again her 
 looks were fixed suspensefuUy upon him. 
 
 " This beautiful little girl," he said, turning 
 towards Annie, " interests me much." 
 
 "Ah !'" ejaculated Imogen, 
 who may you be?" 
 
 He reflected for a few instants : and then he 
 said, " I had better tell you. It were more pru- 
 dent to deal candidly with you. You know the 
 Duchess of Ardleigh ?" 
 
 " I — I — " stammered Imogen a blush of" con- 
 fusion instantaneously seizing upon her hand- 
 some countenance : then immediately, recovering 
 herself, she added with a smile, " How is it pro- 
 bable that a being so humble and obscure as I, 
 can have any acquaintance with the Duchess of 
 Ardleigh?" 
 
 "You are discreet, Miss Hartland — very dis- 
 creet," said the visitor : " and I am all the more 
 deeply indebted to you. Well then, learn who I 
 am — -I am the Duke of Ardleigh." 
 
 " You ?" — and Imogen started back in affright. 
 
 "Yes — I," he answered quietly, and with a 
 smile. " And I am here to express my gratitude 
 in the first instance for the generosity with which 
 you have maintained my wife's secret " 
 
 " Your wife's secret ?" — and Imogen affected to 
 look amazed. 
 
 "Yes — the secret of the Duchess of Ardleigh." 
 
 " You bewilder me," said the actress ; '" because 
 you are playing some part that I do not under- 
 stand. You speak of a lady whom I do not 
 know — and you announce yourself to be a per- 
 sonage whom it is utterly impossible for you to be." 
 
 " Indeed ?" said the visitor, with another smile : 
 and producing bis card-case, he handed a card to 
 Imogen, adding, " Permit me, Miss Hartland, to 
 announce myself once again as the Duke of 
 Ardleigh." 
 
 "Well,"' Said 'the -actress, "it certainly would 
 be strange if you had obtained stealthy and illicit 
 possession of this card-case for the purpose of 
 playing out a particular part ; but on the other 
 hand it strikes me as still more strange that you 
 should really be the Duke of Ardleigh." ' 
 
 "Pray believe that I am— and' again let me 
 thank you." 
 
 " You are thanking ihe fqr nothing," interjected 
 Imogen. 
 
THE YOt)NG bCCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 191 
 
 " On the contrary, you have rendered my -wife 
 a most important service." 
 
 " Ton make a mistake, sir — or my lord — 
 whichever I ought to call you. Even if you be 
 the Duke of Ardleigh, I know nothing of the 
 Duchess." 
 
 "Miss Hartland," hastily whispered Herbert, 
 " you are generosity personified ! That child is 
 my wife's child — and you know it !" 
 
 " Tour wife's child ?"— and Imogen opened her 
 blue eyes wide as if with the uttermost amaze- 
 ment. " Little Annie is my child." 
 
 " I know that you have hitherto borne the 
 shame and the disgrace as if it were your own 
 child," responded the Duke: "I know likewise 
 that even if you were veritably that child's 
 mother, you could not have behaved more Mndly 
 towards it. The Duchess has told me all this." 
 
 "It is very wicked for you, my lord," said 
 Imogen, with an air of indignation, "to come 
 and invent such dreadful tales in reference to 
 your own wife. If you are tired of her and want 
 to get rid of her, adopt some manly and straight- 
 forward course : but do not try to amass a 
 number of falsehoods to bear against her, and 
 likewise seek to involve me in the conspiracy. I 
 tell you plainly, my lord, that if you call me for- 
 ward as a witness, I will swear that the child is 
 my own. Tes ! — and if I hear that you venture 
 aDy further with these iniquitous proceedings and 
 endeavour to do without me as a witness, I will 
 thrust myself in advance, and I will defend the 
 Dnchess against your base imputations." 
 
 It was with an increasing admiration that the 
 Duke of Ardleigh surveyed the actress as she thus 
 spoke. Deeper grew the crimson flush upon her 
 countenance so beautifully clear and transparent : 
 lightnings flashed from her blue eyes — her ivory 
 teeth gleamed between the lips which expressed 
 scorn and menace — and her form seemed to dilate 
 as if with the inspiration of a goddess while she 
 gave vent to that vehement language. 
 
 " Admirable Imogen !" exclaimed the Duke, 
 " you are indeed to be trusted with a secret ! But 
 I will show you that I am acquainted with the 
 entire mystery, and that my intentions are not 
 evil. The Duchess has visited you here — and I 
 will name one particular evening. The 8th of 
 May." 
 
 Imogen started : for it was on that very same 
 evening that she led the young Duchess into a dis- 
 course which made known her secret to Launcelot 
 Osborne. She did not think Launcelot had be- 
 trayed it : she had every confidence in his honour : 
 but still she felt that she herself had acted trea- 
 cherously on that particular evening — her con- 
 science was smiting her — and in the vague fears 
 which it conjured up she could not help associat- 
 ing the present visit of the Duke with the perfi- 
 dious part she had played towards his Duchess on 
 that particular occasion. 
 
 "Tes— the 8th of May," he repeated; "and 
 you see therefore that I am well informed. The 
 Duchess herself told me that she came hither. 
 And what is more, I have all along' been cogni- 
 zant of the fact that she was a mother before she 
 became my wife: but it was only a few days ago 
 that I knew where her child had been placed and 
 where it was being reared. Now will you believe 
 me? will you give me credit for sincerity?" 
 
 Imogen shook her head, saying, "Tou have 
 
 all along been speaking in enigmas, and I do not 
 understand them. I tell you that child is mine ; 
 and if need be I will maintain it before all the i 
 world." 
 
 " And do you deny that the Duchess of Ard- 
 leigh has ever been to this house ?" inquired the 
 Duke. 
 
 " Deny it ?" ejaculated Imogen. " Of course 
 I do ! The Duchess of Ardleigh here ?" — and she 
 affected to laugh in mockery at the idea. 
 
 " Again I say, Admirable Imogen !" cried the 
 Duke. "Tou think I am playing a trick, and 
 you will not afford me a chance. It is impossible 
 that the secret of the Duchess could be in better 
 keeping ! But look you, Imogen — I am her hus- 
 band : and as you are the guardian of her honour, 
 you are the guardian of mine likewise. Tou will 
 permit me to thank and to reward you?" 
 
 " I have already told you, my lord, you have 
 nothing to thank me for " 
 
 " I shall both thank and reward you," persisted 
 the Duke. "Here, Imogen, are bank-:notes to a 
 considerable amount : they are all your's — accept 
 them, I beseech you." 
 
 Imogen repulsed the hand which held the notes, 
 saying with an air of indignation, " My lord, I 
 am not to be bribed. Did you place all the trea- 
 sures of the world at my feet, you Would not in- 
 duce me to utter a syllable prejudicial to the cha- 
 racter or interests of the Duchess of Ardleigh. 
 As for this dear child, she is mine !" — and snatch- 
 ing up little Annie, she pressed her to her bosom. 
 
 Annie, who had first stared very hard at the 
 Duke, as children are accustomed to stare upon a 
 stranger, had gone on playing with her toys un- 
 mindful of the scene which was taking place. She 
 now threw her arms about the neck of the actress, 
 on whose countenance she bestowed her innocent 
 caresses as if it were indeed a daughter fondling 
 its mother 
 
 " And you refuse to accept a sum which will so 
 much ameliorate your position ?" said the Duke, 
 after a long pause. 
 
 "I am not to be bribed, my lord," responded 
 Imogen. " Were I starving I would tell you the 
 same thing." 
 
 " But you know not how large a sum is here." 
 
 "Oh, I have no doubt your Grace i3 very 
 rich !" exclaimed.Miss Hartland, contemptuously : 
 " but if you were'a King—which is higher than 
 a Duke — you would not be able to buy me over 
 to your iniquitous views." 
 
 " Miss Hartland," said Herbert, impressively,- 
 "these bank-notes amount to twenty thousand 
 pounds. Take them, I beseech you: they are 
 your's." 
 
 " Once for all, No, my lord ! And now may I 
 request you to depart ?" 
 
 Herbert moved towards the door : he placed hi3 
 fingers upon the handle — he looked back. Imogen 
 was still playing with the child, and made not a 
 motion for him to remain, nor even so much as 
 bent upon him a look expressive of regret that he 
 should thus take his departure. It was evident 
 she meant to let him go with his twenty thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 " For the third time, I repeat, Admirable Imo- 
 gen!" cried the Duke, turning away from the 
 door and hastening to accost her once more. " I 
 have put you fully to the test, and you have well 
 stood it. Read this." 
 
192 
 
 IfflE TOttKG DUCHESS J OR, MEMOIES Of A tADt OF QUALM. 
 
 He produced a billet, 'which he handed to the 
 actress; and Imogen took it after a moment's 
 hesitation. She opened it, and read these lines : — 
 
 " May 27, 1847. 
 " Dearest Imogen, 
 
 " The Duke will become the bearer of this. He 
 knows all is he is full of generosity and kindness : 
 he insists upon expressing his gratitude in person 
 and displaying it substantially. ,, The last time 
 we met I offered you a thousand pounds— but you 
 refused all pecuniary succour at my hands. You 
 will not perhaps deal with an equal rigour towards 
 1 my husband ; for he is anxious to place you in a 
 position that may enable you not merely to pro- 
 cure bread, but likewise luxuries for that, little 
 Annie to whom you are so devotedly attached. 
 " Believe me, dear Imogen, 
 " With eternal gratitude, 
 
 " Your sincere friend, 
 "Maey, Duchess of Aedleigh." 
 
 "Now do you believe that my intentions are 
 honest and sincere?" asked the Duke. 
 
 " Yes," replied Miss Hartland. 
 
 "And you held out so long!" 
 ._ "Because I thought it might be a snare and 
 that your Grace -was dexterously spreading a 
 net." 
 
 " Your conduct is admirable, Miss Hartland !" 
 said the Duke, again, addressing her with a certain 
 degree of respectful formality, for fear lest she 
 should fancy that he had some libertine intent 
 when calling her by her Christian name of Imo- 
 gen. " I have now no fear that my wife's secret 
 is safe in your possession." 
 
 "I think that I should commit suicide, my 
 lord," she answered with vehemence, " if through 
 either wickedness or inadvertence I were to com- 
 promise it irretrievably." 
 
 ."And- you love that child?" said the Duke, 
 again suffering his eyes to rest upon little Annie, 
 ■who had once more retreated with her .toys into a 
 corner of the room. - , . 
 
 " Yes-T-as if she were my own child." 
 
 " I need not therefore ask," continued the Duke, 
 •' whether you would like the child to be removed 
 elsewhere ? — whether by so doing, it would be re- 
 lieving you from a burden ?" 
 
 "Burden? Heaven forbid that I should re- 
 gard Annie as such !"— and Imogen's eyes flung 
 looks of most undoubted affection upon the fair 
 young creature. 
 
 "And now," said the Duke, "since you have 
 determined to keep the child, you must permit me 
 to fulfil the promise which I spontaneously gave 
 to my wife. s I will tell you candidly that the 
 other day she asked for a cheque for twenty thou- 
 sand pounds ; it was about a fortnight ago — but 
 I was enabled to save her this sum of twenty 
 thousand pounds — or rather it has been saved to 
 her by certain circumstances." 
 
 "Well, my lord?" said Imogen, with a look 
 that was as much as to ask how this incident re- 
 garded herself. 
 
 " The twenty thousand pounds," continued the 
 Duke, " were saved from being laid out in a man- 
 ner but little agreeable to the Duchess or myself ; 
 and now we purpose to lay that sum out in a 
 
 manner that will be agreeable to us 1 mean 
 
 by its bestowal upon you." 
 
 Imogen shook her head ; and yet there was a 
 certain expression of thoughtfulness, if not of 
 actual hesitation, in her countenance. 
 
 " Yes — you will accept this amount," continued 
 the Duke. " Here it is in bank-notes ; and no one 
 need know how it came into your possession. 
 Take a handsome house — leave the stage — sur- 
 round yourself with comforts and luxuries — buy 
 the finest clothes for that darling object of your 
 generous affection " 
 
 " No," said Imogen ; "no !" she repeated most 
 vehemently: "I will not do this. The child is 
 well dressed enough — — " '- . . 
 
 " She is even beautifully dressed," said the 
 Duke : and such was indeed the ease. 
 
 " Therefore she needs no better apparel," re- 
 joined Imogen. " As for luxuries, it were better 
 that she should not be brought up with the know- 
 ledge of them. As for comforts, she has all she 
 wants. Then in reference to myself, I am con- 
 tented with my position — at least for the present 
 — and as long as " 
 
 But Imogen stopped short, while a slight blush 
 suffused her countenance. The Duke noticed it, 
 and immediately suspected that she was making a 
 reservation on behalf of some other person who 
 exercised an influence over her mind. 
 . "Well," he hastened to exclaim, "if not for 
 yourself, nor yet for that child — at least for any 
 one else who may be dear to you, may you accept 
 this amount. Ah, I recollect ! the Duchess told 
 me you had a brother who has gone to sea " 
 
 "And who is too high-minded," interjected 
 Imogen, " to avail himself of such succour as this, 
 unless the fullest possible explanations, word- for 
 
 word and detail for detail,' were given and 
 
 this, my lord, could not be done, because not even 
 to my own brother would I whisper the secret 
 which should compromise the Duchess of Ard- 
 leigh !" 
 
 Again the Duke gazed with respectful admira- 
 tion upon the actress ; and then he said, " But 
 perhaps, Miss Hartland, there may be some one 
 in whom you are likewise interested — excuse me 
 — but a young lady of your personal appearance 
 
 must have made an impression on some heart 
 
 In short, you may have an admirer — a suitor — 
 he may perhaps be humble and struggling— he 
 may be poor— — " 
 
 "Then if I accept your Grace's bounty," sud- 
 denly ejaculated Imogen, on whose cheeks the 
 blushes had gone on deepening and deepening 
 while the Duke spoke, — " if I accept this bounty 
 on the part of your lordship and the Duchess, it is 
 without reserve or compromise — that I may do 
 with it as I think fit; " 
 
 " Precisely so," interrupted the Duke, rejoiced 
 at the prospect of the actress accepting his bounty 
 at last. " Do with that money as you think fit ! 
 No one can ever demand an account of it ; and 
 even if a week hence you were to send to me for 
 more, I swear to you, Miss Hartland, that neither 
 the Duchess nor myself would pause to inquire 
 what you had done with these bank-notes !" 
 
 Imogen reflected for a few moments, and a 
 smile of satisfaction expanded upon her beautiful 
 face. 
 
 " On that condition, my lord," she said, " I 
 accept your bounty; and I pray you give the 
 assurance of my most heartfelt gratitude towards 
 the Duchess." 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS Off A LADY OP QUALITY 
 
 " Not a word in reference to gratitude !" inter- 
 rupted the Duke : " the obligation is still from us 
 to you. Farewell, Miss Hartland :" — and pressing 
 her hand for a moment, he disappeared from her 
 presence, having bestowed another look upon the 
 child. 
 
 The bank-notes lay upon the table; and as 
 Imogen counted them over, she found that they 
 precisely made up the sum of twenty thousand 
 pounds. Twenty thousand pounds in the humble 
 abode of an actress ! twenty thousand pounds be- 
 neath that roof! What could she mean to do 
 with the money? 
 
 Let us now shift the scene of our story to an- 
 other part of London; and we must therefore 
 direct the attention of our readers to Hatton 
 Garden. There, in that room which he called his 
 office, but which Mrs. Casey would always persist 
 in denominating a study, sat Mr. Michael Casey. 
 No. 25. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 He was in his dressing-gown and slippers ; and 
 he was pacing to and fro with uneven steps, the 
 infirmity of his limbs being enhanced by the 
 agitation which influenced him. A newspaper lay 
 upon the table ; and a paragraph might be seen 
 with a heading indicative of the sudden death of 
 Sir Abel Kingston in Newgate. 
 
 Presently the door opened, and Sylvester made 
 his appearance. 
 
 "Well, what news ?" asked the father. " But 
 of course it is only too true ? — the fellow is dead, 
 and it little matters to me whether he took poison, 
 or died of disease of the heart, as the supposition 
 is there :" — and he pointed to the newspaper. 
 
 "Well, I'm blowed if it isn't a pretty caper!" 
 said the son. " Only think of the chap taking 
 it into his head to pop off just at the moment 
 when " 
 
 "Ah! just at the moment," interjected Mr. 
 
194 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Casey senior, " when he had opened negotiations 
 for me to withdraw from the prosecution and let 
 the matter be hushed up on certain conditions." 
 
 " And of oourse you would have agreed ?" said 
 Sylvester. 
 
 " Of course I should !" said the father. " What 
 the deuce did I have the scoundrel arrested for but 
 to bring him to book?" 
 
 "And a precious book you've brought him 
 to !" interjected .Sylvester. " Of course, if the 
 poor devil had a disease of the heart, all this ex- 
 citement was the very thing to make it prove 
 fatal. However, the evil is done — and so I sup- 
 pose you've lost a jolly lot of tin, governor?" 
 
 "Lost?" echoed the miser spitefully: "of 
 course I have lost ! Did I not advance him the 
 money on his forged securities !" 
 
 "I think perhaps I had better tell you the 
 truth at once, governor," interrupted Sylvester. 
 "There's no use in blinking it — but the fact is 
 the scoundrel Kingston got an acceptance out of 
 me " 
 
 " What !" — a»5 Mr. Michael Casey's counte- 
 nance became of a, sallow ghastliness. "You 
 don't mean to say, Sylvester — — " 
 
 " I do mean to say, bother take the thing ! that 
 I was fool enough just to write my name across 
 a slip of paper for a oool thousand." 
 
 " Fool ! dolt ! idiot !" — and Michael Casey 
 ground his teeth with rage. 
 
 " Well, I knew you'd blow me up," said Syl- 
 verter ; " and I felt myself a precious fool at the 
 time. I was quite mad with myself ! — and I re- 
 member that when I sighed the bill I was so con- 
 foundedly aggravated my hand shook to a degree 
 that the writing didn't look like my own." 
 
 " Are you sure of that ?" demanded his father 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Of course I am," replied Sylvester. " But 
 why do you look at me so hard ?" 
 
 " Why ? don't you see ?" said his father, in a 
 low half chuckling voice. "The acceptance to 
 that bill " 
 
 " Well, what's the caper now ?" 
 
 "Why, it is not your signature at all !" 
 
 " Oh, that's the dodge — is it ?" said Sylvester, 
 assuming a very knowing look and winking at his 
 sire. 
 
 "To be sure it is! You understand? That 
 acceptance is as much a forgery as any of the 
 others ! The fellow's dead — and how the deuce 
 can he ever prove that your signature was 
 genuine?" 
 
 "How indeed?" exclaimed Sylvester; and 
 with another knowing look he was passing out of 
 the office, when his father called him back. 
 
 " Have you seen Launcelot Osborne ?" inquired 
 Mr. Casey senior. 
 
 "Not since the other evening. I told you we 
 met at Astley's " 
 
 " And this is the third day since then," re- 
 sumed Mr. Casey, " and he comes not near the 
 house. Never mind! this is the 27th — and on 
 the 31st the bridal takes place. What does 
 Selina say ?" 
 
 " She does not speak to me on the subject," 
 responded Sylvester; "and as the thing's all 
 settled, I did not think it necessary to bother her, 
 poor girl!" 
 
 " Poor girl indeed ?" ejaculated Mr. Casey 
 sharply : " why do you call her poor girl ?" 
 
 " Because the match is a capital one for her, 
 and yet she doesn't seem to like it ; so I call her 
 a poor girl because she appears to be so ignorant 
 of what is good for her welfare." 
 
 "By the bye," said Mr. Casey senior, "tell 
 Selina to come and speak to me." 
 
 "AH right, governor:" — and the son issued 
 from the room, having taken a first lesson in 
 rascality from his delectable father — we mean in 
 reference to the bill of exchange, his acceptance to 
 which he was tutored to deny. 
 
 In a few minutes the door opened, and Selina 
 made her appearance. She looked pale and some- 
 what thoughtful : but the general expression of her 
 countenance was serene. She walked with a slow 
 pace; and if there were not an actual coldness, 
 there was at least a complete absence of filial 
 warmth in the tone and manner in which she 
 said, " You sent for me, father?" 
 
 " Yes s sit down, SefSflg, Come now, my child, 
 three days have passed since I expressed my final 
 wishes and intentions in reference to this match. 
 You are prepared, I hope, to accompany Mr. 
 Launcelot Osborne to th^e altar on the 31st 1" 
 
 Selina remained silent. 
 
 "You do not answer me," exclaimed Mr. Casey 
 sternly. " Do you mean to tell me that you do 
 not love him ?" 
 
 " I did not say so, father :" and a quick flush 
 passed over the young lady's countenance. 
 
 " But love is out of the question," continued 
 Casey. " I have said so before— and I was a fool 
 to mention the, word again. We will look upon 
 it, if you will, as a, marriage of interest. The 
 Trenthams want money — and we want rank. 'I 
 can give them the money by releasing them from 
 the mortgages that I hold upon their estates — the 
 bonds, the warrants-of-attorney, the cognovits, 
 and heaven only knows what other securities ! — 
 and all these I intend, Selina, to give as your 
 dower on the morning of the 31st. You ought 
 to be happy, girl — and be proud likewise that you 
 possess a father who is so well off. Ha; ha, 
 Selina ! I am perhaps richer than you fancied ?" 
 
 " Much, father. You seem to have lent Lord 
 Trentham a great deal of money ?" 
 
 " Well, well — perhaps I did my business cleverly 
 and acutely," resumed the miser, who could not 
 help rubbing his hands at the idea of the several 
 bargains he had made in reference to Lord Trent- 
 ham's affairs. " Perhaps I bought up a bond 
 here at fifty per cent. — and on the other hand dis- 
 counted a bill with a profit of thirty per cent. — 
 But after all, girl, you know nothing of such mat- 
 ters as these." 
 
 "Nothing whatsoever, father," answered Selina, 
 in that same quiet level tone in which she had all 
 along been speaking. " But when you told me 
 just now that I ought to be happy at the prospect 
 of receiving such a dower, I felt inclined to an- 
 swer that I should be happier still if you would 
 send for Launcelot Osborne and tell him that you 
 demand no self-sacrifice on his part — while on the 
 other hand you scorn the idea of bestowing your 
 daughter upon one by whom she is not be- 
 loved " 
 
 " Love again ? Nonsense !" 
 
 " Well then," continued Selina, " say, father, 
 that you will not thrust your daughter into a 
 family where she cannot possibly be welcomed, 
 and where she is already despised " 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 195 
 
 " Despised ?" exclaimed Casey starting with 
 angry impatience. 
 
 " Yes— -despised," repeated Selina firmly. " Do 
 not the Trenthams look down upon us? have 
 Lord and Lady Trentham or Miss Azaline called 
 on us since the bridal day was fixed ? has her 
 ladyship ever set foot within these walls ? has his 
 lordship ever come hither except to see yon, and 
 you only, for purposes of business ? am I as yet 
 even so much as acquainted with those whom you 
 wish to become my father-in-law, my mother-in- 
 law, and my sister-in-law ? I tell you we are 
 contemned and despised by that family, father !" 
 exclaimed Selina, with a sudden vehemence. 
 "And now I demand of you for the last time 
 whether you will sacrifice me, your daughter, in 
 such a manner 2" 
 
 "Ah ! you think they despise us ? Gold, my 
 dear girl," continued the miser, with a strange 
 sinister expression of countenance, " is better than 
 titles now-a-days ; and we shall yet see that 
 haughty peer and peeress, with their children, 
 humbling themselves unto us ! Mark my words ! 
 It will be you and I who will triumph, Selina, 
 when on the morning of the 31st, after the bridal 
 ceremony, we shall present that proud family 
 with the securities for eighty thousand pounds. 
 Yes — eighty thousand pounds ! Would you like 
 to see them, Selina ?" 
 
 " I have no curiosity on the point, father," was 
 the response, given in a colder tone than she had 
 yet adopted. 
 
 " But you shall see them !" exclaimed Casey. 
 " At least I will show you deeds regarding the 
 Trentham family for sixty thousand pounds! 
 There are twenty thousand more at my lawyer's 
 office. But look, Selina ! sixty thousand I am 
 going to show you — and all a portion of your 
 dower !" 
 " The miser rose from his seat and advanced 
 towards a cupboard. Selina rose also : she became 
 paler in the face — and her features at the same 
 time acquired a colder and more rigid expression. 
 Her father opened the cupboard, and took out a 
 tin box, which he proceeded to unlock. 
 
 " Now, Selina, look ! Deeds and documents — 
 mortgages — and bonds, representing sixty thou- 
 sand pounds ! — no less than three-fourths of your 
 dowry ! Why, what is the matter with this lock? 
 Ah, that's right ! the key turns now " 
 
 At this moment a loud cry of mingled rage and 
 teiTor burst from the miser's lips ; and the tin 
 box fell upon the floor. It was empty : the deeds 
 had disappeared .' 
 
 "Perdition!" exclaimed Casey. "But no! it 
 must be the wrong box ! Yes, yes !" and he 
 picked it up. 
 
 A terrible imprecation rang from his tongue as 
 he saw that it was the right box : he dashed it 
 upon the ground — and then stood looking at it 
 With a ghastly, demented look. 
 
 And all this while Selina stood close by the 
 table, on which her hand rested. And she was 
 very pale — and her features were very rigid : but 
 for one instant there was a quiver passing through 
 her form as her sire gave vent to that terrible im- 
 precation. 
 
 "This is unaccountable!" muttered Casey to 
 himself: and staggering back, he sank into bis 
 arm-chair. " Who could have done it ? How — 
 how " 
 
 But he gasped for breath. Selina rang the bell 
 for assistance ; and before it arrived her father 
 sank back senseless in his seat. Then, as she raised 
 his head and pillowed it upon her bosom, she let 
 fall a shower of burning tears — and that bosom 
 was convulsed with the most excruciating sobs. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 MANDEVILLE AND MILDRED. 
 
 In order to render our narrative as complete as 
 possible, we must go hack to that point at which 
 Ethel left Mildred and Countde Mandeville stand- 
 ing face to face in Cork Street. At the first in- 
 stant an ejaculation of mingled astonishment and 
 terror burst from the lips of Mildred • and then 
 an expression of fiercest rage and hatred settled 
 upon her countenance as she abruptly darted to- 
 wards him. He the while was standing with an 
 easy defiant air, a peculiar smile of mockery and 
 intelligence upon his lips, and his eyes fixing 
 themselves upon those of Mildred, alter having 
 for a moment flung a glance upon Ethel who was 
 beating a precipitate retreat. Indeed, much as 
 Count Mandeville was surprised to behold Ethel 
 at the moment — and anxious though he were to 
 encounter her again — yet all his thoughts were 
 now concentrated in this meeting with Mildred, 
 and he felt it to be more important that he should 
 remain to converse with her than follow in pursuit 
 of the retreating Ethel. 
 
 "Devil!" fiercely burst from Mildred's lips as 
 she bent upon Mandeville those eyes which were 
 usually foil of a voluptuous languor, but which 
 now flashed forth vivid lightnings. 
 
 " If you mean it to be war between us, I accept 
 the challenge," said Mandeville, in a firin though 
 quiet tone, and with a look that was self-possessed 
 and defiant : " but perhaps a few instants' reflec- 
 tion will show you that it were better we should 
 be at peace." 
 
 "Peace?" echoed Mildred, in a tone of bitter 
 irony. 
 
 " Yes — peace," said Mandeville. " You saw 
 that tall old gentleman with me yesterday in tte- 
 
 fent Street ? Look ! you may see him again now! 
 here, at the end of Burlington Street :" — and 
 Mandeville pointed in that direction. "Ah, he 
 has disappeared !" 
 
 " Well, who is that ohi gentleman ?" asked 
 Mildred, now watching Mandeville's countenance 
 with a certain degree of anxiety. 
 
 " That is Count Olonetz, Russian Ambassador 
 Extraordinary to the British Court." 
 
 "Count Olonetz?" ejaculated Mildred. "The 
 same who negotiated with me by means of his 
 attache, at Madrid, when you — fiend £hat you are ! 
 were again seeking to sell me to the hands of my 
 enemies." 
 
 " You do wrong to reproach me on that parti- 
 cular account," answered Mandeville calmly : " for 
 methinks that if you will take the trouble to 
 search your memory, you will find that on the 
 particular occasion to which you are alluding, the 
 attacM of Count Olonetz gave yon money to en- 
 able you to leave Madrid." 
 
 "And that old gentleman is Count Olonetz?" 
 
196 
 
 THE YOUHG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 said Mildred thoughtfully. " Why were you with 
 him yesterday ?" she suddenly demanded. 
 
 "I met him by accident," responded Mande- 
 ville ; " and scarcely had we begun to converse 
 together when you appeared round the corner." 
 
 "Yes — and you may be well assured," said 
 Mildred bitterly, "that this also was by acci- 
 dent." 
 
 " You stood transfixed to the spot," observed 
 Mandeville. . 
 
 "Yes — on beholding you. You are my evil 
 genius!" added Mildred, with a tone and look 
 of bitterest reproach. " "Why are you haunting 
 me now? and why is Count Olonetz likewise 
 hanging about at the same time ?" 
 
 " I will answer you candidly, Mildred," said 
 Mandeville. " I wished to see you for one or two 
 reasons, which I will explain presently. I should 
 have spoken to you yesterday ; but to tell you the 
 truth, I also was seized with astonishment on be- 
 holding you ; and then you disappeared so sud- • 
 denly that I had not time to recover from my 
 amazement ere you were gone. I was now walk- 
 ing about with the hope of meeting you again ; 
 and behold ! we do meet. As for Olonetz, I pledge 
 you my soul that he was not just now at the end 
 of the street through any understanding with ine. 
 Besides, you saw that he did not come near us — 
 but he almost instantaneously disappeared from 
 our view." 
 
 Mildred reflected for a few moments ; and then 
 She said, " We were just now speaking of peace 
 or war." 
 
 "Well ?" interjected Mandeville inquiringly. 
 
 " And you," continued Mildred, " in recom- 
 mending peace, threw at me the name of Count 
 Olonetz as if it were a menace that you were thus 
 hurling at my head."' 
 
 " We were speaking of peace or war," said Man- 
 devile, accentuating his words. " If you decide 
 for war, the proclamation of hostilities will as a 
 matter of course render me implacable : I should 
 leave no stone unturned to overtake you with my 
 vengeance. The Russian authorities know that 
 they can rely upon me and that the information I 
 give them is correct'. Well then, a single word 
 whispered by my lips in the ear of Count Olonetz, 
 would prove fatal to "you ! You would be seized 
 — aye, even in this free country ! — seized, I tell 
 you !— carried onboard a Russian vessel — and," 
 added Mandeville impressively, " the affair of 
 Bombay would be enacted all over again in Lon- 
 don ! Now you understand why I just now sig- 
 nificantly pointed out to you the person of Count 
 Olonetz at the very instant when you appeared to 
 be threatening me with warfare." 
 
 Mildred had quailed visibly before the threaten- 
 ing language which Mandeville addressed to her ; 
 but quickly regaining a complete self-possession, 
 she said, "And what advantage shall I gain by 
 consenting to terms of peace with you ?" 
 
 " Every advantage," responded Mandeville. 
 " Look at my conduct at Madrid a couple of years 
 ago ! I assured Olonetz that you were no longer 
 dangerous — and he negotiated with you instead 
 of persecuting you. You were in poverty — and 
 he sent you gold. All that was through me. If 
 I had breathed a different tale in his ear, his whole 
 conduct towards you would have been utterly 
 . different. Now, therefore, you may comprehend 
 what would be my policy here in London if you 
 
 and I proclaim articles of peace. I see that you 
 are again poor," continued the Count, sweeping 
 his dark eyes over Mildred's dress; "and I will 
 induce Count Olonetz to negotiate again with you 
 and replenish your purse." 
 
 Mildred reflected ; and then as an ironical smile 
 appeared upon her lips, she said, "I think that 
 you have your own good reasons for preferring 
 peace to war." 
 
 Mandeville slightly shrugged his shoulders, and 
 then caressed his glossy moustache. 
 
 " I do not know what proceedings you may be 
 embarked in at present, in the British metropolis," 
 continued Mildred : " I do not even know what 
 name you bear : but beholding you as I do, 
 dressed in the extreme of fashion— daintily per- 
 fumed — embellished with costly jewellery — and 
 evidently maintaining a certain appearance, I have 
 no doubt that it is absolutely necessary for your 
 interests that your antecedents should remain com- 
 pletely unknown." "■ 
 
 "Wellj"'said Mandeville, with a smile half 
 bland, half mocking, " and what if I do not think 
 it worth while to deny the truth of the conjectures 
 you have just set forth?" 
 
 "You see, therefore," proceeded Mildred, "that 
 it is in my power to take the bitterest revenge 
 against you for your villanous conduct to me at 
 Bombay." 
 
 " But you will not take that vengeance, Mil- 
 dred," was the calmly given response. 
 
 " And why not ?" she ejaculated. " Remember 
 that this is England— and if I go before a magis- 
 trate and claim his protection against the Russian 
 Ambassador, that protection will be granted!" 
 
 Mandeville smiled as if in a pitying manner, 
 and said, " You are mistaken, Mildred. The 
 magistrate would treat you as a lunatic, and 
 Count Olonetz would not even be troubled with a 
 message upon the point: But he would still re- 
 main potent to work you the mo3t terrible mis- 
 chief. You know that Russian power extends 
 itself by various means over the entire world, — 
 displaying itself openly where it is enabled to do 
 so, or working in seorecy where stealthiness be- 
 comes expedient. Violence or intrigue ! — those 
 are the two phases of its tremendous policy. 
 How, then, could you, poor weak fluttering bird, 
 escape from the meshes of that fearful net if it 
 were spread out to catch you ?" 
 
 Again Mildred shuddered visibly : — and no 
 wonder ! for she thought of all the horrors of 
 Siberia's eternal winter, and of the terrible suffer- 
 ings to be endured by those who are hurried for 
 thousands and thousands of miles through the 
 hyperborean snows of that awful clime. 
 
 Mandeville saw his advantage, and said, " You 
 know as well as I, Mildred, whether this picture 
 of Russian power be true or exaggerated. As for 
 myself, I shall accept warfare if you choose : but 
 I shall not take the trouble to deny that I prefer 
 peace. At the same time I will at once prove to 
 you that I am no coward in the matter. Listen ! 
 Here in London I am Count de Mandeville. I 
 am a French nobleman of ancient family and 
 great wealth. Inquire at the French Embassy — 
 and the Ambassador will not deny it. Go to my 
 stockbroker, Mr. Warren, in the City— and he 
 will unhesitatingly confirm the report relative to 
 my fortune. Now you know what I am in Eng- 
 land, Mildred. Perhaps you will tell me that 
 
THE Y0UNO DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 197 
 
 with a breath you cau destroy this splendid fabric 
 which I have built up ? No doubt of it ! But 
 you will not do it." 
 
 He paused, and fixed his dark eyes searchingly 
 upon Mildred's countenance. 
 
 " No — you will not do it," he continued, " be- 
 cause you dare not make me your enemy. Tou 
 know that I would exhaust every energy that is 
 mine to bring down the most fearful vengeance 
 upon your head. And this would be easier than 
 you fancy. For listen ! The Grand Duke and 
 the Princess Roxana are iu London !" 
 
 "My husband and child!" cried Mildred, with 
 a sudden start : and then trembling with emo- 
 tions, she clasped her hands as if in obedience to 
 the impulse of some strong inward agony. 
 
 " He who was your husband many long years 
 ago," rejoined Mandeville ; " and she who is for- 
 bidden to look upon you as a mother — or rather 
 who has been taught to believe that you have 
 long lain in the grave !" 
 
 " And they are in London ?" murmured Mil- 
 dred. 
 
 " Yes. They arrived with Count Olonetz 
 three or four days ago." 
 
 " And I also arrived three or four days ago," 
 said Mildred. " How strange the coincidence ! 
 But Ah ! why did you suddenly inform me that 
 they were in London also ?" 
 
 " I will explain my object," resumed Mande- 
 ville. " I was warning you at the time that it 
 would be more easy for me to avenge myself upon 
 you if you made me your enemy — more easy, I 
 repeat, than you might choose to acknowledge to 
 yourself. And why? Because the accidental 
 combination of ciroumstances enables me to 
 whisper in the ear of Count Olonetz that you are 
 in London because the Grand Duke and the 
 Princess are in London also ! — that you have 
 come hither with a purpose — that you mean to 
 advance certain pretensions and assert some sup- 
 posed rights — in a word, that you have become 
 dangerous again and that it is necessary to look 
 after you. Well, Mildred, if I whisper these 
 words in the ear of Count Olonetz, what, think 
 you, would become of you ?" 
 
 Mildred shuddered more visibly even than be- 
 fore ; and she said, " There shall be peace between 
 us, Count Mandeville." 
 
 " Good. And now on my side, Mildred, I pro- 
 mise to act as a negotiator between yourself and 
 the Russian Ambassador." 
 
 " All I require," said Mildred, " is a sum of 
 i money. I am indeed poor — almost destitute. 
 I Procure me some succour, and I will disappear 
 
 forthwith from London." 
 i " I will see Count Olonetz this very day," an- 
 swered Mandeville. " Where do you live ? I 
 '. will call upon you with his answer." 
 
 Mildred was about to name the address of her 
 • lodgings, when it. struck her that some treachery 
 might be meditated despite Mandeville's assurances 
 — or that even if he himself were sincere in the 
 present instance, Count Olonetz might act dif- 
 ferently. Besides, she did not like the little cir- 
 cumstance of Olonetz having appeared just now 
 at the end of the street at the moment when Man- 
 deville accosted her. 
 
 "On second thoughts," she said, "I would 
 rather that you should not come to me where I 
 am residing. It is a respectable house — and evil 
 
 constructions might be put upon your visit. I 
 will meet you here, on this very spot, to-morrow 
 at noon punctually." 
 
 " Be it so," said Mandeville, with a smile which 
 showed that he fully penetrated Mildred's mean- 
 ing. " Surround yourself with precautions if you 
 think fit — though when once I have pledged my- 
 self that no harm shall befall you, my word shall 
 be kept. However, enough! We will meet here 
 to-morrow at noon ; and you will not be afraid to 
 come, because I see very well that you have al- 
 ready argued in your own mind that there can ba 
 no such thing as a seizure and carrying off in the 
 middle of the day and in the very heart of Lon- 
 don. — Ah, by the bye, if you require immediate 
 assistance, let me be your banker." 
 
 Thus speaking, Mandeville drew forth his 
 pocket-book and displayed a number of bank- 
 notes : but Mildred made a negative gesture with 
 her hand, at the same time shaking her head and 
 saying, "My need is not so pressing as all this." 
 
 Mandeville bit his lip for a moment : he com- 
 prehended that Mildred would sooner perish than 
 become indebted to him for even a morsel of 
 bread. But quickly recovering his wonted ease 
 and self-possession, he said, " By the bye, Mil- 
 dred, that young lady who was with you just now 
 — how came you to know her ?" 
 
 " I do not know her. But I ought to ask you 
 concerning her ; for she gave vent to a cry of 
 alarm as she caught sight of you, and at once 
 fled. I do not even know her name." 
 
 " Might I ask," said Mandeville, " why she ac- 
 costed you ?" 
 
 " The whole proceeding was most mysterious," 
 replied Mildred. " She mistook me for some one 
 else : she addressed me by the title of ladyship. 
 She spoke of a likeness — she said something about 
 the expression, of my countenance — and then she 
 looked bewildered. Methinks that the poor thing 
 must be half crazy. But what do you know of 
 her ?" 
 
 " Her name is Mrs. Trevor," answered Mande- 
 ville. " She is very beautiful, as you may have 
 observed. Well, 1 formed certain designs with re- 
 gard to her — she must either have discovered or 
 suspected them, for she fled from the place where 
 she was staying at the time, and I have since lost 
 sight of her. This is really all I know." 
 
 " Then in reference to me," said Mildred, " her 
 conduct must have been the result of a mistake ; 
 while with regard to yourself it was produced by 
 terror. And now, Count Mandeville, pursue your 
 way — and remember that at noon to-morrow we 
 are to meet here." 
 
 " I shall keep the appointment punctually," 
 answered the Count : and with a courteous bow, 
 as if he and Mildred were the best friends in the 
 world, he passed along the street. . 
 
 She watched him until he had turned the 
 corner : then she hastened as far as that.corner — she 
 peeped round it, and looked after liim again — and it 
 was not until she had thus completely convinced 
 herself that he was not dogging or watching her, 
 that she bent her steps towards the place of her 
 abode. As for Mandeville, he presently beheld the 
 carriage of the Duchess of Ardleigh standing at 
 the door of a shop in Bond Street : he waited until 
 her Grace issued forth — she was accompanied by 
 her friends the Earl and Countess of Carshalton 
 — and she invited the Count to accompany them 
 
198 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 to some picture-gallery which they were about to 
 visit. He assented ; and thus it was not until a 
 couple of hours later that he called upon Count 
 Olonetz in Grosvenor Square. By that time Lady 
 Langport and Ethel had taken their departure; 
 and the wily diplomatist breathed not a single 
 syllable to Mandeville in reference to all the 
 startling incidents that had been occurring. He 
 remained silent until the other had spoken. 
 
 " I have seen Mildred, my lord," said Count 
 Mandeville. 
 
 " I know it," was the reply. " I happened to 
 observe you from the end of the street. I thought 
 it better to leave you in conference with her than 
 to interfere at such a crisis. What have you to 
 report ?" 
 
 " She is reasonable, my lord,'' answered Mande- 
 ville: ''she only requires a sum of money, and 
 she will depart a', once from the British metropolis. 
 What I would advise, is that your Excellency 
 should give h/;r a few pounds to find her way to 
 Liverpool and thence to New York, and that a 
 larger sum should be made payable to her on her 
 arrival in tbi States." 
 
 " The pli>.n is a good onej" said Olonetz. " I 
 presume therefore that she has given you her 
 address ir. order that you may see her again ?" 
 
 " No my lord : she is full of suspicion," re- 
 joined Mandeville. " She has made an appoint- 
 ment to meet me to-morrow." 
 
 " (Vhen and where ?" demanded the Ambas- 
 sador. 
 
 " In Cork Street, at noon, my lord." 
 " Good," said Olonetz : then taking from a 
 pocket-book a bank-note of fifty pounds, he added, 
 " You will be pleased to give her this, and tell her 
 that if she should make up her mind to go to the 
 United States, she can signify the same to me by 
 some means or another, in which case I will make 
 ample provision for her. But look you, Count 
 Mandeville !" added Count Olonetz sternly. 
 " When you meet Mildred, you will simply give 
 her that bank-note and deliver this message : but 
 you will not follow her, nor make any endeavour 
 to discover the place of her abode — nor molest her 
 in the slightest degree." 
 
 Mandeville bowed humbly, saying, "Your Ex- 
 cellency's order shall be obeyed. And my own 
 secrets, my lord ?" 
 
 " Did I not promise you yesterday, when we 
 met," exclaimed Olonetz, somewhat disdainfully, 
 " that those secrets should be kept ?" 
 
 Again Mandeville bowed, and quitted the apart- 
 ment. Count Olonetz then sat down and penned 
 a note, to the effect that at one o'clock on the 
 following day he should be enabled to communi- 
 cate the address of Mildred to Lady Langport, 
 if her ladyship would either call or send for that 
 purpose. This note was addressed to Lady Lang- 
 port, Hendon Court, and at once sent to the post. 
 On the ensuing day, precisely at the hour of 
 noon, Mildred was at the place of appointment 
 and Count Mandeville was there likewise. 
 
 "What intelligence have you brought me? 
 asked Mildred. 
 
 " I have succeeded according to my promise 
 Here is a bank-note for fifty pounds j and within 
 twenty-four hourB you must be at Liverpool. 
 Thence you will write a letter to Count Olonetz, in 
 order to prove to him that you are actually there 
 and about to embark for the United States. On 
 
 reaching New York, you will apply to the Rus- 
 sian Consul, and he will pay a considerable sum 
 into your hands." 
 
 " Have you any further commands ?" said Mil- 
 dred, as she took the bank-note : " for commands 
 they really are !" 
 
 " I have nothing further to communicate," re- 
 plied Mandeville, — " unless it be," he added, in a 
 mysterious whisper and with a significant look, 
 " to advise you to follow implicitly and without 
 delay the instructions of the Russian Ambas- 
 sador. And now farewell, Mildred." 
 
 She made no answer, but turned and walked 
 rapidly away. She was convinced that no trea- 
 chery was now intended her, but that the object 
 alike of Olonetz and Mandeville was to get her 
 away from England as soon as possible ; and she 
 resolved to follow the instructions that had been 
 forwarded her. She retraced her way to her 
 lodgings, which were situated in an obscure street 
 in the neighbourhood of Golden Square. 
 
 A meanly dressed person, carrying a bundle, 
 and looking like a journeyman tailor taking home 
 his work, followed Mildred from Cork Street as 
 far as the house in which she temporarily resided. 
 Not satisfied with having traced her thither, the 
 shabby-looking man made an inquiry at a shop 
 opposite ; and receiving the information he sought, 
 he hurried away. He bent his steps towards 
 Grosvenor Square — entered the mansion of, the 
 Russian Ambassador — quickly divested himself of 
 his shabby suit — and assuming his proper apparel, 
 stood in a few minutes in the presence of his 
 superior ; for he was none other than one of the 
 attachSs'. 
 
 " Here is the address, my lord ;" and he laid 
 a piece of paper upon the table. 
 
 " A person named Lady Langport will either 
 send or call at one o'clock," said Olonetz. " Be 
 you on the look-out and give that address." 
 The attaeht bowed and retired. 
 A few minutes before one a carriage drew up at 
 the Ambassador's house ;. and the attache has- 
 tened to speak to the lady who was inside the 
 vehicle. 
 
 " Have I the honour of addressing Lady Lang- 
 port?" 
 
 " No, sir," responded Ethel — for she was the 
 occupant of the carriage : "her ladyship is indis- 
 posed, and has sent me." 
 
 " For what purpose, madam ?" asked the attache, 
 with true diplomatic caution. 
 
 " For a particular address," rejoined Ethel. 
 "You need not be afraid to give it to me : I am 
 Mrs. Trevor — and Count Olonetz knows my 
 name." 
 
 " Here is the address, madam :" — and the at- 
 tache", having handed the paper, bowed and with- 
 drew. 
 
 Ethel ordered the carriage to drive into Golden 
 Square, where she alighted, and thence proceeded 
 on foot to the house indicated by the slip of paper. 
 She knocked at the door, and inquired of the 
 landlady, who answered in person, whether Mrs. 
 Towashend was at home ? — for it was by this 
 name Mildred was passing, as the Russian attaclii 
 had ascertained by means of his (inquiries at the 
 opposite shop. 
 
 !' Yes, ma'am," was the response. " Second 
 floor, if you please." 
 
 To the second floor did Ethel accordingly as- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCIIESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 199 
 
 cend ; and she knocked at the door. No answer 
 was returned. She knocked again ; still there 
 was no reply — and Ethel ventured to open the 
 door gently. There, in a modestly furnished room 
 — half reclining in an arm-chair, evidently 
 plunged in the deepest reflection — was the object 
 of her visit — Mildred — the same whom she had 
 accosted in so singular a manner in Cork Street 
 on the preceding day. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Yes — Mildred was half reclining in a large arm- 
 chair ; and in this postnre she bore a striking re- 
 semblance to her portrait which was preserved in 
 her mother Lady Larigport's Album. Ethel knew 
 that Mildred was now forty-one years of age, and 
 that therefore twenty-two years had elapsed since 
 that portrait was taken in the blooming freshness 
 of the youthful period of nineteen : bnt Mildred did 
 not seem to be what she really was — namely, 
 more than double the age when that portrait was 
 taken. Indeed, considering the troubles and ad- 
 versities through which she had passed, the many 
 painful vissicitudes of her ljfe, and the stupendous 
 journeys and voyages which she had accomplished, 
 she was a woman whose beauty was so well pre- 
 served as to constitute a positive marvel. There was 
 not a wrinkle upon her countenance — there were 
 no evidences of fatigue and jading about the eyes 
 — and as for the hair, it was all of that same rich 
 dark brown, wonderfully luxuriant, that was de- 
 picted in the portrait. She wore a tight-fitting 
 bodice, or jacket, which delineated the swelling 
 contours of her form and described the outlines 
 of her shape which was perfectly symmetrical in 
 its rich proportions. If she had chosen to pass 
 herself off as several years younger than she was, 
 she might have done so^-espeeially as when her 
 lips parted, they displayed a set of teeth which 
 were white as ivory, without stain or speck, and 
 perfect in number. 
 
 Mildred was in a deep reverie as Ethel gently 
 opened the door ; and the young lady stopped for 
 a few moments to contemplate her before she ad- 
 vanced farther into the room. At length she 
 entered ; and then Mildred, starting up from her 
 reverie, turned her eyes upon Ethel. 
 
 "Ah!" she ejaculated; "you, Mrs. Trevor, 
 again?" 
 
 " I see that you know my name," said Ethel. 
 " Yes : Count Mandeville mentioned it. Ton 
 left us together yesterday." 
 
 A flush crossed Ethel's countenance as she 
 said, " And so he spoke of me ?" 
 
 "Yes, madam," rejoined Mildred, — "but only 
 in a way which was calculated to inspire me with 
 respect towards you. You did right to avoid 
 that man ! I know him well — too welL But no 
 matter! How did you find out that I lived 
 here ?" — and Mildred put this question with 
 almost a3 much rapidity of utterance as the 
 thought itself flashed to her brain. . 
 
 " I will tell you presently," responded Ethel ; 
 "for I have a great many things to talk to you 
 about in the first instance." 
 
 " What meant your singular behaviour towards 
 
 me yesterday ?" asked Mildred. " Did you mis- 
 take me for some one else ?" 
 " For the first moment I did." 
 " And that was when you addressed me by the 
 title of ladyship ? For whom, then, did you take 
 me?" 
 
 " For one whom you very much resemble," re- 
 plied Ethel. 
 
 "Bather a poor ladyship then!" said Mildred, 
 with a contemptuous pouting of her lips, as she 
 glanced over her raiment. " Does the lady for 
 whom you took me, dress in such sordid attire as 
 this?" 
 
 " On the contrary," answered Ethel, " she is 
 always dressed with the most exquisite taste." 
 
 " And who is this lady for whom you so 
 strangely took me ?" 
 
 " She is named Lady Langport," was the reply. 
 
 " I never heard of her," said Mildred. 
 
 "Perhaps not — most likely not," rejoined Ethel. 
 
 " But it was only for a moment that I took you 
 
 to be Lady Langport: the next instant I was 
 
 smitten by your resemblance to some one else." 
 
 " This is strange," said Mildred. " You are 
 exciting my curiosity most acutely ! Who was 
 this second person for whom you took me?" 
 
 "I have seen a beautiful portrait in water 
 colours — ; — " 
 
 "A portrait?" ejaculated Mildred, with a sud- 
 den start. " Ah ! there were two portraits of me 
 once in existence." 
 
 "Yes — both in water colours," said Ethel, — 
 " one of the size of an Album page — the other a 
 little miniature exquisitely framed." 
 
 " Mrs. Trevor," exclaimed Mildred, starting up 
 from her seat and gazing with mingled surprise 
 and terror upon Ethel, "who can you be that 
 know these things ? Is it some fresh plot — some 
 new snare — some net thrown out to catch me ?" 
 
 " Heaven forbid," interrupted Ethel, fervently, 
 "that I should lend myself to anything so ini- 
 quitous ! Let us speak of the portrait drawn for 
 an Album." 
 
 ""Well— and what of that?" demanded Mil- 
 dred eagerly. " Oh, now I comprehend that you 
 are advancing by a circuitous route to some extra- 
 ordinary revelation ! Do speak out, madam ! I 
 
 have seen enough in my lifetime " 
 
 But here she checked herself; and Ethel said 
 compassionately, "Yes-rl know it. I am ac- 
 quainted with your, history." 
 
 " You ? you ?" cried Mildred : and then rage 
 succeeding to astonishment, she exclaimed, " After 
 all, you«re in some plot with Mandeville !" 
 
 The colour glowed upon Ethel's cheeks — and 
 then tears started forth from her eyes. That sus- 
 picion so terribly injurious, struck like a dagger 
 into her heart. 
 
 "Ah, you may blush and weep," cried Mildred; 
 " but I have seen too much of the world not to 
 know that people can sometimes do both at will ! 
 Yes — I repeat that you are a creature and an 
 accomplice of Mandeville's ! — or else how could 
 you possibly know anything about me?" 
 
 Ethel conquered her emotion : she made allow- 
 ance for Mildred's intemperate conduct ; and she 
 said gently and deprecatingly, " You will soon be 
 convinced how much you have wronged me, and 
 then you will be sorry. Does Count Mandeville 
 know anything in reference to those portraits to 
 which I have alluded ?" 
 
600 
 
 *ttE YOUNG DUCHESS; Oft, MEMOIRS Of A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Mildred reflected ; and then she said, " I do not 
 know :" — and still her look was bewildered. 
 
 "The larger portrait," resumed Ethel, "was 
 painted when you were nineteen years of age, and 
 the name of Mildred was underneath." 
 
 " True. But where could you have seen that 
 portrait?" 
 
 " In an Album. The very same Album where 
 it was placed at the time." 
 
 " But that was in St. Petersburgh !" cried Mil- 
 dred. 
 
 "I know it," rejoined Ethel. "But now the 
 Album is in England. It has been well taken 
 care of." 
 
 " It belonged to my mother," said Mildred. " Is 
 it possible that she had any relations into whose 
 possession it could have found its way ? or did 
 any friends take charge of it ?" 
 
 " It is in the possession of that very same Lady 
 Langport of whom I spoke to you just now." ' 
 
 " And whom you say that I resemble ?" inter- 
 jected Mildred. 
 
 "Yes," replied Ethel. 
 
 "Well, madam — and to what is all this to 
 lead ?" asked Mildred, after a pause. 
 
 " To a revelation, as you yourself just now pre- 
 
 " Quick, quick ! what is this revelation ?" ex- 
 claimed Mildred. " Who is Lady Langport ? 
 why has she got the Album ? how is it that I re- 
 semble her so much? and how came you to 
 know any particulars relative to my history?" 
 
 " Let us go back to the year 1825," said Ethel, 
 fixing a significant look upon her companion. 
 
 "The year 1825?" 
 
 " Yes. Let us look to the accident upon the 
 Neva." 
 
 " Good God ! what do you mean ?" cried Mil- 
 dred. 
 
 " Your mother " 
 
 "Ah, yes ! my mother perished on that occa- 
 sion. Is it only this that you are going to tell 
 me? Is this, the wonderful revelation," pursued 
 Mildred, contemptuously; " for which you have 
 been preparing my mind with so much pains and 
 trouble? I knew it long ago. I read in a news- 
 paper — yes, in the midst of the wilds of Siberia. — 
 I read her name in the list of those who perished 
 on that unfortunate occasion. So you see, Mrs. 
 Trevor, that you have been beating about the 
 bush to no purpose after all." 
 
 There seemed to be a certain callousness — an 
 almost heartless indifference in the manner in 
 which Mildred thus alluded to her mother ; and 
 Ethel was shocked and wounded at this absence 
 of feeling on Mildred's part. 
 
 " So you see," resumed the latter, " that if you 
 have come for no other purpose than to teE me of 
 my mother's death, you might just as well have 
 stopped away. It would have been different, 
 perhaps," continued Mildred, with a light laugh 
 and in a tone of levity, " if you had come for the 
 purpose of telling me that my mother is not dead 
 — that she did not go down. with the rest into the 
 depths of the Neva — and that the newspapers 
 were not right in giving her name among the lost." 
 
 Ethel rose up from her seat with a solemn look, 
 as in a kindred tone she said, " ^nd it is to tell 
 you all this that I am here !" 
 
 Mildred looked as if she were netrifled with 
 wonderment. 
 
 " Yes," continued Ethel, " such is the purpose 
 for which I am here! Your mother did not 
 perish by the breaking of the ice on the Neva ! 
 She is alive — she yearns to fold you in her arms 
 
 She is that Lady Langport of whom I have 
 
 spoken !" 
 
 Mildred threw herself back in her chair gasping 
 for breath ; and then as a sudden idea seemed to 
 strike her, she leant forward, looked with a 
 strange earnestness in Ethel's face, and said with 
 a peculiar tone, " So yon wish me to go with you 
 to my mother's ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Ethel. 
 
 " And is it out of London ?" 
 
 " Only a few miles." 
 
 " Ah ! — and I suppose that you have got a car- 
 riage in readiness ?" 
 
 " Yes — it is close by. Come quick !" 
 
 "Thank you," said Mildred, in a strange — 
 almost brutal tone : " I would rather not. And 
 you, madam — the sooner you take yourself off 
 from my apartments and get to your carriage the 
 better !" 
 
 Ethel was confounded. She was transfixed to 
 the spot — and she gazed on Mildred as if utterly 
 at a loss to persuade herself that she could have 
 heard aright or that such language had come 
 from that female's lips. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Mildred, with a mocking laugh : 
 " so you find yourself defeated — your plot has 
 exploded — the trick has proved too grossly trans- 
 parent for me to be deceived by it !" 
 
 " Trick !" murmured Ethel : " trick !" she re- 
 peated — and then she burst into tears. 
 
 " Will you depart ?" — and Mildred stamped 
 her foot with rage. 
 
 .''Good heavens! for what do you take me?" 
 cried Ethel, half in indignation and half in afflic- 
 tion. ' 
 
 " For what you are ! — a base, treacherous, ac- 
 complice of the Russians ! — the creature of Olonetz 
 — a disgrace to the female sex ! — one who beneath 
 a lovely face conceals the blackest heart !" 
 
 " I know how severely you have suffered," said 
 Ethel, " and therefore I can understand how you 
 have become suspicious — and I can forgive you 
 for settling your suspicions upon me. Listen, I 
 entreat ! Your mother lives — she mairied Lord 
 Langport — she is now a widow. She is rich ! 
 Her abode is at Hendbn, a few miles from London. 
 Your portrait is preserved in her Album. Until 
 yesterday she thought that you were dead — as you 
 have hitherto believed that she had perished !"" 
 
 Mildred's countenance gradually lost its ex- 
 pression of fierce disdainful ire: she reflected — 
 and then she abruptly said, " But tell me how you 
 found out my address ?" 
 
 "If I answer the question, all your suspicions 
 would revive again." 
 
 " Depart, madam ! depart !" interrupted Mildred. 
 " For your own sake, I conjure you to go — or else 
 I shall be inclined to do you a mischief! I can be 
 violent, I do assure you !" 
 
 "I must dare your violence," said Ethel — "but 
 only in the hope of assuaging it. Again I ask 
 you, to listen. , Your mother Lady Langport has 
 seen the Russian Ambassador : 1 also have seen 
 him : he is anxious that you should be restored 
 to your mother's arms, so that in the enjoyment 
 of a comfortable home and of all the luxuries 
 wherewith wealth can Surround yon, you may 
 
 
tiib roxmta duchess; ob, memoiiis of a lady of quality. 
 
 201 
 
 MILDRED IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 No. 26. — The Youko Dcciiess. 
 
.202 
 
 THE YOUNt} DUCHESS J OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 cease to be an object of dread or annoyance in cer- 
 tain quarters. It is for this reason that Count 
 Olonetz displayed so much readiness to discover 
 your abode that your mother might communicate 
 with you. I live with Lady Langport — she is 
 my friend, my benefactress — and I am here to 
 implore that you will lose no time in seeking the 
 mother whose arms will be extended to welcome 
 you." 
 
 Once more Mildred reflected : and then she 
 said in accents that were again softened, " You 
 spoke of two portraits ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have told you where I saw one : it is 
 in your mother's Album. The other " 
 
 " Ah ! the other ?" said Mildred eagerly. " The 
 miniature so beautifully framed ?" 
 
 " I know not whether I ought to reveal this 
 secret," said Ethel musingly. " And yet " 
 
 " Speak !" interjected Mildred, " unless you 
 would have all my suspicions revive again !" 
 
 "A mother has a right to know that her 
 daughter sometimes thinks of her," continued 
 Ethel, still musing audibly. 
 
 "Ah! what do you mean?" exclaimed Mil- 
 dred. 
 
 " I mean that I yesterday beheld the miniature 
 in the possession of your daughter, the Princess 
 Koxana." 
 
 A gleam of joy flashed over Mildred's handsome 
 countenance, as she exclaimed, " It is well ! the 
 old nurse fulfilled her pi-omise! But Ah! my 
 daughter has been taught to deem me dead!" 
 
 " But she cherishes the memory of her mother," 
 said Ethel eagerly. 
 
 "It is a wonder," cried Mildred fiercely and 
 savagely, "that they have not taught her to hate, 
 loathe, and abominate me !" 
 
 "Calm yourself," said Ethel, "and let us return 
 to the more important subject of our discourse. 
 Have I now succeeded in convincing you that no 
 treachery is intended, but all affectionate kind- 
 ness?" 
 
 '"■ If you had seen so much of the World's horrible 
 perfidy, dissimulation, and duplicity as I have," 
 interrupted Mildred, "you would be suspicious, 
 and you would even now fail to he fully con- 
 vinced ! For treachery — especially when that 
 treachery is Russian — can assume garbs which 
 look so much like an honest vesture that the 
 most experienced may be deceived !" 
 
 " I too have had my trials," said Ethel mildly 
 and mournfully, as she thought of her false mar- 
 riage ; " and yet in the presence of all the testimony 
 which I have adduced for your contemplation, I 
 should have long ago been convinced!" 
 
 "I tell you," said Mildred, almost with the 
 curtness of a retort, "I am not even convinced 
 yet ! But I shall accompany you." 
 
 She put on her bonnet and shawl, and followed 
 Ethel downstairs. They issued from the house 
 together; and Ethel led the way into Golden 
 Square. 
 
 " There is the equipage," she said. " You can 
 ask the coachman to whom it belongs." 
 
 Mildred smiled contemptuously, saying, " Do 
 you think that if Eussian treachery were at 
 work, it would forget to put into the mouths of 
 these lacqueys the particular words that ought to 
 be repeated in case of any questions being ad- 
 dressed to them ?" 
 
 The immediate vicinage of the carriage was 
 
 now reached ; and ejaculations of wonder burst 
 from the lips of the coachman v and footman as 
 their eyes settled upon Mildred's countenance. 
 
 " They see the likeness !" hastily whispered 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Very likely," answered Mildred calmly. " I 
 shall be better able to judge of all these things 
 presently ;" — and thus speaking, she at once 
 entered the. carriage. 
 
 Ethel placed herself by Mildred's side ; and as 
 the footman remained at the door waiting for 
 Orders, she simply said, " Home." 
 
 "Now, Mrs. 'I/revor," sa i,i Mildred, as the equi- 
 page drove rapidly through Golden Square, " if 
 all this be true that you have told me and every- 
 thing turns out to be straightforward and proper, 
 I shall feel myself infinitely indebted to you. But 
 if, on the other hand, I am once more to be ren- 
 dered the victim of persecution and conspiracy, 
 look out for yourself! At the very first evidence 
 of treachery I will fly at you as if I were a tiger- 
 cat — I will tear out one at least, if not both of 
 those beautiful hazel eyes of your's — I will dash 
 some of those pearls of teeth down your throat — 
 and I will otherwise mar your beauty with seams 
 and scars that you shall carry to your grave !" 
 
 "Good heavens, this is very dreadful!" mur- 
 mured Ethel, with a cold shudder. 
 
 " Shall we stop at once, while I alight from the 
 carriage ?" asked Mildred. 
 
 "Why so?" cried EtheL 
 
 "Because you have still a last chance, if it be 
 really a conspiracy. Tell me the truth — let me 
 go — and I will leave your beauty unspoilt." 
 
 " I have told you nothing but the truth," said 
 Ethel firmly, and even warmly. " I must beg of 
 you not to make use of such dreadful language." 
 
 "If you had been twice exiled to Tobolsk, and 
 twice been compelled to make your escape," said 
 Mildred, — " and if you had had to deal with the 
 wretches whose perfidies twined their snake-like 
 coils around me, — if you had encountered, I say, 
 such monsters in human form as these, you would 
 be suspicious, and suspicion would make you use 
 dreadful language likewisel" 
 
 "Alas! it may be so!— it must be so!" said 
 Ethel : and then a long silence ensued. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor reclined back in the carriage ; but 
 Mildred was all vivacity, restlessness, and watch- 
 fulness — her eyes were incessantly darting their 
 glances out of the windows, or else concentrating 
 their looks upon Ethel's countenance as if to 
 fathom the uttermost depths of her soul. Thus 
 the time passed on, and the outskirts of London 
 were reached. Now Mildred began to look about 
 even more intently and anxiously than before, if 
 possible ; but when her regards settled on Ethel's 
 countenance, that beautiful face afforded not the 
 slightest ground for strengthening her suspicions. 
 The beginning of the lane leading down to Hen- 
 don Court was now reached ; and Mildred, break- 
 ing a long silence, said, "This is a lonely neigh- 
 bourhood." 
 
 "It is beautiful and picturesque," responded 
 Ethel. 
 
 " What is this place ?" demanded Mildred, as 
 the mansion gradually revealed itself from amidst 
 the trees that more than half embowered it. 
 
 "That is Hendon Court." 
 
 " What ! and is it to that gloomy-looking mass 
 of dingy red brick, with those prison-like win- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 203 
 
 dows, and those sombre trees in front,— is it to 
 that place I am going?" 
 
 " That is Hendon Court, I repeat," said Ethel ; 
 " and it is there that you are about to be received 
 in the arms of a mother." 
 
 "It looks more like a lunatic asylum," said 
 Mildred, " than a cheerful dwelling-place :" — 
 and her eyes were now riveted with the keenest 
 scrutiny upon her beautiful companion. 
 
 " Oh ! I entreat you to believe," cried Ethel, 
 in a tone that was full of feeling, " that within 
 those walls a mother's arms are ready to open — a 
 mother's bosom yearns to receive you !" 
 
 "By heaven, I believe it to be all false!" ejacu- 
 lated Mildred fiercely, as the carriage rolled into 
 the gloomy avenue. " Beware ! - 'tis now too late 
 to repent of your treachery !" — and Mildred 
 looked as if she were on the very point of spring- 
 ing like a tiger-cat — as she herself had ere now 
 expressed it — at Ethel. 
 
 " Look ! your mother !" cried the young lady 
 in a joyous tone : and as Mildred looked forth 
 from the window, she beheld Lady Langport 
 standing on the threshold of the front door, wait- 
 ing to receive her. 
 
 " Good heavens !" ejaculated Mildred ; " that 
 my mother ? Yes, yes — it must be! — And yet 
 
 Why, it appears like a dream ! — it seems as 
 
 if I only parted from her yesterday ! She looks 
 no older !" 
 
 " Hush, hush !" hastily whispered Ethel : 
 " speak not before the servants ! You have 
 many strange secrets to learn — and I know not 
 yet upon what course of action, in a certain 
 respect, your mother may have resolved !" 
 
 Mildred sprang out of the vehicle, and the 
 next moment she was folded in her mother's arms. 
 Ethel instantaneously followed into the hall, 
 closing the front door behind her, so as to shut 
 out that scene from the domestics belonging to the 
 carriage. 
 
 Not a word was spoken by Lady Langport : her 
 heart was too full to permit the utterance of a syl- 
 lable from the lips. She was embracing a daughter 
 whom for two-and-twenty years she had deemed 
 to be numbered with the dead ! — embracing that 
 daughter whom for two-and-twenty years she had 
 not seen ! And Mildred also for a few minutes 
 yielded to the strength of the emotions that were 
 naturally conjured up by such peculiar circum- 
 stances ; while Ethel withdrew, discreetly thinking 
 that it was a scene on which a third person ought 
 not to gaze, but that the mother and daughter 
 being thus reunited ought to be left alone to- 
 gether. 
 
 At length Mildred disengaged herself somewhat 
 abruptly from Lady Langport's arms, exclaiming, 
 as she stared very hard at her, " Good heavens, 
 mother ! how young you look ! Is it a dream ? 
 is it enchantment ? or how have you managed ? 
 You look as young as I — and yet yon must be 
 sixty !" 
 
 Lady Langport was not offended — how could 
 she possibly be offended with the daughter whom 
 she had long deemed dead and who was only just 
 restored to her? Besides, she was prepared for 
 such questions as those at such a meeting. She 
 could not however prevent herself feeling deeply 
 humiliated, as she said in a low tone, " I have 
 strange things to tell you, Mildred. I have con- 
 fessions to make, which will constitute a well- 
 
 merited though terrible chastisement for all the 
 wickedness ot that wretched pride and miserable 
 vanity which are personified in me !" 
 
 " I do not understand you, mother," said Mil- 
 dred, who was surveying her parent with the 
 most earnest and scrutinising attention. 
 
 " Come, my love," said Lady Langport ; " come 
 up-stairs to the drawing-room — and there we 
 shall be alone together." 
 
 "It is a sad gloomy-looking house outside, 
 mother," remarked Mildred, " and unless the in- 
 terior is somewhat more cheerful " 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried Lady Langport, now 
 suddenly becoming distressed at the callousness of 
 her daughter's manner, " ought not even the veriest 
 dungeon to seem cheerful to us at this moment 
 when we are reunited? Come to my arms once 
 more, dearest Mildred !" 
 
 Mildred now suffered herself to be embraced, 
 rather than shared the pleasure with her parent : 
 she did not meet the affectionate demonstration 
 half-way. The first emotions had subsided ; and 
 she even grew impatient of so much kissing, and 
 fondling, and hugging. Besides, her mother's 
 youthful appearance was still making its impres- 
 sion of wonderment upon her mindj and she 
 longed for the explanation that might relieve her 
 curiosity. 
 
 They ascended to the drawing-room ; and then 
 Mildred exclaimed, " Ah ! this is indeed an im- 
 provement ! I admire your taste, mother. I shall 
 feel comfortable and happy enough here. "Well, 
 after all, I am glad I came." 
 
 " What ?" cried Lady Langport, with a rending 
 affliction in her accents. "Could you possibly 
 have hesitated ? Did you not speed to embrace 
 your mother ?" 
 
 " Hesitate, indeed !" answered Mildred. " I hesi- 
 tated so much that I was very nearly not coming 
 at all :" — then throwing off he* faded shawl and 
 old bonnet, she flung herself upon the cushions 
 of a large arm-chair, lolling in precisely the posture 
 in which Ethel had found her at her lodgings. 
 
 Be it recollected that this was the same posture 
 in which she was represented in the Album ; and 
 Lady Langport was at once struck by it She 
 thought she saw her daughter before her just as 
 she was two-and-twenty years ago, and just as 
 that portrait had maintained the impression of 
 Mildred's image on the mother's mind. Overcome 
 by her emotions, Lady Langport sank into a seat 
 opposite to Mildred ; and long and earnestly did 
 she contemplate her — that restored daughter ! As 
 for Mildred herself, she looked just for all the 
 world as if she had been years instead of moments 
 in the place, — with such an air of complacency 
 and comfort had she settled herself down in the 
 great arm-chair. The only thingwhich seemed 
 to.be inappropriate and out of keeping with all 
 surrounding circumstances, was the shabbiness of 
 her attire. 
 
 "And so you have hesitated to come, my dear 
 child ?" said Lady Langport. 
 
 " Of course I did, mother. What could I sup- 
 pose except that it was a snare ?" 
 
 " A snare ! What ! and did not the sweet 
 looks of my young friend Ethel at once convince 
 you ?" 
 
 Mildred gave vent to a loud mocking laugh j 
 and then she contemptuously said, " Sweet looks, 
 indeed ! Catch me being such a fool as to be 
 
201 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; CB, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 taken by anybody's looks ! However, as it is not 
 a trick, after all, your Ethel has saved her eyes 
 and her teeth — for I would have torn out the 
 former and dashed out the latter." 
 
 Lady Langport was frightened at this language j 
 but recollecting her daughter's history, she said, 
 "Ah, my poor child! you have indeed suffered 
 very much — and it has produced an impression 
 upon you " 
 
 " Never mind pitying me at present, mother," 
 interrupted Mildred ; " but let us speak of your- 
 self. How on earth do you contrive to make 
 yourself look like forty when you are sixty?" 
 
 " Mildred, do not humiliate me ! I thought I 
 should have strength enough to tell the tale from 
 my own lips — but I find that I cannot " 
 
 " Humiliate you, indeed ?" ejaculated Mildred. 
 "That is a strange thing to say! Why, I was 
 complimenting you " 
 
 "Mildred! Mildred!" 
 
 " What nonsense is this, mother ? I wish you 
 would tell me your secret. When I grow old I 
 shall like to make use of it. Your hair is black 
 — and yet it does not look as if it were dyed " 
 
 "Mildred!" 
 
 " No — the gloss is too natural. And then 
 your teeth are as white and as perfect as my own ; 
 • — and I rather pride myself on mine," continued 
 Mildred, smiling to show the whiteness of those 
 teeth, and then clashing the two rows together to 
 prove their strength and firmness. " As for your 
 complexion, it is brilliant !" 
 
 "MUdred!" 
 
 " Then your figui'e, it is symmetry itself. On 
 my word, dear mother, you have the well-rounded 
 proportions and embonpoint of a buxom widow of 
 forty!" 
 
 " Mildred, yon are killing me I" 
 
 " What ! — with compliments ?" cried the 
 daughter, laughing. " Oh, my dear mother, if 
 you take so much pains with yourself as all this, 
 and if nature has likewise been so bountiful to- 
 wards you and preserved your charms so well, 
 you must expect to be flattered !" 
 
 " Mildred !" — and it was now a scream which 
 burst from the lips of Lady Langport : then for a 
 moment a sensation of faintness came over her— 
 but the next instant exercising that power of 
 self-control which from circumstances she had 
 attained, she arose from her seat, patted her 
 daughter's cheek gently with her gloved hand, 
 and said, " I will send Ethel to you, who shall 
 explain everything." 
 
 She then quitted the room — while Mildred, 
 throwing herself back in her chair, mentally ex- 
 claimed, " It is as yet all incomprehensible ! 
 What on earth can it mean ? The only thing 
 that seems certain and intelligible is that I am 
 
 comfortably housed here -that is to say, if my 
 
 Russian enemies will leave me in peace." 
 
 CHAPTEB XLI. 
 
 MILDRED AT HOME. 
 
 It was in order to banish the disagreeable reflec- 
 tion which had just arisen in her mind, and ab- 
 stract her thoughts from Unpleasant topics, that 
 Mildred now rose from her seat and began to 
 
 examine the handsome suite of drawing-rooms, 
 with their appointment, alike so luxurious and 
 so elegant. She beheld beautiful statuettes — 
 superb vases — mantel ornaments of the most at- 
 tractive description — costly nick-nacks — curio- 
 sities — and interesting objects ofvertu. On the 
 tables there were several books, superbly bound ; 
 and as Mildred casually glanced at them, she 
 perceived that one was a Peerage bearing the 
 date of some years back. She looked for the 
 name of Langport ; and she found that the noble- 
 man who then bore the name, was represented as 
 having married Miss Mildred Malcolm, daughter 
 of Edward Malcolm, Esquire, mgrchant of St. 
 Petersburgh and London. 
 
 " Daughter of Edward Malcolm?" repeated 
 Mildred to herself : " that would mean «w / It 
 was the widow whom his lordship married ! How 
 this error? or why this misrepresentation ? Ah, 
 and how was it that my mother was described as 
 having perished in the waters of the Neva ?" 
 
 Mildred felt that she was growing bewildered 
 by these reflections, when the door opened and 
 Ethel entered the room. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Trevor," said MUdred ; " I pro- 
 mised you that if everything turned out right and 
 straightforward, I would give you my best 
 thanks. God knows that at present I have no- 
 thing better to offer you though I dare say 
 
 my mother will now improve my condition for 
 me." 
 
 " In giving me your thanks," responded Ethel, 
 " you have done all I can possibly require. I 
 was incapable of deceiving yo n " 
 
 " How could I tell that at the time ?" ejacu- 
 lated Mildred almost sharply. " I had every- 
 thing to apprehend at the hands of the accursed 
 Russians. And even now that I have found a 
 mother when I so little expected it, and that I 
 have been transported as if by magic into the 
 
 midst of this fairy scene " and she glanced 
 
 around the apartments — "I cannot calculate 
 upon enjoying my good fortune from one hour to 
 the next." 
 
 "You need labour under no apprehension," 
 said Ethel, " in reference to Count Olonetz. 
 Your mother has just now emphatically re- 
 peated to me the assurance that I myself had 
 previously given you, to the effect that Count 
 Olonetz entertains the hope that you will settle 
 down in this comfortable home — in which case ho 
 would rather do anything he could to serve you, 
 than renew the annoyances and persecutions you 
 may have sustained." 
 
 " Well, it may be so," said Mildred, after a 
 little reflection j " and I dare say that it is. At 
 
 all events I will risk it. This place " and 
 
 she again glanced around her — " is not to be 
 abandoned in a hurry." 
 
 "Let me assure you,'' said Ethel, " that your 
 mother, entertaining the most affectionate regard 
 for you, will do everything she possibly can to 
 ensure your happiness. This is her house — and 
 henceforth it is your home. She is rich — and 
 you shall share her wealth. At her death she 
 will leave you rich also. But in return for sc 
 much kindness- " 
 
 "Ah, well," interjected Mildred; " now for 
 the conditions ! I never saw such a world as 
 this is ! No one in it does anything without a 
 motive more or less selfish : no heart is disin- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 205 
 
 terested! Your very parents make stipulations 
 ■with you ! As for friendship !" — and here Mil- 
 dred's mocking laugh rang like an infernal music 
 through the suite of apartments. 
 
 Ethel was shocked ; and for a moment she re- 
 coiled from the presence of a woman in whose 
 disposition there seemed to be something abso- 
 lutely fearful : but recollecting all that Mildred 
 had gone through, she again felt the necessity of 
 making every allowance for her — and she said 
 mildly, yet firmly, " There 4r^uch a thing as a 
 mother's disinterested love : — there is likewise 
 such a thing as an unselfish friendship." 
 
 " By the bye, Mrs. Trevor," said Mildred, sud- 
 denly assuming a more amiable demeanour, " you 
 have perhaps come to give me some explana- 
 tions? And indeed they are necessary. Do you 
 know what this means ?" — and opening the 
 Peerage, she pointed to the representation to 
 which we have above referred. 
 
 " Everything shall be explained," said Ethel. 
 " Tour mother would have given these explana- 
 tions with her own lips — but the discourse took 
 a turn which prevented it. Oh ! you will pre- 
 sently understand how impossible it really was 
 for a mother so far to humiliate herself in the 
 presence of a daughter! Ah, and you may per- 
 haps comprehend how disagreeable is the task 
 
 deputed to me " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Trevor," interrupted Mildred, 
 " tell me the truth at once. I hate circumlocu- 
 tion 1 always suspect some treachery where 
 
 it is used." 
 
 " When you come to know me better," said 
 ■ Ethel, somewhat coldly, " you will not judge me 
 in this manner. However, if your mind do in- 
 deed require no preparation for those mysteries 
 which are about to be revealed, you had better 
 hear the truth at once. Your mother Lady Lang- 
 port has for a long series of years passed in the 
 world as being much younger than she really 
 
 is " 
 
 " So I should think," interjected Mildred. 
 " But there is no harm in that:" 
 
 " It was not as the "Widow Malcolm she mar- 
 ried Lord Langport " 
 
 " Never mind what name she took," said Mil- 
 dred coolly, " since she got the husband and has 
 kept the fortune." 
 
 " It is her own fortune that she possesses," 
 continued Ethel. " Lord Langport had nothing 
 except this little estate of Hendon Court. But 
 let me come to the point. It was not as the 
 Widow Malcolm your mother was known in the 
 world when she married Lord Langport: she 
 passed as Miss Malcolm. Yes — it was as the 
 
 daughter, and not as the mother " 
 
 " Oh, ho !" cried Mildred, beginning to com- 
 prehend. " I see ! My mother's name was men- 
 tioned amongst the deaths caused by the accident 
 
 on the Neva " 
 
 "Yes — and you disappeared at the same time," 
 said Ethel. 
 
 " Ah !" — and now the bandage fell completely 
 from Mildred's eyes. 
 
 " I need say no more," said Ethel. " I see that 
 you fathom it all." 
 
 Mildred looked grave, and reflected deeply for 
 n few instants : then she suddenly burst out into 
 the merriest peal of laughter, — exclaiming, " This 
 h excellent 1 It is the very comedy of romance ! 
 
 it is the most admirable blending of force and 
 tragedy I ever knew !" — and again the reckless, 
 callous, heartless laughter went pealing through 
 the suite of rooms. 
 
 " Madam," Ethel at length ventured to inter- 
 pose, "remember that it is your own mother whom 
 you are thus making the subject of your merri- 
 ment." 
 
 " All the better proof that I am not angry for 
 the trick she played ' So she has been passing 
 herself off as me, thinking I was dead ? Well, 
 you seem to chide me for want of respect to- 
 wards my mother : — you must however permit 
 me to observe that I don't think she could have 
 entertained any very great amount of love for her 
 daughter." 
 
 Ethel felt that it was indeed a subject on which 
 she could scarcely argue with any chance of suc- 
 cess. She felt distressed — and she remained silent. 
 
 " Now, as far as I am concerned," resumed Mil- 
 dred, "my mother is welcome to take my namo 
 and pass herself off for me ; and I am sure that I 
 shall never think of betraying the secret. I should 
 like however to be initiated into the mysteries of 
 her toilet " 
 
 " Oh, I beseech you," interjected Ethel, with 
 accents of the most earnest appeal, "not to touch 
 upon this subject, — the subject which your own 
 good sense, Mildred, must show you " 
 
 " To be sure ! a painful and a delicate one 1 
 Well, well, leave me to manage my mother. But 
 now, what does she propose? How can I be sud- 
 denly introduced to the world as her daughter 
 when I look as old as herself — or to speak more 
 correctly, she looks no older than I myself am ? 
 Besides, what a mass of contradictions will there 
 be — what a heap of inconsistencies, for the world's 
 scandal to feast itself upon !" 
 
 " This is the very subject," said Ethel, " which 
 requires so much deliberation. It was for this 
 reason that I bade you on your arrival be cautious 
 how you spoke before the servants ; and this was 
 what I meant when I intimated that I was as yet 
 ignorant how your mother purposed to act in a 
 certain respeei." 
 
 "And so the servants know nothing at present?" 
 said Mildred, musing. 
 
 " Absolutely nothing," replied Ethel. 
 
 " And they do not suspect that my mother has 
 a daughter living ?" 
 
 " No one suspects anything of the real truth." 
 
 " But my mother's age," continued Mildred, — 
 " some one besides yourself must have known it? 
 Her lady's-maid " 
 
 " No one but myself !" rejoined Ethel emphati- 
 cally. 
 
 " Ah, then, in plain terms, my dear Mrs. Trevor, 
 you are my mother's sole confidante ?" 
 
 Ethel intimated an affirmative. 
 
 " The course to be pursued," continued Mildred, 
 " is as simple and easy as possible. It may ba 
 described in half-a-dozen words. Look you, Mrs. 
 Trevor ! My mother has suddenly found a sis- 
 ter !" 
 
 "Ah — a sister?" said Ethel: and a gleam of 
 satisfaction appeared for a moment on her coun- 
 tenance ; but it was instantaneously succeeded 
 by a shade. 
 
 " What is passing in your mind ?" demanded 
 Mildred, eyeing her searchingly. 
 
 " Nothing particular," responded Ethel : but 
 
206 
 
 THIS YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 bhe blushed slightly as she felt that she was giving 
 utterance to an untruth. 
 
 " Nay, but I insist upon knowing," said Mil- 
 dred imperiously. " Let there be nothing but 
 candour here." 
 
 " Oh," said Ethel, proudly, and almost indig- 
 nantly, " if you put my frankness to such a test 
 as this, I will not shrink from it." 
 
 "That in just what I require," said Mildred 
 coolly. " >*'ou looked pleased and then displeased 
 all in the same moment. Perhaps you will tell 
 me what this meant ?" 
 
 " I looked pleased," explained Ethel, " because 
 I observed that the course which you had- just 
 suggested would in no way compromise the secret 
 of your poor mother. But on the other hand, I 
 was suddenly smitten with sorrow to think that 
 your presence here, instead of putting an end to 
 a deception, only tended to multiply and widen its 
 ramifications."" 
 
 "Nevertheless," said Mildred, "you will keep 
 the secret, Ethel — and if there be any sincerity at 
 all on the part of Olonetz, he will likewise keep 
 it. But, Ah ! there is another " 
 
 "And that other?" said Ethel, instantaneously 
 smitten with a suspicion. "You mean — you mean 
 Count Mandeville?" 
 
 " Yes. But all things considered, I need not 
 fear him," said Mildred, in a musing tone. "It 
 can do him no good to tell anything he knows 
 concerning me : but on the other hand, such hos- 
 tility on his part would only provoke a terribV, 
 vengeance on mine. To me he is formidable only 
 when backed by the violence or the intrigues of 
 the Russian power : but if it be trne that the 
 Russians mean me no mischief for the future, then 
 may I look upon Mandeville as a serpent dis- 
 possessed of its sting. Well, then," added Mil- 
 dred, " there is nothing to prevent the easy and 
 the successful adoption of the course which I have 
 suggested. Let me recapitulate. My mother has 
 
 just found a sister or let us rather say Lady 
 
 Langport has found a sister, whom she had for 
 years deemed to be dead. I am therefore Miss 
 Malcolm. Do not interrupt me ! If any queries 
 be put, let it be said that the deceased Mr. Ed- 
 ward Malcolm, merchant of St. Petersburgh, who 
 died in that' city in the year 1824, left two daugh- 
 ters behind him. So many years have elapsed 
 since then that it is not likely any one will be 
 found to stand officiously forward and contradict 
 the statement. So now go and tell my mother 
 that the matter is arranged — the requisite state- 
 ments can be made to the domestics — and all will 
 go on well." 
 
 Ethel quitted the room slowly ; but before she 
 ascended to Lady Langport's chamber, she sought 
 an apartment where she might be alone for a few 
 minutes ; and throwing herself upon a seat, she 
 covered her face with her hands, murmuring 
 amidst sigh and sobs, " Good heavens ! what a 
 web of duplicities ! — and to be an accomplice in 
 this tissue of deceits ! And, Oh ! how unnatural 
 too! The mother compelled to disown the daugh- 
 ter ! The daughter to call the mother sister I Yet 
 how can it be arranged otherwise ? Oh, this is 
 not the point which ought to engage my atten- 
 tion ! There is only one thing for me to reflect 
 upon ! Can I^can I remain here any longer? can 
 consent to repeat day by day, hour by hour, the 
 stupendous falsehood that they are sisters ?" 
 
 And Ethel groaned in spirit as she felt that her 
 position beneath that roof, which was at first loath- 
 some, had now become revolting, and that"she was 
 plunging down deeper and deeper into a vortex of 
 duplicities from which her soul shrank. Yet on 
 the other hand she thought of the emoluments 
 she enjoyed — the promises which Lady Langport 
 had held out for the future ; and she felt that for 
 her child's sake she was bound to submit to much 
 self-martyrdom and to many personal sacrifices. 
 She wiped away her tears — she composed her 
 feelings' — and she resolved that at all events 
 she would do nothing rashly, but that whatever 
 step she decided on taking should be the result of 
 the calmest deliberation. As she was ascending 
 in this altered frame of mind to Lady Langport's 
 chamber, she met her little boy, in the care of his 
 nurse, upon the stairs : she snatched him up, and 
 pressing him to her heart, felt that her resolves 
 were strengthened and that she must do nothing 
 inconsiderately or hastily. 
 
 On rejoining Lady Langport, Ethel communi- 
 cated the plan which Mildred had pointed out, 
 and which indeed had already suggested itself to 
 her ladyship's mind as the only one that under 
 existing circumstances could possibly be adopted. 
 It was all very well that in the presence of the 
 Russian Ambassador, on the preceding day,. Lady 
 Langport had proclaimed her resolve that there 
 should be an end of all duplicities and hypocrisies : 
 — it wa3 under the influence ' of extraordinary 
 feelings that she had thus spoken. But in calmer 
 moments and on maturer deliberation, she could 
 not so readily resign her darling vanity. To do 
 her justice however — for she had many excellent 
 points about her character — she was prepared to 
 make any sacrifice rather than give up the daugh- 
 ter whom she had so suddenly discovered to be 
 still numbered with the living : but on the other 
 hand, she had entertained the hope that the worst 
 might not happen and that the whole matter could 
 be arranged without the exposure and utter humi- 
 liation of herself. Thus, when Ethel came and 
 announced that the affair was to be so contrived, 
 Lady Langport felt like a criminal to whom a re- 
 prieve had been granted. She might retain her 
 daughter without making the sacrifice of her own 
 vanity ! — her maternal feelings might be gratified 
 without the necessity of tearing the mask away 
 from her own countenance ! 
 
 "Ethel," she said, in a low voice, "you must 
 despise me very much : for you can fathom what 
 is passing in my mind. You think, perhaps, that 
 now that circumstances have taken such a sudden 
 and wondrous turn, I ought to deal frankly and 
 boldly with the world " 
 
 " Madam," interrupted Ethel, " this is a subject 
 which only concerns yourself." 
 
 " You speak coldly to me ?" cried Lady Lang- 
 port. " Oh, good heavens, Ethel ! if I am to lose 
 your friendship ! But, Ah !" she exclaimed, as an 
 idea suddenly struck her, — " if you think that 
 because I have recovered a daughter, I shall be 
 the less anxious for your welfare " 
 
 " Oh, madam!" cried Ethel, bursting into tears ; 
 " how is it that you understand me so little, and 
 that you consider me to be so selfish ?" 
 
 And then Ethel stopped short, while a blush 
 glowed upon her cheeks, — the blush of shame ; for 
 she felt that she was selfish, and that all the re- 
 solves -which a few minutes back she had been 
 
*SE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, 'MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 207 
 
 taking, had only sprung from interested considera- 
 tions, no matter whether they were more on little 
 Alfred's account than on her own. 
 
 " I am afraid that I have offended yon," said 
 Lady Langport, gently and entreatingly : for she 
 comprehended not all that was passing in Ethel's 
 bosom; "hut pray forgive me, and let us not 
 dwell upon the subject. Accept my thanks — my 
 best, sincerest thanks — for the mission you have 
 just accomplished to my daughter. And now, 
 dear Ethel, if you would be so kind as to begin 
 by intimating to the domestics, as if quite in a 
 casual way, that a sister has been providentially 
 restored to me " 
 
 " Pray go and join her !" ejaculated Ethel has- 
 tily. " You have a thousand explanations yet to 
 give — or at least, you and Mildred must have 
 countless things to say to each other after so long 
 a separation !" 
 
 " But one word, Ethel !" said Lady Langport. 
 " Ton did not answer me with regard to that re- 
 quest which I made " 
 
 " Ah, there is Mildred's voice on the stairs !" 
 cried Ethel. "She is asking forme! she is in- 
 quiring for my room !" 
 
 " Go, go, Ethel ! — go, dear EtheL and see what 
 she requires. But remember — remember, my 
 sweet young friend " — and Lady Langport fixed a 
 peculiar look, upon Mrs. Trevor, — " remember 
 that you never allow Mildred to penetrate into the 
 mysteries " — and she glanced in the direction of 
 the dressing-room. 
 
 Ethel gave no reply, but hastened out of the 
 chamber. 
 
 "Where is Mrs. Trevor? which is her apart- 
 ment? will any one show me?" — it was thus that 
 Mildred's voice had been heard exclaiming upon 
 the stairs. 
 
 " Tes, ma'am," said a female servant, hurrying 
 up after her. " I will- show you." 
 
 " I rang the drawing-room bell," cried Mildred 
 petulantly, " and no one answered the summons !" 
 
 " I am sorry, madam," said the maid respect- 
 fully, " but the bell could not have rung, by some 
 accident — and it was only when I heard you call- 
 ing " 
 
 "Well, never mind," said Mildred. "Where 
 
 is Ah, here is Mrs. Trevor herself ! Is that 
 
 your room, Ethel ?" 
 
 " No — that is her ladyship's." 
 
 "My sister' 8, you mean: — my sister's?' cried 
 Mildred pointedly, for the behoof of the female 
 servant. " Well, which is your room, Ethel ?" 
 
 "Be kind enough to follow me," said Mrs. 
 Trevor : and she led Mildred to her own cham- 
 ber. 
 
 " I tell you what I want," said Mildred. " You 
 see that my costume is not exactly fitted for an 
 elegant drawing-room :" — and she burst forth into 
 that half bitter, half mocking laugh which it did 
 Ethel so much harm to hear. " So you will be 
 kind enough to get my mo— sister I mean " — and 
 here she laughed again, with a sort of heartless, 
 callous, reckless gaiety, — "yes, my sister to lend 
 me one of her dresses till I can get my wardrobe 
 replenished by a fashionable milliner. My sister " 
 — and she kept on emphasizing the word — "is 
 either somewhat stouter than I am, or else she 
 makes herself np to that gorgeous embonpoint ; 
 bat nevertheless, I daresay I can make one of her 
 dresses fit me for the present. So I will wait here 
 
 or what is better still, you can let me know 
 
 which apartment I am to occupy." 
 
 " I will inquire," said Ethel. 
 
 "This is a nice room of your's," said Mil- 
 dred, looking slowly around her. " That inner 
 door " 
 
 "Leads to a dressing-room," interjected Ethel. 
 " Come with me, if you please — and I will show 
 you to your own chamber." 
 
 " I thought you were going to inquire first- I 
 can remain here while you are gone." 
 
 Ethel recollected that the door of the dressing- 
 room was locked on the other side ; and even if it 
 were not, she knew that all the cosmetics and 
 mysterious accessories of her ladyship's toilet were 
 secured in the drawers and the bureau. She 
 therefore hesitated no longer to leave Mildred in 
 that chamber while she went to rejoin Lady Lang- 
 port. 
 
 " Take whichever dresses you fancy will Suit 
 her," said her ladyship when the message was 
 communicated to her. 
 
 Ethel did as she was desired ; and then, having 
 learnt which chamber was destined for Mildred's 
 reception, she. sped back to her own room. 
 
 " If ow if you will follow me," she said, " I will 
 show you where you are to sleep." 
 
 Mildred followed her accordingly; but upon 
 being introduced to the room appointed for her 
 use, she exclaimed, "Oh! but this is not near so 
 nice a chamber as your's ! — it is not half so well 
 furnished — neither is it so cheerful. And it has 
 got no dressing-room !" 
 
 " I hope," said Ethel, " that you will be satis- 
 fied with this apartment. It is not that I have 
 any particular choice " 
 
 "Well, my dear friend," said Mildred, "I shall 
 ask you as a very particular favour to change 
 rooms with me. In the first place, it would seem 
 so odd to the servants if I were put into an apart- 
 ment inferior to that which you occupy " 
 
 "No," said Ethel, "it will not seem at all 
 
 strange unless," she added, with a glow upon 
 
 her cheeks, " j-ou mean to insinuate that I myself 
 am only an upper sort of servant ?" 
 
 " Noj no — I didn't mean that. But you will 
 see the propriety, my dear Mrs. Trevor," con- 
 tinued Mildred coaxingly, " of complying with 
 my request." 
 
 "And I beg to decline it," responded Ethel, 
 coldly and firmly. 
 
 "Hey day! what?" cried Mildred. "But, 
 Ah ! I understand it !" 
 
 " What do you understand, madam ?" 
 
 " You think that because you are acquainted 
 with certain secrets," pursued Mildred insolently, 
 "you can take matters with a high hand." 
 
 " I am incapable of abusing the confidence that 
 is reposed in me," exclaimed Ethel indignantly. 
 
 Mildred looked at her for a moment, as if to 
 fathom how much sincerity there was in her 
 speech ; and then she said, " Come, my dear 
 Ethel, you and I will not quarrel. But you were 
 wrong to provoke me——" 
 
 "I provoke you?" exclaimed the young lady. 
 
 "Why, yes — by refusing to give me up that 
 room. You must understand that Hendon Court 
 has two mistresses now." 
 
 "Ah," said Ethel: "Hendon Court has two 
 mistresses now ?" 
 
 " No doubt of it," replied Mildred. " Are there 
 
S08 
 
 THE YOUNQ DUCIIES3; OR, MEMOIRS OF A 1ADT fcf QUAUTY. 
 
 not two sitters — Lady Langport and Miss Mal- 
 colm ?" and again she laughed as she emphasized 
 the word. " But no matter. I am not going to 
 begin my share of sovereignty within these walls 
 by an act of unkindness or tyranny. So keep your 
 room, Ethel — and I will endeavour to make my- 
 self comfortable in this. Ah [ you have brought 
 me three or four dresses — eh ?" 
 
 "It must be some days," said Ethel, "before a 
 dressmaker can supply your wardrobe." 
 
 " Oh we will make them work night and day," 
 said Mildred. " I shall not spare the money in 
 that quarter — nor in any other, I can tell you. 
 Besides, I already see plenty of things that want 
 alteration here. The idea of concealing those 
 beautiful drawing-rooms behind such gloom! 
 Why, the house wants a new front with fine 
 large modern windows. However, I will soon 
 show you what my taste is on the point." 
 
 Ethel made no answer, but she was moving to- 
 wards the door. 
 
 " Just stop one minute," cried Mildred, " and 
 let us see whether these dresses become me. I 
 intend to imitate my sister in the excellence of 
 her toilets. In fact, my dear Ethel, I have already 
 revolved a thousand different plans in my mind. 
 Ah ! you will be dazzled by some of them, I can 
 assure you. Now what, for instance, can be more 
 probable than that I, as Miss Malcolm — elegantly 
 dressed — well off — moving in the best society — 
 ami! not so very bad-looking, should captivate 
 some rich old English peer ? I don't care a fig 
 how old he is ! All I want is rank — yes, title 
 and position. You understand me, Ethel? I 
 have been knocked about in the world for half 
 my life ; and I mean the other half to be spent 
 in luxury, pleasure, and enjoyment. And why 
 not ? I have now at length got the chance, and 
 I shall not throw it away. Do you not agree 
 with me?" 
 
 '•' Really," said Ethel, coldly and distantly, " I 
 am unable to offer you an opinion upon the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " Nonsense !" cried Mildred. " You must in 
 your heart acknowledge that I am right. Surely 
 you are not devoured with scruples? By the 
 bye, I forgot to ask — are you a widow ? or is your 
 husband alive and you are separated from him?" 
 
 Ethel's countenance became crimson; and it 
 was with the utmost difficulty she could restrain 
 her feelings, as she murmured, " I am a widow." 
 
 " Then let me tell you that the best thing you 
 can do," exclaimed Mildred, "is to think of 
 marrying again. Young and beautiful as you 
 are " 
 
 "Pray what dress will you wear now?" in- 
 quired Ethel quickly. 
 
 Mildred made her selection ; and Ethel at once 
 sought an excuse for leaving the room, by saying, 
 " I will send up a lady's-maid to assist you in 
 your toilet." 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 MILDRED AND ETHEL. 
 
 When Mildred's toilet was accomplished, she de- 
 scended to the drawing-room, where she found 
 Lady Langport. Her ladyship observed, with a 
 feeling of maternal pride which arose within her 
 
 despite all circumstances, the great improvement 
 which was effected in Mildred's looks by that 
 change of apparel; and she contemplated her 
 daughter with affectionate admiration. 
 
 "Now, dp. you know," said Mildred, sinking 
 with a lounging ease Into an arm-chair, " that 
 you are beginning by treating me rather unhand- 
 somely- — — " 
 
 "What?" ejaculated Lady Langport, starting 
 with mingled astonishment and grief. 
 
 " Why, yes," pursued Mildred. " You allow 
 this favourite Ethel of your's to keep the second- 
 best chamber, while you thrust me into a very 
 inferior room." 
 
 " Mildred !" cried her ladyship, " is it possible 
 that you begin by reproaching me? — that on the 
 very first day of our restoration to each other, 
 you can find it in your heart to make com- 
 plaints ?" 
 
 " I was only telling you what I think and feel." 
 
 "I am sorry you do not like your chamber," 
 said Lady Langport ; " but we will have deco- 
 rators and upholsterers, and it shall be completely 
 renovated for you." 
 
 " Well, that is better," said Mildred ; " and it 
 is indeed exactly what I should have ordered to 
 
 be done, even if you had not suggested it that 
 
 is to say, supposing that I consented to keep the 
 chamber." 
 
 " It is the best after mine and Ethel's," said 
 her ladyship, who was looking more or less hurt 
 and surprised at the tone in which her daughter 
 spoke. 
 
 "After Ethel's?" cried Mildred. "But I 
 should rather think that mine ought to be befora 
 Ethel's." 
 
 " I beseech you — Oh ! I beseech you," said 
 her ladyship, earnestly and appealing]}', " not to 
 interfere with any arrangements that have been 
 made in reference to Ethel. I love her dearly ; 
 and — and — she is indispensable to me. Besides, 
 she is acquainted with our secrets " 
 
 " Tell me something about this Ethel of 
 your's ?" demanded Mildred. " You seem to place 
 implicit confidence in her." 
 
 "And she deserves it," rejoined Lady Lang- 
 port. " She took the greatest interest in every- 
 thing that concerned you " 
 
 " How long has she been with you ?" 
 
 "Only a very short time," answered Lady 
 Langport, — " but little more than a fortnight." 
 
 " Ah, to be sure ! I think I remember that 
 she told me so. But you must have known her 
 longer than that ?" 
 
 " She was unknown to me before she came." 
 
 " Then she was well recommended ?" said Mil- 
 dred inquiringly. 
 
 " I took her without any recommendation at 
 all," answered Lady Langport : " I was at once 
 prepossessed in her favour. Look at her sweet 
 beautiful face — the goodness that reposes in those 
 hazel eyes ! Have yon yet seen her little boy?" 
 
 Mildred answered in the negative. 
 
 " A beautiful child," continued Lady Langport, 
 " of about eleven months old. I am sure you will 
 like him, Mildred." 
 
 " Ah ! — only eleven months old, and the mother 
 a widow ! But she is not in mourning nor even 
 in half-mourning; and yet methought that in 
 England widows wore mourning for a couple of 
 years ?" 
 
TIIF. VOUNG DUCIIE83 ; OR, MEM0IK3 OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 aos 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 " Hunt, Mildred !" said Lady Langport : " that 
 is a subject which perhaps it were not well to 
 probe too deeply. You need not look at me thus 
 
 inquiringly 1 declare to you that I know 
 
 nothing of Ethel's private affairs. She may be 
 separated from her husband, and it may suit 
 her to say that he is dead : or " 
 
 " Or what is more probable," interjected Mil- 
 dred, " she may never have had any husband at 
 alL" 
 
 "I will teH you frankly," proceeded Lady 
 . Langport, in a subdued tone, " that I suspected 
 at the very outset that poor Ethel had been made 
 the victim of some villanous treachery. I did not 
 therefore ask her for any references — I took her 
 on her own personal recommendations. I thought 
 that if it were as I suspected, I should be at once 
 establishing the strongest claims upon her grati- 
 tude, and — as — as — I felt that she would become 
 necessary te — to— me, it was this sort of bond 
 No. 27. — The Yobno Duchess. 
 
 which I strove to weave between us. Thus you 
 understand, Mildred, she is under every possible 
 obligation to me, and she will not abuse the con- 
 fidence that is reposed in her." 
 
 " I daresay not," said Mildred. " In fact, front 
 all yeu have told me, there is no doubt in my 
 mind that sh e is so completely dependent upon 
 her present position, she would not eu any account 
 endanger it." 
 
 Ethel now came into the drawing-room, and 
 very soon afterwards a servant entered to an- 
 nounce that dinner was ready. The three ladies 
 descended : the repast was not served up in the 
 principal dining-room, but in the parlour which 
 was habitually used for the meals. Thus Mildred 
 had not as yet seen the portraits which embel- 
 lished the dining-room. 
 
 Ethel felt herself in an uncomfortable position 
 throughout dinner-time ; for Mildred was full of 
 arrogance and pretension, continually calling her 
 
210 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS! 6b, MEMOIBS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 mother sister, and accentuating the word — giving 
 her orders to the servants with the same air as if 
 ehe had heen for years, instead of hours, one of 
 the mistresses of that house — and indulging in a 
 discourse which by its transition from flippancy to 
 bold license indicated not merely the callousness 
 and heartlessness of the woman, but likewise the 
 absence of all moral principles. Ethel was some- 
 times shocked, sometimes disgusted : but what 
 ainoyed her most, was that Mildred plainly hinted 
 at a prudish hypocrisy on the young lady's part 
 when she did not laugh at the broad jest that was 
 thrown out or subscribe to the loose doctrines that 
 were enunciated. As for Lady Langport, she en- 
 deavoured with all her might and power to per- 
 suade herself that it was a mere innocent raillery 
 on Mildred's part, or else that whatsoever sinister 
 there might be in her behaviour or her discourse 
 was to be extenuated on the ground of the ter- 
 rible misfortunes through which she had been 
 
 The evening passed away, and the ladigs retired, 
 for the night. When EtheJ attended, as usual, 
 upon Lady Langport in the dressing-room, she 
 noticed that her ladyship was. dispirited and de- 
 sponding, that she vainly endeay.qured to rally, 
 and with equal fruitlessness essayed to conceal 
 the causes of her vexation. 
 
 "I sincerely hope, my dear Ethel," she pre- 
 sently said, " that you will agree well with 
 Mildred." 
 
 " It is impossible I can offer her any provoca- 
 tion," answered the young lady. 
 
 " What do you mean, my dear girl ?" inquired 
 Lady Langport, quickly. "You think the provo- 
 cation will emanate from her ? No, no — it must 
 not ! Besides, your's is so sweet a disposition 
 that you do not take offence very readily ; and 
 for my sake, Ethel — for my sake, my dear girl, I 
 know that you will now be more forbearing than 
 ever." 
 
 "Rest assured that I will," answered the 
 amiable Ethel, affected by the poor old lady'? 
 manner. 
 
 "I must confess," proceeded Lady Langport, 
 after a pause, " that there is a peculiarity about 
 Mildred which I as a mother may readily excuse, 
 or even blind myself unto the failing — hut which 
 to you may prove galling and vexatious. And 
 therefore, dear Ethel, I rely upon the sweetness 
 of your disposition and the excellence of your 
 temper for a lenient forbearance towards one who 
 has suffered so much." 
 
 Ethel renewed her promises ; and presently, on 
 retiring to her own couch, she shed burning tears 
 over her little Alfred as she strained him to her 
 bosom, murmuring in low but passionate accents, 
 "Ah, dear child ! dear child ! how much am I 
 bound to suffer for your sake !" 
 
 Mildred rose early on the following morning : 
 she ordered the carriage, and without waiting for 
 breakfast she set out for London. She had on the 
 previous evening ascertained at which shops Lady 
 Langport was accustomed to deal ; and to those 
 establishments she proceeded. It was about one 
 o'clock in the afternoon when she returned to 
 Hendon Court, bringing with her a vast number 
 of band-boxes and packages of all descriptions. 
 She had largely bestowed her patronage upon 
 milliners, linen-drapers, mercers, jewellers, per- 
 fumers, and other tradesmen. Lady Langport 
 
 welcomed her with smiles; and Mildred, sitting 
 down to table, made a substantial luncheon, 
 washing it down with several glasses of wine. 
 
 Having changed her toilet, and embellished 
 herself with some of the jewellery which she had 
 purchased, Mildred went out to ramble in the 
 garden. She took with her a volume of a novel, 
 and for half-an-hour or so whiled away the time 
 by suffering her looks to wander listlesssly over 
 the pages as she strolled along the gravel-walks 
 and amidst the parterres of flowers. Then she 
 flung down her book, and began to gather herself 
 a nosegay— in the midst of which occupation she 
 heard the rustling of a dress and the tread of 
 light footsteps in an adjoining avenue. In a. few 
 moments she perceived Ethel, who had retired to 
 the garden that she might be alone with her reflec- 
 tions, and who had no idea of the chance of there 
 encountering the very person who now occupied 
 so large a share of her thoughts. Indeed, at the 
 instant so unfavourably were the young lady's 
 meditations fixing themselves upon Mildred, that 
 on suddenly beholding her she stepped back » 
 pace or two, and was on the very point of retiring 
 again behind the screen of verdure which sepa- 
 rated the avenues. 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Trevor— Ethel ?" cried Mildred. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Ethel, whose good- 
 breeding instantaneously got the better of her re- 
 pugnance : " is it you ? We have not met before 
 to-day. You went out early this morning ?"• 
 
 " I went to make some purchases," answered 
 Mildred ; '-' and I think you will soon find that my 
 toilet rivals my sister's " — again emphasizing 
 that word which, sounded so horrible and un- 
 natural to , the ears of Ethel. " Ah, by the bye, 
 t have been thinking," continued Mildred, " that 
 it will be mere waste of time and money to de- 
 corate the chamber I am now occupying. It has 
 no dressing-room — and a dressing-room I must 
 have. I want a bath fitted up : it is good for the 
 complexion. Once more I must beg of you to 
 change rooms with me." 
 
 '" Pray, Mildred," interrupted Ethel, " do not 
 renew that topic. It is not that I have any un- 
 willingness on my own account " 
 
 " I should think not indeed !" interjected Mil- 
 dred contemptuously. 
 
 " But my chamber is situated next to Lady 
 Langport's," continued Ethel, affecting not to 
 heed Mildred's impertinence; "and as her lady- 
 ship likes me to be near her, I hope that this ex- 
 planation will prove sufficient." 
 
 "Ah, ha!" said Mildred: " then I suppose the 
 two chambers communicate ?" 
 
 Ethel hesitated for a moment; and then she 
 said with frankness, " Yes, they do." 
 
 "And perhaps the dressing-room," continued 
 Mildred, " is the scene of all the mysteries of my 
 
 venerable mother's 1 mean, I mean," she 
 
 hastily and flippantly cried, " of my dear sister's 
 toilet!" 
 
 " I did not say so," exclaimed Ethel with some 
 degree of vehemence. 
 
 "No — but I guessed it," rejoined Mildred 
 coolly. " Come, tell me, Ethel — and I will not 
 ask her any questions on the point — but do tell 
 me how she manages. Her complexion is far 
 better than mine ! What cosmetic does she use ? 
 I have brought a quantity home from the per- 
 fumer's ; but I should like to know what is the 
 
THE YOUKG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A IADY OK QUALITY. 
 
 211 
 
 sovereign panacea against crow'sfeet and wrinkles. 
 Tell me therefore, EtheL" 
 
 " I beseech you," interrupted the young lady, 
 " not to address me on these topics. If there be 
 anything to reveal or betray, rest assured that 
 no traitorous word will go forth from my lips." 
 
 "Why, you are absurd, Ethel, with your 
 scruples!" cried Mildred angrily. 
 
 "I am honest, at all events," responded 
 Ethel. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" demanded Mil- 
 dred, turning savagely upon her. " Would you 
 infer that I am not honest V 
 
 " I intended no inference of the kind," said 
 Ethel, mildly yet firmly. 
 
 "Now I tell you what," said Mildred, " I think 
 that you and I had better come to an understand- 
 ing together. You affect a goodness which 
 humiliates me : — you pretend to an integrity 
 which fills me with mortification. I don't believe 
 in it, Ethel. It is all nonsense. Therefore I beg 
 that when I ask you questions, you will give me 
 straightforward answers; and when I seek for 
 vour confidence you will not refuse it. I will 
 speak plainer if you like. I mean, therefore, that 
 when I ask you for certain little secrets you will 
 not immediately climb up on your stilts and pre- 
 tend that you are prevented by a point of honour 
 from revealing or betraying them. But that is 
 not alL I will thank you not to screw up that 
 pretty mouth of your's when I let out a jest in 
 the course of conversation. Furthermore, I beg 
 that you will not look so horrified and shocked if 
 I happen to explain any particular views about 
 the rights and privileges of woman." 
 
 " Enough !" said EtheL " If this be what you 
 call coming to an understanding, it has indeed 
 brought us to one. Know me, therefore, for what 
 I am." 
 
 " Ah ! what are you ?" said Mildred jeeringly. 
 
 For an instant a blush mantled vividly upon 
 Ethel's countenance, and she was seized with con- 
 fusion : but the next moment regaining her self-, 
 possession, she lifted her head proudly, saving, 
 " It is sufficient for you to know that I am not one 
 who will betray whatsoever secrets may be en- 
 trusted to me. Neither am I one who will laugh 
 at broad unchaste jests., or accede to principles 
 that shock and scandalize the mind." 
 
 " I have no doubt we are mighty particular, 
 Mrs. Trevor," cried Mildred, with a toss of the 
 head; "but I would wager my life that you 
 could not display your marriage certificate." 
 
 A deadly pallor smote the unfortunate young 
 lady, — a paleness which looked like that of death, 
 when succeeding so rapidly npou the vivid flush 
 which ere now overspread her features. She 
 staggered against a tree for support. That allu- 
 sion to the marriage-certificate had conjured up, 
 with overwhelming effect, the entire details of the 
 wrongs and calamities she had sustained through 
 the unfortunate love of the Duke of Ardleigh. 
 Mildred saw that the blow had stricken home : 
 she perceived that her conjecture in reference to 
 Ethel was right, and that she had no husband to 
 give a father's name to her chad. The bold bad 
 woman's purpose was served, and for an instant a 
 smile of triumph wavered upon her lip. 
 
 " Xow my young friend," she said, " we perhaps 
 understand each other better than we did at first 
 — better far than vou meant us to do. There is 
 
 enough on the subject. I am not spiteful — I do 
 not want to be malicious. I have got at your 
 secret — but I will not betray it if you only con- 
 sent to alter the tenour of your conduct towards 
 me. Put off those prudish airs which you have 
 no right to assume ; and abstain from affecting a 
 punctiliousness which you do not in reality ex- 
 perience. Pray attend to all I have been say- 
 ing, and I have no doubt we shall be very good 
 friends." 
 
 Ethel said not a word : she was gathering hei". 
 thoughts and composing her feelings, and she ac- 
 quired strength and consolation from the evident 
 fact that Mildred had not learnt aught concerning 
 her from any particular source— but bad merely 
 formed the conjecture, and then acting upon it, 
 had fired the random shot, which had however so 
 completely hit the sensitive part in Ethel's 
 heart. 
 
 " And now," continued Mildred after a pause, 
 " let us place ourselves upon a better footing to- 
 wards each other. Remember, there are two 
 mistresses at Hendon Court. Ton have already 
 secured the favour of one ; and I now offer you 
 that of the other. There is a proof of my good- 
 will; — show that you deserve it by answering 
 
 the little questions I put to you just now 1 
 
 mean in reference to the cosmetics which my sitter 
 uses." 
 
 Ethel bent her superb hazel eyes earnestly upon 
 Mildred, as she said, " I will not answer a single 
 question upon that subject: I will not suffer my-, 
 self to be drawn into any discourse thereon. I 
 wiU place the seal of silence npon my lips." 
 
 Mildred turned livid with rage; and then 
 the next moment she laughed scornfully. Ethel 
 was about to say something more : but yielding 
 to a second thought, she abruptly turned away 
 and entered the house. 
 
 Her first impulse was to seek Lady Langport, 
 tell her everything that had passed, and appeal to 
 her whether it were possible that she could con- 
 sent to remain any longer beneath the same roof 
 with Mildred. But she suddenly recollected her 
 resolve to do nothing rashly ; and she therefore 
 retired to her chamber, where she sat down to re- 
 flect She could bring herself to no satisfactory 
 issue ; for her thoughts, if shaped in words, may 
 be thus represented : — 
 
 " How could I abandon poor Lady Langport to 
 this veritable fiend of a daughter who has come 
 back to her ? — and yet, by staying here, how can 
 I help her ladyship to wrestle against the miseries 
 which assuredly are in store for her ? If I leave 
 her, whither am I to go ? what will become of me 
 and little Alfred ? Ought I not to dare and en- 
 dure everything for my child's sake? May I not 
 even succeed in shaming Mildred by means of my 
 own forbearance and meekness and Christian pa- 
 tience? Who can tell? At all events every 
 sentiment of gratitude and honour prevents me 
 from leaving Lady Langport without due warn- 
 ing. Aye — and what is more, I am bound to re- 
 main with her until my place be filled up. I 
 must therefore at all events wait a favourable 
 opportunity to open my mind to Lady Langport 
 on the subject." 
 
 The reader will perceive that Ethel's mind was 
 full of indecision ; and thus the dinner-hour ar- 
 rived without anything definite being resolved 
 upon. She sat silent and reserved throughout the 
 
212 
 
 THE YOUNG DUGIHCSS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 repast : it was impossible that she could mingle 
 in the discourse — she had no spirits for con- 
 versation — she could not force herself to be 
 gay — and even if it were otherwise, Mildred 
 kept the discourse upon topics which Ethel did 
 not like. It must he however observed that on 
 this occasion Mildred abstained from levelling any 
 inuendo against Ethel : indeed she bestowed not 
 the slightest notice upon her, but addressed all 
 the conversation to her mother. As for Lady 
 Langport, she saw that something was wrong : 
 every now and then she cast an inquiring look 
 upon Ethel — and then she gazed upon her daugh- 
 ter, as if to ascertain what had taken place : but 
 she was bewildered, and she did not like to ask 
 the question in the presence of both. 
 
 Thus the evening passed away — unpleasantly 
 enough for her ladyship and Ethel : but Mildred 
 seemed as happy and comfortable and as uncon- 
 cerned as if everything were going on well, and 
 as if her presence had brought no trouble nor an- 
 noyance into the house. 
 
 At a little before ten o'clock, Mildred rose some- 
 what abruptly from her seat, and said, " I shall 
 now retire to rest. I was up early this morning 
 — and mean to be up early again to-morrow. So 
 I wish you both a very good night." 
 
 She then quitted the room, and the use of the 
 word both conveyed the first intimation through- 
 out the entire evening that Mildred chose to re- 
 cognise the presence of such a person as Ethel. 
 
 " My dear girl," asked Lady Langport, so 
 soon as -the door had closed behind Mildred, 
 " what has happened? what has caused this cool- 
 ness between you?" 
 
 "I promised your ladyship," replied Ethel, 
 " that I would exercise all possible forbearance 
 towards Mildred ; and I have done so. She 
 has fastened a quarrel upon me. But I will not 
 tell you of it now. You are tired and worn out 
 — I see that you are — for the evening has been 
 an anxious one for you " 
 
 " Oh, good kind Ethel !" exclaimed Lady Lang- 
 port, "you are thinking of me when perhaps your 
 soul is smarting under the sense of some insult 
 received from Mildred! This must not be; 
 I beseech you to tell me what has occurred." 
 
 " No," said Ethel ; " I will tell your ladyship 
 nothing now :" — for she recoiled from the idea of 
 having to explain the nature of the taunts she 
 had received from Mildred in respect to the 
 marriage-certificate. "I must think — I must 
 deliberate ! And perhaps I had better wait and 
 see how Mildred's demeanour may be towards me 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes, yes — do so, dear Ethel," said Lady 
 Langport, who on her own side experienced no 
 disinclination to postpone anything that might be 
 of an unpleasant character. " Perhaps I shall have 
 an opportunity of remonstrating with Mildred to- 
 morrow. But Oh, she is peculiar, Ethel 1 — very 
 very peculiar, Ethel ! — and you may have seen 
 — you may have seen that she does not treat 
 me " 
 
 The unhappy lady stopned short : her lips were 
 quivering, and tears were starting from her eyes. 
 She hastily applied her kerchief ; and then rising 
 from her seat, she said in a tone of forced com- 
 posure, "Come, sweet Ethel — let us retire to 
 rest." 
 
 They ascended the stairs, and separated for a 
 
 moment on the landing to enter their respective 
 chambers. Ethel, as usual, locked the outer door 
 of her own apartment ; and then she passed into 
 the dressing-room,— having first paused for an 
 instant at the bed to bestow a kiss upon little 
 Alfred. In the meantime Lady Langport locked 
 the outer door of her own chamber ; and then 
 passing through the bath-room, she rejoined 
 Ethel in the dressing-cabinet. 
 
 And now commenced her ladyship's night 
 toilet, — to which on a former occasion we have so 
 particularly alluded that it is not now necessary 
 to recapitulate the loathsome details. Suffice it 
 therefore to say that when at length the process 
 was complete, and everything artificial and succe- 
 daneous was laid aside, the wretched woman again 
 stood a living skeleton in the presence of Ethel, — a 
 withered toothless hag, every bone visible beneath 
 the skin, which just covered it without the in- 
 tervention of any flesh to yield to the pressure ! 
 
 And just at that moment a sound fell upon the 
 ears of both Lady Langport and Ethel, — a sound 
 as of a door opening. 
 
 " Good heavens ! what was that ?" muttered 
 Lady Langport, with affright seizing upon her 
 countenance. 
 
 " I do not know,'' said Ethel. " Did your 
 ladyship lock the door of your own chamber ?" 
 
 " Yes ! But you, Ethel— you ?" 
 
 " I remember perfectly well locking mine. But 
 let us see ! The sounds seem to come from th« 
 bath-room !" 
 
 She was rushing towards the door which 
 separated the dressing-cabinet from the bath- 
 room, when that door suddenly opened, and 
 Mildred appeared upon the threshold. Yes! — 
 and there she stood transfixed with mingled 
 horror and amazement at the spectacle which met 
 her eyes ! 
 
 An ejaculation of dismay burst from the lips of 
 Ethel : but it was a low half-stifled sound as if 
 of a dying groan which emanated from Lady 
 Langport — and then the wretched woman fell 
 senseless upon the floor. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE HYPOCRITE. 
 
 Ethel flung a look of indescribable indignation 
 upon Mildred ; and then she stooped dowu and 
 raised up Lady Langport,— lifting that light, ema- 
 ciated, attenuated frame almost as easily as if it 
 were a child's ; and she bore jt to the couch. She 
 quickly administered restoratives ; and when Lady 
 Langport began to give signs of recovering, Ethel 
 said to Mildred, who had followed her into the 
 bed-chamber, " You had better withdraw. Ketira, 
 I beseech you, ere your mother regain her senses !" 
 
 " Do you think my presence will be odious to 
 her ?" asked Mildred, half in defiance, though she 
 was still partly under the influence of the shock 
 which the horrible spectacle of her mother's real 
 condition had produced upon her. 
 
 " Do not ask me what I think !" cried Ethel, 
 almost petulantly ; " but if you have a spark of 
 feeling left, go! Go, I conjure you! I would 
 not have done this which you have just done,— 
 no, not for all the gold in the universe !" 
 
TIIE TOUNO DUCILESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 213 
 
 "It wa3 all your fault," retorted Mildred 
 savagely 
 
 " My fatilt ?" cried Ethel, with mingled indig- 
 nation and surprise. 
 
 " Yes — your's ! If yon had answered my 
 questions about the cosmetics, my curiosity would 
 not have heen excited to the pitch that made me 
 resolve to gratify it by hiding myself in the cup- 
 board of the bed-room." 
 
 " For heaven's sake let us not bandy angry 
 words now !" exclaimed Ethel. " Go — leave the 
 room, I entreat and implore you ! To-morrow, if 
 you wish to renew your upbraidings and your 
 accusations " 
 
 " Was it a dream ? Tell me, Ethel, was it a 
 dream?" the voice of Lady Langport was now 
 faintly murmuring. 
 
 " Compose yourself, dear lady," said Ethel ; 
 and she made an impatient gesture for Mildred to 
 withdraw. 
 
 " Ah, it was not a dream !" cried Lady Lang- 
 port, suddenly regaining the fullest and completest 
 vitality. " Do not go, Mildred ! do not go, 
 daughter ! Stop, I entreat — I command you !" 
 
 " Command ?" echoed Mildred, with mingled 
 fierceness and contemptuousness. " That is a 
 strong word." 
 
 " But not stronger than the occasion requires," 
 rejoined her mother quickly. " Now listen, Mil- 
 dred ! You have done a thing for which you shall 
 repent to the end of your days ! It is a deed 
 which can never be pardoned ! You have brought 
 down a curse upon your head !" 
 
 "Let me conjure your ladyship," interposed 
 Ethel, frightened at the fearful energy with which 
 her patroness was speaking, and appalled at the 
 language which was flowing from her lips, — "let 
 me beseech and implore " 
 
 " It is useless, my good Ethel !" cried Lady 
 Langport. "A deed has been done which has 
 changed every feeling and sentiment within me ! 
 — a deed that was as bad as sacrilege, or desecra- 
 tion, or even matricide ! Yes ! — and it is a deed, 
 Mildred, that merits a curse ! — a mother's bitter 
 withering curse ! — and that malediction do I be- 
 stow upon you !" 
 
 " Come, mother, be sensible — be reasonable," 
 said Mildred, who was looking somewhat fright- 
 ened, or who at least had an air as if she would 
 be very glad to recall, were it possible, the deed 
 she had done. " I am sorry " 
 
 " Silence !" cried her mother : " silence — and 
 hear me !" 
 
 It was a horrible scene. The old woman was 
 sitting up in the bed — her night-dress, open in 
 front, revealed the emaciated breast, every ,bone 
 of which might be counted — and in the fury of 
 her gesticulations it seemed as if they were skele- 
 ton arms which were thrust forth from the loose 
 unbuttoned sleeves, and which she was waving 
 abont. 
 
 " Listen to me !" she cried ; and though her 
 false teeth were out, yet there was a frightful 
 clearness in the articulation of the voice that was 
 now shrill and screeching. "You were received 
 home by your mother with open arms, Mildred — 
 and you have rewarded hor kindness with the 
 vilest ingratitude ! You knew that she had a 
 secret which she cherished — and you have basely 
 violated it ! There are deeds which not even the 
 nearest of kindred may do towards each other. — 
 
 deeds which no love, no friendship, no intimacy 
 can warrant ! — and such a deed is this which you 
 have done! Oh, I wish you joy 'of it! Is your 
 curiosity gratified ? You now know what your 
 mother is ! You behold her in all her ghastliest 
 terrors— in all her most cadaverous horrors ! Ah ! 
 would that the days of magic and enchantment 
 were not passed away, and that the spectacle 
 might have blinded you, — scathing your eyeballs 
 and searing your vision !" 
 
 "For God's sake, Lady Langport," said Ethel, 
 "compose yourself! Be calm — be tranquil!" 
 
 " If my mother wishes the whole household to 
 learn the secret, as well as myself," said Mildred, 
 who was now completely self-possessed again, 
 " she will go on in this strain.", 
 
 " Instead of sinking on your knees," cried her 
 ladyship, "and imploring my pardon in the 
 humblest and most contrite manner, you even 
 now appear to set me at defiance !" 
 
 " If you play the part of a madwoman," re- 
 torted Mildred contemptuously, " you must ex- 
 pect " 
 
 "Oh, my God!" — and the wretched Lady 
 Langport burst into tears. " My own daughter 
 treating me thus ! — she who has only just been re- 
 stored to me ! She whom I have ever loved, and 
 was prepared to love so fondly on until the end!" 
 
 " Retire — withdraw, I beseech you !" hastily 
 whispered Ethel. 
 
 " And leave you to do all you can to prejudice 
 my mother against me !" replied Mildred, with a 
 look of reptile-like malignity — but still she spoke 
 in so low a tone that Lady Langport did not 
 catch what she said. 
 
 Ethel recoiled from the accusation that was 
 thus flung at her, — recoiled as if it were a ser- 
 pent that was darting at her ! 
 
 " Ah ! I have hit the right mark — have I ?" 
 were the next words that hissed forth from be- 
 tween the lips of Mildred. " You are not so deep 
 but that I understand you ! Go. It is for you 
 to retire ; — my place is here." 
 
 Ethel was transfixed with consternation and 
 dismay ; and she gazed in vacancy upon Mildred 
 as if unable to satisfy herself that she had heard 
 aright. Lady Langport was continuing to weep 
 bitterly; and the sounds of her own agonizing 
 sobs had drowned the malignant hissing of the 
 whisper in which Mildred had spoken to EtheL 
 
 "Mother," said Mildred, bending over her, 
 " you complain that I have not asked your pardon : 
 —but remember that you cursed me outright.' ' 
 
 " Cursed you, Mildred ? — cursed you, ' my 
 child ?" and Lady Langport, starting as if with 
 some horrible galvanic pang, bent her wild 
 frightened looks upon Mildred. "What! curse 
 you, my daughter ? Oh, yes ! I remember ! 
 My God, I was mad ! mad !" 
 
 " Mother," said Mildred, in a low voice, " for 
 heaven's sake let me be alone with you for a few 
 moments. It is a boon," she added, in a still 
 more subdued whisper, " which I supplicate and 
 implore." 
 
 "And it is granted, Mildred," replied Lady 
 Langport. "Ethel — my sweet Ethel, leave us 
 for a little while." 
 
 " You wish it, dear madam ? you wish it ?" 
 asked Ethel, who was almost frightened at the 
 idea of leaving the poor mother helplessly alona 
 with that unprincipled virago of a daughter. 
 
2H 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A I/ADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " Yes, dear Ethel — I wish it," said Lady Lang- 
 ,port. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor did not hesitate another moment ; 
 but she hastened to make her way through the 
 bath-room and the dressing-room into her own 
 chamber. Mildred followed her ; and as Ethel 
 turned to close the door of her apartment, she was 
 encountered by that unscrupulous woman who 
 had almost openly as it were proclaimed herself 
 the young lady's enemy. It was a glance of 
 malignant triumph which Mildred flung upon 
 her ; and then, as Ethel closed the door of com- 
 munication, she heard Mildred lock it on the 
 other side. 
 
 " Good heavens !" thought Ethel, flinging her- 
 self on her knees by the side of her couch, " to be 
 suspected of the most unworthy motives ! to be 
 taunted with the basest and the most grovelling 
 selfishness ! No ! — not even for thee, my little 
 Alfred ! not even for thee, my beloved boy ! 
 could I have practised such detestable arts as 
 those which that bad woman would fain ascribe 
 unto me !" 
 
 But let us return to Mildred. Having locked 
 the door of communication between Ethel's 
 chamber and the dressing-room, she made her 
 way back to her mother ; and falling upon her 
 knees by the side of the couch, she said in a voice 
 which she rendered wild and tremulous in its ac- 
 cents, " Forgive me ! forgive me, I beseech !" 
 
 " Yes, daughter — I have already forgiven you," 
 replied Lady Langport. 
 
 " And that curse ? that withering curse ?" 
 
 " I withdraw — I withdraw it ! God! rather 
 let it redound upon my own head, than take 
 effect against my daughter ! I was mad when I 
 gave utterance to it ! my senses had temporarily 
 left me !" 
 
 " Oh, my dear mother," continued Mildred, 
 " you know not how you have misjudged me ! — 
 you would be sorry to think how much you have 
 wronged me !" 
 
 " Show me how I have done so, Mildred," cried 
 Lady Langport, " and you know not how eager 
 and willing I shall be to make every atonement ! 
 How have I wronged you, my poor Mildred ?" 
 
 " By misinterpreting the motive which 
 prompted me to discover your secret." 
 
 " Explain that motive!" said her ladyship 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I saw that there was a secret," resumed Mil- 
 dred : " indeed you yourself half gave me to un- 
 derstand that there was ; and the very nature of 
 the circumstances themselves served to corro- 
 borate the impression. I saw that Ethel had ren-, 
 dercd herself necessary to you. Now, believe me, 
 dear mother, I am not jealous of Ethel " 
 
 " No, no. But go on ! go on !" 
 
 "But without being jealous of her, I said to 
 myself, 'It was all very well that my mother 
 should have such a young person as a confidante 
 when her daughter was dead or lost to her. But 
 now that I, this daughter, am returned to my 
 mother it is incumbent upon me to perform every 
 filial duty. Who ought to be near a mother to 
 minister unto all her wants ? The daughter ! 
 Whose place is it to perform everything, that a 
 mother may want done? A daughter's place!' 
 — It was thus I reasoned with myself." 
 
 " Did you — did you really, Mildred ? Is this 
 true ?" asked the naturally kind-hearted, weak- 
 
 minded, and credulous Lady Langport, her attenu- 
 ated form quivering with emotion. 
 
 "It is all true — solemnly true," replied Mildred. 
 " And therefore you may comprehend, dear 
 mother, how my spirit was chafed when I saw 
 that I was thrust away from you as it were, while 
 Ethel was retained as your favourite: I was dis- 
 carded from my proper place, which was still 
 occupied by an alien and a stranger ! And thus 
 I may have spoken rudely and sharply " 
 
 "Ah, Mildred, I begin to think that I was 
 
 perhaps wrong But then that dear sweet 
 
 Ethel- — " 
 
 " Oh, I have no harm to say against Ethel," 
 
 interjected Mildred. " Only But no matter ! 
 
 I will hasten to say that after all the explanations 
 I have just been giving you, my dear mother, you 
 cannot be surprised if I resolved to gain possession 
 of a secret that was so studiously kept from me. 
 Ah! and now for my motive. It was the best 
 and the purest ! It still continues the same. For 
 now, dear mother, it is I who henceforth will 
 minister unto you in all respects ! — it is I who 
 will perform those duties which under existing 
 circumstances are specially a daughter's ! — it is I 
 who will serve as your nurse and your attendant 
 — your handmaid and your abigail ; and though 
 I have no doubt of Ethel's kindness and atten- 
 tion, yet what can exceed the care which the ten- 
 derest filial instincts will now cause to be be- 
 stowed upon you ?" 
 
 "Mildred ! dearest Mildred !" cried Lady Lang- 
 port in a perfect ecstacy of delight: "it is in 
 such a strain as this that I would all along have 
 wished to hear you speak ! — it is now that you 
 are fulfilling all that I hoped and expected my 
 restored daughter would prove ! We are sisters 
 before the world : but when alone together, we will 
 never forget the nature of the ties that bind us !" 
 
 "No, never, my dear mother!" answered Mil- 
 dred, who seemed to be overwhelmed with her 
 emotions. " So everything is arranged, and to- 
 morrow I will take Ethel's place " 
 
 " That is not necessary, Mildred !" interrupted 
 Lady Langport. "You have shown the good- 
 will, and that is all which is required. I would 
 not for the world wound poor Ethel's feelings !" 
 
 "Well, my dear mother," said Mildred, "it is 
 very kind of you to speak in this sense ; but I 
 must insist upon my right to perform a daughter's 
 duties — I claim a preference over Ethel Trevor, 
 who, as I have before described her, is a mere 
 alien and a stranger." 
 
 " What would you have me do ?" asked Lady 
 Langport. " Get rid of Ethel ? dismiss her?" 
 
 " Let her stay here if she likes — but not to re- 
 tain her present position. That place is mine, 
 and I insist upon occupying it. Perhaps it will 
 be better to give Ethel a sum of money — — " 
 
 "Oh, we cannot deal with her in this man- 
 ner," said Lady Langport. " It would be most 
 ungenerous ! most unkind !" 
 
 " Well, but something must be done," said 
 Mildred. " I wish, my dear mother, you would . 
 leave the matter in my hands ?" 
 
 " 01), you will not speak harshly to Ethel ? , 
 you will not act with cruelty?" 
 
 " I will do nothing, my dear mother, that shall 
 in any way offend you. Best assured of this : 
 your happiness and comfort and peace of mind 
 shall now be my constant care." 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS", Oft, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 215 
 
 In this strain did Mildred continue to talk, 
 until her credulous mother became fully persuaded 
 that all the good qualities of her daughter had 
 been hitherto concealed, but were now rapidly 
 developing themselves. At length Lady Lang- 
 port said, " I leave the business all in your hands, 
 dearest Mildred: but remember that I should 
 never be happy again if any unkindness or 
 cruelty were shown towards Ethel." 
 
 " There shall be none," replied Mildred. " And 
 now, dear mother, good night. The first thing in 
 the morning I will be with you to commence my 
 ministrations." 
 
 Mildred then retired from the chamber ; and she 
 sought her own room with a triumphant smile 
 upon her eountenauce. 
 
 " I am glad that I have taken this step," she 
 said to herself. "It is wise to get rid of this 
 Ethel Trevor at once! She is evidently a dan- 
 gerous woman ; and already had she made herself 
 so necessary to my mother that it has required all 
 my powers of dissimulation to play the part which 
 I have just performed. Tes, yes ! my eyes could 
 not long remain closed to Ethel's designs ! She 
 would have prejudiced my mother against me — 
 she would have wormed herself deeper and deeper 
 into the old lady's confidence — she would have 
 doubtless got her to make a will in her favour ! 
 And after all it might have ended in my being 
 turned out of the house almost as suddenly as 
 I was introduced into it ! But still I must deal 
 cautiously with this Ethel. She is acquainted 
 with secrets which'she must not be permitted to 
 reveal; and therefore it will not be prudent to 
 come to any open rupture with her." 
 
 Mildred retired to rest ; but it was some time 
 before sleep visited her eyes, for she lay and cogi- 
 tated upon the course which she should adopt with 
 regard to Ethel. 
 
 As for Ethel herself, she sat down by the side 
 of her couch, after that outburst of emotion which 
 we have described, and she waited to see whether 
 the dressing-room door would be again unlocked, 
 and whether she would be summoned back into 
 Lady Langport's presence. Half-an-hour passed, 
 and still the door continued closed. An hour went 
 by, and Ethel felt assured that her services were 
 not required any more, at least for the present. 
 She tried the door — she found that it was still 
 locked : she disapparelled herself and got to bed. 
 But sleep was also slow in visiting her eyes ; and 
 she lay reflecting upon the incidents of the even- 
 ing. She saw that Mildred was her bitter enemy; 
 and it assuredly was not a struggle upon which 
 the amiable Ethel would willingly enter. She 
 therefore felt perfectly inclined to abandon the 
 ground to Mildred, if she could retreat without in- 
 curring any blame or reproach on the part of Lady 
 Langport herself. Indeed, her position had in the 
 space of a very few hours become well-nigh in- 
 tolerable. Lady Langport had asked her to go 
 and propagate amongst the servants the report 
 that a sister, instead of a daughter, had been 
 restored in the person of Mildred ; and though 
 she might have winked at the deceptive repre- 
 sentation or have tacitly forborne from contradict- 
 ing it, yet she could not bring herself deliberately 
 and coolly to give utterance to the lie. This cir- 
 cumstance alone would have induced Ethel to 
 seek any honourable pretext for leaving Lady 
 Langport ; and therefore, when all other motives 
 
 were superadded — when she reviewed all the in- 
 sults she had received on the part of Mildred, and 
 reflected upon everything that was bad, offensive, 
 and repulsive in Mildred's disposition and cha- 
 racter — she came to the conclusion that her 
 sojourn at Hendon Court would now be limited to 
 the shortest possible space. 
 
 But again she asked herself whither she should 
 go? She had not forgotten the splendid offer 
 made her by the Grand Duke : but she per- 
 ceived an insurmountable obstacle in the way of 
 her accepting it. The Russian Prince had spoken 
 explicitly of the necessity of testimonials : — what 
 testimonials could Ethel furnish? A deep gloom 
 fell upon her soul as she thought of the sad, the 
 hopeless, the forlorn position in which the fatal 
 love of the Duke of Ardleigh had placed her ! 
 
 Sleep at length stole upon her eyes ; and when 
 she awoke in the morning, at her usual hour, she 
 tried the door of communication with the dressing- 
 room — but she found it still locked. It was 
 however almost immediately opened after she had 
 turned the handle ; and Mildred made her ap- 
 pearance. To Ethel's suprise, Mildred was all 
 smiles and good humour, and she looked just as 
 if she had never harboured a jealous feeling or 
 spoken an angry word in reference to the young 
 lady. 
 
 "My dear Ethel," said Mildred, "my poor 
 mother is not very well this morning, and she is 
 going to lie in bed for another hour or two. It 
 shall be my task to minister unto her ; and there- 
 fore she dispenses with your services on the pre- 
 sent occasion. I hope there is no ill-will, my 
 dear Ethel, on your part on account of anything 
 that I may have said ?" 
 
 " Good heavens, no !" cried the amiable young 
 lady, for the moment thrown off her guard by the 
 seeming generosity of Mildred's conduct towards 
 her. 
 
 " Well, we shall see each other presently," said 
 Mildred, " and then I will tell you how my mother 
 is and when it will suit her to receive you." 
 
 Having thus spoken, Mildred bestowed several 
 smiles upon Ethel, and then retreated into the 
 dressing-room, the door of which she again locked. 
 It was only for a moment that Ethel was the 
 dupe of this hypocritical behaviour on Mildred's 
 part ; for a very brief interval of reflection enabled 
 the young lady to comprehend the game which 
 that deceitful creature was playing. 
 
 " By what she said to me last night," thought 
 Ethel to herself, " she fancies that I am in the 
 way, and she is seeking to get rid of me. Heaven 
 knows that I can no longer have any wish to re- 
 main beneath this roof!" 
 
 The nurse-maid now entered to take charge of 
 little Alfred, who was playing about in the bed : 
 and the young woman gave Ethel a letter which 
 had just arrived by that morning's post. It was 
 addressed to " Mrs. Trevor, Hendon Court ;" and 
 the seal, which was a very large one, was im- 
 pressed with the armorial bearings of some person 
 of rank. It is not however necessary that we 
 should at this moment state from whom the letter 
 came, nor what was the nature of its contents. 
 
216 
 
 THE YOUtfG EUCHKSS; OR, MEM0IK8 OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE CHAT IN THE PARK. 
 
 The scene again shifts to Thornbury, in Bucking- 
 hamshire. It was about the hour of noon ; and 
 on a bench beneath a tree in the park, two persons 
 were seated. One was a well-dressed, good-look- 
 ing man, whose age might be about thirty, and 
 who had the air of an upper servant. His com- 
 panion was a female, within a year or so of- the 
 same age : she was dressed with the utmost neat- 
 ness, and not without a certain pretension to ele- 
 gance. She possessed a handsome face, and her 
 figure was symmetrically proportioned. To be 
 brief, this female whom we are describing was 
 Miss Lavinia Glover, principal lady's-maid to her 
 Grace the Duchess of Ardleigh ; and her compa- 
 nion was a certain Edmund Vaughan, valet to the 
 Count de Mandeville. 
 
 The day was very sultry; and Lavinia had 
 taken off her bonnet, which she held dangling by 
 the ribbons beneath the grateful shade of that old 
 tree, the trunk of which was of a size which indi- 
 cated the growth of centuries. It was a secluded 
 part of the grounds which the valet and the lady's- 
 maid had thus sought : it was at a distance of 
 three-quarters of a mile from the mansion itself ; 
 and it was moreover evident from their looks that 
 they had wandered thither in order that they 
 might converse in perfect freedom from all con- 
 straint. 
 
 " This is pleasant," said the valet, looking up 
 at the wide umbrageous boughs, as he took off his 
 hat and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. 
 " I don't think a cigar would come amiss. You 
 don't object, my dear Lavinia, I know:" — and 
 pulling forth his case, he lighted a cigar accord- 
 ingly. " So you say that your mistress ques- 
 tioned you the other evening V" 
 
 " Yes. It was after her Grace returned from 
 Lady Todmorden's party," replied Lavinia, " nearly 
 a week ago." 
 
 "And what was it that she said?" asked Ed- 
 mund Vaughan. " Tell me exactly, Lavinia, 
 there's a dear creature." 
 
 " First of all her Grace threw herself into an 
 arm-chair in her boudoir," said Lavinia : " then 
 she looked at me very hard — and I feared there 
 was something wrong, though I kept my counte- 
 nance admirably." 
 
 "Ah, that was right!" exclaimed the valet. 
 " But you and I, Lavinia, are rather too expe- 
 rienced to lose our countenance in a hurry. We 
 are people of the world : we understand how to 
 hide our emotions as well as our betters. Ha ! 
 ha ! our masters and mistresses think, forsooth ! 
 that we shall not profit by the examples which 
 they themselves set us ! But go on, Lavinia. 
 You were telling me that the Duchess looked at 
 you very hard " 
 
 "Yes, for upwards of a minute," rejoined the 
 lady's-maid ; " and then she said in an abrupt sort 
 of way, as if she thought that she would take 
 me aback if I was really guilty, — she said, ' Is it 
 possible, Lavinia, that you have gone and whis- 
 pered anything about me to a living ssul?' " 
 
 " And what did you do ?" asked Edmund. 
 
 "Do?" tried Lavinia. "I fired up at once. 
 
 First of all I pretended to be indignant— then I 
 showed that I was hurt " 
 
 "Capital, my dear! capital!" exclaimed the 
 valet. " Nothing better than pretending to ba 
 wounded in the feelings. It seems to show de- 
 votedness." 
 
 "Well, the Duchess was convinced'; and when 
 she had begged my pardon — which she did 
 do " 
 
 " To be sure," said Edmund, laughing : " that 
 was quite right. Well, what followed ?" 
 
 " She said it was very extraor/linary — she had 
 fallen in with some one who had spoken to her 
 about matters which she thought wero involved in 
 the profoundest secrecy— but she did not enter 
 into any further details, and of course I did not 
 like to question her." 
 
 " But at all events you are "sure," said the valet, 
 "that the Duchess does not now entertain the 
 slightest suspicion that you have betrayed her ?" 
 
 " I am convinced she does not," answered La- 
 vinia. 
 
 " Well, my dear," pursued the valet, " is there 
 anything more that you can tell me ?" 
 
 "Nothing nothing, at least, that I remem- 
 ber," responded the lady's-maid in a musing tone. 
 "Let me see? I told you about the tank of 
 water, and how that wretched man Sir Abel King- 
 ston narrowly escaped " 
 
 " A good ducking ? Yes, yes — yon told me all 
 about that. And likewise," continued Edmund 
 Vaughanj " about her Grace's trip in male apparel 
 — and how nicely she baffled the scheme Of the 
 fellow Gaffney " 
 
 " And did your master make use of all this in- 
 formation, think you ?" inquired Lavinia. 
 
 " I believe so. At all events I recapitulated 
 to the Count everything you told me ; and he is 
 not the man to fail in giving the fullest effect to 
 whatsoever information may suit his purposes." 
 
 " Of course, Edmund," said Lavinia, " one must 
 look after one's own interests in this world ; and 
 therefore, though I am really sorry to betray the 
 poor Duche:s — who is very kind and good to 
 me " 
 
 " Now no scruples, my dear Lavinia — and no 
 nonsensical punctilios ?" interrupted Vaughan. 
 " No harm will happen to the Duchess : but, on 
 the contrary " 
 
 " On the contrary ?" said Lavinia, inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Why, yes," rejoined the valet : " she will get 
 a new lover instead of the one she has lost." 
 
 "Sir Abel Kingston was never her lover in 
 reality," said Lavinia : " I mean that she never 
 went to the extreme. She was foolish, but timid 
 and hesitating. In fact, I suppose she dreaded 
 to commit herself irreparably——" 
 
 " Depend upon it," interjected Vaughan, " she 
 will not play the coquette long with the Count. 
 He is a man who conquers off-hand." 
 
 "And now do tell me, Edmund, — who is this 
 Count Mandeville ?" asked Lavinia. 
 
 "Why, Count Mandeville?" and the valet" 
 laughed slyly. 
 
 " I dare say he is, if he choose to call him- 
 self so," said Lavinia : " but you have already 
 suffered me to understand he is a mere ad- 
 venturer. Now you ought to tell me every- 
 thing ; and if you do not," she added, pout- 
 ing her lips, " I will not tell you another thing 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 217 
 
 No. 28. — The Young Duchess. 
 
218 
 
 THE YOUNG LUGHESS ; OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY Off QUALITY. 
 
 that 1 may happen to know. There must be 
 mutual confidence — — " 
 
 " So there is, my dear Lavinia," said Vauglian, 
 with a smile. "Have I not told you all I 
 know •/" 
 
 " You told me that the very first day you 
 entered the Count's service " 
 
 " Yes — three weeks ago," interjected the valet. 
 
 " Well," continued Lavinia, " the Count told 
 you frankly at once that he wanted something 
 more than a mere body-servant — he required a 
 person of confidence " 
 
 " True, my dear. I suppose my master came 
 to an understanding with me just as your mis- 
 tress has taken you into her confidence Only 
 
 the Count did it, all in a moment— while the 
 Duchess was merely led on by degrees to let you 
 obtain an insight into her proceedings." , 
 
 "But is your Count Mandeville a real Count?" 
 asked Lavinia. 
 
 " He calls himself so : but on the Continent 
 any one may take a title, and of course may 
 bring it to England with them. There is no 
 French Peerage to prove that Count Mandeville 
 is not a Count. But frankly speaking, my dear 
 Lavinia, I believe him to be just as much a Count 
 as I am, and no more. In fact, I do not think he 
 is a Frenchman at all." 
 
 " Not a Frenchman ?" cried Lavinia. " Now 
 you do indeed surprise me !" 
 
 "Well, it is my opinion he is an Englishman," 
 pursued Vaughan, gradually getting more and 
 more confidential. " No doubt he speaks French 
 to perfection " 
 
 " And what do you think his plans are?" in- 
 quired Lavinia. 
 
 " So far as I can judge," responded Vaughan, 
 " he means to play the same part which all ad- 
 venturers are ever anxious to accomplish. His 
 grand aim is no doubt to marry an English 
 heiress." 
 
 " But why should he endeavour to acquire this 
 power over the Duchess ?" 
 
 " Oh, most innocent and ingenuous of all 
 lady's-maids !" cried Edmund Vaughan, laughing. 
 " Cannot you understand, in the first place, how a 
 man may easily become enamoured of a beautiful 
 woman such as the Duchess " 
 
 "Ah, yes! But " 
 
 "Well/' continued the valet, "<and then the 
 Count — for such will we call him — no doubt cal- 
 culated that the countenance, the patronage — the 
 protection, bo to speak — of a lady of the highest 
 rank, and who is one of the leading stars of 
 fashion, must prove vastly advantageous to him. 
 A bold, daring, dashing adventurer, my dear 
 Lavinia, always studies eclat. You know what I 
 mean ?" 
 
 " But how happens it that some highly respect- 
 able stockbroker in the City," asked Lavinia, 
 " has given it out that, the Count is immensely 
 rich ?" 
 
 "That is the point that puzzles me," replied 
 Vaughan. " In fact, my dear Lavinia, there are 
 several things in connexion with my master that 
 I cannot make out. We have just alluded to one 
 of them ; and it certainly is a fact that there is 
 no want of money on the Count's part — as the 
 fifty guineas which I had the pleasure of handing 
 you just now may perhaps serve in a trifling way 
 to prove. And then too, I know that the Count 
 
 is intimately acquainted with the French Ambas- 
 sador ; for his Excellency has called three times 
 at the Clarendon Hotel, and been closeted with 
 my master for hours together." 
 
 " Well, this is strange," said Lavinia. "How 
 know you that the Count is a mere adventurer 
 after all?" 
 
 "Because it ia impossible for a shrewd fellow 
 like me," answered Vaughan, " to help seeing 
 more or less through the designs of a person, 
 when that person comes as it were to a prompt 
 and immediate understanding — requires special 
 thing3 to be done — bribes heavily " 
 
 "Ah, true!" said Lavinia: "he must be an 
 adventurer." 
 
 " But no matter to us, my dear," interjected 
 Vaughan ; • "for as things now go on, we shall 
 soon be in possession of the thousand pounds each 
 which we vowed to make before we committed 
 ourselves to matrimony. So what with my Count 
 Mandeville and your Duchess of Ardleigh, I think 
 we are both pretty near the mark, Lavinia. Let 
 me see ? The fifty I just now gave you, makes 
 you up seven hundred and eighty pounds ster- 
 ling " 
 
 " And you, Edmund, are in advance of me," 
 replied Lavinia ; "for I think you told me you 
 were up to eight hundred. But then your Count 
 has been more liberal to you in three weeks than 
 the Duchess has been to me in three years." 
 
 "Not quite so disproportionate as that," said 
 Vaughan. " But as I was just now observing, or 
 about to observe — the - greater the intrigues and 
 the more numerous the schemes of this Mande- 
 ville, the better for us. So whatever we may 
 think about my master — whether Count or no 
 Count — Frenchman or Englishman — honest man 
 or rogue — we are not going to let the world be 
 any the wiser on the subject. Depend upon it, 
 whatever the Count's secrets may continue to be, 
 we shall be well paid for keeping them." 
 
 " No doubt, Edmund," replied Lavinia ; " and 
 of course it is our duty to study our own interests. 
 But, Ah ! when I think of it, you never told me 
 how it was that the Count knew of your being 
 able to learn any particulars concerning the 
 Duchess of Ardleigh." 
 
 " Indeed ?" eried Vaughan ; " did I not tell 
 you? Oh, it was simple enough. You know 
 what the Count said to me on the very first day 
 that I entered his service " 
 
 "Tell me again," said Lavinia. "It is very 
 amusing, and also instructive : it must be so emi- 
 nently characteristic of the man !" 
 
 Vaughan laughed, and proceeded to light an- 
 other cigar, — having done which, he resumed the 
 discourse in the following manner : — 
 
 " I was recommended, you know, by the master 
 of the Clarendon to Count Mandeville. I told 
 him that I had recently left the service of the 
 Earl of Derwent ; and he demanded the reason. I 
 told him frankly that it was because the wages 
 were low, the Earl was mean, and there were no 
 perquisites. He told me to return on the morrow. 
 I did. He bade me shut the door and listen 
 to him. — ' Edmund Vaughan,' said he, ' I have 
 called upon the Earl of Derwent, and I find 
 that you left lis service in order to better your- 
 self, as it is termed. Well, then, you told me 
 the truth ; and you shall better yourself with 
 me. I will give you, the wages that you 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 210 
 
 have asked : inBtead of being mean, I am gene- 
 rous : and as for perquisites, you shall have them 
 by pockets' full. But they will be in the shape of 
 bribes. Yes, bribes for secret service. You are 
 to be a sort of diplomatic valet, — not a mere vul- 
 gar body-servant. Your post will become a con- 
 fidential one ; and that is the reason why I set 
 out by promising it shall prove lucrative. Under- 
 stand me, man ! I have hired you because I am 
 a physiognomisj; : I see that you are intelligent, 
 shrewd, astute, and I will add selfish. ' Well, be 
 as selfish as possible ; and depend upon it that 
 if you make my interests your own, or calculate 
 how you may serve your's by forwarding mine, 
 you will quickly amass gold. Now, Edmund 
 Vaughan, do we understand each other ?' — And I 
 boldly answered, 'We do.' — Thus the compact 
 was at once made, and I entered then and there 
 into the service of the Count de Mandeville." 
 
 "What a strange person he must be!" said 
 Lavinia. " It must be » real pleasure to be in 
 the service of such a gentleman — at least when 
 one's in his confidence." 
 
 " Ah ! but you may rest assured, my dear La- 
 vinia," rejoined the valet, " that the Count does 
 not intend anybody to be in his confidence any 
 more than is absolutely necessary. He is a 
 thorough man of the world — wide awake — up to 
 snuff, and all that sort of thing. However, I can 
 make myself sufficiently useful to answer all his 
 purposes ; and he is of an undoubted liberality, 
 which will answer mine." 
 
 " But you have not yet told me," said Lavinia, 
 <( how it was the Count learnt that you were in a 
 position to obtain particular information in refe- 
 rence to the Duchess of Ardleigh ?" 
 
 " Ah, I was coming to that point," said Vaughan. 
 " You must know, my dear Lavinia, that the very 
 moment I entered the service of the Count, he 
 began to treat me as if I had been for years in 
 that position — so far, I mean, as the off-hand 
 kindness and condescension of his manner were 
 concerned ; and yet I must tell you that he knows 
 how to keep his inferiors at a respectful distance. 
 "Well, he began by giving me certain commissions 
 to execute at once. There were particular persons 
 concerning whom he required all the information 
 he might possibly be enabled to obtain; and 
 amongst them was the Duchess of Ardleigh. ' Oh,' 
 said I at once, ' here is a point on which I shall 
 be enabled to acquit myself in a highly satisfac- 
 tory manner.' — 'How so?' inquired the Count. — 
 ' I happen to be engaged,' I answered, ' to a cer- 
 tain handsome and interesting person, called Miss 
 Lavinia Glover, who holds the post of principal 
 lady's-maid to ber Grace.' " 
 
 " You surely did not speak of me, Edmund," 
 (aid Lavinia, with a sly smile, " in that flippant 
 manner?" 
 
 " Flippant indeed !" ejaculated the valet, " I 
 gave you epithets which prove my appreciation of 
 your good qualities;" — and by way perhaps of 
 still farther indicating the same, Mr. Edmund 
 Vaughan now regaled himself with a kiss upon 
 the lips of Miss Lavinia Glover. 
 
 "And you really think," said Lavinia, when 
 she had smoothed her hair which was rather dis- 
 ordered by the process, — '* you really think that 
 the Count will become the lover of the Duchess ?" 
 ■ "There is scarcely any thinking about it," re- 
 plied lidmund. "As*I said just now, the Count 
 
 will not submit to any idle coquetry, however Sir 
 Abel Kingston may have chosen to put up with 
 it." 
 
 " Ah, it was a shocking thing, Sir Abel's down- 
 fall and sudden death !" said Lavinia. " Do you 
 really think he died of disease of the heart, or 
 that he poisoned himself? By the bye, you know 
 his valet very well — do you not ?" 
 
 " I have known Luke Parkins for years," re-' 
 plied Edmund. "I met hiin yesterday, and he 
 was telling me about his master's death and the 
 Inquest." 
 
 "The newspapers said that there was some dis- 
 graceful scene at the Inquest," observed Lavinia. 
 "Was it so?" 
 
 " Well, "it was not altogether the most reputable 
 affair in the world," replied Vaughan. "Luke 
 Parkins told me so. He was very indig- 
 nant " 
 
 "And what particulars did he give you?" 
 
 " Oh, little more than you already know, since 
 you have read the account in the papers. Let 
 me see! — this is the 30th of the month — is it 
 not ? Well, it was in the evening of the 26th that 
 Sir Abel was found lying dead upon the floor in 
 the ward where he herded with other prisoners who 
 were also committed to trial for felonies. Luke 
 Parkins happened to call to inquire after his mas- 
 ter's health, or else to deliver some little parcel — 
 I forget which — when he was told by the turnkey 
 that Sir Abel had just been picked up stone dead 
 in the ward. Luke at once declared that it must 
 have been through disease of the heart, which he 
 knew that his master had, though Sir Abel was 
 wont to keep -the thing ' secret, for he was very 
 touchy on the point. Well, the prison-surgeon, 
 who had been hastily sent for, arrived at the mo- 
 ment, and learnt what Luke Parkins had said. 
 So of course the thing was all clear enough": 
 there was no more to be done but just hold an 
 Inquest for form's sake. And a. notice was at 
 once sent to the Coroner, who issued his warrant 
 or summons, or whatever it's called, to' hold the 
 inquiry at noon on the following day. Now, an 
 Inquest in Newgate generally consists of some of 
 the tradesmen living in the neighbourhood ; and 
 a precious low set it seems that they are in the 
 Old Bailey^-chiefly keepers of coffee-shops and 
 slap-bangs " 
 
 "What?" asked Lavinia ; for it was impossible 
 that the lady's-maid of a Duchess could under- 
 stand the meaning of anything so vulgar. 
 
 " Slap-bangs, my dear — a very low kind of 
 eating house," explained her intended, as be 
 whiffed his cigar. " Well, at the appointed hour 
 the jury assembled at the gaol ; and when they 
 were sworn, the Coroner found that several of 
 them were more than half-drunk " 
 
 " How disgraceful !" ejaculated Lavinia. 
 
 "So the Coroner thought, rhy dear : — and he 
 was going to kick up a row and fine the fellows, 
 and swear in more respectable people in their 
 place. But the Governor said something about 
 creating a. scandal— the surgeon was in a deuce 
 of a hurry — and so, as it was all a mere matter of 
 form, the Coroner let the business proceed. Luke 
 Parkins gave his evidence, which was quite suffi- 
 cient to prove how his deceased master had come 
 by hia death — the Coroner summed up, for a 
 couple of mimites — the jury returned their verdict 
 in half a one — and by a quarter to twelve tha 
 
220 
 
 , „. ■- r- . ■ 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIES OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 whole proceeding was over. I can assure you 
 Luke Parkins was quite indignant about it : he 
 told me that never in all his life had he beheld 
 such a disgraceful scene." 
 
 " And did none Of Sir Abel's relations or friends 
 come forward on the occasion ?" asked Lavinia. . 
 
 " Not a soul. But didn't you read in the 
 newspaper that he had no near relations, and that 
 the Baronetcy is therefore extinct !" 
 
 " To be sure ! I remember !" said Lavinia. 
 " Ah, the unhappy man ! to have died in such a 
 manner and in such a place, without a relative or 
 friend in the world to mourn for him ! I suppose 
 he had a pauper's funeral ?" 
 
 "No, no — not so bad as that," responded 
 Vaughan. " With all his faults he had been a 
 pretty good master to his valet Luke ; and you 
 must know that Luke is a generous-hearted fellow. 
 So he begged that he might be permitted to ac- 
 complish the last mournful duty " 
 
 " I understand," said Lavinia : " he begged 
 that his master's corpse might be given up to him 
 to be decently interred. "Was that it ?" 
 
 "Exactly," rejoined Vaughan ; "and the funeral 
 —which as a matter of course, is to be quite 
 simple and private — takes place this afternoon." 
 
 " Well," said Lavinia, " it is most generous on 
 the part of your friend Luke. But this portion of 
 the narrative was not in the newspapers ?" 
 
 "No," said "Vaughan. "Luke's application 
 was a private one, and there was no ceremony 
 about the business." 
 
 After a little more conversation the valet and 
 the lady's-maid rose from their seat under the 
 branches of the huge oak, and began to retrace 
 their way towards the mansion. When a path 
 was reached which led to the adjacent village, 
 Edmund bade Lavinia farewell, inasmuch as the 
 requirements of his situation in Count Mande- 
 ville's service rendered it necessary that he should 
 get back by the earliest means of conveyance to 
 the metropolis. 
 
 Lavinia pursued her way to the mansion, which 
 she reached in time to join the upper servants at 
 the dinner-table in the housekeeper's room ; and 
 then, having made some change in her toilet, she 
 proceeded to the boudoir of her mistress. Not for 
 the world would she make the slightest allusion 
 to Edmund Vaughan, nor suffer her mistress to 
 entertain a smspicion that she had any acquaint- 
 ance with the valet of Count MandeviUe. She 
 had asked permission to go out for a walk with a 
 female friend for an hour or two ; and the Duchess 
 entertained not the remotest conception that she 
 was being betrayed in any of her proceedings by 
 the maid in whom she placed such confidence. 
 
 " Dear me !" cried the Duchess, raising her eyes 
 towards the time-piece which stood upon the 
 mantel, as Lavinia entered the boudoir, "half- 
 past two o'clock ! I had not an idea that it was so 
 late!" 
 
 "Luncheon has just been served up, may it 
 please your Grace," said Lavinia. 
 
 " I do not care for it," said the Duchess. " Go 
 and fetch me a biscuit, or some slight refreshment, 
 which I may partake of here. You know the 
 carriage is ordered for three o'clock ?" 
 
 "Ah, true!" said Lavinia: "your Grace re- 
 turns to town presently." 
 
 "Have you forgotten," cried the Duchess, "that 
 Lady Todmorden's grand fancy-dress ball takes 
 
 place this evening ? — and — and I faithfully pro 
 mised — 1 mean to say " — and it was with a blush 
 she corrected herself — ■*' that as all the fashionable 
 world is to be there, it would not do for me ti 
 be absent." 
 
 " Oh, certainly not, my lady," rejoined Lavinia: 
 and she then quitted the boudoir to procure some 
 refreshment for her ducal mistress. 
 
 The Duchess had promised to be at the mas- 
 querade ; and that promise was given to Count 
 Mandeville, when he called upon her at Ardleigh 
 House on the morning after their first introduc- 
 tion at Lady Todmorden's ball. Was it will- 
 ingly that the Duchess now prepared to redeem 
 that promise ? was she anxious to meet Mande- 
 ville again ? We cannot say that she had either 
 a strong inclination or repugnance on the point ; 
 she herself had scarcely analysed her own feel- 
 ings. There was something irresistibly attrac- 
 tive in the man on the one hand : but on the 
 other, she experienced a mysterious dread of him. 
 She could not possibly conceive how he had be- 
 come acquainted with certain secrets that so inti- 
 mately regarded her. But as for any indignation 
 which she might have at first experienced to- 
 wards him for his coercive use of the power which 
 he had so unaccountably acquired over her, to 
 compel her to dance with him at the ball, — it had 
 given way to the spell-like fascination which the 
 Count exercised over all, or at least nearly all, 
 who came within the sphere of his influence. 
 
 It was in an uncertain, and therefore in more 
 or less an agitated state of mind in reference to 
 what she really felt towards the Count, that the 
 young Duchess took her seat in the travelling- 
 carriage and returned to London. The Duke, 
 who was at Ardleigh House, received her with a 
 proper display of affection in the presence of the 
 domestics ; and this was succeeded by the most 
 perfect friendliness when they were alone toge- 
 ther. We should observe that the Duchess had 
 quitted town on the same morning on which she 
 had penned the letter which she had given to her 
 husband for Imogen Hartland ; and she was yet • 
 ignorant of the result of the business for which 
 that letter was intended as a suitable introduction. 
 
 "What news have you for me, Mary?" in- 
 quired the Duke. 
 
 "Nothing particular, Herbert. Your poor 
 mother is well, as usual : no change either for the 
 better or the worse takes place in her." 
 
 " Ah, my poor mother ! I cannot bear to see 
 the wreck which she has become ! But you, 
 Mary," added the young Duke fervently, " are 
 very, very kind towards her I" 
 
 " I am not altogether unmindful of my duties," 
 replied the Duchess hastily. " Your young 
 brothers and sisters are quite well. I have passed 
 three happy days with them; and — and — I 
 almost regret having left Thornbury to come up 
 to London merely for this ball." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure you will not regret it," ex- 
 claimed the Duke ; " for everybody says it is to 
 be a splendid affair. Lady Todmorden is launch- 
 ing out, I suppose. The truth is, she is making 
 desperate efforts to get off one of those three 
 daughters of her's." 
 
 " Are you going to-night, Herbert?" 
 
 " I ? Oh, no ! I have no taste ibr such 
 scenes :" — and he averted his countenance for a 
 moment. 
 
" My poor Herbert," said the Duchess, ap- 
 proaching him gently, laying her beautiful hand 
 softly upon his arm, and looking up with compas- 
 sionating interest into his countenance, " you are 
 still grieving for your Ethel ? You cannot forget 
 her? — you never will forget her 1" 
 
 " Never, Mary — never," rejoined the Duke, in 
 a low deep voice, but with a strong emphasis. " Ah, 
 is it not very wrong on my part to speak to you 
 thus of one who — who can be in your eyes naught 
 but my mistress !" 
 
 " Herbert," interrupted the Duchess, " we have 
 sympathies between us which permit us to con- 
 verse on such topics." 
 
 " Yes, Mary," cried the Duke : " for I have seen 
 your child," he added, his voice instantaneously 
 sinking to the lowest possible whisper ; " and as 
 I gazed upon that little girl of transcending in- 
 fantile loveliness, I thought of my own child — 
 my poor little Alfred, who as well as your's can 
 never know a father's care nor bear a father's 
 name !" 
 
 There was a pause, during which that husband 
 and that wife — so singularly placed with regard 
 to each other — were busy with their reflections ; 
 and then the Duchess said in a gentle voice, 
 "And so you have visited Imogen Hartland?" 
 
 " Yes : and after much difficulty I succeeded 
 in inducing her to accept the sum. As for your 
 secret, Mary — it is as safe as if it had never been 
 confided to any one at all !" 
 
 "A thousand thanks, Herbert, for this that you 
 have done for me !" said the Duchess. " I now 
 owe you a good turn. Would to heaven that I 
 could accomplish it ! I need not ask," she said, 
 after another brief pause, " whether you have 
 obtained the slightest clue to your Ethel ? I fear 
 that you have not." 
 
 " No," was the mournfully given answer. 
 
 " Would to heaven that I could find her for 
 thee !" exclaimed the Duchess. " I would do it ! 
 —Oh, I would do it ! Doubt me not, I beseech 
 yon !" 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried the young Duke, " how 
 singular — how anomalous — how unnatural is our 
 
 position ! We, husband and wife But enough 
 
 of tliis !" he abruptly checked himself. " Come, 
 Mary," he continued, with a forced gaiety ; "let 
 us turn to a blither topic. We will speak of this 
 masked ball. Of course you are going in cos- 
 tume ? May I inquire " 
 
 "Oh, certainly!" ejaculated the Duchess, at 
 once comprehending the nature of the question 
 which her husband was about to put. " You shall 
 see me presently when I am attired in my cos- 
 tume ; and you shall tell me what you think of it. 
 
 It is a page's fancy dress In a word, I am 
 
 going to play the part of a Page of the time of 
 Queen Elizabeth." 
 
 " If the costume be arranged, Mary, according 
 to your usual good taste," said the Duke, " it will 
 assuredly become you well." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE MASQUERADE. 
 
 At about half-past nine o'clock in the evening, 
 the Duke of Ardleigh received an intimation, de 
 
 livered through the medium of Lavinia, to the 
 effect that he might repair to his wife's dressing- 
 room in order to see her in her fancy dress. 
 Thither the young Duke went accordingly ; and 
 as he beheld his Duchess standing before a Psyche, 
 which reflected her entire form, as she adjusted 
 her plumed cap, he was struck — almost dazzled — 
 by her appearance. He thought he had never 
 seen her look so handsome ! Her light brown hair 
 clustered in numerous tresses upon her shoulders 
 of ivory whiteness; and the costume was well 
 calculated to display the symmetry of her shape. 
 The doublet or jacket was beautifully embroidered, 
 and the collar was of the costliest lace which the 
 Low Countries could supply. From the loose 
 hanging sleeves appeared the arms so admirably 
 modelled, so plump, so firm, and so white. The 
 trunk-hose were gathered in a little above the 
 knees ; and thence to the feet the well-rounded 
 proportions of the limbs were defined by the tight- 
 fitting stockings. The dress made the Duchess 
 look taller than she actually was; and as she 
 turned and smiled upon her husband, the pearly 
 teeth shining betwixt the moist coral of the lips, 
 it seemed to him that he could have thrown him- 
 self into her arms if she had extended them to 
 receive him. 
 
 But this feeling lasted only for a moment. He 
 thought of Ethel — and the* the beauty of hU 
 brilliant Duchess was thrown suddenly into the 
 shade. Nevertheless he complimented her upon 
 the elegance of her toilet, the taste with which 
 she had chosen it, as well as the grace with which 
 she wore it. But he did not speak the exact 
 truth — or at least he did not give expression to 
 all that was floating in his mind at the moment. 
 For it occurred to him that perhaps, after all, such 
 a costume might not be perfectly consistent with 
 her rank and position ; and this thought rapidly 
 growing upon him, led him on to the reflection 
 whether there were not even something mere- 
 tricious in the very toilet which he had but a mi- 
 nute back been eulogizing as so consistent with an 
 elegant taste ? But at this instant Lavinia came 
 to announce that the carriage was in readiness : 
 the Duchess adjusted her mask upon her counte- 
 nance ; and the Duke conducted her down stairs. 
 Should he whisper in her ear the idea which struck 
 him, to the effect that it was possible after all 
 that her toilet might be open to objection ? But 
 no ! it was too late — she had chosen the costume 
 —he himself had approved of it — and she must 
 now wear it. 
 
 " Besides," he thought to himself, as he beheld 
 the equipage whirling her away from the portico 
 of Ardleigh House, " one of her rank may do 
 things which women of an inferior standing would 
 not dare even to think of. Indeed, the very 
 vagaries and eccentricities of great personages 
 become fashionable and find thousands of imi- 
 tators." 
 
 Meanwhile the ducal equipage was speeding to- 
 wards its destination ; and in a few minutes it 
 rolled np to the front of Todmorden House in 
 Piccadilly. When the Duchess entered the 
 brilliantly-lighted saloons, she found them 
 already crowded jrith company exhibiting all the 
 fantastic varieties of costume which are usually 
 displayed on such an occasion. We need not 
 pause for any length of time to describe a scene 
 which in itself is not novel to our readers, and 
 
222 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS: OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 which indeed we only introduce on the present 
 occasion on account of the incidents that occurred 
 there, they being inseparable from the continuous 
 thread of our narrative. Suffice it therefore to 
 say in reference to the masquerade itself, that the 
 dresses were as oostly in their materials as they 
 were varied in character, and that the elite of the 
 aristocracy were gathered there under the guises 
 of heathen deities, priests, Spaniards, shep- 
 perdesses, Bohemians, warriors, monarchs, pil- 
 grims, courtiers, Crusaders, troubadours, Turks, 
 brigands, nymphs, dryads, Bedouins, sultanas, 
 Virginian planters, veiled Circassian slaves, 
 Hamlets and Macbeths, Juliets and Ophelias, — 
 in short, it would be impossible to enumerate the 
 varieties of personifications which were assembled 
 in the -brilliantly-lighted saloons of Todmorden 
 House 
 
 The most spacious apartment was fitted up 
 with a row of boxes on each side, after the fashion 
 of a theatre, and these boxes were for the accom- 
 modation of those guests who either being too old 
 or too sedate to wear fancy costumes, might 
 nevertheless feel pleasure in gazing upon the 
 scene that was passing before them. Thus that 
 large saloon had to a certain extent the appear- 
 ance of a small theatre the pit of which is boarded 
 over for the purposes of dancing. It was this 
 effect also which the arrangement was intended to 
 produce ; but contrary to Lady Todmorden's cal- 
 culation, very few persons chose to avail them- 
 selves of the boxes, for nearly all had come in a 
 fancy-costume of some kind or another, or else 
 in dominos. There was a splendid band in at- 
 tendance ; no expense had been spared to give 
 eclat to the entire proceeding, and altogether this 
 was the most brilliant entertainment which had 
 ever taken place at Todmorden House. 
 
 As a matter of course the utmost hilaritj' pre- 
 vailed : but still there was nothing uproarious or 
 boisterous — there was u. visible and appreciable 
 gloss of good-breeding over all. The badinage 
 and the repartee were refined and exquisite : jests 
 innumerable circulated, but without the slightest 
 tinge of coarseness. Yet on the other hand, all 
 ceremonial stiffness was banished — there was no 
 unnecessary reserve nor cold formality, nor any 
 unpleasant restraint upon the gaiety of the scene. 
 So much for the outward appearance thereof. 
 But Ah ! who can tell how the opportunity served 
 for avowals to be boldly made and attentively 
 listened to ? — avowals which perhaps would have 
 been otherwise long postponed or never made at 
 all! 
 
 And as the masks concealed blushes, in the 
 same way that the disguises concealed the iden- 
 tity of the individuals from the general know- 
 ledge, it followed that young wives averted not 
 their countenances when listening to the language 
 of illicit love and audacious hope which young 
 men who were not their husbands dared' to. 
 breathe in their ears. 
 
 But let us quit the general description and pro- 
 ceed to the incidents which we have to relate. 
 The young Duchess soon attracted universal at- 
 tention. The richness and elegance of her cos- 
 tume first riveted the regards, which were then 
 still further attracted by the malchless symmetry 
 Of the shape which that fancy dress set off. The 
 snowy plume waved with such grace from the 
 cap which rested with such airy lightness upon 
 
 that beautifully-shaped head:- the light brown 
 hair shone with so rich a gloss as it flowed in 
 tresses upon shoulders of alabaster whiteness ; — 
 eyes of so lovely a blue looked through the holes 
 of the mask, which also left a most delicious 
 mouth entirely revealed. But still, as all the 
 upper part of the countenance was hidden, it was 
 by no means easy for even the most penetrating 
 observer to discover who the lady was that wore 
 so gracefully the dress of a Page of the Eliza- 
 bethan period. 
 
 Presently a Troubadour, whose costume had 
 been creating almost as great a sensation as that 
 of the Duchess herself, gradually made his way 
 towards her Grace, and whispered, "I know you." 
 
 And on her side the Duchess instantaneously 
 knew who the Troubadour was, — riot by any 
 glimpse which she obtained of his features, nor 
 by the symmetry of his shape, nor by his gait 
 nor his gestures ; for all these were concealed or 
 disguised : — nor yet from his voice, for it was in 
 a whisper that he had spoken : but it was from an 
 intuitive knowledge that this was he whom she 
 had promised as it were to meet at that masque- 
 rade. She trembled for a moment ; for she felt 
 as if the man whom she thus met exercised some 
 mysterious power over her own destiny. But 
 conquering this superstitious feeling — or rather, 
 we should say, suddenly falling back upon the 
 characteristic gaiety and enjoyment of the scene, 
 she said in'a disguised voice, "You think that 
 you know me, -Sir Troubadour? But perchance 
 you are mistaken. Name me — but only softly in 
 my ear ; and say whose page I am." 
 
 " I know you, beauteous lad}', 1 ' replied the 
 Troubadour, still speaking in a cautious whisper, 
 for masques were passing and repassing thom in 
 all directions : "I know you by that 'elegance of 
 carriage mingled with dignity of gait which so 
 completely belongs to the brilliant Duchess that 
 she cannot even forifet her sex or her rank "while 
 undertaking to play the part of a dashing reck- 
 less young page. Ah, lady ! if every one beheld 
 you with the same eyes as myself, you would 
 vainly endeavour to conceal your identity beneath 
 that garb — but everybody would know who it is 
 that is thus apparelled. You are silent ! Perhaps 
 you think my discourse too bold ? or perhaps you 
 marvel with what eyes I dare to contemplate 
 you ? That every one surveys you with admira- 
 tion, I need not say : but I may venture to ob- 
 serve that a more tender sentiment can blend with 
 that of admiration. May not the Troubadour 
 speak of love ? It is the theme of which he most 
 likes to sing j and Ah, lady ! it is love which 
 gives keenness to the vision, and which, even if the 
 eyes themselves were shut, would warn the heart 
 by the magnetism of some unkown sympathy that 
 the beloved object is near." 
 
 " That you know who I am, I feel convinced," 
 said the Duchess, laughing, and no longer attempt- 
 ing to conceal her voice.: " but I really am at a 
 loss to know whether you are remaining faithful 
 to y6ur assumed character when availing yourself 
 of the privilege it gives you to address me in this 
 strain : or whether " 
 
 " Whether it be Hippolyte Mandeville address- 
 ing the Duchess of Ardleigh ?" added the Count 
 in a whisper so low that it was impossible for 
 those who were passing at the time to catch what 
 he said. . 
 
±HE TOCSO DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIES Ol? A LADY OS QUALITY. 
 
 228 
 
 The Duchess remained silent. Mandeville saw 
 that the lower part qf her countenance was suf- 
 fused with a sudden flush, which instantaneously 
 vanishing, left it pale in contrast with the black 
 mask. 
 
 " I asked you to be here to-night — and you 
 said that you would," he continued. "The pro- 
 mise itself seemed to indicate that I might ven- 
 ture to hope that I am not altogether an object 
 of indifference. I beseech your Grace to permit 
 me to lead you aside — to one of those empty 
 boxes yonder — where we may converse without 
 restraint for a few minutes." 
 
 Though the words were in the sense of an en- 
 treaty, yet the tone in which they were uttered 
 had the slightest tincture of a command — not 
 rudely so — nor imperiously coercive — but just 
 sufficiently marked to indicate a consciousness of 
 some power which the speaker wielded over his 
 fair listener. The Duchess said not a word : but 
 she took Mandeville's arm, and he felt her hand 
 tremble as it rested lightly upon him for sup- 
 port. 
 
 They entered one of the boxes to which we 
 have before alluded, and which were fitted up 
 commodiously and handsomely, with cushions 
 and draperies. 
 
 " It is indeed very kind of Lady Todmorden," 
 said Mandeville, as he handed the Duchess to a 
 seat and placed himself by her side, " to furnish 
 such excellent accommodation. After pulling her 
 rooms to pieces, spoiling her paint and her paper, 
 and going to this vast expense, it would be a 
 source of annoyance indeed if she did not manage 
 to. get off one of her daughters." 
 
 " Perhaps you., Count," said the Duchess, half 
 gaily and half timidly, " mean to take compas- 
 sion upon one of them and produce a sensation 
 in the fashionable world by leading her to the 
 altar ?" 
 
 "Would you have me give my hand," asked 
 Mandeville, " where I could not bestow my heart ? 
 — or does your Grace conceive that the denizens 
 of the- fashionable world have no hearts? Ah, 
 say not so, I beseech you! — for at this moment 
 
 you have a heart entirely devoted to yourself 
 
 and it is here." 
 
 He laid his hand upon his breast as he spoke. 
 The Duchess felt confused: she remained silent 
 for some few moments ; and then again laughing, 
 she said, " Is it still the Troubadour who is ad- 
 dressing me ?" 
 
 "No," replied Mandeville. " Forget that I am 
 clad in this fancy gart) — think of me only in my 
 true character — and listen to me! I have had 
 the pleasure of knowing you only for one short 
 week — and this is but the third time that I have 
 found myself in your society. But there is such 
 a thing as love at first sight ; and therefore you 
 will not deem me mad, nor romantic, nor decep- 
 tive when I declare that I love you !" 
 
 The Duchess started — and it was under the 
 impulse of a feeling which she could not define 
 to herself — she knew not whether she were more 
 pleased or annoyed by the avowal which had just 
 been made. Mandeville was handsome and fas- 
 cinating ; and it was impossible for any woman 
 to hear with indifference such an avowal from his 
 lips. But on the other hand, there was that 
 superstitious awe in which the Duchess stood to- 
 wards him — a dread lest the power that he 
 
 wielded might prove inauspicious for her own 
 destinies. 
 
 " But if you do not consider me mad or ridicu- 
 lously romantic," continued Mandeville, " you may 
 perhaps deem me arrogant and presumptuous. I 
 hope that this is not the opinion which you enter- 
 tain of my conduct ?" 
 
 " And if it were," said the Duchess, mustering 
 up her courage, — " and if I were to tell you so, 
 what reply would you make ?" 
 
 Mandeville's dark eyes were riveted upon her 
 through the holes in his mask ; and he said, 
 " Without arguing this question, tell me — may I 
 venture to hope?" 
 
 "Count Mandeville," responded the Duchess, 
 with firmness and dignity, "you just now ad- 
 mitted that you had not known me more than a 
 week and that this is the third time we have been 
 together. What would you think of me if I were 
 to receive your language with encouragement 
 instead of resentment ? Ah ! you seem to know 
 that you have acquired a power over me," she 
 went on to say, her courage yielding and her 
 firmness melting, as she again perceived his dark 
 eyes riveted upon her. " But tell me — tell me — 
 how did you learn — how did you obtain any in- 
 
 " Hear me," interrupted Mandeville. " Could 
 it be a matter of surprise that you — young, beau- 
 tiful, and courted— should feel indignant at the 
 conduct of your husband who abandoned you for 
 the sake of that Ethel whose loveliness is not to 
 be compared to your's ?" 
 
 " Ah !" murmured the Duchess : and then she 
 mentally added in a consternation of surprise, 
 " He knows everything !" 
 
 " And thus," continued Mandeville, " you had 
 naught to restrain you within the bounds of those 
 obligations which perhaps under other circum- 
 stances you would have implicitly obeyed. You 
 possess the heart of a woman — and that heart 
 must love something. You are lovely — and it is 
 natural that you should seek to be beloved. Well 
 then, it is perfectly intelligible how a certain man 
 obtained a temporary empire over your mind, — 
 a man whose name I dare not breathe in your 
 ear." 
 
 The Duchess gasped ; and then laying her hand 
 suddenly upon Mandeville's arm, she said, " I 
 swear to you that I am innocent in respect to Sir 
 Abel Kingston." 
 
 " I know it," replied the Count with a sort of 
 calm confidence. " I am aware that even while 
 standing upon the very verge of the precipice, you 
 had the courage to prevent yourself from falling 
 over. Pardon me, my dear Duchess," he continued, 
 with one of those exquisitely fascinating smiles 
 which revealed his brilliant teeth, " but there was 
 a little coquetry on your part, blended with a 
 still larger amount of timidity ; and thu3 j f ou 
 were saved from falling into the arms of that 
 man." 
 
 Again was the vivid blush discernible upon all 
 the lower part of the bea«tiful lady's counte- 
 nance ; and her snow-white bosom heaved arid 
 fell with the strong emotions that were agitating 
 her. 
 
 " Tell me — tell me," she said, in a low half- 
 choked voice, " did you know that man ? did he 
 betray aught that had ev»r taken place " 
 
 " Will you believe me," interrupted the Count- 
 
224 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A I/ADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 — and he spoke with an air of sincerity which 
 produced an immediate effect on the Duchess,— 
 " will you believe me when I swear that I never 
 exchanged a syllable with that person in my 
 life 1" 
 
 The Duchess reflected in an agitated manner, 
 and then she said, " One word 1 I entreat you, 
 one word ! Am I betrayed by any one in whom 
 I have placed confidence ? — my own maid, for in- 
 stance ?" 
 
 " Can you think," interjected Mandeville, with 
 a tone expressive alike of reproach and indigna-~ 
 tion, " that I should condescend to tamper with 
 menials ?" 
 
 "Pardon — pardon me!" said the Duchess. 
 "Hut good heavens! what would you have me 
 think ? No, no ! it would be ridiculous !" 
 
 " What would be ridiculous ?" 
 
 " To suppose that you possess a preternatural 
 power." 
 
 Mandeville remained silent for nearly a minute ; 
 and there was something in this silence that was 
 more than solemn — it was indeed awful for the 
 patrician lady. She knew not what to think. 
 Her good sense and her intelligence prompted her 
 to discard the idea of anything supernatural in 
 connexion with this man : but how, on the other 
 hand, was she to account for the knowledge which 
 he possessed of her affairs and the marvellous 
 truthfulness with which he had probed all her 
 conduct with Sir Abel Kingston ? 
 
 •■ Tell me — tell me," she said, " who and what 
 you are, mysterious being !" 
 
 "I am Hippolyte Mandeville," he answered, 
 " the most enthusiastic admirer of the Duchess of 
 Ardleigh :" — then, hastily drawing forward one of 
 the crimson draperies in front of the box, he took 
 off his mask, raised the fair patrician's hand, and 
 pressed it to his lips. 
 
 At that instant an individual habited like a 
 Turk, with a large turban, flowing garments, and 
 huge trousers, and whose countenance was com- 
 pletely concealed by his mask, peeped over the 
 parapet, of the box, and surprised Mandeville as he 
 was imprinting his lips upon the hand of the 
 Duchess. The Turk instantaneously Tvithdrew : 
 the Duchess snatched away her hand, and Mande- 
 ville readjusted his mask in the twinkling of an 
 eye. 
 
 " Good heavens ! who could that have been ?" 
 ejaulated the Duchess. 
 
 "No matter," replied the Count. " At all 
 events he could not know yo« — and it is of little 
 consequence that he should have seen or recog- 
 nised my face. Besides, he is evidently a person 
 of discretion as well as of curiosity ; for when he 
 had gratified the latter by peeping into the box, 
 he gave a signal proof of the former by vanish- 
 ing at once." 
 
 " Do you see him now ?" asked the Duchess. 
 
 " No : he was instantaneously lost amidst the 
 crowd. But let us think no more of that inci- 
 dent," continued Mandeville ; " and, Oh ! let me 
 recall your attention to a more tender topic ! You 
 know not the deep impression that you have made 
 upon my heart. If I were fortunate enough to be 
 the husband of so beauteous and charming a 
 being, my life would be one uninterrupted demon- 
 stration of love and devotedness towards you. 
 And, Oh ! think you not that circumstances have 
 already seemed to indicate that there is something 
 
 in my destiny which must interweave itself with 
 
 your's ? Ah ! you start -" 
 
 " Yes, yes : for that idea has occurred to me !" 
 — and' then, after a moment's pause, the brilliant 
 Duchess ejaculated, " Oh, if there were less mys- 
 tery about you — if you would treat me with a 
 greater amount of eonfidence- 
 
 " Proceed, proceed," said Mandeville: 
 unhesitatingly ! tell me what you would say !" 
 
 " I would say — I would say," continued the 
 Duchess, " that after the fervid language you 
 have held towards me, — language which is appa- 
 rently so sincere " 
 
 " It is sincere," interjected Mandeville : and he 
 pressed her hand with warmth. 
 
 " I would say, then," continued the Duchess — 
 and a blush was again upon her cheeks, as might 
 be seen by the crimson hue that appeared below 
 the mask, — " I would say, then, that situated as 
 I am with myhusband — feeling the. want of some 
 one on whose loving friendship I could rely, — yes, 
 and I will even admit that feeling the necessity 
 of loving some one and being beloved in re- 
 turn- " 
 
 " Ah, Mary — deare9t Mary," murmured Man- 
 deville, " I understand you — and all that I conld 
 hope or expect has now emanated from your lips ! 
 A thousand, thousand thanks ! I am not indif- 
 ferent to you — and you shall love me! Oh, I 
 will make you love me ! Never has woman yet 
 experienced' such devotion from man as that 
 which I will demonstrate towards you ! I know 
 that for a moment you fancied that I had by some 
 means acquired a power over you, and that I 
 meant to use it with a tyrannous effect. But, 
 Oh! you were mistaken ! I will not be your 
 tyrant — neither will I be your slave. There shall 
 "be a manly affection and a sincere friendship on 
 my part : there shall be confidence and reliance 
 on your's !" 
 
 Such language as this, when flowing in a voice 
 of the finest masculine harmony, upon the ear of 
 a woman of a temperament that was more or less 
 fervid and of a heart that was more or less sus- 
 ceptible, could not fail to produce all the effect 
 that was desired. And it did so. The young 
 Duchess contrasted, as her new admirer went on 
 speaking, his mode of address with that which 
 Sir' Abel Kingston had been wont to adopt 
 towards her; and she now felt that she was 
 under the influence of a charm and a spell such 
 as she had not known before. And then that 
 very mystic power to which the Count had been 
 alluding — the power which he had so signally 
 displayed in proving his knowledge of her most 
 cherished secrets — that same power, too, which still 
 remained unexplained — combined with other influ- 
 ences to strengthen the Count's cause as he pleaded 
 it, and to render the young Duchess weaker and 
 weaker in any attempt which she might have 
 made to resist him. And then too, all in a mo- 
 ment she remembered that he was the object of 
 an universal interest — sought for and courted in ' 
 that fashionable world into which he had so re- 
 cently burst like a wild erratic star ; — and there 
 was something eminently gratifying to the pride 
 even of the brilliant Duchess that she should 
 have been the one — the only one — amidst all the 
 galaxy of English beauties who had made an im- 
 pression on the distinguished foreigner. Such at 
 least was the idea with which she flattered herself; 
 
THE YOUNG DUtHBSS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 , — and, to be brief, all circumstances combined to 
 impel her irresistibly towards Hippolyte de Mari- 
 , deville. 
 
 "Ton have understood me," she murmured, 
 " and you have comprehended what answer my 
 lips would frame if you demanded of me whether 
 it were possible that in return for all the devotion 
 and the friendship you have promised, I could 
 give you my love? And now leave me — at 
 least for a few minutes. Let me compose myself 
 ere I mingle again with this gay crowd." 
 
 Mandeville pressed her hand and issued from 
 the box. The Duchess threw herself back on 
 the seat and gave way to her reflections. But it 
 is not necessary to chronicle what was now pass- 
 ing in _ her tnoughfs: her feelings towards Man- 
 deville have already been sufficiently analyzed to 
 enable the reader to follow in the channel of her 
 present meditations. 
 
 Some minutes elapsed ; and then the Duchess, 
 No. 29. — The Yousg Duchess. 
 
 rising from her seat, leant over the parapet of the 
 box and gazed upon the varied and interesting 
 scene which was spread before her. But gradually 
 she relapsed into the train of meditations from 
 which she had just before aroused herself: the 
 scene became a brilliant confusion — her reverie 
 deepened — and she was still leaning over the 
 parapet of the box. All that was most fasci- 
 nating and agreeable on the part of Mandeville — 
 all that was most attractive in his language and 
 his looks filled her imagination; and she was 
 already revelling in the idea of possessing such 
 an admirer,— 'thinking to herself that if she must 
 err, it were venial indeed to go astray with such 
 an one as he. Her heart was thrilling with a 
 deep rapture, and a smile was upon her coral 
 lips. She felt a hand laid upon her own as it 
 rested upon the parapet of the box : she raised 
 her eyes — the smile was expanding into a still 
 more delicious sweetness on her lips — the mask 
 
226 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, ME3IOIUS OF A LADY Ol? QUALITY. 
 
 was removed from the face which was now almost 
 close to her own — and, just heaven ! what a thrill 
 of horror passed through the form of the beau- 
 teous Duchess when she recognised Sir Abel 
 Kingston ! 
 
 Consternation struck her dumb; and as her 
 brain reeled, darkness came upon her eyes — though 
 she just remembered that she beheld the mask 
 again adjusted upon the features which they had 
 for an instant revealed, and then the wearer 
 thereof was lost amidst the crowd. She staggered 
 back to the seat, on which she sank down under 
 the influence of a mingled terror and dismay 
 which it were impossible to describe. 
 
 Mandeville, after quitting the Duchess, as al- 
 ready related, made his way through the crowd, 
 and issuing from the brilliantly lighted saloons, 
 hurried down the staircase. In the hall his valet 
 Edmund Vaughan was at once descried amidst a 
 knot of other servants ; and the Count beckoned 
 him into the cloak-room, where there happened 
 to be no other person at the time. 
 
 "Edmund," said Mandeville, "it was a pre- 
 sentiment which bade me order you to be here 
 on the present occasion." 
 
 " I shall be glad, sir," answered Vaughan, re- 
 spectfully; " if I can be of any service." 
 
 " You can,"- resumed his master. " Have a cab 
 in readiness — watch well for the appearance of a 
 person dressed as a Turk — follow him — and as- 
 certain who he is. I need not tell you that caution 
 is to be used, and he must not be suifered to 
 suspect that he is pursued." 
 
 The Count then gave some few requisite details 
 with regard to the costume of the individual who 
 had thus become an object of interest; and 
 Edmund promised to fulfil the mission thus con- 
 fided to him. 
 
 Mandeville retraced his way to the brilliantly 
 lighted saloons ; and he was lounging amidst the 
 company, when some one suddenly took his arm, 
 and he found that it was none other than the 
 brilliant Duchess in her Page's attire. 
 
 " Eor heaven's sake, let me speak to you some- 
 where !" she said, in a voice which sounded deep 
 and hollow ; and Mandeville felt that she trem- 
 bled violently as she clung to him for support. 
 
 " What is the matter f " he asked quickly. 
 
 " I cannot tell you here!" — and it was evident 
 that the patrician lady was labouring under a 
 violent agitation ; for her pale lips were quiver- 
 ing below the mask, and her bosom was heaving 
 like a tumultuous sea against the Count's arm as 
 she literally clung to him to prevent herself from 
 falling. 
 
 "Shall we return to the box?" asked Man- 
 deville. 
 
 " No, no ! I have a horror of it !" rejoined the 
 Duchess, with mingled terror and, impatience. " It 
 is the same as if you were to ask me to go into a 
 haunted room!" 
 
 "Mary, this must be serious — very serious!" 
 said Mandeville; " and you absolutely frighten 
 me! But whither can we go?" 
 
 "Ah! I recollect!" said the Duchess, whose 
 brain now began to reel less than it had been 
 doing, and who was regaining somewhat of her 
 natural courage. " This way !" 
 
 They passed through the crowd, and nowhere 
 did she again perceive-the individual in the Turk's 
 garb who had so much frightened her. They de- 
 
 scended to the dining-room, where refreshments 
 were served to those who required them ; and tlie 
 Duchess begged Mandeville to procure her a glass 
 of water. He suggested wine, but she would take 
 nothing but water; and it was with a petulance 
 savouring even of irritability that she spoke, as 
 if she were impatient of every instant of unneces- 
 sary delay ere she communicated to Mandeville 
 the cause of her excitement and terror. 
 
 The beverage seemed to revive her ; and again 
 taking the Count's arm, she passed with him into 
 a conservatory leading out of the dining-room. 
 
 " I thought that we might be here alone to- 
 gether!" she said, as sweeping her looks around 
 she beheld no one amidst the tropical trees and 
 choice plants which were grouped and arrayed 
 so tastefully there. 
 
 "And now tell me, dearest Mary,'' said Man- 
 deville, "what is it that terrified you?" 
 
 "You remember," she gasped for breath, — 
 " you remember," she went on to say, " that per- 
 son who was dressed as a Turk ?" 
 
 "Ah !" said Mandeville ; " to be sure ! He had 
 
 the impertinence to peep in upon us " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! for God's sake hush !" — and 
 through the holes of the mask the beautiful eyes 
 of the Duchess were swept in terror around. 
 
 " What of this personage ?" asked Mandeville, 
 with a curiosity and interest that were now poig- 
 nantly, excited. 
 
 "You will not believe me!" said the Duchess, 
 in a voice that was still trembling and agitated. 
 "No, I am sure you will not believe me! — but it 
 is true ! It could not possibly have been a dream ! 
 And yet how cam it be true ?" 
 
 " Dp speak, Mary ! What is it that has 
 happened ?" 
 
 " After you left me — yoi^ had been gone some 
 
 minutes — that form returned Yes, yes ! it 
 
 was not a dream ! it was a reality ! — a horrible, 
 frightful reality!" . 
 
 " One would almost imagine you had seen an 
 apparition, dear Mary !" 
 
 "Oh, tell me, do you believe in them ? But 
 no ! it is ridiculous ! Oh, how weak and foolish I 
 am !" she exclaimed. " I will be more courageous 
 — and as it could not have been an apparition, but 
 must have been he himself, in the veritable flesh 
 
 and blood " . 
 
 " Of whom were you speaking? whom did you 
 see ? or whom thought you that you saw ?" 
 
 " That man removed the mask from his face," 
 replied the young Duchess, in a very low voice, 
 but yet in a firmer tone than she had yet been 
 adopting ; " and it was — it was — the countenance 
 
 of Oh, do not doubt me ! — Sir Abel Kingston 
 
 that was thus revealed !" 
 
 Mandeville started : but instantaneously regain- 
 ing his self-possession, he reflected deeply for a 
 few moments, — at the expiration of which he 
 asked, " Are you sure of this, Mary ?" 
 
 " I am sure of it," she replied solemnly and ear- 
 nestly. " He placed one hand upon mine, while 
 with the other he removed his mask." 
 " And he said nothing?" 
 " Not a syllable. He looked at me in such a 
 
 way Oh, I cannot describe how ! but there 
 
 seemed to be a mingled mournfulness and malig- 
 nity in the gaze that he for a few moments bent 
 upon me." 
 Again Mandeville reflected ; and he said in a 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP 'A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 227 
 
 slow musing tone, " Extraordinary things have 
 happened in this world ; and it would not be the 
 first time that the dead have come to life again." 
 
 " Good God ! what mean you ?" asked the 
 Duchess : for though she could not see the Count's 
 face, as he retained his mask, yet there was 
 something so peculiar in the tone in which he 
 spoke that it struck her with a species of vague 
 terror. 
 
 " I mean, dearest," he said, taking her hand 
 and pressing it between both his own, — "Ijnean 
 that it would not he the first time that the sup- 
 posed dead have reappeared in the world." 
 
 " Ah !" said the Duchess, with a sense of relief, 
 though she paused not to analyze her feelings : 
 " now I comprehend you. Let us take it for 
 granted, then, that by some unaccountable means 
 this man is still alive. And yet — and yet," she 
 added, eagerly catching at an idea which had ab- 
 ruptly smitten her, " it is quite possible that there 
 may be some one so exactly like himself " 
 
 " Possible, but not probable," interrupted the 
 Count. "For if I remember aright, the news- 
 papers declared that he had no brother nor any 
 near relation, and that consequently the title was 
 extinct. Come, Mary, busy not yourself with an 
 idea that may prove to be delusive. If there be 
 any evil to be encountered, let it be met boldly ; 
 and therefore take it for granted that by some 
 strange means or another that man yet lives !" 
 
 "In this case," said the Duchess, shuddering 
 visibly, "I am completely in the power of a 
 wretch who may haunt me day and night — one 
 who may exaggerate trifles and misrepresent 
 facts to a ruinous extent! It is true that he 
 may not dare to appear publicly in society : — 
 neither on the other hand dare I take steps to 
 surrender him up again into the grasp of justice! 
 Thus, unseen by all the rest of the world, he may 
 secretly haunt me ; unknown in the new spheres 
 where he will perhaps move disguised, he may 
 circulate scandalous whispers concerning me ! For, 
 Oh, such a wretch as that, crawling like a reptile 
 in a thicket, may scatter forth its venom around 
 — and I the principal. victim!" 
 
 "Mary," said the Count, who had suffered her 
 to proceed uninterrupted, and who had reflected 
 profoundly while she was speaking, " I am fully 
 sensible of all the dangens to which you are now 
 exposed. You may indeed be haunted by a 
 spectre — pursued by an apparition— dogged as it 
 were through the world by one who though really 
 alive, must nevertheless seem as if he had risen 
 up from the dead." 
 
 " Good heavens !" murmured the wretched 
 Duchess, there is something absolutely frightful 
 in the vivid truthfulness of the picture that you 
 have just drawn '."—and again she shuddered 
 visibly. "Oh, what "can I do? have you no 
 consolation to give ? — nothing to suggest?" — and 
 her voice now sank into accents of the deepest re- 
 proachfulness. 
 
 " Mary, do you believe," asked the Count, " that 
 I can help you in this dilemma ?" 
 
 "I do, I do!" replied the Duchess, eagerly 
 catching at the hope which his words seemed to 
 hold out. 
 
 " And you think that I can rescue you from 
 this horrible nightmare — save you from this 
 spectre that otherwise means to haunt you ?" 
 
 " I do, I do !" rejoined the Duchess. " Oh, I 
 
 have every reliance upon you ! I know not why, 
 but it now seems to me as if you were the only 
 person in the whole world who could befriend me !" 
 
 " I am," he said in a tone of confidence. 
 
 " And you will befriend me, Mandeville ? Oh, 
 you will befriend me, Hippolyte ?" murmured the 
 Duchess, with all the most winning accents o! 
 woman's powerful appeal. 
 
 "And if I do this for you, Mary," he said, 
 taking her hand and holding it in his own, "may 
 I hope that I shall not sigh in vain ?" 
 
 " 1 know not what you mean to do, nor how 
 you purpose to act," answered the Duchess, her 
 eyes sinking beneath the glowing regards which 
 Mandeville fixed upon her through the holes of 
 his mask ; " but inasmuch as I place an implicit 
 — aye, almost a superstitious reliance upon your 
 power, I will abandon myself blindly and confi- 
 dently unto you. Save me — save me from any 
 danger which may at present threaten me ! — save 
 me, Hippolyte, and I am your's !" 
 
 " Thanks, Mary ! I will save you." 
 
 Mandeville now led the Duchess away from the 
 conservatory ; and as they paused in the dining-" 
 room to partake of some slight refreshment, he 
 said to her, " Will you remain until the end ; or 
 do you wish to return home after the excitement 
 you have experienced ?" 
 
 " Which do you think I had better do ?" asked 
 the Duchess. 
 
 " If I were to consult my own selfish feelings 
 only," replied Mandeville, " I should beseech you 
 to remain. It is only just midnight — supper is to 
 be served at one o'clock — and would it not seem 
 strange if the brilliant Duchess were not amongst 
 the company ?" 
 
 " True ! — and moreover I have made my pre- 
 parations for remaining here," was her Grace's 
 response. " Nay, do not think that I intend to 
 lay aside my mask while still wearing this cos- 
 tume ; but Catharine Todmorden has kindly lent 
 me her chamber — I have sent an evening dress 
 thither — and presently, when I make a change in 
 my toilet, no one will suspect that I had figured 
 as a Page of the Court of Queen Elizabeth. For 
 I happen to know that several other ladies will 
 likewise change their attire ; and then too there 
 are all the dominos that will be laid aside " 
 
 " And therefore, everything considered," said 
 Mandeville, " you will remain ?" 
 
 The reply was given in the affirmative, and the 
 Count led the Duchess up-stairs again to the 
 saloons. There in a few minutes he separated 
 from her, with the whispered information that it 
 were probably better they should not be seen too 
 much together, inasmuch as the costume of both 
 attracted no mean amount of attention, and it 
 might therefore possibly be surmised who they 
 were. 
 
 Mandeville, on leaving the Duchess, hastened 
 downstairs, leapt into his carriage, which was 
 waiting for him, and drove back to the Clarendon 
 Hotel, where he dwelt. lie inquired if his valet 
 Edmund had returned ? — and he was answered in 
 the negative. Repairing to his dressing-room, he 
 changed liis Troubadour attire for a plain evening 
 suit; and by the time hi3 toilet was accomplished 
 Edmund Vaughan made his appearance. 
 
 "Well, what tidings ?" asked Mandeville, 
 without the least excitement, but in a sort of 
 careless, indifferent tone. 
 
228 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "I&llowed the individual whom you indicated, 
 sir," replied the valet ; " for he left the house 
 almost immediately after you had given me your 
 orders." 
 
 "Well?" saidMandeville. 
 
 " He entered a street cab," continued Vaughan, 
 " and drove to a house in Windmill Street, near 
 the Haymavket." 
 
 " Some queer houses iu that street, are there 
 not ?" inquired Mandeville. 
 
 " I believe so, sir. The house -which this per- 
 sonage entered is a middle-sized one — gloomy- 
 looking enough — and has the name of Pluckley 
 on a brass plate on the door." 
 
 " And what is this Pluckley ?" 
 
 " I do not exactly know, sir — although I asked 
 the question : but I will find out to-morrow morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " Do nothing more till I tell you," said Man- 
 deville. " Ha ! that note ?" 
 
 " Why, you see, sir," proceeded the valet, who 
 had just taken a billet from his pocket, " I have 
 done something more than you told me — I hope 
 I have not done 1oo much — but I thought that 
 you must have particular reasons for ordering that 
 person to be followed, and that you would natu- 
 rally like to know as much about him as pos- 
 sible— — " 
 
 " Good !" said Mandeville. " Tou are the 
 astute and intelligent fellow that I from the very 
 first took you to be. But that note which you 
 hold in your hand ?" 
 
 " It is directed to the Duchess of Ardleigh, 
 sir." 
 
 "Indeed! From whom did you receive it?" 
 demanded Mandeville, with difficulty concealing 
 his amazement. 
 
 " From the person whom I followed, sir," re- 
 plied Edmund. "Shall I explain? or have you 
 any orders first of all to give in reference to the 
 note ?" 
 
 " Explain," said Mandeville. 
 
 " I followed the Turk — as I must call him for 
 distinction's sake," resumed Edmund, "to the 
 gloomy-looking house in Windmill Street. There 
 he alighted from the cab which brought him ; and 
 having said something to the driver, he entered 
 the house by means of a latch-key which he had 
 about him. I had alighted from the cab in which 
 I had followed him and was watching at a little 
 distance. In ten minutes he came out of the 
 house again " 
 
 "Still disguised, and with a mask upon his 
 face ?" asked Mandeville. 
 
 "Yes, sir — and it was this that struck me as 
 being so strange as to make me play the little 
 trick which put me in possession of the note. I 
 will now explain how it was, sir. I saw the 
 Turk give the cabman a note : he also thrust 
 something else into his hand, which was no doubt 
 more than the regular fare, for the cabman 
 touched his hat with exceeding politeness; and 
 the Turk, having given him some instruction, re- 
 treated into the house and shut the door. Hastily 
 dismissing my own cab, I sped to the bottom of 
 the street, and there I waylaid the one which had 
 conveyed the Turk. — ' I'm engaged,' said the cab- 
 man. — ' Engaged ?' 1 cried : ' why, you are 
 empty !' — 'All yes, but I have got to do an 
 errand,' said the man. — 'In which direction?' I 
 asked. — He named it ; and then I exclaimed 
 
 'Why, that is precisely the quarter to which I 
 want you to drive me !' — ' Then jump in,' said he. 
 — ' No,' said I : ' I prefer riding on the outside ; 
 it's a fine night:' and I leapt on the box. 'You 
 must go quick,' I said, ' for I am in a tremendous 
 hurry, and I shall give you something handsome. 
 But what may happen to be the errand you have 
 to perform with an empty cab ? To go and fetch 
 somebody may be ?' — ' Not a bit of it,' answered 
 the cabman : ' it's a note I have to deliver at 
 Ardleigh House.' — ' Well, that is strange !' cried 
 I ; 'for I belong to Ardleigh House.' — ' Ton T 
 and he eyed me searchingly. — ' Yes,' I said ; ' and 
 it's there you are going to drive me.' — ' Then of 
 course,' resumed the cabman after a few moments' 
 reflection, ' you know a young woman, a lady's- 
 maid.' — ' I'll be bound you mean Lavinia!' cried 
 I, hazarding the guess. — 'The same,' responded 
 the cabman. — ' Well,' I continued, ' this Lavinia 
 and I are on such terms that any little business 
 which is entrusted to her might as well be en- 
 trusted to me.' — To make matters short, the cab- 
 man gave me the note, enjoining me to consign it 
 with all possible caution to the hands of Lavinia. 
 — ' Who gave it you?' I asked. — ' I don't know,' 
 he replied curtly : then after a pause, he said in 
 a more civil tone, as he saw me twirling half-a 
 crown between my fingers, for his proper fare was 
 only eightpence or a shilling at the outside, ' It 
 was a gentleman who I set down at one Pluckley's 
 in Windmill Street.' — ' Pluckley's ?' said I : ' what 
 a queer name ! Who is he ?' — ' I don't know 
 exactly what he is,' rejoined the cabman: 'I 
 know him by sight very well, and his wife too. 
 They are rum-looking people.' — At this moment 
 the cab stopped at Ardleigh House ; I leapt down, 
 gave the driver the half-crown, and at once made 
 a pretence of descending the area-steps ; but the 
 moment the cab had rattled away, I sprang up 
 the steps again without being seen by any one be- 
 longing to the premises — and here I am, sir." 
 
 " Excellently managed altogether," said the 
 Count, who listened without impatience to his 
 valet's narrative ; for its details afforded him the 
 most gratifying proof of the astuteness and ready 
 wit of his faithful follower. 
 
 "You have done well, Edmund," continued 
 Mandeville ; " and it is perhaps useful that this 
 billet should have fallen Into my hands :" — then, 
 as he consigned the note to his waistcoat-pocket, 
 he thence took another sort of note — namely, one 
 of the Bank of England for ten pounds — and this 
 he bestowed upon Vaughan. 
 
 The valet bowed, and retired on a sign made 
 him by his master to that effect ; and the instant 
 he was alone, Mandeville broke open the letter — ■ 
 and having read it, he sealed it again with such 
 niceness and accuracy that it was impossible to 
 tell that the original seal had been violated. Then 
 hastening down to his carriage, which had been 
 kept waiting, he drove back to Todmorden House 
 in Piccadilly, which.he reached a little before one 
 o'clock. 
 
 On ascending to the brilliantly lighted saloons, 
 Count Mandeville found that nearly all the guests 
 had by this time removed" their masks; and he 
 also noticed that there were several more ladies in 
 plain evening toilet than there were when he had 
 taken his departure upwards of an hour back : so 
 that it was evident they had put off their fancy- 
 costumes and made these changes in their raiment 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 229 
 
 in the chambers of Lady Todmorden's daughters. 
 The appearance of the Count at once created a 
 sensation ; for very few, ■ except the lady of the 
 mansion and her daughters, suspected that he had 
 been there before that evening in another garb. As 
 the "distinguished foreigner" made his way amidst 
 the crowd— bestowing bows, smiles, or shakes of 
 the hand, according to the degree of intimacy on 
 which he considered himself to be or chose to 
 place himself with those whose salutations he thus 
 acknowledged — his elegant appearance attracted 
 general admiration. The exquisite cut of his 
 clothes, the seemingly unstudied precision with 
 which his cravat was tied, the white waistcoat so 
 accurately fitting the slender form, without crease 
 or wrinkle — in a word, the entire appearance of 
 this personage elicited the admiration of the ladies 
 and provoked no small amount of envy and 
 jealousy on that of the gentlemen. 
 
 As he made his way through the principal 
 apartments, he beheld the Duchess of Ardleigh 
 (no longer in a fancy dress) conversing with a 
 group of ladies at the upper end of the room. He 
 did not immediately proceed thither, because it 
 was not his policy to seem to force himself upon 
 persons of rank, but rather to show that he him- 
 self was courted. Thus he was affecting to plunge 
 very deeply into discourse with some old noble- 
 man whose good opinion he thought he might 
 just as well win en passant, when the Duchess 
 beckoned fri™ towards her. 
 
 " Pardon me, my lord," he said, " but I must 
 obey that sign from a superior divinity :" — and he 
 advanced with "his wonted graceful ease towards 
 the group of which the Duchess was the central 
 star. 
 
 " Count," said the Duchess, " you must? decide 
 a little dispute which has arisen amongst us." 
 
 " And if your Grace be one of the disputants," 
 was the reply, " I hope that I shall be enabled to 
 make you come off victorious." 
 
 " Several of these ladies have declared their 
 conviction that you have been here before this 
 evening," continued the Duchess, " and that you 
 bore your part amidst the gaieties which just now 
 prevailed. I, on the other hand, express my con- 
 viction that you have not been here." 
 
 Mandeville at this moment caught a whisper 
 which one lady was breathing in the ear of another, 
 to this effect — " Now see if he don't admit that he 
 was dressed as a Troubadour!" 
 
 "Indeed, your Grace," said Mandeville, "I am 
 sorry that in settling this little dispute — which 
 by the bye elevates me into an importance highly 
 flattering, but very little deserved, — in settling 
 the dispute however, I regret that truth compels 
 me to decide against your ladyship. I was here 
 just now : indeed, I have been here all the even- 
 ing I wore a domino, which I threw off but a 
 few minutes back in the gentlemen's cloak-room." 
 
 " Then he was not the Troubadour, after all !" 
 the whisper again reached his ear. 
 
 " And now," said Mandeville, "might I venture 
 to ask whether your Grace has appeared this 
 evening in any other costume than that which you 
 at present wear ?" , 
 
 " Yes," she replied : and suddenly recollecting 
 that there were at least a dozen Swiss shepherd- 
 esses just now amongst the company, she added, 
 " If the truth must be revealed, I wore the fancy 
 dress of a Bernese peasant girl." 
 
 The result of this conversation was to create the 
 completest mystery in respect to the veritable 
 garbs in which Mandeville and the Duchess had 
 respectively appeared. We may farther proceed 
 to observe that the young Duchess now looked 
 surpassingly beautiful in the evening toilet which 
 had succeeded the Page's costume. She was 
 slightly pale from the lingering effects of the 
 shock which she had sustained from the disclosure 
 of Sir Abel Kingston's countenance : but now, as 
 she leant upon Mandeville 1 s arm while he escorted 
 her to the supper-room, she felt as if she were 
 clinging to one who had the power to save her 
 from all evils and perils ; and the colour came 
 back to her cheeks, and the light of confidence, and 
 joy, and gratitude — we might almost have said of 
 love — danced in her beautiful eyes. 
 
 We will not protract this chapter, which is al- 
 ready a long one, to an unnecessary length by de- 
 scribing the splendour of the banquet, nor by 
 dwelling on the delight of Lady Todmorden as 
 she saw how well everything was going off, and 
 how Mr. Warren the stockbroker was evidently 
 attaching himself to one of her daughters ; while 
 a Marquis, who was a widower, wa3 paying atten- 
 tion to the second — and a young Baronet, who 
 had just come of age, was whispering tenderly in 
 the ear of the third. Nor will we stop to chronicle 
 all the encomiums which were whispered amongst 
 the guests upon the brilliancy of the entertainment. 
 It however seemed to be universally acknowledged 
 that it was the most splendid ever yet givenfct 
 Todmorden House ; and Mandeville whispered to 
 the Duchess, " If her ladyship only succeeds in 
 getting off one of her daughters by means of this 
 affair, she will have made a good speculation." 
 
 Some of the company began to leave the supper- 
 table ; and amongst them were Count Mandeville 
 and the Duchess of Ardleigh. 
 
 " 1 have to thank you, Hippolyte," she whis- 
 pered, as she leant upon hi3 arm, " for the mode, 
 as delicate as it was ingenious, in which you just 
 now averted all suspicion relative to the fact that 
 you and I had been so much together during the 
 earlier part of the evening. There was one spite- 
 ful old lady who vowed and protested that you 
 were the Troubadour, while I heard another whis- 
 per that she thought I was the Page." 
 
 " And now, dear Mary," interjected Mandeville, 
 " they are completely thrown off the right scent. 
 But I wish to speak to you particularly. Shall 
 we revisit the conservatory ? No one is likely to 
 be there now, and we may be enabled to have a 
 little discourse alone together." 
 
 " What have you to say to me? %Has anything 
 fresh transpired?" — and the Duchess spoke quickly 
 and nervously. 
 
 "Fear nothing! rely entirely on me!" said 
 Mandeville. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! — I do, I do !" and she clung more 
 closely to his arm. 
 
 They proceeded to the conservatory, where, as 
 they had anticipated, they found themselves alone 
 together. 
 
 " Dearest Mary," said the Count, " you were 
 not deceived — there was no illusion. That man 
 still lives." 
 
 "Ah!" — and the Duchess turned pale. "You 
 have already made inquiries ? You have already 
 obtained some clue ?" 
 
 " More than that," responded Mandeville, with 
 
230 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LAKY. OF QUALITY. 
 
 that air of calm confidence, which he was so well 
 able to assume, as if he were utterly incapable of 
 vaunting or exaggerating the extraordinary powers 
 "which he seemed to possess. " I know where he is 
 —I can lay my hand upon him at any moment." 
 " You have seen him ?" 
 
 " Only at the instant that he peeped in upon 
 us when we were in the box ; and then, as you are 
 well aware, I did not see his face, nor at the mo- 
 ment did I suspect who he was. But he has 
 
 written you a note " 
 
 " Good heavens !" ejaculated the Duchess, her 
 pallor now becoming deadly : " he does not mean 
 to sleep until he has shown me how well he can 
 become a persecutor !" 
 
 j . " Fear not, Mary — fear not," said Mandeville, 
 throwing his arm round her waist, and now for the 
 -first time venturing to press his lips to her cheek. 
 " Have I not begged you to repose the fullest con- 
 fidence in me ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes — I do ! I will ! I must !" — and she 
 suffered him to strain her to his heart, " But 
 that note which he has dared to write me " 
 
 "It is here," said Mandeville ; and he produced 
 it from his waistcoat-pocket. 
 
 " Good heavens ! in your possession !" — and the 
 Duchess gazed with a species of trembling awe 
 upon a personage who naturally appeared to her to 
 be the most extraordinary being whom she had 
 ever encountered. 
 
 " Yes," continued Mandeville, quietly, and 
 without appearing to think or feel that he was 
 doing anything out of the common way, "this 
 note is from that man. See ! it is addressed to 
 yourself. His'messenger was hearing it to Ard- 
 leigh House, when it fell into the hands of some 
 one who at once brought it to me." 
 
 "And why to you?" asked the Duchess, with 
 an amazement that was utterly bewildering. 
 
 " Oh, simply because he was a faithful adhe- 
 rent of mine — one whom I had sent to ascertain 
 whatsoever might be gleaned in reference to this 
 resuscitated villain, Sir Abel Kingston. Do not 
 fear that your name will be talked about. I have 
 saved it from that danger. If the billet had not 
 been intercepted by an agent of mine, it would 
 have been left at Ardleigh House ; and who can 
 tell what curious or impertinent eye might have 
 peered into its contents ?" 
 
 "True, Hippolyte — true!" said the Duchess. 
 "How considerate you are on my account!" — but 
 still bewilderment and a species of awe-struck 
 amaze blended with the gratitude which her looks 
 expressed. " Oh, heaven knows that now — wow," 
 she emphatically repeated, "I can entertain no 
 doubt of your power to .help and to save me in 
 every danger! But this note you are ac- 
 quainted with its contents ?" 
 
 " I ? Oh, no, Mary," responded the Gountwith 
 a smile. " I am not quite a conjuror." 
 
 "My vision is dazzled," said the Duchess: 
 " and I really could scarce tell whether the seal 
 were broken or not." 
 
 "Think you," asked Mandeville, in a tone 
 which seemed to be full of gentle reproach, " that 
 I would violate the sanctity of a correspondence 
 addressed to yourself ?" 
 
 " Oh, under such circumstances — this letter 
 having fallen into your hands — and considering, 
 too, all the reliance I place upon you — all the con- 
 fidence I repose in you " 
 
 " Thank you, dearest Mary, for these assurances :" 
 — and again the arm circled the waist, and again 
 the lips imprinted kisses on the beauteous counte- 
 nance. " Kead that letter," he said, "and let us 
 see in what terms the villain has the audacity to 
 address you." 
 
 The hands of the Duchess trembled as they held 
 the note'; for it actually appeared to her as if it 
 were a missive winch had emanated from the 
 dead! But Mandeville spoke encouragingly in 
 her ear, so that she mustered up her courage and 
 broke the seal. ' The address on the envelope 
 had been written in a feigned hand: but the 
 writing of the note itself was that of Sir Abel 
 Kingston. The contents ran as follow : — 
 
 " Midnight, May 30. 
 "I have revealed myself to you. You now 
 know that I am not numbered with the dead, as 
 you had doubtless hoped. That you never loved 
 me, is evident from a thousand circumstances ; 
 and you will not be surprised at the tenour el this 
 communication. I am a desperate man, as you 
 may readily suppose ; and as the world has shown 
 no mercy to me, I intend to show none to others. 
 You know that you are in my power ; and if you 
 dare to breathe a whisper of my existence I will 
 
 be signally avenged 1 will expose you though 
 
 I sacrifice myself! Ah, you have a new lover! 
 What think you of anonymous notes and in- 
 dustriously circulated whispers, to the effect that 
 the Duchess of Ardleigh went disguised to Lady 
 Todmorden's to meet her paramour ? And who 
 will not recognise and acknowledge the truth of 
 the averment, "when it is likewise proclaimed that 
 the brilliant Duchess was apparelled as a. Page 
 and her lover as a Troubadour ? But enough ! 
 This is only a fresh instance of the power which I 
 have acquired over you, — a power which you dare 
 not defy ! And now mark well. It is absolutely 
 necessaiy we should meet, and that on the occa- 
 sion of such interview you should have twenty 
 thousand pounds at your disposal. It will only 
 be paying ine the sum which you promised a short 
 time since. Therefore I command you that at 
 eight o'clock in the evening punctually, on the 
 1st of June, you meet me by the Duke of York's 
 column in Waterloo Place. You can wear some 
 mean apparel if you seek to disguise yourself 
 effectually. It will not be the first time you have 
 done so — as perhaps a certain Mrs. Grills might 
 be enabled to certify. Precisely as the clock 
 strikes eight, you will drop your kerchief twice, 
 as if by accident ; and thus I shall at once recog- 
 nise you. Think not, however, to play off any 
 treachery upon me. My disguise will be impene- 
 trable until I choose to reveal myself. Therefore if 
 you come not alone — or if I behold the slightest 
 grounds for suspecting that you mean to deal per- 
 fidiously with me — I shall take a step which will 
 wreak a deadly vengeance upon your head, al- 
 though at the same time I may be involving my- 
 self in utter destruction ! But I care not : for 
 remember, I am a desperate man!" 
 
 It was with a variety of feelings, the intense- 
 ness of which can be better imagined than de- 
 scribed, that the Duchess of Ardleigh perused this 
 missive. The colour completely deserted her 
 cheeks ; and when she had finished reading the 
 document, she handed it to Mandeville, who had 
 
THE YOUXG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 231 
 
 stood gazing upon her with an air as if he were 
 completely ignorant of what the contents of that 
 letter might be. He took and read it, still main- 
 taining a look to prevent the suspicion that he 
 was already well acquainted with its menacing 
 nature : — then raising his eyes, he said with a 
 scornful smile, " Miserable wretch ! does he think 
 that you are so friendless as to yield to his threats, 
 as dastard as they are malignant ?" 
 
 " Oh, it would be my ruin ! my utter ruin !" 
 murmured the Duchess, " if he were to take the 
 step which he has so unmistakably threatened ! 
 Ah ! after the discourse which just now took 
 place with those ladies, how overwhelming would 
 be the disgrace of exposure ! The very worst 
 would be thought — and spiteful tongues would 
 ask wherefore I should have represented that I 
 was attired as a shepherdess, and why you should 
 have proclaimed that you were disguised in a 
 domino ?" 
 
 " Tranquillize yourself, Mary," said Mande- 
 ville: "there shall be no exposure and no dis- 
 grace ; nor shall those scandal-loving ladies ever 
 learn that we ere now deceived them with the 
 representations that we made in reference to our 
 costumes." 
 
 " Oh, is it possible that X may venture to 
 hope ?" 
 
 "Hope everything," said Mandeville. 
 
 " But this letter, so frightful in its threats — so 
 daring in its. menaees — evidently showing that 
 the wretched man is indeed desperate !" 
 
 " Heed not the letter," said the Count. " You 
 shall defy the enemy." 
 
 " What am I to do ? how am I to act ?" asked 
 the Duchess. 
 
 " You will do nothing, Mary," was the response. 
 
 "But you?" 
 
 " I will do everything Now, fear not," con- 
 tinued Mandeville, with his wonted air of calm 
 consciousness of power. " From the moment the 
 clock strikes eight in the evening of the 1st of 
 June — that is to say, the day after to-morrow — 
 or rather to-morrow, for we have already entered 
 on the 31st of May at this hour of the morn- 
 ing " 
 
 "Yes," said the Duchess, full of feverish 
 anxiety. " But you were telling me that from 
 the moment which the wretch has named for the 
 appointment " 
 
 " From that moment, Mary, he shall trouble 
 you no more." 
 
 The Duchess gave a prolonged sigh indicative 
 of the relief which was conveyed to her mind by 
 an assurance wherein she placed implicit trust ; 
 and as Mandeville's arm again encircled her waist, 
 she of her own accord presented her lips to in- 
 vite his kiss. 
 
 "And now, dearest," said the Count, "banish 
 all apprehension from your mind. Think no more 
 of the wretch otherwise than as an enemy whom 
 you have triumphed over — a reptile on whom you 
 have set your heel ! Oh, let smiles appear upon 
 your lips, and let the light of confidence again 
 illuminate your eyes ! — for you know not how 
 beautiful you are in your happy moments, dear 
 Mary!" 
 
 "And it is you," murmured the young Duchess, 
 bending her grateful regards upon Mandeville, 
 "who experience the power to render me thus 
 happy." 
 
 " I rejoice that it is so, Mary — because I love 
 you devotedly and fondly ! You know not how 
 
 much ! And now let us rejoin the company 
 
 Ah! and give me that note — I will destroy it 
 
 presently And stay ! one moment, my Mary ! 
 
 Let me place this camellia in your hair. Ah! 
 how it becomes you ! Now look up and smile 
 again ! There ! you are inexpressibly hand- 
 some !" 
 
 They returned to the saloons, where dancing 
 was now being resumed with spirit ; and it was 
 not until nearly three o'clock in the morning that 
 the Duchess of Ardleigh was handed by Count 
 Mandeville to her carriage. 
 
 " She is mine !" said the Count, as he threw 
 himself complacently back in his own carriage : 
 " she is mine ! — and in less than three more days 
 the conquest will be complete !" 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVI. 
 
 Ethel's altered prospects. 
 
 Let us now return to Hendon Court. Lady 
 Langport remained in bed until nearly noon on 
 the day following that night of exciting incidents 
 when her daughter Mildred broke in upon her 
 mysterious toilet and discovered her horrible 
 secret. Ethel, be it remembered, had been told 
 by Mildred — who adopted a sudden bearing of 
 politeness and affability — that her ladyship did 
 not require her services on that occasion ; and 
 thus Ethel fully comprehended how Mildred was 
 playing a deep game, and how her own position 
 at Hendon Court was becoming hourly more pre- 
 carious through the hypocritical machinations of 
 that deceitful creature. But,- as we have- seen, 
 Ethel would for a variety of causes have only 
 been too glad of any reasonable excuse to with- 
 draw from the service of Lady Langport ■— 
 though at the same time she felt exceedingly 
 loath to abandon that unfortunate mother alto- 
 gether to the unscrupulous and unprincipled 
 daughter who in an evil hour had been restored 
 unto her. 
 
 Ethel had received that same morning a letter 
 sealed with the armorial bearings of a great per- 
 sonage. She had read this letter with the deepest 
 interest and with a sentiment of the liveliest 
 hope: but still she hesitated to obey the sum- 
 mons which it contained. She was walking in 
 the garden, pondering the circumstances of her 
 position, when Mildred accosted her. 
 
 "My dear friend," said Mildred, assuming the 
 sweetest smile she could possibly conjure up for 
 her hypocritical purpose, " I have been thinking 
 a great deal of you." 
 
 It was almost a look of indignation which 
 Ethel bent upon her: but conquering her emo- 
 tions, she hastily inquired, " How is Lady Lang- 
 port now ?" 
 
 "A little better. She has just come down- 
 stairs," answered Mildred. "I assisted in her 
 
 toilet It was a daughter's place, you 
 
 know " 
 
 " Has her ladyship inquired for me ? does she 
 wish to see me ?" asked Ethel. 
 
 "Oh, yes — you can go to her when you like," 
 
232 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHKSS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 responded Mildred. " But I think it my duty to 
 tell you something, Ethel : for since we agreed to 
 be friends, and you declared this morning that you 
 had no ill-will towards me, I must show you that 
 I am deserving of kindly feelings on your part." 
 
 Ethel remained silent. She could net possibly 
 give back assurances of friendship when she knew 
 that those which she was receiving were as false 
 and hollow as they could be : but she marvelled 
 to what end this insidious preface was to lead. - 
 
 " I have been thinking," resumed Mildred, 
 " that situated as I am, it is more than probable 
 that I may experience annoyances from a certain 
 person " 
 
 " Ah I" said Ethel : and then, as a recollection 
 struck her, she at once added, "But I thought you 
 informed me that you no longer dreaded Count 
 Mandeville ? — for it is doubtless to him that you 
 are alluding." 
 
 . " I do not dread him, Ethel," rejoined Mildred : 
 " because he is only dangerous under certain cir- 
 cumstances. But what I mean is this, — that he 
 may seek me out— he may persecute me with his 
 visits — and as I know from what you said that 
 you stand in perfect horror of that man- " * 
 
 "Well?" said Ethel, determined to see to what 
 extent Mildred's, duplicity would reach. 
 
 " I was thinking," pursued the deceitful woman, 
 "that it would be very unpleasant and incon- 
 venient for you to stand the chance of being mo- 
 lested here by that dangerous and unprincipled 
 person.",, 
 
 " If your fears on my account had arisen from 
 generous motives," said Ethel, " I • should have 
 thanked you with fervour. But let us understand 
 each other at once, ' Mildred. I am not your 
 dupe " 
 
 " Dupe !" echoed Mildred angrily. "Such lan- 
 guage " 
 
 "Patience, and listen to me !" interrupted Ethel. 
 " I repeat, I. am not deceived by your manoeuvres. 
 You wish to get rid of me. You first of all en- 
 deavoured, by your insolent supercilious conduct 
 towards me, to render my position intolerable 
 here ; but finding that 1 was not prepared to de- 
 sert poor Lady Langport all in a hurry, you are 
 now endeavouring to frighten me away." 
 
 " And I suppose," said Mildred, her lips white 
 and quivering with an ill-subdued rage, " you 
 mean to tell me that you will remain ?" 
 
 " On the contrary," answered Ethel : "lam 
 ready to go." 
 
 It was almost a cry of joy which burst from 
 Mildred's lips ; and seizing Ethel's hand, she ex- 
 claimed, " Pray do not let us part in anger. Do 
 not misunderstand me !" 
 
 "I can assure you," answered. Ethel coldly, 
 "that I do not misunderstand you. Neither must 
 you misunderstand me. I shall not leave Hendon 
 Court at your bidding, nor on account of the ter- 
 rors which you have been seeking to conjure up. 
 But if Lady Langport of her own accord ' inti- 
 mates that my services are no longer useful to 
 her, depend upon it, Mildred, I ain too proud to 
 eat the bread of indolence !" 
 
 'Perhaps you will go and speak to — to — my 
 sister ?" said Mildred, emphasizing the word in 
 that style which was so abhorrent to the ears and 
 the feelings of the well-principled and delicate- 
 minded Ethel. 
 
 "Yes— I will go and speak to her ladyship," 
 
 she said : and at once separating from Mildred, she 
 re-entered the house. 
 
 Repairing to the drawing-room, Ethel found 
 Lady Langport reclining upon the sofa. A glance 
 was sufficient to show Ethel that her ladyship's 
 toilet was not characterized by the same precision 
 and nicety — the same artistic refinement, so to 
 speak, as when she had superintended it. There 
 were evidences, of haste and slovenliness, as well 
 as of inexperience and incompetency, which 
 showed that Lady Langport had gained nothing 
 by the substitution of Mildred's services for 
 those of Ethel. 
 
 "My dear young friend," said her ladyship, 
 giving Ethel her hand, and speaking in a voice 
 that was tremulous with emotion, " I ' am afraid 
 that you may fancy I have slighted and neglected 
 you ; but what could I do, Ethel, when a daugh- 
 ter claimed the right " 
 
 " You could only obey the maternal impulse, 
 doubtless," interjected Ethel. " Oh, my lady, I 
 beg that you will deal candidly and frankly 
 with me ! . I know that circumstances have 
 changed ". ■ • 
 
 " They have, they , have !" exclaimed Lady 
 Langport. " When you and I first met, I could 
 not'.foresee that a daughter would; be so soon re- 
 stored to me." 
 
 " And now that this daughter is restored," said 
 Ethel, "you expect to find in" her all that you 
 hoped or thought to find in me." - t 
 
 " I am afraid, my dear young friend," said her 
 ladyship, "that. under these altered circumstances 
 you will not be so happy and so comfortable as 
 you were at first." ■. . ; . 
 
 "In one word,. Lady Langport," said Ethel, 
 ".do you wish me to leave you?". .'....■. 
 
 Her ladyship averted her countenance for some 
 moments; and then she said with a sudden excla- 
 mation, " No ! God i« my witness that I. do not 
 wish you to leave me !— and great would be my 
 happiness if you and Mildred could agree toge- 
 ther. It is astonishing that you cannot ! You, 
 Ethel, are of the sweetest and most amiable dis- 
 position; .and I have now begun to discover so 
 
 many excellent qualities in my daughter Why 
 
 do you look so strange,'Ethel?" 
 
 "Strange?; I look strange, dear lady? Oh, 
 believe me that I would not willingly nor inten- 
 tionally express by look or word an opinion rela- 
 tive to. family matters ! I see that you recognise 
 the necessity for me to leave you -" 
 
 " And now you will think that I am ungrateful 
 towards you !", cried Lady Langport, with a sort 
 of hysterical vehemence : ," you will remember all 
 I said — the pledges and promises I exacted from 
 you — the prospects I held out that you should 
 never leave me except by your own wish " 
 
 " Do not excite yourself thus, dear lady, on my 
 account," interrupted Ethel. "I cannot charge 
 you with ingratitude. Heaven forbid ! Circum- 
 stances have changed — and you are not respon- 
 sible for events which you could never have fore- 
 seen. I am incapable of so much injustice as to 
 deem you ungrateful !" 
 
 Lady Langport wiped away the tears from her 
 eyes ; and she pressed Ethel's hand feverishly. 
 
 " If we must part," she said, " at all events let 
 it not be until you shall have found the means of 
 establishing yourself comfortably elsewhere." 
 
 " I think," said Ethel, " that I know of some- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A 1UYDY Of QUALITY. 
 
 MILDRED'S EVENIXG TOILETTE. 
 No. 30. — The Toc.vg Duchess. 
 
234 
 
 THE YOUNO DUCHESS; OS, MEMOIBS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 thing which might suit me — that I have a 
 
 chance " 
 
 "Good!" cried Lady Langport : "I am rejoiced 
 to hear it. Your welfare will ever he dear to me ; 
 and rememher, Ethel, that should circumstances 
 place you in a position to need the succour of a 
 friend, you must not hesitate to apply to me. -Go 
 — leave me for the present! My feelings are 
 overpowering me !" 
 
 Ethel pressed the gloved hand, and hastened 
 from the room. She sped to her own chamber — 
 she apparelled herself for going out — she now no 
 longer hesitated to obey the summons contained 
 in the letter with the large seal. She speedily 
 issued from the house : she ran down the lane — 
 and she caught the omnibus which she knew 
 passed along the main road at particular hours. 
 She entered London ; and on alighting from the 
 omnibus, she made the best of her way to the 
 mansion of Count Olonetz in Grosvenor Square. 
 
 On inquiring for the Eussian Ambassador, 
 Ethel was at once conducted to an apartment 
 where, after remaining alone for a few minutes, 
 she was joined by the Count. He welcomed her 
 with that dignified courtesy which was the prin- 
 cipal characteristic of his demeanour : he begged 
 her to be seated — and talcing a chair near her, he 
 said, " I heed not ask, Mrs. Trevor, whether you 
 have received my letter ?" *-. 
 
 "It is in consequence of that summons, my 
 lord," she replied, "that I am now here." 
 
 "As I informed you in that letter, Mrs. Tre- 
 vor," continued Count Olonetz, "the Princess 
 Roxana is most anxious to have you as a compa- 
 nion ; and the Grind Duke is willing, if possible, 
 to gratify his daughter's wish. I therefore pro- 
 mised that I would communicate with you, in 
 order to see if any arrangement to that effect can 
 be possibly made." 
 
 " I need scarcelyassure your Excellency that I 
 feel highly flattered by the honour which is thus 
 conferred upon me ; and I will moreover confess 
 that my circumstances are such as to render the 
 offer a very tempting one." 
 
 "Before we proceed any further with that 
 topic," said the Count, " be kind enough to tell 
 me how Mildred fares with her mother ?" 
 
 " It is precisely because Mildred has undertaken 
 to perform all necessary duties towards her 
 parent," answered Ethel, "that I myself am no 
 longer wanted at Hendon Court. Thus ray cir- 
 cumstances are altered. "When I was here the 
 other day, I was so situated as to be beyond the 
 necessity of accepting the offer made to me by 
 his Imperial Highness. But now it is different."' 
 " I understand," said the Count, " and indeed 
 I am not astonished. You find your position at 
 Hendon Court very much altered in the society of 
 Mildred ? But tell me— think you that Mildred 
 will become domesticated at Hendon Court — that 
 she will settle down quietly into her new mode of 
 existence, and that her ambitious designs will not 
 soar elsewhere ?" 
 
 " Mildred's is a character, my lord, concerning 
 which I should not like to express a strong con- 
 viction," answered Ethel : " but that Mildred 
 ought to be contented with the power she is ac- 
 quiring and the riches she will be enjoying be- 
 neath her mother's roof, is beyond doubt." 
 
 " Good," said the Count. " And now, Mrs. 
 Trevor, let us revert to the business which has 
 
 brought you hither. You have learnt from my 
 letter Ah ! by the bye," he suddenly inter- 
 rupted himself, " you mentioned nothing of its 
 contents to Lady Langport or Mildred ?" 
 
 " Nothing, my lord : the letter was marked 
 Private and Confidential. Your Excellency was 
 
 going to observe " 
 
 " Yes — I remember, I was about to say that 
 you learnt from my letter," continued Olonetz, 
 " that my mission to the British metropolis will 
 probably be accomplished much more speedily 
 than was at first anticipated, and that in a week 
 or ten days I may leave on my return to Russia. 
 The Grand Duke and the Princess will accompany 
 me. Are you prepared to leave your native land 
 at so short a warning?" 
 
 " I have no ties to retain me here," responded 
 Ethel. "But is your Excellency aware that I 
 am a mother ?" 
 
 " Yes : you told the Princess that you were a 
 widow and that you had a little boy. The Grand 
 Duke said something to you the other day, of the 
 necessity of giving proofs of your respectability. 
 That is a point which you may leave me to settle 
 with his Highness;" 
 
 Ethel looked amazed for a moment ; and she 
 could scarcely repress an ejaculation which rose to 
 her lips. 
 
 " Of course," continued Olonetz, " you will 
 take your child with you. The fact of your 
 being a mother is no obstacle to the carrying-out 
 of the present negotiation ; for the Princess has 
 expressed her wish — the Grand Duke has sup- 
 ported it— and I am bound to ~see that it is ful- 
 filled " 
 
 " Your Excellency must receive the assurances 
 of my most fervid gratitude," said Ethel. 
 
 " If I did not entertain an excellent opinion of 
 your disposition and character," Said the Count, 
 " I should not so readily assent to this arrange- 
 ment, nor become a party to the making of it. 
 But now, Mrs. Trevor, there are two or three little 
 points on which we must come to an understand- 
 ing : for I need not remind you that your position 
 becomes somewhat a delicate one towards the 
 Grand Duke and the Princess, considering your 
 acquaintance with Mildred and her mother." 
 
 " Then I presume, my lord," said Ethel, " that 
 those illustrious personages remain altogether in 
 ignorance of everything which has recently oc- 
 curred ?" 
 
 " In total and absolute ignorance,'' rejoined 
 Olonetz. " The Princess believes her mother to be 
 dead : the Grand Duke knows she is alive, but is 
 unaware of her presence in the British metropolis. 
 Now listen to me attentively. If ever you mention 
 the name of Lady Langport in the hearing of the 
 Grand Duke or the Princess, you must always be 
 upon your guard in order to prevent the suspicion 
 that yqu are acquainted with anything peculiar 
 in reference to her ladyship or her connexions." 
 " I shall be careful on that point, my lord." 
 " And you will never suffer it to transpire 
 that you have had any acquaintance with Mil- 
 dred." 
 
 " Oh, it were impossible that I should be so 
 indiscreet!" cried Ethel: "for this would be to 
 reveal to the Princess that her mother lives,— 
 that mother whom it were better that she should 
 believe to be no more !" 
 
 " Precisely," said the Count. " And when in 
 
THE YOUNQ DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 235 
 
 Russia you will still leave Lady Langport ignorant 
 of your whereabouts and the situation -which you 
 hold." 
 
 " Decidedly, my lord — if such be your wish." 
 "It is," continued Olonetz. "But if you 
 happen to notice any letter arriving for the Prin- 
 cess in the handwriting of Lady Langport or 
 
 Mildred, you will at once act a friendly part " 
 
 " Ah, my lord !" ejaculated Ethel, " do you not 
 think that I would watch over the interests of the 
 Princess as if she were a younger sister ?" 
 
 " Good," said the Count. "I am convinced you 
 will. And therefore you must not hesitate to re- 
 port to the Countess Olonetz, or else to myself, 
 any circumstance which may transpire to excite 
 in your mind the suspicion that these women — I 
 mean Lady Langport and her daughter Mildred — 
 are at any time seeking to correspond with the 
 Princess or her imperial father." 
 
 "I repeat, my lord," answered Ethel, "that in 
 all respects will I do my duty according to my 
 ability and my conscience." 
 
 The Count looked at Ethel for a moment, as if 
 he did not precisely comprehend in what sense 
 she used the term " conscience :" for it assuredly 
 is not a word that is to be found in the dictionary 
 of Russian diplomacy. However, he seemed 
 satisfied by the look of artless sincerity which 
 Ethel's countenance wore ; and he proceeded to 
 explain what her" pecuniary remuneration would 
 be, mentioning a sum the liberality of which filled 
 her with amazement. 
 
 " I think," he said, " if I recollect right — you 
 have already mentioned the name of Lady Lang- 
 port to the Princess ? Tou told her with whom 
 
 you were living " 
 
 " I may have done so," responded Ethel, delibe- 
 rating with herself; " but I am not quite sure." 
 
 " At all events, the name must be mentioned," 
 said the- Count, " because it is absolutely neces- 
 sary I should inform the Grand Duke under 
 whose care you have lately been dwelling. The 
 name of Lady Langport need not therefore be 
 kept a secret : — all you must be especially cautious 
 about is to avoid letting drop a syllable which 
 may establish the slightest connexion between 
 herself and Mildred." 
 
 " Rest assured, my lord, that I shall be 
 cautious," answered Ethel. 
 
 "I think we have now nothing more to discuss," 
 said the Count. " The Duke and his daughter 
 have gone out with the Countess for an airing in 
 the carriage — or else you might haye the honour 
 of an interview. To-morrow morning you shall 
 receive another letter from me, communicating 
 the result of the report which I shall presently 
 make to his Imperial Highness ; -and as I have 
 no doubt the issue will be favourable, I shall let 
 you know at what hour you may come to take up 
 your abode with the Princess Roxana." 
 
 Ethel rose to take her departure : but she 
 hesitated for a moment — and then she said, 
 " Lady Langport will naturally ask whither I am 
 going and where I have been fortunate enough to 
 obtain a new situation. What am I to tell her?" 
 " Ah, my dear young lady," exclaimed Olonetz, 
 " I must leave you to settle that matter for your- 
 self. Make some excuse. Pretext and evasion 
 are venial under certain circumstances. Tour own 
 good sense must show you how very inconvenient 
 it would be for Lady Langport and Mildred to 
 
 learn that you of all persons were about to become 
 the companion — the associate — I may even say 
 the friend of the Princess. They might endeavour 
 to make you the private means of communication 
 between themselves and the Princess " 
 
 "Oh, my lord! believe me, Lady Langport is 
 incapable of such gross impropriety !" 
 
 " 'Hem !" said the Count drily. " I confess I 
 have no faith in the probity of a woman who is in 
 herself a living counterfeit, and who has madj 
 her own existence one vast stupendous lie. More- 
 over, there is Mildred herself, concerning whose 
 utter want of principle and inordinate ambition 
 there is no doubt." 
 
 "Well, my lord," said Ethel, "I must be guided 
 by your superior judgment and follow your pru- 
 dential suggestions." 
 
 Then, with renewed expressions of gratitude 
 for the " kind and generous interest " (as she ex- 
 pressed it) which the Russian Plenipotentiary had 
 shown in her behalf, Ethel took her departure. 
 
 So soon as she was gone, Count Olonetz re- 
 paired to his own private cabinet, and opened an 
 iron safe, the key of which was suspended to a 
 thin but strong gold chain which he wore inside- 
 the bosom of his shirt. He drew forth a book 
 with black covers and a red back. It was not 
 a printed book : it was half filled with entries 
 made in manuscript, some with black ink and 
 some with red. It was now with black ink that 
 Count Olonetz made the following entry : — 
 
 " Memorandum. — Ethel Trevor, English- 
 woman, to be placed as spy on the proceedings 
 of Grand Duke and Roxana. Ethel's character — 
 unsophisticated, artless, frank, and unsuspicious. 
 Secrets may easily be wormed out of her. Cir- 
 cumstances have rendered it more than ever 
 necessary to take precautions against ambitious 
 designs in a certain quarter. Not only is there 
 now Mildred, the discarded wife and the mother ; 
 — but there is also Lady Langport the grand- 
 mother of the Princess, who might perhaps take 
 it into her head to reveal herself to her imperial 
 granddaughter and seek to lead her into a cor- 
 respondence. Ethel Trevor can no doubt be made 
 use of as a spy without herself suspecting that she 
 is serving such a purpose. One circumstance is 
 especially useful. Mildred and Lady Langport 
 are to remain in ignorance that Ethel Trevor is in ~ 
 this particular situation; so that if they en- 
 deavour to initiate a secret correspondence with 
 the Princess, they will be unaware of the cer- 
 tainty of their letters being intercepted through 
 the recognition of the handwriting." 
 
 Having finished the Memorandum, Count Olo- 
 netz restored the book to the safe, which he care- 
 fully locked. 
 
 But what was the use of that book ?. the reader 
 may possibly ask. It could not serve for the 
 mere purpose of registering matters which the 
 astute Count could with the most perfect accuracy 
 carry in his memory. No : but it was in case he 
 should die, that the hiuts, views, and designs 
 therein recorded might be rendered available for 
 the information of other instruments of the Rus- 
 sian system who might succeed him. 
 
 Between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, 
 the Grand Duke and his daughter returned from 
 their ride with the Countess Olonetz ; and the 
 
23U 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Count then sought an interview with the Imperial 
 Prince, which he quickly obtained — and they were 
 now alone together. 
 
 " I have seen this Mrs. Trevor, may it please 
 your Imperial Highness," said Count Olonetz ; 
 " and I trust that everything is arranged to your 
 satisfaction." 
 
 "Arranged already?" ejaculated the Grand 
 Duke, with some little degree of surprise. 
 
 " Yes, my lord," responded the Count. " I be- 
 lieve that I am not in the habit of allowing any 
 delay to interfere with the execution of your 
 Highness's good will and pleasure." 
 
 "lam glad for my daughter's sake," said the 
 Grand Duke, " for she has set her mind upon this 
 arrangement. Besides, I myself should be glad 
 for her to have some one to keep up her know- 
 ledge of the English language, and instruct her in 
 the history and literature of the nations of 
 Western Europe. All these tasks Mrs. Trevor is 
 doubtless well able to fulfil ?" 
 
 " I have no doubt of it, your Imperial High- 
 ness," answered Count Olonetz." 
 
 " Then I presume you have made inquiries con- 
 cerning her ?" 
 
 " I have," responded Olonetz ; " and the results 
 are completely satisfactory." 
 
 " Good," said the Grand Duke : and then, after 
 a pause, he inquired with a sort of half listless 
 indifferent air, "And of whom may you have 
 made these inquiries ?" 
 
 "Mrs. Trevor is now dwelling with a certain 
 Lady Langport," replied Count Olonetz, "the 
 widow of a diplomatist of high rank — a very re- 
 spectable woman " 
 
 " And you have seen Lady Langport ?" 
 
 "Yes, your Imperial Highness! I have seen 
 her Certainly." 
 
 " Ah, well," said the Grand Duke : "lam glad 
 that the business is settled. When is Sirs. Trevor 
 coming ?" 
 
 " Now that I have received the assent of your 
 Imperial Highness to the arrangement which I 
 have made," replied Olonetz, "I shall write to 
 Mrs. Trevor and tell her that she may enter upon 
 her duties to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes — let it be so," remarked the Imperial 
 Prince : and as he sauntered out of the room where 
 this interview took place, he had the air of one 
 who was perfectly satisfied with a particular ar- 
 rangement, and neither craved farther explanation 
 nor scrutiny with regard to its details. 
 
 But a few minutes after he separated from 
 Count Olonetz, the Grand Duke proceeded to the 
 drawing-room, and for a few seconds turned over 
 the leaves of a Court Guide which lay upon the 
 table. 
 
 But let us now follow in the footsteps of Ethel, 
 who, on taking her departure from the mansion of 
 Count Olonetz in Grosvenor Square, entered a 
 cab and at once drove back to Hendon Court. It 
 was now past four o'clock in the afternoon ; and 
 Ethel at once ascended to her chamber, to change 
 her toilet as well as to devote a little while to her 
 beloved boy Alfred, and also to make up her mind 
 in respect to the answer she should give when 
 questioned by Lady Langport in reference to her 
 prospects. Her services were not called into re- 
 quisition by her ladyship : the door between the 
 chamber and the dressing-room remained locked j 
 and there were no sounds on the other sido to in- 
 
 dicate that Lady Langport was there to make 
 the wonted evening change in her own toilet. 
 
 A few minutes before the usual dinner-hour, 
 Ethel descended to the drawing-room ; and there 
 she found Lady Langport reclining upon a sofa, 
 and in the same dress — a morning costume — 
 which she had worn on leaving her chamber. Her 
 ladyship at once observed the expression pf sur- 
 prise which swept over Ethel's features ; and 
 comprehending its meaning, she hastened to say, 
 " It is all my own doing, Ethel! Mildred offered, 
 to assist me in my evening toilet, as you have 
 been wont to do — but I did not feel equal to the 
 task. The truth is, I am not in good spirits — 
 and I preferred remaining here quiet until dinner- 
 time. Besides," added her ladyship slowly, and 
 as if she were rather musing with herself than 
 intending the observation for Ethel's ears, " I 
 must not take up too much of my dear Mildred's 
 time." 
 
 "Ah !" thought Ethel to herself, as she gave a 
 compassionating sigh, " this last reason is the 
 truth — and the poor lady is afraid of trying the 
 patience of her daughter !" 
 
 At this moment Mildred made her appearance ; 
 and Ethel could not repress a start of surprise on 
 beholding her. She was dressed as if for a ball 
 or some brilliant assemblage : her costume was 
 alike of the most elegant and costly description, 
 evidencing the taste and artistic skill of some 
 fashionable French modiste at the West End. A 
 beautiful wreath of artificial flowers circled Mil- 
 dred's head ; and her hair was arranged with the 
 most scrupulous attention. Bracelets embellished 
 her bare arms : she carried a fan in her hand — 
 and she entered the drawing-room with a certain 
 affected coquettish air, as if she was striving to 
 produce an impression upon a numerous assem- 
 blage of people. 
 
 Lady Langport's first feeling, on thus beholding 
 her daughter in her evening toilet, was one of 
 admiration ; for she forgot at the instant how in- 
 consistent and likewise how extravagant it was 
 for her to don such expensive finery when there 
 was no company present to be entertained. To 
 Ethel's mind there was something exceedingly 
 ludicrous in this display on Mildred's part ; and 
 the young lady could not help thinking to herself 
 that the toilet of the mother must now be assu- 
 redly sacrificed to that of the daughter. 
 
 " Well, what think you of this dress ?" asked 
 Mildred, glancing at herself in the mirror. 
 
 " It becomes you admirably," responded Lady 
 Langport. "But I presume you have only put 
 it on just to try it, and to ask our opinion how it 
 fits ?" 
 
 " Oh, indeed, I am dressed for the evening !" 
 ejaculated Mildred. " You have numbers of 
 fashionable acquaintances, — and therefore no one 
 can tell who* may happen to drop in. I intend to 
 make it a rule to dress in a manner that shall be 
 creditable to the house — and — and afford yov. 
 pleasure," she added, lowering her voice to a 
 whisper and assuming a conciliatory look of affec- 
 tion as she bent down towards her mother. 
 
 Lady Langport smiled. She felt that she did 
 indBed require the solace of all the loving atten- 
 tion which her daughter could possibly bestow 
 upon her ! 
 
 "Ah, I told you, Ethel," said Mildred, now 
 turning gaily and triumphantly towards the 
 
THE YOUHO DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 ?37 
 
 young lady, " that I would set [my milliners to 
 work day and night until they accomplished the 
 task. Such beautiful things as they just now 
 sent me home ! But when did you return, 
 Ethel ?" 
 
 " About an hour and a-half ago." 
 "If I had known that you were going into 
 .London, we would have had the carriage and I 
 would have gone with you," pursued Mildred, 
 who now chose to be very affable to Ethel, as 
 well as loving towards her mother. 
 
 " You have not told us yet, Ethel," said Lady 
 Langport, " what you have done ? — for you know, 
 my dear girl, t that I am most anxious on your 
 
 account " 
 
 " I think— yes, I think," said Ethel, " that I 
 shall take my leave of you to-morrow. Indeed, I 
 am almost sure." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mildred; "I wish you all happi- 
 ness !" and she could scarcely conceal the delight 
 she experienced at thus finding that one whom 
 she regarded as a foe, was about to retire from 
 the scene. 
 
 " May I hope," said Lady Langport, — " may I 
 hope, Ethel," she repeated, hesitatingly and tremu- 
 lously, " that the change you are about to make 
 is one that promises well — satisfactorily — for— 
 you " 
 
 She could say no more : her voice was choked 
 in a sob which she could not possibly repress. 
 
 " Perhaps Ethel would rather not be questioned 
 at present," said Mildred, who saw that the sub- 
 ject was a sore one for her mother. 
 
 Fortunately the matter was cut short by the 
 entrance of the footman, to announce that dinner 
 was served ; and the three descended to the 
 dining-room. But little was said during the re- 
 past. Lady Langport was visibly in low spirits ; 
 Ethel was thoughtful .pn many things j and Mil- 
 dred was afraid of appearing too gay, lest she 
 should unmask herself to her mother and betray 
 all the heartless hypocrisy of her conduct in 
 respect to Ethel. 
 
 Dinner was over— dessert was disposed of — and 
 the ladies had ascended to the drawing-room to 
 partake of coffee, when a vehicle of some kind 
 drove up to the front of Hendon Court. In two 
 or three minutes the footman entered the drawing- 
 room, and addressing his mistress, said, " If you 
 please, my lady, <» gentleman has called and begs 
 a moment's conversation." 
 
 "Did you ask him to walk up?" inquired 
 Lady Langport. 
 
 The footman replied in the affirmative, — adding, 
 " But the gentleman declined, as he said that he 
 should not detain your ladyship more than a few 
 moments. I showed him into the breakfast 
 parlour," 
 
 " But his card ? his name ?" said the mistress 
 of the house. 
 
 " He said it was useless to give his name, as he 
 was personally unacquainted with your ladyship." 
 
 " He is a stranger, then ?" 
 
 "And looks like a foreigner, my lady. He 
 wears a moustache " 
 
 Ethel started— for the idea of Count Mandeville 
 struck her ; and she also perceived that the same 
 thought occurred to Mildred. 
 
 " Yes— a light moustache ; and he is very tall," 
 continued the footman, " He came in a London 
 cab, He speaks quite like a foreigner," 
 
 " Go, dear Ethel," said Lady Langport, " and 
 see who this gentleman is. I do not feel well 
 enough. Besides," — and she glanced at her toilet 
 as if she felt that she was not in fitting evening 
 costume to receive a visitor. 
 
 "Oh, I will go," said Mildred. "It is my 
 place, dear sister :" and she spoke the word em- 
 phatically because the footman was in the room. 
 
 Mildred accordingly quitted the apartment, and 
 descended the stairs, preparing herself with a dig- 
 nified carriage of the head and a coquettish bear- 
 ing of her fan to make an immediate impression 
 upon the stranger, whoever he might be. The 
 footman threw open the breakfast-parlour door : 
 the visitor was examining a beautiful oil painting 
 which hung at the further extremity, and thus his 
 back was towards Mildred as she entered. The 
 door was closed behind her by the footman ; and 
 as she advanced, the rustling of her dress made 
 the stranger turn round. 
 
 But how sudden was the start that he gave! — 
 and how simultaneous was the galvanic effect pro- 
 duced upon her whose eyes met his own ! 
 
 "Mildred!" he exclaimed: and then he stood 
 gazing upon her with an expression of counte- 
 nance not easy to be described. 
 
 As for Mildred, no sound escaped her lips ; but 
 she staggered towards a chair, on which she sank 
 down, overcome with terror, shame, , and other 
 feelings : for he who stood before her was none 
 other than the man who had once loved her so 
 tenderly and devotedly — the father of her child 
 Roxana— the husbaDd from whom she had been 
 long ago divorced — the Imperial Grand Duke ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 THE GRAND DUKE AND MILDRED. 
 
 We will pause to explain how it happened that 
 the Russian Grand Duke came to visit Hendon 
 Court. In the first place he had been struck by 
 the comparative readiness with which Count 
 Olonetz had assented to the wish of the Princess 
 that Ethel Trevor should become her companion ; 
 because, in the first instance when the matter was 
 suggested and the Grand Duke had with his own 
 lips proposed it to Ethel, Olonetz had thrown cold 
 water upon it. But still further in contrast with 
 his former behaviour on the subject, Olonetz had 
 now appeared to he zealous in hastening the 
 negotiation to a conclusion, by sending for 
 Ethel, instituting inquiries concerning her, ascer- 
 taining her accomplishments, and learning enough 
 about her to be enabled to recommend her with 
 confidence— and all this within the space of a very 
 few hours! The Grand Duke knew full well 
 that Count Olonetz was one of the most wily 
 politicians and crafty diplomatists in a sphere 
 where all policy was astute .and' all diplomacy of 
 the keenest intenseness; and he could not help 
 thinking that the Count must be swayed in his 
 present conduct by some ulterior motive apart 
 from the mere desire to afford pleasure to the 
 young Princess, A"d then again, the Grand 
 Duke knew npt how it was that Ethel had in the 
 first instance visited the Russian Embassy, nor 
 for wbaf sha. bitd been brought thither on that 
 day when she was first introduced to Roxana, 
 
238 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMMKS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 No explanation on this head had been offered to 
 the Grand Duke; and if he had not asked a 
 question on the point, it was because he' fancied 
 that an explanation would be volunteered. Finally, 
 he was resolved that his daughter should be 
 brought up with the strictest principles of recti- 
 tude and virtue, and that she should be kept apart 
 from all contaminating influences ; so that he was 
 not altogether satisfied with the somewhat hasty 
 and off-hand manner in which Count Olonetz had 
 disposed of the subject of taking references and 
 making inquiries with respect to Ethel Trevor. 
 
 From all that we have just said, the reader may 
 perceive that there was sufficient to excite some 
 little misgiving in the mind of the Grand Duke 
 in respect to Count Olonetz' present motives, and 
 likewise to render him desirous of learning some- 
 thing more than he already knew with regard to 
 Ethel. He had looked in the Court Ghmde — he 
 had found the name of Lady Langport as a re- 
 sident at Hendon Court — and accordingly, after 
 dinner his Imperial Highness had sallied forth 
 from the ambassadorial mansion in Grosvenor 
 Square, had taken his seat in a common hack 
 cab, and had repaired to Hendon Court, little 
 dreaming indeed that on crossing the threshold of 
 that mansion he should find himself in the presence 
 of her whom he had once loved so devotedly and 
 who was his divorced wife ! 
 
 And there it was that they met ! Seventeen 
 years had elapsed since they had last seen each 
 other ! — seventeen year8 since the husband was 
 torn away from the wife in the very heart of 
 Siberia ! The Grand Duke had lately seen 
 Mildred's portrait, — that portrait which was in 
 the possession of his daughter Eoxana. It had 
 been taken when Mildred was in all the bloom 
 and glory of her beauty ; and though the image 
 of her who had once been so much loved could 
 never have passed out of the Prince's mind, yet 
 the impression had been revivified, so to speak, and 
 restored to all its pristine clearness by the sight 
 of that portrait. Thus the idea which the Grand 
 Duke had of Mildred, naturally was as she had 
 appeared seventeen years back in Siberia ere he 
 was so rudely separated from her. But since that 
 time, as years had passed away, he had often 
 thought to himself that Mildred was getting older 
 and older — that she must therefore be changing in 
 appearance: and he had often caught himself 
 wondering how much was likely to be left of that 
 superb beauty which had at the outset so ensnared 
 • his heart. 
 
 And now he beheld her before him ! And how 
 looked she ? He was amazed to perceive at the 
 first glance how handsome she still was — how 
 well preserved all her charms ! Let it be borne 
 in mind, too, that her grand beauty received every 
 advantage from the exquisite toilet in which she 
 appeared, and which it would almost seem as if 
 some presentiment had made her embellish herself 
 wherewith as if for such an occasion as this. The 
 Grand Duke was astonished. Instead of time, 
 and care, and wandering, and penury, and dissi- 
 pation, having marred all the beauty of that face, 
 spoilt the contours of that form, and stamped the 
 whole being with every evidence and sign of pre- 
 mature old age, those features conserved all the 
 perfection of their outline — there was not a wrinkle 
 upon the brow — nor had the eyes lost their lustre, 
 nor the lips their redness, nor the teeth their ivory 
 
 purity. No ! — all those charms were still there, 
 th,e same as characterizing the Mildred of his 
 imagination, — differing only in their association 
 with a womanhood of riper years ! Yes — there 
 they were, those charms so well preserved that 
 any one might have in a moment recognised in 
 her the original of the portrait ! There also was 
 the rich symmetry of the shape, outlined as if 
 still with all the freshness and firmness of youth : 
 — there also was the luxuriance of the rich brown 
 hair! 
 
 It is true that Mildred had shrunk back from ■* 
 the gaze of the Grand Duke, — true also that she 
 had tottered to a chair, on which she had sunk 
 down overwhelmed by feelings which the reader 
 may easily comprehend, and which despite all her 
 hardihood and the audacious readiness of her self- 
 possession, she could not immediately control. 
 But chiefly it was terror that seized upon her ; for 
 the sudden thought flashed to her mind that it 
 was an indignant ex-husband who had come as a 
 harbinger of some terrible fate — perhaps exile for 
 a third time to the horrible wilds of Siberia ! But 
 perceiving that it was a sense of amazement with 
 which the Grand Duke was smitten — and there- ' 
 fore speedily comprehending that he was as much 
 surprised at the encounter as she herself was — she 
 took courage ; and with a characteristic promp- 
 titude of purpose she resolved to be guided "by 
 circumstances in whatsoever discourse might now 
 ensue — not perhaps without the hope that some- 
 thing might yet transpire to her own advantage. 
 
 Rising from her seat, she stood with an air of 
 mingled suspense and meekness, anxiety and 
 submission, in the presence of the Prince. Her 
 look, her attitude, her entire bearing were sud- 
 denly chosen and adopted with all the skil fulness 
 of a cunning woman who held herself prepared 
 for any emergency or requirement — to sink down 
 as a suppliant if she found her cause weak, or to 
 hold herself up as the wronged and outraged 
 woman if she should happen to find the tide of 
 circumstances flowing in her favour. 
 
 Two or three minutes elapsed ere a word was 
 spoken, — two or three minutes, which may seem 
 a ridiculously short space in the ordinary affairs 
 of life, but which constitute a long pause when 
 every second is characterized by a hurricane of 
 conflicting thoughts — when every moment is 
 marked by the conjuring-up of countless recollec- 
 tions of the Past ! And therefore this pause 
 seemed a long one now ; and it afforded Mildred 
 leisure to recover her self-possession, and to 
 balance her mental equilibrium firmly as if for 
 the encounter of a crisis wherein all depended 
 upon the power of intellect that she might dis- 
 play. 
 
 "Mildred," said the Grand Duke, at length 
 breaking the long silence, " I little thought that 
 it was destined for us to meet again in this 
 world." 
 
 " Nor I," she responded, purposely adopting a 
 low tone in order that no particular interpretation 
 might be put upon the emotion it displayed. 
 
 " I know not whether it be a good angel or a 
 demon of evil that has now brought us thus to- 
 gether," continued the Grand Duke, who endea- 
 voured to appear severe and cold, but who could 
 not repress the tremulousnes3 of his accents. " If 
 it be a good angel it must have been with a 
 heavenly meaning for us to meet once again on 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 239 
 
 the earth, that I might assure you of my pardon 
 for the past. But if it were an evil demon, 
 throwing me thus in your way with the hope that 
 I should overwhelm you with reproachings and 
 upbraidihgs, that hope shall be disappointed." 
 
 Mildred remained silent, and seemed to be 
 deeply affected. She appeared as if the power of 
 utterance were choked with sobs which she was 
 vainly endeavouring to stifle ; and the Duke 
 mechanically advanced a pace nearer to her. 
 
 " No," he said, " I will not reproach yon — for 
 I cannot forget that it was I who first seduced 
 you from the path of virtue ! — it was I who first 
 betrayed your virgin chastity in St. Petersburgh 
 ere I made you my wife in Tobolsk ! Yes, Mil- 
 dred, your's has indeed been a sad fate ; and I 
 feel — Oh! I feel that in your heart you must 
 with bitterness assign all your sufferings and cala- 
 mities unto your connexion with me ! But if you 
 have suffered much, I also have suffered, Mildred! 
 The fatal Past has projected its sombre shadow 
 over my soul in the Present ; and there that 
 gloom will still hang for the Future of my 
 existence. My love, then, of other times has not 
 been fatal to yon alone — but has shed its dark- 
 ness likewise over myself !" 
 
 Mildred sank upon a chair, and the tears were 
 now trickling down her cheeks, — tears that were 
 not altogether forced; for there was something in 
 the looks and accents of the Prince which would 
 have touched a heart of flint, — the strong man Who 
 strove at the outset to be severe and cold, mating 
 beneath the irresistible influences which the Past 
 had left hanging over him ! 
 
 "You may suppose, Mildred," he continued, 
 " that I have heard of you from time to time." 
 
 "Yes: doubtless my enemies," said Mildred 
 bitterly, " have failed not to prejudice you to the 
 very uttermost against me." 
 
 " That your misdeeds, Mildred, have not been 
 palliated by those who reported them to me, is 
 probable enough. But, alas ! even apart from 
 such exaggeration, they have been sufficient to 
 shock my mind, and make my soul revolt against 
 the idea that she of whom I thus heard was the 
 Mildred that I had once loved, esteemed, and ad- 
 mired !" 
 
 " My misdeeds ?" she said, now venturing upon 
 a still bolder experiment than before: and she 
 gave a sudden start and sent a glance of indig- 
 nation flashing from her eyes. 
 
 " Did I use a term that was too strong, Mil- 
 dred," asked the Grand Duke, " when I spoke of 
 your misdeeds ?" — and then he added with that 
 almost overwhelming sternness — so fierce, so 
 savage — to which only a member of the Imperial 
 Family of Romanoff could give full effect, " I 
 should have called them profligacies and crimes if 
 I had not just now promised that I would not re- 
 proach or upbraid you." 
 
 "Name them! name them!" cried Mildred, de- 
 termined to play the neck-or-nothing game of 
 ascertaining how many of her antecedents were 
 known to the Grand Duke, so that she might see 
 if there were a possibility of exculpating herself 
 in his eyes. For with all a woman's tact she had 
 not failed to perceive that there was yet a linger- 
 ing tenderness in his heart for the name of Mil- 
 dred, and that her beauty, preserved to a degree 
 utterly beyond his expectation, had likewise pro- 
 duced its effect upon his mind. 
 
 "Name them?" he said. "Ah, Mildred! of 
 what use is it to recapitulate those incidents which 
 cannot fail to be vividly present to your own me- 
 mory? If I thought— Oh! if for a moment I 
 thought But no ! it is impossible !" 
 
 "What is impossible?" she demanded vehe- 
 mently. 
 
 The Grand Duke did not immediately answer : 
 but bending upon her a look of moumfullest com- 
 passion, his eyes spoke his meaning ere his lips 
 shaped it in words when he at length said, " Im- 
 possible, Mildred, that you can be innocent !" 
 
 "If yon mean," she said, " that I have been a 
 wanderer and an outcast over the earth — that I 
 have suffered persecutions more numerous and 
 bitter than any other living female could possibly 
 know — if you mean that I have been hunted from 
 land to land by the bloodhounds of your Govern- 
 ment — driven to seek a refuge in all climes, but 
 suffered to settle myself down in none — condemned 
 to experience penury the most horrible, destitution 
 the most hideous— then dragged back into exile 
 amidst the eternal winters of Siberia — again 
 effecting my escape — encountering perils which if 
 written in a book would be treated only as the 
 ravings of madness or the impossibilities of ro- 
 mance, — if you mean that the love with which 
 you once honoured me has proved the bane of my 
 existence, and has been to me as a curse, while to 
 all other women love becomes a blessing, — if this 
 is what you mean, Oh ! then I have been very 
 guilty! For if suffering be sin, and misery be 
 vice, and unhappiness be crime, then may you 
 with justice brand me as the most monstrous cri- 
 minal of the age !" 
 
 There was a fearful eloquence — a terrible vehe- 
 mence in the language that thus flowed from 
 Mildred's lips : but though all the looks and ges- 
 tures which accompanied it seemed to corroborate 
 its truth, it only produced a certain effect upon 
 the Grand Duke — it did not convince him. He 
 shook his head mournfully : he knew how much 
 she had suffered— he could even make allowance 
 for crimes which had arisen, so ,to speak, out of 
 those sufferings — and he did not wish to wound 
 her feelings unnecessarily by arguing the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " And if," she continued, following up the par- 
 tial advantage which she saw that she had already 
 gained, — " if you mean that I cannot possibly be 
 innocent because I have been proscribed — that I 
 must be guilty because Russian policy has found 
 it expedient that I should be so regarded, — and if 
 my criminality must be judged by the extent of 
 Russian malignity, rancour, and vindictive hate, 
 carried even to the extreme of rearing my 
 daughter in the belief of my death, so that she 
 may not even be allowed to speak of her poor 
 mother, — Oh ! if all these circumstances render 
 me a criminal instead of a victim, then you are 
 right to accuse me ! right also to declare that my 
 innocence can be never proved !" 
 
 " No one denies that you have suffered much, 
 Mildred," said the Grand Duke. "God knows 
 that you have ! — and well and truly have you 
 said that my love has been a curse to you ! • But 
 still there is the line to be drawn between your 
 calamities and your misdeeds. Stop ! do not in- 
 terrupt me. I know that I have but little right 
 to reproach you. The stern decree of my imperial 
 father — who is likewise as much to me an imperial 
 
210 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHES3 ; Ott, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALftY. 
 
 master as he is to the veriest serf in his dominions 
 — dissolved our marriage — -aye, broke with a 
 brutal and impious violence the bond which 
 religion's sacred rite had established between us. 
 Well then, you became free. But, Oh, my God ! 
 that you should have ceased to be my wife in 
 heart ! — that you should have forgotten the duties 
 which love itself imposed! — yes, those duties 
 which were likewise strengthened by the fact that 
 you were the mother of my child! For Oh! I 
 swear to you, Mildred, that though the decree of 
 divorce went forth, yet in my heart did I remain 
 your husband! In heaven I registered a vow 
 that I would never marry another— and I buoyed 
 myself with the hope that the time might come 
 when circumstances might alter, and that our 
 hands might yet be re-united. But then came 
 the terrible tidings that you had fled " 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried Mildred, as if with an 
 air of mingled affliction and astonishment ; 
 " would you have had me remain in that horrible 
 exile ? why do you accuse me because I fled ?" 
 
 "Woman," said the Grand Duke, again re- 
 newing that air of fierce sternness to which we 
 have above alluded ; " I blame you not because 
 you fled — but becaxise it was in the company of a 
 paramour !" 
 
 " Ah !" ejaculated Mildred : " my enemies have 
 dared say that 1 But yes — it was natural ! The 
 opportunity, was too good to be lost by my per- 
 secutors !" 
 
 " Do you deny, it ? dare you deny it ?" — and 
 now the Grand Duke strode another pace towards 
 Mildred as rf with threatening purpose. 
 
 She saw — or at least hoped that this might 
 be made the crisis of the game that she was play- 
 ing ; and fortified with all her hardihood, but 
 giving to it the appearance of a woman's natural 
 indignation, she exclaimed, " Yes, I dare deny it ! 
 — and here will I fearlessly proclaim that Ivan 
 Zadouski was one of the noblest and the most 
 magnanimous of men! Entertaining for me a 
 chivalrous compassion, he undertook to ensure 
 my escape from an exile that my persecutors 
 meant to be eternal ; and as delicate in his at- 
 tentions as he was faithful in his friendly devo- 
 tion, he never for a moment sought my society 
 or addressed a syllable unto me, except when in 
 the sanctioning presence of the matron who ac- 
 companied me." 
 
 "What!" ejaculated the Grand Duke : "you 
 were accompanied by a female ?" 
 
 "Assuredly," answered Mildred, opening her 
 eyes wide as if in astonishment at the question. 
 " But, Oh! I understand, I understand !" she cried, 
 as if a sudden light had burst in upon her mind. 
 " My enemies suppressed that fact !" 
 
 " Good God, if it were true !" muttered the 
 Prince, averting his countenance and covering it 
 with his hand : but the next instant turning to- 
 wards Mildred, he said with the coldness of re- 
 vived suspicion, "Even if that young aide-de- 
 camp was not your paramour, and even if on this 
 particular point you may be enabled to exculpate 
 yourself, — yet what of your behaviour in Aus- 
 tralia and subsequently in India"? Ah, Mildred ! 
 I have read with my own eyes the reports which 
 were addressed to the Government by our agent 
 in Sydney, likewise by our Consul at Bombay ; 
 and they spoke of you as leading the most aban- 
 doned and profligate of lives — especially with an 
 
 Englishman — I forget his name at this moment 
 — it was the same who betrayed you in 
 India " 
 
 "The villain, from whose false lips," cried Mil- 
 dred vehemently, " went forth all the calumnies 
 that were embodied in the reports to which you 
 have alluded ! But, Oh ! wherefore do I attempt 
 to justify myself ? Ought I not to shudder at 
 the consequences? Leave me — for God's sake 
 leave me ! Yes, yes ! — better deem me guilty ! — 
 better avoid and hate me as for years you have 
 done ! Fool, fool that I was to sutler the natural 
 pride of woman to get the better of me for » 
 moment!" 
 
 " What on earth do you mean, Mildred ?". asked 
 the Grand Duke, startled' and bewildered by this 
 vehement outburst of passionate exclamation 
 flowing in a channel so different from that in which 
 the previous topics had been progressing. 
 
 " I mean," she exclaimed, " that if by any 
 
 chance But no, no ! do not question me ! Go 
 
 — leave me ! Why did you come here ?" 
 
 " Mildred, I insist upon an explanation," said 
 the Grand Duke. " I am just and upright — and 
 I swear that if I have been deceived by any mis- 
 representations concerning you " 
 
 " Oh, it is this that I dread ! For God's sake 
 leave me !" she cried, now appearing to be in an 
 agony of terror. 
 
 "Again I ask what do you mean? Tell me — 
 I beseech you, tell me !" — and the Prince mecha- 
 nically seized Mildred by the hand. 
 
 " Save me ! save me !" she murmured, sink- 
 ing upon her knees at his feet ; and then as a* 
 perfect agony was still expressed upon her features, 
 she cried, " Do not let them drag me away and 
 carry me off again to Siberia!" 
 
 "Why should you fear this, Mildred?" asked 
 the Grand Duke. - 
 
 "Oh, because if by any chance," she responded, 
 " I should be enabled to make an impression on 
 your mind in reference to all the foul charges that 
 have been levelled against me, you will go and 
 institute inquiries— you will tell Count Olonetz 
 that we have met — and my God ! I would sooner 
 die — Oh, I would sooner die than be dragged back 
 into that awful region from which I have twice 
 escaped !" 
 
 " By heaven," exclaimed the Grand Duke, 
 moved by this picture of mingled grief aud terror 
 which looked all so completely natural, " I would 
 not take a single step, Mildred, that should harm 
 a hair of your head ! No ! —my God, no ! Poor 
 creature! you have already suffered too much; 
 even if you have been guilty !" — and with an irre- 
 sistible impulse he passed his hand caressingly 
 over her luxuriant hair as she still knelt at his 
 feet. " But if innocent — Oh ! if innocent, whole 
 years of happiness would not repay you for the 
 sorrows through which you have passed ! Rise, 
 Mildred — rise !" 
 
 He raised her up ; and then suddenly turning 
 away, paced to and fro in the apartment, utterly 
 bewildered how to act — a prey to the most pain- 
 ful agitation, and even excruciating excitement. 
 But suddenly stopping short in front of Mildred, 
 he said abruptly, " How came you to voyage 
 with that Englishman from Sydney to Bombay, 
 unless he were your paramour ?" 
 
 " The wretch followed me — 1 did not voyage 
 with him of my own accord. He was a spy and 
 
 I 
 
THE TOTING DUCHESS ; OR, JIEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 241 
 
 an agent in the employ of the Russian authorities. 
 He persecuted me with his addresses at Sydney — I 
 repulsed him. He threatened^ 'me — and by his 
 menaces he revealed himself in his true character, 
 for he proclaimed what he had in his power to do 
 unless I submitted to his will. I fled from Sydney 
 to escape the importunities and the perils which 
 environed me. But behold ! he was in the same 
 ship ; and at Bombay 'twas the same as at Syd- 
 ney — aye, worse ! for there the villain's treachery 
 was crowned by my betrayal into the hands of the 
 Russian consul — and my God ! 1 was borne back 
 to Siberia !" 
 
 " And what has become of that Englishman ?" 
 demanded the Grand Duke. 
 
 " I do not know," replied Mildred, without the 
 least hesitation ; for she saw the answer was a. 
 safe one. 
 
 Again did the Grand Duke turn and pace the 
 apartment : again was he most cruelly bewildered 
 No. 31. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 how to act. Mildred's tale might be true — and 
 the grossest, the foullest, the most abominable 
 calumnies might have been uttered against her ; 
 for the Prince; knew how unscrupulous was the 
 policy and how utterly unprincipled the diplomacy 
 of the nation to which he belonged. On the other 
 hand Mildred's tale might be false ; for the Grand 
 Duke bore in mind all that he had read in the re- 
 ports of the Russian agents of the artfulness as 
 well as profligacy of her character, her specious- 
 ness, her plausibility, and her powers of dissimu- 
 lation. On the one hand his heart yearned to do 
 justice to an injured woman, if injured she really 
 were : but on the other hand he recoiled from the 
 idea of being duped and deceived by a hypocritical, 
 crafty, designing wanton. And for so man}' long 
 years had he been accustomed to look upon her as 
 guilty, that it was difficult for him to deem her 
 innocent all in a moment ! 
 
 " How is it that I find you here, Mildred ?" he 
 
242 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 demanded, after a long pause ; and now he again 
 suddenly stopped short and confronted her. 
 
 " Surely the reason which brought you hither," 
 she said, " must prove suggestive " 
 
 " Answer me !" he interrupted her: "why do I 
 find you at Hendon Court ?" • 
 
 "If you knew in what relation Lady Langport 
 stands towards me " 
 
 " Well, Lady Langport — yes, it is she whom I 
 came to visit. What is she to you ?" 
 
 Mildred had already revolved in her mind the 
 answer she should give, for she saw at a. glance 
 that it would be to her advantage to prove how 
 respectably and honourably she was living. She 
 therefore said, " Lady Langport is my mother." 
 
 " What ! your mother ?" — and the Grand Duke 
 looked fiercely indignant as if repelling a lie that 
 was being told him. 
 
 "I repeat, my mother," said Mildred, firmly 
 yet mildly. 
 
 "Tour mother? Why, she perished in the 
 Neva many long years ago !" 
 
 " The Eussian authorities said so," rejoined Mil- 
 dred : and then she added signifieaTrffly, " But 
 they do not always tell the truth— f#B I know to 
 my cost." 
 
 " But this is strange !" 
 
 "It is nevertheless true. Lady Langport is 
 
 my mother. Ask <her. She will not deny it 
 
 and then perhaps you will believe me ; for Oh ! 
 you believe me not now !" 
 
 "And how long have you known that this 
 mother of your's exists ?" 
 
 " Only a few days. But why " 
 
 " Stop !" interjected the Grand Duke : " do not 
 
 question me yet You know a certain Ethel 
 
 Trevor ?" 
 
 " Oh, to be sure," cried Mildred. " She lives 
 here." 
 
 "Yes — as a sort of companion or friend of 
 Lady Langport ? — is it not so ?" 
 
 " Precisely," answered Mildred. 
 
 " And therefore she is perfectly respectable — a 
 gentlewoman -toy TMrth and education ?" 
 
 "Ob, in all respects!" rejoined Mildred, deter- 
 mined to invest everything belonging to her 
 mother's household with ,the most roseate tint. 
 
 " And now answer me, Mildred," observed the 
 Grand Duke. " Has Ethel Trevor spoken to you 
 of me — and — of — of — Koxana ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Mildred, thinking it safer to tell 
 the truth, the more so as she felt convinced that 
 Count Olonetz must have kept the Prince in the 
 dark with regard to many important details, even 
 if not the whole series of recent circumstances. 
 
 " Do you know," was the illustrious Russian's 
 next question, " what business Ethel Trevor could 
 have Tiad to transact the other day with Count 
 Olonetz ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Mildred, with an air of 
 the most ingenuous candour. " Count Olpnetz 
 somehow or another discovered that Lady Lang- 
 port was my mother; and Ethel Trevor was made 
 the means of communicating the circumstance to 
 me." 
 
 "Ah!" said the Grand Duke: "now I under- 
 stand !" — for indeed the matter thus far became 
 clear and apparent enough. " Mildred," he said, 
 after a few moments' additional reflection, "how 
 is it possible that you can be ignorant of the 
 motive which brought me hither this evening ?" 
 
 " I cannot even now divine it," said Mildred, 
 — " unless it be that you wish to see this Ethel 
 Trevor of whom you have been speaking ? But 
 I ought to tell you that she is not going to remain 
 here — she departs tomorrow — she leaves of her 
 
 own accord " 
 
 "Well?" said the Grand Duke, as if asking 
 for the remainder of the explanation. 
 
 " She has got another place somewhere," con- 
 tinued Mildred. 
 
 " And do you not know where ?" inquired the 
 Grand Duke. 
 
 " No — indeed I do not," rejoined Mildred. 
 "Ethel is naturally a, reserved and close per- 
 son " 
 
 " No matter I" interjected the Prince, who 
 thought to himself that another mystery had 
 just arisen which must be cleared up. "Now, 
 Mildred," he went onto demand, "is it possible 
 that my visit hither can remain a secret — at 
 least for the present — from Lady Langport and 
 Ethel Trevor?" 
 
 " Yes — it can be kept a secret," responded Mil- 
 dred. " They are in the drawing-room up-stairs 
 
 Doubtless they wonder what detains me"~so 
 
 long: but " 
 
 " Can you not devise some pretext — some ex- 
 cuse ? — pretend that it was an acquaintance " 
 
 " If you wish it — if you command it," said Mil- . 
 dred. with an air as if it were only a reluctant 
 assent that she gave to the utterance of a false- 
 hood. " I must manage by some means " 
 
 "Yes — this must be done," said the Grand 
 Duke. " I have the most cogent reasons for the 
 course which I am enjoining. -—Mildred," he con- 
 tinued, after a brief pause, during which he con- 
 templated her with the most earnest attention, 
 " you shall soon hear from me — or else we shall 
 
 meet again. Be cautious — be circumspect 
 
 and fear not that you will be compromised through 
 me." 
 
 For a moment she fancied that he was about to 
 take her hand : indeed lie appeared to make a 
 gesture to that effieot ;> but he doubtless thought 
 better of it — Tie perhaps feared to commit himself 
 too much, at the present uncertain juncture of 
 affairs — and it was with some degree of abrupt- 
 ness that he quitted the room. Almost imme- 
 diately afterwards Mildred heard the vehicle drive 
 away from the front door, and all that had just 
 passed wore the aspect of a dream. 
 
 But no — it was not a dream ! He who was 
 once her husband — he who was the father of her 
 child — he who years back in the depths of Siberia 
 had plighted his vows to her at the holy altar — 
 had just now been in her presence ! As she 
 rapidly reviewed everything which had passed 
 between them, she saw full well that she had 
 moved him, even if she had not coiwinced him. A 
 wild hope was now agitating in her brain : a 
 splendid vision seemed to be passing before her : 
 every pulse thrilled with the fervid fire of this 
 ambition that had been so suddenly resuscitated 
 within her. Was it possible that the dream might 
 be fulfilled — that the hope which was expanding 
 in her bosom would be gratified ? In short, was 
 it within the range of probability that the Grand 
 Duke should become impressed with the conviction 
 of her innocence — that he should insist upon re- 
 storing a mother to a beloved daughter - that he 
 might succeed in overcoming all difficulties, even 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 243 
 
 tp the scruples of the Czar himself — and that in- 
 stead of persecution and Siberian terrors, there 
 should be a re-marriage, happiness, and triumph ? 
 TVas all this probable? Common sense might 
 have told Mildred that it was barely so : but still 
 it was within the range of possibility ; and wild 
 ambitious hope, tinting everything at the moment 
 with its roseate hue, made all that was acknow- 
 ledged to be possible seem actually probable. 
 
 Settling her looks into their wonted aspect, 
 Mildred returned- to the drawing-room, where 
 she found her mother labouring under so much 
 nervous uneasiness on her account as to have been 
 already deliberating with Ethel by what means 
 they could ascertain who the stranger was that 
 held Mildred in so long a parley. 
 
 " You did wrong to frighten yourself," said 
 Mildred, with an easy careless air as if nothing 
 extraordinary had actually taken place : " you 
 might have supposed that I was voluntarily re- 
 maining to converse with the gentleman who 
 called." 
 
 "Yes — I daresay I was foolish," interjected 
 Lady Langport ; " but still I was uneasy on your 
 account. The idea of some Kussian treachery 
 was uppermost in my mind " 
 
 " Let us hope there is no fear of that," -said 
 Mildred: and then, without looking at Ethel, but 
 as if merely following up the train of her thoughts 
 in quite a natural manner, she added, " Kest as- 
 sured I shall never do anything that will again 
 draw down upon me the Russian displeasure." 
 
 " God forbid !" rejoined Lady Langport with 
 solemn emphasis. "But who was your visitor?" 
 
 " Oh, a gentleman whom I originally became 
 acquainted with abroad," replied Mildred, without 
 the slightest change of countenance or confusion. 
 " I met him yesterday while I was shopping in 
 London ; and I mentioned where I was living, 
 without either the thought or the wish that he 
 should pay me a visit. But he came, apologizing 
 for the lateness of the hour on the ground that he 
 is about to leave England to-morrow, and he 
 wished to know if he could be of any service to 
 me abroad. He drew me into a discourse concern- 
 ing mutual acquaintances — and thus the time 
 passed away." 
 
 " But in the first instance he inquired for me ?" 
 said Lady Langport. 
 
 " True," responded Mildred. " That was an 
 act of courtesy on his part, not merely towards 
 yourself as the mistress of the house, but like- 
 wise towards me, that it might not for an instant 
 appear as if he had come by my particular in- 
 vitation." 
 
 Lady Langport was perfectly satisfied by this 
 explanation : but Ethel thought there was some- 
 thing strange in it : —indeed, the suspicion was 
 floating in her mind that Mildred was not alto-, 
 gether telling the exact truth. But she said 
 nothing ; and very shortly afterwards Lady Lang- 
 port intimated her intention of retiring to rest. 
 
 Ethel glanced at Mildred to ascertain whether 
 her services would be required that evening, or 
 whether they had been already finally dispensed 
 with. 
 
 " I understand your goodness of heart, my dear 
 Ethel," the hypocritical Mildred hastened to whis- 
 per; "but I will perform all the duties which I 
 have undertaken." 
 
 " Good night, mydear Ethel," said Lady Lang-_ 
 
 port, pressing the young lady's hand fervidly : 
 and then she added in a voice full of emotion, " I 
 repeat, my sweet friend, that whithersoever you 
 go, my best wishes will attend you." 
 
 " Good night, dear Ethel," said Mildred; "and 
 remember that henceforth the sincerest friendship 
 is to exist between us, no matter how far we may 
 be separated:" — and it was with an assumed 
 warmth that the hypocritical creature wrung 
 Ethel's hand. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards Ethel was in her 
 chamber, straining her little Alfred to her bosom 
 and with a sigh thinking of the beloved boy's 
 equally beloved father. It was some time before 
 slumber visited her eyes ; for she had many things 
 to serve as topics for reflection — many subjects 
 that crowded in her mind. 
 
 The morning brought the promised letter from 
 Count Qlonetz, informing her that the arrange- 
 ment entered into on the preceding day had re- 
 ceived the approbation of his Imperial Highness 
 the Grand Duke, and that Mrs. Trevor might 
 with the least possible delay repair to her new 
 destination. 
 
 On descending to the breakfast-parlour, she 
 found Mildred already there, and evidently pre- 
 pared to give her a greeting of the most studied 
 friendliness. 
 
 " How is her ladyship?" inquired Ethel. 
 
 " She has passed a very bad night, and is now 
 sleeping," responded Mildred. "But do you leave 
 us to-day?" 
 
 " Yes : I have received a letter which has deci- 
 sively fixed my plans. I purposed to leave at 
 about noon ; but if in the meantime it would be 
 disturbing her ladyship to bid her farewell " 
 
 " Let me deal candidly with you, my dear 
 Ethel," said Mildred ; and the very pretence on 
 her part of dealing with candour only served at 
 once to render Mrs. Trevor all the more suspicious. 
 "Her ladyship," continued Mildred, "has been 
 rendered nervous and agitated by the idea of part- 
 ing from you : I know that she dreaded the fare- 
 well scene ; and this circumstance must prove to 
 you how sincere is the friendship which she enter- 
 tains on your behalf. She desired me to give you 
 this letter. Nay, read it not now," added Mil- 
 dred, as Ethel was about to break the seal. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor hesitated for a moment; but the 
 next instant she decided upon following the re- 
 quest just made — and she secured the letter un- 
 opened about her person. She and Mildred then 
 sat down to breakfast ; and she perceived that her 
 companion strained every nerve to maintain the 
 most affable demeanour towards her — to over- 
 whelm her with attentions, and to lavish upon her 
 the seeming proofs of friendship. Ethel was 
 nauseated by these demonstrations which she knew 
 to be so hollow and insincere ; and speedily rising 
 from the breakfast-table, she retired to her own 
 chamber to make her preparations for depar- 
 ture. 
 
 The instant she was alone, she opened the letter 
 which had been presented to her by Mildred, and 
 which was in the handwriting of Lady Langport. 
 It had been written on the preceding night ; and 
 her ladyship thereby conveyed her apprehension 
 that she might not in the morning be equal to the 
 task of bidding Ethel farewell. She therefore had 
 recourse to these means of saying everything kind 
 and affectionate ; and we may observe that the 
 
241 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 letter was indeed penned in the warmest and the 
 most grateful strain. It contained a bank-note 
 for five hundred pounds, which her ladyship en- 
 treated Ethel to accept, declaring that naught 
 could possibly afflict her more than to find that 
 this little tribute of affectionate friendship was re- 
 jected. There was a postscript, wherein Lady 
 Langport assured Ethel of her conviction that 
 Mildred entertained a sincere friendship towards 
 her — that she (Mildred) deeply regretted any un- 
 kind words which might have escaped her lips — 
 and that nothing would afford Lady Langport 
 greater pleasure than to know that Mildred re- 
 ceived Ethel's sincere forgiveness and that they 
 parted good friends. 
 
 At first Ethel was overwhelmed by the affec- 
 tionate tone of the letter and by the munificence 
 of the gift which it conveyed : but as the first 
 impression began gradually to pass away, the idea 
 stole into her mind that Mildred had exercised 
 some voice in dictating the letter and in suggest- 
 ing the pecuniary testimonial. This thought wao 
 a painful one ; and the generous-minded young 
 lady endeavoured to repel it — but she could not. 
 Then, how should she act ? Her good sense told 
 her that her services for barely three weeks at 
 Hendon Court could not be estimated at a tithe 
 of the sum thus presented to her: — but on the 
 other hand might she not regard it as the offering 
 of pure friendship and gratitude on the part of 
 Lady Langport ? must it in any sense be consi- 
 dered as a bribe for the maintenance of the tre- 
 mendous secret which was in ' her possession in 
 respect to her ladyship? was it likewise to be 
 looked upon as a sop thrown out to appease her 
 for being compelled to make room for Mildred be- 
 neath that roof? Ethel felt pained while asking 
 herself these questions. To be brief, however, she 
 determined upon putting the best construction on 
 the whole proceeding, and ascribing the gift to the 
 kindest and purest feelings on Lady Langport's 
 part. We should observe that one circumstance 
 fitruck her as peculiar ; and this was that Lady 
 Langport did not ask in the letter to what new 
 home Ethel was about to remove — nor had Mil- 
 dred at the breakfast-table exhibited any curiosity 
 on the point. But then it struck Ethel that inas- 
 much as she herself had volunteered no explana- 
 tion thereon, the mother and daughter had been 
 restrained by mingled feelings of delicacy and 
 pride from interrogating her on a topic which she 
 seemed resolved to envelope in silence. 
 
 She penned a billet of affectionate gratitude to 
 Lady Langport, but as a matter of course forbear- 
 ing from all allusion to that very topic. Her 
 preparations for departure were now all made: 
 she took leave of the domestics, with whom she 
 left proofs of her generosity; and the moment 
 came for her to bid farewell to Mildred. We will not 
 pause to chronicle all that Mildred said — nor how 
 she overwhelmed Ethel with assurances of ever- 
 lasting friendship, and with oft repeated hopes 
 that no offence nor provocation on her part would 
 be thenceforth remembered. On this point Ethel 
 replied with a generous fervour ; and she issued 
 forth from Hendon Court, followed by the nurse- 
 maid bearing little Alfred in her arms, and by a 
 man-servant carrying her boxes. 
 
 " Up to the very last," she thought to herself, 
 , " no question has been put to me with regard to 
 my new destination. The carriage was offered, 
 
 and no comment was made when I declined it 
 The very mode in which I am leaving the placa 
 ought to excite some suspicion that it is with 
 a certain degree of mystery, if not with ac- 
 tual stealthiness, I am removing to my new 
 home !" 
 
 The end of the lane was reached: and in a 
 few minutes the omnibus made its appearance. 
 Ethel received the child from the hands of the 
 nursemaid, who was not to accompany her ; and 
 she proceeded into London. From the point 
 where the omnibus stopped, a cab bore her to the 
 mansion in Grosvenor Square ; and there she was 
 at once introduced to the suite of apartments oc- 
 cupied by the Princess Roxana. 
 
 How joyous were the greetings which Ethel 
 received ! — with what ingenuous enthusiasm did 
 the amiable young Princess welcome her anxiously 
 expected friend! — and with what a gush oi 
 girlish delight did she take little Alfred in her 
 arms and kiss and fondle him as lovingly as if it 
 were the child of some near and dear relative 
 whom she was thus for the first time embracing ! 
 And with what promptitude had all the prepara- 
 tions for Ethel's reception been made! The 
 services of an English nursemaid were already 
 secured for little Alfred ; and they were to occupy 
 a chamber contiguous to Ethel's, so that she might 
 exercise the completest supervision in respect to 
 the care bestowed on her offspring. Her own 
 chamber was in the immediate vicinage of the 
 Princess Roxana's; and » lady's-maid was ap- 
 pointed to attend upon her. 
 
 When the Princess and Ethel found themselves 
 alone together — little Alfred having been borne 
 away by his new nurse — the artless Russian girl 
 threw her arms again and again round Ethel's 
 neck, embracing her fondly. Then she produced 
 her portfolio of drawings—- and they looked over 
 them together ; and they took their turns at the 
 piano and the harp ; and then Roxana led Ethel to 
 inspect her suite of apartments. 
 
 At length the Princess approached a topic upon 
 which she was evidently desirous to enter, but the 
 thought of which caused a shade to come over 
 her beautiful countenance. 
 
 "My dear Ethel," she said, "you must answer 
 me one question?" 
 
 " Speak, dear Princess. What is it that you 
 would ask me ?" 
 
 "The other day," continued Roxana, "you re- 
 member we were talking of my poor deceased 
 mother — I told you that I would show you her 
 
 portrait and then the instant you glanced at 
 
 it you ejaculated the name of Mildred in so sin- 
 gular a manner that it really struck me as if 
 there were a meaning attached to the incident 
 — some deep significancy " 
 
 "My dear Princess," interrupted Ethel, "had 
 you not previously informed me that your mother's 
 name was Mildreda or Mildred ?" 
 
 " To be sure ! But still," continued the beau- 
 tiful Roxana, "fixing her soft limpid blue eyes 
 earnestly upon Ethel, — " but still it struck me as 
 if you ejaculated the name with the vehemence of 
 a sudden recognition — j — " 
 
 " Remember, dear Princess, that at the very 
 instant of which you are speaking the door opened 
 and the appearance- of your father threw all your 
 ideas into confusion." 
 
 "Yes," said Roxana; "and therefore, when 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 245 
 
 I subsequently strove to gather my recollections, 
 I may have fallen into error with regard to your 
 look and manner when you ejaculated the name of 
 Mildred. Oh ! do you remember my poor father's 
 excitement — the haggard and ghastly expression 
 of his countenance as he sank down upon a 
 chair " 
 
 "Let me hope, dear Princess," interrupted 
 Ethel, " that he . did not afterwards chide you 
 when you explained to him — as of course you 
 must have done — how you had for so many 
 years managed to keep secret possession of that 
 portrait?" 
 
 " Oh, no, Ethel ! — my father was incapable of 
 chiding me for such a thing ! He is too just and 
 generous, and too kind ! Oh, chide me ? — no ! 
 And when you were gone he made me sit down 
 upon that ottoman at his feet, and tell him how 
 the portrait had originally come into my posses- 
 sion, and with what emotions I had been wont to 
 contemplate it ; and he asked me all I had ever 
 heard whispered round me in reference to my 
 mother. And as I went on telling him candidly 
 and truly all that he sought to know, the tears 
 trickled down his cheeks; and, Oh! I wept 
 bitterly, Ethel ; for I could not bear to see my 
 dear father weep — he who has always so much 
 command over himself!" 
 
 "And what did he do with the portrait?" 
 inquired Ethel, whose curiosity was deeply in- 
 terested on this point. 
 
 " At first," replied the Princess, " my father 
 said he would keep it, but that I should enjoy the 
 privilege of seeing it whenever I thought fit. 
 But then I suppose that he beheld so sudden a 
 shade of sadness come over my countenance, and 
 saw that my heart was so ready to burst with 
 affliction, that he took compassion on me, and he 
 bade me keep the portrait which I cherished so 
 tenderly. And then I was so glad, Ethel ! — and 
 I embraced my dear father a thousand times, 
 thanking him for his kindness- He charged me to 
 keep the existence of that portrait a secret, as I 
 had hitherto done ; and therefore I am as careful 
 as ever in preventing it from falling under the 
 eyes of Count or Countess Olonetz." 
 
 Here we may conclude this chapter, leaving 
 Ethel Trevor comfortably installed in her new 
 home, and felicitously comparing her present pros- 
 pects with the mode of life which she had led 
 during her short sojourn at Hendon Court. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 THE BILL OF EXCHANGE. 
 
 By the side of a bed in which her father lay 
 sleeping, at the house in Hatton Garden, sat 
 Selina. The medicine bottles upon the toilet- 
 table might have served as a hint that Mr. Casey 
 was an invalid; and it only required a slight 
 glance at his countenance to confirm the surmise. 
 The natural sallowness of his complexion mingled 
 with a ghastly pallor : the hard lines upon his 
 brow, and about the eyes and lips, seemed to be 
 more deeply indented than ever. This was the 
 fourth day since he had been seized with illness, — 
 the fourth day since he had been stricken down ip 
 
 his study by the discovery of the loss of the 
 papers. And this day of which we are now speak- 
 ing, was the 31st of May — the one on which the 
 bridal was fixed to take place, — the one whereon 
 he had hoped to behold his daughter Selina enter 
 into the bosom of one of the finest old patrician 
 families in the kingdom ! But the usurer was 
 now sleeping in unconsciousness that the day had 
 arrived and was passing without the slightest 
 prospect of his hopes being realized ; for after a 
 long interval of feverish wakefulness, he had sunk 
 off into slumber under the influence of a strong 
 opiate which his medical attendant had deemed it 
 necessary to administer ; — and this sleep had 
 already lasted several hours. 
 
 Selina sat by the side . of the couch, with her 
 eyes fixed upon her father's face. Her own coun- 
 tenance was very pale : she sat perfectly mo- 
 tionless — her features were rigid, save ever and 
 anon the quivering of the lips which trembled as 
 if under the influence of some strong emotion that 
 was agitating within. 
 
 It was past one o'clock in the afternoon, when 
 Mr,. Casey slowly opened his eyes and began to 
 look about him with the vacant air of one who 
 could not altogether collect his thoughts nor com- 
 prehend why he was there, nor remember, what 
 had happened. 
 
 " My. dear father, how do you feel now ? Oh, 
 tell me how you feel ?" — and Selina spoke in the 
 softest and kindest tone — indeed with an affec- 
 tionate earnestness so deep that if he had been the 
 best and most estimable of fathers, his condition 
 could not possibly have excited a more loving in- 
 terest on the part of his daughter. 
 
 " Is it a dream, Selina ? — a dream ?" — and the 
 usurer pressed his disengaged hand to his brow. 
 " No, no !" he exclaimed, with a. sudden sound 
 that was not exactly the cry, nor yet the howl of 
 a wild beast, but something between the two ; " it 
 is not a dream ! I recollect it all 1 What news 
 — what news, Selina ? Tou are silent, girl ? Ah ! 
 then, am I to understand that the — the — 
 deeds " 
 
 " Compose yourself, dear father — compose your- 
 self, for God's .sake !" said Selina, in a low but 
 appealing voice. 
 
 "Compose myself?" he fiercely ejaculated. 
 " Malediction ! perdition !" — and then still more 
 terrible imprecations burst from his lips. 
 
 " My God !" murmured Selina, clasping her 
 hands, frightened and dismayed. 
 
 " How long have I slept ?" suddenly demanded 
 her father : then, without waiting for a reply, he 
 snatched up his watch, which lay upon a table 
 by the side of his bed ; and on seeing what the 
 time was, he cried out with rage and anguish, 
 " Near two o'clock ! — and this is the day ! What 
 has been done ?" 
 
 " What would you have had done, dear father," 
 asked Selina softly and imploringly, " while you 
 are stretched here upon a bed of sickness ?" 
 
 " What would I have done ?" he savagely ex- 
 claimed: "I would have had the bridal take 
 place! Has anybody been from the Trent- 
 hams?" 
 
 "Lord Trentham has sent to inquire after 
 you " 
 
 "Who told him that I was ill?" demanded 
 Casey sharply. 
 
 " How could he help knowing it, dear father, 
 
246 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 considering all circumstances ?" said Selina. 
 " Mr. Osborne called — of course he was at once 
 told " . 
 
 " What! of the loss of the deeds ?" interjected 
 the usurer. 
 
 " I did not say so, father :" — and now Selina's 
 voice and manner suddenly became cold as if she 
 ■were offended at the imputation. 
 
 " Well, -well — I did not mean to be cross with 
 you," said her father; "but allowances must be 
 made for all I have suffered. Has Bulteel 
 been ?" 
 
 " He called this morning, at eleven." 
 
 " And why the deuce did I not see him?" 
 
 "You were asleep, father— and Dr. Scott had 
 expressly ordered that you were not to be dis- 
 turbed." 
 
 Casey muttered an imprecation against Dr. 
 Scott — and then inquired when Mr. Bulteel was 
 coming again ? 
 
 "He said he should call at two o'clock, 
 father." 
 
 " Well, it's two now — or close upon it. Why 
 the deuce doesn't he come? Oh! everything is 
 combining against me! — losses and disappoint- 
 ments — disappointments and losses ! But I will 
 triumph yet. If the Trenthams have done this, 
 they shall suffer for it, or make amends!" 
 
 " Oh, my dear father," said Selina, in a voice 
 of mingled reproachfulness and affliction, "can 
 you possibly fancy for a single instant that the 
 Trentham family could be guilty of such a 
 wicked thing as to steal your deeds ?" , 
 
 "1 don't know what to think: — how should 
 I ?" exclaimed Casey, with reviving irritability. 
 " How am I to account for it ? Who could have 
 done it except those that are most interested in 
 the job? — and though I confess I don't see how 
 'twas done, yet " 
 
 " At all events, dear father," interjected Selina, 
 " you must not jump to the hurried and unjust 
 conclusion that the only way to solve the mystery 
 is to attribute the — the — act to persons who, 
 however great their embarrassments, would scorn 
 the deed." 
 
 " Then what on earth am I to think ?" de 
 manded Casey. " Must I suppose that my wife 
 or either of my own children would rob me ?" 
 
 Selina. gave a convulsive start, as if she were 
 
 ' about to ejaculate something from her lips, when 
 
 a loud double knock at the front door echoed 
 
 through the house. 
 
 " There's Bulteel — that's his knock !" exclaimed 
 Casey. " Go and bring him up at once." 
 
 " Your medicine, dear father," said Selina. " It 
 is two o'clock." 
 
 "Perdition take the medicine! — But stay!" 
 added the usurer, more quietly : " as I have got 
 to pay for it I may just as well take it. Not that 
 I think I want it ; for this sleep has done me a 
 
 world of good 1 feel quite strong again ; and 
 
 if it wasn't for the recollection of all the accursed 
 
 things that have happened to me But let's 
 
 see Bulteel : he may have some good news." 
 
 Mr. Casey took Ms medicine ; and Selina has- 
 tened from the room, into which Mr. Bulteel was 
 shortly introduced. He was a short, middle-aged, 
 dark-complexioned person, with restless eyes and 
 a cunning look : he was well dressed, and hand- 
 somely embellished with jewellery. We may add 
 (hat he belonged to the legal profession, and that 
 
 his chambers were situated in one of the Inns of 
 Court leading out of Holborn, and therefore at no 
 great distance from Hatton Garden itself. 
 
 " What news ? what news ?" cried Mr. Casey. 
 " Nothing, either good, bad, or indifferent," re- 
 sponded Bulteel ; and then as he sat himself down 
 by the side of the bed, he added, " Nothing, I 
 mean, except the opinion that Gramplin gives of 
 the business." 
 
 " Ah I and what does he say?" exclaimed the 
 invalid quickly ; for he thought there was some- 
 thing peculiar, if not actually embarrassed in 
 Bulteel's look and manner at the moment. 
 
 " You know, Mr. Casey," said this professional 
 gentleman, " that Gramplin is one of the cleverest 
 detectives of the Force — but at the same time he 
 is just as liable to err in opinion as other men. 
 And therefore, if it weren't for this reservation 
 or proviso which I have just set forth, I should 
 think that I was positively and actually insult- 
 ing you and your family by repeating what the 
 
 man says " 
 
 " And what does he say ?" demanded the usurer 
 petulantly. 
 
 Mr. Bulteel gave a short cough; and then he 
 continued thus : — " Mr. Gramplin, the detective, 
 is more blunt and matter-of-fact than delicate and 
 polite. He says that as it is evident there was no 
 burglarious entry into the premises for the purpose 
 of carrying off those deeds, the act must have 
 been accomplished either by one of the regular 
 inmates of the house or else by some one from 
 outside." 
 
 " Well, well," interjected Casey, " we know all 
 
 this. If Gramplin can tell us nothing else " 
 
 " But listen," said Mr. Bulteel : '• Gramplin 
 says that if it were a person from outside, he must 
 have had an accomplice inside! Therefore — and 
 it is this part of the business which is so insult- 
 ing " 
 
 "Never mind ! Go on. Gramplin says, there- 
 fore " 
 
 "That either you yourself," continued Bulteel, 
 " have put away the deeds for some good reason 
 or another — or else that some member of your 
 family, or one of the servants, must have been an 
 accomplice of the thief from outside." 
 
 " And why in the devil's name should I put 
 away and pretend to lose my own documents?" 
 asked Casey, with sneering contempt. 
 
 " Hem ! My dear sir," rejoined Bulteel, "such 
 things are done — and Gramplin as a man of the 
 world knows it. For instance, if a person is going 
 
 to become bankrupt-! " 
 
 "Enough !" interrupted Casey, with angry im- 
 patience ; " this is ridiculous as applied to myself! 
 As for the disappearance of the deeds, it is impos- 
 sible to suspect either of the servants ; and as for 
 
 one of the family " 
 
 He paused — reflected — shook his head mys- 
 teriously — and. then looked very hard at the 
 lawyer. 
 
 " Well," said the latter, " what is now upper- 
 most in your mind?" 
 
 " No !" cried the invalid abruptly ; " I won't 
 think such a thing ! She is too good — too loving 
 — too affectionate ! But no matter, Bulteel, whe- 
 ther the thief from outside had an accomplice in 
 the house or not, — it is impossible, that this thief 
 could be any other than Launcelot Osborne." 
 " It certainly looks like it," said the lawyer ; 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ! OR, MEMOIRS OF A IADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 247 
 
 "but of course on this head Graniplin could not 
 pronounce an opinion." 
 
 "You will go and get a warrant and arrest him 
 at once," said Casey with a savage sternness in 
 his voice. 
 
 " Very good — It shall be done if you wish It. 
 Only bear in mind that if such an extreme 
 measure be adopted, you cover the young man 
 with disgrace : and instead of his being a desirable 
 husband for your daughter, he becomes one whom 
 you would spurn and keep at a distance. And 
 pray remember, my dear Mr. Casey, that a violent 
 policy is not always the best. Look at the case 
 of Sir Abel Kingston. If you had taken my 
 
 advice and arrested Mm simply for the debt " 
 
 , " He would have gone through the Insolvents' 
 Court and laughed at me," interjected the usurer. 
 
 " And as you arrested him for forgery," rejoined 
 Bulteel, " he has gone out of the world and baffled 
 you altogether." 
 
 "But in reference to this present business," 
 said Casey impatiently, " I will not be beaten — 
 and I will be revenged ! I will carry out my 
 aims " 
 
 " And this is precisely what I want you to do," 
 said the lawyer, " and to which end I am bound 
 to render all my assistance. Why not try gentle 
 measures? The Trenthams are still in your 
 power ; and I am much mistaken if you could not 
 in a very short time bring them to their senses. 
 What say you? Shall I put in an execution to 
 the tune of eighteen or twenty thousand pounds ? 
 I think I have Lord Trentham's bonds and bills at 
 my office to that amount " 
 
 "Yes — twenty thousand pounds exactly," said 
 the usurer : then after a few moments' reflection, 
 he added, " Let it be so : it is the best course. It 
 need make no noise, and can be speedily hushed 
 up if the Trenthams come to their senses." 
 
 " No doubt of it," said Bulteel ; " for of course, 
 if Launcelot Osborne has really pilfered these 
 deeds, it can only be for the purpose of extricating 
 his family from your clutches and saving himself 
 from being compelled to marry your daughter. 
 Therefore, if what we are now going to do should 
 bring him to book, your aim will be accomplished 
 — he may keep the deeds he has stolen " 
 
 " Certainly," interjected Casey, " for I had all 
 along intended — and indeed had undertaken — to 
 give them up as Selina's dowry." 
 
 " Well then," added Bulteel, rising from his 
 seat, " it will be as broad as it is long. An exe- 
 cution for twenty thousand pounds is no joke in 
 any aristocratic family — particularly in one that 
 is so near the verge of ruin as the Trenthams." 
 
 "Besides," added Casey, "you yourself may 
 go with the bailiff to make the seizure, and you 
 can just whisper in the ear of the young scamp 
 Launcelot that there may be such a thing as a 
 criminal prosecution in the background. You 
 may tell him too that affidavits can be made in 
 reference to the lost securities, and then an appli- 
 cation can be addressed to the Court of Chancery 
 to put me in the same position as before " 
 
 " Leave the whole business to me," said the 
 lawyer, " and I will do the needful. The seizure 
 shall be made this very afternoon at Trentham 
 House." 
 
 Mr. Bulteel thereupon, took his departure ; and 
 Selina returned to her father's chamber. Mr. 
 Casey said not a word ; but he sat up in bed, and 
 
 looked very hard and very searchingly in his 
 daughter's face. She could not fail to observe 
 that scrutiny : and she met it with a steadiness 
 of look as if she were sustained by the purity of 
 a soul that was conscious of no evil. 
 
 " Selina," said the usurer, Blowly breaking 
 silence, and riveting his regards even still more 
 keenly and searchingly upon his daughter, " an- 
 swer me as if you were on your oath before some 
 judge empowered to question you — aye, or as if 
 you were answering unto your Maker 1" 
 
 " Speak, father," said the young lady, with a 
 cold and steady firmness; "why do you thus 
 solemnly adjure me ?" 
 
 " He who stole the papers from my office," con- 
 tinued Casey, " must have had an accomplice in- 
 side these walls. AH the circumstances prove it. 
 My own key must have been purloined for the 
 moment — or the pattern of the lock must have 
 been given for the manufacture of another key. 
 And that it was no ordinary robbery is proved 
 by the fact that nothing else was taken " 
 
 " All these things, father," said Selina quietly, 
 "you have argued before, over and over again." 
 
 " But I repeat them now," rejoined the usurer 
 sternly, " because they are to lead to a question 
 which I am about to put to you, and unto which 
 you will reply as solemnly as if you were stand- 
 ing in the presence of your God! None other 
 than Launcelot Osborne " 
 
 "Again that suspicion, father! — nay, more, 
 that imputation !" interjected Selina indignantly. 
 
 "Will you swear, then, daughter— will yon 
 swear," resumed her father, whose eyes still re- 
 mained riveted upon her, — " will you swear that 
 you were not the accomplice of Launcelot Os- 
 borne in that theft ?" 
 
 "Father, I swear," she answered, with un- 
 changing countenance and unflinching look. 
 
 Still her father's eyes lingered upon her for a 
 few moments ; and then, as if his own hard heart 
 experienced a shock at having suspected his 
 daughter of a deed in regard to which he was 
 now convinced of her innocence, he suddenly suf- 
 fered his whole manner to undergo a change ; and 
 smiling as kindly as such a countenance as his 
 could smile, he patted her cheek, saying, " I be- 
 lieve you, Selina — I believe you. Indeed, I never 
 doubted you. Only — only I thought I had better 
 ask the question " 
 
 "And now, father, you are convinced?" said- 
 Selina ; " and you will not again torture yourself 
 nor degrade me with so dishonouring a sus- 
 picion ?" ' 
 
 There was at this moment a knock at the 
 chamber door : Selina hastened to see who was 
 there, and she received a letter from the hand of 
 a maid-servant. It was addressed to her father, 
 who immediately opened it and read the contents, 
 which ran as follow : — 
 
 "Sir, 
 
 " Windmill Street, Haymarket, 
 May 31, 1847. 
 
 " I beg to inform you that I hold the accept- 
 ance of your son, Mr. Sylvester Casey, for the 
 sum of one thousand pounds. It is dated the 
 9th of May, at twenty-one days; and therefore 
 with the three days' grace, it will be' due to- 
 morrow. As a matter of course I should have 
 waited to present it for payment in the usttal 
 
248 
 
 THE YOUKG DUCHESS ; Oil, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "way of business, if it had not been for a circum- 
 stance which is of so extraordinary a character 
 as to induce me to give you this notice that such 
 a hill is in existence with your son's signature. 
 The circumstance I allude to is this — that hap- 
 pening yesterday to meet Mr. Sylvester Casey, 
 with whom I am slightly acquainted, I reminded 
 him that his acceptance was nearly due, — when 
 he turned round upon me and denied ever having 
 signed such a bill at all. Now, as I fairly dis- 
 counted this bill in the way of business*, I shall 
 maintain my own rights, if need be, by the aid 
 of the law ; and it is therefore under legal advice 
 that I send you, sir, this notice, in order that you 
 may be prepared to save your son from the con- 
 sequences of his present dishonourable attempt' to 
 evade the payment of his liability. 
 "I remain, sir, 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 " Eichakd Pluckley." 
 
 " Here's a fresh trouble !" exclaimed the usurer, 
 when he had finished reading the letter. 
 
 " What is it, dear father?" asked Selina has- 
 tily. 
 
 " Another forgery of that scoundrel Abel King- 
 ston. He has been using your, brother's name — 
 for a thousand pounds too !" 
 
 " But you are not compelled to pay it, father ?" 
 
 " No — certainly not ; and I don't mean it. 
 But still it may give trouble — law-proceedings 
 and all that sort of thing. Where, is Sylves- 
 ter?" 
 
 " He went out just now, when Mr. Bulteel 
 came," answered Selina. "He said he should 
 not return until the evening." 
 
 " And he has not been up to ask me how I 
 am !" said the usurer angrily. 
 
 "He came up while you slept, father; he would 
 perhaps have waited until Mr. Bulteel took his 
 departure — only he thought that his visit might 
 be a longer one, and Sylvester had some appoint- 
 ment to keep." 
 
 " Oh, I daresay," rejoined Casey, ironically. 
 " You are too kind, Selina ! — you always find 
 
 excuses for every one ! But no matter 1 shall 
 
 get up now." i , 
 
 '• Are you sure, dear father, that you are strong 
 enough ?" 
 
 " Not only strong enough to get up now, hut 
 also to go out this evening." 
 
 " Go out ?" echoed Selina, with mingled asto- 
 nishment and dismay. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," answered her father gruffly. 
 " I must go and see about this unpleasant busi- 
 ness." 
 
 Selina remonstrated, hut all in .vain : her father 
 was resolufe — and she knew his temper well 
 enough to be aware that when once his mind was 
 made up, no power of persuasion could turn him 
 from following his own course. ' 
 
 The hours passed away — the evening camo — 
 and between eight and nine o'clock u cab stopped 
 at the door of Mr. Pluckley's house in Windmill 
 Street. Mr. Casiy and his son alighted. They 
 knocked at the door ; and as they stood waiting 
 for their summons to be answered," Sylvester in- 
 quired, "By the bye, does he expect us at this 
 hour ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied his father: " I answered his note 
 at once, and sent to tell him that one or both of 
 
 us would be sure to call upon him in the even- 
 ing." 
 
 The front door was now opened ; and a female 
 servant conducted the two Caseys up a gloomy 
 staircase, into a meanly furnished sitting-room on 
 the first floor. It was a large apartment, and' was 
 only dimly lighted by the two candles which stood 
 upon the table. Mr. Pluckley instantaneously 
 came forward to receive his visitors ; and notwith- 
 standing the nature of the business which had 
 brought them, he showed them a polite attention, 
 at once placing chairs for their accommodation. 
 He was an elderly man, short and stout, with an 
 expression of countenance which indicated » 
 business-like keenness, not unmixed with benevo- 
 lence. He wore a brown wig ; and his clothes, 
 though shabby, were of an old-fashioned cut and 
 fitted badly, so that there was something grotesque 
 and comical in his appearance. 
 
 Mr. Casey senior scrutinised with attention the 
 individual with whom he was now for the first time 
 brought in contact, but whom he had long known 
 by repute as a bill-discounter, money-lender, ac- 
 countant, general agent — and, in short, one of 
 those nondescript men of business fh whom the 
 modern Babylon . abounds, and some of whom 
 manage to make a pretty good livelihood and oc- 
 casionally to enrich themselves. . Mr. Pluckley 
 was one of these ; and though no one seemed 
 exactly to know whether he was a man of wealth 
 or a man of straw — whether he used his own 
 ♦jnoney or played with that of others — yet very 
 certain it was that he did a great deal in the dis- 
 count way, and could </ always rind a few thou- 
 sands when the security was such as would bear 
 some little investigation. 
 
 While Mr. Casey senior .was from beneath his 
 eyebrows taking a good view of Mr. Pluckley in 
 order to form a judgment of the nature of the 
 enemy he had to deal with, Sylvester sat lolling 
 back in his chair with an affectation of fashion- 
 able ease, while his eyes slowly wandered round 
 the apartment to note and criticise its contents. 
 He observed the dingy hangings to the windows 
 — remarked where the damp appeared through 
 the paper on the walls — noted how the carpet 
 was worn and soiled— wondered to what remote 
 date belonged the rieketty old chairs— and then 
 complacently caressed his chin as his eyes settled 
 upon the reflection of his own ugly countenance 
 in a looking-glass precisely opposite to which he 
 was seated. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Casey> senior was opening the 
 conversation with Mr. Pluckley, by observing, 
 "This is an unpleasant business, sir, which has 
 brought us together." 
 
 " If there be anything unpleasant in it, Mr. 
 Casey, it will not be my fault :" and Mr. Pluckley 
 seemed to blend in his manner a business-like 
 formality with a certain natural good-humoured 
 suavity. 
 
 " Are you determined to proceed," inquired 
 Casey, " in a matter where you are sure to lose ?" 
 
 " I am determined to proceed," responded 
 Pluckley; "in a matter where I am sure to 
 gain." 
 
 " But the acceptance is positively a forgery," 
 said Mr. Casey emphatically. 
 
 Mr. Pluckley shook his head,, at the same time 
 observing, " I think I can bring persons forward 
 who will prove your son's handwriting." 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOD3S OP A LADY OS QUALITY. 
 
 249 
 
 S t H? 
 
 J '< J . 1, If 
 
 No. 32.— The Yqung Duchess. 
 
250 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " A handwriting may be well imitated," re- 
 joined Casey senior. " You told my son that Sir 
 Abel Kingston was the drawer of the bill on 
 which this acceptance is supposed to figure. Of 
 course you are aware, Mr. Pluckley, that for- 
 gery was Sir Abel's forte — it was for forgery he 
 was arrested " 
 
 " I know it," interjected Mr. Pluckley : " but 
 still I hold my ground. Your son was intimate 
 with "Sir Abel — they dined together — I may add 
 they dissipated together " 
 
 " But it is so unlike Sylvester t6 do such a 
 foolish action !" 
 
 " Nevertheless, I am afraid that he j|a? $one 
 it," interrupted Elupkiey : " and you, my dear 
 sir, must suffer for it." , 
 
 " You persist in your intention," denjanded 
 Casey, " of presenting that bill to-morroi? ?" 
 
 " I shall present it to-morrow at your house in 
 Hatton Garden, Mr, Casey." 
 
 " And if it be ndt paid ?" said the usurer sig- 
 nificantly. 
 
 " Mr. Pluckley shrugged his shoulders; saying, 
 " In that case the matter will go into the hands' 
 of my lawyer. 
 
 "But here," said ?ir. Casey, "is my son yho 
 will repeat to you wia,t he said yesterday, thflfc he 
 never accepted the hill — that he himself had no 
 
 gentleman 
 
 firm it upon, oatti. , 
 
 " Indeed ?" said Mr. Pluckley, now looking as 
 if he were somewhat, staggered ; " this certainly 
 grows serious :" — -and turning half round in his 
 chair, he surveyed Sylvester as well as the dim- 
 ness of the two candles would permit him. 
 
 " It's all riglit, my dear sir," said the young 
 man, affectedly passing his hand through his 
 horrid red hair; "I wouldn't deceive you for all 
 the world. Truth before all things : — that's my 
 principle. W&y,, cCa'm'me, my dear sir, I wouldn't 
 stake my character for such a trifle. Go and ask 
 such men as thej Duke of Ardleigh, and Captain 
 Cauliflower, and l&r. Tiffany, and such men as 
 them, what they think of me. They know that 
 Sylvester Casey's word's his bond, and that if he 
 once wrote his name across a slip of paper he'i 
 never deny it." 
 
 "Mr. Sylvester Casey," said Pluckley, with a 
 very serious expression of countenance, " you are 
 prepared to swear that you did not give your 
 acceptance to a bill of a thousand" pounds on be- 
 half of Sir Abel Kingston ?" . 
 
 " Oh, yes — I'll swear that in a jiffey," ex- 
 claimed Sylvester. 
 
 Mr. Pluckley looked for a moment as if he were 
 somewhat disgusted at the flippant manner in 
 which young Casey was dealing with the question ; 
 and then deliberately opening a writing, desk, he 
 produced a document, which , he held before the 
 young man's eyes, saying, " Sere, is the bill. Look 
 well at that writing — pause — reflect — answer not 
 hurriedly — but consider whether you ever wrote 
 that acceptance ?" 
 
 " I was drunk if I did," exclaimed Sylvester. 
 
 " No," resumed Pluckley, still with solemn look 
 and speech ; " this is not the writing of a drunken 
 man. If ever you wrote that acceptance at all, 
 it was when you were perfectly sober and in the 
 full possession of your faculties." 
 
 " Well then," rejoined Sylvester, ." I can 
 swear " 
 
 " Stop a minute !" interrupted Pluckley. " I 
 do not want law — I only want what is right. If 
 you really did not accept the hill, I shall not 
 attempt to enforce payment. I will abide by thia 
 issue." 
 
 "That is speaking like a sensible man," said 
 Mr. Casey senior, with an inward chuckle of deep 
 
 joy- 
 
 " A, regular trump," added Sylvester. 
 
 " This," said Mr. Pluckley, taking from a side 
 table a book with a well-worn dingy cover, " is 
 the Bible. I know that I have no right to ad- 
 minister an oath : but on the other hand you are 
 under no compulsion to take it. I repeat I put 
 the matter upon this issue. Swear upon the sacred 
 volume that the acceptance to the bill is not 
 your's, and there is at once an end of the matter." 
 
 Foi; a moment Sylvester seemed to recoil from 
 the ordeal ti^us submitted to him. , Flippant, un- 
 principled, and reckless though he were, yet he 
 was not so thoroughly and inveterately wicked as 
 to be enabled to contemplate perjury without 
 emotion. But he suddenly encountered his father's 
 looks, fixed severely and threateningly upon him : 
 he accordingly plucked up his courage, and taking 
 the book in his hand, he said with his accustomed 
 levity, " Why, of course, I will swear to the thing 
 tnat'jUrue." 
 
 "Then swear," replied Mr. Pluckley, " and kiss 
 the hook at the same time. Call upon heaven to 
 strike you dead if you are giving utterance to a 
 falsehood." 
 
 Again did a sensation of terror come over the 
 young man in the presence of a ceremony which 
 had something solemnly awful in it : but again 
 did he recover his presence of mind as he met 
 his father's looks riveted upon him ; and he was 
 about to raise the sacred volume to his lips and 
 repeat the words which had just been dictated 
 to him, when a ghastly spectacle burst upon his 
 vision. For there, in the looking-glass opposite 
 to which he was seated, appeared a form clothed 
 in white — a spectral apparition in a winding- 
 sheet ! — yet was the countenance instantaneously 
 recognised — the countenance of Sir Abel Kingston! 
 The figure raised its right hand in a threatening 
 manner, and then it instantaneously disappeared. 
 
 " Good heavens ! what is the matter with 
 you ?" cried Pluckley, springing forward, and 
 thus placing himself in front of the young man at 
 the instant the spectacle was vanishing from his 
 view, so that Sylvester could not altogether tell 
 the manner of its disappearance. 
 
 " Confound him ! what ails him ?" muttered his 
 father, who having had his back turned towards 
 the mirror, beheld naught of the scene which we 
 have been describing. 
 
 Sylvester was ghastly pale: his eyes were 
 staring as if about to burst forth from their 
 sockets : utter horror and consternation were upon 
 him — and vainly did he gasp for the power of 
 utterance when Pluckley and his father hastened 
 towards him. 
 
 " What is it, young man?" asked Pluckley in 
 a tone of solemn adjuration. 
 
 " Sylvester !" and as his father thus spoke his 
 name in his ear, he clutched him tightly by the 
 arm to recall him to himself and remind him of 
 the part that he had to perform. 
 
THE YOUNG: DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 251 
 
 "There! — I've had enough of this," said Syl- 
 vester, suddenly starting up from his seat. " I'll 
 have no more of it :" — and it was with a visible 
 shuddering that he flung his looks towards the 
 tnirror. 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Casey, with 
 sternness. 
 
 "Ah! what do I mean?" and still his eyes 
 glared wildly. "I won't swear. No — nothing 
 shall induce me ! Heaven or hell — I don't know 
 which — would overwhelm me ! It's all right, Mr. 
 
 Pluckley Pray forgive me — Don't let this go 
 
 any further But the signature is mine — and — 
 
 and — if the governor there don't choose to pay 
 the bill, you must send me to gaol — that's all." 
 
 There was something ludicrous in the terror 
 which still clung to Sylvester Casey ; but neither 
 his father nor Pluckley were disposed to laugh at 
 him. The former was a prey to an indescribable 
 rage, to which however he dared not give vent, in- 
 asmuch as it would be acknowledging that he had 
 been an accomplice in tne awful perjury that was 
 at the outset contemplated on the part of his son. 
 
 " Young man," said Mr. Pluckley, addressing 
 himself to Sylvester, " you have done well not to 
 consummate a fearful crime. Mr. Casey," he 
 added, turning towards the usurer, " you will pay 
 this bill to-morrow." 
 
 " Pay it ? I pay it !" growled Casey. " I suffer 
 for this wicked boy's extravagances !" 
 
 " Yes, sir — you will pay that bill," interrupted 
 Pluckley, " to prevent the exposure of your base 
 — your infamous conduct, which I am fully able 
 to fathom to the very bottom. And now good 
 evening to you both." 
 
 Father and son quitted the room, descended the 
 stairs, and issued from the house. 
 
 " And now, sir," said the former, when they 
 had both taken their seats in the cab, " will you 
 tell me how it was that you broke down in such a 
 wretched manner, and how by your conduct you 
 have managed to cost me a thousand pounds ?" 
 
 "Come, father, there's no use in blowing up 
 about it," replied Sylvester. "I couldn't help it 
 — I don't know what it was — I suppose it must 
 have been the imagination. Yes — no doubt it 
 was: but " 
 
 "Enough, sir — enough!" interrupted Casey, 
 who was almost furious, and yet he felt that he 
 could not possibly give vent to all his rage under 
 such circumstances. " You have shown yourself 
 an arrant poltroon and coward — and that is enough 
 for me. We will speak no more of the matter. 
 But perhaps you will some day know more com- 
 pletely than you even do note, wha$ I think of 
 you." 
 
 Silence then prevailed between father and son, 
 each remaining absorbed in his own thoughts as 
 the cab bore them back to Hatton Garden. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 AZALTNE. 
 
 Qn the same evening of which we: have been 
 writing, the following scenes occurred at Ti;ent- 
 ham House in Berkeley Square. 
 
 In an elegantly furnished boudoir, a beautiful 
 young lady was reclining upon a sofa, giving way 
 
 to her reflections. Upon the table lay the last 
 Christmas issue of the " Book of Beauty :" and 
 if that volume had been opened at a particular 
 page, it would have revealed a picture at the bot- 
 tom of which was the word Azaline. It was the 
 portrait of a lady who was represented as reclin- 
 ing upon the grass in some rural retreat, amidst 
 fruits and flowers and festooning foliage. The 
 apparel of the young lady was plain and simple, 
 thus harmonising with the picturesque interest of 
 the whole design. And; this was ijhe portrait of 
 the young lady who now reclined upon the sofa 
 in $hat elegantly furnished boudoir: — this was 
 Azaline, daughter of Lord and Lady Trent- 
 ham. 
 
 She was not now in that raiment of charming 
 simplicity which her portrait represented; hut 
 she was attired in an elegant evening costume. 
 She was about twenty years of' age, tall, sym- 
 metrical, and displaying all that beauty of pro- 
 portions and perfection of physical development 
 which characterize the most attractive period of 
 woman. Her posture upon that sofa might have 
 shown that her limbs were full and tapering, and 
 that her contours were firm in their rich model- 
 ling ; while the fineness of her hands and feet, as 
 well as the proud yet graceful carriage of the 
 head, showed her patrician breeding. Her hair was 
 a dark brown; her eyes were of a liquid clear 
 blue ; her features were faultlessly outlined ; her 
 complexion was beautifully clear, and the skin 
 seemed to be of a velvet smoothness. As she 
 now sat half reclining upon that sofa, giving way 
 to her reflections, the beautifully formed lips, 
 moist and red, were slightly apart; and fitting 
 portals did they seem, with their contrasting 
 ranges of ivory inside, for the fragrant breath. 
 
 The white arms, bare almost to the shoulder, 
 were admirably rounded; and upon the brow, 
 high and polisher the tracery of blue veins was 
 delicately defined The corsage of her dress was 
 cut very low ; t t the costly white lace which 
 trimmed it asceuded over the richly moulded 
 bosom, yet hiding those glowing contours only as 
 much as the foam conceals the swelling wave. Al- 
 together it was a beautiful specimen of the gentler 
 sex whom we find as the occupant of the boudoir; 
 and the longer th,at fair being was contemplated, 
 the, more completely would all delicate, refined, 
 and aesthetic impressions rise dominant over, or 
 rather we should say subdue and absorb, what- 
 sover sensuous thoughts might in the first instance 
 have been engendered by a beauty so rich and 
 softly seductive. 
 
 Azaline was a strange creature. She bor? a 
 singular though beautiful Christian name, which 
 might almost seem to have been bestowed upon 
 her with a presentient feeling that she deserved to 
 be marked as no ordinary being. She was en- 
 dowed with a rare intelligence: she had read 
 much — thought much; and instead of' lazily- 
 adopting the ideas of others, had formed notions 
 and theories for herself. She went but very little 
 into society : she entertained the supremest con- 
 tempt for the frivolities of fashionable life. Yet 
 when she did mingle in scenes of gaiety, she could 
 render herself as agreeable and charming as other 
 women. She could assume all in a moment tha 
 graceful levity and adopt lie conversational 
 trivialities and airy nothings of the gilded saloon ; 
 so that few would suspect the natural strength 
 
THE TOUHG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A I.ADT OP QUALITY. 
 
 of mind and the admirable cultivation of intellect 
 which existed beneath the surface. Though in 
 one sense proud of the ancient family to which 
 she belonged, yet was she most liberal in her 
 opinions : she admired the virtue which shone by 
 its own unaided lustre — the genius which made 
 for itself a glorious renown — the enterprise which 
 raised itself from poverty to wealth, from obscurity 
 to importance. She looked upon all these as 
 evidences of the highest nobility — the loftiest 
 aristocracy. Though a pure Christian, she was 
 liberal in her religious opinions, and believed that 
 the path to heaven was equally open to the good 
 of all sects and denominations. In disposition 
 she was kind and affectionate, and of a generosity 
 that was capable of the most magnanimous sacri- 
 fices. Her parents thought her singular — too bold 
 in her opinions, and of an intellectual forwardness 
 that was unbecoming her years and her position : 
 but, on the other hand, they could not help dearly 
 loving one who was a ministering angel in sick- 
 ness and a consoler in the midst of the world's 
 calamities. 
 
 Azaline, as we have said, was giving way to 
 her reflections : but presently awakening as it 
 were with a start from her meditation, she cast 
 her eyes at a timepiece on the mantel, and men- 
 tally ejaculated, " It is already nine o'clock. They 
 will be here directly I" 
 
 In a few minutes a low knock at the door 
 reached her ears : she sprang towards it, and gave 
 admittance to her brother Launcelot, and a female 
 form, closely veiled, who was clinging to his arm. 
 " This is my sister, who has so much longed to 
 see you, dear Imogen," said Launcelot. " She 
 will love you — and you will love her. She is 
 everything that is good and amiable as you your- 
 self also are, dear Imogen! And now I shall 
 leave you together." . 
 
 Thus speaking, Launcelot Osborne took his 
 sister's hand and joined it to that of Imogen ; 
 and the two hands clasped each other warmly. 
 Launcelot issued from the room ; and Azaline 
 said to her visitress in a kind voice, " Come and 
 sit down by my side on the sofa. And now, 
 will you not raise your veil ?" 
 
 Imogen at once complied ; and Azaline actually 
 started with surprise on beholding the handsome 
 countenance that was now revealed to her. The 
 two young women gazed upon each other with 
 looks of admiration ; for Imogen thought that 
 Launcelot's sister was the most beauteous creature 
 she had ever in her life beheld — while Azaline 
 was entertaining precisely the same idea in re- 
 spect to her visitress. 
 
 " Oh 1" said Azaline, at length breaking silence, 
 and speaking in a tone of enthusiasm, " it is no 
 wonder that my brother loves you!" 
 
 " And is it because the brother loves me," said 
 Imogen, " that the sister has been kind enough to 
 receive me ?" 
 
 " I love Launcelot," replied Azaline, *' and I 
 am prepared to love whosoever becomes the object 
 of his own affection. His friends must be my 
 
 friends " 
 
 " What !" interjected Imogen ; " despite all 
 difference of rank ?" 
 
 " Yes — despite all difference of rank," responded 
 the young patrician lady. 
 
 " Do you know what I am ?" asked Imogen ; 
 " do you know that I am an actress ? — nay, 
 
 nothing so high as that ; — a mere equestrian at a 
 second or third-rate theatre ! — something not 
 quite so good as a dancer in the ballet at the 
 Opera !" 
 
 " Why speak thus of yourself?" asked Azaline : 
 " why should you with bitterness run down a 
 profession which you have rendered honourable as 
 it applies to yourself, inasmuch a3 it affords you 
 the bread of industry ?" 
 
 " Oh, Miss Osborne," said Imogen, " I feel as it 
 I were something very low in comparison with 
 you, the high-born patrician lady ! — and it would 
 seem more natural to me if you were now to 
 overwhelm me with reproaches and upbraidings 
 for daring to love your brother, than that you 
 should thus treat me with so much consideration 
 and kindness ! Indeed it almost appears an act 
 of presumption on my part to have suffered my- 
 self to become the object of your brother's love at 
 all !" 
 
 " How could you help it, Imogen?" asked Aza- 
 line with a good-natured smile : then taking her 
 companion's hand, she went on to say, "Launcelot 
 has told me so many excellent things concerning 
 you, Imogen, that I was determined to see you — I 
 begged him to gratify my wish — and now I have 
 to offer you my excuses that you should have 
 been subjected to the mortification of being intro- 
 duced stealthily into the house." 
 
 " Oh, offer no apology," said Miss Hartland ; 
 " I can full well understand how little agreeable 
 it would be to your father and mother to en- 
 counter such as I am within these walls !" 
 
 " And yet heaven knows," said Azaline, with a 
 smile half bitter, half mournful, " that there is no 
 reason for the exercise of any undue pride beneath 
 this roof. You are not ignorant, Imogen, that 
 the shades of ruin are gathering closely around 
 the proud coronet of Trentham." 
 
 " I know," said Imogen, " that it is because 
 your brother Will not marry the one whom he 
 loves not, that this ruin menaces your house. 
 And it is therefore I — I whom you must blame 
 as the real cause of all this ! — though heaven 
 knows how innocently and how unwittingly I 
 have been the authoress of so much mischief!" 
 
 "You must not blame yourself, Imogen," said 
 Miss Osborne, in a kind and gentle voice. " My 
 brother does right to refuse to marry where his 
 heart's affections are not concerned. For myself, 
 I look upon a marriage of interest and expediency 
 as a crime — an outrage against that holy senti- 
 ment of love which, from all I have read or 
 heard, is the one great blessing that survived the 
 fall of our First Parents ! Launcelot told me that 
 he loved another — he confessed the same to our 
 father and mother — he said that it was she who 
 had been presented to them on that day when 
 
 they were expecting Selina Casey " 
 
 " But he has not told them who it really was 
 that knelt at their feet on that day of which you 
 are speaking ?" 
 
 " No," replied Azaline : " he has not told them 
 the name of the object of his love. Neither would 
 he tell me at first. But I besought him to do so 
 — I reminded him that my sentiments are some- 
 what different from those of the generality of the 
 world, and that I would sympathise with him 
 rather than blame him ; and then he opened his 
 heart fully unto me— he mentioned your name 
 — he told me that he loved you more than 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS j OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY, 
 
 253 
 
 life itself, and that sooner than renounce your love 
 or bestow his hand upon another, he would put a 
 period to his existence !" 
 
 "And must ruin overtake your family, dear 
 young' lady," asked Imogen, "on my account?" 
 
 " Heaven only knows how all this is to end," 
 replied Azaline. "To day was the one fixed 
 upon by the usurer who has us in his power — or 
 who recently had " 
 
 " And in Selina," interjected Imogen, " Launce- 
 lot has found the kindest and most generous of 
 friends !" 
 
 "Yes," said Azaline; "but as yet there is 
 a mystery enveloping the whole proceeding. The 
 usurer is taken ill, and Selina pens a hasty note 
 to Launcelot to bid him be of good cheer, for that 
 in respect to the great bulk of my father's liabi- 
 lities he is no longer in her father's power. She 
 enjoins the strictest secrecy, and she will give no 
 explanations relative to her meaning. Launcelot 
 called at the house ; and she would enter into no 
 details — she merely bade him trust to her, and all 
 should be well." 
 
 " Yes," said Imogen, " Launcelot has told me 
 all these things ; and it is evident that whatever 
 course Selina Casey may be adopting, and what- 
 ever her policy, she is a magnanimous and 
 generous-hearted woman." 
 
 " There can be no doubt of it," replied Azaline. 
 " And now, in reference to yourself and my bro- 
 ther, I unhesitatingly recommend you to be pri- 
 vately united." 
 
 " No, Miss Osborne," interrupted Imogen. " I 
 will not accompany your brother to the altar.'' 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Azaline, surveying her 
 visitress with mingled surprise and compassion. 
 "Ah! if you think of waiting to obtain my 
 parents' consent," she continued, shaking her 
 head deprecatingly, " I am afraid that hope will 
 turn into the blight of disappointment." 
 
 " And I would never marry him without their 
 consent," said Imogen. ' " I would not that " 
 
 " Hush, my dear friend !" cried Miss Osborne. 
 "If you marry him privately, an opportunity 
 may be sooner or later taken to break the fact to 
 my parents ; and then, when they find that it is 
 too late to retreat, they will grant their forgive- 
 ness — they will acknowledge you — and all will be 
 over." 
 
 " Will not your brother some day be Lord 
 Trentham ?" «sked Imogen. 
 
 " Yes, at our father's death. But why did you 
 put a query to which yourself could have given 
 an answer?" 
 
 " Your brother will one day be Lord Trent- 
 ham," resumed Imogen, — "a peer of Britain — 
 perhaps as proud as his father — perhaps conscien- 
 tiously feeling that it becomes him to sustain the 
 dignity of an ancient race " 
 
 "Aid most likely a beggared one," interjected 
 Azaline. 
 
 " No," said Imogen : "I feel convinced that 
 Selina Casey will prove the salvation of your 
 family in that respect. Not by marriage ! No — 
 for Launcelot will not espouse her : but by some 
 means which she is gradually working out. Yes, 
 this is my presentiment ; and I feel convinced that 
 it will be realized. So do not think, Miss Osborne, 
 that your family will become a ruined one ; for I 
 am very much mistaken if the friendship of a de- 
 voted young woman will not save it." 
 
 "How is this possible, Imogen?" exclaimed 
 Miss Osborne., "Do you not know — has not 
 Launcelot told you — that my father owes the 
 usurer eighty thousand pounds ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Imogen; "and has not Selina 
 Casey given your brother to understand that in 
 respect to three-fourths of that sum her father has 
 become powerless for mischief towards your father ?" 
 
 "True," said Azaline. "But continue, my 
 dear Imogen; What were you on the point of ob- 
 serving just now ?" 
 
 "I was about to say,'' continued Miss Hart- 
 land, " that your brother will some day become 
 Lord Trentham, and he might regret having mar- 
 ried an actress from a second or third-rate theatre' 
 And then I should be the cause of his unhappiness 
 — whereas it is his happiness that I have at heart ! 
 Oh, you do not comprehend me, Miss Osborne I 
 And it is no wonder ! You think that such a. 
 creature as I can only be selfish and mercenary — 
 interested and ambitious, — that in loving, or pre- 
 tending to love your brother I can be thinking 
 only of aggrandisement, rank, money — in short - 
 that I am seeking to benefit myself in every sense ! 
 But, Oh ! it is not so. I love him for himself 
 alone : and the love which he gives me in return, 
 can be a source of happiness to me only so long as 
 I know how impossible it is for him to think me 
 selfish or interested !" 
 
 " I believe you, Imogen — I believe you, from 
 the very bottom of my heart !" cried Azaline en- 
 thusiastically. "Yes! — and I understand you 
 too— because I feel that such would be my senti- 
 ments likewise if I were placed in a similar posi- 
 tion!" 
 
 " Therefore," continued Miss Hartland, her 
 countenance expressing delight at her motives 
 being thus appreciated and understood, " you see 
 why I would never espouse your brothe r 
 unless indeed it were when he should have suc- 
 ceeded to the ancestral title, and should have 
 analyzed his own heart and studied the influences 
 produced by an altered position." 
 
 " But do you not reflect," asked Azaline, " that 
 many a long year may elapse before Launcelot finds 
 himself in that position ? Our father is only in 
 his fifty-sixth year — he might live till seventy or 
 eighty " 
 
 " All this I know," said Imogen ; and then she 
 added hesitatingly and diffidently, " I do not mean 
 that Launcelot is to be entrammelled in a long, 
 long courtship " 
 
 "You mean then — you mean," said Azaline, 
 
 " that you would become But no ! I may per- 
 
 hapB insult you !" 
 
 "You have guessed my meaning, Miss Osborne," 
 rejoined Imogen, holding down her head with a 
 deep blush mantling on her countenance ■ — then 
 suddenly raising her looks, she exclaimed, " And 
 yet I could feel a pride in being the mistress of 
 him whom I love so well, because by this very 
 sacrifice of myself I prove that I am worthy of 
 all the devoted love he has bestowed upon me !" 
 
 It was not with disgust nor loathing, but it was 
 with a surprise which speedily grew into admira- 
 tion, that Azaline gazed upon her who enunciated 
 so bold a doctrine of immorality. But Azaline 
 was the very being to be struck by such a doc- 
 trine, and to be led into admiration of the woman 
 who dared proclaim it as the rule of her own 
 conduct. 
 
254 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIES OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " Would you esteem me most," asked Imogen, 
 " if I demanded marriage as the proof of your 
 brother's love, or if I consented to become his 
 mistress as the proof of my own love ?" 
 
 " By the latter course you: prove, Imogen, how 
 sincere and disinterested is the love which you 
 bear towards iny brother. 'And, Oh! for this 
 reason I must love you in return !" 
 
 Thus speaking, Azaline wound her beautiful 
 arms about Imogen's neck, and strained her to 
 her bosom. 
 
 Meanwhile Launcelot Osborne had repaired to 
 the drawing-room, where he only found his 
 toother, Lord Trentham having gone to his club. 
 Her ladyship's manner was habitually cold and 
 severe even towards her own children ; but of late 
 it had become absolutely frigid afld distant to- 
 wards Launcelot, because he would not consum- 
 mate his own unhappiness by leading Selina 
 • Casey to the altar. 
 
 Launcelot now approached his mother with his 
 wonted demeanour of affectionate respect ; and he 
 said, " What ! altogether alone ?" 
 ' "Yes — alone," she responded with a severe 
 look. "You know that Azaline retires to her 
 own room of an evening to read or write, instead 
 of sitting with me and doing some ■pretty little 
 piece of embroidery. As for yon, Launcelot, you 
 have been out a great deal lately. I suppose," 
 she added satirically, " it is with that unknown 
 object of your foolish, insensate passion which 
 threatens us with ruin — " 
 
 " Mother," interrupted Launcelot, "have I not 
 assured you that you may put faith in Selina 
 Casey's word?" 
 
 " Ah, if I thought so ! But what suspense 
 this keeps us in ! There is your poor father, who 
 has just .gone to his club to divert' his mind from 
 the harassing perplexity of his affairs " 
 
 " Mother, if everything can be settled somehow 
 or another," interjected Launcelot, "without the 
 sacrifice of myself, why will you not agree to the 
 arrangement ? Have I not received the positive 
 assurance that so far as the sixty thousand pounds 
 are concerned we have nothing to fear ?" ' 
 
 " But there are twenty thousand more," said 
 Lady Trentham. 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Launcelot, with something 
 like bitterness in his accents, " you wouHnot.iSell 
 me' for twenty thousand pounds?" 
 
 "I'.sim sure," said his mother, evading the 
 question; "I do not ' know how it is all to end. 
 What can Selina Casey be doing? how can she 
 exercise this immense power on our behalf? If 
 she be'playing her father any trick, we' ourselves 
 may get into trouble " 
 
 "Look you, mother," interrupted Launcelot; 
 " I am not' a villain nor a scoundrel— I flatter 
 myself that I have some little principle aha moral 
 sense : but I declare ' that whatsoever means so 
 good a young woman as Selina Gasey may choose 
 to adopt on bur behalf, must not only be legiti- 
 mate, but must also be looked upon as belonging 
 to a sacred cause. So do hot njake yourself' un- 
 happy on that score.'' 
 
 -" But why all this mystery ? And who Is it 
 that has gained your heart? who is this un- 
 known ?' Evidently some very low and unsuit- 
 able person " 
 
 Laimcelot started angrily at this slur which 
 was thrown upon his Imogen ; ' but before he had 
 
 time to make any reply, and before his mother 
 had leisure to give utterance to another word, a 
 footman entered, and then with a disappointed 
 look was immediately about to retire again. 
 
 " What do you want ?" asked Launcelot, who 
 was struck by the domestic's manner. 
 
 " I thought his lordship was here, if you please, 
 sir," was the response. 
 
 "He is gone to the Club," said Launcelot. 
 " What is it, Charles ?" 
 
 " Some one wants to see his lordship, sir——" 
 
 " I will come," interjected Launcelot : and ha 
 hastened from the room. " Now, Charles, what 
 is it?" he demanded, as he closed the door behind 
 him and they stood on the landing together. 
 " Something is wrong, I see by your Idbks." 
 
 "Well, sir, I'm afraid that there is. Here's 
 three men come to see his lordship — I've snown 
 them into the library " 
 
 "Not a word for the present!" interrupted 
 Launcelot. " I will see to this at once." 
 
 He repaired to the library, where the first per- 
 son who encountered his view was Mr. Bulteel ; 
 and as he happened to have met him once at Mr. 
 Casey's house in Hatton Garden, and knew that 
 he was the usurer's attorney, be instantly com- 
 prehended that a blow was about to be struck 
 from that quarter. A glance at the other two 
 persons only tended to confirm^ the suspicion ; for 
 one was a flashily-dressed, Jewish-looking indi- 
 vidual, with the unmistakable air of a bailiff 
 about him — and the other was a shabby man, 
 with a sinister countenance, and who having sat 
 himself down, seemed to be already making him- 
 self quite at home by not' rising from his chair 
 when Launcelot entered. 
 
 "I don't think I need to introduce myself, Mr. 
 Osborne," said Bulteel, with a bow that .was half 
 familiarly, half patronisingly polite! "We've 
 met before — you know who 1 am " 
 
 " Yes," interrupted Launcelot : "and now tell 
 me, what have you come to do ?" 
 
 Mr. Bulteel glanced at the Jewish-looking in- 
 dividual, who stood by with an easy familiar air ; 
 and said with a significant emphasis, " This is 
 an officer. It is an execution, Mr. Osborne." 
 
 Launcelot felt as if all the blood was suddenly 
 turning to ice in his veins : but conquering his 
 emotions as well as he was able, he asked, " For 
 how much ?" 
 
 " Twenty thousand pounds in round numbers," 
 replied Bulteel. " There'll be costs " 
 
 " And my fees," added the bailiff, with a know- 
 irig wink at the lawyer. 
 
 . "Good God! an execution for twenty thousand 
 pounds !" — and Launcelot was tottering towards, 
 a chair, when Bulteel caught htm by the arm. 
 
 " Just step aside with me for a moment, B^r. 
 Osborne," said the lawyer : then drawing the 
 young gentleman towards a corner, he assumed a 
 look of mysterious friendliness, saying, " Now come, 
 Mr. Osborne— I should advise you to settle this 
 business off-hand. It' may prove more serious, 
 than you think." 
 
 " What ! do you think that I do not compre- 
 hend, and bitterly appreciate, all the seriousness 
 of this step which Mr. Casey has taken ?" — and 
 Launcelot almost wrung his hands in despair. 
 " Ruin — exposure — degradation. !," 
 
 "Aye," interjected Bulteel; "and that's not 
 all either." 
 
THE YOUHG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 255 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked Launcelot, be- 
 wildered and frightened. 
 
 " I mean, that if you let things go to extremes, 
 young man," resumed the lawyer, in a mysterious 
 ■whisper, " you'll have a criminal prosecution." 
 
 Launcelot started and looked indignant. 
 
 " Well, if you like to ride matters with a high 
 hand," said Bulteel, shrugging his shoulders, 
 " it's no business of mine. I only wanted tp give 
 you a little friendly advice. Casey is resolute — 
 and you couldn't suppose that it was possible for 
 him to remain ignorant of who got possession of 
 the papers " 
 
 " Ah !" ejaculated Launcelot, as a light began 
 to dawn in unto his mind in respect to Selina's 
 proceedings. " The papers ?" 
 
 "Well, of course," said Bulteel "Ton are 
 too young a hand, Mr. Osborne, to carry off such 
 a thing with the necessary amount of effrontery. 
 You betray yourself— and so now it is no longer 
 doubtful — you did purloin the papers ; — and by 
 heaven ! you will have to take the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 Launcelot now comprehended it all : he under- 
 stood what Selina had done, and how for his sake 
 she had actually robbed her own father ' He was 
 almost overwhelmed by the young lady's magna- 
 nimity. But it was evident that lie was sus- 
 pected of the theft : — to him was imputed the deed 
 which she had committed. How was he to act ? 
 Not for a moment did he hesitate. He could not 
 prove less magnanimous than she : — he could not 
 exonerate himself by betraying her. He must 
 therefore remain under the suspicion and take the 
 consequences. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Osborne," said Bulteel, " is this 
 business to be settled amicably or not ? Agree to 
 marry Miss Casey — as indeed you have already 
 once done— and all will be right. Tou may then 
 keep the bonds and deeds and securities which 
 
 you have purloined excuse the word. On the 
 
 other hand, if you refuse " 
 
 At this moment the door of the library opened, 
 and Lord Trentham hastily entered. A violent 
 agitation seized upon bim the instant that his 
 looks were swept round upon those present ; and 
 striding towards his son, he said in a low deep 
 voice, " Launcelot, do you mean to save us ? or 
 is it too late?" 
 
 The young man gasped for the power of utter- 
 ance : despair was fast seizing upon his soul, and 
 he shrank aghast from the thought that the 
 moment was at hand when despite every hope 
 that had been entertained, and despite everything 
 Selina had done, he must renounce Imogen after 
 all. 
 
 " The execution, my lord," Mr. Bulteel pro- 
 ceeded to say, " is for twenty thousand pounds." 
 
 " Twenty thousand?" echoed Lord Trentham. 
 
 At the same moment the door again opened, 
 and Lady Trentham made- her hurried and agi- 
 tated appearance The sum just mentioned by 
 her husband struck her ears as the strange people 
 present met her eyes : she comprehended it all — 
 and with a moan she staggered to a chair, upon 
 . which she sank in a fainting fit. 
 
 " Good God, my poor mother !" exclaimed 
 Launcelot, springing towards her and supporting 
 her in his arms. " King for water! Call the 
 maids !" 
 
 The bailiff's assistant hastened to open the 
 
 door: her ladyship's maids were quickly sum- 
 moned ; and while they were procuring eau-de- 
 Cologne, sal-volatile, and other restoratives, the 
 bailiirs man, affecting a commiserative mood, 
 whispered to some of the servants who were now 
 grouped in the passage outside, " What a pity if 
 it's to be a reg'lar knock-up just for twenty thou- 
 sand 1 I always thought such a sum wasn't nuffin 
 to a great lord." 
 
 Azaline's own lady's-maid was on the point of 
 hastening up to fetch her young mistress when 
 she caught the words that were issuing from the 
 lips of the bailiff's assistant ; and having thus as- 
 certained the extent of the calamity, she sped up 
 to Azaline's boudoir, not knowing that any one 
 besides the young lady herself was there. It was 
 therefore with but litfle ceremony that she burst 
 in, exclaiming, "Oh, Miss!"— and then she 
 abruptly stopped short on perceiving a stranger, 
 for Imogen instantaneously drew down her 
 veil. 
 
 " Good heavens, Margaret ! what is the 
 matter ?" cried Azaline, stricken with terror. 
 
 But still the maid hesitated to speak, as she 
 glanced towards Imogen. 
 
 " Tell me — tell me !" exclaimed Azaline. " I 
 see that something has occurred ! Tou may 
 speak before this lady ! she is a friend of mine I" 
 
 "Oh, miss," cried Margaret, the tears burst- 
 ing from her eyes, " that I should be the bearer 
 of such ill news ! But — but — the bailiffs are in 
 the house !" 
 
 " Oh !" — and Azaline, becoming pale as death, 
 clasped her hands. 
 
 " Tne bailiffs ?" exclaimed Imogen, starting up 
 from her chair. 
 
 " Alas, yes !" responded Margaret : " there's an 
 execution — and her poor dear ladyship -" 
 
 " A seizure do you mean ?" demanded Imogen, 
 forcibly clutching the maid's wrist. 
 
 " Yes — a seizure, ma'am." 
 
 " For how much ?" demanded the actress. 
 
 " I heard one of the men say it was for twenty 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 Two cries burst forth at this announcement — 
 two distinct ejaculations— one of despair from the 
 lips of Azaline, one of joy from those of Imogen ! 
 Then forth from the boudoir rushed Imogen: — 
 down the stairs she sped — she was inspired by 
 only one thought — she had but one aim in view 
 — she paused not to reflect upon anything else 
 — stayed not to deliberate on the step that 
 she was taking. With the veil still over her 
 countenance she burst into the library, the door 
 of which stood half open, and there was a group 
 of servants assembled near, so that the actress 
 knew at once where the scene of her business lay, 
 Azaline and Margaret were hastening after her, 
 utterly bewildered what to think in reference 
 to her strange proceeding; and they were only a 
 few seconds behind her in reaching the library. 
 
 But we should observe that in the meanwhile 
 Lady Trentham had been restored by the means 
 so promptly adopted by her maids; and - looking 
 with appealing earnestness up into her son's face, 
 she said, " Launcelot, is our ruin to be consum- 
 mated when you can no doubt avert it ?" 
 
 "It depends upon Mr. Osborne, my lady," said 
 Bulteel, who now approached the chair in which 
 Launcelof s mother was seated. 
 
 "You hear," said his father," — "you hear, 
 
256 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Launcelot, that on your decision now depends our 
 salvation, or our destruction !" 
 
 "Consider, Mr. Osborne," said Bulteel, "the 
 bailiff is in possession for twenty thousand pounds 
 — everything will be sold off, even to the very 
 plate and jewels " 
 
 " No — nothing ! nothing !" cried the voice of a 
 female who came flying into the room with her 
 veil over her countenance. "Here — here are 
 twenty thousand pounds !" — and falling at Lady 
 Trentham's feet, she presented a small packet 
 which she drew forth from the bosom of her 
 dress. 
 
 Ejaculations of astonishment were now heard 
 bursting from many lips ; — and as for Launcelot, 
 he was so smitten with a bewildering amazement, 
 that he stood riveted to the spot, unable even to 
 stretch forth a hand to raise up Imogen from the 
 kneeling posture into which she had thrown her- 
 self. 
 
 " Good heavens ! who is this ?" cried Lady 
 Trentham : " what does it mean ?" 
 
 " What did I hear ?" exclaimed Azaline, who 
 had now reached the threshold, on which she 
 stopped short in astonishment. 
 
 "Open the packet!" said Lord Trentham, in 
 all the excitement of the most feverish suspense, 
 " Here ! give it me ! Hah ! it is indeed so ! Bank 
 notes for thousands ! Oh, we are saved !" 
 
 " Yes, we are saved !" cried Lady Trentham. 
 "But who is she?" 
 
 " Bise, my well beloved," ejaculated Launcelot, 
 " and explain this miracle !" 
 
 But Imogen's head fell forward against Lady 
 Trentham's knees ; for overpowered by her emo- 
 tions, the actress had fainted. Launcelot raised 
 her in his arms : Azaline sprang forward to render 
 her assistance ; and as the veil was lifted, it re- 
 vealed a countenance which was at once recog- 
 nised by Lord and Lady Trentham. They knew 
 it was she who a month back had found her way 
 so singularly into their presence, and whom at the 
 time they had taken for Selina ! 
 
 " Why, may I be hanged," exclaimed Bulteel, 
 " if it isn't Mademoiselle Imogene Of the Circus !" 
 
 " To be sure !" added the bailiff: " the horse- 
 riding gal." 
 
 It was almost a scream that burst from Lady 
 Trentham's lips ; but in a tone of thrilling fervour 
 Launcelot exclaimed, " Think you not that I am 
 proud to acknowledge that she is the object of my 
 love, after the noble deed which she has just per- 
 formed?" 
 
 " At all events," said Lord Trentham, who was 
 too selfish not to be ready with the utmost avidity 
 to avail himself of the means so strangely if not 
 miraculously provided for ridding himself of his 
 unpleasant visitors, — "at all events here is the 
 wherewith, Mr. Bulteel, to satisfy your demand ; 
 and as for any other considerations," he added, 
 significantly glancing towards his son, "they must 
 stand over at least until to-morrow. Come to 
 another room, and we will settle the present 
 business." 
 
 The lawyer and the two bailiffs followed his 
 lordship from the library. Launcelot made a 
 sign for the servants who had entered or who had 
 gathered at the door, to withdraw likewise ; and 
 Imogen therefore remained alone with her lover, 
 his mother, and his sister. She was now regain- 
 ing her consciousness : she sat up on the sofa 
 
 where she had been placed — she looked around— 
 her recollections instantaneously flashed back into 
 her brain — she knew all that had occurred. 
 
 " Imogen," said Launcelot, in the low deep voice 
 which indicated a concentration of indescribable 
 emotions, " you have done a deed the generosity 
 of which is scarcely equalled by its miraculous 
 associations!" 
 
 "You mean, Launcelot," she said, "that it 
 amounts to, a positive marvel how I, the humble 
 actress, could have been in possession of such a 
 sum. It was my fortune — no matter how ob- 
 tained. Ton at least, Launcelot, know me well 
 enough to be assured that it was not acquired by 
 dishonourable means." 
 
 "And I," said Azaline fervently, "though 
 almost as much overwhelmed by my wonder as 
 by my gratitude, am convinced of the truth of 
 the words which have just issued from your 
 lips." 
 
 " I know not what to say to you," began Lady 
 Trentham, who was immensely embarrassed by 
 the present position of circumstances. " On the 
 one hand I am at a loss for language to express 
 all I feel for what you have done : but on the 
 other hand I tremble at the claim that you may 
 make — at the recompense that you may de- 
 mand " 
 
 " Tremble not, lady," interrupted Imogen. 
 " Fear not that I have found my way hither for 
 the sake of rendering you unhappy! Hear me 
 while I swear that never without your consent 
 and that of Lord Trentham " 
 
 "Imogen, swear not!" cried Launcelot in an 
 excited tone. 
 
 " Yes," she continued, " I will swear, and her 
 ladyship will believe me. And after all," she 
 added, in a tone which suddenly altered singu- 
 larly and strikingly, "your ladyship may rest 
 assured that I know my own position. I, the 
 actress — perhaps scorned and looked lightly upon 
 — I can never aspire to be more than I now am 
 to your son ! What that is " 
 
 " Imogen ! Imogen !" exclaimed Launcelot, be- 
 coming purple with shame and confusion. 
 
 " I need say no more — I am understood !" cried 
 the actress. "And now farewell !" 
 
 With these words she glided towards the door ; 
 and so sudden was the movement that she 
 disappeared before Launcelot even thought of 
 following her. Then he darted towards the door 
 — but he found that she had locked it on the 
 other side. He leapt from the window — he re- 
 gained admittance into the house from the back 
 premises on which that casement looked — but 
 Imogen was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE 1'RENCH AMBASSADOR. 
 
 Another scene which requires our attention, oc- 
 curred on this same evening of which we are 
 writing. Thus, while the Caseys were engaged 
 in the business which took them to Windmill 
 Street — and while Imogen was displaying the 
 blended generosity and singularity of her dispo- 
 sition at Trentham House — Count Mandeville 
 was receiving a visitor at the Clarendon Hotel. 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MKMOIBS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 It was about nine o'clock when a plain carriage 
 drove Tip to the door of that establishment — an 
 elderly personage of distinguished appearance 
 alighted — and although he came incognito as it 
 were, yet was he received by the waiters with 
 all the respect due to the French Ambassador at 
 the British Court. His Excellency was imme- 
 diately ushered up into the handsome suite of 
 apartments occupied by Count Mandeville ; and 
 there the two were now closeted together. The 
 demeanour of Mandeville was respectful towards 
 the Ambassador; but it was not fawning nor 
 servile : it showed that the adventurer felt more 
 at his ease with the representative of King Louis 
 Philippe, than he was with the colder and 'more 
 austere diplomatist who represented the interests 
 of the Russian Czar. 
 
 " And now, my dear Mandeville," said the 
 French Ambassador, throwing himself into an 
 No. 33. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 arm-chair, "let us get to business at once. "What 
 have you to tell me ?" 
 
 "There is not the slightest doubt;" responded 
 Mandeville, " of the accuracy of all the informa- 
 tion I had previously obtained." 
 
 " Excuse me, my good friend," said the Am- 
 bassador ; " but mere assertions will not suffice. 
 We must have proofs." 
 
 " And proofs you shall have," answered the 
 Count, .with an air of confidence. "Now, look, 
 your Excellency! When circumstances led me 
 to offer my services some little time ago to the 
 Government of his Majesty Louis-Philippe, it was 
 not to peddle about in small things, or to take 
 my rank along with the wretched herd of spies 
 and mouehards whom your system maintains. 
 No — I aimed at higher things — I sought a loftier 
 position " 
 
 " And you cannot accuse me, Count," inter- 
 
258 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 jected the Ambassador, " of treating you other- 
 wise than with all becoming regard and courtesy. 
 As a matter of course I could not act in a direct 
 and open manner as your reference or your 
 guarantee in respect to whatsoever representations 
 you have chosen to make concerning yourself: — 
 but on the other hand I have tacitly and quietly 
 countenanced you — I have visited you here at 
 your hotel— I have spoken of you as the Count de 
 Mandeville " 
 
 "All true enough, your Excellency,", inter- 
 rupted the adventurer ; " and this is as much as 
 I could have possibly expected at your hands. I 
 told your Government at the outset that I was 
 tired of serving Russia, whose diplomatists are the 
 haughtiest and most overbearing of mortals, and 
 affect to scorn the instruments of whom they are 
 compelled to make use. Therefore I was resolved 
 to offer my services to France : they were accepted 
 — the funds which I required for my immediate 
 purposes were liberally forthcoming — and now I 
 am about to give your Excellency a signal proof 
 that I have not over-rated the utility of my Ser- 
 vices." 
 
 " And so there really is a conspiracy ?" said 
 the French Ambassador. 
 
 " A most dangerous one," replied Mandeville ; 
 " and the conspirators are as desperate and deter- 
 mined a set of characters as could possibly have 
 met together." 
 
 " And their special objects ?" asked the Ambas- 
 sador. 
 
 " The death of King Louis Philippe," was the 
 response. 
 
 "What!" ejaculated the Ambassador; "are 
 they not deterred by the fate of previous would-be 
 regicides ?" 
 
 "Not they, your Excellency! I repeat, they 
 are men of the strongest opinions and of the most 
 determined dispositions. Ruined moreover in their 
 fortunes, they have everything to gain from a con- 
 vulsion in France ^ while on the other hand they 
 have nothing to lose but their lives — and of these 
 they are reckless." 
 
 " But does it not occur to them," asked the 
 Ambassador, " that heaven itself protects King 
 Louis Philippe? — that on every occasion the 
 assassin's dagger has been turned aside and the 
 bullet of the regicide bravo has missed its aim ? 
 Have these facts no awe-inspiring influence upon 
 the minds of those wretched men of whom you 
 are speaking?" 
 
 " They are impious enough, your Excellency," 
 said Mandeville, with a slight smile of irony upon 
 his lips, "to attribute the previous failures of 
 patriots — for thus they term regicides — to acci- 
 dental circumstances, or else to the nervousness of 
 the individuals themselves at the moment. Thus, 
 for instance, as illustrative of the category of ac- 
 cidental circumstances, in the case of Fieschi the 
 infernal machine would not explode at the proper 
 moment; and thus the delay of only a dozen 
 seconds enaMed the King's carriage to pass beyond 
 its range. Then, in the case of Alibaud, it was 
 nervousness : " 
 
 " Enough, Count !" interrupted the Ambassador. 
 " If it be thus that the miscreants reason, they 
 must indeed be beyond all the solemn warnings 
 and influences which previous incidents might 
 afford. We must therefore regard them in the 
 light which you describe — namely, as a set of 
 
 desperate and most dangerous men. What is their 
 number ?" 
 
 " There are six of them," responded Mande- 
 ville, — " two Poles, three Frenchmen, and one 
 Englishman. As a matter of course they look upon 
 their party as consisting of seven " 
 
 " How so ?" inquired the Ambassador. 
 
 " Because they number me amongst them," re- 
 plied Mandeville. 
 
 " Ah, true !" said the Ambassador. " You 
 must have got in with them somehow or another, 
 or else you could not possibly have gained posses- 
 sion of their horrible secrets. Might I ask how 
 you were so fortunate as to contrive to find your 
 way into their midst, and thus place yourself in 
 a position to baffle one of the most odious con- 
 spiracies ever devised ?" 
 
 " The explanation is easy, your Excellency," 
 answered Mandeville. " The first inkling ,1 had 
 of this affair was a few weeks ago, when I was in 
 Paris. There chance threw me in the way of a 
 certain Ivan Zadouski — a Pole by birth, though 
 at one time, an officer in the Russian army. 
 His name was familiar to me, and I was ac- 
 quainted with, all his antecedents — no matter 
 how. We thus got intimate ; and a word which 
 fell from his lips, led me to question him. To be 
 brief, I managed matters so cleverly that I 
 elicited from him what was going on — but with 
 the understanding that I should join in the con- 
 spiracy. I agreed; and it was then that I 
 offered my services to the Government of his 
 Majesty Louis Philippe." 
 
 " Tell me more about these conspirators," said 
 the Ambassador. " Tou say there are two 
 Poles ?" 
 
 " Tes, your Excellency. I have already spoken 
 to you of one of them — Ivan Zadouski. The other 
 is a man of the most dauntless courage,, and has 
 figured in every' Polish insurrection which has 
 taken place during the last twenty years. He 
 also fought desperately at the barricades in Paris 
 in the revolution of 1830." 
 
 " The very revolution which raised up that 
 great King whom the miscreant now seeks to 
 assassinate !" — and the Ambassador turned up 
 his eyes as if in mingled wonder and indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Ah ! but I need not remind one who is so 
 well informed on all subjects as your Excel- 
 lency," said Mandeville, " that the republican 
 Polish party is desperately embittered against the 
 French King, because he has taken no active step 
 towards the restoration of the nationality of Po- 
 land. They say that he has forfeited all the 
 pledges which he gave to the liberal cause on as- 
 cending the French throne " 
 
 "Ah!" said the Ambassador; "I know the 
 pretext which these vile men bring forward for 
 their iniquitous proceedings " 
 
 " And therefore, your Excellency," interjected 
 Mandeville, " it is useless for me to enter into 
 further explanations on the point. There are two 
 Poles ; and if ever there were men resolutely bent 
 on the consummation of the crime, even at the 
 almost certain forfeit of their own lives, these are 
 the desperadoes. Then there are three French- 
 men ; and of them I may speak in terms as 
 strong as those which I have just adopted in re- 
 ference to the Poles. The sixth is an English- 
 
THE YOUXO DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 259 
 
 " What earthly grievance can he have against 
 King Louis Philippe ?" asked the Ambassador. 
 
 Mandeville shrugged his shoulders, and said, 
 " There are opinionated, selfish, and desperate men 
 amongst the English as well as amongst other 
 nations. Whether this person be sincere in his 
 revolutionary sentiments or not, I cannot tell : 
 but that he has abandoned himself to the wildest 
 and insanest hopes in that respect, there can be 
 no doubt. He has been taught to believe that 
 the establishment of a Republic must follow at 
 once upon the assassination of the King, and that 
 all who have any hand in bringing about the 
 catastrophe, will be rewarded with riches and 
 lucrative situations. But I need not tell your 
 Excellency how men of this class first delude 
 themselves, and then succeed in deluding each 
 other. However, so it is; and of all the con- 
 spirators the Englishman is the most dan- 
 gerous." 
 
 " How so ?" inquired the Ambassador. 
 
 " Because he is the only one who can com- 
 mand pecuniary resources. The others are pen- 
 niless — and therefore, without him, powerless: 
 for a conspiracy of this kind needs money." 
 
 " Who, then, is the English conspirator ?" 
 asked the Ambassador. 
 
 " I do not know his real name, nor where he 
 lives, nor anything concerning his true social 
 position. These particulars he himself has kept in 
 the background. But he is heart and soul in the 
 evil cause which he has adopted ; and I repeat, it 
 is he who holds the purse. But there is even 
 something more." 
 
 " And what is that ?" asked the Ambassador. 
 
 "This Englishman is in some way connected 
 with a lady of the highest patrician rank — indeed 
 nothing less than a Duchess ; and she by some 
 strange infatuation has been led to countenance 
 the plot in which the man himself is engaged." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the Ambassador ; " an 
 English duchess lend herself to the schemes of 
 assassins ? Impossible, Count ! You are carrying 
 the romance too far !" 
 
 " I shall be enabled to convince your Excellency 
 that it is anything but a romance. There shall 
 be proof for every detail which I am now giving 
 you." 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried the Ambassador, " an 
 English duchess the patroness of regicides !" 
 
 " It is even so. But perhaps there may be — 
 and no doubt' there is — a personal pique in the 
 matter." 
 
 " In what form ?" asked the Ambassador. 
 " Come, speak out 1 see that you know." 
 
 " Some few years ago," resumed Mandeville, 
 " the Duchess visited Paris. I know not all the 
 circumstances of the case — I am therefore only 
 able to give your Excellency a mere scanty out- 
 line : but certain it is that this duchess was 
 shamefully outraged — I believe even violated — 
 by one of King Louis Philippe's sons ; and when 
 she appealed to the King himself for redress, his 
 Majesty treated the matter with levity, declaring 
 that those sort of things were nothing in France, 
 and that if she were a wise woman and held her 
 tongue she could sustain no injury. So for her 
 own sake she hushed it up : :but she has ever 
 since cherished a bifjter burning hatred against 
 King Louis Philippe and all his family." 
 
 "Are you quite assured, Count Mandeville," 
 
 asked the Ambassador gravely and solemnly, " of 
 the truth of this fact ?" 
 
 " I am assured of it. And indeed it appears 
 to be the only way to account for the vindictive 
 hate of the Duchess towards King Louis Philippe, 
 and the lavish manner in which she supplies the 
 conspirators, through her English friend or para- 
 mour — or whatever he may be — with funds for 
 the carrying out of their iniquitous design." 
 
 "Ah ! then," said the Ambassador, " the funds 
 come from her purse? Do you know who this 
 duchess is ?" 
 
 " I do," replied Mandeville. " But pray do not 
 ask me to name her ; for in the proceedings which 
 I am about to suggest as the means of defeating 
 this odious conspiracy, there is one point on which 
 I must insist on a special stipulation ; and this is 
 that all which concerns the .Duchess be carefully 
 and religiously concealed." 
 
 " If by the destruction of the conspiracy," re- 
 plied the Ambassador, "she herself be rendered 
 powerless in respect to future machinations of the 
 same diabolical sort, I have not the slightest 
 objection to accede to the point for which you 
 stipulate." 
 
 " Rest assured, your Excellency, that by the 
 failure of the present conspiracy she will be 
 sufficiently sickened of the whole affair, and will 
 wash her hands of such proceedings for the future. 
 At all events I promise that in case of necessity — 
 of absolute necessity, mind — I will put you in 
 possession of her name, and thus paralyse her 
 altogether. But until such necessity should arise 
 I must remain silent on that point " 
 
 " Agreed !" said the Ambassador. " And now 
 for your projects, Count ? How are the conspi- 
 rators to be battled 1" 
 
 " As a matter of course,'' said Mandeville, " the 
 whole affair is to be crushed silently and without 
 noise." 
 
 " No doubt of it," answered the Ambassador. 
 " In the first place Louis Philippe would not for 
 the world have it known that such plots are 
 hatched against him ; and secondly it were vain 
 to appeal to the English law, because without 
 your evidence we could prove nothing — and as a 
 matter of course you would not stand forward to 
 give your testimony/' 
 
 "Assuredly not," rejoined Mandeville. "I 
 neither wish to obtain the reputation of a spy, 
 nor to stand the chance of being assasinated by 
 one of the desperadoes whom I should be betray- 
 ing. But all my plans are settled in my mind, 
 and the mode of action is easy." 
 
 "Proceed," said the Ambassador, drawing his 
 chair- closer to Mandeville. 
 
 "You have a steam- vessel," said the latter, 
 " lying off Woolwich ?" 
 
 The Ambassador answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " Now, as your Excellency may easily suppose," 
 resumed Mandeville, " I have not been in the 
 secret service of the Russians withdut gaining 
 certain experiences and noting in my mind what- 
 soever is worth borrowing from their system of 
 dping business. They have one very useful and 
 convenient proceeding which they are wont to 
 adopt in extreme cases. In short, it is nothing 
 less than carrying off an obnoxious individual, 
 neck and crop, despite the mawkish consideration 
 of violating the laws of the particular territory 
 where the thing may Occur ; and " 
 
2C0 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; , OB, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " My good friend," interrupted the Ambassador, 
 laying his hand upon Mandeville's arm, "this is 
 nothing new -which you are telling me : nor must 
 you bestow upon the Russians all the credit of a 
 proceeding which, as you term it, may on occasions 
 be found very useful and convenient. His gracious 
 Majesty Louis Philippe has on two or three occa- 
 sions — perhaps more — caused the same thing to 
 be done." 
 
 " I rather thought as much," said Mandeville; 
 "but I was delicate in expressing my opinion 
 point blank ; and therefore I am glad you have 
 put me at my ease upon the topic. . Indeed, me- 
 thought that those corps in Algeria which are 
 called the Condemned Regiments might have their 
 uses in more ways than one." 
 
 " Tou are right, Count," said the Ambassador. 
 " All who are obnoxious to his Majesty, or become 
 the objects of suspicion, are sent off, to join those 
 ranks, wherein their, names and identities are as 
 completely lost as if they suddenly found them- 
 . selves plunged amidst a chain of galley-slaves. 
 The least act of insubordination is punished with 
 death : and thus as remonstrance,' or complaint, 
 or entreaty,' if too violently urged,- are. construed 
 into insubordination, I can assure you there is 
 very little of all that in the Condemned Regi- 
 ments." 
 
 "I understand," said Mandeville. "The men 
 all feel that they are doomed.bein'gs and that death 
 only can rescue them from their present state.". ■ 
 
 " Precisely so. And now to what is all this to 
 lead ?" asked the Ambassador. ' " Would you 
 have me seize on the whole six conspirators ?" 
 
 "Nothing of the sort, your Excellency. I am 
 not such an idiot," continued Mandeville, " as to 
 suppose that the sudden and simultaneous disap- 
 pearance of half-a-dozen individuals' from ' the 
 midst of the metropolis, could fail to excite the 
 gravest suspicions and lead to the most searching 
 inquiries. But in respect to, the disappearance of 
 one person, it is different. Therefore one person 
 only is to be carried off! — and this circumstance, 
 together with some other little device that may 
 be adopted, will prove sufficient to break ' up the 
 conspiracy, and disperse the conspirators, -with a 
 terrorism hanging 'over' their minds sufficient -to 
 make them shrink from any meddling with such 
 machinations for the future." 
 
 "I understand," said the Ambassador: "it is 
 the Englishman who is to be thus disposed of ?" 
 
 "It is he," rejoined Mandeville. "And now 
 may I beg your Excellency to listen to the in- 
 structions which I have to give ? — for according 
 to certain information which I have succeeded in 
 obtaining, the blow can be struck to-morrow 
 evening." 
 
 "Good," said the Ambassador. "But still, 
 my dear Count, let me remind you that down to 
 this point you have not afforded me a single 
 proof that the facts are precisely as you repre- 
 sent them. Not that I doubt your statement ! 
 — but remember that I shall have to give an ac- 
 count to others. The Minister of Foreign Affairs 
 and King Louis Philippe himself " 
 
 " Patience, patience, your Excellency 1" inter- 
 rupted Mandeville. " The very proceeding which 
 I am counselling you to adopt in reference to 
 this Englishman, will put you in possession of 
 the most ample proofs." 
 
 " That is all I require," rejoined the Ambassador. 
 
 The two remained closeted together for about a 
 quarter of an hour longer, during which Mande- 
 ville gave certain detailed instructions, of which 
 the Ambassador made notes in his pocket-book. 
 His Excellency then took his leave; and as the 
 door, closed behind him, Mandeville rubbed his 
 hands as he chucklingly muttered to himself — 
 " Thus far the plot is laid, and success is certain 
 on that point !" 
 
 But almost immediately afterwards graver con- 
 siderations came into his mind j and as he slowly 
 paced to and fro in the ' apartment, he said to 
 himself, "Although I have rendered this con- 
 spiracy available for the purpose of getting rid 
 of that man, yet the conspiracy itself must be 
 broken up, or I shall lose all credit with the Am- 
 bassador ! -. Besides, he might discover likewise 
 that the connexion of the 'Englishman therewith 
 is all sheer'' invention on my own parti Yes — I 
 cam break' up the ' conspiracy ! — there is ,no doubt 
 of that ! .The letter which. I propose the Am- 
 bassador "should write' will have the desired effect. 
 But what' if by any chance I myself should be 
 suspecteft'as the traitor? "what if those desperate 
 men should have reason to suppose that I had 
 only found my way into their midst for the pur- 
 pose of betraying them ? My life would not be 
 worth a moment's purchase ! Ah, and life, is be- 
 coming' dearer and dearer than ever ;' for I am 
 rising in the world! I must therefore protect 
 myself — I must surround that valuable life with 
 all 'possible defences. There is only one of those 
 fellows whom' I dread— only one who is at all 
 likely to settle* his suspicions upon me !— and that, 
 is Ivan Zadouski. .Yes— him only need I dread ; 
 for by the vety 'manner in which Lbecame ac- 
 quainted with' him' m Paris, may he come to the 
 conclusion that I am not what I represented my- 
 self to be. But how to dispose of him ?" 
 
 At this moment the 'door of the apartment 
 opened ; and Edmund Vaughan, Count Mande- 
 ville's valet, made his appearance. 
 
 " Well, what is it ?" inquired the Count. 
 
 "If you please, sir, I have succeeded in an- 
 other little piece of business which you entrusted 
 to me." 
 
 " Ah ! And what may that be ?" 
 
 " You know the lady that you ordered me to 
 make inquiries about, sir — : who disappeared so 
 suddenly from the little lodging-house in Camden 
 Town abovit three weeks ago " 
 
 "Ah! Ethel Trevor?" ejaculated Mandeville. 
 "What! is it possible " 
 
 " I have found out, sir, where she is living. I 
 employed an underling to follow up the clue which 
 I had obtained " 
 
 " And what was that clue ?" 
 
 " I saw the young lady this afternoon in a very 
 handsome carriage, with another young lady and 
 a fine-looking gentleman ; and so I got this un- 
 derling to follow her ; and lo and behold ! he has 
 just now been to give me the information — for he 
 could not very well come earlier." 
 
 " Where does she live ?" inquired Mandeville 
 impatiently. 
 
 "At Count Olonetz', in Gfrosvenor Square." 
 
 " At Count Olonetz' ?" exclaimed Mandeville 
 in astonishment. 
 
 " It is as I tell you, sir ; and from the inquiries 
 which have been made, I learn that the young 
 lady only arrived there this day." 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS Off A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 261 
 
 " You are an invaluable fellow," cried Mande- 
 ville ; " and here are ten guineas as a trifling re- 
 ward :" — then, as the valet gathered up the jjold 
 coins, the Count turned aside, mentally ejaculat- 
 ing, '.' Ethel at the house of Count Olonetz I And 
 Ethel knows Mildred ! What ■ on earth can be 
 afoot ? This is something which I must inquire 
 into. — Ah ! Ivan Zadouski ! To be sure ! — that 
 name occurs most appropriately at the moment ! 
 I have an excuse for presenting myself to Count 
 Olonetz." 
 
 Mandeville's mind being made up, he ordered 
 his carriage to be gotten in readiness : and in the 
 meanwhile he made some change in his toilet, at- 
 tiring himself in full evening costume. 
 
 " By the bye, Edmund," he said, as he was 
 about to leave the dressing-room and descend to 
 his carriage, "you will proceed to Miss Alice 
 Denton's lodgings with my compliments, and she 
 must keep herself entirely disengaged for to- 
 morrow, as I purpose to pass some considerable 
 portion of the day with her. You ordered the 
 wine and other things to be sent her this after- 
 noon ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir: I myself saw the thing's sent off to 
 her new lodgings." 
 
 " Good," said Mandeville. " Ah ! do you know 
 whether she likes her new abode ?" 
 
 " It is impossible she can fail to like it, sir — 
 such a handsome suite of apartments in a nice 
 genteel quarter of the. town, very different from 
 the cheap rooms in the York Road which that 
 miserable upstart Mr. Sylvester Casey allowed 
 her ! But you, sir, do everything so handsomely." 
 
 Mandeville smiled, but made no answer ; and 
 descending to his carriage, was in a. few minutes 
 at the mansion of Count Olonetz in Grosvenor 
 Square. The moment the equipage dashed up to 
 the entrance, a footman in gorgeous livery, and 
 with powdered hair, hastened down the steps ; and 
 as . Mandeville alighted, the lacquey inquired, 
 " What name shall I have the honour of an- 
 nouncing ?" 
 
 " Count Mandeville," was the reply. 
 
 " Count Mandeville," shouted the lacquey up 
 the steps. 
 
 "Count Mandeville," echoed another lacquey 
 on the threshold. 
 
 " Count Mandeville," cried a third at the bot- 
 tom of the staircase. 
 
 By this time Mandeville had become aware 
 that Count Olonetz was receiving company, and 
 that he had been very naturally taken by the 
 domestics to be one of the invited guests. Some 
 elegantly-dressed ladies were ascending the stair- 
 case — all within the mansion was a blaze of light 
 — numerous domestics were hurrying to and fro 
 — and the sounds of music were wafted to the 
 ear. For a moment Mandeville stopped short : 
 he had fancied to find Count Olonetz alone — it 
 had never for an instant occurred to him that he 
 might be plunging into such a scene as this. 
 But what was he to do ? how could he possibly 
 retreat? His name was being shouted up the 
 staircase, and nothing could be more ignominious 
 than to turn tail and -beat a retreat. Besides, 
 such a course was but little consistent with Man- 
 deville's self-possession and hardihood. So, after 
 that single moment's hesitation, he continued his 
 way up the staircase. 
 
 " Count Mandeville," shouted a lacquey at the 
 
 entrance of the gilded saloon : and the daring 
 adventurer entered upon the brilliant scene. 
 
 As by far the greater portion of the company 
 consisted of English people, Mandeville's name 
 was not only familiar to their earsj.but he him- 
 self was personally known to them; and being 
 extremely popular, as well as much courted in 
 the highest .-.circles,, he was at once accosted by 
 several jpersonages of. the British aristocracy — 
 while, as he looked around,' he received bows and 
 smiles from several ladies of the highest title. He 
 thus- felt himself completely at, his ease, for he 
 knew full well that Count Olonetz would not ven- 
 ture to. give him a disagreeable reception in the 
 presence of such a demonstration as this. Nor 
 was his calculation' erroneous. Count Olonetz, 
 on nearing his name announced, was astounded at 
 his insolence, and was preparing to overwhelm 
 him with his cold haughty dignity, when the 
 Countess Olonetz hastily accosting her lord, in- 
 quired in a whisper, " Did you invite him ?" 
 
 " No, not I," responded the Count. " It is a 
 bold game that he is playing ; for he no doubt 
 calculates that it will be of immense advantage 
 to him jf he can get his name into the newspaper 
 as one of the guests admitted within our exclu- 
 sive circle." 
 
 " What will you do ?" asked the Countess. 
 
 " Confront him — overwhelm him But stay ! 
 
 What numbers, press forward to greet him ! And 
 those ladies too who seem to welcome his pre- 
 sence ! He must be a great favourite ! And 
 perhaps after; all, he' may have come for some 
 special objects-he is a very clever fellow-r-by no 
 means likely to commit an error and place him- 
 self in a false position " 
 
 " And then too he is acquainted with many 
 secrets," suggested the Countess. 
 
 " True," said Olonetz, whose mind was now 
 made up in a moment. " Let us act cautiously. 
 He approaches— we will receive him with a suit- 
 able degree of courtesy." , 
 
 Mandeville' now advanced with that elegant 
 ease of manner which was. his principal charac- 
 teristic ; and he made his bow to the Count and 
 Countess with the air of one who was an invited 
 guest. They received him in a similar manner ; 
 and as' the Countess then moved' away in another 
 direction, the Count said in a low but significant 
 tone, " Perhaps, Monsieur de Mandeville, you 
 wished to speak to me about something import- 
 ant?" 
 
 " It was for that purpose I caine, my lord," 
 was the response : and Mandeville assumed an 
 air which might lead all who were looking on at 
 the time to suppose that he was on terms of most 
 perfect friendliness with the Russian Plenipoten- 
 tiary. 
 
 " Step a little aside," said Olonetz: and he 
 drew him towards a large pillar supporting an 
 arch which separated the grand saloon from an 
 apartment communicating with another suite. 
 " I think we may speak here at our ease," con- 
 tinued Olonetz, glancing around, — " unless indeed 
 your business be of an importance rendering it 
 desirable that we should retire to my private 
 cabinet?" 
 
 "Not at all, my lord," rejoined Mandeville; 
 " and first let me acquit myself of the imputa- 
 tion of brazen impertinence and consummate 
 rudeness, by giving your lordship the assurance 
 
252 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 that I had no idea of finding company here this 
 evening " 
 
 " No farther apology is necessary, Monsieur de 
 Mandeville," interrupted Count Olonetz ; " and 
 now proceed." 
 
 " I need but mention the name of Ivan Za- 
 douski " 
 
 " I know it," interrupted Olonetz. " He was 
 the aide-de-camp with whom a certain female 
 escaped from Tobolsk — her paramour in a 
 word." 
 
 " The same, my lord," said Mandeville. " I do 
 not know whether the Russian Government cares 
 anything about that man at present, or whether 
 it be perfectly indifferent in respect alike to his 
 whereabouts or proceedings." 
 
 " Why do you ask?" inquired Olonetz. 
 
 " Simply, my lord, because I know where this 
 Ivan Zadouski is, and can lay my hands upon 
 him at any moment." 
 
 " Indeed?" said the Count : and then after a 
 few moments' reflection, he added, " Perhaps he 
 is looking after his former mistress ?" 
 
 " Candidly, my lord," said Mandeville, " I be- 
 lieve that Zadouski is very capable of hatching 
 any mischief 'if the opportunity should serve. I 
 have made inquiries concerning him. He is poor 
 and desperate " 
 
 " And being acquainted with so many secrets," 
 muttered Olonetz between his lips. 
 
 " Is therefore all the more dangerous," added 
 Mandeville. 
 
 "True," said Olonetz. " I must think over it. 
 I am infinitely obliged to you, Monsieur de Man- 
 deville, for bringing me this information." 
 
 " And perhaps your lordship will no longer 
 consider my presence here an intrusion ?" 
 
 " By no means," responded Olonetz, who was 
 too diplomatically cautious to give offence to one 
 who might in any way serve his purposes. " I 
 beg you to remain, Monsieur de Mandeville ; and 
 in the name of the Countess I ask you to partake 
 of the banquet which will be presently served." 
 
 Mandeville bowed ; and as he was about to 
 turn away to another part of the room, he 
 stopped short, and looking Olonetz full in the 
 face, he said in a low impressive tone, " Perhaps 
 your lordship will remember my proper designa- 
 tion when next addressing me before the company. 
 I am Count de Mandeville." 
 
 " I. shall not forget it," responded the Russian 
 Plenipotentiary, not altogether able to repress a 
 smile at this new stroke of bold dexterous policy 
 which the adventurer had just played. 
 
 Mandeville then lounged away from the spot 
 where the preceding colloquy had taken place ; 
 and he was gazing about in every direction in 
 search of Ethel, when he felt some one touch him 
 on the elbow; and glancing round he beheld a 
 tall distinguished-looking personage, about forty 
 years of age, with light brown hair, auburn 
 whiskers, and large blue eyes. This was the 
 Grand Duke ; and Mandeville at once recognised 
 him by means of a portrait which he had seen ; 
 for this was the first time that he had ever set 
 eyes upon his Imperial Highness in person. Man- 
 deville's first impulse was to apologise for having 
 abstractedly run against the Grand Duke, as he 
 thought that he must have done : but his Impe- 
 rial Highness, at once raising his finger to his lip, 
 beckoned him to follow. 
 
 "Ho! ho!" thought Mandeville to himself; 
 " I am wanted by the Grand Duke now-^am I ? 
 So much the better. But I must be cautious 
 though ; for it will not do to play any tricks with 
 Count Olonetz." 
 
 The Grand Duke led the way to a little room 
 opening from the inner apartment, and where 
 prints and books lay upon the table for the re- 
 creation of those who might temporarily choose 
 to adjourn thither. 
 
 " We have no time to lose in useless discourse, 
 sir," the Grand Duke at once began speaking in 
 a low but quick tone, and keeping his eyes fixed 
 upon the door with a visible anxiety lest the pre- 
 sent interview should be interrupted. " I hap- 
 pened to pass behind the pillar just now, while 
 you were conversing with Count Olonetz — I 
 
 caught a name, and nothing more " 
 
 " And that name, your Highness ?" asked 
 Mandeville. 
 
 The Grand Duke looked cautiously around, 
 and then breathed the name — " Ivan Za- 
 douski." 
 
 "True, your Highness, I mentioned that 
 name." 
 
 " Where is the man ?" asked the Grand Duke. 
 "In London," was Mandeville's response. 
 " I know not, sir, to what extent," resumed the 
 Prince, " I dare make any claim upon your good- 
 nature : equally ignorant am I whether I shall 
 be insulting you by promising to hold in grateful 
 remembrance the boon which I seek at your 
 hands. I may add that I am perhaps still more 
 in the dark as to what your views and intentions 
 may be in communicating with Count Olonetz in 
 
 reference to that person " 
 
 " Would your Imperial Highness at once favour 
 me with your commands," said Mandeville ; 
 " and I shall then be better enabled to reply 
 frankly and candidly to your Highness." 
 
 " Well spoken," said- the Prince. " I heard 
 you announced as Count Mandeville. Surely a 
 nobleman of your distinction can have no sinister 
 dealings with Count Olonetz ?" 
 
 "Tour Imperial Highness only does me jus- 
 tice," said Mandeville, thinking it fit to draw 
 himself up with an air of dignity. "Accident 
 made me acquainted with Ivan Zadouski, and 
 circumstances led me to mention his name to my 
 
 friend Olonetz " 
 
 " Count Mandeville," interrupted the Grand 
 Duke, " I do not know what those circumstances 
 could be — I do not ask you ; — I will not seek to 
 penetrate into your secrets. Neither will I in- 
 quire what you may know, or how you may be 
 
 mixed up But no matter! To the point! 
 
 Will you — will you serve me by procuring for me 
 a secret interview with Ivan Zadouski ?" 
 
 " I will, your Imperial Highness," answered 
 Mandeville. 
 
 "A secret interview, mind!" continued the 
 Prince, who was becoming nervous and agitated, 
 — " an interview at which none else shall be 
 present, but where he and I may be alone together 
 —in some lonely place — in the Park — on one of 
 the bridges — in the middle of the night— any- 
 where ! " 
 
 " Good heavens !" said Mandeville, affecting a 
 sudden uneasiness as a means of drawing the 
 Prince out, " does your Imperial Highness seek a 
 hostile encounter " 
 
THE YOUNQ DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 263 
 
 " No, no, Count Mandeville !" interrupted the 
 Grand Duke, with a smile : " nothing of the 
 kind!" Then instantaneously becoming serious 
 again, he said, " I take God to witness that I have 
 no such intention. Ah ! perhaps that man may 
 fear to meet me. Tell him he is wrong to enter- 
 tain any such apprehension. I seek to do him no 
 harm : I merely wish to put * few questions to 
 
 him yes, a few questions, on a point of vital 
 
 importance to myself. But need I say any 
 more ?" 
 
 " Not another word, your Imperial Highness. 
 I will make the appointment which your Highness 
 desires. I shall most probably see him to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 " Good," said the Prince ; " and you will send 
 me a note next day, stating where and when I am 
 to meet the individual. Ah ! by the bye, if your 
 writing be known to Count Olonetz, I beg you to 
 disguise it ; and as a gentleman and a man of 
 honour you are appealed to by me not to betray 
 the boon which I have besought at your hands." 
 
 " I am incapable of doing so," answered Man- 
 deville. 
 
 "And I on the other hand," rejoined the 
 Prince, "am incapable of ingratitude towards 
 those who render me a service." 
 
 This was said with an unmistakable signi- 
 ficancy ; and the Grand Duke hurried out of the 
 little room where the colloquy had taken place. 
 
 " The friendship of a Russian Imperial Prince 
 cannot possibly do any harm";" said Mandeville," 
 as he complacently caressed his moustache. 
 
 He then lounged back into the grand saloon; 
 but vainly did his eyes search for Ethel Trevor : 
 she was not to be "seen. The fact is, she was with 
 the Princess Roxana, who was not permitted, by 
 the severe restrictions of etiquette, to mingle in 
 the gay scene, because it was under an incognito 
 that she had come over to London on the present 
 occasion. 
 
 Mandeville found Count Olonetz in the midst of 
 a listening group, in the card-room. His Excel- 
 lency was telling some capital diplomatic anecdote, 
 which was of course listened to with the most ad- 
 miring attention, and which at the conclusion 
 elicited a peal of laughter. Mandeville, who was 
 now lounging with fashionable ease against the 
 table, caressing hi3 glossy whiskers, made some 
 remark which was not merely appropriate in a 
 complimentary sense to .the anecdote itself, but 
 which likewise contained a witticism which evoked 
 fresh laughter. 
 
 "Count de Mandeville's joke is even more 
 pointed than my own," said Olonetz, with a good- 
 humoured smile. 
 
 Mandeville was elate, though outwardly he be- 
 trayed not any unusual excitement. Everything 
 seemed to favour him. There he was, within the 
 choice select circle of the Russian Plenipotentiary's 
 guests; and this same exalted functionary had 
 addressed him as Count de Mandeville! He 
 passed a most pleasant evening : he rendered him- 
 self most agreeable at the supper-table ; and on 
 taking his leave at about two o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, he returned in the highest possible spirits to 
 the Clarendon Hotel. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE CONSPIRATORS. 
 
 It was verging towards eight o'clock in the even- 
 ing of the following day — namely the 1st of June 
 — when a cab turned from Piccadilly into Lower 
 Regent Street, proceeding in the direction of Wa- 
 terloo Place. Inside this vehicle a female, in 
 somewhat mean apparel, and with a dark green 
 veil'folded over her countenance, was seated next 
 to a gentleman. This gentleman was Count de 
 Mandeville : but as for his companion, it would 
 have been impossible for the eyes of even the most 
 scrutinizing observer to penetrate through the 
 folds of that veil and discern the features behind. 
 
 " Now, Alice, my dear girl," said Mandeville, 
 "are you sure you've got your cue properly and 
 can go through with the business ?" 
 
 " I am sure of it, Count," was the reply of 
 Miss Denton : for she the young lady was. 
 
 " And you will wait, recollect ! until you hear 
 the Horse Guards' clock strike eight." 
 
 "Oh, I know very well what I have to do," she 
 exclaimed, laughing; "and you shall see how 
 
 well I will acquit myself though I cannot for 
 
 the life of me comprehend what object ithe pro- 
 ceeding is to serve, whether farce or tragedy." 
 
 " A little bit of both, my dear girl. But do 
 not be nervous. Ah, by the bye, you have got 
 the packet of papers safe ?" 
 
 "Quite safe, Count. Here it is," responded 
 Alice. 
 
 " Then here I shall leave you," said Mande- 
 ville; and pressing the girl's hand, he added, 
 " Remember to acquit yourself well, dear Alice, 
 and I shall know how to be grateful." 
 
 He pulled the check-string — the cab stopped — 
 and as he alighted, he said to the driver, " You 
 will set down this lady near the Duke of York's 
 column. Draw up. by the side of the pavement, 
 about twenty yards from the column, and put her 
 down there. You must then wait for her." 
 
 " All right, sir :" and the cab drove on. 
 
 It stopped in a few minutes at the place indi- 
 cated by Count Mandeville; and Alice Denton 
 alighted, but taking very good care to keep the 
 veil over her countenance as she slowly approached 
 the column. Nevertheless, though her own fea- 
 tures could not be seen through the folds of the 
 green veil, its thickness was not so great as to pre- 
 vent her eyes from embracing all the features of the 
 scene. It was still quite light at that hour in the 
 month of June ; and, as usual, there were several 
 persons lounging about the neighbourhood of the 
 column. There was another cab at a little distance ; 
 and the driver thereof, while lounging against 
 the side of his vehicle, was holding a familiar chat 
 with a short thickset man in a soiled shooting 
 jacket and drab small-clothes. Seated on one of 
 the steps leading down into the Park, were two 
 men, one of whom looked like a journeyman car- 
 penter, and the other a mechanic whose avocation 
 lay in a somewhat dirty line, such for instance as 
 gasfitting, or plumbing, or bell-hanging ; and both 
 seemed as if they had stopped there to rest them- 
 selves for a few minutes and light their pipes 
 while returning home from work. A little lower 
 down the steps was a foreign sailor, who appeared 
 
264 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 to be fast asleep, and whose very red face and 
 somewhat disordered toilet seemed to afford huge 
 delight to a parcel of little boys who were playing 
 about, and who felt convinoed that the snoring 
 mariner was drunk. 
 
 Up the steps, coming from the Park, an old 
 gentleman was painfully toiling. He was very 
 much bowed, and his limbs were so infirm that 
 when he had managed to plant one foot upon a 
 step, he could scarcely drag up the other after 
 him. He supported himself on a stick ; and his 
 capacious shoes seemed to indicate that he was 
 gouty. He was dressed in an old-fashioned style : 
 he wore no whiskers — and his face seemed to be 
 marked with wrinkles. He had on a pair of green 
 spectacles, of that kind which is provided with 
 shades, so that the eyes themselves were alto- 
 gether concealed. His long grey hair hung from 
 beneath a low broad-brimmed hat ; and there was 
 something so comical in his appearance that the 
 attention of the little boys was for a moment di- 
 verted from the drunken sailor to himself. The 
 old gentleman, however, appeared very good- 
 natured ; for with difficulty thrusting one of his 
 gloved hands into the pockets of his curiously cut 
 coat, he thence extracted some halfpence, which 
 he tossed down the steps, so that all in a moment 
 there was a regular scramble for the booty on the 
 part of the joyous urchins. Indeed such was their 
 uproarious clamour, that they awoke the drunken 
 sailor, who sat up for an instant, took a sleeepy 
 look at the old gentleman, muttered three or four 
 imprecations in a foreign tongue, and then sinking 
 back again, began to shore louder than ever. 
 
 The old gentleman looked at his watch, and 
 continued to ascend the steps with perhaps a trifle 
 more ease if not alacrity than before. Just a3 he 
 reached the base of the column,' the clock at the 
 Horse Guards began to strike eight. Alice 
 Denton, who was about half a dozen paces dis- 
 tant from the column, at once dropped her ker- 
 chief; and a handsome well-dressed gentleman, 
 who was passing, courteously stooped to pick it 
 up for her. She had advanced a pace or two ; 
 but, dear me! how awkward! she dropped her 
 kerchief a second time. On this occasion she had 
 to stoop to pick it up for herself : but as she 
 raised her eyes, she beheld the infirm old gentle- 
 man standing before her. 
 
 " That will do," he said quickly. " It is I. 
 Duchess " 
 
 " Yes. Hush !" answered Alice, in a low and 
 subdued tone. " Here is the packet." 
 . "It is well," was the response. " You have 
 kept your word, Duchess." 
 
 Alice Denton left the packet in his hand ; and 
 according to the instructions which she had re- 
 ceived, glided away towards the cab which was 
 waiting for her. 
 
 The infirm old gentleman hastened to consign 
 the packet to his pocket : then he cast a furtive 
 anxious look around : and behold ! the foreign 
 sailor was close at his elbow ! Neither drunken 
 nor sleepy now was the mariner — but sober and 
 broad awake, and with a purpose and meaning in 
 his looks too, as he caught hold of the infirm 
 gentleman's arm, saying, with a slight French 
 accent, " You must-come with me!" 
 
 At the same instant the journeyman gasfitter 
 — as he seemed 4o be — ajso appeared upon the 
 spot ; and he Whispered in the ' infirm gentle- 
 
 man's ear, " Sir Abel Kingston, I know you — 
 and you must yield to your destiny !" 
 
 " Who are you ?" asked the miserable man, 
 clutching the arm of the seeming mechanic 
 
 "No matter. I know y<m{ The others do 
 not know who you are. It will be your own fault 
 if they learn your true name. Take any name 
 you like." 
 
 " But what is the meaning of this ?" asked Sir 
 Abel tremulously. 
 
 " You will see :" — and the grimy-looking me- 
 chanic stood back, while the French sailor on 
 one hand, the journeyman carpenter on the other, 
 'and the short stout man in the soiled shooting- 
 jacket and drab shorts, closed in upon the 
 wretched baronet, whom they hurried to the cab 
 which was waiting, and into which they thrust 
 him, they themselves entering with him. The 
 blinds were drawn down ; and away the vehicle 
 drove. Three or four persons stood to look on: 
 but the whole proceeding was very short, and 
 they could make nothing more of it than the 
 circumstance of an infirm old gentleman being 
 hurried by some strange-looking men into a cab. 
 
 " What is it ?" said some one to the seeming 
 mechanic, who stood loitering at a little distance. 
 
 "Merely an old gentleman who managed to' 
 sneak out of his lunatic asylum, and so the 
 keepers have been obliged to be up to all sorts of 
 dodges to nab him again :" — and having given 
 this reply, which was evidently perfectly satis- 
 factory, the seeming mechanic turned upon his 
 heel and continued his way. 
 
 Proceeding to a small coffee-shop in an obscure 
 street in the neighbourhood of the Haymarket, 
 the mechanic quickly made a signal change in his 
 person, by putting on clean clothes and linen, and 
 washing the grime from his face and hands. 
 Thence he bent his way towards Bond Street, and 
 in a few minutes reached the Clarendon Hotel. 
 
 " It is all right, sir," he said, as he entered his 
 master's sitting-room. "The capture was made as 
 neatly as -possible. Miss Denton did it beauti- 
 fully." 
 
 "And how was Sir Abel disguised?" asked 
 Mandeville. 
 
 " He was capitally got up, sir — as they would 
 say at the theatre," replied Edmund Vaughan. 
 "An infirm old gentleman — whiskers and mous- 
 tache shaved off — and with some dye or tint 
 he had made his cheeks look all wrinkled." 
 
 Edmund proceeded to give his master the re- 
 maining particulars ; and Mandeville then stepped ' 
 into his carriage, which was in readiness, and 
 drove away to the mansion of the French Am- 
 bassador. On announcing his name, he was at 
 once conducted up into the private cabinet of the 
 great diplomatic functionary, whom he found there 
 alone. 
 
 " It is done, your Excellency," said Mandeville. 
 
 " I know it," replied the Ambassador : and un- 
 locking a drawer in his desk, he produced u 
 sealed packet. "This has just been delivered by 
 one of the men." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Mandeville : " then your 
 Excellency now possesses the proofs of the whole 
 
 conspiracy unless indeed I am very much 
 
 mistaken." 
 
 " I would not open the packet until you came, 
 Count," said the Ambassador. "But, Ah! what 
 if these documents be written in cipher ?" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 2C3 
 
 Mandeville smiled and said, " Of course they 
 will be, your Excellency. It is always so amongst 
 conspirators as well as with diplomatists. But I 
 canTurnish you the key ; for am I not one of the 
 conspirators myself ? Ha ! ha !" 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" echoed the Ambassador : and they 
 both laughed with the air of men who could 
 afford to make themselves merry on the strength 
 of having achieved some grand success. 
 
 The French representative then proceeded to 
 open the sealed packet, on the envelope of which 
 there was no address. The contents were found 
 to consist of Bank-notes to the amouut of a hun- 
 dred pounds, and a letter written in cipher : but 
 in respect to the latter, Mandeville as a matter of 
 course at once furnished the key. The correspon- 
 dence was soon deciphered ; and wo need hardly 
 add that it completely corroborated every state - 
 No. 34. — The Young Duchess 
 
 ment or representation which the Count had 
 thought fit to make to the French Ambassador. 
 
 " And now your Excellency is satisfied," said 
 Mandeville, " of the exact truth of every tittle of 
 intelligence which you have received through the 
 medium of my lips ?" 
 
 " I am completely satisfied," answered the Am- 
 bassador ; '' and in the name of his Majesty 
 Louis Philippe I thank you, Count Mandeville, 
 for having discovered one of the most diabolical 
 conspiracies that have been formed during the 
 seventeen years that the great Citizen King has 
 occupied the French throne. But as you are well 
 aware, your recompense will not be confined to 
 mere verbal" expressions of gratitude. A substan- 
 tial reward '' 
 
 " Patience, your Excellency !" interrupted Man- 
 deville, with a smile. " Let me finish the work 
 
2G6 
 
 TIIE Y0UNO DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 which I have so successfully begun ; and then 
 you shall talk to me of a recompense for ray ser- 
 vices. As you may judge by that correspondence, 
 we have got rid of one of the most dangerous in- 
 dividuals of the whole set." 
 
 "Yes — that is evident," said the Ambassador. 
 " Who could have thought that an Englishman 
 would have shown such a bloodthirsty and im- 
 placable disposition in respect to the King of a 
 foreign country ! Ah, by the bye, Count, are yon 
 certain that the Duchess will not find other in- 
 struments of her vengeance, by the aid of that 
 powerful talisman which she possesses — I mean 
 gold ?" 
 
 " Rest assured, your Excellency," said Man- 
 deville, " that when this conspiracy is completely 
 broken up, the Duchess will have no heart to 
 enter into another. Leave me to manage this 
 much." 
 
 " Good," said the Ambassador. "You manage 
 everything so well, Count, that I am perfectly- 
 agreeable to leave the whole business in your 
 hands. And now what is next to be done ?" 
 
 " Be pleased," responded Mandeville, " to write 
 a letter to my dictation. You will And that its 
 purport explains the final object." 
 
 " Proceed," said the Ambassador, arranging the 
 writing materials before him. 
 
 Mandeville accordingly dictated the terms of 
 the epistle which the Ambassador was to pen ; and 
 when it was finished, the address, which the envoy 
 also wrote to dictation, was as follows : — "To 
 Monsieur Borel, No. — , Granby Street, Waterloo 
 Eoad, Lambeth." 
 
 " And now," said Mandeville, " let one of your 
 Excellency's servants go and leave this letter at 
 the address indicated. Let him simply knock at 
 the door, place the letter in the hand of whom- 
 soever may answer the summons, and then hastily 
 depart without giving utterance to a word." 
 
 Count Mandeville now look his departure ; and 
 the French Ambassador -lost not a moment in 
 sending off the letter to Granby Street, where it 
 was delivered by about ten o'clock on that even- 
 ing. 
 
 We may -now look into the interior of the 
 house to which we have just been alluding. Per- 
 haps however we should observe for the benefit 
 of those readers who are not well acquainted 
 with the metropolis, that Granby Street bears an 
 infamous reputation ; and as at the date of which 
 we are writing all the houses in that street were 
 of an equally bad repute, without a single favour- 
 able exception, there was no chance of the 
 neighbours of any dweller there being inconve- 
 niently curious or prying in respect to whatsoever 
 sinister proceedings were carried on. It might 
 however be different on the part of the public ; 
 and we shall now see whether any precautions 
 were taken to provide against this latter contin- 
 gency. 
 
 It is to a back room in one of the houses in 
 the street, that we are about to introduce the 
 reader. The place was meanly furnished: the 
 floor was dirty — the walls and ceiling were 
 blackened with smoke. The shutters were closed, 
 and a massive iron bar was fastened across them 
 inside the room. Slips of green baize were nailed 
 over the joints and chinks, doubtless to prevent 
 any prying eyes from peering into that room from 
 outside. The door was faced with iron plates; 
 
 and it was likewise defended by an iron bar, so 
 that it could not be very easily broken open by 
 any persons bent upon a hostile invasion from 
 without. A trap-door communicated with a cellar, 
 whence there was an entrance into the front 
 kitchen, which had a means of egress into a nar- 
 row alley running between that and the adjacent 
 house. We may here as well explain that the 
 stronghold was originally placed in such a defen- 
 sive condition for the use and behoof of a gang 
 of coiners, and the arrangements were so devised 
 that the shutters and door might be strong enough 
 to resist the police in case of an attack, while the 
 criminals themselves were making their escape 
 by means of the trap-door and the secret avenue 
 into the adjoining lane. The gang of coiners had 
 become dispersed — it matters not how; and the 
 " strong room " at present served as the meeting- 
 place of .certain conspirators : for the groundwork 
 of the tale which Mandeville had told to the 
 French Ambassador was strictly corre'et, though 
 everything he had said of the connexion of Sir 
 Abel Kingston and the Duchess therewith was a 
 pure fiction. 
 
 The house which contained the strong room we 
 have been describing, was kept by two old women 
 who were sisters ; and as it was a place of im- 
 moral resort, there was nothing remarkable or 
 extraordinary that several persons of foreign ap- 
 pearance should occasionally be seen gliding into 
 the premises between eleven and twelve o'clock at 
 night. The old women did not know what the 
 object of their meeting might be, and did not 
 care so long as they punctually paid the rent of 
 the room. They might have taken the foreigners 
 for coiners, forgers, swindlers, or evil-doers of some 
 complexion or another : but it Scarcely entered 
 the old crones' heads that the meil would in reality 
 have scorned any such disgraceful pursuit, and 
 that they were political conspirators. 
 
 It was verging towards midnight at tjie time 
 when we are about to look into the strong room, 
 as it is called. One person only had as yet ar- 
 rived ; and he was a man of about five-and-forty 
 years of age, with a countenance that must have 
 at one time possessed a rare masculine beauty, 
 but which now bore all the evidences of strong 
 fierce passions, of dissipation, and of struggles 
 with the world. The features were somewhat 
 delicately formed ; the complexion was dark : he 
 wore a long beard, which was only just beginning 
 to show u. few white threads amidst its glossy 
 blackness ; and the moustache gave effect to a set 
 of teeth that were well-preserved. This individual 
 — whose figure we should remark was finely formed 
 and well knit — was dressed in apparel a little the 
 worse for wear ; and as he sat smoking a black- 
 ened clay pipe, his contracting brows and the 
 sinister lowering of the expression of his counte- 
 nance showed that the tobacco exercised not a 
 wholesome sedative influence over his mind, but 
 that it actually aided him to give a fuller scope to 
 his dark thoughts. Presently rising from his seat, 
 he opened a cupboard, and thence took forth bot- 
 tles, glasses, and a jug of water ; and just as he 
 had mixed for himself a glass of brandy and 
 the limpid element, in equal proportions, a knock 
 was given in a peculiar manner at the door. The 
 individual rose and opened it ; and the gentleman 
 who now entered laid aside a long muffling cloak 
 in which he was disguised, and the collar of which 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 267 
 
 came half-way up his countenance, while the 
 brim of a sort of wide-awake hat shaded the 
 upper part of the face. 
 
 "Ah, Zadouski," exclaimed Mandeville — for 
 this was the new-comer. " You are first here at 
 the meeting to-night? And the very person, 
 above all others, whom I wished to encounter 
 alone for a few minutes !" 
 
 "Indeed?" said Ivan Zadouski. "What secret 
 can you have for me, Mandeville ?" 
 
 "Nothing that concerns the objects of our 
 meeting here," replied the Count. " But as you 
 axe aware, I move in the very best circles of 
 society ; and therefore you will not be astonished 
 to hear that I received a card of invitation to the 
 soirie given bv Countess Olonetz last evening." 
 
 " Well," said Zadouski ; " and what next ?" 
 
 " I got into conversation with the Grand Duke," 
 continued Mandeville ; " and I happened to men- 
 tion that I had heard tidings of the death of the 
 Polish General, Daboyar, the other day in Paris. 
 The Grand Duke asked me quite in a casual way 
 from whom I received the intelligence? — and I 
 said, ' From a friend of mine, a Polish gentleman 
 named Zadouski.' — Really, my dear fellow, I was 
 quite unprepared for the effect which this an- 
 nouncement seemed to produce upon the Grand 
 Duke; but he started, and then inquired if the 
 Christian name of the friend to whom I alluded 
 was Ivan ?" 
 
 " And what did you tell him?" asked Zadouski, 
 with mingled interest and anxiety. 
 
 " I began to think that I had better he cautious, 
 and that I had possibly let out something which 
 you would have wished to be kept back. So I 
 said that I really did not know what my friend's 
 Christian name was ; and when the Grand Duke 
 pressed me for a personal description, I answered 
 him so generally and vaguely that "i, suffered him 
 to arrive at no positive opinion on the subject. 
 Then he expressed his anxiety to meet this M. 
 Zadouski : he begged me to arrange an interview. 
 But Whether he perceived by my manner that I 
 was disposed to he guarded and cautious, or 
 whether other motives were floating in his brain, 
 I cannot tell: certain however it is that he 
 pledged his word, on the honour and faith of a 
 prince and a gentleman, to the effect that he had 
 no hostile nor sinister intention towards you, but 
 merely wished to put a few questions." 
 
 " And you are utterly ignorant of everything 
 that concerns myself and that Russian Prince ?" 
 asked Zadouski, fixing his dark eyes with pene- 
 trating keenness upon Mandevillfe. 
 
 " Utterly ignorant," replied this personage, in 
 an easy off-hand manner, and with an air of the 
 most genuine truth. " The Grand Duke told me 
 nothing more than I have stated to you." 
 
 Zadouski reflected for upwards of a minute ; and 
 then he said, " I will meet the Russian Prince." 
 
 "Ah, by the bye," added Mandeville, "I 
 forgot to say that the appointment must of course 
 be of a secret nature." 
 
 "That is exactly how I intend it," rejoined 
 Zadouski. " It shall be some place where I can 
 look round and see that the Duke comes alone — 
 that my movements are neither dogged nor watched 
 — and that no treachery is intended." 
 
 " Good," said Mandeville. " Tell me where 
 you choose to meet the Prince, and I will make the 
 appointment for you." 
 
 " Well," said Zadouski, after another brief in- 
 terval of reflection, " I will say on Waterloo 
 Bridge — between eleven and twelve o'clock at' 
 night. The place is pretty clear then." 
 
 " To-morrow night ?" asked Mandeville. 
 
 " To-morrow night ? — no. Nor yet the night 
 after," responded Zadouski, in a musing strain. 
 " But the night after that. Let me see — this is 
 the 1st of June. Well then, the appointment is 
 for the night of the 4th, at half-past eltven 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Good," said Mandeville : " I will arrangewith 
 his Imperial Highness to that effect." 
 
 " And now let me tell you one thing, my dear 
 fellow," pursued Zadouski, with a sinister look 
 and a sort of sarcastic politeness ; " if I find that 
 any treachery is contemplated towards me by this 
 Grand Duke, I will manage to send a bullet 
 through your brains as certain as you are now 
 here." 
 
 " These threats are stupid, Zadouski," said 
 Mandeville, coolly, and with a slight tincture of 
 contempt in his tone. " What earthly object could 
 I have in doing you an injury 1}/ 
 
 " I do not know," answered the Pole doggedly. 
 "It is sometimes difficult enough to tell men's 
 motives, or even to discern what the persons them- 
 selves really are. I know little or nothing of 
 you " 
 
 "And I little or nothing of you," rejoined 
 Mandeville. 
 
 " Well, this is strange !" said Zadouski, as if 
 struck by the reflection : " and yet here we are, 
 rowing in the same boat — embarked on the same 
 venture — having the same object in view " 
 
 " Yes," interjected Mandeville ; " because we 
 are the haters of tyrants — because at the bottom 
 of our hearts we cherish the fervent desire to be- 
 hold the glorious republican institutions upraised 
 in France— and because likewise," added Maude- 
 ville, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, 
 and bestowing a significant look upon the Pole, 
 " we are men of desperate fortunes, and we know 
 that amidst the ruins of a monarchy, the upheav- 
 ings of a revolution, and the raging of the poli- 
 tical storm which we are about to conjure up, — we 
 know, I repeat, that we must inevitably become 
 the gainers." 
 
 "True!" said Zadouski. "Here's my hand 
 upon it, Mandeville ! — and if I have said anything 
 to wound your feelings or give you offence, I 
 crave your pardon." 
 
 " 'Tis granted," replied the Count. " We shall 
 know each other better some day, Zadouski ; and 
 then you will learn how fervid I can be in my 
 friendship." 
 
 " And I also, Mandeville, And as a proof of it, 
 I will take an early opportunity of telling you how 
 it was that I ever came to know anything of the 
 Imperial Prince — how I left the Russian army 
 — By Jupiter! it was a perfect romance !" 
 
 " Hush ! there is a knock at the door !" inter- 
 jected Mandeville, who could scarcely repress a 
 smile as he turned round to answer the summons, 
 and said tp himself, "Ha! ha! my friend! you 
 little conjecture that I am as well acquainted 
 with all those antecedents as you yourself are." 
 
 Mandeville opened the door, and another con- 
 spirator made his appearance. This was Ivan 
 Zadouski's fellow-countryman — a Pole, of despe- 
 rate character and courage, as Mandeville had 
 
268 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 described him to the French Ambassador. Al- 
 most immediately after the arrival of this indi- 
 vidual, two more of the gang were introduced — 
 and these were Frenchmen. 
 
 "We only want Borel now," said Zadouski, 
 " and our number will be complete." 
 
 Scarcely were these words spoken, when there 
 was another knock at the- door, and M. Borel 
 made his appearance. He carried in his hand a 
 letter ; and when he had hastily greeted his com- 
 rades, he said in allusion to the missive, " This 
 was just given to me by one of the old women. 
 It seems that it was delivered nearly a couple of 
 hours ago by some person who instantaneously 
 took his departure again. Here it is, friends ; and 
 according to the agreement which we have be- 
 tween us, to the effect that no letters coming 
 for me as the secretary here shall be opened hut 
 with the 'general consent, and in each other's pre- 
 sence, I place it at your disposal." 
 
 " Then I vote that it be opened at once," said 
 one of the French conspirators, who was now 
 cutting a lemon, and mixing himself some cold 
 punch. 
 
 " I second the proposal," said Maudeville. 
 
 M. Borel accordingly opened the letter ; but he 
 started on glancing at its contents. 
 
 "What!" he ejaculated, "from the French 
 Embassy ! — and directed to me here !" 
 
 " The French Embassy?" echoed all the other 
 voices. 
 
 " Yes," continued Borel ; " and the letter is 
 from the French Ambassador too! there is his 
 signature ! By heaven ! everything is dis- 
 covered !" 
 
 " Discovered ?" echoed the others ; and Man- 
 deville's voice was the loudest amongst them. 
 
 " Discovered ! betrayed !" cried Borel. " Yes 
 ' — everything known ! Ah, by heaven ! all our 
 names mentioned !" 
 
 "There must be a traitor in the camp !" ex- 
 claimed Manderille, glancing around him. 
 
 " Yes — a traitor !" echoed other voices : and for 
 a few moments the conspirators surveyed each other 
 with looks full of doubt, suspicion, and distrust, — 
 Mandeville's being the only glances whose sinister 
 expression was thus feigned. 
 
 " Stop, my friends !" said one of the French- 
 men : "let us not he hasty in forming judgments, 
 but let us curb our impatience while Borel reads 
 the letter." 
 
 " Ah ! let us have the letter," said Mandeville, 
 now resuming his seat and crossing his arms over 
 his breast as if with an air of dogged determina- 
 tion. 
 
 The conspirators also sat down, with the excep- 
 tion of Borel, who remained standing to read the 
 letter. We may as well observe that he was an 
 elderly man, with grey hair, but with » deter- 
 mined expression of countenance, and with a 
 sinister light gleaming in the eyes that were over- 
 hung by shaggy ragged brows. The contents of 
 the letter ran as follow : — 
 
 " French Embassy, June 1, 1847. 
 " The evil designs of the persons meeting at the 
 house to which this letter is presently to be for- 
 warded, are known to the Ambassador of France, 
 who from the information already obtained, 
 might, if he thought fit, invoke the aid of the 
 English law to punish the wretches, but who 
 
 cares not to give such a colour of importance to 
 the miserable plottings of such despicable cha- 
 racters. The Ambassador has therefore con- 
 tented himself with forwarding a list of their 
 names and a complete description of their persons 
 to the authorities of every frontier-town of 
 France, so that each and all may hereby receive 
 due warning that at their peril will they set foot 
 on the French soil. Therefore, when this letter pre- 
 sently falls under the eyes of Karl Petronoff, once 
 a jeweller in Warsaw, but for twenty years past 
 an itinerant agitator and revolutionist throughout 
 Europe — of Ivan Zadouski — of Tristan Borel, for- 
 merly a captain in the French army, but who was 
 cashiered for deeds of infamous cruelty in Algeria 
 — of Hippolyte Mandeville, a miserable adven- 
 turer for whom the galleys in France are yawning 
 and whose forgeries and frauds will now quickly 
 hurry him to the hulks or penal colonies of 
 England — of Henri Ponchard, once established as 
 a surgeon at Lyons, but who took part with the 
 insurgents in that city several years ago and was 
 compelled to fly — of Louis Cailliez, a bankrupt 
 merchant of Marseilles, who for the last fifteen 
 years has seemed to delight in living in hot 
 water — when this letter falls under the eyes of 
 the individuals thus enumerated, they may rest 
 assured that their trade as political conspirators 
 is ended, and that they will never succeed in their 
 infamous ambition of becoming regicides. It is 
 not such reptiles as these on whom the fate of a 
 great nation depends. Their place is in the dens 
 and stews and loathsome resorts of a foreign, 
 metropolis, where in due time their offences 
 against society will receive some signal punish- 
 ment. The Ambassador experiences the utmost 
 reluctance and repugnance in addressing even so 
 much as a line to the objects of his unmitigated 
 contempt and abhorrence : but still he feels that 
 he is bound to make some sacrifice of his own 
 sentiments in order to put a gang of miscreants 
 to a well-merited discomfiture and confusion. 
 
 " (Signed) , 
 
 " The Ambassador of France." 
 
 Nothing could exceed the sensation produced by 
 the reading of this letter. Borel's countenance 
 became alternately white and livid with rage as 
 he read the document ;' and with all the charac- 
 teristic vehemence of a Frenchman he clenched 
 his fist, gesticulated violently, and stamped his 
 feet in the fury which seized upon him. Each 
 individual started at the mention of his name ; 
 and Mandeville played his part to perfection. He 
 affected to be overwhelmed with confusion at the 
 manner in which his own name was stigmatized ; 
 and fierce glances were suddenly turned upon him, 
 as if all the conspirators were outraged to think 
 that there should be amongst them such a cha- 
 racter as an adventurer, swindler, and forger. In 
 the terrible state of excitement to which the read- 
 ing of the letter lashed them up, they needed some 
 object whereon to vent their wrath, their rage, 
 their spite, and all the savage fierceness of the 
 worst passions of their nature ; so that when 
 Tristan Borel had finished the reading of the letter, 
 Ponchard the surgeon turned sharply round upon 
 Mandeville, demanding, " Is it true that you are 
 all the Ambassador represents you ?" 
 
 " It is easy to call people by hard names," re- 
 plied Mandeville; "and thus for instance the 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 269 
 
 letter charges you, Captain Borel, -with being a 
 cashiered officer — and you, friend Cailliez, with 
 
 being a bankrupt merchant " 
 
 " But I honourably got my certificate," voci- 
 ferated Cailliez, 
 
 "And if I roasted a few wretched Algerines 
 alive," added Borel, " I was not the first officer in 
 the army who had done so." 
 
 "At all events," exclaimed Fonchard, "there 
 was nothing degrading in your failure in business, 
 Cailliez — nor in the cause for which you left the 
 French army, Borel. Perdition take it ! I thought 
 we were all men of honour here ! — and if so, we 
 might afford to laugh at the spiteful outpourings 
 of the Ambassador ; and though the game is all 
 up, we might send him an indignant reply. But, 
 death and furies ! if there is a veritable felon 
 amongst us, I confess, friends, I for one shall wince 
 and writhe under the terrible taunts contained in 
 that letter !" 
 
 "Speak, man!" vociferated Karl Petronoff, 
 fixing his flaming eyes upon Mandeville 3 "is it 
 true that you deserve the -character with which 
 that letter invests you ?" 
 
 " Just as if he would tell the truth in the mat- 
 ter !" said Ivan Zadouski, with a look of sneering 
 contempt at Mandeville. 
 
 " I tell you what, gentlemen," said the Count, 
 rising from his seat, " I think I had better leave 
 you. I see you purpose to make a dead set at me 
 — and I therefore bid you farewell." 
 
 "Ah, the sooner you get out of the company of 
 honourable men, the better !" muttered the sur- 
 geon Ponchard, grinding his teeth, and fixing a 
 look of dark sombre menace upon Mandeville. 
 
 " Yes — let him go, in the devil's name," said 
 Borel, with a sound like a growl ; " or else I 
 shall be inclined to do him a mischief." 
 
 Mandeville put on his cloak and hastened to 
 quit the apartment, with the well-assumed air of 
 a man who was glad'to N escape from a company 
 in whose presence his character had been exposed. 
 But as he went forth from the house, he chuckled 
 inwardly, as he said to himself, " It was a mas- 
 terly stroke of policy on my part to make the 
 Ambassador put in that sentence concerning my- 
 self ! Never mind what the rascals now think of 
 me! At all events they do not entertain the 
 slightest suspicion that it is by me they have been 
 betrayed." 
 
 But let us return to the interior of the room 
 which Mandeville had just quitted. 
 
 "By heaven !" cried Ponchard, grasping his 
 hair with both hands as if he meant to tear it 
 out of his head, — " I feel as if branded by that 
 terrible letter !" 
 
 " To think that we should have had a forger 
 and a swindler as one of our comrades !" cried 
 Borel, striking his clenched fist violently upon the 
 table. 
 
 " But who the deuce could have betrayed us ?" 
 demanded Karl Petronoff : and his fierce looks 
 wandered suspiciously and mistrustfully around. 
 
 "lam ready to make oath that I am stanch," 
 said Louis Cailliez. 
 
 "And, by heaven !" exclaimed Ponchard, " if 
 I thought that any man even so much as required 
 from my lips an assurance to that effect, I would 
 teach him a lesson that he should never forget." 
 
 " At all events one thing is very certain," said 
 Borel, — " and this is, that the game's up — our 
 
 plans are knocked on the head — and so far as any 
 of us are concerned, there will be no revolution, 
 and the Citizen King may die safe and comfortable 
 in his own bed." 
 
 " Eight enough," said Cailliez. " And now, it 
 seems that the only thing we can do is to pay what 
 is owing for the room, give it up, and separate, 
 wishing each other good luck elsewhere." 
 
 " What ! separate," cried Karl Petronoff, 
 " before we satisfy ourselves as to who the traitor 
 was who betrayed us ?" 
 
 " And whom do you suspect ?" demanded Ivan 
 Zadouski of his fellow-countryman. " Why the 
 devil do you rivet your eyes on me ? If you had 
 settled them mistrustfully on Mandeville before 
 you let him leave the room, I do not think you 
 would have been far astray of the mark." 
 
 " No, no!" cried Ponchard : " that will not do 
 for a moment. Mandeville is a miserable adven- 
 turer, there can be no doubt : but he is no traitor 
 towards us. If he were, the Ambassador would 
 not have lashed him so frightfully in the 
 letter." 
 
 " To be sure not !" interjected Karl Petronoff : 
 " that stands to reason. The letter speaks like- 
 wise of me and my concerns, in addition to men- 
 tioning my name." 
 
 " And of me too," said Ponchard. 
 "And if you come to that, it speaks of me 
 too," said Cailliez. 
 
 " And you will admit, friends," added Borel, 
 " that the letter has not spared me." 
 
 Ivan Zadouski alone remained silent. He was 
 suddenly struck by the fact, which in the excite- 
 ment of the scene he had not thought of before, 
 that his name was the only one that was simply 
 mentioned in the letter without any associated 
 slur, charge, or imputation. The same circum- 
 stance simultaneously struck the others present ; 
 and their looks were all in a moment concen- 
 trated upon that individual. 
 
 " What the devil do you mean by this, friends ?" 
 said Ivan Zadouski with a fierce air of defiance. 
 
 " You are spared in that letter !" ejaculated 
 Petronoff. 
 
 "Well, I know it," answered Ivan doggedly. 
 " And what then ?" 
 
 " We suspect you, Zadouski !" cried Petronoff. 
 " If you say that, you lie !" retorted Ivan. 
 " What ! I lie ?" — and it was a- fierce yell of 
 rage, hy isna-like and terrible, that burst from the 
 lips of Karl Petronoff. "Villanous traitor!" — 
 and springing forward, he seized Zadouski by the 
 collar. 
 
 " Traitor in your teeth, liar !" exclaimed, Ivan : 
 and at the same time he dealt his assailant a ter- 
 rible blow with his clenched fist upon the mouth. 
 Fiercer still was the yell of rage which now 
 escaped from the bleeding lips of Karl Petronoff; 
 and in the excitement of the ungovernable passion 
 which had seized upon him, he caught up the 
 knife from the table — it gleamed in the gaslight 
 — and the next instant it was plunged deep down 
 into the heart of Ivan Zadouski. 
 
 The blow was fatal — the work was done — Ivan 
 had ceased to exist ! 
 
 "Good heavens, Petronoff!" said Cailliez; 
 " you have killed him !" 
 
 " And so much the better !" was the murderer's 
 brutal reply. " Was he not a traitor? did he not 
 betray us ?" 
 
270 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OE, MEMOIR OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " There can be little doubt of that," said Borel, 
 shaking his head gloomily. 
 
 " And if you had not done this, Karl," said 
 Ponchard, savagely, " I would have done it my- 
 self!" 
 
 " Well, -well, friends," said Cailliez, "I have 
 no doubt the chastisement was just:— but now 
 what are we to do with the dead body ? These 
 old women will never suffer themselves to be 
 compromised " 
 
 " Hush !" said Borel : ''let us first make sure 
 that nothing has been overheard." 
 
 "No fear of that," replied Ponchard, "with 
 these shutters and that door. But listen if vou 
 like." 
 
 They listened accordingly — but they heard 
 nothing; and then Ponchard said, " We must 
 conceal the body below for the present; and I 
 think I know of a means of disposing of it to- 
 morrow night." 
 
 " Not before to-morrow night ?" ejaculated 
 Louis Cailliez, who seemed somewhat timid on 
 the point. 
 
 " No — not before," answered Ponchard. " I 
 must speak to the people of the place that I am 
 thinking of. We have got ourselves into a scrape, 
 and we must get out of it in the best way that 
 we can." 
 
 "Now look you, my frierius," said Karl Petro- 
 noff, n it is I who have done this — and I do not 
 want any of you to stand any risk, or take any 
 unnecessary trouble on my account " 
 
 " We all row in the same boat," said Borel ; 
 " and we will stick together in the present 
 business." 
 
 "That is also my determination," said Pon- 
 chard; and then looking at Cailliez, he added 
 with a sinister significance, "Sol hope we shall 
 have no pusillanimity or maudlin weakness — — " 
 
 " If you mean your remark for me, Ponchard," 
 interjected Cailliez, " it is unnecessary — it is in- 
 sulting — and you'd better take care of yourself." 
 
 " Come, come," said Borel ; " no more quarrel- 
 ing ! And as for friend Ponchard's proposition in 
 respect to the disposal of the corpse, let us accept 
 it thankfully." 
 
 " Then down into the cellar with it !" said 
 Ponchard ; and he stooped for the purpose of 
 raising the trap-door. 
 
 "Remember," said Cailliez, "that there is a 
 means of communication betwixt tho cellar • and 
 the front kitchen, so that if the old women should 
 happen by any chance to take it into their heads 
 to have a peep " 
 
 "That matter is soon settled," interjected Pon- 
 chard. " We can fasten the door of communica- 
 tion on this side " 
 
 " Well, but we cannot fasten down the trap- 
 door," observed Cailliez. 
 
 " No, but we can lock the door of this room, 
 and take away the key with us," said Ponchard, 
 " and an extra half-crown dropped into the hand 
 of either of the old cron"S will lull all suspicion 
 asleep." 
 
 The corpse was accordingly lowered into the 
 cellar below : Ponchard satisfied himself that the 
 door of communication between that place and the 
 front kitchen was safely secured ; and shortly 
 afterwards the conspirators separated, — Ponchard 
 having made an appointment to meet Karl Petro- 
 noff at' that place on the ensuing night, and at 
 
 the same time intimating to Borel and Cailliez' 
 that their presence would not be needed on the 
 occasion. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 MANDEVI LLE'S VISITS. 
 
 On the following day, immediately after break- 
 fast, Count Mandeville penned a note to the 
 Russian ' Grand Duke, informing his Imperial 
 Highness that an appointment was made for him 
 to meet Ivan Zadouski on Waterloo Bridge at 
 half-past eleven on the night of the 4th of June. 
 This billet the Count addressed in a feigned hapd, 
 and at once sent to the post. He presently 
 entered his carriage, and drove to the mansion of 
 the French Ambassador. 
 
 " What tidings, Count ?" asked this diplomatic 
 functionary. 
 
 "Everything has succeeded according to the 
 representations I made to your Excellency. The 
 conspiracy is completely broken up— rthe conspi- 
 rators themselves are as it were annihilated " 
 
 "And did you escape suspicion, Count?" in- 
 quired the Ambassador. 
 
 "Perfectly. I knew exactly how the whole 
 affair would turn out. The rascals all mistrust 
 each other :" — and then Mandeville added with a 
 laugh, " They look upon me as a consummate 
 scamp and adventurer ; but they believe that I 
 was stanch to their own cause. And now, will 
 your Excellency tell me whether you have re- 
 ceived any further tidings in respect to the English- 
 man whom we caused to be carried off " 
 
 " Rest assured, Count," interrupted the Ambas- 
 sador, " that you will never hear any more of that 
 individual. The steam-vessel which bears him is 
 ploughing the seas — it will only touch at a French 
 port for the purpose of taking in fuel — and it will 
 make the best of its way to Algiers. There the 
 prisoner will be at once drafted into one of the 
 Condemned Regiments which are now engaged in 
 fighting against the Kabyle tribes." 
 
 " Then your Excellency does not know what 
 the fellow said? — whether, in short, he asked 
 any questions — made any confession or admis- 
 sions " 
 
 " I know nothing on the point — and it is really 
 of no consequence," responded the Ambassador. 
 "You are aware of the instructions that were 
 given to the second lieutenant of the steamer who 
 superintended the carrying off of the culprit — 
 that no unnecessary word was to be spoken, and 
 not the slightest heed to be taken of anything 
 that the fellow himself might say. And now, 
 Count, I think it is time we should speak of your 
 recompense." 
 
 "I leave myself in the hands of your most 
 gracious monarch King Louis Philippe," said 
 Mandeville. " If the reward be a pecuniary one, 
 your Excellency knows who my bankers are, and 
 you can have the money remitted through a Pari- 
 sian banker, in order that there may be no suspi- 
 cion as to the source whence it emanates and the 
 service which it is to recompense. Ah ! by the 
 bye," added Mandeville, "if'his Majesty would 
 add the Cross of the Legion of Honour, it would 
 bind me to his interests for ever and ever, and ho 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 271 
 
 would have no cause to regret his bounty towards 
 me." 
 
 " Well, Count," said the Ambassador, " I will 
 do my best for you. Yes — you may reckon upon 
 me." 
 
 Mandeville then took his leave ; and he drove 
 towards Grosvenor Square. But he alighted from 
 bis carriage in an adjoining street, and thence pro- 
 ceeded on foot to the mansion of Count Olonetz ; 
 for he did not wish to make his appearance with a 
 pomp and ceremony that might be calculated to 
 attract the notice of the Grand Duke, who if he 
 found Mandeville so frequently conferring alone 
 with the Plenipotentiary, might fancy that he was 
 playing him false in respect to the appointment 
 with Ivan Zadouski. 
 
 Mandeville was at once admitted into the pri- 
 vate cabinet of Count Olonetz, who happened to 
 be alone when his visit was announced. Olonetz 
 received him with a sufficient degree of civility ; 
 and pointing to a seat, at once said! " Have you 
 called in reference to the business which you men- 
 tioned to me the evening before last ?" 
 
 " I have come to speak to your Excellency/' 
 responded Mandeville, "in reference to Ivan 
 Zadouski." 
 
 " I thought so," said the Russian Ambassador. 
 " I myself have been thinking of what you told 
 me; and while I admit that the coincidence is 
 somewhat singular that Mildred and Zadouski 
 should both be visiting London at the same time, 
 yet I do not mean to go to such an extreme as to 
 confess that I am particularly uneasy on the sub- 
 ject " 
 
 "Then your Excellency may be — and with 
 reason too," said Mandeville. 
 
 " How ? what mean you ?" demanded Count 
 Olonetz. 
 
 "I mean, my lord," resumed Mandeville, "that 
 Zadouski is playing some deep game ; for he has 
 by some means or another succeeded in inducing 
 his Imperial Highness the Grand Duke to grant 
 him an interview." 
 
 " What !" ejaculated Olonetz. " Impossible ! 
 Ton must be mistaken !-^-or else you must enter- 
 tain the design of imposing upon me !"' 
 
 ') Ah ! this is too strong, my lord !" cried Man- 
 deville, rising from his seat with an air of indigna- 
 tion. " Such language as this to me !" 
 
 "And pray, sir," asked Olonetz, with all 
 his haughtiest dignity, "since what date is it 
 that you have discovered any reason for me to 
 observe such particular niceties of language to- 
 wards yourself ?" 
 
 " Since the other night, my lord," replied Man- 
 deville, with a self-complaisant smile, " when you 
 gave me my title of Count in the presence of your 
 guests, and therefore acknowledged me to be all 
 that I have passed myself off as." 
 
 Olonetz bit his lip for a moment; and then, 
 forcing himself to smile, he said, " Well, I must 
 confess, Count, that you are no mean diplomatist." 
 
 " At all events, my lord," added Mandeville, still 
 maintaining an air of the utmost confidence and 
 self-possession, " I am iiot any longer to be looked 
 upon as a miserable spy — a mere dirty agent in 
 the pay of Russia. I will continue to serve the 
 Russian interests to the utmost of my power, on 
 condition that my good offices shall be recognised 
 and rewarded in a genteel and liberal manner." 
 
 " Proceed, Count/' said Olonetz, who felt him- 
 
 self compelled to humour an individual who on 
 former occasions had proved himself so serviceable, 
 and who indeed was all the more useful because 
 he was thoroughly unscrupulous. " You were 
 telling me that his Imperial Highness the Grand 
 Duke has actually given an appointment to Ivan 
 Zadouski?" 
 
 " Such is the fact, my lord." 
 
 " But for what earthly purpose can this be ?" 
 asked Olonetz. 
 
 Mandeville shrugged up his shoulders, saying, 
 "Ah! there I am at a loss to throw any light 
 upon the subject. One thing is however ccitaiij, 
 — and this is that the Grand Duke has no hostile 
 intent towards Zadouski." 
 
 "But the motive of Zadouski himself ?" said 
 Olonetz, who was evidently bewildered 
 
 " Rest assured, my lord," responded Mandeville, 
 " that Zadouski is playing some deep, wily, cun- 
 ning game ; for, as I told your Excellency the 
 other night, he is a man of desperate for- 
 tunes " 
 
 \" Count Mandeville," interrupted Olonetz, 
 speaking very seriously, " you will not be of- 
 fended — you must not be offended if I ask you to 
 afford me some proof of these bewildering facts 
 which you are mentioning." ^_ 
 
 " Your lordship shall behold the meetmg with 
 your own eyes, if you think fit," answered Man- 
 deville. 
 
 " Ah ? Then you are indeed well informed !" 
 
 " As I will hasten to convince your Excellency," 
 rejoined Mandeville. " But I must first stipulate 
 for certain conditions." 
 
 " Name them," said Olonetz. 
 
 " In the first place, iny lord," pursued Mande- 
 ville, " you will not mention one syllable of all 
 this to the Grand Duke — you will not by any 
 means or at any time suffer his Imperial High- 
 ness to learn — no, nor even to suspect that it is I 
 who have betrayed him in this proceeding ?" 
 
 "Ah, then," said Olonetz, who was as sharp 
 and keen-witted as any living mortal, " you have 
 had some communication with his Imperial High- 
 ness?" 
 
 " No," said Mandeville, without changing a 
 muscle of his countenance. " But knowing what 
 I do know of Russian power, policy, and capabi- 
 lities, I should be loath enough to offend a Rus- 
 sian Grand Duke." 
 
 " I understand," said Olonetz, whose suspicion 
 was subdued, though not altogether allayed. " I 
 promise that the Grand Duke shall know nothing 
 of you in the business. What further stipulation 
 have you to make ?" 
 
 " That your Excellency suffers the interview to 
 take place," rejoined Mandeville, " and that you 
 will not act until afterwards. For if this be not 
 so, treachery will be suspected somewhere " 
 
 " It shall be so," said Olonetz. " But answer 
 me, — have you any objection that Ivan Zadouski 
 should be seized upon immediately after the in- 
 terview ?" 
 
 " On the contrary, my lord," responded Mande- 
 ville, " it is the very course which I myself would 
 have suggested." 
 
 " Then be it so. And now for the remainder of 
 the information which you have to give me?" 
 asked Olonetz. 
 
 " The appointment, my lord, is made for half- 
 past eleven on the night of the 4th of June." 
 
272 
 
 TUB YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A I.ADY OF QUAMTY. 
 
 " The day after to-morr,ow," said Olonetz. 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " On Waterloo Bridge." 
 
 " Good," said Olonetz. " A watch shall be 
 
 set " 
 
 "Beware, my lord!" interjected Mandeville. 
 " Zadouski will be upon his guard — he will look 
 about him — and if he sees that he is watched or 
 dogged •" 
 
 " I am not accustomed to conduct my proceed- 
 ings in a careless or incautious manner," said 
 Olonetz, with a smile. " Eest satisfied on this 
 head, Count Mandeville. If everything takes 
 place as you have informed me, Zadouski shall be 
 seized upon immediately after the interview : 
 and on the following day you may call upon me 
 and name the recompense which you seek for the 
 service that you will have rendered." 
 
 " Good, my lord," said Mandeville. " This is 
 fairly spoken. I now beg to take my leave." 
 
 He bowed and retired, inwardly chuckling at 
 the success which, as he supposed, must attend 
 upon his double-faced policy. 
 
 " I h'ave made a friend of the Grand Duke," he 
 said to himself ; " and I have more than ever 
 convinced Count Olonetz how necessary my ser- 
 vices are to the Russian Government and how 
 well they ought, to .be recompensed. But more 
 ' than this ! — I shall get rid of Zadouski ! Ha, 
 ha ! he will go back in due time to Siberia !" 
 
 Mandeville , issued from the Eussian Plenipo- 
 tentiary's mansion — where, by the bye, he caught 
 not the slightest glimpse of Ethel ; and retracing 
 his way to his carriage, he proceeded to pay some 
 other visits, which occupied the time until about 
 three o'clock, when he drove to Ardleigh House. 
 
 It was originally the intention of the young 
 Duchess to return to' Thornbury on the day after 
 the masked ball at Lady Todmorden's ; but the 
 incidents which there transpired in reference to 
 Sir Abel Kingston, had determined her to remain 
 in town to await the issue of whatsoever proceed- 
 ings Count Mandeville might adopt to rid her of 
 the persecutions of one whom she dreaded and ab- 
 horred. 
 
 She was seated in a small but elegantly fur- 
 nished apartment; and though she had placed 
 the most implicit reliance on Mandeville's promise 
 that he would save her from the persecutions of 
 her enemy — aye, and though she even entertained 
 a species of religious faith in his power to do so — 
 yet she was naturally a prey to a certain amount 
 of suspense, and she had been uneasy and agitated 
 until the door was thrown open and the name of 
 Count Mandeville was announced. 
 
 " Dear, dearest Mary !" he said, with impas- 
 sioned looks and accents, as he took her hand and 
 pressed it in his own the instant the domestic had 
 withdrawn. 
 
 " Hippolyte, you have saved me !" said the 
 Duchess, in a tone which showed that she was 
 asserting a fact rather than putting an inquiry. 
 " I am sure you have ! A secret voice speaks 
 in my soul, telling me that it is so !" 
 
 " And it is so, dear Mary," responded Mande- 
 ville. 
 
 "All! I knew it! But, Oh! what a relief 
 from suspense !" — and the superb bust of the 
 Duchess swelled with a long deep-drawn sigh., 
 
 " Did 1 not tell you, Mary, that from the very 
 moment the clock struck eight on the evening of 
 
 the 1st of June — that is to say, last evening — 
 your persecutor should trouble you no more ?" 
 
 " Yes — such were the words you spoke, Hip- 
 polyte," murmured the Duchess: and she aban- 
 doned to him her fine form as his arras circled 
 her waist. 
 
 " Well then, dearest Mary," he said, " I have 
 accomplished my pledged - Never again shall that 
 man trouble you !" , ' '& 
 
 The Duchess shuddered for a moment ; bujjstill 
 she clung all the more tightly to Mandeville, 
 as she said in a voice that was half hushed with 
 terror, " What have you done? how have you rid 
 me of that man ?" 
 
 " Do not think, dearest," replied Mandeville, 
 with a reassuring smile, " that I have taken his 
 wretched life — no, neither have I caused it to be 
 taken. He lives! — blood has not been poured 
 out " 
 
 " Heaven be thanked !" murmured the Duchess ; 
 " for that would have been terrible !" 
 
 " And yet I would even have done that for 
 your sake!" answered Mandeville: and now he 
 pressed his lips to her's. 
 
 " What has become of him ?" she asked. 
 
 " He is on his way to a foreign country, whence 
 never shall he return to molest you, Mary. He 
 is bound for Afric's torrid clime and arid wastes ; 
 and there, in one of the Condemned Regiments of 
 France — fulfilling a felon's doom — herding with 
 miscreants as vile as himself — must he linger out 
 his wretched existence, unless death in mercy 
 should send the shot of an enemy to cut him pre- 
 maturely off." 
 
 " But, good heavens !" cried the Duchess, " how 
 is it that you possess a power so terrible as this ?" 
 
 " My influence is all-powerful with the French 
 Government," responded Mandeville, " and there- 
 fore with the French Ambassador. It was thus 
 that the whole proceeding was accomplished ; 
 and you, Mary, .need now no longer fear the 
 wretch who threatened to become so virulent a 
 persecutor. No — neither are you in any way 
 compromised-; " 
 
 " But if he should tell the tale to those who 
 have now got him in their power?" said the 
 Duchess. 
 
 "He will tell nothing, Mary. He will not 
 even declare what his proper name is ; and those 
 who have him in their power are ignorant of it." 
 He will be only too glad to conceal his identity 
 beneath some feigned name which he must take, 
 or which will be bestowed upon him if he choose 
 to remain silent. To speak seriously, Mary, do 
 you think for a moment that he will enter upon 
 explanations — how he was an English baronet — 
 how he was arrested for forgery — how it was sup- 
 posed he had died in Newgate — how he became 
 resuscitated — and how he was endeavouring to , 
 extort an enormous sum of money from a young 
 and beautiful lady at the very instant that he 
 was captured and tarried off for some unknown 
 crime ? No, no ! he will tell nothing of all this ! 
 He knows 1 full well that not for a single instant 
 would one tittle of so extravagant a tale expe- 
 rience belief, or do other than provoke jeering 
 outbursts of incredulous laughter. In one word, 
 Mary, make your mind easy upon every point." 
 
 " I will — I do, Hippolyte. Oh, what power 
 do you possess ! — power of action — power of per- 
 suasion ! You are truly wonderful !" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCrrESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 273 
 
 " And yon, Mary/ supremely beautiful ! And 
 now, dearest," continued MandeYille, straining 
 her to his breast, " you know how deeply and de- 
 votedly I love yon — how sacredly I have vowed 
 to prove your champion and friend in all difficul- 
 ties *' 
 
 " I know it — I know it, Hippolyte !" she mur- 
 mured. " You have already given me such proofs 
 of friendship — of love " 
 
 " And you, Mary ?— you ?" , 
 
 " I haye not forgotten the pledge that I gave 
 yon," she murmnringly re; .ied • and now unasked 
 did she offer her lips for his caresses. 
 
 " Ton will be mine, Mary 'I — mine ?" he re- 
 peated, intoxicated with passion and with exulta- 
 tion. 
 
 " I repeat, Hippolyte, I will fulfil my pledge. 
 There is now nothing that you may ask me that I 
 will not grant !" 
 
 The beautiful Duchess was all agitation as she 
 No. 35. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 thus spoke : her cheeks were suffused with blushes 
 — and her heart was palpitating audibly. • Mande- 
 ville' strained her again and again in his arms, — 
 until at length she^whisperingly reminded him 
 that at any momentr some one might enter the 
 ap'atlment. But a tender appointment was given ; 
 <ihd Maudeville took his temporary leave of the 
 Duchess of Ardleigh. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards she rang the bell, 
 ordered the horses to be. put to the travelling-car- 
 riage, and set off for Thornbury. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock at night : the stars were 
 shining — the heaven was clear — the atmosphere 
 was fresh and pure — it was June"s loveliest wea- 
 ther — when the form of a man emerged from 
 amidst the verdure of the garden attached to the 
 ducal country-seat, and drew near towards the 
 mansion. Skirting the extremity of the building,' 
 this individual approached a small door so shaded 
 by two large trees as to envelope the spot in the 
 
274 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OS, MEMOIRS Of A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 completest darkness. Count Mandeville — for he 
 it was — unlocked that door by means of a key with 
 which he had been provided, and he passed into 
 a vestibule where a lamp was burning. He at 
 once ascended a staircase ; and on reaching a 
 landing, which was also lighted, he perceived at 
 a glance which door it was that he had now to 
 open. Thither he proceeded : the handle turned 
 in his grasp — he crossed the threshold, and entered 
 a room where the atmosphere 'was warm and per- 
 fumed. This was the ante-chamber leading to 
 the sleeping apartment of the Duchess ; and there 
 was the beautiful Duchess herself, in a most 
 voluptuous deshabillee, waiting to receive him. 
 
 Mandeville strained her in his arms. She hid 
 her blushing countenance upon his breast, and 
 she murmured a few words of welcome. At that 
 very instant hasty footsteps were heard rushing 
 along the passage outside ; and the Duchess 
 ejaculated in an access of terror, " Good heavens ! 
 what can this mean ?" 
 
 Mandeville, without for a moment losing his 
 presence of mind, rushed to the door and turned 
 the key. ; i 
 
 " It must be Lavinia coining for some purpose 
 or another !" murmured the young Duchess. 
 
 There was now a violent knocking at the door : 
 the countenance^ of the frail patrician lady in- 
 dicated a strange bewildering terror : but Man- 
 deville whispered, " It must be your husband ! it 
 must be the Duke !" . 
 
 ■"'No, no! he would not do this!" responded 
 the Duchess, in a quick agitated whisper. "Surely 
 it cannot be-^ — " / - . 
 
 The knocking continued ; and now a tfoice was 
 heard exclaiming, "Open, my dear Mary I do 
 open the door ! I am frightened to death ! there 
 are ghosts and spectres! — Oh, good God! and 
 skeletons! Open! open!" — and while -.there was 
 an accent of anguish and almost of mortal terror 
 in the tones of that female voice which was thus 
 speaking, the knocking was redoubled. 
 
 " Ah ! I suspected it !" said the young Duchess. 
 " I must admit her ! — it is the Duke's mother ! 
 I will soon get rid of her ! There !" — and opening 
 the door of the bed-chamber^ she pushed Mande- 
 ville into it. 
 
 Then the young Duchess flew to open the ante- 
 room door; and her mother-in-law rushed in, 
 flinging her terrified looks over her shoulder, for 
 she evidently thought that she was being pursued 
 by some objects of ghastly horroT. She had 
 nothing on hut her night-gear; and throwing 
 herself upon the sofa, she began giving vent to all 
 the strange ideas that came into her head at the 
 time ; and she shivered visibly — not with the 
 cold, for it was the month of June — but with the 
 effects of the fright which through her disordered 
 imagination she had sustained- 
 She was a woman of about forty-six years of 
 age — of tall stature, and full proportions. Pre- 
 vious to the loss of her intellect — when she had 
 carried her head high, and felt herself the Duchess 
 — she was of a grand commanding figure, superbly 
 handsome, and of a splendid symmetry. But 
 though many evidences of that beauty remained, 
 the lapse of time and the influence of her mental 
 malady had failed not to show their ravages : for 
 the hair was streaked with white — there were 
 wrinkles upon the brow — the eyes had a peculiar 
 took, and also an incipient glaze — the figure had 
 
 lost its plumpness and the rounded symmetry of 
 its proportions. Yet the brilliancy of the teeth 
 remained. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Mary, you should not have kept 
 me waiting !" cried the unfortunate lady. " It is so 
 unlike you ! you are generally so good and kind ! 
 Ah, those horrid spectres ! — they chased me with 
 whips of scorpions ! But have I ever done any 
 harm ? No, never ! It is true there was a time 
 when I did not want Herbert to many you — but 
 he did at last — and so much the better. Don't 
 let the ghosts come here ! For heaven's sake lock 
 thej door, Mary ! I know that Mrs. Quinlan is 
 nothing but an old ghost herself " 
 
 "My -dear mother," .interrupted the young 
 Duchess, speaking in the' most soothing and affec- 
 tionate terms to her who was only her mother-in- 
 law, — " Mrs. Quinlan is very kind and good to 
 you — you used to be very fond of her " 
 
 "I only love" ytffl,,. Mary," replied the unfor- 
 tunate Dowager-Duchess. " I mean to remain here 
 with you " 
 
 At this moment there was another knock at the 
 outer door: the young Dnohess flew to open it 
 — and Mrs. ; Quinlan, the unfortunate lady's 
 keeper, made her appearance. She was a woman 
 of about fifty, with a determined, though by no 
 means repulsive or disagreeable, much less a cruel 
 expression of countenance : but she had the air of 
 one in whose disposition firmness and benevolence 
 were blended* She was in her night-dress, with 
 a flannel wrapper thrown over it. 
 
 (' Good heavens !" ejaculated the young Duchess 
 somewhat angrily ; " how did thfs happen ?" 
 
 At that same instant the Dowager^Duchess, 
 who had flung a glance of affright upon Mrs. 
 Quinlan, flew towards the bed-chamber, into 
 which she- rushed, locking the' door against her 
 daughter-in-law and Mrs. Quinlan, who bounded 
 after her. The young Duchess was suddenly 
 transfixed with consternation and dismay: for 
 her mother-in-law had locked herself in the 
 chamber along with Count Mandeville ! 
 
 "I am sure, your Grace," said Mrs. Quinlan, 
 " 1 am very sorry this should have happened. I 
 always lock the outer doors of our suite of apart- 
 ments, as your Grace knows ; and I hide the keys 
 under my pillow. But somehow or another I 
 quite forgot to do it this evening — and then I 
 must have slept so sound — or perhaps the poor 
 lady glided away so softly " 
 
 "No matter!" interrupted the young Duchess 
 angrily, as she almost stamped her foot with rage : 
 " the mischief is now done !" 
 
 " Well, your Grace," said Mrs. Quinlan, some- 
 what surprised at the vehemence of the young 
 Duchess, " I don't think there's so much mischief 
 done after all. Accidents will happen — and this 
 is pretty nearly the first time that ever such a 
 thing has occured to me during the four years 
 I've been in attendance on her Grace." 
 
 " True!" said the young Duchess, nowrecover- 
 ing somewhat of her presence of mind, and per- 
 ceiving that her anger might well be regarded as 
 utterly incommensurate with the actual character 
 of the incident itself. " I did not mean to speak 
 harshly, Mrs. Quinlan- Only I have been ter- 
 ribly frightened — my mother-in-law knocked so 
 
 furiously at the door But, Ah ! how is it that 
 
 she seems to have taken a sudden dislike towards 
 you ?" 
 
THE Y0UNO DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 275 
 
 "Oh, my lady, there's no telling what strange 
 ideas matt people may take into their heads. But 
 if your Grace would just go and speak coaxingly 
 at the door, your mother-in-law would eome out, 
 and I would take care your Grace shall not be 
 disturbed for the rest of the night." 
 
 The young Duchess had for the last few 
 minutes been so confused and bewildered by the 
 perilous aspect which circumstances had assumed, 
 that she had not known how to act : but now 
 completely regaining her self-possession, she i ap- 
 proached the door, and said in a coaxing, cajoling 
 voice, " Do let me in, dear mother ! — unlock the 
 doorl You know I would not hurt you !" 
 
 At that moment a violent scream burst from 
 inside the bed-chamber ; and the young Duchess 
 felt as if all the pains and horrors of pan- 
 demonium itself were fastening upon her. Scream 
 after soream pealed forth from the lips of the 
 Dowager-Duchess; and Mrs. Quinlah exclaimed 
 in a determined voice, " We must break open the 
 door, your Grace!" 
 
 But scarcely were the words spoken, when the 
 key was suddenly turned in the loek-^the door 
 was opened violently — out rushed the Ddwager- 
 Duchess, with the direst terror depicted upon 
 her countenance — and closing the door with 
 violence again, she thrust the key into the lock, 
 turned it, and theD tottering towards the sofa, 
 sank down upon it, crying, "The ghost I the 
 ghost 1'' 
 
 It struck the young Duchess that at the very 
 instant when the door was burst open, by her 
 mother-in-law, she caught the sound of a window 
 closing inside the bed-chamber. A sensation of 
 relief was thus suddenly experienced by her mind, 
 which an instant before was suffering tortures 
 that harrowed and excruciated it ; and now flying 
 towards the Dowager-Duchess, she wound her 
 arms about her neck, saying everything soothing 
 and endearing and tranquillizing that she could 
 think of. 
 
 " The ghost ! the ghost !" exclaimed the un- 
 fortunate lady, with passionate vehemence. " I 
 saw it ! a horrible dark shape gliding through 
 the room ! Oh, yes ! I saw it ! — it was wrapped 
 in a pall ! A demon ! a demon ! Good spirits 
 are white — evil spirits are black ! Oh, if it should 
 come again!" — and the Dowager-Duchess flung 
 her shuddering looks towards the door which she 
 had so carefully locked. 
 
 "What shocking hallucinations!" whispered 
 the young Duchess to Mrs. Quinlan, at the same 
 time bending a searching look upon this female's 
 countenance to ascertain whether she suspected 
 anything sinister or not. 
 
 " Let me try, your Grace, to get her away 
 now," said the keeper, whose looks expressed no- 
 thing calculated to trouble the young Duchess. 
 
 Mrs. Quinlan accordingly began' to practise her 
 own wonted wheedlings and cajoleries with the 
 demented lady ; and it now seemed as if a com- 
 plete revulsion of feeling had taken place within 
 her in respect to her keeper ; for she no longer 
 seemed afraid of the woman, nor to entertain an 
 aversion towards her ; but on the contrary she 
 turned to her as if to one. who had the power of 
 protecting her from harm. 
 
 "That's right, my dear mother," said the 
 young Duchess, speaking to her as if it were a 
 mere child whom she was thus soothing: "go 
 
 with dear Mrs. Quinlan — she will take care of 
 you: — leave these disagreeable rooms as soon as 
 you can." 
 
 "Do you want me to go, Mary?" asked the 
 Dowager, now playing caressingly with thelong 
 luxuriant masses of her daughter-in-law's light 
 brown hair. 
 
 " I wish you to return to your own chamber, 
 dear mother— and I will come and see you early 
 in the morning," 
 
 "Cut I can't leave you there !" suddenly ex- 
 claimed the Dowager, her voice well-nigh swelling 
 into a scream as she pointed towards the door of 
 the bed-chamber. 
 
 " It's always better to prove to persons in her 
 Grace's state of mind that there's really nothing 
 to be frightened at," whispered Mrs. Quinlan to 
 the young Duchess : then at once turning towards 
 the Dowager j she said in her usual coaxing tone, 
 " You remain, dear ma'am, with your daughter 
 just for a minute — only a minute ! — and I'll go 
 and look into that room." 
 
 " No, no — you shan't !" shrieked the Dowager, 
 recoiling in visible horror from the idea. *' The 
 ghost is there, I tell you ! — an evil spirit ! — a fiend ! 
 a fiend I" 
 
 " I am afraid," hastily whispered the young 
 Duchess, " you will only be frightening her Grace 
 more and more." 
 
 ■" Not I, my lady," responded Mrs. Quinlan. "I 
 know best how to manage her." 
 
 Having thus spoken, she moved towards the 
 door of the bed-chamber: the young Duchess 
 made one slight gesture as if she would have held 
 her back ; but then suddenly recollecting the sound 
 of the closing window, she felt reassured, and she 
 said to herself, " He is gone ! All is safe !" 
 
 "She then resumed her soothing and tranquil- 
 lizing efforts in respect to her mother-in-law, while 
 Mrs. Quinlan opened the door of the bed-chamber 
 and crossed the threshold. It was a large room 
 and furnished in the most elegant style; it was 
 however only now dimly lighted by two tapers on 
 the toilet-table; which was near the further extre- 
 mity. Mrs. Quinlan had left the door wide open ; 
 but in the position where the young Duchess now 
 was-— namely, bending over her mother-in-law who 
 was lamenting and whining upon the sofa — she 
 could not command an entire view of the interior 
 of the sleeping-apartment. Thus there was still 
 a certain amount of suspense and uncertainty in 
 the .mind of the young Duchess, notwithstanding 
 the incident of the closing window with which she 
 sought to reassure herself; for the recollection 
 forced itself upon her mind that the height from 
 the window to the ground was at least twenty feet 
 — and who could tell but Mandeville was even 
 then lying maimed, and with broken limbs, be- 
 neath the casement ? 
 
 While continuing to speak in a soothing tone 
 to her mother-in-law, the young Duchess listened 
 with the keenest attention to the movements of 
 Mrs. Quinlan in the adjoining room. -Never had 
 her power of hearing been more keen — more vivid 
 — more acute ! She could almost comprehend 
 how it was that a sharpened and refined sense of 
 hearing on the part of the blind materially com- 
 pensated them for the loss of their eyesight. She 
 could follow as it were the footsteps cf Mrs. 
 Quinlan throughout the adjoining room — now 
 towards this corner, now towards that — now to 
 
276 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 the windows Good heaven ! if Mandeville 
 
 should he groaning beneath one of them ! — now 
 
 towards the conch Ah I and "thence on towards 
 
 an immense mahogany wardrobe of magnificent 
 workmanship, in which some of the robes and 
 dresses of the young Duchess were suspended. 
 Mrs. Quinlan was opening the doors of that ward- 
 robe ; and now all in a moment a terrible suspicion 
 flashed to our heroine's mind. Did Mrs. Quinlan 
 actually conjecture that there was something 
 wrong ? and was it on this account she was malting 
 the search under a pretence of doing so for the 
 mere purpose of satisfying the Dowager-Duchess ? 
 A ghastly pallor seized upon the countenance of 
 the frail patrician lady as these thoughts struck 
 her ; and then, as if this blow were not sufficient 
 to overwhelm her, she fancied that the sound of a 
 low quick whisper passing in the next room reached 
 her ear. She was ready to sink under the weight 
 of a thousand terrors, when Mrs. Quinlan came 
 from the sleeping-apartment. 
 
 "There, my dear ma'am," she said to the 
 Dowager-Duchess, in her wonted soothing tone — 
 but at the same time it struck our frail and 
 trembling heroine that the woman darted a pecu- 
 liar look upon herself, — "you see, dear ma'am, 
 there is nothing in that room. I have looked 
 everywhere — there is no spirit or spectre, white 
 or black." 
 
 "Are you sure?" asked the Dowager, now 
 passing her hand acrossher brow, and looking as 
 if her thoughts and ideas were all falling into 
 confusion. 
 
 " Yes — I'm sure, my lady. And now do come 
 with me ! — you must stand in need of repose and 
 rest ! Do come ! — and to-morrow morning we 
 will take such a nice walk in the garden — and 
 your Grace shall pick such a beautiful nose- 
 
 gayl" 
 
 " Oh, then I'll come !"— and the poor demented 
 lady sprang up from the sofa ; and having affec- 
 tionately embraced her daughter-in-law, she fol- 
 lowed Mrs. Quinlan from the ante-chamber. 
 
 But as they paused a moment at the door, Mrs. 
 Quinlan turned and bent so strange and peculiar 
 a look upon the young Duchess that the latter 
 shrank back aghast, dismayed, and full of guilty 
 terror, as if the woman's tongue had proclaimed 
 her secret in accents loud enough to be heard by 
 all the inmates of the mansion. The door closed 
 behind the Dowager and her female-keeper ; and 
 then the young Duchess, unable to endure for an- 
 other moment the tortures of this horrible sus- 
 pense, rushed into the bed-chamber. 
 
 At the same instant Count Mandeville came 
 forth from the wardrobe ; and with a wild and 
 mournful cry the Duchess sank upon the nearest 
 seat. 
 
 " Do not despair, Mary ! — for God's sake do not 
 despair!" cried Mandeville. "The secret is 
 safe !" 
 
 He advanced towards her, and made a move- 
 ment as if to take her in his arms ; but she pas- 
 sionately waved him back, murmuring, " I am 
 lost! lam lost!" 
 
 " Lost ? No, no, dearest ! no !" 
 
 "Yes — lost, I say!" exclaimed the unfortunate 
 creature in the accents of despair ; " and to-morrow 
 all the world will know that I had a lover con- 
 cealed in my room !" 
 
 "Again I conjure you to compose yourself, dear 
 
 Mary! Again too I tell you," added Mande- 
 ville urgently, " that your secret is safe !" 
 
 " What do you mean ? Safe ! How so ? 
 Think you that I understood not that woman's 
 glance? — aye, and my ears had previously caught 
 the whisper in this room !" 
 
 " 'Twas she who whispered," interjected the 
 Count. "On my soul it was, Mary! Not for 
 worlds would I deceive you! She opened the 
 clothes-press. — she discerned me : — not for a 
 single instant did she lose her presence of mind — 
 but she hastily whispered, ' Bemam ! be -quiet I 
 the secret is safe with me J' " 
 
 " Oh, but to be in the power of such a woman !" 
 moaned the young Duchess, wringing her hands : 
 but still there was a slight — though very slight — 
 sense of relief in her soul. " Methought at one 
 time that all was safe?" she suddenly ejaculated. 
 " I fancied you had lowered yourself from the 
 window ?" 
 
 "I opened it with that intention," answered 
 Mandeville. " God knows, I would have done 
 any desperate deed or run any risk for your sake, 
 Mary ! — but that would have been mad and use- 
 less ! A glance showed me that the window was 
 too high from the ground — I should have broken 
 my limbs — and there remaining, unable to crawl 
 away, I should have been found " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the Duchess ; " it would have 
 been impossible — and I was mad to think of it ! 
 But what happened with my mother-in-law ?" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Mary," responded Man- 
 deville, " I had half a mind to lock that door the 
 instant you pushed me into the room: but a 
 second thought told me I had better not, and that 
 I should leave everything to your discretion and 
 ingenuity. But scarcely had I thus made up my 
 mind how to act, when in rushed your mother-in- 
 law. This irruption was so suddenly made that 
 I had not time to conceal myself, otherwise than 
 by gliding into the nearest dark corner. Then 
 your mother-in-law hastened towards the toilet- 
 table — I know not what for — but it struck me 
 that her object was to. take one of the tapers ; and 
 then I, perceiving the necessity of some desperate 
 effort for my perfect concealment, sped on tiptoe 
 towards the nearest window-draperies. But her 
 
 Grace saw me and then you may guess what 
 
 followed." 
 
 " Oh, there is a fatality in all this !" moaned 
 the young Duchess. 
 
 " Compose yourself, dear Mary ! take courage !" 
 said Mandeville : and again he offered to approach 
 her. 
 
 But once more did she passionately wave him 
 back : and then suddenly starting up to her feet, 
 she drew the disordered wrapper over her bosom 
 — flung back the glossy tresses that had fallen . 
 over her face — and looking Mandeville full in the 
 countenance, with a frank earnest expression of 
 her large liquid blue eyes, she said, " Hippolyte, 
 I beg you to leave me now. I owe you a thou- 
 sand obligations : — add one more to them by 
 granting the boon that I now ask. I am your's, 
 body and soul, if you insist upon it ! — but I ap- 
 peal to your generosity for a brief delay. Oh, 
 compel me not to say more ! — but I am ill — I am 
 
 agitated 1 beseech you that I may be left 
 
 alone 1" 
 
 The Count thought that there was indeed 
 nothing unnatural or astonishing in the present 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 277 
 
 conduct of the young Duchess, after all the ex- 
 citing and terrifying adventures through which 
 she had passed. Besides, had she not acknow- 
 ledged that she was in his power, and that she 
 was his, body and soul, if he chose to be inexo- 
 rable in the assertion of his rights and claims ? 
 Thus, though fired with passion, and burning to 
 possess that being of a beauty alike so brilliant 
 and so seductive, he felt that it would be only 
 politic to yield, with every appearance of a 
 generous readiness and magnanimous forbearance, 
 to the demand which she had made. 
 
 " Your will is my law, dear Mary," he accord- 
 ingly said ; and then, as this time he only made a 
 movement to take her hand, and not to embrace 
 her, she abandoned it to him, and he raised it to 
 his lips with as much respectfulness as tender- 
 ness. 
 
 The Duchess conducted him as far as the outer 
 door of the ante-room ; and he took his departure 
 by means of the private staircase and the small 
 door whereof he had been furnished with the 
 key. 
 
 On the following morning, between seven and 
 eight o'clock, the utmost excitement, consterna- 
 tion, and horror were prevailing throughout 
 Thornbury mansion : for Mrs. Quintan had been 
 found dead in her bed — foully murdered, by 
 means of a sharp-pointed carving-knife that was 
 sticking in her bosom ! 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 There were however other incidents which oc- 
 curred on the night whereof we have been specially 
 writing ; and in order that we may properly pur- 
 sue the thread of our narrative, we must take a. 
 temporary leave of Thornbury Park and return 
 to London. 
 
 It was between ten and eleven o'clock in the 
 evening — and therefore at about the time when 
 Mandeville was making his way to his appoint- 
 ment with the brilliant Duchess in the country — ' 
 that Henri Ponchard, the surgeon, was speeding 
 along a maze of narrow, obscure, and villanous 
 streets in the spacious district of Lambeth. Pre- 
 sently he stopped at a particular house which has 
 before been mentioned in our narrative ; and the 
 door was opened by a pale-faced young girl, 
 about sixteen years of age. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur," she said, "is it you ?"— and a 
 smile of satisfaction appeared upon a countenance 
 which though very far from ill-looking, yet wore 
 an expression of hardened depravity. "Pray 
 walk in." 
 
 Ponchard entered the house accordingly; and 
 patting the girl's face with the familiarity of one 
 who knew her well, he asked, " Is Mother Grills 
 in?" 
 
 " No : she and her husband are both out," was 
 the reply. 
 
 Ponchard made a gesture expressive of annoy- 
 ance; and the girl, pouting her lips, said, "Oh, 
 then, you have not come to see me, monsieur ?" 
 
 "Yes — to see you, Hester," replied Ponchard, 
 instantaneously throwing off his abstracted mood 
 
 and putting on a kind and affable demeanour to- 
 wards the girl. "1 came to have a chat and 
 drink a glass of wine with you, Hester: but I 
 also wanted just to say a word or two to Grills 
 and his wife — it's of no great consequence " 
 
 "They will be back presently," said the young 
 female ; " and therefore," she added coaxingly, 
 " you can wait with me till their return ?" 
 
 " Are you all alone in the house, Hester ?" 
 
 "Yes — all alone. There's been no company 
 here this evening ; and I was dull enough when 
 yon knocked at the door. You know that Mr. 
 Jasper — that's Mr. Grills' brother " 
 
 " Well, what of him ? By the bye," said Pon- 
 chard, "if Jasper is at home, I may speak to 
 him — it will be just as well " 
 
 " But he is not at home, Monsieur Henri," inter- 
 rupted the girl, now familiarly pulling the French- 
 man's whisker. " I was going to tell you about 
 him. He was knocked down and run over by a 
 cab yesterday, and taken to Charing Cross Hos- 
 pital. So Mr. and Mrs. Grills have gone to leave 
 him a few little things in a basket : but they can- 
 not be long before they are back, for they set off 
 
 at eight but then they meant to drop in and 
 
 take a friendly glass with some cronies of theirs 
 in one of the streets leading out of the Strand. 
 But pray step in ! Here we are, standing in the 
 passage all this while !" 
 
 " Well, Hester," said the Frenchman, producing 
 a sovereign from his purse, "go and fetch a bottle 
 of wine or brandy — or anything you like ; and — 
 and, my dear girl, you may keep the change for 
 yourself." 
 
 " Oh ! you are always generous to me, Henri," 
 cried Hester, again caressing his cheek. " And 
 now wait a~ few moments while I run and fetch 
 the wine." 
 
 Ponchard sat down in the parlour; and Hester, 
 hurrying up-stairs, threw on her bonnet and 
 shawl. She then issued from the house ; and the 
 moment the front door had closed behind her, 
 Ponchard caught up a candle from the table, and 
 descended into the lower region of the premises. 
 He looked into the kitchen, and then in the 
 scullery ; the survey was only the work of a few 
 moments — but evidently being quite contented 
 with it, he quickly retraced his way up the stairs 
 again ; so that when Hester returned and let her- 
 self in with the latch-key, she found the French- 
 man, quietly seated in the parlour as if he had 
 never for a moment quitted his chair during her 
 absence. 
 
 We have on a former occasion spoken of this 
 young female as being very slight in figure and 
 pale in complexion, with her dark hair arranged 
 in plain bands, and with a simple and neat attire. 
 There was nothing flaunting or gaudy in her dress : 
 but it was cut meretriciously low in the corsage, so 
 as to display her white neck, and the contours of a 
 bust which was well formed though on a scale 
 proportionate to the slightness of the entire figure. 
 She had good features ; and her dark eyes might 
 be termed handsome. But whatsoever was good- 
 looking in the face, was marred, if not actually 
 spoilt, by the bold gaze of those eyes, and the 
 unmistakable expression of an inveterate profli- 
 gacy and hardened depravity which characterised 
 the entire countenance. Although only sixteen, 
 her voice sounded like that of a woman of six- 
 and-twenty. Not that it was rough or coarse ; 
 
278 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIES OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 but it exhibited this precocity as one of the usual 
 Evidences of an. early acquaintance with crime and 
 a career of dissipation already pretty well entered 
 upon. One thing was particularly observable about 
 this girl : namely, that though she was forward 
 and familiar, there was nothing absolutely vulgar 
 in her manner. Her language was grammatically 
 correct ; and beneath the bold veneering of de- 
 pravity, a glimpse might be caught of a gentility 
 bearing reference to other and better times, and 
 engendering the suspicion that the creature was a 
 lost star fallen from some superior sphere. 
 
 The wine was drawn — Ponchard rilled the 
 glasses — and Hester drained at a draught the one 
 which he presented to her. 
 
 " You seem thirsty, my dear,'' said Ponchard, 
 'smiling ; for he did not think it was greediness 
 on the girl's part. 
 
 " No, I am not thirsty," she replied, also 
 smiling, but with a certain degree of bitterness ; 
 yet the smile displayed a very excellent set of 
 teeth. "But drinking drives' away care, you 
 know ; and therefore, to tell you the truth, I was 
 almost inclined to bring brandy instead of wine, 
 as you appeared to leave the choice to me." 
 
 "I wish you had done so, Hester, if you prefer 
 brandy," said Ponchard. 
 
 " No matter now ! Another time ! This wine 
 is strong enough for the present. Besides, when 
 you are with me I do not feel dull." 
 
 "Little flatterer!" ejaculated Ponchard. "Do 
 you say the same thing to every gentleman who 
 visits you ?" 
 
 ' " No ! — that I swear I do not !" replied Hester, 
 almost indignantly. " Do you think that it is 
 not permitted for such as I to entertain a prefer- 
 ence — a caprice — perhaps a sentiment ? Ah ! 
 
 you may laugh at the idea of sentiment in such a 
 place as this " 
 
 "I will not laugh, Hester, at anything you 
 tell me of a serious character." 
 
 " There ! that is like yourself, Henri ! It is 
 because you are always so good and kind towards 
 me, and so considerate that — that — : — But no 
 matter ! It is of course ridiculous ! Come, fill 
 the glasses." 
 
 Ponchard gazed upon the girl with a certain 
 amount of mingled surprise and interest for a 
 minute ; and then he obeyed her request by re- 
 plenishing the glasses. 
 
 " So you are dull here sometimes, Hester f" he 
 said. 
 
 " Who could help being dull? I cannot settle 
 my mind to needlework, because that leaves one 
 to the mercy of one's own thoughts." 
 
 "But you can read amusing books," suggested 
 Ponchard. 
 
 "No," rejoined the girl; " because nearly all 
 novels end by making the heroine marry happily 
 as a reward for her virtue ; and then — and then 
 Ah I now again you will think me very fool- 
 ish, Henri ; but I cannot help it." 
 
 " Well, what were you going to say ?" 
 
 " That when I read of virtue's reward, after all 
 kinds of trials, 1 temptations, and diftioulties, it 
 seems as if it were pointing a moral that comes 
 terribly home to myself ; and then I sit' down and 
 
 cry But how I am going on !" exclaimed 
 
 Hester, thus suddenly interrupting herself: and 
 she tried to force a laugh of hardihood and de- 
 fiance. " Here, give me some more wine, Henri I" 
 
 " Somehow or another," said Ponchard, -" I do 
 not think you are altogether happy here ?" 
 
 " Happy ?" and it was almost a veritable scream 
 of mockery to which the girl gave vent : it was 
 certainly far more than a mere laugh of derision. 
 " Happy ?" she repeated : and then all in a mo- 
 ment the tears gushed forth from her eyes. 
 
 " Hester, my dear girl " 
 
 " No excuses ! no apologies !" she cried, hastily 
 dashing away those tears with her kerchief. " I 
 am as foolish as I can be to-night — and I shall 
 plague you to such an extent with my silliness 
 that you will never come and see me again." 
 
 " On my soul I will!" replied Ponchard. "And 
 to tell you the truth, Hester, I am rather in- 
 terested in the turn which the conversation has 
 taken. I have more than once been going to ask 
 you two or three questions ; but I did not like to 
 put them." 
 
 " Well, now you shall put them," said the girl : 
 and then, as an idea struck her, she hastily added, 
 "But don't ask me anything about my earlier 
 years !" 
 
 " Ah, then, I must remain silent," said Pon- 
 chard, with an air of disappointment ;• " for those 
 were >the very topies on which I was going to 
 question you." 
 
 " Were they ? Well then," continued Hester, 
 in a sort of musing strain, though she spoke 
 audibly, " you must experience some little interest 
 for me after all ; — and God knows it is pleasant 
 to entertain the idea that any living soul sym- 
 pathises on behalf of a poor miserable cast-away ! 
 — And now, Monsieur Henri," she added, suddenly 
 turning towards him, "put your questions ! — yes, 
 as many as you like ; and I will answer them 
 truly and faithfully." 
 
 " I do not think, Hester," said Ponchard, " that 
 you could have been born and bred in an inferior 
 class of life?" 
 
 " As to the class to which my parents belonged, 
 I have no idea," responded the girl, " seeing and 
 considering that I never knew them. But as for 
 the sphere iri which "I was bred, of this I can 
 speak with certainty j because I was educated at 
 a very excellent boarding-school until I was be- 
 tween twelve and thirteen." 
 
 " Well, and then ?" asked Ponchard. 
 
 "And then," replied Hester, — "and then 
 
 You will say that the transition was as ludicrous 
 as it was painful I — and then I was sent to the 
 workhouse !" 
 
 " Good heavens ! The workhouse ?" ejaculated 
 the Frenchman, with the most unfeigned astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes — the workhouse," repeated Hester. " No 
 remittances had reached the schoolmistress on my 
 behalf for a couple of years — no one claimed ine 
 — no one seemed to care for me — the schoolmis- 
 tress did not know where to write to the person 
 or persons who had at one time made their remit- 
 tances with regularity — perhaps they were tired 
 of paying for a poor forlorn creature whom they 
 knew not — but no matter what the reason was, 
 the schoolmistress could not afford to keep me any 
 longer, and so she did the only thing that under 
 the circumstances it was possible to do — namely, 
 to fling me like an outcast upon the poor-rates." 
 
 "But before you went to that school?" said 
 Ponchard inquiringly. 
 
 " Oh, you wish me to go back to the very be- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 279 
 
 ginning of my history — do you ?" said Hester. 
 " Well, give me some more wine. There ! — 
 thank you. My earliest recollections were asso- 
 ciated with a couple of elderly ladies, a neat resi- 
 dence somewhere down in the country, and half- 
 a-dozen little playmates, boys and girls. Those 
 ladies, who were two maiden sisters, kept a sort 
 of little preparatory school — though it might be 
 more properly termed an asylum for the children 
 of parents going out to India, or for any children 
 in fact whom it might suit the purpose or con- 
 venience of people to place there at a certain 
 moderate stipend. Well, there I found myself as 
 early as I could have any ideas, recollections, or 
 reflections of my own : but who put me there, I 
 never learnt. Sometimes I heard other children 
 asking the ladies about their papas and mammas ; 
 and then I inquired about mine also : but the 
 elderly ladies always gave me some reply which 
 though it satisfied me and saved my feelings at 
 the time, I now of course know to have been eva- 
 sive. I remained with them until I was seven 
 years old ; and then I was sent to the boarding- 
 school at Brompton of which I have already 
 spoken." 
 
 " But when the mistress of this boarding-school 
 found that the remittances did not arrive," said 
 Ponchard, " did she not " 
 
 " I know what you are going to ask me," in- 
 terrupted Hester. " You mean whether the 
 schoolmistress did not write to the two elderly 
 ladies to see if they could give any useful infor- 
 mation concerning my parents, friends, or con- 
 nexions, whoever they might be, and if I pos- 
 sessed any at all ? Yes — the schoolmistress did 
 write : but she learnt that the two elderly ladies 
 had met with misfortunes — a malignant fever had 
 broken out in their establishment, so that the esta- 
 blishment itself was broken up in consequence. 
 Then, what became of the poor maiden sisters, 
 or whither they had gone, no one could tell." 
 
 " And what name may you have borne, 
 Hester ?" asked Ponchard. 
 
 "Name?" repeated the girl. "Well, I don't 
 know," she went on to say with a tone and air of 
 hardened indifference, " that there is much harm, 
 in telling you the name ; for though I have dis- 
 graced it, the dishonour is never likely to be re- 
 flected on any parents, friends, or connexions, 
 because no one will ever claim me now. So I 
 may without hesitation inform you that my name 
 is Hester Sergeant Thus you have got all my 
 history up to the point when I was suddenly 
 plunged into the workhouse, between twelve and 
 thirteen years of age." 
 
 " Perhaps you would not like to tell me any 
 more, Hester ?" said Ponchard, who though he 
 had many other subjects for his thoughts — and 
 one especially of a deep and well-nigh all- 
 absorbing importance — nevertheless experienced 
 a considerable interest in the tale of the unfor- 
 tunate girl. 
 
 " Oh, I have no hesitation in telling you the 
 entire truth, Henri ! Why should I have ?" 
 
 " Because you have reached a point at which 
 somehow or another women seldom do tell the 
 truth." 
 
 " I know what you mean :" — and Hester's eyes 
 flashed angry fires for a. moment. " You had it 
 in your head that when once, a young female has 
 strayed from the path of virtue, as they call it, 
 
 and become a disgrace and a lost one, she endea- 
 vours to indemnify her own feelings as it were, by 
 giving as grand and important an appearance as 
 possible to the circumstances attending her first 
 error; so that she is sure to make it out that her 
 seducer was some nobleman or person of rank; 
 and she refers to the pages of some old romance 
 for a few touching incidents wherewith to embel- 
 lish her narrative. Now, is not this what you 
 meant ?" 
 
 " I must confess, Hester, that something of the 
 sort was passing in my mind at the moment." 
 
 " And yet," continued the young girl, her tone 
 and look gradually losing their hardihood and 
 bold callousness, and becoming mournful and 
 touching, " if the wretched creatures who strive 
 to deceive others, and perhaps even to delude 
 themselves with these imaginative and romantic 
 inventions, were only to adhere to the real truth, 
 they might tell tales that would be strange and 
 affecting enough. I am convinced, Henri," pur- 
 sued Hester, her tone and manner now becoming 
 serious and argumentative, rather than mournful, 
 " that most of the poor fallen creatures who fill 
 the streets were at the outset made the victims of 
 their own hearts' affections, rather than of any in- 
 nate wantonness and depravity. I do not believe 
 in so ridiculous a theory that all the seducers be- 
 long to the higher and richer classes : but I do 
 believe that in nine cases out of ten there has been 
 treacherous seduction and then cruel abandon- 
 ment. But I do not want to moralise on the 
 point," ejaculated Hester, thus suddenly interrupt- 
 ing the seriousness of her discourse ; " neither do 
 you want to listen to a sermon. So fill the 
 glasses, and, I will go on with my story." 
 
 More wine was poured out ; and Hester Ser- 
 geant resumed her narrative in the following 
 strain : — 
 
 "There was in the workhouse a young lad, 
 three or four years older than myself, and who 
 had been brought up there from his very earliest 
 infancy. In fact, when only a few days old, I 
 believe^he was left at the door of the establish- 
 ment, abandoned by his unnatural parent — though 
 heaven knows whether it might not have been 
 the only alternative besides that of infanticide on 
 the part of some wretched creature who in shame 
 and misery had become the authoress of that 
 child's existence ! But no matter : the truth is 
 as I tell you : the child was found at the work- 
 house door ; and the meanness of the clothes that 
 enveloped it seemed to indicate a humble parentage 
 — though that is not always a sign, inasmuch as 
 it may be a precaution and a stratagem to en- 
 velope the affair in a still deeper cloud of mystery. 
 The workhouse authorities had to give the child 
 a name ; and he was called Thomas Robinson — " 
 Why or wherefore I know not. He grew up in 
 the workhouse: the chaplain and the school- 
 master took a fancy to him ; he was marvellously 
 clever, and speedily devoured all the books that 
 fell in his way. So the guardians, instead of ap- 
 prenticing him in the usual manner, to learn some 
 trade when he reached the proper age, determined' 
 upon keeping him in the workhouse as assistant- 
 schoolmaster ; for the schoolmaster himself was 
 very old and feeble; but his services had been long 
 and valuable, and the guardians did not choose to 
 superannuate him. And now to make a very long 
 story short, Thomas Robinson and I were thrown 
 
280 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS J OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 occasionally together; and the meetings which 
 were at first accidental, were soon followed by in- 
 terviews purposely arranged and brought about. 
 Time passed ; and I had been about two years in 
 the workhouse, so that I was between fourteen 
 and fifteen, when there was one day a fearful ex- 
 plosion. Thomas Robinson, whom the master and 
 matron, the schoolmaster and guardians, the 
 chaplain and the surgeon all thought such a saint, 
 or at least such a pattern of morality, was ac- 
 cused of having led me into error. The charge 
 was true enough : we were fond of each other — 
 and contriving to obtain another interview, we 
 resolved to escape from the workhouse. This we 
 did; and as Robinson had received some occa- 
 sional little douceurs from his admirers and 
 patrons, he had about three pounds in his pocket. 
 This money enabled us to purchase other clothes 
 instead of our workhouse garbs, and to pay the 
 first week's rent of a very humble lodging. You 
 may suppose how utterly inexperienced in the 
 ways of the world we both were, when I tell you 
 that we buoyed ourselves up with the hope that 
 we might get a living, — Thomas by teaching, and 
 I by my needle. But at the end of the week he 
 had not a single pupil, nor I a stitch of work to 
 do. Another week passed, and bur hopes were 
 sadly damped. A third — and utter destitution 
 stared us in the face. We were starving; and 
 our landlady threatened to turn us adrift into the 
 street unless we liquidated the arrears of rent. I 
 could not bear to see him weeping and pining on 
 my account : — he on the other hand could not en- 
 dure' the thought of my cheeks turning pale 
 through want.. We both went out at the same 
 time, — he declaring to me that he would make 
 one mare effort to obtain employment ; and I 
 affirming that I should do the same towards pro- 
 curing needlework. Yet we seemed to mistrust 
 each other, and our hands remained clasped, and 
 our looks continued a long time mingled in mourn- 
 fulness and in doubt ere we separated. But at 
 length we tore ourselves, as it were, asunder, and 
 went different ways. Two hours afterwards I re- 
 turned with gold in my hand. I cannot describe 
 the conflicting sensations which filled my soul : it 
 seemed as if I were a prey to the excitement 
 arising from a wild unnatural joy strangely and 
 fearfully blending with the harrowing torture of 
 a breaking heart. I reached the lodging : a con- 
 stable had just called to know Whether it was true 
 that a certain Thomas Robinson lived there, or 
 whether he had given a false address at the 
 station-house? He had been caught in the act 
 of endeavouring to steal a ring while asking to 
 be shown some articles of jewellery at a gold- 
 smith's shop. And thus," added Hester, abruptly, 
 and at the same time her voice grew thick and 
 husky as if it were struggling with the emotions 
 that rose up into her very throat, — "and thus," 
 she said, " we both fell into the path of crime on 
 the same night and within the same hour!" 
 
 " And what became of him ?" asked Pon- 
 chard. 
 
 . Hester did not immediately answer the question : 
 her countenance remained averted for nearly a mi- 
 nnte ; but the Frenchman could tell by the quick 
 heavings of her bosom that she was a prey to 
 feelings that were agitating her profoundly. Sud- 
 denly she looked towards him dgain : for an in- 
 stant it seemed as if she ground her white teeth in 
 
 a paroxysm of concentrated rage ; and then she 
 abruptly ejaculated, "More wine,!" 
 
 Ponchard filled her a bumper, which she at once 
 tossed off; then with a forced laugh, she exclaimed, 
 " I wish it was brandy !" 
 
 " Would you like to go and get yourself some ?" 
 asked the Frenchman. 
 
 " No, no — not now. I prefer being with you." 
 
 " I should think the people of the house would 
 soon return ?" said Ponchard. 
 
 " Why do you seem so anxious for them to 
 come back ?" demanded Hester sharply. 
 
 "'Oh, nothing particular. I told you just now 
 that I had a word or two to say to them — and 
 that's all. But come," continued Ponchard, "you 
 have not finished your narrative, Hester. What 
 did they do to the unfortunate young fellow ?" 
 
 " I did not know at the time whether the con- 
 stables made a mistake, or whether they were tell- 
 ing wilful stories," resumed the young female, 
 " when on the following day, they coolly told the 
 magistrate that they knew the prisoner well, that 
 he was a notorious young thief, and had been lurk- 
 ing about the neighbourhood after no good for 
 some time past. I was in the court ; I endea- 
 voured to speak, but I could not : — the very rage 
 which impelled me to give utterance to an indig- 
 nant denial of those charges, also had the effect 
 of chokiHg my voice. As for Thomas himself, he 
 maintained a profound silence : ie would not speak 
 a word. He afterwards told me, when I visited 
 him in Newgate, that he thought it better that as 
 little as possible should be known in reference to 
 our antecedents and all ithe circumstances con- 
 nected with us ;— for who could tell how both or 
 either of us might some day be recognised and 
 claimed by parents, relatives, or friends ? : Well, 
 Thomas was committed for trial, and was sen- 
 tenced to four months' imprisonment in the City 
 Compter, to be afterwards transferred for a term 
 to the Parkhurst Reformatory in.the Isle of Wight. 
 So the poor fellow was doomed to a felon's gaol ; 
 and I " 
 
 " And you, Hester ?" asked Ponchard, speaking 
 in a low and hesitating manner, as if from mo- 
 tives of delicacy he more than half Reared to put 
 the question. 
 
 " And I ? Oh ! I," added the girl, now burst- 
 ing out into an hysterical laugh, " I adopted the 
 only course that was open to me. The young lad 
 to the gaol — the young girl to the streets ! What 
 other end could the story have ?" 
 
 There was a deep silence for more than a mi- 
 nute; and then Hester Sergeant cried, with a 
 strange, wild, unnatural abruptness, "What a 
 fool I am to suffer myself to get so maudlin and 
 sentimental ! I have made you dull too ! Come, 
 let us drink." 
 
 Ponchard was about to ask her whether all the 
 details of her story were really true, when on 
 bending his eyes upon the girl, he saw that there 
 was something in her looks which testified unmis- 
 takably to the genuine veracity of all she had 
 told him. So instead of putting the question ho 
 at first meditated, he simply asked, " Have you 
 ever since seen the unfortunate lad ?" 
 
 "No — nor have I ventured to inquire after 
 him," she responded. " Whatever he may be, it 
 is utterly impossible that I could ever have the 
 courage to carry my own polluted self into his 
 presence. Perhaps he may still be in Parkhurst : 
 
THE YOUHG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QCALTTT. 
 
 281 
 
 — perhaps he may have quitted the establishment, 
 thoroughly lost instead of reformed — contaminated 
 instead of purified — mingling perchance with the 
 low thieves of London, and steeped to the very 
 brim of his youthful lips in 'Vices and profligacies. 
 But still a man may never fall so utterly low as a* 
 woman Ton know what I mean. Well then, 
 debased though he may be, yet should I feel 
 ashamed to appear before him : for whatever abyss 
 he may have sunk into, I have fallen into a still 
 lower one. On the other hand, his condition may 
 be altogether different. He may have found friends 
 — he may have made them by his pleasing man- 
 ners, his intelligence, and the natural frankness of 
 his disposition — his good principles may have sur- 
 vived all contaminating influences — he may now 
 be eating the bread of honest industry — he may be 
 thriving — he may be on the high road to pros- 
 perity. Heaven grant that it may be so ! And 
 if it be, how could I ever dare think of throwing 
 No. 36. — The Youxg Duchess 
 
 myself in his way? Oh, if he be now well to do 
 in the world, he will not be regarded as a lost 
 creature on account of that one fault committed 
 under such circumstances! Bat I — I — am lost 
 beyond redemption — irreclainiaUy ! Therefore," 
 added Hester, in a voice which sank to so low a 
 tone that it was scarcely audible, " under no cir- 
 cumstances can I ever dare inquire after him of 
 whom I have been speaking." 
 
 There was another pause, which was at length 
 broken by Ponchard, who inquired, "Do you 
 think that the policemen wilfully misrepresented 
 the young lad when before the magistrate?" 
 
 " I am now certain that they did," answered 
 Hester vehemently. " I was in doubt on the point 
 at the time, because I could scarcely conceive that 
 there was so much wickedness in human nature. 
 But Ah ! that ignorance of the world was quickly 
 succeeded by the knowledge of experience — a hor- 
 rible clearness, which brings the most fearful ob- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS j OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 jects into the strongest light! Yes, the police- 
 constables -wilfully misrepresented the poor lad ; 
 and this is generally their custom under such cir- 
 cumstances ; for they are anxious to establish a 
 reputation for being very sharp and keen-witted, 
 and for having an eye constantly on all bad cha- 
 racters. But look, Henri ! there are two glasses 
 
 more in the bottle, and we will drink them. Come, 
 we have had enough of the dismals : let us laugh 
 and be gay!" 
 
 "Tour spirits are naturally good, then, Hes- 
 ter ?" said Fonchard inquiringly. 
 
 "Good? They are excellent!" cried the girl, 
 now forcing herself to laugh with an appearince 
 of heartiness. "Good, indeed? What a ques- 
 tion!" — and she continued laughing. "Why, 
 I've nothing to do but to amuse myself; and 
 when I think of such poor wretches as seam- 
 stresses and needlewomen, I bless my stars that I 
 am not doomed to such a fate as theirs. Ha ! 
 ha! Henri, isn't this thought alone enough to 
 make one cheerful ? And then too, when I look 
 back to the period when I was in that dreadful 
 workhouse, with its monotony and its imprison- 
 ment — Oh! why, I ought to be as happy as a 
 bird liberated from its cage! So you see my 
 spirits are capital !'.'— and then, as she affected 
 another laugh, it rapidly became hysterical ; she 
 tried to recfiw er herself, — but she could not— and 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 "My poor girl," said Ponchard, "why have; 
 you worked yourself up to this pitch of excite- 
 ment?" ' 
 
 " Because I often endeavour to delude myself 
 with the idea that I am happy ; and if I could 
 have succeeded in deluding yon, I should have 
 joyously hugged the resist as a proof that I 
 really felt as I pretended. But no, no ! — the 
 mask falls from the face ! Besides," the girl 
 abruptly ejaculated, " I remem'ber tbajt you just 
 now asked me if I was happy, and then | treated 
 the idea as a mockery — almost as an insult. Ijo, 
 no, Henri Ponchard I you would not believe that 
 I was happy, or gay, or naturally cheerful, even 
 if I were to go down upon my knees and affirm 
 it with all the most solemn oaths. Yon know," 
 she added, in a low hoarse voice, " that happiness 
 with such a condition as mine is impossible !" 
 
 Hester paused: Ponchard would have said 
 something sootliing — but the truth is that he 
 knew not what to say : and he held his .peace. 
 
 " I tell you what it is," continued the young 
 female; "you men are apt to fancy that when 
 such creatures as I have bold looks and wear an 
 expression of brazen hardihood, we are callous — 
 indifferent— reckless. But we are not. We en- 
 deavour with all our might and main to become 
 so ; but we never succeed furthej than acquiring 
 the outward appearance thereof. Our looks may 
 lose all their modesty — but our hearts' cannot 
 lose their feelings, nor our consciences their re- 
 morse. And it is from these horrors that we seek 
 refuge in drink and in ribald discourse, and in 
 boisterous mirth, and in empty boastings of that 
 gaiety and cheerfulness which we would give the 
 very world to be enabled to experience in reality ! 
 But now enough, Henri ! 1, have torn the mask 
 from my own face; and you see me as I am. 
 You may judge all the other unfortunates of my 
 elass by this example. But enough, I say ! I 
 know not how the conversation arose, or how it 
 
 took such a turn: but I am not sorry that I 
 should have spent one evening thus. Never be- 
 fore to any man have I betrayed myself in all 
 my natural weakness to this extent ; and perhaps 
 never again shall I do so. So now it's all over — 
 and pray think no more of it !" 
 
 " Will you have some more wine?" asked Pon- 
 chard. 
 
 " Yes — to be sure 1" and the girl started up 
 from her seat. 
 
 The Frenchman gave her some more money : 
 she sped forth — and returning in a few minutes, 
 placed the bottle upon the table, saying, " This 
 time I have brought brandy." 
 
 " And so much the better," cried Ponchard. 
 "There, drink, Hester!" 
 
 "But you — do you nqt mean to drink also ?" 
 
 " The truth is, I must keep my head clear 
 I have got some business on hand ". 
 
 " What ! at this time of night ?" ejaculated 
 the girt " Ah ! is the business which you have 
 with Grills and his wife so very important ?" and 
 she fixed her eyes upon the Frenchman with an 
 air which showed that her curiosity was more or 
 less excited on the point. 
 
 "No — I didn't say- that my business with 
 them is so important.— But good heavens, Hester ! 
 can you drink raw brandy like that? Well, if 
 you wish me tp keep you company, here goes !" 
 . " That is only a mere sip," cried the girl, laugh- 
 ing ; " whereas I took an entire glassful." 
 
 "Hark!" ejaculated Pqnchard; "there are 
 people stopping at the front door :"— and then as 
 a bell rang, he added, " I hope these are the 
 Grills." 
 
 " You are very anxious to see them !" mut- 
 tered Hester, as she proceeded to open the front 
 door ; and she gave admittance to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Grills, whom she at once informed that M. Pon- 
 chard was waiting to speak to them. - 
 
 Mr. Grills was an elderly man, of very sinister 
 appearance, his grizzly hair standing out stiff all 
 over his head, tfig natural magnitude of which it 
 seemed considerably to increase. Mrs. Grills has 
 been previously described as a woman of most un- 
 wieldy size, and with no appearance of any neck 
 to support the head, which, with its flabby over- 
 lapping cheeks and its voluminous double chin, 
 seemed to rest only upon the enormous and re- 
 volting exuberance of the bust. Her voice was 
 rough and hoarse : she had a look which proved 
 her to be capable of any iniquity, no matter how 
 deep, how horrible : but she had also a smirking, 
 leering air of familiarity, when welcoming any of 
 the male visitors to her house of infamous re- 
 pute. 
 
 In this style was it that she greeted Ponchard 
 as she turned into the parlour ; while her hus- 
 band, sitting down at the table, unceremoniously 
 helped himself to a glass of the brandy that had 
 so recently been fetched. 
 
 " I suppose^" said Hester, lingering upon the 
 threshold, " I must leave you three alone together, 
 as you have some business to transact." 
 
 " Well, my dear girl," answered Ponchard, " it 
 is a little private matter " 
 
 " Oh, I am sure I do not wish to pry into your 
 secrets !" cried Hester, with a slight air of piqua 
 and annoyance : and then hastily turning away, 
 she disappeared, closing the door behind her. 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 283 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 THE CORPSE. 
 
 Mrs, Grills threw off her bonnet and shawl — she 
 adjusted her wig, or false front, whichever it 
 might he — and then she drained at a gulp, and 
 without winking, the glass of brandy which Pon- 
 chard had just set before her. Mr. Grills helped 
 himself to a second ; and then they both looked 
 at the Frenchman as if to ask him to explain his 
 business. 
 
 " The matter must be entirely between us 
 three," said Ponchard ; " and I should not like to 
 have that girl Hester listening to what we say." 
 
 "I'll tell her to go to bed," said Mrs. Grills, 
 rising from her seat. 
 
 " So nothing that may tend to excite her sus- 
 picions," interjected Ponchaxd, "or make her 
 curious to pentrate into what is going on. I 
 think she already seemed to eye me strangely 
 when I expressed a wish that you two would re- 
 turn." 
 
 "Leave me to manage the girl," said Mrs. 
 Grills : and she issued from the room. 
 
 " Is it werry important ?" Said Mr. Grills, fix- 
 ing his eyes upon the Frenchman. 
 
 " Most important," was the response. " And 
 money to be earned by it !" 
 
 " That's your sort then," said Grills. " Any- 
 thing for money I" 
 
 "■Anything?" repeated the Frenchman: "did 
 yon say anything ?" — and now in his turn he 
 looked very hard at his companion. 
 
 "Well, anything — yes — all according to the 
 price," rejoined Grills. "You kndw that I'm 
 not werry partikler ; for when you had that bit 
 of a surgery-place down in the Old Kent 
 Eoad " 
 
 "1 was just thinking of it, Grills," interjected 
 Ponchaxd. " I remember the night you brought 
 me the dead body " 
 
 " Ah ! and a precious stormy night it was too," 
 said the hideous-looking man. " Me and my 
 brother Jasper was wet through to the skin. Bless 
 me! how it did rain — and thunder and lighten 
 too!" 
 
 " Rather a nasty night for you totransact your 
 body-snatching business; and rather an awful 
 one," added Ponchard, " for me to make the dis- 
 covery that I did. Murder's work — eh ? — unmis- 
 takable symptoms of death from poison ?" 
 
 " Well, sir," interrupted Grills, " when you 
 came and told me about it, I was smoking my 
 pipe with Jasper — you recollect — and what you 
 said struck us both all of a hea p " 
 
 "And yet you must have been prepared for 
 some such a result," exclaimed Ponchard. " You 
 know, my good fellow, you never played the re- 
 surrectionist with that corpse at all : but the man 
 died here — in this very house !— and how he did 
 die, I failed not to discover." 
 
 " And like a good gentleman as you are," said 
 Grills, " you promised not to make any stir about 
 the business' — you didn't want to get me, or 
 Jasper,> or the old 'ooman into trouble; so you 
 just quietly held your tongue." 
 
 " And you promised," said Ponchard, looking 
 Grills again most fixedly in the face, "that if 
 ever I should want a friend to render any ticklish 
 
 bit of service, or help me out of a trouble, I might 
 come to you. Well then, I am now here to put 
 you to the test. But still I do not ask you to 
 serve me for nothing: — you shall have twenty 
 golden sovereigns for your help in the business." 
 
 The ruffian's eyes twinkled joyously at this 
 announcement ; and he helped himself to another 
 glass of brandy. Just as he had tossed it off, 
 his wife re-entered the parlour; and as she re- 
 sumed her seat, she said, " I have made that mat- 
 ter all right. Hester is more than half tipsy — 
 and I have persuaded her to go to bed." 
 
 "So much the better," observed Ponchard. 
 " I am half afraid of that girl." 
 
 " The gentleman has got summut of » werry 
 partikler nature for us to do, my dear," said Mr. 
 Grills to his better half ; " and what's more agree- 
 abler tidings still, is that there's twenty yellar 
 boys to be got by it" 
 
 "And a good night's work too!" said Mrs. 
 Grills. 
 
 " I think that it will be more than one night's 
 work," observed Ponchard. " But this must de- 
 pend upon circumstances. Now, are you sure 
 that girl is not listening ? — for she is of such a 
 strange flighty disposition, I would not for the 
 world have the secret entrusted to her keeping!" 
 
 Mrs. Grills cautiously opened the door — lis- 
 tened — shut it again — and then returning to her 
 seat, assured the Frenchman that all was quiet 
 and safe. 
 
 " Now, then, for explanations," said Ponchard. 
 " Last night there was some quarrelling amongst 
 a few of us ; and a friend of mine — a gentleman 
 who has been two or three times to this house 
 with me " 
 
 "You mean the Pole with the handsome 
 beard ?" asked Mrs. Grills. " What's his name 
 again? Ivan something — —I always liked that 
 
 name of Ivan It's a sweet pretty 'un. Ah ! 
 
 Zadooski !" 
 
 " Zadouski — that's it," rejoined Ponchard. 
 "Yes — I mean him. But I'm afraid he was a 
 sad scoundrel — and therefore I am not at all 
 likely to weep when 1 tell you that he is gone !" 
 
 "Run away?" asked Mrs. Grills. 
 
 " No— gone out of the world," 
 
 " Oh ! that's different," she said, coolly refer- 
 ring to the brandy-bottle. 
 
 "The gentleman observed there was quarrel- 
 ling," remarked Mr. Grills; "and so I suppose 
 the truth is the Pole with the handsome beard got 
 a topper on the head " 
 
 " No — it was a knife in the heart," interrupted 
 Ponchard : " but it's of no consequence how he 
 did die, since dead he is. Ah ! I should add that 
 I do not exactly want to usurp the merit of having 
 put the fellow out of the way ; and therefore I 
 should like you to understand that it was not my 
 hand which dealt the blow — but it was a certain 
 Karl Petronoff, whom you are likely to see pre- 
 sently, Mr. Grills, when you come to take your 
 share in the business." 
 
 "And what share is that?" asked the man. 
 " But I s'pose I can guess. It's to get rid of the 
 stiff 'un ? Well, if that's all, and twenty pounds 
 is the reward, I say done, and let's shake a hand 
 on it at once." 
 
 " To be sure," said Mrs. Grills ; " and wet the 
 bargain with a drain:" — whereupon she suited 
 the action to the word. 
 
284 
 
 THE YOUHG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " I do not know whether you have any know- 
 ledge," inquired Ponchard, " of two old women 
 named Morphew, that keep a house in Granby 
 Street, Waterloo Koad ? No — you have not heard 
 of them ? Well, they are-two poor old creatures 
 who are loose enough in their morals to keep a 
 house of this description ; but they would go into~ 
 lits, call in the police, and expose everything if 
 they only entertained the slightest suspicion that 
 there was a dead body in their cellar. However, 
 there it is — and the sooner it's removed away the 
 better." 
 
 " Any back entrance to the premises ?" asked 
 Grills. 
 
 "No," replied the Frenchman : " but there's an 
 entrance from the cellar into the front kitchen, out 
 of which there's a well-contrived means of egress 
 into a narrow alley running between that house 
 and the adjoining one." 
 
 " Then the business can be easily managed," 
 said Grills; "and whenever you lie, sir," he 
 added, rising from his seat. 
 
 " What do you propose ?" inquired Ponchard. 
 
 " At the back of these premises'of *|ur'n," re- 
 joined Grills, " there's a stable which is let to a 
 cab-driver, a werry intimate friend of mine ; for 
 I often put a guinea or so into Nat Buhner's, 
 pocket. If there's a young gal to be carried off, 
 or anything of that sort, Nat's by no means par- 
 tikler " 
 
 " Ah ! but that's a different thing altogether," 
 exclaimed Ponchard, shaking his head deprecat- 
 ingly. " I should not like too many persons to be 
 engaged in this piece of business which we have 
 now in hand." ■ 
 
 " No — and I didn't mean anything of the sort," 
 interjected Mr. Grills. " But this is what I do 
 mean. I can go and have the use of Nat Buhner's 
 cab, for which I shall give him a yaller boy, and 
 tell him it's to run off with some squeamish young 
 damsel, or summut of that sort. So Nat will 
 never be any the wiser, and will never ask to be. 
 Look you, sir — just name your own time, and at 
 the werry moment you may 'expect to see a cab 
 drive up to the entrance of that alley you spoke 
 about. So you must be upon the alert and have 
 everything ready, that the cab mayn't be kept 
 waiting an instant longer than is necessary, for 
 ' fear any rascally Bluebottle should take it into his 
 head to peep into it just at the moment when peep- 
 ing would be most inconwenieht." 
 
 " What o'clock is it now ?" asked the French- 
 man. 
 
 " It must be about a quarter of an hour past 
 midnight," responded Mrs. Grills. 
 
 " Well then, in three-quarters of an hour — that 
 is to say, exactly at one o'clock- let the cab drive 
 up. Jump down— have the door open — and rsckon 
 upon everything being conducted with such de- 
 spatch that you will be able to start again in the 
 twinkling of an eye." 
 
 " So far, so good," said Grills. "And now for 
 an earnest to seal the bargain. In the first place 
 I shall want a sovereign to give Nat Bulmer — 
 which is of course over and above the twenty 
 pounds I'm to have clear for myself." 
 
 "No doubt," said Ponchard, producing his 
 purse. " Here is money for the cab — here are ten 
 sounds on account of the sum promised to your- 
 self." 
 
 "Quite fair and straightfor'ard," said Grills, 
 
 as he counted the gold, which he then handed to 
 his wife. 
 
 " Now lend me a sack and a piece of cord to tie 
 the mouth of it," said the Frenchman. 
 
 This request was promptly complied with ; and 
 having folded up the sack in the smallest possible 
 compass, he secured it about his person, buttoning 
 his coat over it. He then quitted the house, and 
 made the best of his way towards Granby Street, 
 pondering all the details of the business which he 
 had in hand, and which, as the reader may have 
 seen, he treated with all the coolness of one who 
 had been accustomed to encounter the storms, the 
 perils, and the difficulties of life, and who knew 
 that they were only to be weathered or sur- 
 mounted by means of a calm head, an intrepid 
 heart, and a s{eady hand. 
 
 It was about twenty minutes to one o'clock 
 when he reached the house in Granby Street ; and 
 the front door was immediately opened by one 
 of the old women, who were not in the habit of 
 retiring very early to bed, by reason of the in- 
 famous occupation which they followed. 
 
 "Any one here, Dame Morphew?" asked Pon- 
 chard of the elder sister, who thus gave him ad- 
 mittance. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur — I think there is one of your^ 
 friends," was the reply given by the old woman, 
 who spoke with a grammatical precision and cor- 
 rectness which showed that she was by no means 
 an uneducated person. 
 
 "Please to attend to me a moment, ma'am," 
 said Ponchard, thus stopping to converse with the 
 dame in the passage. " It may suit me and my 
 friend to remain a long time in consultation to- 
 night; and as you will presently be wanting to go 
 io bed " 
 
 " I can sit up to let you out," said the old 
 woman, who was exceedingly civil because she 
 was very well paid by the conspirators. 
 
 " Why should you sit up for us ? Not a hit of 
 it ! We can let ourselves out through the secret 
 passage ; and in fact we would rather have the 
 command of that avenue, because' ft renders us 
 more independent ' of any strangers who may 
 chance to be in your house." 
 
 "Well, just as you like, monsieur," answered 
 the dame, receiving at the same time a couple of 
 half-crowns which Ponchard slipped into ber 
 hand. " I will go and lock the door of the front 
 kitchen, so that nobody shall be able to enter it : 
 for some of these unruly young people who come 
 here at times — especially the girls— will insist on 
 going down there to have supper, 01 to get hot 
 water " 
 
 " Well, my good woman," interjected Ponchard, 
 " go and lock the kitchen-door, as you say — and 
 get to bed when you like. We shall not disturb 
 you." 
 
 Ponchard then passed on towards the back 
 room, and knocked with the usual peculiarity at 
 the massive door. This was at once opened by 
 Karl Petronoff, who was as perfectly cool and col- 
 lected as the Frenchman himself, so that he exhi- 
 bited no suspense, nor any particular anxiety to 
 learn from his friend whether all the promised 
 arrangements had been made for the disposal of 
 the corpse. 
 
 " Everything is settled," said Ponchard, closing 
 and fastening the iron-plated door ; and then, as 
 he leisurely took a seat, he entered upon explana. 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ! OB, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 285 
 
 tions, to which Petronoff listened with the most 
 perfect calmness, smoking his pipe, and occa- 
 sionally giving a slight nod of approval. 
 
 " It must be close npon one o'clock," said 
 Petronoff, when the Frenchman had finished 
 speaking. 
 
 "Yes — and therefore we must get to work at 
 once," replied Ponchard. 
 
 They raised a trap-door, and descended into the 
 cellar. There lay the corpse precisely as they had 
 left it the night before, with the knife still stick- 
 ing in the breast They listened at the door of 
 communication with the kitchen — and all was still. 
 Ponchard proceeded to extract the knife, the blade 
 of which was deeply stained with blood ; bnt no 
 blood now flowed from the wound itself, for up- 
 wards of twenty-four hours had elapsed since the 
 death-blow was stricken. 
 
 " Here," whispered Ponchard to Petronoff, as 
 he produced a small phial containing some very 
 potent acid, " clean that knife — it will not take 
 you above a minute — and we must not leave a 
 single trace of this night's business anywhere upon 
 our path." 
 
 Karl Petronoff hastened to obey the instruction 
 of bis comrade, while Ponchard himself proceeded 
 to examine the pockets of the murdered man. He 
 found an old pocket-book tied round with a piece 
 of string, and which evidently contained letters or 
 documents of some kind ; and this pocket-book 
 Ponchard at once secured about his own person. 
 He next produced a clasp-knife, the blade of 
 which was of formidable length, pointed like a 
 dagger, and so made as to keep open with a spring 
 and thus serve all the purposes of a poniard at 
 will. There was a small bunch of keys, and a 
 purse containing two sovereigns and a few shil- 
 lings. 
 
 " The knife is now quite clean," whispered Pe- 
 tronoff, as Ponchard finished his search of the 
 deceased's garments. 
 
 " Good," said the latter. " Lay it on the table 
 above. Now, here are these things — the keys, 
 the knife, and the money. For my part I will 
 have nothing to do with either of them :" — for 
 with a singular fastidiousness Ponchard recoiled 
 from the idea of an act which might savour of 
 plunder in respect to the murdered man ; bnt on 
 the other hand he said naught in reference to the 
 pocket-book — for by another inconsistency, con- 
 tradiction, or idiosyncracy in his nature, he did 
 not conceive it to be anything like plundering at 
 all to take possession of a lot of private papers. 
 
 " As for the keys and the knife, and the purse 
 likewise," said Petronoff, " give them to me and I 
 will drop them over one of the bridges as I return 
 presently to my lodgings. Bnt as for the money, 
 we may as well leave that in the dead man's 
 pockets, to become the booty of the fellow — what's 
 his name ?" 
 
 " Grills," replied Ponchard. " Well, your sug- 
 gestion is a good one, and shall be followed out." 
 
 Petronoff accordingly took possession of the 
 knife, the keys, and the empty purse, while Pon- 
 chard placed the coin in the waistcoat-pocket of 
 the deceased Ivan Zadouski. The next proceed- 
 ing was to thrust the corpse into the sack — which 
 was quickly done ; and then the mouth of the 
 sack was securely fastened by the string that Pon- 
 chard had brought for the purpose. 
 
 " Now," said this individual, " for the most 
 
 difficult part of the entire enterprise ! It must 
 be close upon one o'clock — but we shall hear it 
 strike by the church in the Waterloo Koad." 
 
 He now proceeded to unfasten the door of com- 
 munication with the front kitchen ; and entering 
 that place, he soon satisfied himself that the outer 
 door — tLat is to say, the one more directly com- 
 municating with the house — had been locked by 
 Dame Morphew according to promise. There was 
 a cupboard, or rather a closet, in one corner, ap- 
 parently intended to contain coals, firewood, or 
 kitchen utensils ; and indeed there were now some 
 of these articles there. But at a height of about 
 four feet, a part of the wall began to slant out- 
 ward ; and overhead there was a large iron trap, 
 which was secured by a hook and a chain below, 
 and which could be also raised from beneath. 
 This was the communication with the narrow 
 alley before alluded to ; and persons passing along 
 that alley would naturally fancy that the iron 
 trap was merely a place where coals might be shot 
 down into the cellar of the house. 
 
 Ponchard took the management of the whole 
 proceeding, — Petronoff silently obeying his in- 
 structions in all things. The sack containing the 
 corpse was so placed in the closet that it might 
 be raised up the trap-door at a moment's warn- 
 ing ; and Petronoff remained with it, while Pon- 
 chard cautiously lifting the iron trap, passed 
 himself through the aperture. All was still — a 
 profound darkness prevailed in the alley : but 
 when Ponchard, gliding down to the opening of 
 it, peeped forth into the street, the starlight 
 showed him that the coast was entirely clear. 
 There were sounds of uproarious revelry in two 
 or three neighbouring houses ; but there was not 
 a human being at the moment to be discerned in 
 the street itself. In less than a minute Ponchard's 
 ear caught the sounds of a vehicle ; and he be- 
 held a cab turning into the street at the further 
 extremity. 
 
 At that moment the clock of the church in 
 the Waterloo Road proclaimed with its iron 
 tongue the hour of one. 
 
 Ponchard disappeared in the darkness of the 
 alley : the iron trap was again raised— the sack 
 containing the corpse was drawn through the 
 aperture, the Frenchman pulling it from above, 
 the Pole pushing it from below. The cab stopped 
 at the entrance of the alley : down leapt Grills 
 and opened the door — at the same instant two 
 forms emerged from the dark entry — a heavy ob- 
 ject was thrown into the vehicle — Grills sprang 
 up to the box — Ponchard closed the door — and 
 away went the cab. So rapidly was this portion 
 of the exploit performed, that the halt of the cab 
 scarcely extended to a minute ; so that any per- 
 son observing it from a distance, might have fan- 
 cied that it had just stopped to take up a fare 
 according to previous order. 
 
 The knife with which the murder was com- 
 mitted, had been laid upon the table in the back 
 room ; and the trap in the floor thereof had been 
 closed by the foreigners over their heads before 
 they had passed from the cellar into the kitchen. 
 They had also extinguished the light just before 
 they thrust the corpse through the iron trap j and 
 having lowered this trap, they had nothing more 
 to do at the house when once their burden was 
 consigned to the cab and this had driven away. 
 They therefore at once separated, — Ponchard 
 
 ** 
 * 
 
286 
 
 THE YOUNO DUCHESS J OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 taking a circuitous route in order to reach the 
 habitation of Grills, and Karl Petronoff bending 
 his way towards Waterloo Bridge, over the para- 
 pet of which he threw the keys, the empty purse, 
 and fhe clasp-knife belonging to the deceased. 
 
 Mtesj Grills was sitting up for her husband's 
 return ; and by way of beguiling the time, she 
 more than once applied herself during the inter- 
 val to the bottle of brandy which remained upon 
 the table. She made sure that the girl Hester 
 Sergeant was by this time sleeping profoundly ; 
 and she did not therefore take the trouble to con- 
 vince herself on the point. The brandy had this 
 effect upon the odious woman — that while it only 
 .slightly intoxicated her (for she was well sea- 
 soned and inured to drink), it tended to harden 
 her — to inspire her with a boldness that defied all 
 consequences — and to prepare her for plunging 
 headlong into any iniquity, no matter how enor- 
 mous, so long as it produced money. 
 
 It was about a quarter past one when Mrs. 
 Grills, who was listening attentively, heard the 
 sounds of a vehicle turning in towards the stable- 
 yard which communicated with the back of her 
 own premises. The distance from Granby Street 
 might really have been accomplished in about ten 
 minutes ; but Grills had purposely taken a some- 
 what circuitous route — for he was cunning 
 euough to adopt every imaginable precaution to 
 destroy a clue or break a trail in case any should 
 be by a possibility discovered. Mrs. Grills rose 
 from her seat in the parlour — took the candle in 
 her hand — and cautiously descending the stairs 
 into the scullery, opened the door leading into the 
 yard. Leaving the candle in the scullery itself, 
 she traversed the yard — opened a back gate — and 
 joined her husband, who was just taking the horse 
 out of the cab and leading it into the stable. 
 
 " It is all right," he whispered, in a low tone, to 
 his wife. 
 
 To remove the burden from the cab into their 
 own back-yard, was now the work of a very few 
 moments : the horse was stabled — the cab was 
 wheeled into the coach-house — the doors were 
 fastened — and Grills concealed the key in a place 
 where his friend Nat Bulmer might find it when 
 he rose to prepare for the avocations of the day. 
 All these arrangements being completed in a far 
 shorter space of time than it has taken us to re- 
 cord them, Mr. and Mrs. Grills conveyed the hor- 
 rible burden into the scullery. There, having 
 locked the outer door, she held the candle while 
 her husband, having thrown off his coat and 
 waistcoat, prepared to drag the corpse out of the 
 sack. \ 
 
 But was Hester Sergeant sleeping all this 
 time? No — she was broad awake: she had not 
 even undressed herself, nor made the slightest pre- 
 paration for retiring to rest. She had noticed that 
 there was something peculiar in Ppnchard's 
 manner — that he had been evidently very anxious 
 for the return of Grills and his wife — but that he 
 had pretended it was of no importance when 
 Hester had questioned him on the subject. She 
 was somewhat attached to the man — and perhaps 
 more so this night than ever^inasmuch as he had 
 listened with so much intewst to tBbse personal 
 revelations into which she had been betrayed b# 
 a current of unusual feelings. Now, under all 
 these circumstances it was natural that she should 
 experience a sort of jealousy ~a| being excluded 
 
 from the knowledge of Ponchard's secrets after 
 she had so confidentially unbosomed her own. 
 And then, too, it seemed strange that the Grills 
 might be entrusted with matters which were to be 
 kept secret from herself. What could it be? 
 Had Ponchard taken a fancy to some other 
 female ? and was the aid of Mr. .and Mrs. Grills 
 required to further his designs with regard to this 
 supposed new flame? Such were the questions 
 which Hester very naturally asked herself; and 
 even if they were not the conclusions to which she 
 positively came, they were at all events suffi- 
 ciently strong in the shape of conjectures to excite 
 her jealous curiosity and determine her to fathom 
 the mystery. 
 
 The reader has seen that it was with an air of 
 pique and vexation the young girl turned to quit 
 the parlour at the request of Ponchard. Then, 
 scarcely had she ascended to her own chamber, 
 when Mrs. Grills made her appearance ; and 
 fancying from Hester's manner that she was some- 
 what intoxicated — though the girl was in reality 
 perfectly sober, notwithstanding the wine and the 
 brandy she had drunk — Mrs. Grills had adopted a 
 coaxing and cajoling manner to induce her to go 
 to bed. Hester had affected compliance ; but she 
 was now more than ever resolved to fathom the 
 mysterious proceedings which were evidently in 
 progress and from alt share in which it was so 
 studiously sought to exclude her. By dint of 
 listening she heard fonchard leave the house : she 
 likewise heard Grills go forth — then the cab 
 shortly afterwards rolled out of. the stable-yard 
 at the back — and Hester's curiosity was more 
 than ever excited. She waited with impatience, 
 in suspense, and with fullest wakefulness, to see 
 what would follow. After a while the cab re- 
 turned : she heard Mrs. Grills descend the stairs to 
 the lower region of the habitation — and then the 
 opening of the back door reached the girl's ears. 
 
 "Ah!" she thought to herself, "I was not 
 wrong in my conjecture ! The cab has been to 
 fetch some one — perhaps to carry a victim off by 
 force? It would not be the first time; Witness 
 the scene of the other night, when they thought 
 they were bringing Imogen the actress here, but it 
 turned out to be some one else — though who it 
 really was after all I hare not been able to learn. 
 No matter ! my business is now for the present 
 arrival! 13 it possible that Henri Ponchard 
 could pretend so much sympathy for me while 
 meditating the whole time the abduction of some 
 one else and the bringing of her to this place? If 
 he had not spoken in that way to me, and made 
 me tell him my story, and listened with such an 
 air of compassion and interest, I should not care. 
 But now — but now, it is different !" 
 
 Such were the thoughts which swept rapidly 
 through the girl's mind as she glided towards a 
 back window, whence she could obtain a view of 
 the yard- The night, or rather morning, was clear; 
 but the shades of the buildings enveloped the yard 
 in comparative obscurity — yet not so deep as to 
 prevent Hester Sergeant from discerning that 
 Grills and his wife were hearing something be- 
 tween them towards the back-entrance of the 
 house. Hester's first impression was that the 
 object thus borne was the inanimate form of some 
 female who had fainted : and yet she was not con- 
 fident in this surmise — but a certain vague pre- 
 sentiment that the mystery might be otherwise 
 
THE YOUNO DUCHBS3; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 287 
 
 explained, began to take possession of her soul. 
 A sensation of awe came over her ; it even par- 
 took of the nature of an unknown mysterious 
 terror j and, she vainly endeavoured to shake it 
 off — she fruitlessly strove to reassure herself by 
 saying inwardly, "How foolish I am! It is no- 
 thing more than what I first supposed, — some 
 girl who has been carried off and who has fainted 
 through fear or brutal usage!" 
 
 The reader may now easily comprehend how 
 the state of Hester's feelings was such as to sus- 
 tain, or even sharpen her curiosity to a degree 
 impelling her to penetrate farther into the mys- 
 tery. Whether she did so, we shall presently 
 see ; for we must now carry the reader's attention 
 pnce more to the lower part of the house. 
 
 Scarcely had Grills and his wife conveyed their 
 dreadful burden into the scullery, when there was 
 « ring at the front bell ; and the man ejaculated, 
 " That's Fonchard come back !" 
 
 " Shall I take the light to let him in, or leave 
 It here?" asked the woman. 
 
 "Take.it, to be sure!" replied her husband, 
 with a brutal chuckle. " You don't think as how 
 I'm afeard to be left with a stiff 'up ?" 
 
 " I should hope not :" — and thus saying, Mrs. 
 Grills issued from the scullery, leaving it in total 
 darkness. 
 
 She sped to the front door, and gave admittance 
 to Henri Ponchard, — to whom she at once con- 
 veyed the intelligence by means of a significant 
 nod that all was right. Ponchard beckoned her 
 into the parlour, and hastily inquired, "Have 
 yon stripped it 7" 
 
 " No — it is only just brought into the house." 
 
 " Then go and do so at once. We cannot dis- 
 pose of it completely to-night — there are precau- 
 tions to be taken ! The identity of the deceased 
 must be thoroughly destroyed ! There's a copper 
 below?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Grills. "But how did yon 
 know it?" 
 
 "I took a peep down stairs before you came 
 home, and while the girl went ont to fetch some 
 wine. There is likewise a hatchet there ?" 
 
 Mrs. Grills nodded an affirmative; but she 
 looked puzzled to comprehend the foreigner's 
 meaning. 
 
 " Go and get the body stripped — and by the 
 time you have done it I will come down to you. 
 No, no — don't light the other candle ! I care not 
 for being here in the dark for a few minutes. I 
 am tired of the excitement — I want to rest my- 
 self. There ! just put the brandy within reach, 
 and now go." 
 
 Mrs. Grills accordingly issued from the parlour ; 
 but for precaution's sake she stopped for a mo- 
 ment in the passage to bolt the front door. She 
 then stole again down to the scullery, where she 
 communicated to her husband the instructions she 
 had received from Ponchard. 
 
 " A hatchet? To be sure, here's the hatchet !" 
 ■aid the man, grasping it. " Ah ! I know now 
 what he means ! — it's all right. But let's get the 
 stiff 'an out of the sack. There ! put that piece 
 of a broken bench slantwise. That's right !" 
 
 Then, while the woman held the candle, the 
 man drew the corpse ont of the sack, raising it 
 partially up against the board, so as to be in a ! 
 more convenient posture for the process of strip- 
 ping off the clothes. And just at that instant a I 
 
 pale face peeped in at the doorway; and there 
 npon the threshold stood Hester Sergeant, trans- 
 fixed with horror — entranced by the appalling 
 spectacle which met her view! But she herself 
 remained unobserved — her presence unsuspected' — 
 so noiselessly and in such spirit-like silence had 
 she glided down the stairs. She had heard the 
 front door open — she had heard Mrs. Grills give 
 admittance to some man whom she supposed to be 
 Ponchard — then a few moments afterwards she 
 had heard the bolting of the front door and the 
 woman of the house descending alone to the scul- 
 lery. So the girl fancied that Ponchard, or who- 
 ever it might be, had taken his departures and 
 she had no longer hesitated to obey the impulse of 
 her cariosity. What she saw has already been 
 described. » 
 
 She was transfixed npon the threshold of the 
 place — but only for a few moments. A terrible 
 revulsion took place within her. Accident had 
 rendered her the witness of those unmistakable 
 evidences of a stupendous crime having been 
 committed : — if she were seen, therefore, by 
 Grills and his wife, her own moments might be 
 numbered — her life would be sacrificed to the 
 necessity of securing their own safety ! This idea 
 suddenly galvanized the girl as it were; and she 
 stole away from the threshold whence she had be- 
 held so appalling a spectacle. As noiselessly ghost- 
 like and as spiritually airy as before, were her 
 steps as she ascended the stairs. Thus, though 
 the parlour door was open, and Ponchard's ears 
 were keenly alive to any passing sound, he heard 
 naught to disturb him as he sat there, meditating 
 in the darkness upon all that had occurred. 
 
 Hester gained her own room ; and the courage 
 which had hitherto sustained her in beating so 
 guarded a retreat from the presence of those who 
 might in an instant have become her murderous 
 enemies, — all this self-possession, we say, sud- 
 denly abandoned her, and she threw herself upon 
 the bed overcome by horrible consternation and 
 dismay. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 THE MURDER. 
 
 We must now speak more particularly than fre 
 have hitherto done of the internal arrangemafeig 
 of the mansion at Thombury Park, as well ss of 
 the junior branches of the Ardleigh family. ■ 
 
 One suite of apartments was devoted -to -the 
 special use of thei. Dowager-Duchess and her 
 keeper Mrs. Quinlan*. This suite consisted of a 
 handsome sitting-room, a dining-room, a sleeping 
 apartment)' and a dressing-chamber. There were 
 two bedsThr the Sleeping-apartment— one being 
 placed m 3 sort of alcove or recess ;■ and it was 
 this couch which was occupied by iMrs. Quinlan. 
 The rooms communicated from one another in the 
 order in which we^have dea&ibed them : but 
 there was a door opBng from the dressing-room 
 upon a passage whence' a stanrcase led c!own to 
 the vicinity of the servants' offices. The reader 
 will therefore understand that while the principal 
 entrance to this suite of apartments was the 
 sitting-room doorjcpening from a wide landing, 
 there was another means of communication— 
 
288 
 
 THE YOUifG DUCtlESS; Oft, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Samel y, by the outer-door of the dressing-room ; 
 and this latter was used only by the servants in 
 the performance of their accustomed offices. 
 The suite of apartments which we have been de- 
 , ecribing, was in the same'wing of the building as 
 those of the young Duchess herself ; for the latter 
 had always chosen to be in the vicinage of her 
 mother-in-law's dwelling-place, so that she might 
 be enabled to run in and see her at any moment, 
 and be close at hand in case of any accident or 
 emergency arising from the disordered state of the 
 unfortunate lady's intellects. We should add 
 that by the strict command of the young Duchess 
 herself, Mrs. Quintan 'always locked the outer 
 doors of the suite of apartments at night — that is 
 to say, the door of the sitting-room opening from 
 the great landing, and the door of the dressing- 
 room leading towards the staircase that was used 
 by the servants. Mrs. Quinlan was likewise wont 
 to sleep with the keys under her pillow ; and often 
 in the course of conversation, when the topic of the. 
 Dowager Duchess's malady was referred to, the 
 female-keeper had been wont to affirm that from 
 a long habit she slept so lightly that the slightest 
 sound or touch would awaken her. 
 
 We must now proceed to inform the reader 
 that at the other extremity of the building there 
 were two suites of apartments devoted to the 
 younger branches of the Ardleigh family ; for 
 the Duke had several brothers and sisters. Be- 
 tween himself and the eldest of these there was 
 however an interval of about ten years, so that 
 young Lord Dalrymple was between sixteen and 
 seventeen — though he scarcely seemed to be more 
 than fourteen, for he was slight and diminutive in 
 form, childish in pursuits, and of a very back- 
 ward intellect. There were a couple of brothers 
 younger than himself ; and there were two sis- 
 ters, — the youngest of the entire family being 
 about ten years old. The young gentlemen — or 
 rather the young lords, as we ought to call them, 
 occupied one suite of apartments under the special 
 jurisdiction of their tutor, the Rev. Mr. Conda- 
 mine, — a worthy and excellent man, of about 
 sixty years of age. He was a scholar, but an 
 enlightened one : he knew something more than 
 the classics ;— he had travelled — and he was 
 exactly the sort of person fitted to have the care 
 of the younger male branches of that aristocratic 
 family. -He was. properly strict without being 
 severe; for even when performing the conscien- 
 tious part of a disciplinarian, he had the tfact of 
 displaying so much kindness as to prove tow he 
 felt himself to stand in loco parentis towards his 
 fatherless pupils. He never troubled himself 
 with the affairs of others : —indeed he had really 
 no curiosity on that score ; and thus, even if the 
 conduct of the young Duchess had been far more 
 indiscreet than it actually was, in respect to 
 either Sir Abel Kingston or Count Mandeville, 
 the Eev Mr. Condamine would have been the 
 very last beneath that roof to notice the circum- 
 stance. Not that he wilfully blinded himself to 
 anything— ^nor that he was a sycophant or a para- 
 site—nor that if he did see aught improper he 
 was capable of winking at it. Nothing of the 
 tind ! — but he was a thoroughly good man, feel- 
 ing the responsibilities of the position in which he 
 lvas placed, and knowing that they demanded all 
 his care, so that he never gave Ms attention 
 negligently or thoughtlessly to anything jelse. 
 
 The young Duke's two sisters — Lady Emm; 
 and Lady <Jane Dalrymple — respectively ten and 
 twelve years- old — were under the special tutelage 
 of their governess, Mrs. Boyle. This lady was a 
 widow, verging close upon her fiftieth year, and 
 in disposition very much resembling the tutor of 
 the young lords : that is to say, she was properly 
 firm while she was indulgent, thoroughly upright 
 and well principled, utterly above all gossip and 
 scandal, feeling that she had a particular part to 
 perform, and never overstepping the limits of her 
 proper sphere. Mrs. Boyle and the young ladies 
 had likewise their own special suite of apartments, 
 in the same portion of the building as those of 
 Mr. Condamine and the young lords. Let it 
 not however be supposed that the brothers and 
 sisters were kept rigidly apart. Nothing of the 
 kind. They took all their meals together, at the 
 same time with the tutor and governess : they 
 walked or rode out together ; and in the evening, 
 when the studies of the day were over, they all 
 assembled in one of the drawing-rooms of the 
 mansion, where they were generally joined by, 
 the young Duchess, and often by the 'Dowager 
 herself, when her mind was sufficiently settled as 
 to be sure not to shock her children with any 
 gross or grievous evidence of her unfortunate 
 malady. As for the young Duchess, she had en- 
 deared herself to her husband's brothers and sis- 
 ters; and for this reason she was especially ad- 
 mired and beloved by Mr. Condamine and Mrs. 
 Boyle. The reader is aware that for some time 
 past the young Duke and Duchess had been much 
 separated, and the latter had passed a consider- 
 able portion of her time at Thornbury almost de- 
 serted as it were by her husband. This was a 
 circumstance which the worthy preceptor and the 
 excellent governess could not of course help ob- 
 serving : but they made no comment upon it, not 
 even to each other. They felt assured that it 
 arose from no ill-conduct on the part of the 
 young Duchess ; and while they scarcely allowed 
 their minds to speculate in secret upon what 
 might be the behaviour and proceedings of the 
 Duke, they experienced a boundless compassion 
 and a deeper affection for the young Duchess 
 herself. 
 
 It is not however necessary to enter further into 
 this description of details, inasmuch as neither 
 the tutor nor the governess, nor the young lords 
 or ladies have very much to do with the thread 
 of our story. We will therefore resume it with- 
 out any more digression or delay. 
 
 It was the custom of Mrs. Quinlan to rise in 
 the summer at about seven o'clock, and in the 
 winter about eight, to unlock the outer door of 
 the dressing-room, in order to admit the female 
 servants to sweep out the sitting-rooms, lay the 
 breakfast, light the fires if the weather were cold, 
 and perform their habitual duties. It was now 
 the summer time ; and therefore the female 
 domestics ascended the back stairs as usual a lew 
 minutes past seven o'clock in the morning. The 
 door was unfastened — they entered the dressing- 
 room — and one of them stooping to pick up a 
 towel which lay on the carpet, ejaculated, " Why 
 this is blood!" 
 
 "Yes," said the other handmaiden. "And 
 look ! the water in this basin is all red ! I suppose 
 some one's nose must have been bleeding ?" 
 
 Her companion naturally came to a simila: 
 
TILE YOUNG DUCnES6 ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY, 
 
 289 
 
 conclusion ; and they passed into the bed-chamber, 
 treading lightly as was their custom, in case the 
 Dowager-Duchess should be asleep. A glance 
 showed them that this was the case ; and then, as 
 they happened to cast their eyes towards the alcove, 
 they were indeed little prepared for the horrible 
 spectacle which was to appal their vision. For 
 there lay the unfortunate woman, her face marble 
 white, the bedclothes crimson with gore, and a 
 knife sticking in her bosom ! 
 
 The alann was quickly given ; and it was 
 Lavinia fierself who rushed to the apartments of 
 her young mistress, at the door of which she 
 knocked loudly in the terrible excitement of her 
 mind. The summons was almost immediately 
 answered by the young Duchess, who, unlocking 
 her door, cried, " Good heavens ! what is the 
 matter, Lavinia ? what has happened ?" 
 No. 37. — The Young Duchess 
 
 "Oh 
 rlble!" 
 
 But tell me 
 
 your Grace! something horrible, hor- 
 
 ' Mrs. Quinlan- 
 " What of her, Lavinia? 
 
 For God's sake tell 
 
 me ! Do not, do not keep me in this frightful 
 suspense !" 
 
 " She — she — is murdered ."' 
 
 The young Duchess recoiled as if stricken a 
 sudden blow : she did not immediately answer ; 
 and Lavinia uttered a cry, for she thought her 
 mistress was about to faint. 
 
 "Murdered?" the young Duchess then said. 
 "Lavinia, are you in your senses?" 
 
 " Would. to ; heaven that it was only a dream, 
 your Grace, and that I was mad but for the 
 moment ! It's all too true ! — the poor woman is 
 murdered ! — murdered in her bed !" 
 
290 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " Good God! this is horrible!" said our heroine 
 in a deep hollow voice. " But my inother-in-law ?" 
 she suddenly ejaculated. 
 
 " Is sleeping as soundly and softly as a lamb," 
 replied Lavinia. 
 
 The young Duchess raised her hand to her brow, 
 as if to steady the thoughts which were making 
 her brain reel ; and then she abruptly exclaimed, 
 " Help me to put on some clothing, Lavinia ! — 
 quick! quick! — and let me go and investigate 
 this dreadful tragedy !" 
 
 In a few moments the young Duchess was has- 
 tening along the passage towards the suite of 
 apartments which during the past night had be- 
 come the scene of such a dreadful deed. On pene- 
 trating into the bed-chamber a glance showed 
 the young Duchess that a sheet had beep thrown 
 over the corpse in the alcove — that her mother- 
 in-law was now sitting up in her own bed, gazing 
 vacantly upon some half-dozen female servants 
 who were gathered about her — and that these 
 young women were exchanging awe-struck and 
 mysterious looks amongst themselves. 
 
 " Have you breathed a word to her Grace ?" 
 asked the young Duchess, in a low quick whisper. 
 
 " Not yet, my lady," was the reply given by the 
 senior handmaiden. " We thought we had better 
 wait till your Grace should come. We covered 
 the body over so that her ladyship " — thus allud- 
 ing to the Dowager — " should not he seized with 
 a sudden affright when she awoke." 
 
 " And who think you could have done it ?" 
 
 asked the young Duchess. "Is it possible " 
 
 and she glanced towards her mother-in-law. 
 
 "Heaven knows!" said the lady's-maid solemnly. 
 " For my part I can't tell what to think !" 
 
 "Has anyone been to fetch a surgeon ?" de- 
 manded the young Duchess, as if suddenly struck 
 by the idea. " Who knows that life is extinct ?" 
 —and hastening towards the alcove, she partly 
 raised the sheet, though taking care to interpose 
 her own form between the hideous spectacle and 
 her mother-in-law who was still sitting up in her 
 own bed. Pale as the countenance of our heroine 
 previously was, it now became ghastlier still ; and 
 having laid her hand upon the cheek of the de- 
 ceased Mrs. Quinlan, she shook her head. 
 
 " It is useless I suppose, my lady," said La- 
 vinia, " to send for medical assistance ?" 
 
 " Yes—useless," resumed the young Duchess ; 
 " for the flesh is marble cold !" 
 
 At that instant ejaculations of terror burst from 
 the lips of the female servants who were near the 
 bed of the Dowager ; — the young Duchess glanced 
 round with a startled air, but in the twinkling of 
 an eye her mother-in-law was by her side. The 
 Dowager, who had been gazing in listless and 
 idiotic vacancy upon the persons present, had 
 leapt from her couch with an abruptness that eli- 
 cited those ejaculations from the lips of the young 
 women ; and before a hand could he stretched out 
 to retain her, or an arm extended to hold her back, 
 she was by the side of her daughter-in-law. 
 
 " Good heavens, dear mother!" cried the young 
 Duchess, letting the sheet fall from her hand ; but 
 the face and bust of the murdered woman, with 
 the knife sticking in her bosom, remained un- 
 covered. 
 
 " It was the ghost that did it !" said the 
 Dowager-Duchess. 
 
 " The ghost ?" was the hollow echo given by 
 
 the tongue of the young Duchess ; and with a 
 strange wild horror did she gaze upon her mother- 
 in-law. 
 
 "Yes — the ghost," repeated- the Dowager. 
 " You know, Mary, that dark shape — a fiend — a 
 
 spirit of evil But where was it that I saw it?" 
 
 — and now she raised her hand to her brow with 
 a bewildered and vacant air. 
 
 " Come away with me, mother, from this hor- 
 rible scene," said the young Duchess. " Here ! 
 into the dressing-room !" 
 
 Thither our heroine led her mother-in-law, fol- 
 lowed by Lavinia and the other handmaidens. 
 
 "Now," said the young Duchess, closing the 
 door of communication with the sleeping apart- 
 ment, " let no one enter there — let nothing be 
 disturbed until the proper authorities arrive to 
 investigate the lamentable transaction. Lavinia, 
 go and send off messengers at once, — one to fetch 
 a sjjrgeon — another to the coroner — and another 
 to his Grace, the Duke, in London. Quick, quick, 
 Lavjnia ! there is no time to be lost !" — and our 
 heroine now seemed to be inspired with a self- 
 possession and firmness that were rendering her 
 equal to the present emergency. 
 
 So soon as Lavinia had disappeared to execute 
 the orders she had received, the young Duchess 
 left her mother-in-law in the care of the hand- 
 maidens, while she repaired to the other wing of 
 the building, to speak with Mr. Condamine and 
 Mrs. Boyle, whose ears she had no doubt the ap- 
 palling rumour had by this time reached. She 
 met tfys tutflr hastening along the passage com- 
 municating with his suite of apartments ; and on 
 beholding her Grace's troubled looks and dis- 
 ordered dress, the worthy preceptor clasped his 
 hands, exclaiming, " I need not ask your lady- 
 ship if it be true ! Alas, I see that it is ! and 
 Robert " — thus alluding to one of the footmen — 
 "has not deceived me!" 
 
 "It is indeed too true!" answered the young 
 Duchess. " Have you yet broken itr " 
 
 "To my young pupils? No," continued the 
 worthy Mr. Condamine : " I was determined to 
 go and satisfy myself of the truth of the report — 
 and — and — learn some particulars ere I shocked 
 their ears with the tale. For Eobert was so ex- 
 cited, I knew not what amount of faith to put in 
 his statements." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Boyle was seen hastening 
 along the passage. She had just heard the re- 
 port : she likewise could scarcely put faith in the 
 horrible tale — she had been equally guarded in 
 keeping it from the ears of the young ladies, as 
 Mr. Condamine had from the ears of the young 
 lords, until fully assured upon the dread subject ; 
 and she was now hurrying forth from her apart- 
 ments to seek this information, when she fell in 
 with the young Duchess and the tutor in the pas- 
 sage. 
 
 " And thus it is all too true !" said the good 
 widow, fearfully shocked. 
 
 " All too true!" replied the Duchess. 
 
 " But, good heavens ! what are we to think, 
 your Grace ?" asked Mr. Condamine, wi*h horror 
 depicted upon his countenance : " what dreadful 
 tale am I to prepare my young pupils to hear ?" 
 
 " Ah ! and what am I to say to the dear young 
 ladies ?" asked Mrs. Boyle, fearfully excited and 
 deeply distressed ; "they who entertain so much 
 love and sympathy for their afflicted mother !" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 291 
 
 "Alas!" said Condamine, " I suppose that we 
 must not for a single minute attempt to blind our- 
 selves to the real truth ? But your Grace's un- 
 fortunate mother-in-law is not responsible for her 
 actions !" 
 
 " My God !" groaned the young Duchess, " do 
 not rush to hasty conclusions !" 
 
 " What !. is there any doubt ?— any mystery ?" 
 asked Condamine, while the governess manifested 
 an equal degree of awefelt suspense and fearful 
 interest in respect to the tragedy. 
 
 " I know not what to tell you— •— I am at a 
 loss how to answer you," said the youmg Duchess, 
 who was terribly agitated. ". It would be horrible 
 to suspect any one unjustly!" 
 
 "Good heavens !" murmured Condamine, shocked 
 and appalled ; " is there any reason to suppose 
 that another, hand than that of your Grace's 
 unfortunate mother-in-law could have dv-alt the 
 blow? Has Murder been stalking through this 
 mansion during the night ? Dreadful as it would 
 be to find ourselves forced to look upon the L\>w- 
 ager as the authoress of the deed, yet 'twere 
 better far that such should be the solution of tiie 
 mystery, inasmuch as with her, poor creature ! if. 
 cannot be looked upon as a crime !" 
 
 "You are right, Mr. Condamine — you are 
 right," said the young Duchess hurriedly. 
 " With her it cannot be accounted a crime ! — 
 she is not the mistress of her own actions — and 
 therefore she is not responsible for them !" 
 
 " Assuredly not, your Grace." 
 
 "Ah, reverend sir," exclaimed the young 
 Duchess, " you may conceive how awful a thing 
 it is for me to associate the name of even my 
 poor demented mother-in-law with this shocking 
 deed ! And therefore if I hesitated at first to pro- 
 claim the sad truth — if I could not bring my 
 lips immediately to shape the words which should 
 bid you go and strike the pointed daggers of af- 
 fliction into the hearts of your young pupils *' 
 
 " Oh, dear lady," cried Mrs. Boyle, weeping, 
 " we are at no loss to understand all the deliiacy 
 and generosity of your conduct !" 
 
 " Enough, dear madam," said the Duchess. 
 " Go — and you too, dear sir— and to your respec- 
 tive charges break the horrible tidings as cau- 
 tiously and as considerately as possible '! I have 
 
 sent for my husband Tell them therefore that 
 
 their brother will be here presently to comfort 
 and console them ; and you may add that if they 
 wish to see me, I will come to them." 
 
 The tutor and the governess bow^d respectfully 
 to the young Duchess, and retra.ced their way 
 slowly along the passage, whispering mournful 
 comments upon the horrid tragedy that had taken 
 place, and upon the sad task -which it now re- 
 mained for them to fulfil. An for the young 
 Duchess herself, she returned to her own apart- 
 ment, — where, with Lavinia's assistance, she per- 
 formed her morning toilet. At first there was a 
 long and profound silence between the patrician 
 mistress and the maid, until it was at length 
 broken by the former, who said, " This is a fear- 
 ful occurrence, Lavinia !" 
 
 " Fearful, indeed, my lady. Might I venture to 
 ask what your Grace thinks " 
 
 "Alas, Lavinia," replied the Duchess, as for an 
 instant she flung a searching look upon her hand- 
 maiden, " what can I think, but the same that 
 everybody else must think! My unfortunate 
 
 mother-in-law — doubtless in some terrible aber- 
 ration of the intellect But run, Lavinia, and 
 
 see how her Grace is ! — inquire of those who are 
 attending her toilet ! I feel that an awful re- 
 sponsibility now rests upon me; and if there 
 should be any danger of my poor mother-in-law 
 breaking out into some paroxysm of insane pas- 
 sion, or being seized upon by some fearful hallu- 
 cination, I must not expose the lives of those 
 comparatively helpless young women who are 
 now attending upon her ! Go, for heaven's sake, 
 Lavinia ! — and bring me back word ; for I am 
 nervous and agitated 1 feel as if this excite- 
 ment would drive me mad !" 
 
 Lavinia, sped from the room ; and in al£ u t j ell 
 minutes she returned, saying, " He? £ race seems 
 to be perfectly quiet and harness : but I think 
 
 there is a more marked peculiarity in her gaze 
 
 she looks strange — -half vacant — half wild — 
 though her air is listless, languid, and droop- 
 ing " 
 
 " I will go to her the moment my toilet is 
 finished," said the young Duchess. "Where is 
 she now ?" 
 
 " They have taken her away from the scene of 
 the shocking occurrence," responded Lavinia ; 
 •' and they are now giving her Grace her break- 
 fast in the Green Drawing-room." 
 
 " Did the maids discover any traces of the 
 deed ?" asked the young Duchess, hesitatingly, 
 and with a visible shudder, — " I mean, any marks 
 ol" blood upon the hands or night-dress of the un- 
 fa rtunate Dowager ?" 
 
 " Nothing of the sort, my lady," answered La- 
 vijiia. " But then your Grace must recollect that 
 blood-stained hands had been washed in the basin 
 in the dressing-room and wiped upon the towel 
 that was picked up." 
 
 " Ah, true," said the young Duchess ; and again 
 she flung a rapid but searching glance upon La- 
 vinia. 
 
 "Every now and then," continued the abigail, 
 who did not seem to notice that she was thus scru- 
 tinisingly regarded by her mistress, " the Dowager 
 murmurs, ' The ghost.' the ghost." — and then she 
 appears as if she were shuddering with a cold 
 terror. One would really think she had seen 
 something " 
 
 "What do you mean, Lavinia?" — and the 
 young Duchess stooped to pick up her kerchief as 
 she put the question. 
 
 " I mean nothing particular, your Grace 1 
 
 can mean nothing," replied the young woman. 
 "Indeed I daresay it is only an illusion on the 
 part of her ladyship," — thus alluding to the 
 Dowager. " But one gets bewildered with barely 
 thinking of the hideous circumstance — and that 
 while we were most of us, if not all, quietly sleep- 
 ing in our beds, a life was being taken — a knife 
 was being driven deep down into a human 
 
 " Tes — my God ! it was shocking! — terrible !" 
 murmured the young Duchess in a hollow tone. 
 " I will go and see if my unfortunate mother-in- 
 law " 
 
 At this moment there was a knock at the ante- 
 room door ; and Lavinia hastened to answer the 
 summons. It was a maid-servant who came to 
 announce that Mr. Brooks, the surgeon of Beacons- 
 field, whom a mounted messenger was sent oft: 
 to fetch, had just arrived, in company with the 
 
 \ 
 
292 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 local Inspector of Police, whom the medical man 
 had accommodated with a seat in his gig. 
 
 " Go and keep an eye upon my poor mother-in- 
 law," said the young Duchess to Lavinia, " while 
 I receive these persons. How I wish the Duke 
 was here ! To think that I should be alone at 
 such a crisis !" 
 
 " Be assured, dear lady," said Lavinia, " that I 
 am ready to do everything that I possibly can to 
 relieve you of some portion of the weight of these 
 responsibilities." 
 
 " Yes, yes — I know it, Lavinia ! I know your 
 attachment for me!" cried our heroine. "And 
 now go to the Dowager, while I descend to meet 
 tie surgeon and the police-officer." 
 
 Mr. Srpoks and the constable had been shown 
 into a parlour leading out of the entrance-hall ; 
 and there they were now joined by the Duchess. 
 She explained to them how the tragedy had been 
 discovered, and she begged that the surgeon 
 would lose no time in ascending to the apartment 
 where the corpse lay. 
 
 " Not," said our heroine, "that I entertain the 
 slightest hope that the spark of life still lingers in 
 the body ; but if such a thing were possible — and 
 marvels of this land home happened — I would not 
 that there should be any . delay in proceeding to 
 the succour of a fellow-creature." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be as well, my lady,'' said 
 the Police Inspector, " if I accompanied Mr. 
 Brooks." 
 
 " By all means," answered the Duchess. 
 
 " It's only a matter" of form, your Grace ; be- 
 cause the evidence of your ladyship's servants 
 will be sufficient before the Coroner to enable the 
 Jury to say how it happened— — " 
 
 "No, no, officer !" interrupted the Duchess ; 
 " it must not be considered only as a formality ! 
 Do your duty here as you would if it were a pea- 
 sant's cottage !" 
 
 Thus speaking, the patrician lady rang the bell, 
 and ordered the domestic who answered the sum- 
 mons to conduct the surgeon and the officer to 
 the rooms where the tragedy had been enacted. 
 
 Half an hour passed, during which the young 
 Duchess partook of a cup of tea, for she had not as 
 yet broken her fast — and even now she could eat 
 nothing. At the expiration of that interval the- 
 medical man and the Inspector were ushered back 
 again into her presence. She at once flung a 
 quick anxious look upon Mr. Brooks ; but he shook 
 his head, saying, " Your Grace's charitable hope 
 is disappointed! The spark of life is utterly 
 extinct — the corpse is cold! The unfortunate 
 woman must have been dead some hours." 
 
 " At least six or seven, you think, doctor ?" 
 said the police-officer inquiringly. 
 
 " I should say about that time," was the sur- 
 geon's response. 
 
 " The keys, your Grace," said the Inspector, 
 producing them as she spoke, " I found under the 
 pillow of the deceased, according to the hint that 
 your ladyship gave me that she was always wont 
 to put them there." 
 
 " And — and — you think, Mr. Brooks," said the 
 Duchess, " that— that — it is utterly impossible 
 
 the deceased could have done the deed herself 
 
 I mean committed suicide ?" 
 
 " Utterly impossible," answered the surgeon. 
 
 "Begging your Grace's pardon," said the In- 
 spector, " it is scarcely necessary to be a medical 
 
 man to tell that much. The knife's too well 
 planted " 
 
 " Death must have been instantaneous," added 
 the surgeon, — " almost without a groan." 
 
 " And your Grace said, I think," resumed the 
 Police Inspector, thus speaking as lie followed the 
 train which his own thoughts were taking, — 
 " your Grace said, I think, that the outer door of 
 the dressing-room was found unlocked ?" 
 
 The Duchess replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " But the outer-door of the drawing-room was 
 found locked, as usual ?" asked the Inspector. 
 
 " It was so," rejoined our heroine. 
 
 "I have fipoken to some of the servants,'' con- 
 tinued the officer, "and they declare that no 
 doors leading out of the house were found open 
 this morning — no casements or window-shutters 
 showing any suspicious appearance. In fact, I 
 have given an eye to all the back doors and win- 
 dows in;, that part of the premises ; and I have 
 come to the conclusion that there was no burgla- 
 rious entry of any kind. If anybody entered the 
 houso during the night, it could only have been 
 with the connivance of some person inside, to 
 opon the door for him and fasten it again on his 
 departure. Does your Grace understand ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," replied the Duchess, feeling that 
 her cheeks were ghastly pale, and wondering 
 whether there were any hollowness or other pecu- 
 liar sound in her voice at all calculated to betray 
 the emotions which she was experiencing. 
 
 " But now, your Grace," resumed the Police 
 Inspector, " all circumstances considered, I do not 
 think that there was any plant or put-up af- 
 fair " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the Duchess : " I do 
 not exactly understand " 
 
 "What I mean is, my lady, that this is not a 
 business done by collusion, nor by any one from 
 outside. The more's the pity there should be a 
 wajr — saving your Grace's presence — of account- 
 ing for it so simply and easily as to avoid the 
 trouble of much thought on the subject. You see, 
 my lady, the door leading from the dressing-room 
 is found unfastened at seven o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. Now, it couldn't be poor Mrs. Quinlan her- 
 self that got up to unlock the door at her usual 
 time, for she must have been dead six or seven 
 hours according to Dr. Brooks' showing. Well, 
 but the door teas unlocked, and the keys were in 
 their usual place under the deceased's bolster. 
 Who put them there ? Why, the same hand that 
 must have originally taken them in the first in- 
 stance to open the door for the purpose of gliding 
 steal thily down-stairs to fetch the murderous 
 knife." 
 
 "Or else the other theory," suggested the sur- 
 geon. 
 
 " I'm coming to it, doctor," replied the In- 
 spector. " Suppose, my lady, that by some acci- 
 dent Mrs. Quinlan should have left the dressing- 
 room door unlocked, — then, as a matter of course 
 the keys need not have been taken from under- 
 neath her pillow at all; and your Grace will 
 pardon me for reminding you that lunatics are 
 uncommon sharp — they notice when any of the 
 ordinary precautions taken to insure their safety, 
 are neglected — a door, for instance, left unfas- 
 tened " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the young Duchess, who lis- 
 tened with much evident agitation and distress to 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 293 
 
 tho Police Inspector's cool, deliberate, and business- 
 like strain of reasoning. "And therefore the con- 
 clusion to which you come " 
 
 " Is beyond all doubt, your Grace," answered 
 the inspector. 
 
 " Yes, beyond all doubt," added the surgeon. 
 
 "What?" inquired our heroine in a faint tone. 
 
 "The truth must be told, my lady," rejoined 
 the Inspector. "It's a sad business, but one that's 
 easily accounted for; and that's a blessing in this 
 respect — that it leaves no room to cast unpleasant 
 suspicion upon any other party. In plain terms, 
 my lady, it must have been the act of one who 
 can't be held responsible — I mean her Grace the 
 Dowager." 
 
 The young Duchess made no answer, but 
 averted her countenance, which she almost im- 
 mediately concealed by raising her kerchief to it. 
 
 " And now I have something still more painful 
 to say, my lady," resumed the police official ; " and 
 that is " 
 
 " What is it ?" asked our heroine quickly. 
 
 " It is, your Grace, that I must keep an eye 
 
 upon her ladyship- 1 don't wish to do the thing 
 
 rudely at all — heaven forbid ! — but law is law, 
 and I am only a humble agent of it after all. I 
 left word at Beaconsfield, when I learnt what had 
 happened up here, for a couple of my men to come 
 presently " 
 
 "You mean two police-constables?" said the 
 young Duchess in a hollow voice. 
 
 " The truth is, my lady," said Mr. Brooks, who 
 thought it time to interpose, inasmuch as the 
 Inspector through very excess of delicacy was 
 torturing the young Duchess with a prolonged 
 suspense, — " you must make up your mind for all 
 the usual unpleasant consequences of such a dread- 
 ful occurrence. Her Grace the Dowager will be 
 
 put under arrest In this respect she must share 
 
 the fate of the lowest and the humblest individual 
 
 And what is more, she will have to appear 
 
 before the proper tribunal " 
 
 "What! be tried?" exclaimed the young 
 Duchess, her accents mingled with a shriek. " But 
 yes ! I see it all ! I understand what must hap- 
 pen !" — and she sank down upon the chair from 
 which she had started up. 
 
 " Your Grace must arm yourself with all your 
 courage," observed Mr. Brooks. 
 
 "I know it! I feel it!" 
 
 " There will be a Coroner's Inquest " 
 
 "Yes — for that ceremony I was indeed pre- 
 pared : I have sent a messenger to communicate 
 the dread intelligence to the Coroner:" — then, after 
 a silence of upwards of a minute, the young 
 Duchess turned towards the Police Inspector, 
 saying in a voice that was scarcely audible, " I 
 hope you will do nothing till the Duke comes ?" 
 
 "Nothing, n?7 lady — nothing," was the re- 
 sponse. " As the circumstances are so suspicious 
 against the Dowager, I am bound to keep an eye 
 upon her — but I need not actually arrest her until 
 the.Coroner's warrant is issued. So my fellows, 
 when they come, shall just sit down in the hall, or 
 the kitchen, or wherever your Grace thinks fit ; 
 and I trust to your ladyship to see that the 
 Dowager does not escape." 
 
 " I will promise you that my mother-in-law shall 
 not set foot beyond the threshold of the house," 
 replied the young Duchess. 
 
 She then intimated that if the surgeon or the 
 
 Inspector required anything they might ring th# 
 bell ; and she quitted the apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 THE THUTH DISCLOSED. 
 
 Some hours elapsed — It was now between two and 
 three o'clock in the afternoon — and nothing of 
 any consequence had in the interval occurred at 
 Thornbury. Mr. Condamine and Mrs. Boyle had 
 respectively informed their pupils of the terrible 
 tragedy which had taken place, and which was so 
 awfully associated with the name of their unfor- 
 tunate mother. The young lords and ladies 
 begged to see their parent ; but the tutor and 
 governess besought them to remain in their own 
 apartments until the arrival of their brother the 
 Duke from London. The young Duchess joined 
 them for about half-an-hour, and seconded the 
 representations of Mr. Condamine and Mrs. Boyle. 
 As for the unfortunate Dowager-Duchess herself, 
 she seemed to have lost all recollection of any- 
 thing dreadful that might have occurred •, and 
 falling asleep upon the sofa in the Green Drawing- 
 room, she slumbered for some hours. 
 
 Shortly after two o'clock a carriage drove up to 
 the mansion ; and when the hall-porter went 
 forth to see who the visitor might be, Count Man- 
 deville — for he it was — gave him his card, say- 
 ing, " I was on my way to pay my respects to 
 her Grace when I learnt at Beaconsfield of the 
 terrible event which has occurred during the past 
 night. My first thought was therefore to avoid 
 intruding upon a scene of grief. But then it 
 struck me that I might possibly be of some use, 
 and that the offices of a friend might be accept- 
 able under such circumstances. Will you have 
 the goodness to go and repeat all this to her 
 Grace ; and I will wait in my carriage until you 
 return with her ladyship's answer." 
 
 The hall-porter bowed and withdrew ; and at 
 the expiration of about five minutes he returned, 
 saying, "Will you please to alight, sir?" 
 
 Mandeville was shown up into a drawing-room, 
 where he found the young Duchess waiting to re- 
 ceive him. The instant the door was closed by 
 the domestic who had escorted him thither, he 
 seemed to be so struck by our heroine's appear- 
 ance that he stopped suddenly short as he wa3 
 advancing towards her. 
 
 " Unhappy man !" she said, clasping her hands 
 with every appearance of the direst anguish, and 
 bending upon him a look in which terror and com- 
 passion seemed to commingle ; " how could you 
 have recourse to such desperate means ? But, Oh ! 
 think not that you will hear reproaches nor up- 
 braidings from my lips ! No, no ! I appreciate 
 — yes, my God, I appreciate all the love and ten- 
 derness on your part which has led you " 
 
 " Mary, you confound me !" interrupted Man- 
 deville. " This is absurd ! — yes, a thousand times 
 ridiculous ! It is so utterly needless ! Do you 
 think that I should betray you?" 
 
 "What!" cried the young Duchess, starting 
 back with all the appearance of a strong recoil : 
 " you pretend — you afreet " 
 
 " Mary, 'tis you who pretend and affect!" 
 
234 
 
 THIS YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " Good God, that he should say this ! that he 
 should think it!" — and the young Duchess again 
 clasped her hands as if in utter despair. 
 
 Mandeville folded his arms across his chest, and 
 said in a cold tone, " Will you tell me, Mary, 
 how long this farce is to last ? It is scarcely well 
 on your part to let Comedy succeed so soon upon 
 Tragedy. Come, come ! let there be an end to 
 this ludicrous acting ! Think you not that I can 
 make all allowances, goaded as you were almost 
 to desperation? Yes — by heaven! from the Very 
 bottom of my heart I pity you !" 
 
 " Oh, Hippolyte !" cried the Duchess, wringing 
 her hands as she spoke, " it was because you did 
 pity me that you had recourse to such a desperate 
 measure in order to save me altogether! But, 
 OkLbelieve me, 1 have not proved ungrateful ! 
 I Have curbed my feelings, and by a stupendous 
 effort kept down all my emotions when I heard 
 accusing tongues throw their imputation against 
 niy poor mother-in-law! Yes — although it has 
 cut me to the very quick to echo the dreadful 
 charges, yet have I done so; and I have even 
 permitted her very children to be informed that 
 all circumstantial evidence pointed to their poor 
 mother as the authoress of the deed ! Note you 
 will give me credit for some degree of gratitude 
 on account of all you have done for me ? But 
 the ordeal through which p am passing, ia not yet 
 half ended. Presently I shall be constrained to 
 look my husband in the face and tell him that his 
 mother is — is — my God ! how can I breathe the 
 hideous word ? — a murderess ! And then I shall 
 have to place a seal upon my lips, and stifle my 
 feelings even to the very verge of suffocation, 
 when the Coroner's Jury pronounces the decision 
 to which the evidence, as it now stands, must 
 lead them; And then — Oh! tlien," — and the 
 young Duchess shuddered visibly' as she pursued 
 the terrible theme — "there will be the most 
 hideous phase of this ordeal! I mean that I 
 shall be compelled to look on and still to keep 
 the seal of silence upon my lips, while my poor 
 mother-in-law is being borne away to gaol!" 
 
 Mandeville listened to this speech with a coun- 
 tenance that would have been inscrutable were it 
 not that once or twice there was a slight play of 
 a mocking smile upon his lips ; and he retained 
 his arms crossed the whole time over his chest. 
 He was about to speak as the young Duchess 
 left off ; but she made a quick impatient gesture 
 to silence him, and she resumed as follows : — 
 
 "There is something that I dread, Hippolyte 
 —something from which my soul recoils in hor- 
 ror ! It is lest you should be discovered !" 
 
 " On my soul, Mary !" ejaculated Mandeville, 
 with a sudden start : " this is too strong I" 
 
 "Ah! listen to me! for heaven's Sake, listen!" 
 interjected the young Duchess ; " and be not too 
 overweeningly confident ! Oh ! it is for your good 
 that I speak! — it is that no possible precaution 
 should be neglected — but that in case of emer- 
 gency you should be prepared for flight " 
 
 " Flight?" exclaimed Mandeville indignantly. 
 " By heaven " 
 
 " Yes— flight for you I" said the young Duchess j 
 "but shame — degradation — perhaps suicide for 
 me! Do not interrupt me ! — I will tell you 
 where the danger lies. My mother-in-law must 
 evidently have seen the deed committed — or else 
 she has got a certain impression so strong upon 
 
 her mind, that if in a lucid interval she should be 
 enabled to make certain statements " 
 
 "Well, well!" — and Mandeville stamped his 
 foot impatiently. "Let me hear first all that 
 you have to say— — " 
 
 "My mother-in-law ejaculates '2%« ghost, the 
 ghost did it!'" pursued the young Duchess. 
 " Oh, if she should recognise you !" 
 
 " One word will suffice, Mary !" interrupted the 
 Count. " Your mother-in-law saw too little of 
 me last night in your bed-chamber to be enabled 
 , to recognise me again." 
 
 " But in her own chamber !" ejaculated our 
 heroine " when — when — you must have stolen in 
 thither " 
 
 " A truce to this acting !" cried Mandeville. 
 " I was never there at all — and you know it ! ( 
 Listen to me ! I insist upon being heard ! I 
 have given you a patient hearing — yon shall give 
 me one. I drove my phaeton down to Beacons- 
 field last evening : I brought no servant with me 
 — for I would not afford any clue to my intended 
 movements. I engaged rooms at the hotel at. 
 Beaconsfield. I said that I was going out to sup- 
 per at a farm-house in the neighbourhood, and 
 that I might not return until very late. The 
 porter promised to sit up for me. Ah, by the bye, 
 I spoke of the starlit beauty of the night as a 
 motive for. walking to my destination and back, 
 instead of taking the phaeton. But instead of being., 
 late after all, I was at the hotel again precisely " 
 as the clock was striking midnight. It was about 
 a quarter-past eleven when I parted from you — 
 and you will admit that it required a walk of at 
 least three-quarters of an hour to take me to Bea- 
 consfield. This morning I left the hotel at eight 
 o'clock and returned' to London." 
 
 Mandeville paused .for a few moments, during 
 which the young Duchess surveyed him with a 
 singular expression of countenance, half incredu- 
 lous, half compassionate. 
 
 " Now, Mary," resumed Mandeville, " the mo- 
 ment is come when all ridiculous acting and by- 
 play must cease between us." 
 
 " Oh, yes !" cried the Duchess, " let it be so ! 
 let it be so!" 
 
 " It shall be so — and therefore, Mary, you may 
 admit to me that, as I ere now said, goaded to 
 desperation — dreading everything at the hands of 
 Mrs. Quinlan — you had recourse to those fatal 
 means " 
 
 "Enough, enough, Hippolyte !" interrupted the 
 Duchess, with a species of frantic impatience : 
 "you will drive me mad! Remember that 
 when I spoke to you of the manner in which the 
 villain Abel Kingston had been disposed of, and 
 when I shuddered lest his blood should have been 
 spilt, you declared that you could even have done 
 that for my sake !" 
 
 "And it was so, Mary," replied Mandeville. 
 " And if I had done this deed, I should not hesi- 
 tate to avow it." 
 
 The young Duchess pressed her hand to her 
 brow as if to steady her reeling brain ; and then 
 she abruptly said, "If you did not strike the 
 blow, who did ?" 
 
 " Mary, between us there need be no secrets !" 
 
 " As I have a soul to be saved," rejoined the 
 young Duchess solemnly, as she looked the Count 
 with steady frankness in the face, — " as I believe 
 in God, and tremble at his power to punish me if 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS : OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 295 
 
 I appeal in perjury or false-swearing to his holy 
 name, I am innocent of this deed !" 
 
 " And I, Mary — though unaccustomed to take 
 such oaths — can repeat the same words. But I 
 can do better, as I have told you," added Mande- 
 ville ; " for I am able to prove, if necessary, by 
 the hour I returned to Beaconsfield, that I could 
 not have possibly lingered within these wall3 long 
 enough to commit the crime !" 
 
 The Count and the Duchess now began to look 
 upon each other in a different light, though neither 
 one was as yet fully and completely convinced of 
 the innocence of the other. They were staggered : 
 — each thought it quite possible that the other 
 might be innocent ; and yet there was a lurking 
 misgiving which remained in their minds. 
 
 It was at this conjuncture that voices from the 
 landing outside reached their ears ; and the young 
 Duchess ejaculated, "My mother-in-law! Do 
 not let her see you ! Oh, if she should recognise 
 you !" 
 
 " Nonsense ! she cannot ! Will you not believe 
 me ? I tell you again that I was never in her 
 chamber!" 
 
 " But I mean when you were in mine ! For 
 heaven's sake hide yourself ! Oh, I know best — 
 I know best how you ought to act !" 
 
 It suddenly occurred to Mandeville that our 
 heroine was right enough in this respect ; and he 
 accordingly stepped without another moment's 
 delay behind the window draperies, — the young 
 Duchess quickly adding, " I will get rid of her 
 almost immediately." 
 
 The door opened, and the Dowager-Duchess en- 
 tered the room, followed by Lavinia and two other 
 lady's-maids who had been specially left in charge 
 of her. 
 
 " My dear Mary," she said, with a strange 
 vacant expression of countenance, " how is it that 
 these girls try to prevent me from coming near you ? 
 What does it mean ?" 
 
 " Oh, my dear mother, you shall come to me," 
 cried our heroine, bounding forward. " Leave us 
 alone together," she added, turning towards the 
 handmaidens : then, as they retired, she took the 
 Dowager's hand, and leading her to a seat where 
 her back was turned towards the draperies behind 
 which Mandeville was concealed, she said in the 
 kindest and most soothing tone, " My dear mother, 
 have you anything upon your mind? If you have, 
 pray tell me ! Yes, tell me, I conjure you ! You 
 
 may have had bad dreams " 
 
 " It was the ghost that did it !" exclaimed the 
 Dowager abruptly : " the ghost, I say ! — the evil 
 spirit — the dark fiend I — he did it !" 
 
 " Did what ?" asked the young Duchess, shud- 
 deringly. 
 
 " Took the knife and stabbed the old woman," 
 responded the Dowager. "I suppose some one 
 will come to ask questions about it — I think that 
 is the custom ; and if anything is said to 
 
 me " 
 
 " AYelL mother — what ?" asked the young 
 Duchess, again quivering with the painful feel- 
 ings which she experienced. 
 
 "I shall tell them that they need not give 
 themselves the trouble to search any further into 
 the matter — because the ghost did it. I saw the 
 dark fiend ! — Ah ! and now I recollect, Mary, it 
 was in your room." 
 
 " In my room, dear mother ?" exclaimed our 
 
 heroine, with a frightened expression of counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "Yes — your room to be sure :" — and the Dow- 
 ager raised her hand to her brow. " Yes — I re- 
 collect ! To be sure ! how could I have for- 
 gotten ? The dark shape — your chamber, Mary 
 — and — and — the more I think of it, the more 
 convinced I am that it had a human form. So 
 you see what a tale I can tell when they come to 
 ask me questions presently. Ah ! and how lucky 
 for you, Mary, that the evil spirit did not remain 
 in your room, but that it went away and killed 
 Mrs. Qninlan instead of yourself ! We will tell 
 Mr. Condamine of this — and he will pray with us 
 and assure us that it was a special mercy of 
 heaven vouchsafed to yon, Mary." 
 
 The young Duchess was now under the in- 
 fluence of an awful consternation and dismay ; for 
 exposure of some kind or another seemed to be 
 almost inevitable. 
 
 " So let us go to Mr. Condamine's room at 
 once," said the Dowager, rising from the seat 
 to which her daughter-in-law had conducted 
 her. 
 
 At that very moment the door opened ; and a 
 tall, thin, elderly gentleman, with an intelligent 
 expression of countenance, and a somewhat obse- 
 quious manner, looked in, bowing, and saying, 
 " May I enter ? shall I be intruding ?" 
 
 "I know him !" exclaimed the Dowager 
 abruptly : " I know him ! He is Mr. Hornby, 
 the lawyer! No — Mr. Watson, the Coroner! 
 Yes, yes — -Watson to be sure !" — and the 
 Dowager's features lighted up with a species of 
 childish satisfaction as she advanced to proffer the 
 gentleman her hand. 
 
 She was right : he was the Coroner. He closed 
 the door behind him, and taking the Dowager's 
 hand, he made some few commonplace observa- 
 tions, — at the same time turning towards our 
 heroine, and shaking his head with an ominous 
 significancy, as much as to say, " How dreadful ! 
 how shocking !" 
 
 " Do you wish to speak alone with me, Mr. 
 Watson ?" asked the young Duchess, with a hur- 
 ried and nervous manner, and in a low and even 
 hoarse tone of voice ; " because if so, we will 
 
 escort her Grace to some other apartment " 
 
 " I thought it my duty to call upon your lady- 
 ship," interrupted the Coroner, "before the inquest 
 takes place, to ascertain if your Grace has any 
 particular wish to express under the present painful 
 circumstances : because, as you are aware, the Jury 
 — who, by the bye, are to meet at the Thornbury 
 Arms at five-o'clock — will come to view the corpse 
 — it is a mere form — but it is indispensable ; and 
 if the hour should not suit your Grace — or if you 
 would rather that the ceremony should be post- 
 poned until the 'arrival of the Duke from 
 
 London " 
 
 "Yes, to be sure!" the Dowager-Duchess now 
 broke in : " you are Mr. Watson, the Coroner ! - 
 I couldn't for the life of me think just now who 
 it was that made inquiries into such cases as this : 
 now I recollect it is your duty." 
 
 "My dear mother," said our heroine, "will you 
 come with me? — and Mr. Watson shall go with us : 
 — we will take you to the Green Drawing-room, 
 where there are all the pretty china ornaments, 
 
 you know " 
 
 " No, I mean to stay here," replied the Dowager ; 
 
29C 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCIIBS3 j OR, MEMOIRS OF A LAD! OP QUALITY. 
 
 and she resumed her seat -with a resolute air. 
 "Sit down, Mr. Watson. I wish to speak to 
 you :" — and now the look and manner of the 
 Dowager-Duchess were so completely those of a 
 rational person that if a stranger had entered the 
 room at the mo'iient he could not possibly have 
 surmised that her brain was affected. 
 
 The Coroner bent a glance upon our heroine, 
 as much as to imply that he would humour her 
 mother-in-law; and he accordingly took a seat 
 near her. The young Duchess was a prey the 
 while to the most poignant terror and suspense ; 
 but she knew not how to interfere in the present 
 proceeding without the risk of appearing strange 
 in her conduct. 
 
 " You know, sir," resumed the Dowager, put- 
 ting on a very grave and solemn air, and which 
 sfill appeared to be completely rational, — "a 
 very dreadful deed has been committed in this 
 hou3e " 
 
 ". Alas ! your Grace, I have heard of it," said 
 the Coroner : and then, as a thought struck him, 
 he started somewhat abruptly, from his seat, 
 turned towards the young Duchess, and hastily 
 whispered, " I must not listen to your mother-in- 
 law any farther ! I am as it were the judge who 
 is presently to investigate the matter ; and I fear 
 lest I may have to perform the very painful duty 
 of— of " 
 
 " I understand you, Mr. Watson," interrupted 
 our heroine, eagerly catching at what appeared 
 to be a means of putting an end to the present 
 scene. " Your conduct is alike delicate and gene- 
 rous " 
 
 "Sir," the Dowager-Duchess here broke in, "I 
 beg you to resume your seat. You need not 
 whisper aside to my daughter-in-law : — it is for 
 me to tell you who did the horrid deed. Stop, 
 sir ! I saw him " 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear madam," said the Coro- 
 ner, in a soothing tone ; " but I am in a great 
 hurry — I must leave your Grace " 
 
 "And I command you to stop!" cried the 
 Dowager, with an authoritative air; "for you 
 must hear what I have to say. I tell you that I 
 saw him glide across the room — yes, almost as 
 plain as I see you at this moment — for there were 
 tapers upon the toilet-table " 
 
 "Ble3s me!" said the Coroner, flinging a glance 
 of inquiry upon the young Duchess ; " is there 
 anything in this ? It really looks serious !" 
 
 "Nothing! — absolutely nothing!" our heroine 
 hastily interjected. 
 
 " What is that you say, Mary ?" demanded 
 the Dowager, turning sharply round upon her 
 daughter-in-law : '' what did you say ?" 
 
 "Nothing of any consequence, my dear 
 madam," answered the Coroner, with a soothing 
 blandness of tone. "Her Grace was simply 
 expressing the hope that you would not worry 
 nor perplex yourself " 
 
 "The matter must be cleared up !" exclaimed 
 the Dowager, now getting excited ; and there was 
 the gleam of a sinister light flashing in her eyes. 
 " You must not pursue the inquiry without me, 
 Mr. Watson. I can explain it all ! I saw the 
 dark shape ! — it was that of a man — though no 
 doubt a fiend in the disguise of that form " 
 
 "Mother, dear mother!" cried our heroine en- 
 treatingly ; " do compose yourself !" 
 
 " But the truth must be told, Mary!" 
 
 " No doubt, dear mother ! — and it shall be 
 told! You shall .have an opportunity." 
 
 " I think, my dear madam," interrupted the 
 Coroner, with a mild deprecating air, " you had 
 better not talk or think any more of these dread- 
 ful subjects." 
 
 " Dreadful indeed !" cried the Dowager ; " be- 
 cause the fiend in human shape might have mur- 
 dered me — or he might have laid in wait to kill 
 my dear Mary here — and then what would Her- 
 bert have said ? Why, Mr. Watson, I saw the 
 shape as plain as possible !" 
 
 " No doubt, my dear madam," interjected the 
 Coroner : " but do let me entreat your Grace to 
 talk on some other subject — " 
 
 "You are afraid of it?" said the Dowager 
 quickly. " Well, and no wonder ! But you 
 would have been still more afraid if you had seen 
 the shape, as I did. It was gliding across the 
 room, and it disappeared behind one of the win- 
 dow-curtains." 
 
 " Indeed, there must be something in this," 
 whispered the Coroner aside to the young 
 Duchess. 
 
 "Something in it?" exclaimed the Dowager, 
 .whose ears, being, excessively sharp, had caught 
 the words that were just spoken. " Something in 
 it ? Do you think I am telling stories ? Sir, the 
 Duchess of Ardleigh" — and here she drew herself 
 up with as haughty a dignity, as ever in her lucid 
 days she had put on — " the Duchess of Ardleigh 
 never utters an untruth ! But I will show you 
 how it was. There !" and she flew towards on* 
 corner of the apartment. " Suppose this to be" the 
 room — it was here, in this corner, that the shape 
 seemed to emerge from the darkness — then it 
 glided along by the wall in this manner — — " 
 
 " Oh, she is quite mad!" whispered the young 
 Duchess aside to the Coroner, terror and anguish 
 being mingled in her looks. " Mother, pray be 
 calm!" — and she bounded forward to seize the 
 arm of the Dowager whose movements filled her 
 with the direst apprehension. 
 
 " Let me show Mr. Watson !" cried the Dowager, 
 getting more and more excited " This was just 
 how it was. The shape stole forth from the 
 corner — glided along in this way — and then sud- 
 denly disappeared behind the window-draperies, 
 just as if it was Jiere!" 
 
 The Dowager had reached a window as she 
 thus spoke : she glanced behind the draperies — and 
 then as a loud shriek pealed from her lips, she 
 stepped hastily back, stumbled over a footstool, 
 and fell with violence, her head coming in contact 
 with some piece of furniture. 
 
 " Good heaven ! what has she seen ?" exclaimed 
 the Coroner, who was now rushing towards the 
 window. 
 
 " Help! help ! for God's sake help !" cried the 
 young Duchess, literally flinging herself in Wat- 
 son's way to bar his progress towards the case- 
 ment. " Look ! she is dying ! she may be dead !" 
 
 Our heroine's affliction and terror seemed natu- 
 rally enough to be concentrated upon the state of 
 her mother-in-law; for the blood was flowing 
 from a wound received on the temple, and the un- 
 fortunate lady lay motionless on the carpet, Wat- 
 son hastened to lift her: and the young Duchess, 
 rendering her assistance, made for the door, ex- 
 claiming, " Alas, my poor mother-in-law ! it was 
 all imagination on her part!" 
 
THE YOUNO DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS 01 A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 2fl7 
 
 . ; l|lli| 
 
 "Yes — it must have been so," said Watson; 
 "for after all, she could have seen nothing behind 
 those curtains." 
 
 "This way, Mr. Watson! this way! — along 
 the passage ! . Here— here, to the nearest chamber ! 
 There ! softly npon the bed ! And now to sum- 
 mon assistance !" 
 
 With these words the young Duchess rang the 
 bell violently ; and during the few moments that 
 elapsed ere the summons was answered, she kept 
 the Coroner employed, so that he might not quit 
 the chamber to which the Dowager was trans- 
 ported. 
 
 " That bottle of scent, Mr. Watson ! Thanks ! 
 thanks! That other one ! There; — and now the 
 little cut phial yonder ! The sponge, to wash the 
 ' wound ! Ah, it bleeds still ! But, thank heaven, 
 life is not extinct !" 
 
 The handmaidens, to whose care the Dowager 
 had been previously confided, now njade their ap- 
 No. 38. — The Young Duchess 
 
 pearance, and their ministrations were promptly 
 afforded. Some few hurried words of explanation 
 were given ; and then our heroine tottered as if she 
 felt very faint, and said, "Give^ne your arm, 
 Mr. Watson — lead me from the room — I need fresh 
 air." 
 
 The Coroner accordingly conducted the young 
 Duchess forth from the chamber ; and she made 
 him lead her to t';e dining-room, where he poured 
 her out a glass of wine from one of the decanters 
 which stood upon the sideboard. 
 
 " Does your Grace feel better now ?" asked the 
 attentive Coroner. "But really all this is suffi- 
 cient to try yonr ladyship's nerves exceedingly." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Watson," murmured our heroine, 
 "you do not know what strange fancies my poor 
 mother-in-law sometimes takes into her head, and 
 how her imagination plays the wildest freaks I" 
 
 " It is only too evident that such is the fact," 
 observed the Coroner. " I must confess that for a 
 
moment I really did fancy her Grace beheld some- 
 thing behind the draperies in the other room." 
 
 " Nothing but imagination !" rejoined our hero- 
 ine. " And now, Mr. Watson, permit me to thank 
 you for the kind assistance you rendered ; and ex- 
 cuse me for quitting you abruptly, but I feel 
 better now, and will return to, my mother-in- 
 law." 
 
 The Coroner took his leave; and the ypirflg 
 Duchess literally wrung her hands in despair the 
 instant she found herself alone. But the next 
 moment she gathered all the scattered remnants of 
 her courage, and hastened to the drawing-room 
 •where the recent scenes had taken place. The 
 windows were large ancj deeply set : the draperies, 
 were half closed over, ibem— and instead of being 
 looped up, they flowecl with their heavy golden 
 fringes upon the carpet. A' person could there- 
 fore easily remain concealed behind pmj of those 
 curtains, without being perceive^ by others whp 
 might enter the room. 
 
 The moment our heroine crpgs.ed $he threshold 
 of that drawing-rpoqi, Manste^jtyp came forth 
 frona behind the draperies of ijig particular win- 
 dow" wiich thg Dowager-p,pchgs!j hijjl approached 
 and whence she hail rpcbd.pg wjth tng sudden 
 paroxysm of w'l^ terror th^t ha^'produpefl the 
 acc^ent. 
 
 '.' EfippolytP," sajd the Duchess, m a lpw PApurn- 
 fpj voice, and with a singular Disusing of horror, 
 av.pr.5i0n, and compassion m ljer lppk'sj "tftere |s 
 
 ?P lgnger a doubt! Nay, dp n,pt interrupt mpl 
 j fa mippssible for ypu ip (Ippgi^e. me for another 
 infant ! There wa,s a mpmerrj, when I w^s s'tag- 
 gprefl — when I wavered— wflSft t thought it pes- 
 s,ipjp that after all it might not t>& ^ circum- 
 stances seemed tp ipdipate !'— but now-^my Gp4 i 
 i?g$ if is as impossible |pr mp to d 1 P u J't any 
 longer 1" 
 
 "Mary!" — and Msuideyille stjmne.^ §fa (PPt 
 with apparent rage. 
 
 " Nay, do not interrupt me !" she vehemently 
 ejaculated. 
 
 "But I will and must interrupt you!" he 
 fiercely rejoined. " I am losing all patience I 
 You are either playing a part of the most con- 
 summate hypocrisy — or else you are suffering 
 yourself to be swayed by the nonsensical ravings 
 of your insane mother-in-law !" 
 
 " Stop, sir — stop !" exclaimed the young 
 Duchess angrily : "you shall not insult her thus 
 in my hearing ! Weak — foolish — almost criminal 
 as I have been in some instances — yet, believe me, 
 I have certain good feelings left! God knows I 
 am now under the impression of the terrible warn- 
 ings which in various ways have been conveyed 
 unto me ; and if my reason survives all the tre- 
 mendous shocks which it is now sustaining, rest 
 assured that I shall be the gainer by all these 
 bitter experiences. For heaven's sake, Hippolyte, 
 let the same be said of yon! Go, go ! remain not 
 here any longer; for danger hangs over your 
 head! If my mother-in-law regains her con- 
 sciousness and reverts to the same themes as those 
 which have already so startled us- " 
 
 " Look you, Mary," interrupted Mandeville ; 
 " we must come to an understanding together — 
 though perhaps this is not the precise time " 
 
 " An understanding ?" she echoed. " Oh ! you 
 would not now venture to assert those claims 
 which — which" — and she hesitated and blushed'; 
 
 but almost instantaneously gathering courage, sha 
 added, " You know what I mean, Hippolyte ;— • 
 and you must comprehend how completely every- 
 thing is now finished between you and me !" 
 
 A strange expression, which had something of 
 sardonic mockery in it, appeared upon Mande- 
 ville's countenance : but quickly reassigning a 
 grave Ippk, he said, "J"?ep that t]rfa is not the 
 tinie to qispugs whatsoever matters may concern 
 you and me. As for argument or recrimination 
 qn a certain poiiit, it is simply ridiculous. You 
 know as well as I do — in fajit wjio pptter than 
 you can know that your. rnotlipr-iri-J^w has in 
 the ccnfiisipp. of her ;dea$ mixe^ un the circum- 
 stance ' p| ageing me (n your. ch^mtjer wit}i the 
 murder of her keeper ? SJie tppjt: nip for | g]ipst 
 -^and with an halluqnatipn qtyite. |n,telligihlp on 
 tjip part of one whpse intpjleits are weajtj sjie 
 fancies thaj; this same ghost ' tppk ^trs. Quinlan's 
 life. I know full weli that if TWttl prove s,pme- 
 wpat perilous fgr'nie, if she, on Regaining fler 
 couscip'usness, were to persist in her story. Now, 
 Mary, mark rag 1 knowing as I do that you did 
 the &£$&—— *:' ' ' 
 
 It was |l(gg|f a scream which, b.urst frora the 
 Upspf the^y^umj puchess; a,n4 ajie wrung her 
 j^Pfls eitfye^: wff^ angry impatience or elige, in 
 ujter cjespau;, it w^s difficult tp say which. 
 
 linjfe^," cpntujue| Mandeville,— " for I sep the 
 ngpess|ty of spgajjjng out, — knowing as I dp that 
 yojiif djfj the defefl, ^fflere is your, gratitude when you 
 hpar rflp proroj§| tjiat on no ^pepunt will I say 
 
 rppf fHYB 4 Iflypatened tp,at \ frpuld betray 
 yop ? Are y.pu' "afraid of jpp ? No, no ! you 
 cannot fie ! \ ou know, that I jn 1 grateful— 
 $ppply grateful on account pf all t\iat ypu have 
 dpne for me ! Heavens ! how could I be other- 
 wise ? That you should have imbrued your hands 
 with blood — stained your soul with such a crime 
 for my sake " 
 
 " Really," said Mandeville, with a peculiar 
 smile upon his lip, "I am almost inclined to let 
 you have your own way. It must be a mere 
 woman's fantasy on your part ! Or is it a 
 proof of love which you demand of me, that I 
 should'take upon myself the responsibility of this 
 deed, in order that you may so far delude yourself 
 as to prevent you from blushing or feeling strange 
 when you look me in the face? Well, if this 
 be your motive, I am perfectly agreeable. Let it 
 be so, then." 
 
 " At least I am glad that you have confessed 
 it at last, Hippolyte," said our heroine; "though 
 I could wish you had not adopted such terms of 
 flippant levity. And now go ! for heaven's sake 
 go ! Already have we been too long together ! I 
 know not what may be thought. At least this 
 absence from my mother-in-law must seem most 
 strange " 
 
 Here the speech of the young Duchess was 
 suddenly interrupted by the entrance of L^vinia, 
 who burst hastily into the room, evidently in. a 
 state of violent excitement, exclaiming, "Come, 
 my lady, come ! Her Grace asks for you ! " 
 
 "What I" ejaculated the young Duchess, fling- 
 ing a look of affright upon Mandeville ; " has the 
 Dowager regained her consciousness ?" 
 
THE TOUNO DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OT A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 299 
 
 " Her Grace is completely sensible,'' answered 
 Lavinia, " She likewise appears quite sane !" 
 
 " Ah ! sane !" — and once more were the 
 affrighted looks of our heroine flung upon Man- 
 deville, as much as to imply that the dreaded 
 peril was at last overtaking him. 
 
 There was a certain air of indecision about him: 
 it was pretty clear that ho knew not how to act, 
 though he by no means lost his self-possession. 
 
 "Her Grace," Lavinia quickly resumed, "is 
 quite prepared to die." 
 
 " To die, Lavinia?" exclaimed our heroine. 
 
 " Alas, yes, my lady ! — and Dr. Brooks, who is 
 there, says that in a short time it will be all 
 over. Oh ! I am really glad that your ladyship 
 was not there, when her Grace seeming to recol- 
 lect everything all in a moment, made the accu- 
 sation in such rending accents " 
 
 "The accusation ?"— and the young Duchess 
 felt that her limbs were failing under her. 
 
 " Tes. a»y lady — the accusation. And Oh ! how 
 we all shuddered ; for there was something fear- 
 fid " 
 
 " My God, speak, Lavinia ! The accusation ? 
 — against whom?" 
 
 "Against whom?" repeated the abigail, as if 
 evidently surprised at the question; " Ah, I see 
 that even until the last moment your Grace finds 
 it difficult to believe " 
 
 "But speak, Lavinia ! speak ! The accusation 
 — against whom ?" 
 
 "Against herself!" 
 
 " My God !" murmured the young Duchess, 
 with a sensation which in one respect was fraught 
 with infinite relief, though in another sense it was 
 full of a shuddering horror : and after staggering 
 for a moment against a chair for support,' she 
 rushed from the room. 
 
 CHAPTEB LVII. 
 
 THE DOWAGER. 
 
 Upon the bed in the chamber to which she had 
 been conveyed, lay the Dowager-Duchess of Ard- 
 leigh. Mr. Brooks and two or three lady's-maids 
 were present when the young Duchess 1 entered, 
 followed by Lavinia. The instant our heroirid 
 met the looks of her mother-in-law, she was 
 struck by the lucidity and intelligence which 
 reigned in them. A bandage was fastened over 
 her forehead ; her countenance was very pale ; 
 but her eyes seemed brighter than for a long time 
 past they had been. They neither wandered 
 wildly, nor yet remained fixed inanely ; but they 
 vibrated with a steady lustre shed from the lamp 
 which reason had once more lighted up in her 
 soul 
 
 "Mary — dear Mary," she said, " come to me." 
 The young Duchess threw herself upon the 
 bosom of her mother-in-law, who wound her arms 
 about her neck ; and thus for several minutes they 
 remained embraced. Both sobbed — but neither 
 spoke a word, until our heroine, looking around, 
 perceived that she was alone with the Dowager, 
 the surgeon and the handmaidens having left the 
 room. 
 
 " Did you tell them that they were to go, tiear 
 mother ?" asked the young Duchess. 
 
 "No: but they have acted through their own 
 discretion — and they have done well : I wish to 
 be alone with you. 1 am going to leave you, 
 Mary Oh ! I feel that life is ebbing away !" 
 
 " Speak not thus, dear mother !" cried our 
 heroine, the tears flowing down her cheeks. 
 
 " It is the truth, my love — and you must bear 
 it," rejoined the Dowager. " But where is Her- 
 bert ? Will he come soon ?" 
 
 " I expect him every minute — he ought to be 
 here by this time ! I sent for him the first thing 
 in the morning -" 
 
 " Doubtless he will come shortly," interrupted 
 the Dowager; "and heaven grant that I may see 
 him ere Death, whose cold hand I already feel 
 upon, me " 
 
 " No, no* deal" mother ! you will not die thus !" 
 cried our heroine in an impassioned tone. 
 
 "I cannot deceive myself, Mary — nor will I 
 attempt to deceive you. My mind, awaking from 
 a long night of dbscurity and gloom, is now en- 
 dowed with a horrible clearness. , You may think 
 it strange to hear me thus speak : but you may 
 judge from what I say whether my reason be still 
 wandering or not. And therefore let me at once 
 avail thyself of this lucid interval, for fear lest 
 the cloud should come over my mind again,— -let 
 me avail myself of it, I repeat, to impress you 
 with the conviction that it is better I should 
 die now than live tb pass through a terrible 
 
 Ordeal " 
 
 . "Mother! what do you mean?" asked our 
 heroine, in a low shuddering voice ; for though 
 she put the question, she hid no difficulty in com- 
 prehending what the Dowager did mean. 
 
 " I tell you, Mary, that I am now completely 
 calm and lucid," resumed the unfortunate lady. 
 " Just now I awoke from a deep torpor to the ex- 
 cruciating sensitiveness of my actual position— I 
 was startled up as it were from the death-like 
 darkness of a profound trance to the blaze of a 
 vivid sunlight which threw out into the boldest 
 relief all the circumstances that environ me. The 
 paroxysm was fearful — and for an instant it 
 seemed as if vultures were tearing at my brain — 
 scorpions pluhgirig their stiiigs into my heart !" 
 
 " Oh, mother ! mother !" groaned the young 
 Duchess,- with clasped hands ; " this is frightful !" 
 
 " Calm yourself, Mary — for you perceive that I 
 am now calm ; and it is no unnatural calmness 
 which possesses me. It is the calmness which in- 
 evitably attends upon the prostration of all phy- 
 sical energy — the calmness which is unto the soul 
 that experiences it the unmistakable herald of ap- 
 proaching death !" 
 
 " Oh, why is not Herbert here ?" cried our 
 heroine. " Shall I send again for him ?" 
 
 " No," responded the Dowager ; " he will per- 
 haps come presently ; I am not, sorry to be alone 
 with you, Mary. Few are the reminiscences which 
 I have of the incidents that belong to the night- 
 gloom in which my soul has been for some years 
 wrapped : but nevertheless there is one thing 
 which is deeply impressed upon my convictions — 
 and this is that you, Mary, have ever treated me 
 with the tenderest love and kindness. Yes! of this 
 I have a perfect consciousness ! There are many 
 points . upon which I would fain question you — 
 
 but a3 perhaps my time may be short " 
 
 "No, dear mother— do not think so ! You shall 
 live — yes, live to enjoy happiness yet!" — but 
 
 \ 
 
300 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; CK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 scarcely were the words spoken when our heroine 
 felt that she had proclaimed an impossibility. 
 
 " Do not deceive yourself on my account, dear 
 Mary," pursued the Dowager, in a tone that was 
 calm, low, mournful, and affectionate. " I am 
 dying — and it is better that I should thus die. I 
 said so ere now. I have been mad — I know it — 
 and in my madness I have committed a fearful 
 deed. Do not think that because I speak thus 
 calmly of it, T fail to appreciate its stupendous 
 enormity. Oh, that I could recall her to life ! 
 But my conscience is so far appeased that I know 
 God will not hold me answerable for an action 
 which was perpetrated when I was not the mis- 
 tress of myself. No! — that same heaven which 
 in its inscrutable wisdom thought fit to deprive me 
 of my reason, will make every allowance for the 
 deeds that were done while I was groping my way 
 in the clouded gloom of my intellect. I know 
 likewise that the human law may be equally mer- 
 ciful, and that to my case it would not apply the 
 retributive doctrine. But still — but still, Mary, 
 I should have to undergo a trial — I should have 
 to be dragged through the ordeal of a court of 
 justice ; and then perhaps I should be confined to 
 a madhouse for the remainder of my days." 
 
 The young Duchess shuddered with a cold tremor ; 
 for there was a horrible calmness in the manner in 
 which the Dowager spoke these words, and our 
 heroine even began to question whether the light 
 of intellect had after all so completely triumphed 
 over the mind's clouded state as she had at first 
 imagined. Indeed her misgiving on the point in- 
 creased when she beheld her mother-in-law raise 
 her hand to her brow, press that hand upon the 
 bandage which was fastened there, and have every 
 appearance as if she were endeavouring to collect 
 thoughts that were beginning to wander. 
 
 " Of all the circumstances which led to the ter- 
 rible deed," resumed the Dowager, after a brief 
 pause, " I have now a full comprehension. The 
 deed itself, with all its details, is vivid in my 
 mind. Other ideas hover confusedly about it; 
 but it is vainly that I strive to connect them with 
 the one terrific incident itself. My mind must 
 have been excited and horrified by fearful night- 
 mares. Yes ! — I have a dim recollection that 
 you yourself, dear Mary, figured therein " 
 
 "I, dear mother?" — and the young Duchess 
 now listened with a degree of suspense that was 
 excruciatingly poignant. 
 
 " Yes," pursued the Dowager : " but then the 
 images of those who are dearest to us are sure to 
 rise uppermost in our dreams, because they are 
 ever present in our waking thoughts. And thus 
 was it, Mary, that I had some dreadful vision in 
 connexion with yourself — a dream of some danger 
 hanging over you — of some fearful shape that was 
 
 haunting you Yes, and now I recollect, my 
 
 fevered imagination carried me even into your 
 very chamber — and there it sported with me in 
 such a hideous but fantastic manner " 
 
 " What was it that you fancied, dear mother ?" 
 asked the young Duchess, in a low hoarse voice. 
 
 " I scarcely know — I cannot collect my thoughts 
 upon that point :" and again the Dowager pressed 
 her hand to her bandaged brow. 
 
 "Perhaps it were better, dear mother," said 
 our heroine, softly yet earnestly, "to abstain from 
 harrassing your mind with these unpleasant 
 topics ?" 
 
 " Yes — it were better," rejoined the Dowager. 
 "At all events, Mary, I have eaid enough to 
 show you that my mind must have been in a very 
 fevered and morbid state — that it must have been 
 labouring under a great amount of unnatural ex- 
 citement — and that those horrible nightmares had 
 left a kindred impress upon it. I was more mad 
 than ever ! Oh, I must have been fiercely and 
 savagely mad when I could have done such a deed 
 as that ! And if I am horrified at the action it- 
 self, I am equally astonished at the dissimulation 
 that I displayed " 
 
 " Dissimulation, dear mother?" said our heroine 
 inquiringly : and it was with breathless suspense 
 that she hung upon every word which now issued 
 from the lips of her mother-in-law. 
 
 " Yes — dissimulation, Mary," replied the 
 Dowager. " I must not suffer the thread of ideaa 
 to escape out of my mind," — and again she pressed 
 her hand to her brow. "Ah, I will tell you what 
 I mean ! I have a recollection of having done 
 something for which Mrs. Quinlan spoke very 
 harshly to me. She scolded me as if I were a 
 child. What was it that I had done? Oh, if 
 my brain should grow confused before I can tell 
 you everything ! Ah ! there is a gleam of light ! 
 Well, I remember I was standing in the middle of 
 my bedroom with Mrs. Quinlan — we had both 
 nothing on but our nightclothes — and she was re- 
 proaching me for having stolen out of the room, 
 or else having tried to leave it, I do not exactly 
 know which." 
 
 " It matters little, dear mother," said the 
 young Duchess hastily and anxiously. " Do not 
 tax your recollections too much " 
 
 " No, no — I will not, Mary ; for I feel that 
 my brain is getting weaker. Give me some 
 water. There ! raise the glass to my lips." 
 
 " Good Goi ! She is dying !" mentally ejacu- 
 lated our heroine. " Mother, how do you 
 feel?" 
 
 " Better— better now, dear Mary :" but there 
 was evidently an increasing feebleness in the 
 Dowager's voice. 
 
 " Shall I call the surgeon — or the hand- 
 maidens ?" asked the young Duchess, now full of 
 the most feverish anxiety. 
 
 "No, no — Mary ! — they can do me no good ! 
 Besides, I feel better now. I shall last till the 
 Coroner comes." 
 
 "The Coroner?" echoed our heroine. 
 
 " Yes : I have ordered him to be sent for," re- 
 sponded the Dowager. " I know not exactly 
 why he should be uppermost in my thoughts — 
 but so it was at the moment when I begged that 
 he might be summoned." 
 
 " For what purpose ?" asked the young Duchess, 
 in a faint voice. 
 
 " That I may tell him how I did the deed — so 
 that by no possibility there may be any injurious 
 suspicion fall upon others. You see, Mary, that 
 I am anxious to do all I can." 
 
 " Yes, yes, dear mother — I see that you are 
 But what were you telling me ?" 
 
 " Where was I, Mary ?" — and the Dowager's 
 thoughts seemed to be growing slightly confused ; 
 or at all events they were not quite so clear and 
 collected as they were a few minutes back. 
 
 "You were telling me, dear mother, that you 
 were standing in the middle of your own bed- 
 room, and Mrs. Quinlan was scolding you for 
 
THE YCUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 301 
 
 something which you do not recollect, and which 
 indeed is of no consequence." 
 
 " I was very angry with Mrs. Quinlan," re- 
 sumed the Dowager ; " and I have the most per- 
 fect recollection of the idea which was uppermost 
 in my mind. Oh ! you cannot conjecture, Mary, 
 how strange, how wild, and how terrible are the 
 hallucinations which may take possession of the 
 fevered fancy ! Methought that the woman was 
 a fiend — a ghost — a spectre — a dark spirit of 
 evil " 
 
 "Yes, yes. What then, dear mother ?" asked 
 our heroine, with nervous quickness; for she 
 dreaded the channel into which the Dowager's 
 thoughts now seemed to be once more flowing. 
 
 " I was inspired with mingled rage and terror 
 on account of that woman. Alas, poor creature ! 
 she became the victim of my hallucination. I 
 could not control my own thoughts — I was not 
 the mistress of my own mind — and therefore I 
 was equally unable to exercise a control over my 
 actions. Instead of a good, well-meaning, con- 
 scientious, though somewhat arbitrary woman as 
 she really was, I beheld before me naught but a 
 fiend in human shape — a horrible spectre that 
 was haunting me — a demon that had taken a 
 female form for the purpose of working me a mis- 
 chief! Ah, everything now becomes vividly 
 clear once more !" 
 
 " What ? what ?" asked our heroine, still with 
 nervous quickness. 
 
 " All the thoughts which took possession of my 
 brain," pursued the Dowager. " I fancied that 
 the fiend in female shape was laying in wait to 
 kill me, and that if I gave her an opportunity she 
 would take ray life. And thus, Mary — and thus," 
 added the Dowager, with a hollow voice and 
 haggard look, " I resolved upon taking her life in 
 order to save my own !" 
 
 There was a pause, during which the elder 
 Duchess seemed to reflect painfully, and the other 
 one nervously and anxiously. At length the 
 former resumed : — 
 
 " I got into my bed, and shut my eyes, pre- 
 tending to be asleep, though in reality I had not 
 the faintest inclination to slumber. I recollect all 
 this now ! I heard Mrs Quinlan ask if I wanted 
 anything. I did not answer her — but I pretended 
 to breathe as if I were sleeping. Oh, the dissimu- 
 lation of which I was guilty !" 
 
 " You could not help it, dear mother : you were 
 not responsible for it! — Why do you look at me 
 in that strange manner? Speak, speak! Why 
 do you not answer me ?" 
 
 " I was thinking, Mary," answered the Dowager, 
 in a slow deliberate manner, " whether it were 
 possible that I could have been altogether mad ? 
 — whether if my reason had been completely 
 overturned, I could have practised so much dis- 
 simulation ?— for now that I look back on all the 
 details of the fearful deed, I recoil shudderingly 
 from the dread thought that there was a certain 
 amount of calculation displayed therein — a method 
 — a cunning — I scarcely know what term to 
 use " 
 
 "Tranquillize yourself, dear mother, on this 
 head," interjected our heroine : "for, alas ! all 
 these charges which you are now bringing against 
 yourself, are often the symptoms of various con- 
 ditions of mental infirmity — they are psycho- 
 logical phenomena well known to exist " 
 
 " If that be so, Mary, my conscience is relieved 
 from a sudden weight which had fallen upon it." 
 
 " And now therefore you may proceed to ex- 
 plain how — how " 
 
 " I will make the story short. I had no idea 
 it would prove so long when I first entered upon 
 it ! 1 lay awake, as I was saying — and after a 
 while I felt convinced that Mrs. Quinlan slept. I 
 was resolved to kill her. But how ? I need not 
 tell you that the utmost care was taken to leave 
 nothing of a dangerous nature within my reach. 
 The devil that was prompting me, suggested that 
 I should descend into the servants' offices and pro- 
 cure a knife. I knew the outer doors were always 
 locked: I knew also that Mrs. Quinlan kept the 
 
 keys under her pillow though I have now no 
 
 recollection how I could have discovered a fact 
 which she would have doubtless taken every pre- 
 caution to guard from my knowledge. But per- 
 haps, with that cunning which, as you have ex- 
 plained, belongs to certain conditions of mental 
 infirmity, I may have kept watch at times when 
 pretending to be asleep — as was the case last night. 
 But of this I have no positive recollection. How- 
 ever, suffice it to say that I knew the keys were 
 there, — yes, there, beneath the pillow of the sleep- 
 ing woman ! — and I resolved to obtain possession of 
 them. Let me reflect !" — and again was the hand 
 raised to the bandaged brow. " Ah, I remember ! 
 I was nearly half an hour in gently drawing forth 
 those keys from beneath the pillow. 1 did not suffer 
 them to give forth the slightest sound— I held them 
 as noiseless as was the tread of my own naked 
 feet upon the carpet. Yes — and I recollect, too, 
 that I was inspired by a fierce savage joy : there 
 was a ferocious chuckling within me as I went 
 about my horrible work. Oh ! how all the cun- 
 ning to which we ere now alluded, and which 
 characterises mad people, was shown in the 
 stealthy caution of my movements ! — for is it not 
 astonishing, Mary, that they could have been 
 conducted so carefully as to fail to arouse a woman 
 who from the very nature of her avocation must 
 have learnt the habit of light-sleeping ?" 
 
 " Yes — it is a wonder that you did not disturb 
 her," answered the young Duchess, as she recol- 
 lected how the late keeper was wont to boast that 
 she slept so lightly the slightest thing would 
 awaken her. 
 
 "And thus I succeeded in getting the keys 
 from under the pillow while she still slept," re- 
 sumed the Dowager; " and I glided into the 
 dressing-room — I unlocked the door opening on 
 the servants' landing — and I remember that I 
 looked round, more than half convinced that I 
 should see Mrs. Quinlan standing behind me 
 ready to thrust forth her arm, clutch me with her 
 strong hand, and drag me back. Again there- 
 fore I chuckled with a savage joy when I suc- 
 ceeded in reaching the bottom of the staircase 
 and found myself on the threshold of the servants' 
 offices. I chose a knife, Mary," added the 
 Dowager, in a hoarse voice. — " Are you not tired 
 of listening to this horrible narrative ?" 
 
 " I listen to it," replied the young Duchess, " as 
 one listens to a confession which relieves the soul 
 of the person making it. I listen therefore, dear 
 mother, in order that I may be enabled to sym- 
 pathise with you all the more deeply !" 
 
 " Oh ! tliat I am sure you will do, Mary !" ex- 
 exclaimed her mother-in-law, with a joyous ex- 
 
302 
 
 THE YOUHG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 ultation in her accents: but her voice almost 
 immediately grew feeble again, as she went on to 
 say, " I must make an end of this confession, of 
 mine. Picture therefore to yourself, an unfor- 
 tunate woman at the dead of night, inspired by 
 maniac thoughts — guided by a fiend — possessing 
 herself of a murderous weapon — clutching it as if 
 she were at length possessed of the means of rid- 
 ding herself of some terrible enemy and perform- 
 ing an act of righteous justice! Then continue 
 in your imagination to follow in the footsteps of 
 that wretched being whose only justification if 
 that she was a maniac — follow her, I say — ; ascend 
 those stairs with her as she trips so lightly that 
 not a step shall creak beneath her feet — pass with 
 her through the dressing-room— enter into the 
 bed-chamber— proceed with her to the side of the 
 couch wherein her victim reposes ! And then — 
 and then — something flashes before the eyes in 
 the gleaming of the night-lamp ! — it is the mur- 
 derous steel! — and deep it goes down into the 
 bosom of the unfortunate creature, whose earthly 
 sleep is thus suddenly changed, without a moan, 
 and almost without a convulsion, into the eternal 
 slumber„6f death !" 
 
 The Dowager had gradually raised her voice 
 with the excitement, of the horrible description ; 
 and there was for a few instants, a maniac glitter 
 in her eyes ; so that a dread effect was produced 
 upon her listening daughter-in-law, who again 
 found the suspicion stealing into her mind that 
 the Dowager's reason 1 was not completely re- 
 established upon its throne. 
 
 "And then how I exulted! how I rejoiced!" 
 she proceeded. " It was as if a veritable fiend 
 were holding his hideous holiday in my soul, ren- 
 dering it a pandemonium of everything evil and 
 abhorrent ! Oh, Mary, you must loathe and de- 
 test me as you listen to these shocking details !" 
 
 "No, no, dear mother! think not that I shall 
 regard you thus ! You were not in your right 
 senses at the time ! — you are not responsible for 
 the thoughts that accompanied the deed, any more 
 than you are for the deed itself!" 
 
 " Are you sure of this ? Oh, if I could only 
 think so!" — and now the look and manner of 
 the unfortunate lady were completely sane and 
 rational once more. 
 
 "Believe me — believe me, dear mother," re- 
 sponded the young Duchess urgently, "you have 
 committed no crime for which human laws would 
 condemn you or heavenly ones hold yon answer- 
 able! — And now continue. But quick! and make 
 an end of a narrative the details of which excite 
 you so much !" 
 
 The Dowager reflected for a few moments; and 
 then she said; "I recollect that when I first 
 plunged the weapon into the poor creature's bosom 
 —God forgive me ! — very little blood indeed came 
 forth; but when I was going to draw out the 
 knife, it spirted out all over my hand and the 
 sleeve of my night-dress." 
 
 "The sleeve of your night-dress ?" ejaculated 
 the young Duchess. "Why, there was not a 
 mark " 
 
 "Ho, dear Mary-^ — I changed it," replied the 
 Dowager. " The blood-stained garment will. be 
 found at the bottom of the large wardrobe, which 
 I took good care to lock, I washed my hand in 
 the dressing-room, and I made no further attempt 
 to draw forth the knife. I replaced the keys 
 
 under the pillow of the murdered woman ; and I 
 left the outer door of the dressing-room unlocked.. 
 Do you know why ? It was because I was seized 
 with a sudden notion that it would be better not 
 to let it be known that I perpetrated the dread 
 deed. It was not remorse that smote me : on the 
 contrary, t continued to chuckle with a savage 
 joy- — for I felt assured that I had slain a fiend in 
 human shape ! But some instinctive cunning 
 prompted me to conceal the authorship of the 
 crime : so I thought that by leaving the door un- 
 locked and restoring the keys to their proper 
 place, it would seem as if Mrs. Quinlan had gone 
 to bed without locking that particular door at all, 
 and that some unknown assassin had thus been 
 enabled to penetrate thither. Down to that point, 
 Mary, do I recollect the ideas and motives which 
 swayed my conduct ; and then there follows a 
 complete blank, until I awoke to find myself lying 
 here, my brow bandaged on account of a fall, and 
 the lamp of reason rapidly flaming up in my 
 brain !" 
 
 " What, dear mother !" asked the young Duchess 
 eagerly : " you recollect nothing which occurred 
 in the interval ?" 
 
 " Nothing," was the response. " Yes ! — I do 
 
 remember that I went to bed to be sure ! I 
 
 remember it now ! And then — and then " 
 
 " Never mind reflecting !" interrupted our hero- 
 roine : " do not distress yourself, dear mother ! do 
 not bewilder your brain by uselessly exercising 
 it!" 
 
 "No — I will not," answered the Dowager, 
 whose, voice was now so faint as to be scarcely 
 audible. 
 
 There was a long pause, during which the 
 young Duchess; while meditating intently upon 
 all she had heard, naturally came to the satis- 
 factory conclusion that her mother-in-law's mind 
 was a complete blank in respect to everything 
 which had occurred that might in any way com- 
 promise her. It was even evident that when the 
 Dowager had awakened in the morning, she had 
 recollected nothing of the awful occurrences of the 
 preceding night ; she had not even retained the 
 consciousness of her own awful deed. She had 
 forgotten that she was a murderess I And 
 thus in the, confused and jumbled state of her 
 ideas and reminiscences, she had associated the 
 image of Mandeville with the death of the unfor- 
 tunate woman ; and when she had. caught a 
 glimpse of his form concealed behind the cur- 
 tains, she was smitten with an overwhelming 
 terror at the idea that she there beheld the fiend 
 who had done the deed. All these facts were now 
 sufficiently evident to the comprehension of the 
 young Duchess, who was solemnly and awfully 
 impressed with the whole series of incidents that 
 had occurred at Thornbury within the last four- 
 and-twenty hours. 
 
 Her reflections lasted for some minutes, — at the 
 expiration of which she looked towards her 
 mother-in-law, whose eyes were now closed, and 
 who appeared to be dozing. There was presently 
 a gentle knock at the door : our heroine hastened 
 to answer it ; and Mr. Brooks, the , surgeon, 
 proved to be the individual who sought admit- 
 tance. 
 
 " How is her Grace ?" he asked, in a cautious 
 whisper, as he entered the apartment. " I thought 
 that I had better come to inquire, for upwards of 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OY QUALITY. 
 
 803 
 
 Rii hour has elapsed since I left your Grace alone 
 ■with her." 
 
 " She seems to he sinking off' into slumber," 
 Said our heroine, glancing towards her mother-in- 
 law, whose eyes still remained closed. " Is there 
 really any danger, Mr. Brooks ?" 
 
 " It is my duty to inform your Grace that 
 ttiere is every danger. The system has received 
 a shock which under such peculiar circumstances 
 can scarcely fail to prove fetal. All tremendous 
 revulsions in the human system are to be dreaded. 
 It was by a fall, a few years ago, that her Grace 
 lost her intellects : it 13 now by a fall that she to 
 a certain extent regains them — but regains them 
 only as a dying lamp flames up for a moment ere 
 it flickers into' extinction !" 
 
 "And thus — yoii think — there is no hope, Mr. 
 Brooks ?" asked our heroine tremulously. 
 
 " I did not say tluit, your Grace : but I would 
 have you prepare for the very worst. Everything 
 that I can do for her ladyship shall be done. I 
 have been home to Beaconsfield for certain 
 medicines ; and I wMl now administer a draught." 
 
 This was done accordingly ; and the Dowager- 
 Duchess, reviving somewhat from the torpor which 
 appeared to have been gaining upon her, took her 
 daughter-in-law's hand, saying, " Tou must pre- 
 pare to lose me, dear Mary. I feel that I cannot 
 survive the shock which I have sustained !" 
 
 The door now again opened ; and Lavinia made 
 her appearance to announce that the Coroner and 
 "another gentleman" sought admittance. The 
 young Duchess hastily asked who the other gen- 
 tleman was? — and Lavinia, drawing her young 
 mistress aside, whispered in her ear a few words 
 of explanation. 
 
 "What is it?" asked the Dowager. "If you 
 ' hare any unpleasant intelligence to communicate, 
 hesitate not to impart it, — no matter what it may 
 be ! Anything is preferable to suspense." 
 
 Oar heroine glided towards the couch ; and 
 bending down to her mother-in-law's ear, she said, 
 "The Coroner judged from the message which 
 you sent to Mm, that you wished to unburden 
 your mind— and — and — inasmuch as he is some- 
 what peculiarly situated, he thought it expedient 
 to ask a justice of the peace to accompany him." 
 
 This explanation was given hesitatingly and 
 delicately: but the Dowager-Duchess seerned to 
 be perfectly firm and collected; and she said, 
 " Let the Coroner and the Magistrate enter." 
 
 Those functionaries were accordingly intro- 
 duced : our heroine remained in the apartment, 
 as did likewise the surgeon ; and the latter whis- 
 pered urgently in the Coroner's ear to the effect 
 that it would be expedient for the proceeding to 
 be rendered as brief as possible. We need' not 
 linger upon it. Suffice it to say that in a calm 
 and lucid manner, but with every evidence of the 
 deepest regret for the tragedy, the Dowager- 
 Duchess avowed herself to be the author of it. 
 The Coroner and the Magistrate withdrew : bu^ 
 ere they left the house, a corroboration of the con- 
 fession they had just heard was sought for and 
 found in "the bloodstained garment which had 
 been put away in the wardrobe. The Coroner's 
 Jury returned a verdict in accordance with the 
 evidence that was placed before them; and a 
 warrant was made out, according to the law's re- 
 quirement, for the arrest of the Dowager-Duchess 
 of Ardkigh. But this was a mere formal pro- 
 
 ceeding ; for the unfortunate lady relapsed into a 
 torpor, soon after the departure of the Coroner 
 and the Magistrate — she sank rapidly — and by 
 the evening of the following day she had ceased 
 to exist. 
 
 Mandeville had taken his departure from Thorn- 
 bury immediately after that scene which we have 
 described : but he remained in the neighbourhood 
 until he had ascertained the result of the inquest ; 
 and then he returned to London. He longed to 
 see the young Duchess ere he thus left the neigh- 
 bourhood; but he dared not call- again at the 
 mansion: he saw that such » proceeding would 
 not only be most indelicate under existing cir- 
 cumstances, but would also tend to compromise 
 our heroine's character most seriously in reference 
 to himself. 
 
 The Duke reached Thornbury in the evening, 
 soon after the verdict of the Jury Had been 
 delivered : he had been absent a few miles from 
 London at the time when the summons was sent 
 to the town-mansion. It would be impossible to 
 describe the mingled horror and anguish which 
 he had experienced on receiving the startling 
 news : nor is it a topic that we need dwell upon. 
 When he reached Thornbury, his unfortunate 
 mother was plunged deep into that stupor from 
 which there was no awakening, but which was 
 destined to lead on rapidly, though almost imper- 
 ceptibly, until it merged into the trance of death ! 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 HESIEB AGAIN. 
 
 We must remind onr readers that it was on the 
 night of the 2nd of June that the corpse of Ivan 
 Zadouski was conveyed to the house of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Grills, and that the girl Hester, stealing 
 down stairs, from herown chamber, peeped into the 
 scullery and beheld the appalling spectacle which 
 has already been described. We must now sup- 
 pose that a couple of days have elapsed ; and it 
 is the evening of the 4th' of June of which we are 
 going to write. 
 
 It was between nine and ten o'clock that Henri 
 Ponchard made his way to the house to which we 
 have alluded, and where he was instantaneously 
 admitted. In a few moments he was closeted 
 with Mr. and Mrs. Grills in the parlour ; and 
 haying tossed off a dram of brandy which was 
 presented to him, he inquired, " Any news ? has 
 anything occurred ? is everything all right ?" 
 
 He did not put these queries anxiously or ner- 
 vously : indeed he did not seem in any hurry to 
 set his mind at rest upon those points ; for though 
 passionate and excitable when engaged in argu- 
 ment, especially on political subjects, he was 
 cool-headed and self-possessed on all occasions 
 when there was need for resolute action and calm 
 intrepidity. 
 
 " Everythink as right as a trivet," said Mr. 
 Grills, thus giving a general answer to the several 
 questions that had been put. 
 
 " So much^the better," observed Ponchard, but 
 with a certain coolness, or even a callousness, 
 just as if he would have been by no means sur- 
 prised to receive intelligence somewhat less 
 
sni 
 
 TTIE TOUNO DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY, 
 
 favourable. " Nothing suspicious in that quarter 
 — you know what I mean ?" 
 
 "What! Hester?" said Mrs. Grills. "No- 
 nothing to fear there. The gal has no more idea 
 of what's been going on in the bouse for the two 
 last nights than the man in the moon — and 
 p'rhaps not half so much," added the woman, with 
 a coarse laugh. 
 
 " That is to say," observed Ponchard inquir- 
 ingly, "she is just the same as usual?" 
 
 "Except that she complained a good deal of 
 headache to day," responded the woman, "and 
 wouldn't take no brandy." 
 
 " But did she go out?" asked Ponchard. 
 
 " Yes she went and took a walk ; but I did 
 as you told me — I followed her at a distance. 
 I took very good care she shouldn't see me " 
 
 " And there was nothing peculiar in her pro- 
 ceedings ?" asked the Frenchman. " Did she look 
 about her as if she thought she might be 
 watched ?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied Mrs. Grills. 
 
 " Did she go into any place where she might 
 meet any one unknown to yon ?" 
 
 " She never entered any house at all, not even 
 so much as a shop ; and I'll take my hoath," 
 added Mrs. Grills, helping herself to some brandy, 
 " that she did not speak to a policeman." 
 
 " Has she mentioned my name since the night 
 before last ?" inquired Ponchard. 
 
 " Well, I don't think she was the first to men- 
 tion it," resumed Mrs. Grills ; " but this morning, 
 at breakfast-time, I said something, as if quite 
 promiscuous— and I watched the gal, but her face 
 never changed." 
 
 " She dropped her roll, though, at the moment, 
 now I recollect," said Grills. 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! it -was an accident," ex- 
 claimed the woman. " Trust me for knowing how 
 to tell what's passing in people's minds by their 
 looks — pertikler young gals such as Hester. I 
 said you was likely to be here this evening, sir ; 
 and I'm sure she never suspected for, a moment 
 that you was here the best part of; all last night." 
 
 Henri Ponchard was reflecting deeply;' and he 
 gave no immediate answer to the information he 
 had just received. Though daring and intrepid, 
 yet was he of all men the very first to adopt as 
 many precautions as possible ; and it was that 
 very self-possession on his part which constituted 
 the cautiousness of his disposition, even when he 
 might appear to be callous, flippant, or indifferent 
 in certain circumstances. 
 
 "What is it you're thinking on ?" asked Mr. 
 Grills, at length breaking the silence which for 
 some minutes prevailed. 
 
 'J Hester dropped her roll when my name was 
 ,m|ffltioned?" said Ponchard thoughtfully : "Hester 
 hjff a beadache. and would not drink brandy? 
 Hesf er_tyent out for a walk, and went wandering 
 about in a sort of vague uncertain manner ?" 
 
 "I didn't say so," interjected Mrs. Grills, with 
 a slight expression of alarm upon her bloated 
 countenance. 
 
 " Perhaps not," observed Ponchard ; " and per- 
 haps I may be wrong. But I do not like the 
 aspect of the thing. In » word, I suspect the 
 girl." 
 
 "By jingo!" said Grills, in a low, savage, 
 concentrated tone, as he clutched a knife that lay 
 upon the table : "if I thought " 
 
 " Nonsense !" ejaculated Mrs. Grills : " I don't 
 for a moment bolieve there's anything wrong about 
 the gal. If I did, I shouldn't be fool enough to 
 blind my eyes to it, because it might just be the 
 werry same thing as wilfully thrusting one's neck 
 into a halter. But of course when people are en- 
 gaged in things, that might get them into trouble, 
 they're always suspicious, and they make mole- 
 hills into mountains. It's like poor timid cree- 
 turs which sees ghostesscs when if they went 
 straight up to 'em and touched 'em they'd prove 
 to be postesses. For my part I'm no more afeerd 
 of Hester than I am of that strange cat which 
 came a-sniffin' in at the scullery door last night 
 when you was cutting up the rest of the stiff 'un." 
 
 " And I don't say I'm afeard," interjected 
 Mr. Grills ; "but what I meant is that if so be 
 there's any risk to run on the part of that gal, 
 why the sooner she's put out of the way the 
 better." 
 
 The Frenchman gave a sudden start, and the 
 word " miscreant !" in his own language wavered 
 for a moment upon his lips : but quickly compos- 
 ing himself, he said, " No, no ! not for the world ! 
 At all events such a crime should not be perpe- 
 trated unless it were to be found absolutely ne- 
 cessary. In politics one cares not how the blood 
 of tyrants or traitors may be spilt ; but apart 
 from that However, no matter !" and he sud- 
 denly checked himself ; for contrary to his 
 habitual caution, he was giving audible vent to 
 his musings. " But at all events," he said, turn- 
 ing towards Mrs. Grills, "you ought to know 
 Hester better than I ; and if you are satisfied that 
 she is all safe, it is not for me to give way to mis- 
 givings." 
 
 "I'm so satisfied^ answered the woman, "that 
 I don't flinch a bit from what I've got to do pre- 
 sently." 
 
 " Well and bravely spoken !" cried Ponchard. 
 "At all events when once the business is finished 
 according to our plan, there will be nothing to 
 fear. It's the English law that the remains of 
 the dead must be discovered and produced — aye, 
 and identified too, by some means or another— 
 before a charge of murder or complicity therein 
 can be sustained. Well," added the Frenchman, 
 with a grim smile, " I think we have destroyed 
 the identity of Ivan Zadouski " 
 
 " You have at least !" interjected Mrs. Grills, 
 with a chuckle. " Ah ! what a thing it is to be 
 a surgeon!" 
 
 " It ain't a bad name which we sometimes 
 gives the genelmen of your profession," remarked 
 Mr. Grills. " We calls 'em sawbones." 
 
 " But as I was saying," pursued Ponchard, 
 " we have destroyed the identity of the deceased ; 
 and by midnight at latest let us hope that all the 
 remains will have been consigned whence they 
 are never likely to be fished up." 
 
 " And after all," said Mr. Grills, " me and my 
 old 'ooman here had nothink to do with the killin' 
 of the Polish genelman." 
 
 "Ah, my good fellow," exclaimed Ponchard, 
 " don't begin talking in that strain, or else I shall 
 think your courage is failing and you want to 
 sneak out of the business." 
 
 " Not I, by jingo !" — and Mr. Grills gave vent 
 to two or three other imprecations of a nature not 
 to be expressed in print. 
 
 "So much the better," resumed Ponchard 
 
 
THE TOUHG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS 01 A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 305 
 
 quietly ; '■' because it is now too late to think of 
 climbing towards any such loophole as that to 
 which you seem to allude. I .had no more hand 
 in murdering the traitorous Pole than you : but 
 now we have all rendered -ourselves as criminal as 
 the actual dealer of the death-blow— I mean in 
 the eye of the law— by the fact of disposing 
 secretly of the corpse. But this isnot language 
 that I need hold to either of you ; for you are 
 both stanch, faithful, and bold. Besides, I hinted 
 that the reward originally promised might be 
 somewhat increased— and I mean to keen mv 
 word." r ' 
 
 " As for me," said Mrs. Grills, fortifying her- 
 self with another glass of brandy, " I mean to go 
 on with it to the end." 
 
 " In course I mean you should," growled her 
 husband; "arid whatsumever I said oughn't to 
 have been taken as if so be I wanted to back 
 out." 
 
 No. 30. — Tire Young Duchess. 
 
 "No more on that subject," said Ponchard. 
 "Here is a salve for the wound which I have in- 
 flicted :" — and he placed a bank-note in the man's 
 hand, at the same time muttering to himself, " It 
 is lucky Petronoff happens to be in funds at the 
 moment to meet these expenses liberally." 
 . " Have you seen your friend, sir ?" asked Mrs. 
 
 Grills. " I mean him as " 
 
 " You mean Karl Petronoff, who was with me 
 the night before last when we thrust the corpse 
 into the cab, and who, as I have before told you, 
 
 was the one who struck the blow. Yes I have 
 
 seen him. My part of the business is wellmigh 
 finished ; and he, Mrs. Grills, will meet you pre- 
 sently according to the understanding." 
 
 "All right," said the woman. " I shan't draw 
 back. At what o'clock ?'' 
 " Between eleven and twelve." 
 " That, I suppose, meara half-past eleven punc- 
 tiwal ?" 
 
305 
 
 THIS YOUm DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " At half-past eleven precisely. It is now ten 
 o'clock," continued Ponchard, referring to his 
 watch. " There is a good hour to spare. I tell 
 you what — I think I had better see Hester. We 
 will drink a bottle of wine together ; and in any 
 case it can do no harm. The girl was somewhat 
 suspicious the night before last — or if not sus- 
 picious, she was jealous at being excluded from 
 all confidence in the secrets which I had with you ; 
 and so it will be as well to appease and cajole 
 her." 
 
 " All right," said Mrs. Grills "I will pall her 
 down, and send you in the wine. Come, Grills : 
 we've business to attend to." 
 
 The husband and wife quitted the parlour ; and 
 in a few minutes Hester Sergeant made her ap- 
 pearance, bearing a little tray on which were the 
 bottle of wine and glasses. 
 
 " Well, Hester my dear," said Pondhard, with 
 his usual air of offhand affability mingled with a 
 patronising kindness towards the girl, " how are 
 you now ? I was -sorry to hear you were -not well 
 — you had a headache " 
 
 "Oh, that was through staying in-doors : so 
 much," replied Hester, in whose manner there 
 was naught to excite — or rather, we should say, 
 to strengthen any suspicion which the ^French- 
 man's mind might have formed concerning her. 
 " I go out so seldom ; and when I do, it is only 
 into the close streets, and not into the open 
 country. Oh, how I long to get into the green 
 fields! — how 1 shoul<| like to (plunge into the 
 depths of a wood and inhale the purity of its 
 atmosphere ! What freshness, too, for the eyes 
 to enjoy in gazing upon its verdure, as a change 
 from this wilderness of brick and mortar!" 
 
 "Why, on my soul, Hester, you are becoming 
 quite poetical!" exclaimed Ponchard, laughing, 
 while in reality he surveyed the girl with the most 
 scrutinizing attention. 
 
 "Oh, these humours tome over one at times," 
 she said, suddenly adopting an air of abandoned 
 and reckless indifference. "I know you think I 
 am a fool to give way to such silly dreams. And 
 so I am. Come, let as drink !" 
 
 " By the bye, do you like wine ?" added Pon- 
 chard, as he filled the glasses. "What was it 
 that Mrs. Grills told me ? Ah, I recollect ! She 
 said that she was afraid you were out of sorts, as 
 you refused the drop of brandy she offered you." 
 
 It struck Ponchard, as he stole a scrutinizing 
 glance at the girl's countenance while affecting to 
 be busy in pouring out the wine, that her dark eyes 
 were riveted on him at the time with a peculiar 
 expression : but if it were so, their look changed so 
 rapidly that the next moment he could not be cer- 
 tain that it was as he had fancied. 
 
 " And so you would like to go into the country 
 Hester ?" he said. 
 
 " How do you mean ? For a holiday — or for 
 ever?" — and then the girl raised the wine to her 
 lips. 
 
 " Nay, I ought rather to ask which you mean ?" 
 said Ponchard, smiling. " Would you like to leave 
 for ever this wilderness of brick and mortar, as 
 you call it?" 
 
 "Yes — my God! for ever! — for ever!" an- 
 swered the girl, with a strange emphasis : then 
 suddenly bxvrsting out into a hollow laugh, she 
 cried.with flippant levity, " But it is ridiculous in 
 me to talk thus ! I hare no chance of leaving 
 
 this earthly pandemonium — this seething cauldron 
 of vile passions, jarring interests, and myriad 
 varieties of selfishness !" 
 
 "You are bitter, Hester." 
 
 "Ah! and you would be bitter if you knew this 
 horrible London as well as I !" 
 
 It was with the most serious attention that 
 Ponchard now again contemplated the young girl, 
 as he asked himself, " Is her present disposition 
 precisely the same as that which impelled her to 
 narrate her history to me the evening before last ? 
 or has some change taken place within her ? If 
 so, what has caused it ?" 
 
 " Come, give me more wine!" she said, again 
 bursting out into a light laugh. 
 
 " Let us talk of the ccmntry once more, Hester," 
 s^aid Ponchard, refilling her glass, though he had 
 as yet scarcely touched his own. " Shall we talk 
 again of the country ?" 
 
 "What is the use df.it?" exclaimed the girl, 
 almost petulantly. " I shall newr be able to leave 
 London — unless it be at the end of my career, 
 some 'few years hence, whenLmayperhaps be glad 
 to drag myself away from these busy haunts and 
 seek some Shady lane or verdant copse, where I 
 may lay me down to die! Or else" — and here 
 her eyes flamed suddenly and strangely, and her 
 lips writhed, with a bitterness that seemed to com- 
 municate itself to her words, — " 3 may more pro- 
 bably he perishing on some dunghill — and that 
 heaven knows, must be in the open country!" 
 
 " Foolish girl ! why do you talk thus ?" asked 
 Ponchard, caressing ier cheek with his hand, with 
 that soothing and compassionating kindness of 
 ifeeling -which he was frequently wont to display 
 towards the unfortunate creature. 
 
 " Well, I am silly — and I know it," she said, 
 flow again laughing. " I do not taiow how it is," 
 she continued, with a careless manner of speech, 
 and yet with an abstracted expression of counte- 
 nance, "but ever since I told you my history the 
 night beforejlast, 1 have felt as if I had a sort of 
 right to trouble you with my whims and fancies." 
 . " And you shall do so if you think fit, Hester," 
 interrupted ^Ponchard. "But listen to me, my 
 dear girl. I am going to speak of the country 
 again — I will propose to you a holiday if you will 
 accept it " 
 
 " A holiday ?" — and she fixed her eyes inquir- 
 ingly upon him. 
 
 "Yes — a day's excursion — a pleasure-trip to 
 some pretty place, where you shall walk through 
 the fields, pick the wild flowers, or rove in the 
 woods. What say you, Hester ? — will you come 
 with me?" 
 
 It struck Ponchard that she gazed upon him 
 with a peculiar expression: he did not like it : for 
 the moment it struck him that there was mistrust 
 in that look; and he mentally ejaculated, "By 
 heaven, she does suspect or know something, and 
 she will not trust herself in my company !" 
 
 But scarcely had this thought swept through his 
 mind, when Hester's look' was totally changed ; 
 and as she laid her hand upon his, as if with the 
 familiarity of complctest confidence, she said, " Of 
 course I should like such a holiday. I am only 
 afraid that it would render me averse to return to 
 the stifling atmosphere of the metropolis. How- 
 ever, there is scarcely any pleasure which is totally 
 unmixed with pain ; and so it will be in this in« 
 stance." 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 807 
 
 " Well then, Hester, it is agreed ! To-morrow 
 or next day — according as my engagements stand 
 when I shall presently reflect on them — I will 
 take you for an excursion into the country. To 
 ■which place shall we go ? It is for you to de- 
 cide." 
 
 " Since you are kind enough to leave it to me," 
 answered the girl, with every appearance of 
 
 smiling gratitude, "I think I should prefer 
 
 But no, no ! I must not !" she ejaculated, thus 
 suddenly checking herself : " I could not revisit 
 that spot !" 
 
 " Where do you mean, Hester ?" asked Pon- 
 chard. 
 
 "I mean near Lewisham," she responded, — 
 " the place where my earliest years were passed 
 with those maiden sisters — the poor Miss Mor- 
 pheas, who afterwards " 
 
 "What !" exclaimed Ponchard, with a sudden, 
 start. " What name was that which you men- 
 tioned?" 
 
 " Morphew. But why do you ask ? You sur- 
 prise me !" said the girl. 
 
 " And the name of the two maiden sisters — 
 with whom you lived, I think you said, until you 
 were seven years old " 
 
 " Yes — so I told you. How well you recollect 
 my history ! But why do you ask ? Do you 
 know that name of Morphew ?" 
 
 " I know it ! But tell me, Hester — have you 
 any recollection of those ladies? What think 
 you would be their ages now if they were 
 alive?" 
 
 The girl reflected for a few moments ; and then 
 she said, "As nearly as I can surmise from such re- 
 collections as the casual observation of childhood 
 leaves behind it, I should think they would be 
 some few years past sixty." 
 
 " Do you happen to know the Christian name 
 of the younger?" demanded Ponchard, as some 
 recollection seemed to strike him. 
 
 " Oh, I remember perfectly well, it was Caro- 
 line ! We used to call the elder Miss Morphew, 
 and the other Miss Caroline." 
 
 " They are the same!" said Ponchard. " What 
 a singular coincidence ! And you told me that 
 their school was broken up — and that they were 
 ruined — and that they went away no one knew 
 whither ?" 
 
 " Yes — I told you all this," cried Hester, be- 
 coming much excited. " And, Oh ! if you know 
 anything of these people, tell me I beseech youi 
 — for if there be any lips on the face of this 
 earth which can make a revelation in respect to 
 my parentage, their's must be those lips !" 
 
 "Hester," said the Frenchman, "I do know 
 where these women are to be found. They are 
 sadly fallen in the world — you will perhaps be 
 alike shocked and surprised " 
 
 " How can I be shocked at anything ?" ejacu- 
 lated the girl. " Perhaps they would be shocked, 
 if you present me to them, to learn what I have 
 become! But no matter! I must see them — 
 Oh ! I must see them ! — for if they could tell me 
 anything in reference to my parents, it might 
 clear up a mystery which if you had asked me 
 about it only ten minutes or a quarter of an hour 
 ago, I should have said could never by any pos- 
 sibility be elucidated .'" 
 
 "You shall see these women, Hester," answered 
 Ponchard, 
 
 "You promise it?" — and the girl's hand was 
 laid for a moment in familiar trustfulness upon 
 the Frenchman's shoulder : — but all in a moment 
 her countenance underwent a change — she flung 
 one quick searching look upon Ponchard — and 
 then said in a somewhat cold tone, "After all, I 
 daresay it was a mistake, and the women you 
 allude to are not the Miss Morphews of Hillside 
 House near Lewisham." 
 
 Ponchard bit his Up for a moment, as he 
 thought within himself, " There can be no doubt 
 this girl suspects or else knows something of what 
 has happened I She is afraid of me I She thinks 
 I shall lead her into a snare !" — but stifling the 
 various feelings which this idea excited within 
 him, he said, with his accustomed air of affable 
 kindness, " You seem to think, Hester, that he- 
 cause I am interested in you I am too sanguine 
 in attaching importance to matters which may 
 turn out to be mere coincidences, and will there- 
 fore be fraught with disappointment. But I look 
 upon the pircumstance as more serious " 
 
 " Let us talk of something else," interjected the 
 girl. "Come, give me more-wine 1" 
 
 " To be sure !" — and he refilled her glass. "But 
 do answer me one question. Should you know 
 the handwriting of Caroline Morphew ? It may 
 be changed with" the addition of years since you 
 were at Lewisham " 
 
 " I am sure I should know it !" ejaculated 
 Hester: "it would be impossible to mistake it! 
 Through some malformation of the forefinger she 
 held her pen in such a way that her writing, in- 
 stead of sloping forward as usual, was completely 
 upright." 
 
 "Then look!" said Ponchard; and drawing 
 forth a paper, which seemed to be a receipt for 
 rent, he displayed it before the eyes of Hester 
 Sergeant. 
 
 " It is her's ! it is her's !" she at once ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 Then, into her brain there was such a gush of 
 the memories of other days — days of childhood's 
 innocence and happiness, all alike gone never to 
 be recalled! — that she was overwhelmed by this 
 flood of emotions ; and sinking down upon the seat 
 whence she had sprung up, she burst into tears. 
 Ponchard suffered her to give way to her feelings 
 for some minutes before he spoke 1 another word ; 
 and then at length he said, in a gentle voice, 
 " Now, Hester, do you believe me ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes — I can no longer doubt it ! But is 
 it possible," she asked, suddenly dashing away 
 her tears, ''that those poor ladies have come 
 down in the world to such a degree — that— 
 that " 
 
 " Yes, it is so. You shall see them to-morrow. 
 I will come and fetch you, if you will : or if you 
 would rather visit them alone in the first in- 
 stance " 
 
 " Oh, all things considered," cried Hester, " I 
 do not think that I shall visit them at all :"■ — and 
 once more did there come over the girl one of 
 those sudden changes which appeared to charac- 
 terize her as completely as alternations of shower 
 and sunshine belong to the fickle April. 
 
 "What dtk,you mean, Hester ?"" asked Pon- 
 chard, gazing at her with the most unfeigned asto- 
 nishment. 
 
 " I will tell you," she answered. " If I go to 
 them it will be to make inquiries concerning my 
 
 \ 
 
308 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 parentage — -will it not ? Well, they will either 
 have it in their power to give me the information 
 • — or they will not. If it be the latter, a painful 
 interview will have taken place for nothing." 
 
 " But if the former ?" asked the Frenchman. 
 
 " Oh, then of what avail for me to discover who 
 my parents are ? Is it not most probable that I 
 was the child of shame ? — or else wherefore the 
 mystery with which my parentage was enveloped? 
 And this being so, shall I put myself in the t^ack 
 of discovering a mother who will have to blush iri 
 a two-fold sense ? — yes, bldsh for her, own shame 
 in the presence of. her daughter — and blush to ac- 
 knowledge' a' daughter who is herself steeped to 
 the very lips in shame !" 
 
 ' "Extraordinary girl !" ejaculated Ponchard, 
 gazing .upon Hester with mingled astonishment 
 and admiration. 
 
 "And therefore," she continued, not heeding the 
 interruption on his part, complimentary to herself 
 though it were — " and thus,",sh'e said, u . it would 
 be a source of sorrow instead of happiness '. for me 
 to disc'ovgr the'^secret of my birth ; — and at all 
 events I will hot run the risk of plunging a dag- 
 ger into the heart of a mother I" 
 
 "But on; the other hand, Hester," said Pon- 
 chard, ."is" it not possible that a mother may be 
 yearning for a daughter ? — and even if you be the 
 child of shame, you may yet be dear to the parent 
 who would behold in you the pledge of her un- 
 requited love for another ! Or is it even impos- 
 sible that you may be the offspring of a secret mar- 
 riage, over which circumstances no longer render it 
 compulsory or expedient that the veil of mystery 
 should be thrown ? and may not fond parents be 
 pining in bitterness for the lost child whom they 
 would now so gladly welcome to their arms ? . In 
 any case," pursued the Frenchman, who saw,that 
 the girl was becoming more aod more , deeply 
 touched by . 'the Slanguage', he', was addressing unto 
 her, — " in any case, it would be as well for you 
 to ascertain whatsoever, particulars ' these .old 
 women maybe,.enablecl to furnish relative to your 
 birth — supposing them to possess any knowledge 
 upon the point at all; — and it will then be^for 
 you to judge whether you choose to prosecute 
 the inquiry any . farther, or whether you shall 
 stop short at?3ome-particular point." 
 
 " True !" said Hester, in a low murmuring 
 tone: " true ! The, advice is good!— And you 
 who give it to me," she, ejaculated abruptly) 
 darting a quick look upon the Frenchman's coun- 
 tenance, "must be my friend arid well-wisher I 
 You cannot be otherwise!" — and now she .fixed 
 her gaze upon him, as if by the reading of his 
 features she sought to find corroboration for the 
 opinion she had just uttered, or. else' that she 
 might be enabled to undeceive herself altogether.; 
 
 "lam your' friend, Hester — I swear that I 
 am!" he emphatically responded. "Arid now 
 retire to your own room — think over all that has 
 been said — and prepare for an interview to- 
 morrow with those women, — an interview which 
 may probably produce results of no mean import- 
 jmce to yourself ?" 
 
 The young woman said not a word in reply ; 
 but she bent upon Ponchard a look of unmistak- 
 able gratitude — she seized one of his hands, and 
 pressed it with fervid violence — and the next in- 
 stant she glided from the room. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 THE BRIDGE. 
 
 Henri Ponchard looked at his watch : it wai 
 now a quarter to eleven o'clock ; and he said to 
 himself, "It is time," • 
 
 .. He descended^ gently into'the scullery, where 
 hejfonnd Mr. .and. Mrs. Grills ; and a glance at 
 their proceedings showed him that , they were 
 making all requisite preparations for^ the next 
 step ;towards the complete concealment of the 
 corpse. 
 
 i" Well," said the woman, as Ponchard made 
 his appearance, " what do you make of Hester 
 now?" _,....'.*. 
 
 " That she has a suspicion of some sort or an- 
 other, I feel convinced," replied the Frenchman ; 
 " but whether it amounts to any actual knowledge 
 or not, I cannot say." 
 
 ,;„,'; TJiengwhat's to, be done?" demanded Grills 
 savagely.' "It would be a. deuce of a thing if 
 we was to get- into any trouble after all the pains 
 
 we've took — " :'',{; ' 
 
 '" Fear nothing," interrupted Ponchard. " Cir- 
 cumstances have given me some insight not only 
 into .Hester's strange character, but ;also into her 
 past history'; and I have obtained a sort of hold 
 
 upon her— ho matter how nor what it is " 
 
 . "Well, Grills,", 'said, his. wife, "if so be the 
 genelman is, satisfied, what's the use of bothering 
 ourselves' any, more upon the pint?" 
 ... "Not ; abit," ahJ3w;ered the man in his gruff 
 voice. " So there's a end of it." 
 . We must now direct the reader's attention to 
 the proceedings in- which the horrible man and 
 woman we're occupied'at the moment when Pon- 
 chard; thus Joined them. A revolting spectacle 
 was before them : but they recoiled not from it ! 
 Hideous objects, lay upon a table : but they 
 were not i appalled ! The fragments of a . human 
 form ! — these were scattered there ! But heavens ! 
 what appearances did they wear ! The table of 
 the anatomist never could have displayed ghast- 
 lier horrors !— the work which the scalpel does on 
 behalf of science, would be deemed pleasant and 
 agreeable to the eye, in comparison with the re- 
 sults of dark expediency and criminal precaution 
 that might be seen .there ! The bones sawed or 
 chopped in ,pieces-f-the : flesh hacked and hewed 
 ;off, and disposed. of by some means or another — 
 the disjointed, severecLparts flung pell mell about, 
 —this was the spectacle that presented itself! 
 But the head of the deceased was not there ; nor 
 any. portion of it. It had been boiled in the 
 copper until all, the flesh came from the bones ; 
 and then the bones themselves had been burnt : — 
 and this was the precaution, so deliberate and so 
 horrible, that had been taken to prevent the iden- 
 tity of that corpse from ever being established ! 
 And in that same copper the flesKwbich had been N 
 hacked and hewed away fron\ the bones, had like- 
 wise been boiled down ere thrown away along with 
 the usual household refuse. The chemical know- 
 ledge of Ponchard had furnished the means of 
 destroying every disagreeable odour during the 
 appalling process. 
 
 But we will not linger at unnecessary length 
 upon this revolting scene*: we will hasten to in- 
 form our readers that the corpse, or rather the 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS: OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 309 
 
 fragments thereof, having been reduced to port- 
 able dimensions, were now being packed away in 
 a carpet-bag, along with the garments which the 
 unfortunate Ivan Zadouski had worn at the time 
 when he met his death. , • • 
 
 " By the bye," asked Ponchard, after a brief 
 interval of silence, during which he watched 
 Grills and his wife in the performance of their hor- 
 rible Work; "have you told your friend Nat Bul- 
 mer to be" ready with his cab ?" j 
 
 " Not such a fool !" replied Grills. ."Me and 
 the old 'ooman discussed that part of the business 
 this mornin' arter breakfast ; and .we agreed that 
 it wouldn't do to let Nat have the slightest means 
 of suspecting that we had any pertickler business 
 on hand at this hour. Cos why, if so be as the 
 carpet-bag should be fished up — though it isn't 
 likely, yet it may be, you know — — " 
 
 " But I thought you meant to borrow the eab," 
 said Ponchard, " as you have often done before, 
 and drive it yourself, so as to put your wife down 
 at the nearest convenient point." 
 
 " That part of our plan is altered," .interrupted 
 Grills. " It's better to -have nothink to do with 
 one's neighbours in a business of this sort. The 
 less reason Nat Buhner has to know'we're busy 
 or a-stirring this night, the better. So the old 
 'opman will go and shift for herself; and I'm 
 blowed if she'll leave a clue behind her." 
 
 Ponchard glanced at the bloated countenance of 
 Mrs. Grills; and he could indeed full well judge 
 by its expression that she was not likely to flinch 
 from the task she had undertaken. All the frag- 
 ments of the corpse — all those mutilated remnants 
 of the unfortunate Pole — were now consigned to 
 the carpet-bag, which was then locked and 
 strapped, so that it looked just for all the world 
 as if it contained the wearing apparel and toilet 
 necessaries of some person who was going on a 
 journey. 
 
 . . " Well, it's rayther heavy," said Mrs. Grills, 
 with a coarse chuckle as she tried its weight : " but 
 not too heivy — and there's nothing in its appear- 
 ance to excite suspicion." 
 
 " Nothing," observed Ponchard. 
 "Here's the cord," said Mr. Grills, handing a 
 closely-packed coil of clothes'-line to his wife, 
 who at once secured it in her capacious pocket. 
 
 . " Now," said she, " for my bonnet and shawl — 
 and I'm off." 
 
 She ascended to her bed-chamber, dressed her- 
 self for going out, and on coming down stairs 
 again, found Ponchard in the passage waiting for 
 her. 
 
 " It's all right," he whispered : and then he 
 opened the front-door for the woman to issue 
 forth. 
 
 Closing it again immediately behind her, he 
 remained in the house — while she, having assured 
 herself that the coast was clear, turned into an 
 adjacent street, where she met her husband, who, 
 in the meanwhile had stolen out of the premises 
 by means of the back gate, with the carpet-bag in 
 his hand. This he now consigned to his wife : 
 not a word was spoken between them ; and they 
 at once separated, — the woman continuing her 
 way, and the man retracing his steps to his abode. 
 So soon as Grills returned to report that the 
 business had progressed thus far in perfect 
 security, Ponchard at once fulfilled the remainder 
 of his own portion of the hideous compact by 
 
 placing a sum of money in the fellow's hands 
 He then took his leave, intimating that he should 
 call on the morrow. 
 
 We must now follow in the footsteps of Mrs. 
 Grills, "who was making the best of her way to- 
 wards ..the Westminster Road, which was close 
 by, and which therefore in a very few minutes 
 she gained. 
 
 "Cab, ma'am?" was the salutation which a't 
 once tnet. her ears from the lips of the driver of a 
 vehicle loitering along the kerb-stone for the pur- 
 pose of picking up a fare. 
 
 ," Yes," answered Mrs. Grills : and as 'the man 
 opened the door, she at once flung in her hideous 
 burden, so as to dispense with his officious ser- 
 vices. " Charing Cross ! — and drive quick, or I 
 shall miss the last omnibus down to Chelsea." 
 
 Up jumped the driver, and away went the cab. 
 Mrs. Grills took care to have the money in readi-\ 
 ness for the fare ; so that the instant the vehicle 
 stopped at Charing Cross, she stepped out with 
 her carpet-bag in her hand, gave the man the 
 coin, and bustled towards a couple of omnibuses 
 that were stopping close by to take up passengers. 
 One was for Chelsea — the other was for Padding- 
 ton : but Mrs. Grills pretended that neither suited 
 her — for the cab which brought her was already 
 driving away, and the cabman was not busying 
 himself to ascertain whether she entered the 
 Chelsea omnibus or not. She hailed another cab, 
 and bade him drive along the Strand, " as she 
 wanted to overtake a Waterloo omnibus, to go 
 to the Elephant and Castle." She was now again 
 in motion : — again too she had her fare in readi- 
 ness, so that as she alighted at the corner of Wel- 
 lington Street, she carried her carpet-bag in one 
 hand, paid the man with the other, and at once 
 made rapidly for the bridge. 
 
 The woman was fortified with a horrible cool- 
 ness — a brazen hardihood that was partly natural 
 and partly the result of the brandy which she had 
 been drinking. She had no fear of detection : she 
 considered that she was playing a game which was 
 perfectly safe. As for any sensation of loathing 
 in respect to the contents of the carpet-bag, she 
 had none ; and so far as compunction was con- 
 cerned, it was not likely that she would be 
 troubled on this score, inasmuch as she was enabled 
 to make matters perfectly right with her own 
 conscience by means of the reflection that she had 
 naught to do with the perpetration of the murder 
 itself. It was therefore no wonder if she went 
 about the work in a self-possessed business-like 
 way worthy of a better cause. 
 
 She held in her hand the halfpenny to pay 
 the toll ; and on reaching the toll-gate, she flung 
 the coin upon the iron-table at which the toll- 
 taker stood. She was then pushing onward with 
 her burden, when behold ! the gate was too nar- 
 row : — the carpet-bag, as she held it, would not 
 pass through ! 
 
 "Now then, ma'am," exclaimed the toll- 
 keeper, " what are you up to ? Dash me if you 
 haven't made the gate take two turns instead of 
 one!" 
 
 Mrs. Grills comprehended in a moment what the 
 toll-keeper meant. The mechanism of the gate, 
 communicating with an indicator inside, showed 
 the number of passengers that passed through 
 during the twenty-four hours ; and thus there must 
 be a certain corresponding number of halfpence. 
 
310 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 By forcing the gate it had marked two for her 
 one halfpenny. Without losing her presence of 
 mind, she felt in her pocket for another half- 
 penny ; and at the same moment the toll-keeper, 
 stooping down, lifted the carpet-bag, and placed 
 it on the iron plate, or table. This was the 
 work of an instant. Mrs. Grills had not foreseen 
 it, and could not prevent it. She was struck with 
 a sensation of horrible dread : her hardihood and 
 self-possession seemed to abandon her in the 
 twinkling of an eye. 
 
 " There, ma'am," said the toll-keeper in a" civil 
 good-natured way ; " now it's all right. The 
 bag's heavy for you to carry, though." 
 
 Mrs. .Grills felt as if she must sink down upon 
 the eartli ; for the toll-keeper still kept his band 
 upon the bag, and her consternation was too great 
 to show her that it was merely in a listless, 
 meaningless, unsuspecting way that his hand did 
 still rest there. 
 
 " But if so be, ma'am, you're going to catch 
 the quarter-to-twelve down-train, you must look 
 sharp." 
 
 All the woman's courage revived in a moment. 
 She saw that the man suspected nothing. The 
 mention of the train furnished her with an excuse 
 to be expeditious : she flung down the second 
 half-penny, seized the carpet-bag, and passed 
 through the toll-gate. She now once again 
 breathed freely : but scarcely had she advanced 
 thirty paces when she was destined to receive a 
 shock more terrible than that which she had just 
 experienced. For all in a moment her ear caught 
 the name, whispered somewhere close by, of Ivan 
 Zadouski ! 
 
 She stopped short, as if suddenly smitten with 
 a spell and transfixed to the spot. She dropped 
 the carpet-bag; and the strong woman was 
 paralysed with the direst terror. Neither natural 
 disposition nor the effect of brandy helped to 
 sustain her at that moment ! 
 
 " Ivan Zadouski !" — Yes, as plain and as un- 
 mistakable as words could be, though only whis- 
 pered in the lowest accents, that namehaH reached 
 her ear! But whence did it come? She was 
 alone in that part of the bridge — or at least her 
 eyes could not discern any one through the gloom 
 of the night. Was it a delusion? was her imagi- 
 nation playing off its freaks upon her ? or Was 
 Murder raising its mysterious voice upon the 
 breath, of the night-air ? and were the horrible 
 remnants of mortality enclosed within the carpet- 
 hag becoming temporarily endowed with some 
 strange and preternatural vitality, that they 
 might proclaim the name which in their compact 
 collected state of life they had borne? 
 
 But all was now still save the sighing of the 
 night-wind over the river ; and the woman, 
 rapidly taking courage, said to herself, " It must 
 have been fancy on my part." 
 
 She picked up the carpet-bag, and hurriedly 
 continued her way, glancing back to see whether 
 any one was following, and then plunging her 
 eyes forward to discern whether the light of the 
 -lamps would reveal any approaching . form from 
 the other extremity of the bridge. Yes — a tall 
 man was advancing ; and perhaps this might be 
 lie whom she was to meet. She had never seen 
 Karl Petronoff ; but Ponchard had described him 
 to her — and moreover he was to give her a pass- 
 word so that there might be no mistake. 
 
 The form drew nearer ; arid though it was in 
 the middle of summer, and the night was by no 
 means cold despite the breeze which blew along 
 the river, the individual was enveloped in a cloak. 
 He was walking slowly, every now and then look- 
 ing about him, and therefore seeming as if he were 
 waiting for somebody. As he drew nearer still, 
 Mrs. Grills heard that he was talking to himself, 
 and as she now discerned that he wore a great 
 deal of hair upon his face, she was almost con- 
 pletely convinced that this must be Karl Petronoff. 
 On he came; and just as they were within two or 
 three yards of each other, the tall individual 
 breathed a name — " Ivan Zadouski !" 
 
 The woman stopped short — looked very hard at 
 the tall personage — and then was instantaneously 
 seized with uncertainty and bewilderment; for 
 she saw that he had light hair, auburn whiskers, 
 and moustaches that were lighter still — whereas 
 Petronoff had been described to her as grey-haired 
 and having his beard streaked with white. Besides, 
 at the same instant it struck her that the person- 
 age now in her presence must be several inches 
 taller than the individual whom she was expect- 
 ing to meet. 
 
 " Ivan Zadouski !" — yes, as plain and unmis- 
 takable as words could be, had that name come 
 from the lips of the tall cloaked personage whom 
 she thus met upon the bridge I She stopped short, 
 we say — she looked hard at that individual. He 
 stopped also, though at first evidently about to 
 pass ; and seeing how singularly she regarded him, 
 he fixed an inquiring look upon her, but said no- 
 thing. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," Mrs. Grills now has- 
 tened to exclaim: "you must have thought it 
 very strange that I should have stopped — but it 
 struck me you mentioned the name " 
 
 " Ah, indeed ?" interjected the tall cloaked 
 personage, who spoke with a foreign accent. " It 
 may be so ! I was deep in thought. But the 
 name — why should it have struck you ? Do you 
 know it?" 
 
 It instantaneously occurred to Mrs. Grills that 
 since there was now scarcely a doubt that the 
 name was mentioned from this stranger's lips, he 
 might be somebody whom Petronoff had sent in 
 his stead ; and the idea was all the more natural 
 from the fact that the personage was himself a 
 foreigner. So under this impression she said 
 without further hesitation, " Yes, I know the 
 name." 
 
 "Ah, you know it ?" ejaculated the stranger: 
 " you know the name of Ivan Zadouski ?" 
 
 "I know the name," responded Mrs. Grills; 
 " but I did not expect to hear it mentioned." 
 
 "What do you mean? I do not understand 
 you !" exclaimed the stranger. 
 
 "You have got something else to say to me," 
 replied Mrs. Grills, bending a significant look upon 
 him. 
 
 " Something else?" 
 
 " Yes— to be sure. Come, think now ! I dare- 
 say it is ail right — but still one must be 
 cautious " 
 
 " In the name of heaven, woman " 
 
 "Come, come, sir," she interrupted him, "what 
 is the use of being petulant? I tell you I've 
 no doubt it's all right ; but still you can just give 
 me the pass-word ?" 
 
 The stranger stamped his foot with impatient 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALIT1'. 
 
 311 
 
 rage : but evidently making an effort to master 
 his angry feelings, he said, " There surely must be 
 some mistake 1 Tell me what you mean ?" 
 
 " Before I speak another word of explanation," 
 said Mrs. Grills, again getting bewildered, and to 
 some degree frightened, " you must tell me what 
 yo« mean ?" 
 
 "What I mean?" — and the tall form was 
 drawn up with the loftiest hauteur. 
 
 " Yes — what you mean," persisted Mrs. Grills. 
 " I'll put a question if you like. You mentioned 
 a certain name just as you came close up to 
 me " 
 
 " Yes : and since I have said it once, I will 
 repeat it. It was the name of Ivan Zadouski." 
 
 " And why did you mention that name ?" asked 
 Mi's. Grills. 
 
 " You know the name, it appears ?" said the 
 stranger. 
 
 " I have already admitted it. But answer me 
 — why did you mention it ?" 
 
 It was now the stranger's turn to form some 
 conjecture ; and this was very similar to the one 
 which the woman herself had conceived u few 
 minutes back. The fact is, he supposed she had 
 been sent thitber to meet him, and she had there- 
 fore come instead of the person whom he was ex- 
 pecting at that hour to fall in with upon that 
 bridge. 
 
 " I see, my good woman," he said, " that 
 though you are pretty sure in your own mind that 
 you have encountered the right person, yet you 
 are properly cautious, and you seek to convince 
 yourself beyond doubt of the fact. Well then, I 
 will tell you I am here to meet Ivan Zadouski." 
 
 " Sere — to meet him ?" said Mrs. Grills, 
 faintly. 
 
 " Yes — I am here to meet him," repeated the 
 stranger, and he looked searchingly at the 
 woman. 
 
 "To meet Aim?" she repeated; for it struck 
 her that there was something horribly ludicrous 
 in the fact that if he had come in the hope of 
 meeting the living man, he was now uncon- 
 sciously encountering all that remained of Ivan 
 Zadouski inside that very carpet-bag which she 
 carried in her hand ! 
 
 "And you perhaps," said the stranger, not un- 
 derstanding her hesitation and singular manner, — 
 "and you have come to tell me that Ivan 
 Zadouski cannot meet me to-night ?" 
 
 " That's just it," answered Mrs. Grills, catch- 
 ing at this means of puting an end to an inter- 
 view which was not only detaining, but also be- 
 ginning to alarm her. 
 
 "Ah, this is provoking!" ejaculated the tall 
 personage. " When will he come ?" 
 
 "To-morrow night instead," Tejoined Mrs. 
 Grills. 
 
 " Good ! But are you sure ? can I rely upon 
 him? May not the same cause, whatever it 
 be, which prevents him from coming to-night, 
 also prevent him keeping the appointment to- 
 morrow ?" 
 
 Mrs. Grills shuddered despite all her brazen 
 hardihood : but perceiving at the moment another 
 person approaching, from the Surrey extremity of 
 the bridge, she plucked up all her presence of 
 mind, and said, as if in a decisive manner, "You 
 may be sure of meeting him here to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 " Tell him to fail not :" — and the tall personage 
 then sped along towards the Strand extremity of 
 the bridge. 
 
 Mrs. Grills was also continuing her own way, 
 wondering at the incident that had just occurred 
 when she again heard the name of Ivan Zadouski 
 breathed close by — it seemed to be in a subdued 
 whisper — then all was still and she perceived no 
 one near ! She glanced back : — could it be the 
 tall stranger again talking to himself ? No : he 
 was too far off for the sound of his voice to be 
 heard. What could it mean ? She looked about 
 in bewilderment and terror : but, Ah ! what a 
 mortal dread seized upon her when between the 
 granite balusters or pillars of the parapet she be- 
 held a human face looking straight at her. 
 
 The bag dropped from her hand — she closed he 
 eyes — she staggered back— and she would have 
 fallen if the arm of some one who appeared at the 
 instant upon the spot, had not sustained her. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" asked the individual, 
 
 with a foreign accent. " Hah ! it must be !" 
 
 and then fixing his eyes significantly upon the 
 woman, who now opened her own, he said with 
 marked impressiveness, "Henri Ponc7iard\" 
 
 " To be sure ! that's the pass-word ! and you 
 are Karl Petronoff?" — for Mrs. Grills not merely 
 knew him by the fact of that watchword, but like- 
 wise by the personal description which had been 
 given of him. 
 
 " What is the matter with you ?" he quickly 
 demanded. " Ponchard told me you were 
 brave " 
 
 " Look over the parapet," ejaculated Mrs. 
 Grills, with a feverish terror. " Quick, quick !" 
 
 " There is no one here," responded Petronoff, as 
 he obeyed her mandate. 
 
 " Look well along the ledge ! — make sure ! Do 
 you see no one ?" 
 
 "No one, I repeat." 
 
 " No one crouching down anywhere ? Look 
 well !" 
 
 " I see no one. But why do yon ask ? What 
 are you frightened at ?" inquired Petronoff, who 
 though of desperate intrepidity and hairbrained 
 dauntlessness, nevertheless began to catch the in- 
 fection of the woman's own terrors, especially 
 when he glanced again and again at the carpet- 
 bag which lay at her feet. 
 
 " Perhaps it's nothing," said Mrs. Grills. 
 " Come along, and let's be quick. There ! carry 
 the bag. I can't any longer !" 
 
 "Yes — it is heavy," said Petronoff, as he lifted 
 it. 
 
 "Well," continued the woman, "I don't know 
 that it's altogether because it's heavy that I can't 
 carry it any further ; but the truth is I've already 
 had enough of it, and shall be only too glad to 
 get well quit of it." 
 
 "This woman is a coward after all!" muttered 
 Petronoff to himself: "how the devil could Pon- 
 chard have been so deceived in her ? — Come, 
 come," he said, speaking audibly, " cheer up." 
 
 " Here, let us stop at this seat," interrupted 
 Mrs. Grills : " it's a convenient place. I've got a 
 cord — and you can stand upon the parapet and 
 lower " 
 
 " Hush !" said Karl, nudging his companion 
 with some degree of violence : "people are coming ! 
 Let's place the bag on the seat and sit so as to 
 conceal it." 
 
312 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 Mrs. Grills obeyed him mechanically ; and 
 almost immediately afterwards two young females, 
 whose loud light talk and flaunting apparel de- 
 noted what they were, passed by. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Grills was endeavouring to 
 gather up her almost prostrated courage : but she 
 found it difficult; for the face haunted her — and 
 whichever way she glanced, she thought she still 
 beheld it gazing steadfastly upon her. 
 
 " Now let's finish the business," she suddenly 
 ejaculated ; for she thought that she should feel 
 more tranquil if the horrible bag were disposed 
 of. 
 
 " Do not be in a hurry," interposed Karl Petro- 
 noff. "Look! those girls have stopped yonder. 
 They seem to be surveying' the scene — perhaps 
 they are contemplating the silent flowing river, 
 with a presentiment that it may some day be their 
 own doom." 
 
 "How horrible you talk!" said Mrs. Grills, 
 with a shudder. 
 
 "Ah! you are really frightened? Come, tell 
 me," continued Petronoff, as he gazed searchingly 
 upon the repulsive bloated countenance of his 
 companion, " why did you bid me look just now 
 over the parapet ?" 
 
 " Because twice since I first set foot on this 
 bridge ten minutes back, I heard some voice 
 whisper the name of Ivan Zadouski — but I saw 
 no one ; and if it was a human voice at all, it 
 must have been that of some one who was con- 
 cealed nigh at hand." 
 
 " Pure imagination !" ejaculated Petronoff. 
 
 " Well, perhaps, it was — and so we'll grant it 
 to have been, if you like. And I'll tell you what, 
 sir," continued Mrs. Grills, in a low voice; " my 
 imagination never before played me such a trick 
 as it just now did — if imagination it really was — 
 when it showed me a face staring right at me be- 
 twixt the stone railings, — a bearded face too ! — 
 and if it wasn't the face of you know who I 
 mean — him who is in this bag — then my name 
 isn't Betty Grills, and I'm not a living woman, 
 and this isn't a bridge !" 
 
 "All nonsense! fancy! imagination !" ejacu- 
 lated Petronoff, starting up. "Come,' the girls 
 are gone — the coast is clear — let us proceed to 
 business !" 
 
 " Here's the rope," said Mrs. Grills. " There ! 
 fasten it,, and be quick !" 
 
 But Petronoff did not require any such'inj unc- 
 tion : he was expeditious in his proceedings : he 
 mounted upon the seat, and quickly lowered the 
 carpet-bag over the parapet. 
 
 " Here comes some one!" Mrs. Grills suddenly 
 ejaculated : and as the woman's nerves had been 
 painfully acted upon, it is no wonder if she threw 
 an accent of terror into her speech. 
 
 " There !" cried Petronoff : " you have made me 
 drop the rope, you startled me so !" 
 
 "Well, never mind! How can that possibly 
 matter?" demanded Mrs. Grills. "The bag's 
 gone, and that's sufficient. You weren't foolish 
 enough to think you could draw the rope up again 
 without having the bag at the end of it?" 
 
 "No — but 1 meant to make sure by the feel, 
 that the bag went fairly down into the river. 
 I should have known when it touched the 
 water " 
 
 "And where, in the name of common sense, 
 could it have gone except into the river V" 
 
 " I should like to have made sure that it cleared 
 all the masonry," rejoined Petronoff. 
 
 " There's no fear on that scpre," said Mrs. Grills, 
 impatiently. "Depend upon it, it's all right 
 enough. You go that way — and I'll go this. 
 Good night." 
 
 " Good night," answered Petronoff : and he and 
 the woman separated ; for a glance flung along 
 the bridge, showed him that people were approach- 
 ing from both directions. 
 
 He pursued his way ; towards the Strand; while 
 Mrs. Grills passed through the toll-gate on the 
 Surrey side ; and she was soon plunging into the 
 maze of narrow streets which led towards her own 
 habitation. But as she pursued her way, she 
 could not banish from her memory the face which 
 had looked at her between the stonework of the 
 parapet of the bridge. 
 
 Before we conclude this chapter, we must direct 
 the reader's attention for a few minutes to Gros- 
 venor Square. There, in the palatial mansion of 
 the Eussian Embassy, Count Olonetz was seated 
 in his private cabinet, looking over some official 
 documents, but every now and then glancing 
 towards the timepiece and the door as if he were 
 expecting some one. At length that door opened ; 
 and a middle-aged man, with a bearded counte- 
 nance, made his appearance. He looked like a 
 superior' sort of domestic ; and indeed we may as 
 well observe that he was one of the Count's valets 
 — a man of trustworthiness, a willing tool in 
 whom his master could place the fullest confi- 
 dence. We need hardly add that he was a Rus- 
 sian ; but it may perhaps be as well to observe 
 that he spoke the English language with the 
 utmost facility, and was therefore particularly 
 useful in assisting to carry out any of the Am- 
 bassador's dark mysterious plans on the British 
 soil. 
 
 " Ah, Nicholas — come at last ?" said the Count, 
 waiting till the man had carefully closed the door. 
 
 " What tidings ? , Is it done? No! before you 
 
 answer me lean tell by your countenance that 
 there has been u failure of some kind or an- 
 other?" 
 
 "A failure for to-rught, my lord," was the re- 
 sponse, accompanied by a low bow ; " but there 
 is every reason to hope that the arrangements will 
 stand good for to-morrow night." 
 
 "Then I suppose the appointment was not 
 kept ?" said the Ambassador inquiringly. 
 
 "It was not, my lord. I had my six men in 
 readiness, all ambushed as nicely as possible — 
 three with me, crouching on the ledge of the para- 
 pet on one side — three concealed in a similar man- 
 ner on the other " 
 
 " I have no doubt, Nicholas, your dispositions 
 were most admirably made. And the Grand 
 Duke " 
 
 " His Imperial Highness was upon the bridge 
 at about twenty minutes past eleven." 
 
 " A good ten minutes before the appointed time !" 
 interjected Count Olonetz. 
 
 "It was so, my lord: — and his Imperial High- 
 ness walked to and fro with a visible anxiety." 
 
 " How came he to learn that the appointment 
 would not be kept?" asked the Ambassador : and 
 then in an undertone he muttered to himself, " I 
 hope that fellow Mandeville has not been playing 
 any fast and loose game !" 
 
 " It was from an "elderly female, my lord, with 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 313 
 
 HENEI rONCDAKD. 
 
 forbidding looks enough, that his Imperial High- 
 ness received the information. Bat something took 
 place which it is quite proper I should mention." 
 "And what is that?" demanded the Count 
 "I will tell your Excellency," returned Ni- 
 cholas. " I was crouching down outside the 
 parapet, and Michael had just crawled along the 
 ledge from a little farther down the bridge, to tell 
 me that his Imperial Highness seemed much ex- 
 cited, for that he was talking audibly as he paced 
 to and fro. I asked Michael what he was saying. 
 ' I could scarcely make out the sense of what his 
 No. 40>— The Young Duchess. 
 
 Highness was saying,' replied) Michael; 'but 
 there are two names which seem principally to be 
 upon his tongue.' — ' And what names are those ?' 
 
 I asked. — ' Mildred is one,' returned Michael. 
 
 ' And the other ?' inquired I. — ' Ivan Zadouski.' 
 rejoined he. — At that very moment a stout elderly 
 woman who had just comejUpon the bridge, stopped 
 short, dropped a bundle or'bag of some kind that 
 she was carrying, and looked as if she was seized 
 with sudden illness or else with a mortal terror. 
 Of course Michael' and I kept closely concealed ; 
 but on peeping through the stone-work, I saw 
 
314 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS J OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 how the woman was affected through some cause 
 or another. However, it soon passed — she snatched 
 up her bundle and went on." 
 
 " And what is there strange or peculiar in this 
 incident?" asked the Ambassador. " Oh, but I 
 see you have not finished ? Continue." 
 
 " It was this same woman, my lord, who met 
 hi? Imperial Highness, and told him that the ap- 
 pointment was to stand over until to-morrow night 
 at the same hour." 
 
 " You heard therefore all that passed?" 
 
 "To be sure, my lord. Were not those your 
 Excellency's instructions ? No sooner had I 'found 
 that the Grand Duke and the woman were talking 
 together, than I stole along the ledge of the para- 
 pet, and was speedily crouched down close by 
 where they were carrying on their discourse. There 
 was a good deal of beating about the bush between 
 them : the woman seemed to have been enjoined 
 to adopt a special caution — she wanted a pass-word 
 — his Imperial Highness was evidently agitated, 
 and perhaps had forgotten it. However, the wo- 
 man delivered her message at last — and they 
 separated." 
 
 "Have you anything more to tell?" inquired 
 the Ambassador. 
 
 "One other little incident, my lord. Your 
 Excellency must understand that Michael and 
 the two others on that same side of the bridge, 
 had crept along the ledge close behind me, so that 
 we might be all in readiness to act according to 
 circumstances : because . if Ivan Zadouski "had 
 made his appearance, we should have obeyed 
 your Excellency's orders by waiting until he had 
 separated from his Imperial Highness, when we 
 should have waylaid and seized upon him. How- 
 ever, he came not ; and after the Grand Duke 
 had left the woman, Michael again whispered 
 something to me about Zadouski. I had no doubt 
 on that occasion that as he incautiously spoke too 
 loud the name met the woman's ear ; and she was 
 " evidently stricken with dismay and astonishment. 
 I was resolved to have a good look at her, in order 
 that I might know her again on some future occa- 
 sion ; and I accordingly raised myself up from the 
 ledge, and gazed at her for a moment between 
 the granite balusters or pillars of the parapet. I 
 think," continued Nicholas with a passing smile, 
 "that I was as unguarded in that action as 
 Michael had previously been in his whisperings ; 
 for there can be no doubt that the woman caught 
 a glimpse of my face, and frightened enough she 
 was." 
 
 "Well enough she might be!" interjected the 
 Ambassador. 
 
 " Another moment, my lord," resumed Nicholas, 
 " and I was gliding along the ledge, with Michael 
 and the others ; for some one had come up to the 
 spot at the instant " 
 
 " You mean where the woman was standing ?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord : and I thought that in case 
 she should explain the nature of her fears and bid 
 him look over the parapet, it would be better for 
 us to get out of the way in order that her alarm 
 should be set down to mere fancy — which no doubt 
 was the case." 
 
 " You were indeed incautious in showing your- 
 self, Nicholas," said the Ambassador, somewhat 
 sternly ; " as Michael was equally unguarded in 
 speaking so loud." 
 
 " I thought it better your Excellency should be 
 
 made acquainted with every detail of what really 
 did happen :" — and Nicholas spoke penitentially. 
 
 " I am not chiding you, my good fellow — nor 
 do I mean to upbraid you," resumed the Count, 
 " for you invariably tell me the truth, and if you 
 commit an error you confess it — though seldom 
 indeed is it that either you yourself or Michael 
 are at fault. But though I purpose not to blame 
 you, yet I cannot help deploring this want of 
 caution. If that woman were frightened, and if 
 she fancied herself watched, she might go and tell 
 Ivan Zadouski some tale to prevent him from 
 keeping the appointment to-morrow night." 
 
 " I hope, my lord," answered Nicholas, hanging 
 down his head, " that nothing so vexatious will 
 result from the indiscretion displayed by Michael 
 and myself." 
 
 " Let us hope so," added the Ambassador : and 
 with a sign he then dismissed the man from his 
 presence. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 EDWARD WALPOLE. 
 
 It was ten o'clock in the morning which followed 
 the night whereof we have been writing ; and a 
 plain carriage — drawn however By a pair of ex- 
 cellent horses — stopped at the door of a house in 
 Hanover Square. Front that carriage a short, 
 thin, bustling individual alighted; and as the 
 front door was opened by a genteel-looking page 
 resplendent in a new livery, the gentleman ex- 
 claimed, " I need not ask whether your master is 
 at home at this hour ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir — master's at breakfast," was the 
 young menial'3 response. "Shall I announce 
 yon, Mr Seymour?" 
 
 " Not necessary ! I can announce myself :" — 
 and the bustling visitor at once sprang up the 
 staircase three steps at a time, as if he were over- 
 whelmed with business and was therefore com- 
 pelled to live in an incessant state of activity and 
 excitement. 
 
 He burst into a handsomely furnished room, 
 where a young nian in a flowered silk dressing- 
 gown was seated at a well-spread breakfast table. 
 His age might have been about twenty — a year 
 more or less, it was not very easy to determine ; 
 for Ms countenance, somewhat pale, at first struck 
 the beholder as being very juvenile, until a closer 
 inspection discerned a degree of intelligence which 
 seemed to belong to maturer experiences. He 
 was good-looking, with dark brown hair curling 
 naturally, large blue eyes, and a well-formed 
 mouth. He was tall, slender, and well made; 
 his appearance was sufficiently genteel — but 
 there was nothing actually distinguished nor 
 fashionable about it — much less any of that 
 West End dandyism which is so largely affected 
 by "young men about town." Books were lying 
 scattered about on the sofa and the side tables ; 
 and if their title-pages had been referred to, it 
 would be seen they belonged to the graver rather 
 than the lighter class oi literature. He flung 
 from his hand the morning newspaper as Mr. 
 Seymour entered the room ; and springing from 
 his chair, the young man rushed forward to give 
 his visitor a welcome which had something more 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS i OK, MEMOIKS OF A hADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 315 
 
 than mere cordial friendliness in it : it seemed 
 to be grateful and even affectionate. 
 
 "Always in a hurry, my dear sir?" he said, 
 with a smile, when the usual morning compli- 
 ments were exchanged. 
 
 "Hurry, my dear boy!" cried the great con- 
 tractor : " to be sure I am ! But really, when I 
 come to you, it is more through habit that I have 
 this appearance of violent haste than because I 
 am in reality anxious to cut short my visit. 
 There!'' he continued, placing his hat on' the 
 sideboard, and then settling himself in a chair ; 
 " now I will endeavour to put off this bustling 
 air of mine for half-an-hour or so. Tell me, Ed- 
 ward — are you happy?" 
 
 " Oh, how could I be otherwise, my benefac- 
 tor ?" exclaimed the young man, with a look and 
 tone of fervid enthusiasm, as he caught Mr. Sey- 
 mour's hand and pressed it in both his own. 
 
 "Do not call me your benefactor," said this 
 gentleman, his lip quivering with emotions. 
 
 "Not my benefactor?" cried the young man, 
 in astonishment "As well bid me declare that 
 the sun is not bright, or the roses have no fra- 
 grance, or that providence itself is not good !" 
 
 " And what, Edward," said Mr. Seymour, fix- 
 ing his looks with a strange significancy upon 
 him, — " what if I were to tell you that all for 
 which you thank me is in reality no boon, but a 
 simple act of justice ?" 
 
 "I should say, my dear sir, that I cannot 
 understand you," was the young man's answer. 
 
 "But what," pursued Seymour, "if I were to 
 assure you that this conduct on my part is far 
 from being a disinterested benevolence — it is even 
 more than a simple act of justice — aye, and more 
 
 even than a, duty ! It is — it is But I must 
 
 not be too quick !" — and the great railway con- 
 tractor, who usually seemed to have no mind nor 
 soul for aught save business and worldly affairs, 
 was now visibly agitated with some deep inward 
 emotions. 
 
 "My dear sir," said the young man, again 
 taking Seymour's hand, and speaking in a tone of 
 the most affectionate earnestness and grateful 
 fervour, " that I must be sensible of a deep mys- 
 tery in all that has occurred to me within the last 
 fortnight, you cannot be otherwise than aware. 
 Yes ! — for when I awake in the morning, my 
 first idea is that it is all a dream, and several 
 minutes elapse ere I can persuade myself that it 
 is the truth. Then, naturally enough, I ask my- 
 self certain questions — why all this should have 
 happened to me ? why heaven should have sent 
 me such a friend ? and what I can have done or 
 who I can be that all the fabulous wonders of the 
 Arabian Tales are realized for my benefit ? Oh, 
 Mr. Seymour ! your own good sense will tell you 
 that it is natural I should experience this amount 
 of curiosity ! But hear me; sir — hear me, I be- 
 seech you, while I proceed to declare that if there 
 be any reason why it would pain you to clear up 
 that mystery and to tell me the entire truth, I 
 would rather remain in uncertainty and darkness 
 till the end of my days ! Oh, believe me, I have 
 power over my own feelings — I can stifle those 
 sentiments of curiosity — and I can crush all ille- 
 gitimate yearnings to plunge into the forbidden 
 realms of mystery ! You have already made me 
 acquainted with so much happiness, that I would 
 not for the world display such black ingratitude 
 
 as to ask a question inopportunely or prema- 
 turely!" 
 
 "Excellent young man!" cried Seymour, the 
 tears starting into his eyes. " And to think that 
 
 I should "' But he stopped short, and hastily 
 
 wiping away those tears, he said, " Yes, Edward, 
 you must think it was strange ! it ought to be 
 absolutely bewildering to you !" 
 
 "I accept my happiness with gratitude,'' he 
 meekly replied : " I kiss the hand which bestows 
 it ; and if it be better that I should never learn 
 why it is thus showered upon me, heaven knows 
 that I can resign myself to a lifetime of igno- 
 rance upon the point !" 
 
 "And yet, Edward," said Mr. Seymour, " it is 
 absolutely necessary that certain matters should 
 be cleared up to your comprehension- I have no 
 right to leave you to such conjectur.es as you may 
 perhaps be inclined to form. "With all your 
 patience, a,nd with all your self-denying readiness 
 ■to stifle the yearnings of curiosity, you cannot 
 prevent your imagination from soaring in the 
 realms of surmise. It is natural ! In the absence 
 of certainty, the human mind is involuntarily com- 
 pelled to take refuge in conjecture. Now it is 
 possible — indeed I fear it is most probable — that 
 you are very likely under existing circumstances 
 to form a conjecture that must be painful and 
 humiliating to yourself, as well as dishonouring 
 to her who gave you birth. In plain terms, 
 Edward, you may have perhaps surmised — that — 
 that — I am your father — and that you are illegi- 
 timately born?" 
 
 A blush rose to, the cheeks of tbe young man : 
 he bent down his eyes for a moment : and then, 
 suddenly raising those looks with an expression 
 of unmistakable frankness, he said, " It is true! 
 that thought has floated in my mind! But I 
 have banished it! — for it would kill me with 
 despair and grief to think that I have wronged 
 you by a suspicion, or shed a taint upon the me- 
 mory of that mother who you have told me is no 
 more." 
 
 "Your mother, Edward," answered Mr. Sey- 
 mour, solemnly, " does indeed deserve this justice 
 at your hands !" He paused — stifled a so,h— and 
 added, " She was the best and purest of women !" 
 
 The tears stole down the cheeks of the young 
 man ; and slowly wiping them away, he gazed 
 upon Mr. Seymour with the suspenseful look and 
 the half hushed breath of one who felt that he 
 was standing upon the threshold of further reve- 
 lations, but who dared not put a question nor 
 give utterance to a syllable that should betray an 
 undue curiosity for the veil to be completely 
 lifted. 
 
 "Fear not," resumed Mr. Seymour, "that any 
 stigma rests upon your birth. No, no ! it is not 
 thus ! And therefore, when I tell you this — as 
 you know I am married and have children older 
 than yourself — you may see that I am not your 
 father. But — but, Edward — I am — your uncle !" 
 
 " My uncle ?" — and it was in a tone of gushing 
 emotion that the young man spoke. " My uncle ? 
 Thank God that I am of your kindred !" — and 
 sinking on his knees at Mr. Seymour's, feet, he 
 pressed that gentleman's hand to his lips. 
 
 Seymour folded the youth to his heart — em- 
 braced him — and sobbed over him for some 
 minutes. The man of the world whose whole 
 cares had wont to be centred in business, and 
 
318 
 
 THE TOUNQ DUCHESS) GR, MEMOIRS OF A LA.DT OF QUALITr. 
 
 whose entire thoughts were accustomed to be 
 riveted on money-matters, now found all his feel- 
 ings and sympathies .flowing into other channels 
 — and he gave free vent to these emotions. 
 
 At length, when some little degree of calmness 
 was restored between the uncle and nephew, and 
 the latter had resumed his seat, he said, " You 
 have taught me to call myself Edward Walpole. 
 I suppose therefore that my mother was your 
 eister ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Seymour. " She married a 
 worthy gentleman named Walpole. You were 
 their only child " 
 
 " And both died when I was very young ?" 
 
 Seymour held down his head for upwards of a 
 minute ere he answered the question ; and then 
 he said, " Your father died before you were born. 
 His death was fearfully sudden — it was accidental. 
 He was a great practical chemist ; and in making 
 some experiment — alas ! the story is a sad one, 
 Edward ! — he inhaled a subtle poison and was 
 discovered a corpse in his studio. As you may 
 suppose, terrible was the effect produced upon 
 your mother. She was thrown upon a sick bed 
 - — you were born somewhat prematurely — and — 
 and — a few days afterwards my poor sister was 
 no more !" 
 
 There was another long pause, — another inter- 
 val during which there was a gush of emotion on 
 the part of the young man who received this in- 
 telligence from his uncle's lips. What could be 
 more affecting than to hear of one's parentage after 
 years of utter ignorance concerning it, and then 
 at last to learn that so many sorrowful cir- 
 cumstances were attached to the interesting 
 topic ! 
 
 " But do not ask me to tell you any more at pre- 
 sent," resumed Mr. Seymour, at length breaking 
 silence. " I know that a thousand anxious and 
 susperiseful ideas must be agitating in your mind, 
 and that you would fain put to me a thousand 
 queries ! You may even think that I ought not 
 to delay an explanation which on my own ac- 
 count. I owe you 1 as your nearest surviving 
 
 relative so long abandoning you- " 
 
 . "Say not another syllable upon the subject, 
 dear uncle !" exclaimed Edward "Walpole fer- 
 vently. " Explain yourself when you choose — or 
 never, unless you think fit ! I shall be contented. 
 And believe me, I will never never put to you a 
 question that shall seem to be fraught with 
 curiosity !" 
 
 " Well, well, my boy," interrupted the railway 
 contractor, pressing his nephew's hand, and speak- 
 ing in a voice that was tremulous with emotion, 
 " we have said enough upon the subject for the 
 present occasion — at least upon that particular 
 point. Nevertheless, in process of time, Edward, 
 you shall receive every requisite explanation. I 
 will keep nothing back from you. — And now, to 
 turn to another topic. Do you like living in these 
 lodgings ? Are the apartments handsome and 
 cheerful enough ?" 
 
 " Handsome and cheerful enough ? What ! for 
 me who " 
 
 " Nay — refer not to the past ! think Only of 
 the present, Edward ! I will supply you with 
 sufficient means to enable you to indulge in all 
 rational enjoyments " 
 
 " You have already given me an earnest of your 
 kindness, dear uncle! In one fortnight a com- 
 
 plete edifice of luxury and splendour has been 
 built up — horses, servants, plate, jewels " 
 
 " It is nothing, Edward," interrupted the rich 
 capitalist, with a smile. "I do not want you to 
 become extravagant nor profuse in your expen- 
 diture; and I have seen enough of your good 
 sense to be aware that- there is no danger of this. 
 Indeed, I wish to accustom you to the enjoyment 
 of wealth ; and I think I need not any longer 
 hesitate to tell you that you may look upon your 
 income as being about five thousand a year." 
 ' " Five thousand a-year !" repeated the young 
 mail almost confounded with amazement. " It is a 
 dream ! But, Oh ! how much good may I be 
 enabled to accomplish with such a sum !" 
 
 " Be rational in your charities, as in everything 
 else," observed Mr. Seymour. " And now, 
 Edward, that you know the extent of the resources 
 upon which you may rely, you can at your leisure 
 form plans for your future mode of life. If you 
 do not feel comfortable in these apartments, take 
 a house in London or a villa in the suburbs " 
 
 " A house ! a villa !" — and the young man 
 seemed lost in the dazzling and bewildering light 
 which a discourse of this sort shed around him. 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Seymour, " there is 
 plenty of time for you to think over these 
 matters. By the byef • be careful in forming 
 friendships amongst the young men of the West 
 End " 
 
 " I have formed none yet," responded Walpole. 
 
 " But you will, in process of time — yes, with 
 young men of rank and station " 
 
 "No! — Oh, no!" murmured Edward, in a 
 half-stifled voice : and then he looked as if he 
 were choking, while the bloo'd 'having mantled on 
 his cheeks for a moment, left them deadly pale. 
 
 " My dear boy," Seymour hastened to ex- 
 claim, " give not way to those ideas. And now 
 let me touch upon one more topic — and this I must 
 confess that I am about to approach with some 
 degree of difficulty " 
 
 " Oh, why, dear uncle ?" cried the young man : 
 " why should this be the case ? There is not a 
 command you could utter that I would not obey ! 
 — there is not a syllable of counsel that you might 
 give which I should refuse to follow !" 
 
 " Edward, you now know that I am your uncle," 
 continued the capitalist, "and you will naturally 
 expect to be introduced to my wife and children 
 — that is to say, to your aunt and cousins." 
 
 " It would give me infinite pleasure," answered 
 the yeung man, with mingled meekness and joy : 
 " but still — if there be any inconvenience — or if 
 you hesitate " 
 
 " I do not, Edward ! You shall see them to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ?" — and the animation of happi- 
 ness appeared upon the young man's countenance. 
 "An aunt! cousins! Oh, to be recognised by 
 one's kindred — and to call them such !" — and he 
 clasped his hands with a sense of ineffable thank- 
 fulness. 
 
 " Yes — to-morrow you shall see them,'' pursued 
 Seymour. " But — but — there are reasons — you 
 cannot altogether understand them now — you will 
 know them better at a future time, when I give 
 you those full and unreserved explanations which 
 I have "already promised " 
 
 " You need not tell me your reasons for any line 
 of conduct that you may suggest, uncle. You 
 
THE YOUNG 1 UCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 317 
 
 have but to indicate the course itself and it shall 
 be followed." 
 
 " What ! even if it involve hypocrisy and de- 
 ception ?" 
 
 The young man reflected for a. moment ; and 
 then hastened to say, " Whatever you command 
 or advise, I will do blindfold !" 
 
 " Then all I ask," continued the capitalist, " is 
 that when I present you to-morrow to your aunt 
 and your cousins, you will throw a complete veil 
 over the past ; — or rather you will so completely 
 change, it in all its aspects and phases, that it 
 shall assume an appearance as different from what 
 it actually was as light differs from darkness. 
 You Tfill throw over it the gloss which I shall 
 suggest :— jMJi will commit to memory and repeat 
 the story that I shall tell you. Now, will you do 
 all this, Edward?" 
 
 " Is it indeed necessary,'' asked the young man, 
 '-' to have recourse to so much deception ? But, 
 Ah ! pardon me — pardon me !" he suddenly cried. 
 " I was going to be both disobedient and ungrate- 
 ful !" 
 
 "STo, no, Edward," said Seymour, in a low 
 tremulous tone ; " it was your virtue — your natu- 
 ral rectitude of principle — which interfered at the 
 moment to make you hesitate ! But one word, 
 my dear.boy " 
 
 " I know what you would say, uncle. The 
 feelings of others must be consulted !" 
 
 "Teg, my boy ! — and mine — mine chiefly, if 
 not wholly- in; this instance !" answered Seymour, 
 rising from his seat, and bending a strange look 
 of mingled entreaty and distress upon the young 
 man. " Good bye for the present, Edward. To- 
 morrow at midday I shall come to fetch you to 
 present you to your aunt and cousins. Good 
 bye, my dear nephew." 
 
 The capitalist wrung Edward's hand fervently ; 
 and hastening from the room, was in a few mo- 
 ments seated in his carriage, which at once drove 
 off into the City. Just as Mr Seymour alighted 
 at the door of the Bank of England, where he 
 had some business to transact, he encountered Mr. 
 Warren the stockbroker. 
 
 Mr. Warren had plenty of assurance, and he 
 therefore hesitated not to proffer his hand with 
 his wonted familiarity ; while Mr. Seymour, also 
 dissembling his own feelings, assumed a corre- 
 sponding air of friendliness. For be it remem- 
 bered that he fancied the stockbroker to have be- 
 come possessed of some secret which deeply re- 
 garded his honour and his personal safety ; and 
 he was not therefore incautious enough to show 
 any angry feelings towards a man in whose power 
 he supposed himself so completely to be. 
 
 " How are you, my dear fellow ?'* exclaimed 
 Warren. " Full of business as usual — eh ?" 
 
 " As full as ever," responded Seymour. 
 
 " And the horses — and the yacht " 
 
 " You know that I have little or no enjoyment 
 on account of all the appurtenances of luxury 
 which I maintain. But I have a wife, sons, and 
 daughters " 
 
 " To be sure ! and you like them to be amused," 
 said Warren. " You are rich — and you spend 
 your money liberally upon your family. Well, 
 it's all right enough. You've worked devilish 
 hard to get it." 
 
 " Ah !" — and the contractor looked at the stock- 
 broker with a singular earnestness for a moment. 
 
 " Warren, my dear fellow," he went on to observe 
 in an altered tone, " I wish to speak to you." 
 
 Seymour led his companion into the Royal Ex- 
 change, which was almost completely unfrequented 
 at that hour in the forenoon ; and as they paced 
 to and fro in the midst of the now deserted 
 quadrangle, the following discourse took place. 
 
 " I thought perhaps, Warren," began Seymour, 
 " that I should never again be compelled to al- 
 lude to that very painful topic which you your- 
 self broached in your own office between three 
 weeks and a month ago. But inasmuch as by 
 some means that are to me utterly unaccountable, 
 you became possessed of that secret, I think it 
 right to inform you that I have made the com- 
 pletest amends. When I say the completes!, I 
 mean the fullest and- most perfect atonement 
 which can be made by a man who is unable to 
 recall the past." 
 
 Be it recollected that Warren was in reality 
 altogether unacquainted with any secret at all in 
 connexion with Seymour. Acting according to 
 the instigation of Count Mandeville, he had 
 merely spoken at random on that day when in 
 his own office he had availed himself of the sin- 
 gular expedient to defraud and plunder the rich 
 capitalist of no less a sum than fifteen thousand 
 pounds. Therefore, in utter ignorance of the 
 mystery which lay at the bottom of the topic to 
 which Seymour was alluding — but finding him- 
 self on the other hand compelled to maintain his 
 pretended knowledge thereof — he said in a tone of 
 becoming gravity, " I am glad to receive this as- 
 surance from your lips." 
 
 " After that interview which took place be- 
 tween us, Warren," continued Seymour, " I in- 
 stituted immediate inquiries. Ah ! I had long 
 been stricken with remorse : but I had never- 
 theless , wanted the moral courage to take the 
 proper steps for the performance of an act of jus- 
 tice. It only required some such impulse as that 
 which your words gave, to set me boldly moving 
 on the right path. I have therefore to thank 
 you ", 
 
 " Perhaps," said Warren, " we had better not 
 speak any more of the business :" — for he had just 
 been thinking to himself, " If by any possibility 
 he should discover that I know nothing of this 
 secret, he may turn round upon me — and all the 
 more fearlessly too, inasmuch as he now seems to 
 have set himself right in the matter, whatever it 
 may be." 
 
 " Best assured, Warren," pursued Seymour, " I 
 shall not dwell a moment longer than is neces- 
 sary on a topic which, as you may full well un- 
 derstand, is fraught with so much painfulness and 
 humiliation unto myself. But I have two motives 
 in recalling it to your recollection. In the first 
 place I was anxious you should learn that I have 
 lost no time in making amends ; and as my in- 
 quiry was most providentially crowned with a 
 speedy success, I have been enabled to do this act 
 of justice, and ease my conscience from the load 
 that had weighed upon it. ' But I had another 
 motive! — and this was to beseech and conjure 
 that you will tell me how this sad secret came to 
 your knowledge ?" 
 
 " I must not," answered Warren, with an em- 
 phasis which he hoped would put an end to the 
 subject. 
 
 " I do not understand you," observed Seymour, 
 
818 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 in mingled surprise and distress. " Who could 
 have told this secret that would have enjoined the 
 maintenance of so much mystery ? — who could be 
 sufficiently interested in it " 
 
 " I beg you not to question me further," re- 
 joined Warren. 
 
 The railw ay-contractor looked perplexed ; and 
 after a brief silence he said, "You told me at 
 the time that you had never until that occa- 
 sion breathed to a living soul a syllable in allu- 
 sion to it ?" 
 
 " And this was true,'' replied the stockbroker, 
 hastily ; " and I likewise promised that I would 
 continue to keep the secret inviolably. I have 
 done so, and I will ever do so. But do not ques- 
 tion me further." 
 
 "With these answers I must be contented," 
 said Seymour, in a voice which was nevertheless 
 expressive of disappointment. " By the bye," he 
 said, with a suddenly altering tone, as if casting 
 away the former topic from his memory, " how 
 are you now getting on in your own affairs ? Do 
 not think that I mean to allude to any sore 
 topic " 
 
 " Well then," answered Warren, somewhat 
 curtly, " thanks to the assistance, or rather the 
 forbearance which I received at your hands and 
 at those of two or three others, I think I shall be 
 enabled to set myself right altogether. The 
 beauty of it is, there is scarcely a soul who sus- 
 pects that I have been at all queer." 
 
 " If I were you, Warren," remarked Seymour, 
 " I would diminish my expenses until fairly set 
 firm upon the legs again." 
 
 "What, my dear fellow!" exclaimed the stock- 
 broker ; "are you mad? would you advise me to 
 court the very catastrophe which I have been 
 taking so much pains to ward off ? Why, if I 
 were to put down a single horse or drink a bottle 
 of champagne the less, it would be instan- 
 taneous destruction ! To economise at such a 
 crisiSj is to proclaim the nakedness of the land ! 
 It is 'just the very conjuncture when a person 
 ought to increase his expenditure rather than 
 diminish it. Many a fellow has saved him- 
 self from perdition by setting up an extra carriage 
 at the very moment when he could not afford to 
 keep so much as a donkey-cart. There's that 
 fool Norton, the country banker — whom I'm going 
 
 Eresently to oppose in the Bankruptcy Court, — if 
 e hadn't begun to cut down his expenses he never 
 would have made his customers suspect the true 
 nature of his affairs and so caused the run which 
 broke his bank. He used to pass for a millionaire 
 — and he might have lived on the reputation in 
 luxury and security till the end.; whereas it now 
 transpires that his whole assets will not pay more 
 than eighteenpence in the pound." 
 
 " And why should you go and oppose this un- 
 fortunate man ?" asked Seymour. 
 
 "Oppose him? Why, to be sure!" ejaculated 
 Warren, as if astonished that there should be any 
 doubt upon the point. 
 
 "But why, I ask? His chief fault seems to 
 have been that he was too honest — he wished to 
 economise when he saw his difficulties " 
 
 "And so he must be punished for his folly," 
 exclaimed Warren. " All the bankers and mer- 
 chants in the City look upon him as a most egre- 
 gious fool." 
 
 "Ah, I comprehend!" cried the sharp-witted 
 
 contractor. " Tou think it will be a popular act 
 to go and oppose this unfortunate man, and per- 
 haps prevent him getting his certificate ?" 
 
 " To be sure ! — And moreover," continued 
 Warren, "it will be a little useful notoriety for 
 myself — a creditor for fifteen hundred — it looks 
 moneyish — and that's just the way in which I do 
 want to look, my dear fellow, at this present mo- 
 ment. But Ah! noon, by Jove!" ejaculated this 
 moral specimen of the City moneyocracy ; for at 
 that instant the clock of the Boyal Exchange 
 began to proclaim the hour of twelve. " I must 
 be off. This is the time for the fool Norton to ap- 
 pear before the Commissioner." 
 
 The stockbroker and the contractor parted. We 
 likewise shall now take leave of them for the 
 present, and return to Edward Walpole, whom 
 we left in his handsomely-furnished lodgings in 
 Hanover Square. 
 
 The young man remained absorbed in deep re- 
 flection after the departure of his uncle. His 
 thoughts were of a mixed character ; for if on the 
 one hand he had heard much to sadden him in 
 respect to his parents, yet on the other hand he 
 had much reason for rejoicing at the prospect of 
 being presented on the ensuing day to his aunt 
 and his cousins. He felt that the arms of an en- 
 tire family were about to be opened to receive 
 him ; and this reflection was naturally a source of 
 bliss to one whose life had hitherto been cheerless 
 and dreary indeed. Thus, altogether, Edward 
 Walpole's thoughts were rather of a pleasurable 
 than a melancholy cast; and assuredly, if he 
 looked at his future prospects, everything might 
 be deemed of a roseate hue and he had naught to 
 render him desponding. 
 
 In the afternoon he rode out through the Parks, 
 attended by a groom in a plain but neat livery ; 
 and though he was far from an ungraceful figure 
 on horseback, yet it was evident that he could as 
 yet boast of being but little practised in the eques- 
 trian art. However, he knew that " all this would 
 soon come," as Mr. Seymour was wont to tell 
 him ; and though he had as little vanity in his 
 disposition as any living being, yet it would be 
 endowing'him with a fabulous meekness if we were 
 to say that there was no sentiment of gratification, 
 even if we do not call it pride, at finding himself 
 handsomely mounted, well attended, and daily 
 becoming an object of more and more attention 
 on the part of the habitual loungers in those 
 fashionable resorts. In the evening he dined at 
 his own lodgings : he then went to some theatre ; 
 and thus he appeared to be passing his time ration- 
 ally enough, until about half-past ten o'clock — 
 when his conduct, his habits, and pursuits seemed 
 suddenly to undergo a change which will perhaps 
 astonish the reader. 
 
 Having ascertained that his purse was well fur- 
 nished with gold and silver — for if not, he had 
 only to return to his lodgings to procure a supply 
 — he crossed one of the bridges ; and plunging 
 into some of those vile neighbourhoods which con- 
 stitute whole quarters or districts on the Surrey 
 side of the river, he appeared all in a moment to 
 have thrown off the mask of a consummate dis- 
 simulation and to have become a dissipated liber- 
 tine. He stopped and jested with the loose 
 females who accosted him : — some he took into 
 public-houses and treated to wine or other liquor's ; 
 and it was with a lavish profusion that he scat- 
 
TILE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 319 
 
 tered about the money which his uncle so bounti- 
 fully supplied. He was constantly proclaiming 
 his resolve "to see London life." This phrase, 
 which forms so frequent and yet so wretched an 
 apology for the novice who is plunging headlong 
 into dissipation, was constantly on the lips of 
 Edward Walpole when in the midst of these low 
 vile associates whose company he was thus eagerly 
 seeking. And then too, with a readiness that 
 might well have served to make his new associates 
 suspect that he had a natural inclination for 
 vicious debauchery, did he penetrate into houses 
 of the most infamous description — gathering 
 around him all the female occupants of each suc- 
 cessive den that he thus visited, and regaling them 
 with the most expensive wines that the taverns or 
 public-houses in those districts could furnish. But 
 all remarked that there was a certain restlessness 
 about him, as if he were no sooner in one place 
 than he was weary of it and wanted to get to 
 another, — just as if he could not see too much 
 debauchery in one night, or as if he felt that he 
 could not diversify these loathsome amusements 
 too rapidly in order to sustain a requisite degree 
 of excitement. 
 
 But we will not dwell at unnecessary length 
 upon this portion of our narrative. Suffice it to 
 say that having passed some hours in flitting from 
 one den of infamy to another, the young man re- 
 turned to his lodgings when the day was dawning; 
 and therefore it was no wonder if after a short 
 feverish sleep he rose to breakfast between nine 
 and ten with a countenance that was paler even 
 than on the preceding day. 
 
 At about noon Mr. Seymour arrived in his 
 carriage; and Edward Walpole was dressed in 
 readiness to accompany him. 
 
 " Good heavens, my dear boy ! how pale and 
 ill you look !" cried the contractor. 
 
 •" Do I, uncle ?" said the young man, with a 
 start ; and he glanced at his countenance in the 
 opposite mirror — but the cheeks were now red 
 with blushes. 
 
 "Were you up late last night?" inquired Sir. 
 Seymour. 
 
 " Late ? Oh, no, uncle ! — that is to say, not 
 very. 1 went to the theatre " 
 
 " Well, well, my dear boy, I am sure I do not 
 wish to pry into your pursuits." 
 
 " Oh, but you have a right!" ejaculated Wal- 
 pole: and then he suddenly checked the next 
 words that were about to issue from his lips, and 
 he stooped to pick up the kerchief which he had 
 just dropped. 
 
 " You certainly do not look well, Edward," re- 
 sumed Mr. Seymour, contemplating his nephew 
 with some little uneasiness. " I must send our 
 family doctor to you." 
 
 " Oh, I can assure you, dear uncle, I am quite 
 well!" 
 
 "Ah!" ejaculated Seymour, as he caught sight 
 of all the books that lay scattered about on the 
 sofa and side- tables; "perhaps you read too 
 much? Come — confess, Edward — you pursue 
 your studies late at night ?" 
 
 " Well, sir," answered the young man, with an 
 air of the supremest meekness and diffidence, 
 "perhaps I do continue my pursuits until too 
 late an hour. But " 
 
 " Enough, Edward ! I now see the entire clue 
 to the mystery. You are naturally studious ; but 
 
 pray, my dear boy, take care of your health. And 
 now come! — the carriage is waiting — and I am 
 giving myself a holiday that we may all pass a 
 pleasant day together at Highgate." 
 
 In a few moments the uncle and nephew were 
 seated together in a carriage, which rolled rapidly 
 away towards the northern suburb of the metro- 
 polis. 
 
 "By the bye, Edward," said Mr. Seymour, 
 " what a shocking discovery that seems to be ! I 
 only just had time to glance over the account in 
 the newspaper, while I was despatching my 
 breakfast." 
 
 " You mean the-<lisct>very at Waterloo Bridge 
 yesterday morning ?" said the young man. 
 
 " Yes — the carpet-bag that was found on the 
 abutment at the base of the pier of one of the 
 arches. Was it not so ?" 
 
 "Itwas," replied Edward ; " and there can be no 
 doubt that a horrible murder, followed by a 
 hideous mutilation, has been perpetrated." 
 
 "Is there any clue to the assassin?" asked Mr. 
 Seymour. 
 
 " Scarcely, I should think, from what I read," 
 rejoined Walpole. " The surgeon who was called 
 in to the Bow Street Station, to which the carpet- 
 bag was conveyed, put the remnants together, as it 
 were ; and he made out the perfect form of a man, 
 with the exception of the head." 
 
 " Good heavens, how horrible ! — the head 
 missing!" cried Mr. Seymour. 
 
 " The head was missing. Ah, my dear uncle ! 
 you may well say it wa3 a horrible affair — and as 
 mysterious as it is horrible!" 
 
 " You say there is no clue ?" asked his uncle. 
 
 "Nothing more than this, — that one of the 
 toll-keepers perfectly recollects a stout elderly 
 woman having passed through the gate on the 
 Strand side, With a large carpet-bag, between 
 eleven and twelve o'clock on the night preceding 
 the hideous discovery. Yet it appears that so 
 many different persons pass the bridge with bags 
 in their hands at almost all hours — especially 
 when the trains of the South-Western are about 
 to start -" 
 
 "No doubt of it," interjected Seymour. "Is 
 there no other clue?" 
 
 " It seems not — at least so far as one may 
 judge from the newspaper-account." 
 
 "It is horrible!" said the railway contractor, 
 with a shudder. "Perhaps some unfortunate 
 man who was inveigled into one of the myriad 
 dens of infamy which abound in the metropolis — 
 some stranger perhaps " 
 
 " It is suspected that the victim was a foreigner, 
 from his clothes," remarked Edward. 
 
 "Poor devil!" said the contractor: "little 
 thought he to what a dangerous place he was 
 coming, and what a doom awaited him! But it 
 is enough to make one shudder to reflect how 
 many houses of an infamous description there are 
 in this modern Babylon, and how recklessly the 
 profligate and dissipated trust themselves in those 
 dens ! As well plunge into a morass swarming 
 with reptiles ! Ah, if the debauched and the 
 libertine — young men especially — would only 
 pause to reflect what fearful risks they run when 
 venturing into such places, where hocussing, rob- 
 bery, and murder are no doubt crimes far more 
 common than the world is generally inclined to 
 suspect, — if men, I repeat, would only think of 
 
320 
 
 THfe YOUJTG fcutelUSSS; OB, MEMOIRS 01? A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 the awful perils to be thus incurred, it would 
 make them wiser. But some there are — indeed 
 many — who go with well-filled purses, and their 
 forms bedizened with jewellery, — they go, I say, 
 into those resorts of vice and profligacy, without 
 reflecting that by flashing their coin and by dis- 
 playing their gold chains they are actually court- 
 ing a violent death." 
 
 Mr. Seymour felt his nephew shudder as he Was 
 seated next to him ; and if he had happened to 
 glance at the young man at the instant, he would 
 have seen that his face was deadly pale with an 
 expression of direst horror upon it 
 
 ," You shudder, Edward," said the contractor; 
 "and it is enough to make you! But do not 
 think, my dear boy, that I was saying those 
 things on your account. Heaven' forbid! I 
 know how unnecessary it is to give ; yofr such 
 warnings. But let us turn the discourse." • 
 . ■ "Oh, yes, uncle — do!" said the young man 
 eagerly. " I think you had some instructions to 
 give ine— .some suggestions to offer in respect' to 
 the answers which I must return if questioned 
 by those relations to whom I am about to be pre- 
 sented." 
 
 ".Yes," said the contractor, his tone and look 
 becoming gloomy and mournful. " I am afraid 
 that I am going to give you a lesson in an art 
 with which you are as yet - little acquainted, ?ahd 
 which heaven forbid that you should ever'pfae- 
 tise !" 
 ' "And that art, uncle?" . ' 
 
 . " Dissimulation and duplicity. But as an ex- 
 pedient to serve a purpose for . once — indeed to 
 spare my feelings, and to make me stand well in 
 the eyes of those with whom I would not' for 
 
 worlds appear in a sinister light ■" < 
 
 . " Do not say all this, uncle !" interrupted Ed- 
 ward quickly. " You remember the assurances I 
 gave you yesterday. Tell me what I am to doi 
 — and it shall be done. Oh, believe me, I would 
 maKe ■' any- sacrifice of my own feelings !— yes, 
 every sacrifice to save your's from being pained !" 
 
 " Excellent boy !" cried ; Seymour. " You 
 know not what a weight you lift from my mind 
 by these assurances ; but you are equally ignorant 
 how much it afflicts me on the other hand to be 
 compelled to ask you to deviate for a single mo- 
 ment from the pathway of truth on my account !" 
 
 A lbng pause ensued ene the discourse was re- 
 sumed; and we must reserve additional details 
 for a new chapter, i 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 T11E FAMILY AT HIGHBURY. 
 
 Edward Walpole prepared to listen with the 
 deepest attention to whatsoever instructions were 
 about to issue from his uncle's lips ; and the latter, 
 taking his hand, said, " You must not think too 
 badly ofme, my dear boy, for the course I am 
 now adopting." 
 
 "Uncle ! — dear uncle ! you distress me infi- 
 nitely by this repeated justification of yourself, 
 after I have promised a placid obedience !" 
 
 " I will proceed without further preface," said 
 Mr. Seymour. " You now know that you were 
 left an orphan at your birth. Why did not I 
 
 take care of you ? why did I abandon you ? 
 These are questions which some day must be an- 
 swered — though I am not going to enter upon the 
 explanations now. No, no — not now ! But then 
 my wife — my children — all have been anxious to 
 learn what had become of you for twenty long 
 years ! — the twenty years that have elapsed since 
 your. eyes first saw the light of this world! I 
 have told them a certain tale — and it is now for 
 you, my boy, to corroborate it ! Otherwise you 
 would render me detestable in the eyes of my 
 wife, and suspicious in those of my sons and 
 daughters !" 
 
 " I will assuredly corroborate the tale, uncle,'' 
 exclaimed Edward, "whatever it be !" 
 
 Seymour pressed his nephew's hand, and went 
 on to say, " Fortunately I had never denied your 
 existence to any of my relations or friends — I 
 
 never said that you had died On the contrary, 
 
 I always spoke of you as one who might some 
 
 day turn up In a word, Edward, I represented 
 
 that you were stolen in your infancy! Yes — I 
 
 said that gipsies had stolen you -J pretended 1 
 
 at the time to make inquiries ' All this my 
 wife knew well^r — Ah ! Edward, I was very 
 wicked towards ; yon, poor boy ! — very Wicked !" 
 
 The contractor was__ now • sobbing violently : 
 Edward Walpole flung his arms about his neck, 
 and implored him to be pacified. 
 
 "I must now tell you the whole truth, my 
 dear boy," • continued Seymour, after a pause. 
 
 "Yes^it is useless any longer to delay it 
 
 Perhaps yoii' have already conjectured from the 
 partial avowals I have made " 
 
 " I haW conjectured nothing!" exclaimed the 
 young man vehemently : "I will conjecture no- 
 thing! Go on, uncle— and tell me only what 
 I am to Say if questioned by my aunt and 
 cousins." 
 
 " You were stolen in your infancy by gip- 
 sies " 
 
 " Yes. What next, uncle ?" 
 
 " Your earliest recollections were associated 
 with the wandering life of that race, until at the 
 age of eight or nine some country clergyman, 
 noticigg you in his village, was struck by your 
 complexion so different from the usual swarthiness 
 of the gipsy — and he was led to make inquiries 
 Well, the issue was that the gipsies, under the 
 influence of terror, confessed that you were stolen, 
 but that they had obtained you from some other 
 tribe, and thus they could furnish no farther par- 
 ticulars. Do you follow me, Edward?" 
 
 " Completely, uncle. I will say all this. Go 
 on — and tell me the rest." 
 
 "The good clergyman -But we must give 
 
 him a name ; for this I have not yet done in the 
 
 narration of the fictitious tale to my wife We 
 
 will call him Bloomfield, if you will — I once knew 
 an excellent minister of that name " 
 
 " It shall be Bloomfield, uncle," said the young 
 man. " Proceed." 
 
 "This Mr. Bloomfield Ah! and now we 
 
 must fix a place ; for, as you perceive, I have not 
 been circumstantial in my story." 
 
 ' ' What place shall we say ?" inquired Edward. 
 " Remember, dear uncle, that I know little enough 
 of England. I have never travelled anywhere — 
 except — except " 
 
 " We will fix upon some place that I happen to 
 know, but which is not by any means known to 
 
Tine YOUNO DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADT OF QUALITY. 
 
 321 
 
 LADY AMESBURT. 
 
 my family ; and thus yon will stand no chance of 
 any perplexing questioning on the point. We will 
 say the little village of Southmolton in Devon- 
 shire." 
 
 " Be it so, uncle, And I suppose a hilly district 
 — well wooded — beautiful in its verdure in the 
 summer — wild and dreary-looking in the winter?!! 
 
 "Exactly so. And all these points being 
 settled, we may continue the tale by supposing — 
 as indeed I have already represented it — that this 
 worthy clergyman took you from the gipsies, and 
 placed you with an elderly couple — good people 
 but very poor ; — and thus you were brought up 
 — while to Mr. Bloomfield himself you were in- 
 debted for the education you have acquired. Let 
 No. 41. — The Youkg Duchess. 
 
 the worthy couple be named Taylor. And now, 
 Edward, before I proceed any farther, do you really 
 think you can bring yourself to give utterance 
 to all these falsehoods ? — or rather, to corroborate 
 them if questioned ? But Ah !" suddenly ejacu- 
 lated Seymour, " thank heaven ! there is one thing 
 that is favourable !" 
 
 "And what is that, uncle?" inquired the young 
 man. 
 
 " Your aunt and cousins will have too much 
 delicacy to press their questions upon you — — 
 they will be afraid of wounding your feelings — ■ 
 and thus, perhaps, much less may be said on all 
 these points than my fears have hitherto led me 
 to anticipate." 
 
322 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "No matter what may be said, uncle — 
 whether much or little," replied Walpole ; " for 
 you may rest assured that I will play my part 
 precisely as ycu wish. Oh, I would do any ( tjjfog 
 for you !" 
 
 " Good God, if you knew all !" — a^d Jfc. Sey- 
 mour dashed his hand against his foraiuiad fin a ! 
 sudden paroxysm of feelings that were .utterly 
 beyond control. 
 
 "Uncle, uncle! calm yourself!" cried the young 
 man entreatingly. 
 
 " I have been a villain towards you, Edward," 
 said Seymour, with indescribable bitterness of 
 accent. "Stop! — do not interrupt me! How 
 can you ever forgive me when you think of all 
 the negleet, sorrow, and misery to which all the 
 best years of your life have been doomed through 
 me ? How can you jpardon me, I ask ? how .can 
 you do otherwise than turn round upon me ni 
 some moment of rage " 
 
 " Never, never, uncle ! — it is impossible!!'' [Cried 
 Edward vehemently. "I am no hypqgijijje.— no 
 dissembler : what I say I mean — wha,t j[ jgomise 
 I will fulfil. Therefore believe me— Qh! -Jielieve 
 me, when I tqll you again and again »lj$(t the 
 sense of all your jpresent kindnesses ,a$d|yuinties 
 alone occupies my mjndi!" 
 
 Mr. Seymour took his nephewte (h^nd^ and 
 wrung them with jfejsyour — even*wit}i jv^pjlence.; 
 while in a voice jW^qh was broken by $o,lps, jhe 
 said, " I must pnafeg # ,<jlean breast of it, -Edward 
 — I must tell -you jejjgrything ! Yes— jl w^Hjhj 
 rather acquaint you #t ,qnce with the w&ptle ,ex_- 
 tent of my iniquity, so Ahat when yqu.per,c i e,iy l e 
 how much you have to forgive, you .may .a&ajn 
 reflect whether you have npt promised gaabjty gn 
 declaring that you com pardon ,me under j^utji,^- 
 cumstances ! But Ah ! by tb,is ; time you m.us|t 
 have suspected it ! Well, then, ,yqu ,qan judge 
 how remorse is tearing at myheaijt'! geg^-for 
 I proved a treacherous guard&mzi4;thonght only 
 of my own necessitjjes — I forgot the vow I made 
 to your mother, fliy poor sister, on her death-bed 
 — my own affairs ,w«^e at that time desperate — 
 and — and — the .temptation was greai— .Ijie ffarl 
 tune which your father had left for your use was : 
 in my hands — — " 
 
 "Enough, uncle! enough!" interrupted the 
 young man. "In the name of heaven do not 
 continue any longer in this strain !" — and the 
 tears were pouring down his cheeks. 
 
 " I must make my tale complete since I have 
 got thus far," resumed Seymour ; " and perhaps 
 it is good for me that I should endure the pre- 
 sent punishment for my great misdeeds 1 
 
 mean that punishment which consists in the 
 humiliation, the pain, the grief, that I now feel!" 
 
 "But what more can you have to tell me? 
 Tou have already told me too much! I shall 
 banish it all from my recollection 1" 
 
 " Excellent youth ! But hear me for a mo- 
 ment. I was telling you that I robbed you of 
 your fortune — I sacrificed you to save myself! 
 The crime was doubly infamous — and I will ieU 
 you why. I might have possessed myself of your 
 fortune and yet have reared ypu in the bosom of 
 my own family : I might at least have made this 
 atonement at the time for the wrong that I was 
 doing you. But then I knew that you would 
 grow up in the knowledge that your parents had 
 left wealth behind — and moreover that the day 
 
 would come when you would ask me for an 
 account of your fortune ; and I knew not whether 
 } ; nuKht .be in a position to give that account. 1 
 (Cj^ujipf^jpt (foresee whether I should be enabled to 
 jrgnjjjce (jjhe (funds which I was so dishonestly ap- 
 iB'iPjR'iiftlaftB (£° i m y own purposes. And thus I 
 itesqjLy^ijl j5p ,make away with you altogether. 
 Nqt |by mur^r ! Oh, no ! no !" — and Seymour 
 ^Hhjfjigd visibly. "No! no!" he repeated; "I 
 was Tttflt £p criminal as all that ! Base, mean, 
 ,&n$ ijseac^erous I was — aye, to the very fullest 
 e^tefltjtp which baseness, meanness, and treachery 
 can reach !" 
 
 <" Uncle, I can endure this no longer !" cried Ed- 
 ward Walpole vehemently. " I tell you that I for- 
 give you ! I bless you for the present : I cannot curse 
 you on account of the past ! I beseech that you 
 will say no more upon a topic which wrings my 
 heart ! Let us gp back to that point whence the 
 conversation so suddenly diverged. Tou recollect 
 — do you not ? I am to say that I was brought 
 up by an elderly couple named Taylor, and that 
 tp a wprtjhy clergyman I am indebted fpr whatso- 
 ever education I possess. Is r,^$re aught more to 
 add ? JMust I be prepared to .explain how it was 
 -that^squ fqymd^ne oirt?" 
 
 "$jes," said (lj(ie contractor, composing his lpoks 
 as w^l .as .he -wa^able after the violent paroxysms 
 (gf ,exc^mejtt jjvjbach had shaken jiuij as it were 
 ftewfiwB t te'8 n *J rebe i n gi " yP.u'inust be pre- 
 pusftm $$$ point. I have ;$qld flry wife and 
 ,<jh:i\sl^e,n t 1jjiji,t!&bm some informpjIJQn which I indi- 
 f§S®y jigssiy^d a little while ago, I caused in- 
 flavsestSpfeita^t"' 6 ^ — that I fallowed them up 
 tftesty Sd WP'dlyi 80 that tb# result was that 
 yiqu ,jpe up from Southmolton in Devonshire 
 Jfjbpuit a fortnight back ; but .ih^t I would not in- 
 troduce you at Highbury House until every point 
 of doubt .was fully .cleared up and your identity 
 as my nephew was established. And jiow, Ed- 
 ward, you are acquainted w\$i all tjhe .details of 
 the narrative which I ^aye (fabricated to acccunt 
 for ; the past. In five n^nuteiSjmpre^pu will be in 
 Jt}*e presence ,<*f yeur aurjt^rnd cousins." 
 
 '^Lgain and again I declare, dear uncle," cried 
 Walpole, " that npthing shall fall from my lips 
 which can tend to falsify Pr thrpw suspicion upon 
 the explanations which you have given." 
 
 Once more did Seymour press his nephew's 
 hand with grateful enthusiasm : and then he said, 
 " Having cenfessed to you, Edward, all that has 
 been bad on my part, I may now in justice to 
 myself revc::! a certain fact which tells a little in 
 my faveur — thpugh I am very far from parading 
 it in pride as a set-off against the humiliation 
 which I have experienced ; nor do I look upon it 
 as a complete atonement for the past. Listen, 
 Edward! The fortune of which I robbed you 
 wpuld have produced ycu about a thousand a-year. 
 I have reckoned that capital in its relative pro- 
 portion to my own ventures and gains ; and I 
 have placed in your name in the Bank of England 
 a sum that will produce you five thousand a-year ! 
 All the requisite documents shall be handed over 
 to you to-morrow. Nay, not another word, Ed- 
 ward! not another word!" exclaimed the con- 
 tractor, as he placed his hands upon his nephewte 
 lips: " for here we are 1" 
 
 Highgate was reached ; and the equipage dashed 
 along a shady avenue up to the front entrance of 
 a handsome dwelling, situated in the midst of 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS j OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY 09 QUALITY. 
 
 323 
 
 grounds that were well laid out. This waa High- 
 bury House — for so the mansion was called. It 
 was with feelings which we cannot describe that 
 the young man alighted at the place where he was 
 about to be welcomed by those relations whom he 
 had never seen before. In a few moments he was 
 in their midst. Mrs. Seymour was a handsome 
 woman, of about five-and-forty — affable and good- 
 natured — without undue pride or pretension— hos- 
 pitable, sincere, and warm-hearted. She at once 
 embraced the nephew who was now presented to 
 her ; and the very first words that she spoke were 
 calculated to place him at his ease, to relieve him 
 of any feeling of embarrassment, and to convey 
 the assurance that he was welcome there. He was 
 then presented to his cousins. These consisted of 
 two young men, a little older than himself — and 
 three girls, who were younger. They were all 
 good-looking and good-tempered; and they re- 
 ceived their cousin with a cordiality which showed 
 how deeply interested they were in him. By the 
 time he had been an hour in their company, he 
 felt as if he had known them for at least a whole 
 year. - 
 
 The young men took him to the stables to 
 show him their horses : the young ladies con- 
 ducted him through the flower-garden and led 
 him to inspect the conservatories ; and after lun- 
 cheon Mr. and Mrs. Seymour took him over the 
 house, which was sumptuously furnished and 
 contained many excellent pictures. Neither Mrs. 
 Seymour nor his cousins put any direct questions 
 to him in reference to the past circumstances of 
 his life ; nor did they make any allusion thereto ^ 
 — and when Edward Walpole found that this 
 was the case, he felt all the more completely at 
 his ease. Never had he enjoyed such perfect 
 happiness : it seemed almost too great to be real ■' 
 
 , his heart was overflowing — and he longed to be 
 alone for a little while that he might give vent 
 
 ; to the feelings which, he could scarcely restrain. 
 At length, between four and five o'clock, when 
 his uncle, his aunt, and his cousins dispersed to 
 their respective chambers to dress for dinner, 
 Edward descended from the one to which he had 
 been shown ; and escaping into the garden, he 
 rushed through the grounds, as if obedient to an 
 impulse which he could not possibly resist. A 
 
 | gate which stood open led him into a paddock, 
 which sloped down towards a low fence separating 
 it from an orchard attached to another house 
 which stood near. On reaching this boundary, 
 the young man threw himself upou the grass, and 
 covering his face with his hands, burst into tears. 
 It was thus that his feelings found a natural 
 vent : but not tears of sadness were they which 
 were thus shed. . No ! — they were the overflow of 
 a joy — a bliss — a degree of happiness which could 
 find expression in no other way. And then, as 
 Edward Walpole thought of many past incidents 
 of his life, and contrasted his present position with 
 what it had lately been, he tried to articulate 
 some words of thankfulness to heaven ; but his 
 voiee was broken in sobs, and then he wept again. 
 " Good heavens, sir, what ails you ?" he heard 
 a soft musical voice suddenly inquiring. 
 
 He started up and behold on the other side of 
 the fence a young lady 0/ the most extraordinary 
 beauty, and whose clear blue eyes were fixed 
 upon him with an expression of compassionate in- 
 terest. She was elegantly dressed ; she had on a 
 
 bonnet and mantle ; sne was tall, and of elegant' 
 shape. 
 
 Edward Walpole, we say, had sprutag up to 
 his feet ; and as he dashed away his tears, his 
 countenance glowed with shame at the thought of 
 having been dtscdvered in such a state by the 
 lovely stranger. He could give no reply to the 
 question which she had SO kindly put to him ; 
 but he stood gazing at her over the fence, which 
 stood in a sort of hollow between the paddock 
 which sloped upward oii one side and' the orchard 
 which rose with a similar swell On the other 
 side. 
 
 " I fear you must think me very rude iii put- 
 ting such a question," said the young lady, " and 
 intruding upon>your grief " 
 
 "No! no!" ejaculated Edward : "it was not 
 grief — it was happiness 1" t 
 
 , " Happiness ?" echoed the young lady, with an 
 
 air of surprise. " And yet -' but she stopped 
 
 short, as if afraid to give utterance' f to the words 
 which had come to the very tip of heir tongue 
 
 "I thank you," said the young man, " for the 
 kind interest which you have displayed' on my 
 behalf. Pray speak on. Tou were alSout to make 
 some observation 7" 
 
 " May I speak frankly 7" asked the young 
 lady. 
 
 " Assuredly — i wish you to do so :" and Edward 
 Walpole was now contemplating her with a de- 
 gree of admiration that was only subdued by the 
 respect which her appearance inspired; for there 
 was an unmistakable air of superiority about her 
 — an air of good-breeding and of rennjeet' gentility 
 which could not have failed to strike" even the 
 most superficial observer. 
 
 "I was going to observe," she resumed, "that 
 you startled me when you declared tha$ your 
 emotions arose from a sense pf happiness ; for you 
 were assuredly^ weeping and sobbing as if over- 
 whelmed by the direst calamity." 
 
 " Doubtless this was the impression which my 
 conduct must have made upon your mind," said 
 Walpole, again colouring with shame as he 
 thought of what had happened. " But those tears 
 which one .sheds through excess of joy, are per- 
 fectly similar to those which are shed through 
 grief," 
 
 " True !" said the young lady, with an air of 
 reflection: "all tears are alike, though flowing 
 from such different sources. But frankly speak- 
 ing, I never before knew happiness display itself 
 with such a phase ; and you will permit me to 
 congratulate you that so much emotion did not 
 arise from very opposite circumstances." 
 
 " I accept your congratulations with gratitude," 
 answered Walpole ; and then, as he saw that the 
 young lady, having inclined her head in graceful 
 and modest salutation, was about to turn away 
 from the spot, he hastened to exclaim, " I con- 
 sider myself your debtor — I owe you an explana- 
 tion in return for the generous sympathy you 
 have displayed on my behalf!" 
 
 His object was to detain her a little longer in 
 discourse ; for he was enchanted by her beauty, 
 and his soul was ravished by the tones of her 
 voice. 
 
 "It is a Christian duty," she said, " to show 
 sympathy towards one's fellow-creatures if they 
 seem to be in distress. I know that many young 
 ladies would have at once turned away on behold- 
 
324 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOLBS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 ing a gentleman seated weeping and sobbing upon 
 the grass ; but I could not do so. Tou may think 
 my conduct bold " 
 
 "What! bold when it was so generous ?" ex- 
 claimed Walpole. 
 
 " Why, in this strange world," responded the 
 young lady, " where the trammels of etiquette are 
 so peculiar and the conventionalisms of society so 
 preposterous and absurd, it sometimes needs no 
 ordinary amount of courage to perform a generous 
 action, and to prove that the natural feelings of 
 the heart have not been entirly warped by the 
 artificialities and restraints to which I have 
 alluded." 
 
 " True — most true!" cried Walpole, who was 
 delighted, charmed, and amazed at the language 
 which thus flowed from the lips of that beautiful 
 creature. "And now I feel that I more than 
 ever owe you the explanations which I promised. 
 Yes — it was indeed an excess of happiness that I 
 experienced ! To-day for the first time I have 
 been introduced to the bosom of an amiable 
 family," — and he glanced over his shoulder to- 
 wards Highbury House — " I have been greeted 
 with unaffected fervour and cordial warmth : I 
 have been welcomed by relations whom I never 
 saw before ! And thus my heart grew too 
 full " 
 
 Here he stopped : for again did his emotions 
 swell up into his throat, and the tears started 
 from his eyes. 
 
 " Weep on," said the young lady, with a certain 
 tremulousness in her tone : " never attempt to 
 check prematurely or rudely the natural flow of 
 the best feelings of our human nature ! Heaven 
 knows we have none of us too many sources of such 
 feeling ; and there is consequently oftentimes a 
 luxury in tears." 
 
 "I thank you for these words so truthfully and 
 so kindly spoken," answered Walpole. " Just 
 now I was ashamed of myself for having been sur- 
 prised by a stranger in the midst of those tears 
 and sobs : but now I do not blush on that account, 
 for I see that you do not despise me." 
 
 " Far from it," replied the young lady. " Your's 
 was no unmanly grief! I think that of all 
 characters, that of a coward is the most con- 
 temptible : but I feel convinced that the truly 
 brave and courageous individual can weep at 
 times. Hard hearts have no magnanimity, and 
 therefore no true courage. Bnt perhaps — but 
 perhaps — you will now again begin to fancy that 
 my conduct is bold and unlady-like to a degree in 
 thus giving expression to my feelings ?" 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" exclaimed Walpole. " Ex- 
 cuse me for saying that though I have not yet 
 had the pleasure of being quite ten minutes in 
 your company, I have seen more of a mind that I 
 can admire " 
 
 " Oh, but because I have stood here to converse 
 with you for a few minutes, it was not to court 
 flattery :" — and as the young lady smiled, her 
 parting lips revealed two rows of brilliant teeth. 
 
 "Flattery?— no!" exclaimed Walpole, with 
 enthusiasm. "Purblind indeed should I be if I 
 did not perceive that your's is a mind which 
 would consider mere flattery to be an insult and 
 idle compliments the greatest offence that could 
 be offered you." 
 
 " I am glad that you comprehend me thus far," 
 replied the young lady. " I have no undue 
 
 curiosity — but I presume that from the information 
 you have given me, you have never been in this 
 part of the world before? Perhaps you come from 
 abroad, and thus have only for the first time seen 
 the relations who have received you so kindly ?" 
 
 " I have long dwelt at a great distance," an- 
 swered the young man ; " and this is the first 
 time that I was ever in this neighbourhood. 
 Perhaps you are acquainted with my relations ?" 
 
 " I have not that pleasure," was the response. 
 " But I must now wish you good afternoon ; for 
 here is some one coming to seek me." 
 
 The young lady bowed with that modest affa- 
 bility which had characterized her entire bearing 
 towards Walpole ; and then turning away, she 
 was almost immediately joined by another lady, 
 who was advancing through the orchard. This 
 latter lady seemed to be about five-and-thirty 
 years of age : her features were beautifully regular 
 — rbut her face was pale, and its expression was 
 pensive and melancholy. Her hair was of a dark 
 brown : her eyes were hazel : her complexion 
 was very pure and clear. She was dressed 
 plainly, but with the elegant neatness which 
 characterized the gentlewoman. She was of the 
 medium stature ; and the symmetry of her shape 
 was slender and good. She had on neither bonnet 
 nor shawl, but looked as if she had just stepped 
 out of the adjacent house to take an airing in the 
 grounds, or else to search after the young lady 
 who had been talking to Walpole. 
 
 When the two ladies met, as just described, the 
 young man distinctly heard the elder of the two 
 say to the younger, " Who is that you have been 
 speaking to ?" 
 
 He could not catch the reply that was given ; 
 but he saw the elder lady glance back at him for 
 a moment — and as he caught her look it startled 
 him, he knew not why. There was* nothing 
 angry nor unpleasant in it : on the contrary, it 
 seemed to be a glance of mere passing curiosity 
 and interest which she thus flung upon him ; but 
 there was something in that face which assuredly 
 touched a particular chord in his memory or Ins 
 heart and made it vibrate. He stood gazing after 
 the two ladies until they were lost to his view 
 amidst the trees of the orchard ; and then he 
 slowly retraced his steps towards the house, think- 
 ing of the singular conversation he had held with 
 the younger lady, and of the expression of the 
 elder one's countenance. 
 
 Nothing of any consequence occurred during 
 dinner— nor indeed for the remainder of the even- 
 ing, which was passed pleasantly enough by Ed- 
 ward Walpole ; and we may describe it as the 
 happiest in his life. He had more than once felt 
 an inclination to inquire who occupied the pretty 
 little villa-residence to which the orchard be- 
 longed ; but with a bashfulness which was natu- 
 ral on his part, he did not like to put a question 
 which might seem to indicate curiosity, or which 
 might bring up a flush to his cheeks as he thought 
 of the scene with the young lady. He took leave 
 of his relations at about ten o'clock — but not be- 
 fore his aunt had exacted from him a promise 
 that he would spend the ensuing day at Highbury 
 House. 
 
 On returning to his lodgings in Hanover 
 Square, did Edward Walpole retire to rest ? No : 
 — he sallied forth, and again he plunged amidst all 
 the lowest scenes of debauchery and vice which 
 
THE TOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 323 
 
 belong to the worst neighbourhoods of the me- 
 tropolis. But we should observe that he now 
 carried a pair of loaded pistols secreted about his 
 person , for the horrible discovery of the muti- 
 lated corpse had not failed to produce its impres- 
 sion upon his mind. It was past two o'clock in 
 the morning when he stole into his dwelling — 
 jaded, worn out, and exhausted, and craving the 
 rest of which he seemed to be so strangely and 
 wilfully depriving himself. 
 
 It was about two in the afternoon of the fol- 
 lowing day when Edward Walpole again arrived 
 at Highbury House, and experienced the most 
 cordial welcome on the part of his aunt and 
 cousins ; for his uncle was absent on account of 
 business. An excursion into the country was 
 proposed : Mrs. Seymour, with her two younger 
 daughters, went in an elegant open carriage ; 
 while the elder daughter and the two sons 
 accompanied their cousin Edward Walpole on 
 horseback. Thus the time was pleasantly 
 whiled away until about five o'clock, when Mr. 
 Seymour arrived from the City ; and the family, 
 as usual, dispersed to their respective chambers to 
 dress for dinner. Edward Walpole's toilet was 
 hurriedly completed ; for he was impelled by an 
 irresistible feeling of curiosity to repeat his lounge 
 in the direction of the orchard, in the hope of 
 again seeing something of the young lady whose 
 - beauty was so extraordinary and whose discourse 
 was more or less tinged with eccentricity. In a 
 few minutes he quitted his dressing-room — he was 
 soon threading the garden — he entered the paddock 
 — and towards the boundary-fence he bent his 
 way. But the young lady was not there. Edward 
 sauntered to and fro, wondering whether she 
 
 would come aye, and also wishing that she 
 
 might ! 
 
 "But why should she," he presently asked 
 himself, " even if she should happen to see that I 
 am here? She may not live at the villa at all : 
 
 she might merely be paying a visit which, 
 
 now I think of it, was probable, from the way 
 that she was dressed. Yet ' supposing her to be 
 there, why should she think any more of me ? 
 Because her manner is peculiar and her conversa- 
 tion exhibits a masculine strength of mind, it is no 
 reason why she should forget the modesty of her 
 sex and willingly lay herself out to court an in- 
 terview with one who is almost a total stranger 
 to her. And must she not think that I am in- 
 spired by no ordinary audacity and presumption 
 in seeking this spot with the evident hope " 
 
 But here Edward Walpole suddenly stopped 
 short in bis musings, as he caught a glimpse of a 
 female form amidst the trees of the orchard. His 
 heart leapt within him. Was she coming after 
 all ? No ! — it was not the young lady ; it was 
 the elder one. Walpole was uncertain how to act. 
 He knew not whether to remain, or whether to 
 make * prompt retreat. He was about to com- 
 mence the latter operation, when on glancing 
 towards the lady, he was surprised to observe 
 that she made a sign for him to stop. The 
 next moment he fancied that he must be mis- 
 taken: — again therefore did he begin to move 
 awav from the place, and once more did he glance 
 towards the orchard. Yes — the sign was re- 
 peated : it was an unmistakable gesture for him 
 to remain. The lady looked back two or three 
 times, as if she were afraid of being watched by any 
 
 one or observed from the windows of her own re- 
 sidence, which was half embowered in trees at a 
 distance of about two hundred yards from the fence 
 which separated the orchard from the paddock. 
 On she came : she was attired in a dark silk 
 dress, which was fashionably made, and displayed 
 the slender symmetry of her form to the utmost 
 advantage. There was now an expression of 
 haste and excitement upon the countenance which 
 on the previous day had worn only a look of 
 melancholy pensiveness ; — and now indeed her 
 entire mien indicated that she had something of 
 more or less importance to say to the young man. 
 But still this countenance produced a peculiar im- 
 pression upon Edward's mind, touching that chord 
 which vibrated either in his memory or his heart, 
 he knew not where nor why. Had he ever seen 
 this lady before the previous day ? — was there in 
 his brain some, vague recollection of that pale 
 beautiful face ? He could not tell : — but what- 
 soever mystery might be involved in the doubt, 
 now seemed to be enhanced by the conduct which 
 she was pursuing towards him. 
 
 She approached the fence ; and fixing her hazel 
 eyes with a strange and peculiar significancy upon 
 the youth's countenance, she said in a hurried 
 anxious tone, and glancing behind her at the 
 same time, " Be here at half-past ten precisely — 
 and fail not !" 
 
 " Might I ask, madam — ; — " 
 
 "Ask nothing!" she interrupted him; "and 
 keep your own counsel ! Be secret ! Not a word 
 to those yonder !" — and she pointed in the direc- 
 tion of Highbury House. 
 
 " I will follow your injunctions, madam. But 
 may I not know " 
 
 " Enough ! enough ! You will come !" — and 
 with these words, she turned abruptly away from 
 the fence, leaving young Walpole transfixed with 
 astonishment at the singular and mysterious ap- 
 pointment which was thus given him. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 THE APPOINTMENT. 
 
 As the young man presently retraced his way 
 slowly, to the house, he bewildered himself with 
 conjectures and surmises in reference to the sin- 
 gular circumstance which had just occurred. He 
 was about to enter the garden, when he met his 
 eldest cousin, whose Christian name was Patrick. 
 
 " Whiling away the time till dinner, Edward?" 
 said Mr. Seymour's eldest born. — 
 
 " Yes," answered Walpole, colouring slightly. 
 " I have been lounging through the paddock. By 
 the bye, that is a splendid orchard ! — the cherry 
 trees are laden with fruit — and there is every pro- 
 mise of being an equally fine crop of apples and 
 pears." 
 
 " Ah ! but the orchard does not belong to our 
 property, you know," said Patrick Seymour. 
 
 " I observed that there was a fence. I suppose 
 that the orchard is attached to the picturesaue 
 villa?" H 
 
 Patrick replied in the affirmative, — adding, 
 " She seems to be a well-bred lady by the look of 
 her— very quiet and reserved " 
 
 "Whom do you mean ?" asked Walpole. 
 
320 
 
 THE YOUNG DuCflESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " Why, Lady Amesbury, to be sure ! " ejaculated 
 Patrick; " that's the name of the lady who lives 
 at Charlton Villa." 
 
 " I did not know it before. Does she live alone 
 there ? — for I thiiight I saw two ladies " 
 
 " Lady Amesbury lives all alone there that 
 
 is to say, with her servants : but I have noticed 
 that She is occasionally visited by a beautiful girl 
 
 —tail and well-formed 1 don't know who she 
 
 '* And indeed it is only on three or four occa- 
 sions that I have noticed her at all." 
 
 "Your family, then, does not visit Lady Ames- 
 bury?" said Walpole inquiringly, 
 
 "No; because her ladyship does not court 
 sooiety> She came to live at Charlton Villa for 
 
 the sake of the strictest seclusion At least so 
 
 it was given out at the time " 
 
 " She is a widow, I presume ?" asked Walpole. 
 
 "Yes — the widow of the late General Ames- 
 bury. He was created a baronet for his services 
 in India : he died about three years ago — but his 
 widow has only occupied the villa for the last few 
 months. As I have told you she keeps herself 
 very much retired ; and if any of us happen to 
 be walking in the paddock when she is in' her own 
 grounds, she turns away and beats a prompt re- 
 treat. Some say she is in very bad health, for 
 she was many years in India : others declare that 
 her husband's death produced a great effect upon 
 her mind : some few set down her conduct to 
 pride; but so far as I can judge from the occa- 
 sional glimpses I have caught of her at a distance, 
 I should say that so far from being proud, she is 
 retiring, diffident, and amiable. She alsd strikes 
 me as possessing the remains of great beauty — 
 
 even if she may not still be termed beautiful 
 
 But, Ah ! there's the dinner bell ; and a right 
 welcome sound it is I" 
 
 The few particulars which Edward Walpole had 
 succeeded in gleaning from his cousin Patrick, 
 only tended to increase the mystery of the ap- 
 pointment which had been given him. The 
 young lady evidently did not live at Charlton 
 Villa, and was only an occasional visitress. Little 
 likely was it, therefore, that the appointment was 
 made in her behalf — as Edward had at first flat- 
 tered himself it might be. For what purpose, 
 then, had it been made at all ? Was this lady 
 who lived in such strict seclusion, a demirep? 
 was she courting an amorous intrigue ? It was 
 natural enough under the circumstances that this 
 conjecture should strike the young man : but he 
 had too little vanity to give it place for any 
 length of time in his imagination. Besides, there 
 had been nothing in Lady Arhesbury's looks, 
 when she spoke to him at the fence, to indicate 
 the wanton. Yet it was assuredly mysterious 
 enough that she who refused all society, and who 
 even avoided coming into the slightest contact 
 with her neighbours, should have given such a 
 rendezvous to him, a complete stranger ! The 
 whole affair was perplexing and bewildering 
 enough : but Edward Walpole had curiosity suffi- 
 cient to induce him to resolve on seeing the en'd 
 of the adventure. 
 
 The evening passed away at Highbury House, 
 in the same happy manner—as the preceding one ; 
 and shortly after ten o'clbck Edward Walpole's 
 phaeton and paif' drove round to the door. He 
 took leave of his relations — entered the vehicle — 
 aud drove away. But in a few moments he 
 
 stopped — alighted — and bade his coachman drive 
 the phaeton to a tavern at no great distance, and 
 tjhere wait till his return. Edward then retraced 
 his way on foot towards his uncle's residence ; and 
 with the knowledge which he now possessed of 
 the grounds, it was easy for him to find his way 
 Unmolested and without creating any alarm, to 
 the place of appointment. It was a beautiful 
 clear night — in the early part of June, be it re- 
 collected — and all objects were plainly visible. 
 The fence was reached : but Edward found him- 
 self alone there. He looked at his watch : it 
 was close upon the half-hour — and he remem- 
 bered that he was enjoined to be punctual. Would 
 the lady herself be exact? He had scarcely asked 
 ' himself the question, when he beheld a female form 
 approaching amidst the trees of the orchard ; and 
 he quickly recognised Lady Amesbury. Leaping 
 the fence, he stood in her presence. 
 
 " I am glad you are here," she satd, her coun- 
 tenance becoming animated with satisfaction. " I 
 was afraid something might hinder you from 
 keeping the appointment." 
 
 " An appointment given under such circum- 
 stances," replied Walpole, " could not fail to com- 
 mand obedience." v 
 
 " Ah ! then, you suspect " 
 
 . "I suspect nothing," rejoined the youth. " Per- 
 haps the moment is now come when all mystery 
 may cease?" 
 
 A peculiar smile stole Over the lady's counte- 
 nance : it assuredly was not a smile of wanton- 
 ness nor of immodest encouragement : it was in 
 no sense unamiable — but still it was undefin- 
 able. 
 
 " Come with me," she said, somewhat abruptly. 
 " This way !" 
 
 She led the young man through the orchard ; 
 and as he followed her," he naturally wondered 
 more and more at the adventure in which he was 
 engaged. A shrubbery was reached ; and this, as 
 it appeared, constituted a boundary between the 
 brchard and the garden. 
 
 ".Remain here for a' few moments," whispered 
 Lady Amesbury : , and she lightly laid her hand as 
 she spoke upon Walpole's arm. 
 
 She then glided away from him, leaving him 
 within the shade of the shrubbery. He looked 
 after her : but she disappeared amidst the trees of 
 the garden. Some moments of profouud silenee 
 elapsed — and then all of a sudden the deep still- 
 ness was broken by strange sounds : they were 
 those of a tambourine. These lasted for three or 
 four minutes ; and' when they ceased, a merry peal 
 of musical laughter, but in the sweetest feminine 
 tones, rang out upon the moonlit night and were 
 wafted to Edward Walpole's ear. That silvery 
 outburst of merriment ceased ; and then followed 
 the unmistakable sounds of castanets. " Walpole 
 listened with amazement — almost with stupefac- 
 tion : he could scarcely believe his own ears : he 
 thought he must be labouring under some mis- 
 take in fancying that all these evidences of gaiety 
 and mirthfulness could emanate from a place 
 which had been chosen as the seclusion of a be- 
 reaved widow ! But there was indeed no room 
 for doubt : there were the sounds' of the castanets ; 
 — and suddenly ceasing, they were followed by 
 another beating and clashing of the tambourine. 
 
 " Is it possible," asked Walpole of himself, 
 "that I have been brought hither to assist pre- 
 
THE YOUSG DUC11ESS; OK, MEMOIKS Of A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 327 
 
 sently in some orgie or merry-making of a licen- 
 tious description ? Good God ! if that l)eau,tiful 
 girl be of such a character ! And now that I 
 bethink me, that boldness of language on her part 
 — those masculine and philosophic ideas so auda- 
 ciously enunciated 
 
 But here his musings were suddenly cut short 
 by the reappearance of Lady Amesbury, who' 
 camegliding amidst the trees of the garden to- 
 wards the spot where she had left the young man 
 in the shrubbery. 
 
 "It is all right!" she whispered: " the coast is 
 clear — and I can introduce you without attracting 
 the slightest observation." 
 
 " But one word, madam " 
 
 " Not a word ! not a syllable ! Come. Hush !" 
 she said, in a low and seemingly frightened tone : 
 " what noise was that ?" 
 
 "Nothing but the rustling of the leaves," 
 answered Walpole. " I beseech your ladyship to 
 tell me " 
 
 "Know you not the old adage?" asked his 
 mysterious guide, with one of those peculiar 
 smiles the significancy of which he could not 
 fathom. 
 
 " There are many adages, madam," responded 
 the youth: "but to which particular one you 
 allude " 
 
 " Oh, you will soon see !" she interrupted him. 
 " Come ! Not another word !" 
 
 She again led the way : Edward Walpole fol- 
 lowed in bewilderment of mind — but still with a 
 resolve to see the end of the adventure, whatever 
 it might be. The garden was threaded — the 
 silence was not again interrupted by the tambou- 
 rine, laughter, or castanets — and in a few moments 
 Lady Amesbury stopped at a glass door opening 
 from the side of the villa upon a lawn ornamented 
 with statues and vases. She led the way into a 
 passage communicating with the principal hall, 
 and lighted by a handsome gas-lamp which threw 
 its rays from the middle of that hall into the cor- 
 ridor. 
 
 " It is here that you are to enter," whispered 
 Lady Amesbury, as she stopped at a door, that 
 was midway up that passage. " And now," she 
 added, with another of her peculiar smiles, " you 
 wjll learn to appreciate the truth of the adage 
 that ' Faint heart never won fair lady.' " 
 
 With these words Lady Amesbury gently opened 
 the door and pushed Edward Walpole across the 
 threshold. At the same moment the door closed 
 behind him ; and he found himself in a little 
 cabinet, ten or a dozen feet square, and which 
 seemed to contain, as he flung a quick glance 
 around, an infinite variety of curiosities and ob- 
 jects of verba. An inner door stood partly open ; 
 and it was through this medium that the beams of 
 light penetrated into the cabinet. Edward Wal- 
 pole passed on — looked through the half-open door 
 — and beheld a large and handsomely furnished 
 room, the casement of which was open ; and in 
 the recess where it stood there were arrays of the 
 choicest and loveliest flowers upon green-painted 
 stands. The apartment was lighted by a chande- 
 lier suspended to the ceiling : the atmosphere was 
 warm and perfumed, but by no means sickly nor 
 oppressive, for it softly blended with the fresh air 
 that penetrated through the open casement. And 
 upon an ottoman, or rather luxurious divan, lay a 
 lovely form — a lady in her evening toilet, who 
 
 had evidently thrown herself there in that species 
 of abandonment which anticipated no intrusion, 
 She was gently fanning herself : near her lay a 
 tambourine— in one of her hands she held a pair 
 of castanets ; and thus Edward Walpole instan- 
 taneously became aware that it was she who had 
 been diverting herself, and that it was through 
 that open casement the sounds of music and laugh- 
 ter were wafted to his ears when he was concealed 
 in the shrubbery. He did not instantaneously 
 catch a view of the fair one's face on account of 
 the fan which she held in an intervening position : 
 but the moment his eyes did obtain a glimpse of 
 those features, his heart leapt as with the joy of a 
 suspense that was relieved or a hope that was ful- 
 filled ; for it was indeed none other than the beau- 
 teous creature whose acquaintance he had formed 
 on the preceding day ! 
 
 And at the same moment, too, she caught sight 
 of him ; and in the twinkling of an eye she 
 sprang up to her feet. Her countenance crimsoned 
 — her eyes flashed — her very form seemed to di- 
 late with indignation, as she demanded, " What 
 means this intrusion, sir ?" 
 
 " I take heaven to witness I am innocent of 
 any wilful rudeness!" replied Walpole, who was 
 for an instant startled and completely taken aback 
 by this extraordinary and most unlooked-for recep- 
 tion. 
 
 " Explain yourself, sir," said the young lady, 
 evidently becoming milder, if not altogether ap- 
 
 " Nay, this is scarcely possible," answered Wal- 
 pole ; " and perhaps I had better refer you to 
 Lady Amesbury." 
 
 "Ah! she has done this? Yes — who else 
 could 7" 
 
 The young lady ejaculated these words in a 
 subdued tone, and more as if she were musing to 
 herself than addressing Walpole in a direct man- 
 ner. 
 
 " Yes," she now pursued, as she again fixed her 
 eyes upon him ; " I see that it could only have 
 rjeen as you just now intimated. You are there- 
 fore acquitted of any intentional rudeness " 
 
 " I should be incapable of wilfully offending 
 one who displayed so much sympathy towards 
 me, and in whom I must candidly confess that I 
 pxperience an unusual degree of interest " 
 
 " You know," interrupted the young lady, " that 
 I dislike whatsoever savours of flattery or conj- 
 pliment :" — but though she .spoke with an air 
 of rebuke, she was nevertheless entirely good- 
 tempered ; all her indignation had vanished, and 
 there was a partial smile upon her beautifully- 
 formed lips. 
 
 "By heaven !" exclaimed Walpole, whose natu- 
 ral bashfulness fled before the rapturous and en- 
 chanting impressions made upon him by tie 
 dazzling loveliness of the fair stranger, whose 
 charms were displayed to the fullest advantage 
 by the evening dress which she wore, — " tjy 
 heaven ! I am incapable of falsehood or hypocrisy 
 in anything that I may say to you ! To flatter 
 you would be impossible ! — to compliment you 
 beyond your deserts, would also be something 
 that no language could achieve !'' " 
 
 The young lady smiled for a moment — but it 
 was as if in a sort of good-natured mockery of 
 Walpole's enthusiasm, and likewise as if she con- 
 siderately tolerated this style of language which 
 
328 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS J OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 in her heart she despised. But as her features 
 immediately became serious in their expression, 
 she pointed to a chair, saying, " Sit down, and 
 tell ine how all this happened." 
 
 Instead of resuming her own place on the divan, 
 the young lady took a chair at a little distance 
 from the one which she had just indicated for the 
 use of the intruder ; and thus, from the very mo- 
 ment that she had become aware of his presence, 
 her whole conduct seemed to prove, by a variety 
 of little details, that the modesty of her character 
 and the propriety of her sentiments were beyond 
 all suspicion. 
 
 "With all possible frankness and candour," 
 said Walpole, " will I give the explanations 
 which you await, and which indeed you have so 
 much right to demand from my lips." 
 
 The young lady inclined her head gently, as 
 much as to bid him proceed ; and it also struck 
 him that there was a significant hint in that silent 
 movement that he need not render his preface 
 too long. He accordingly proceeded to explain 
 how he happened, (this was the term he used) to 
 be walking in the paddock that afternoon at about 
 five o'clock— how Lady Amesbury had beckoned 
 him to the fence — how she had given him the ap- 
 pointment — how he had kept it — and how he had . 
 been made to tarry a few minutes in the shrub- 
 bery until introduced to the apartment where he 
 now found himself. 
 
 " And while you were in the shrubbery," said 
 the young lady, who had listened with 'the 
 deepest attention and with a thoughtful expres- 
 sion of countenance, " you perhaps heard certain 
 sounds " 
 
 " Yes — to be candid, I did." 
 
 " The tambourine and the castanets ?" said the 
 young lady, with a slight deepening of the sea- 
 shell pink upon her cheeks. 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Walpole, — " and likewise a 
 peal of laughter which seemed to gush from the 
 very fountains of a heart that had never known 
 trouble nor care." 
 
 The countenance of the young lady still con- 
 tinued imperturbable in the mingled softness and 
 . brightness of its sweet intellectual beauty ; and 
 after reflecting in silence for nearly a minute, she 
 suddenly raised her eyes, fixed them upon Wal- 
 ' pole, and said, " Are you sure that you have told 
 me everything ? Did her ladyship give you no 
 intimation of what she meant — no hint of what 
 . her purpose was ?" 
 
 "No. Ah, yes! I forgot!"— and the young 
 man coloured. 
 
 " You see that you have not told me every- 
 thing," said the fair stranger reproachfully. " Yet 
 you promised to deal with me in all frankness 
 and candour !" 
 
 " And I will do so !" exclaimed Edward. 
 
 " Yes, her ladyship Aid say something It was 
 
 here, at the door, just before she gently opened it 
 But I dare not tell you " 
 
 " Understand me, sir," interrupted the young 
 lady. " The indiscretion of my poor friend has 
 thrown us together under circumstances which 
 render it necessary that I should know all that 
 passed. There must be no fastidiousness nor 
 false delicacy between us; for when, you have 
 finished your explanation, it will become my turn 
 to give you one, not merely for my own sake, but 
 also for that of Lady Amesbury. Therefore tell 
 
 me at once what she said to you ere she opened 
 the doer?" 
 
 Again did the colour mount to Edward Wal- 
 pole's cheeks : but suddenly mustering up all his 
 courage, and conquering his bashfulness, he re- 
 plied, " Lady Amesbury reminded me of an old 
 adage, to the effect that ' faint heart never won 
 fair lady.' " 
 
 It was now the beautiful stranger's turn to 
 colour even more deeply than Walpole had done ; 
 and for a few moments she bent her eyes down. 
 But suddenly raising them, with the air of one 
 who was all frankness and candour, who meant 
 no wrong and who knew no guile, she said, 
 " Without another instant's delay let me explain 
 the primal cause of an adventure which has natu- 
 rally proved so embarrassing to both you and 
 me. The key to the reading of the mystery is 
 
 unless indeed you have already suspected 
 
 it?" 
 
 " No : on my soul I have not !" ejaculated 
 Walpole. 
 
 "Well then, a few words will explain," re- 
 joined the fair, stranger. " Poor Lady Amesbury 
 has not always a complete command over her 
 intellects !" 
 
 " Good heavens ! The unfortunate lady !" 
 cried Edward. 
 
 " Unfortunate indeed ! " pursued , the fair 
 stranger. "She is by no means sufficien'tly de- 
 ranged to be placed under restraint— nor indeed 
 has she any relations or friends in the whole 
 world who would trouble themselves sufficiently 
 about her " 
 
 "Except yourself, perhaps?" interjected Wal- 
 pole. 
 
 "Yes — I love my, poor friend — I sympathize 
 with her — I compassionate her! But she does 
 not court society — it is seldom even that I am 
 truly welcome — and thus my visits are rarely 
 paid. Sometimes she remains for weeks and 
 months together in moods of the deepest de- 
 spondency, when the visit of a friend would only 
 render her worse. On other occasions she be- 
 comes strangely enlivened ; and then it is that I 
 do my best to sustain the cheering influence — 
 and I play the part of a great foolish girl." 
 
 As she thus spoke, the young lady glanced at 
 the tambourine and the castanets ; and again did 
 the soft hue of the sea-shell pink deepen upon her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "I myself am a strange creature," she con- 
 tinued ; " and if I give the rein to my natural 
 spirits they sometimes carry me away. Hence 
 was it that just now, even when Lady Amesbury 
 had glided out of this room, I seized the tam- 
 bourine, I clashed it and danced just as if she 
 were still here ; and then with a peal of laughter 
 at my own wild folly, I flung myself on that 
 
 divan. 1 consider, sir," added the young lady, 
 
 in a low and deliberate tone, and again casting 
 down her looks modestly, — ;" I consider that I am 
 bound to give these explanations for my own 
 sake, because little thought I in the midst of my 
 hoyden mirth that there was a listener outside the 
 casement, or that a stranger step was about to in- 
 trude over the threshold of this sanctuary." 
 
 " You know — you know," observed Edward, in 
 gentle deprecation of the term which had just been 
 used, " that it was an innocent intrusion on my 
 part !" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 329 
 
 ; >t M*€. 
 
 i l 
 
 No. 42.— The Youhg D'cchess. 
 
330 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCTIESS; OK, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "Yes — assuredly !" cried the young lady ; " and 
 I am bound to admit that your conduct has been 
 most courteous and gentlemanly — so that my best 
 thanks are your due." 
 
 Edward Walpole fancied that this was an in- 
 timation for him to depart ; and he rose from his 
 seat. 
 
 "One minute longer!" said the fair stranger, 
 with a gesture which made him reseat himself. 
 " I have yet a few words to add to the explana- 
 tions already given. You may possibly have ob- 
 served that Lady Amesbury joined me yesterday 
 in the orchard after I had been conversing with 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes: and I could not help overhearing her as 
 she asked with whom you had been talking." 
 
 " And perhaps, in the reply which I gave," re- 
 sumed the young lady, " I may have said some- 
 thing which seemed to have a peculiar signifieancy 
 in the warped and clouded estimation of my poor 
 friend. I may have spoken of you as one that 
 had excited my sympathy: — would it not have 
 been natural that I should have done so ? for you 
 remember under what circumstances I addressed 
 you at the outset." 
 
 "Yes, yes!" exclaimed Edward: "I was 
 weeping and sobbing as if in profoundest dis- 
 tress !" 
 
 "And you may also comprehend," continued 
 the young lady, " that inasmuch as I had in- 
 truded upon you at a moment when there was the 
 sanctity of secrecy, so to speak, in the state of 
 your feelings, I did not explain to Lady Ames- 
 bury how I had found you weeping, or why 
 I spoke to you at all. Thus, as in one sense I 
 must have appeared reserved towards her, while 
 in another sense admitting that I had felt in- 
 terested in the young gentleman with whom I had 
 just been speaking, she arrived at certain conclu- 
 sions — and — and — she acted upon them. Need I 
 say more ?" 
 
 " I understand you fully !" answered Walpole. 
 " Lady Amesbury thought she would be perform- 
 ing an act of kindness and friendship in bringing 
 us together : — she meant it also to assume the 
 appearance of a surprise for both !" 
 
 " And she was ignorant," added the young lady 
 emphatically, " that she was taking a step which 
 might cruelly compromise me, if I had been 
 brought in contact with one of less gentlemanly 
 feeling and less delicate appreciation than your- 
 self. As a matter of course it will be scarcely 
 necesssary for me to express a hope that this ad- 
 venture — half serious, half ludicrous — shall re- 
 main a secret ?" 
 
 " But may I not on my own side hope," asked 
 Walpole, " that an acquaintance which has cer- 
 tainly commenced so singularly, shall not be put 
 an end to abruptly ?" 
 
 " Remember," said the young lady, with a 
 smile, "that I do not as yet even know your 
 name." 
 
 " My name is Edward Walpole — and I am the 
 nephew of Mr. Seymour, as I think I intimated 
 yesterday. I have just inherited a fortune " 
 
 " And I hope you will enjoy it, Mr. Walpole," 
 interrupted the young lady, with a singular blend- 
 ing of sweetness and abruptness in her manner. 
 " I shall take leave of my friend Lady Amesbury 
 to-morrow morning, and I know not when I may 
 visit her again ; so that, to be very candid with 
 
 you, it were useless for you to desire the continu- 
 ation of an acquaintance which would only allow 
 you a chance of bowing to me across a fence be- 
 tween an orchard and a paddock, some two or 
 three times in the course of the year." 
 
 Walpole looked embarrassed and discomfited 
 for a moment : he almost felt humiliated — for it 
 seemed that the continuation of their acquaintance 
 was declined in a manner which though perfectly 
 polite, was nevertheless cold and distant. But 
 suddenly 'plucking up his courage, he said, "Al- 
 though it were only to have the opportunity of 
 bowing to you at distant intervals, yet would it 
 be alike an honour and a pleasure to feel that I 
 am permitted to claim your acquaintance ." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Walpole," ejaculated the young lady, 
 with a generous warmth, "you must not fancy 
 that you gave me any offence by proposing that 
 our acquaintance should continue. A young lady 
 may safely answer in the affirmative when such 
 a proposition is made by a gentleman and a man 
 of honour ; and you have proved yourself to be 
 both. Besides, to confess the truth, I really care 
 little for those cold social formalities and conven- 
 tionalisms which act as trammels and shackles 
 But enough !" she suddenly interrupted her- 
 self. "I must not get preaching and sermon- 
 ising now. Our acquaintance shall continue, Mr. 
 Walpole. Do you know who I am ?" 
 
 " I have not that honour," answered Walpole ; 
 " but I feel convinced that you are a lady of high 
 
 birth " 
 
 " Do you know,'' she interrupted him, with an 
 air half grave, half good-humoured, "if you con- 
 tinue to' fling flatteries and compliments at me, 
 even though it be by the merest inuendo or impli- 
 cation, I shall repent the promise which I have 
 given to the effect that our acquaintance may 
 continue. I do not wish to seem singular nor to 
 pretend to eccentricity — for these are affectations 
 of the most nauseating description : but at the 
 same time I do not choose to be confounded with 
 the generality of silly frivolous creatures who are 
 only to be amused by compliments or pleased by 
 adulation." 
 
 " I will endeavour not to sin again in that 
 respect," replied Walpole. "But really," he 
 added, with a smile, " one must be very guarded 
 indeed when in discourse with you ; for it is 
 scarcely possible to help expressing one's feeling 
 every now and then." 
 
 "Again?" — and the young lady blushed 
 slightly ; then bursting out into a silvery laugh, 
 she said, " You are incorrigible ; so I had better 
 tell you at once who I am in order that you may 
 have no excuse for tarrying here any longer. I 
 am the daughter of Lord and Lady Trentham ; 
 and therefore you may address me as Miss Os- 
 borne." 
 
 " Miss Osborne," said Walpole, with a bow, 
 " I hope that you will not send me away imme- 
 diately, just at the very moment when I seem to 
 be getting better and better acquainted with you. 
 
 A short half hour ! — I ask no more it is not 
 
 yet late " 
 
 " Pray be seated again, Mr. Walpole! If you 
 wish to remain another half-hour here, it is not 
 for me to reply in the negative after everything 
 that has occurred. Perhaps you would like to 
 learn some additional particulars concerning my 
 poor friend Lady Amesbury ? I knew her first 
 
TIIR YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A I.ADT OF QUALITY 
 
 331 
 
 of all some years ago, when I was a little girl and 
 she was a beautiful creature of two or three and 
 twenty. That was just before she married 
 General Amesbury ; and I may observe that she is 
 about fifteen years older than I am. Young though 
 I was when I first knew her, yet methonght even 
 then that there was a strange soft melancholy 
 about her : she did not appear to be happy, and 
 more than once did I surprise her in tears. And 
 yet she did not seem to have anything to render 
 her unhappy : she had parents who were good 
 and kind to her — a comfortable home in every 
 respect — and being au only child, she had good 
 prospects. Ton may suppose how astonished all 
 her friends were when it was understood she had 
 accepted the suit of General Amesbury, who was 
 very nearly thirty years older than herself. How- 
 ever, so it was : they were married, and she ac- 
 companied her husband to India. Time passed 
 on — years went by — all the world read of the 
 great exploits of Sir Ralph Amesbury — and as I 
 often thought of my friend, I fancied that despite 
 the difference of ages, there might indeed be great 
 happiness for her in such a marriage, because she 
 had every reason to be proud of the husband 
 whom she had accepted." 
 
 "And. Sir Ralph Amesbury died, I believe, 
 about three years ago ?" said Walpole inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes — he died in India. His widow imme- 
 diately returned to England, and buried herself in 
 the strictest seclusion : she refused to receive any 
 of her former friends — or at least suffered them 
 to understand that she did not court society of 
 any kind. I hesitated at first whether to call 
 upon her : I did not even know whether she 
 might remember the little girl to whom she used 
 to he so kind and affectionate some years ago, and 
 whom she used to say that she loved most of all 
 on account of her strange romantic name of 
 Azaline." 
 
 " Is that your Christian name, Miss Osborne?" 
 asked Walpole. 
 
 " Yes. I had a whimsical godmother, who, it 
 appears, insisted upon my being thus christened." 
 
 " It is a beautiful name !" ejaculated Edward. 
 
 " Another compliment !" cried Miss Osborne, 
 with a deprecating look. " But what was I tell- 
 ing yon? Oh! I remember " 
 
 "You were hesitating whether to call upon 
 Lady Amesbury on her return to England as a 
 widow, three years ago." 
 
 " Yes : but at length I decided npon making 
 au endeavour to force an entry into the depth of 
 her seclusion," continued Azaline ; " and I suc- 
 ceeded. I was received with open arms, and was 
 infinitely gratified by the preference thus shown 
 me — or indeed I may say by the" exception thus 
 made solely on my behalf. But I soon began to 
 perceive that everything was not right with my 
 poor friend : I feared lest some secret sorrow had 
 for years been preying on her heart and had at 
 length touched her intellects. Indeed, I felt con- 
 vinced it was not only through grief on accountof 
 her husband's death that her mind was thus 
 affected. However, all this was mere conjecture 
 on my part at the time — and it still remains a 
 bare snrmise as vague as ever." 
 
 " And thus," said Walpole, " you are unable 
 to sympathise fully and completely with your 
 friend, because you are ignorant of the veritable 
 source of her secret sorrow ?" * 
 
 " Precisely so," answered Azaline. " I visit 
 her occasionally — that is to say, as often as I 
 think my presence here may be agreeable ; and I 
 strive to amuse her to the utmost of my power " 
 
 A slight blush again appeared upon Azalins's 
 beautiful countenance as she cast a quick glance 
 towards the tambourine and the castanets; and 
 then she somewhat abruptly exclaimed, " Now, 
 Mr. Walpole, you must leave me — it is growing 
 late — and I shall soon think of retiring to rest. 
 You can depart by the same route by which you 
 were brought hither." 
 
 With her characteristic frankness, so ingenuous 
 and so guileless, Azaline proffered her hand ; and 
 as the young man took it, he retained it in Ms 
 own for a moment, saying in a tremulous voice, 
 " When may I hope to see you again, Miss Os- 
 borne?" 
 
 " I do not know, Mr. Walpole," she replied, 
 civilly, but with a certain coldness and reserve, 
 as she abruptly withdrew her hand. "I wish 
 you good night." 
 
 She bowed and turned aside; he could not 
 linger there any longer, but was constrained to 
 take his departure. He encountered no one in 
 the passage: he passed out at the glass door, 
 crossed the lawn, plunged into the shrubbery, 
 and in a few minutes regained the tavern where 
 he had left his carnage. During the drive home 
 to his lodgings in Hanover Square, all his thoughts 
 were occupied by .his adventure with the beautiful 
 Azaline,— the peculiarity of whose mind, the in- 
 dependence of whose opinions, and the frank bold- 
 ness of whose discourse (which was likewise all 
 so guileless) interested him as much as her exceed- 
 ing personal loveUness had bewildered and en- 
 raptured him. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 THE SISTERS M O RP H E W» 
 
 It was on the night of the 4th of June, as the 
 reader will recollect, that the corpse of Ivan 
 ZadousM was disposed of in the carpet-bag. 
 Three days had elapsed since then ; and it was 
 now the evening of the 7th, about which we are 
 writing. 
 
 It was close upon ten o'clock, when Henri 
 Ponchard rang at the door of the Grills' house, 
 and was at once admitted by the hideous-looking 
 woman herself. She conducted him into the par- 
 lour, where he found Mr. Grills smoking a pipe; 
 while the presence of a bottle and glasses on the 
 table showed that the delectable couple had been 
 solacing or enjoying themselves. 
 
 "Any fresh news?" asked Grills, as Ponchard 
 sat down at the table, while the woman shut the 
 room-door. 
 
 " Nothing fresh,'' replied Ponchard. " I have 
 seen the evening paper " 
 
 " And so have I," interjected Grills. " It says 
 that the police have got hold of some clue " 
 
 " So the accounts have said all along," observed 
 Ponchard, " and I do not believe a sentence of it 
 On the contrary, I am convinced the whole affair 
 is as safe as ever it was — though of course one 
 cannot help cursing the infernal folly of Petronoff 
 in letting the bag down upon the abutment instead 
 of into the water." 
 
332 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "And you raly think that everything's safe 
 and square ?" asked Mrs. Grills. 
 
 " Depend upon it you have nothing to fear," 
 rejoined Ponchard. " There's the toll-keeper 
 who admits that he only lias a vague recollection 
 of the face of the stout elderly woman who passed 
 his gate with a carpet-bag ; and as a matter of 
 course you will not be fool enough to go that 
 way again in a hurry. Then as for the reports 
 about cabmen coming forward to speak of a 
 similar female riding in their vehicles, it appears 
 to be sheer nonsense — or at all events nothing 
 can be made of it— and I am certain the police 
 are utterly at fault." 
 
 " So much the better," said both Grills and his 
 wife, as if speaking in the same breath. 
 
 " If it were not so," continued Ponchard, 
 " something would have oozed out — the news- 
 paper-accounts would not be so vague — and, in 
 short, there would be unmistakable signs of the 
 detectives finding themselves upon the right 
 track." 
 
 "And what do you now make out of the ad- 
 ventures that happened to me on the bridge ?" 
 asked Mrs. Grills. 
 
 " I don't believe in any of the superstitious 
 part of the business," responded the Frenchman. 
 "You must have been mistaken about the face 
 looking ihrough the parapet at you, and the name 
 being "whispered " 
 
 " "Well, suppose I was," interrupted Mrs. Grills, 
 — " and I raly begin to' think I must have been, 
 — but what about the tall foreign gentleman that 
 met me and said he expected to meet Mm 
 there?" 
 
 " That, I confess, puzzles me somewhat," an- 
 swered Ponchard; "and I can only account for 
 it by supposing some coincidence. Zadouski had 
 probably made an appointment for that very night 
 and in that very spot. Indeed this is the only 
 reasonable and rational way of accounting for the* 
 circumstance ; and I am now half mad with my- 
 self that I did not watch upon the bridge the next 
 night, to see if any one answering the description 
 you gave of the tall foreign gentleman returned 
 again to the spot." 
 
 " It wa3 much better you did not," answered 
 Mrs. Grills " Who can tell how you might have 
 been suspected ? No, no, — leave the matter where 
 it stands ; and if we all sail clear through it, I 
 shall say it will be a very fortunate thing." 
 
 " And now tell me about Hester," said Pon- 
 chardi " How has she been to-day ?" 
 
 " Just the same as for the la3t two or three 
 days." 
 
 " You mean quiet, subdued, and thoughtful ?" 
 said Ponchard. 
 
 " Precisely so. Whether the gal does raly 
 know anything or not — whether she thinks that 
 anything suspicious has been going on — I can't 
 for the life of me tell. Sometimes I fancy one 
 thing — sometimes another. But you seem to be 
 able to manage her if any one can ?" 
 
 " Yes," responded the Frenchman. " I have 
 done all I could to act upon her mind by means 
 of the facts which have come to my knowledge. I 
 have no fear that she will do anything of a hos- 
 tile character, even though she may know or sus- 
 pect something." 
 
 "You are going to see her, of course?" said 
 Mrs. Grills. " My old man and me will go down 
 
 into the kitchen, so that you shall be here all 
 alone with Hester." 
 
 " Go and tell her that I am here," said Pon- 
 chard. 
 
 His order was obeyed ; and in a few minutes 
 he found himself alone with Hester Sergeant. He 
 earnestly examined the countenance of the girl 
 as she entered the room ; but still he was careful 
 so to compose his looks as to prevent her from 
 perceiving how narrowly he scrutinized her : for 
 he thought to himself that if she really suspected 
 nothing, he must be doubly cautious in engender- 
 ing mistrust in her mind. On the other hand, he 
 was more inclined to believe that she did know or 
 suspect something, but that she was kept under 
 submission by the influence he had obtained over 
 her. 
 
 " Come and sit down, Hester," he said. " Here 
 is brandy." 
 
 "Ah! give me some," she exclaimed; "for 
 ever since you told me those things I have re- 
 coiled as it were from thought itself, but without 
 being able to escape from it. Have you anything 
 more to tell me?" 
 
 " Nothing as yet," responded the Frenchman. 
 
 "Then you have not seen either of the old 
 women this evening ? — or perhaps they have not 
 yet taken the trouble to go and make the inquiry 
 which they promised ?" 
 
 " I have not been to them this evening, Hester," 
 replied Ponchard. " I have no doubt, from what 
 the elder Miss Morphew said to me yesterday, she 
 would go and call to-day upon the person who 
 used to make the remittances. I will go at once, 
 if you like, and see whether she has been ; but I 
 thought perhaps you would at length make up 
 your mind to go and visit the old dames." 
 
 " I told you the utter repugnance I had against 
 taking that step," replied Hester. " Even though 
 they themselves be so degraded and fallen, yet the 
 circumstance doesn't give me courage to look them 
 with brazen hardihood in the face. There is only 
 one thing which makes me a coward — and that is 
 the idea of coming in contact with any persons 
 who knew me in the times of my childhood and my 
 innocence. And therefore was it that after ma- 
 ture consideration I begged you to obtain from 
 the Morphews such information as they might be 
 able to afford. And you have done it — yes and 
 you have done it kindly too, Henri !" added the 
 girl with impressiveness ; " and I cannot forget 
 it!" 
 
 " Shall I go, then, and ascertain whether any- 
 thing new has transpired ?" asked the French- 
 man. 
 
 " Yes. But, Ah ! when I think of it, Henri, 
 do tell me why the old women would not men - 
 tion the name of the man of business who used to 
 forward the remittances ?" 
 
 " Their conduct is intelligible enough," answered 
 Ponchard, " in all its base selfishness. Suppose, 
 for instance, they should succeed in obtaining some 
 important revelations concerning your parentage 
 from that man of business, — this would be a 
 secret which they could sell, would it not? Yes 
 — and sell to the highest bidder !" 
 
 " I do not exactly understand you, Henri," said 
 Hester. 
 
 " I will endeavour to explain myself. Suppose 
 this stockbroker, whoever he may be, should have 
 it in his power to throw any light upon your 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 333 
 
 parentage, — the Morphews could seek out your 
 mother, for instance, if she be still living — or 
 your father, whoever he may be " 
 
 "I understand," exclaimed the girl. "Yes, 
 yes ! I am in the hands of selfish persons, and 
 the game nuist be played cautiously and skilfully 
 with these old women ! I did not think they 
 were so bad as this !" 
 
 "You thought well of them when you were 
 young," said Ponchard, "because you were too 
 inexperienced and innocent to notice anything 
 that might be at all tortuous or peculiar in their 
 characters or dispositions. But now that you have 
 grown up and got a woman's knowledge, you 
 would doubtless judge them very differently in a 
 moment if you came in contact with them." 
 
 Hester reflected in deep silence for upwards of 
 a minute ; and then she exclaimed with abrupt- 
 ness, " I will go with yon and see them !" 
 
 "Be it so," said Ponchard. "Hasten and put 
 on your bonnet, and we will proceed to their 
 abode at once." 
 
 The young woman sprang up-stairs to her 
 chamber ; and in a few moments she reappeared, 
 equipped for going out. She and Ponchard is- 
 sued from the house together ; and the}' made the 
 best of their way towards Granby Street. But 
 little conversation passed during the walk ; for 
 Hester was absorbed in her reflections, which 
 Ponchard did not choose to interrupt. Their des- 
 tination was soon reached ; and Ponchard con- 
 ducted his companion into a small meanly fur- 
 nished sitting-room, where they found Caroline 
 Morphew, the younger of the two old women ; 
 for the elder one was out at the time. She was 
 much changed by misfortune, care, and a sense of 
 moral degradation, since Hester had last seen her 
 about nine or ten years back ; and indeed, if they 
 had met in the street by accident, there would 
 have been no recognition on either side. 
 
 " Good evening, sir," said the dame to Pon- 
 chard. " Is this " 
 
 " The young person of whom I have spoken," 
 said the Frenchman : " this is Hester Sergeant." 
 
 The old woman seemed moved for an instant — 
 but it was more through a sudden smiting sense 
 of her own infamous existence, than of sympathy 
 or interest on behalf of the girl who in years past 
 was her pupil ; — and quickly recovering herself, 
 she coldly said, " I little thought what had be- 
 come of you, Hester, till M. Ponchard called 
 and spoke to me about you the day before yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "Perhaps, if I were different from what I am, 
 Miss Morphew," answered Hester, " I should say 
 that I was much shocked and distressed to hear 
 how your position in the world had altered. But 
 considering what I am, as M. Ponchard must have 
 of course told you " 
 
 "Enough upon these points!" interrupted the 
 Frenchman, who wished to hurry his young com- 
 panion over what degree of painfulness there might 
 be in this meeting with her old schoolmistress. 
 "I have already explained to Miss Morphew why 
 you hesitated to call upon her in the first instance ; 
 and she may now understand by your presence 
 here that I have succeeded in persuading you to 
 come and learn direct from her lips those parti- 
 culars which so much interest yon, and which 
 perhaps lose some of their details — and at all 
 events much of their interest — when communicated 
 
 through the medium of a third party. I will now 
 leave you together." 
 
 Having thus spoken, Ponchard quitted the room, 
 and as the door closed behind him, Hester hastily 
 demanded of the dame, " Have yon learnt any 
 fresh particulars ? has the stockbroker been seen ?" 
 
 "The matter has not been neglected, Hester," 
 replied Caroline Morphew : " my sister is now 
 away upon that business." 
 
 " What ! at this hour ?" exclaimed the young 
 woman incredulouslv. "It is close upon eleven 
 o'clock !" ' 
 
 " You do not think my sister would go to the 
 office of the man of business with the chance of 
 being insulted or turned out by his insolent clerks ? 
 We know that we have fallen in the world, Hester 
 — we are not what we were — our appearance in- 
 dicates our degradation. But you, poor girl — who 
 would ever have thought," continued the old wo- 
 man, with a transient sentiment of sympathy,— 
 " who would ever have thought " 
 
 " Pray don't talk of that!" interrupted Hester j, 
 "but tell me — do not keep me in suspense ! — your 
 sister has. gone to see this man of business?" 
 
 " Yes— she is gone to his own private house : it 
 is a good way from here — in the northern part of 
 London — and he is seldom to be seen there until 
 after nine o'clock in the evening, when he has en- 
 joyed his dinner and his Avine. So it may perhaps 
 be late before my sister comes back." 
 
 " She cannot be much longer now," said Hester. 
 " I will wait. Meanwhile pray give me in their 
 minutest and most detailed form, all those parti- 
 culars which you gave M. Ponchard the day he- 
 fore yesterdaj 7 ." 
 
 " The story is not a very long one," answered 
 Caroline Morphew ; " and unless my sister brings 
 some additional details from the place where she 
 is gone for information, it will be meagre enough." 
 
 " Never mind ! — tell me at once all you know — 
 repeat everything you said to M. Ponchard— so 
 that I may be certain I made no mistake in listen- 
 ing to him, and he made no omission in commu- 
 nicating the particulars to me." 
 - " I daresay you are now old enough and expe- 
 rienced enough to understand," commenced Miss 
 Morphew, " that the establishment which my 
 sister and I kept near Lewisham, was one where 
 no impertinent questions were asked, provided the 
 payments were regularly made. In fact, the 
 pupils ^we had were either natural children, or 
 else the offspring of parents who cared but little 
 for them and who preferred to leave them with 
 strangers in England rather than incur the ex- 
 pense of taking them abroad. There were also some 
 whose parents were compelled for economy's sake 
 to leave them with us when they themselves went 
 out to India or other distant colonies. In a word, 
 our establishment was a very useful one to several 
 classes of persons ; and this preface will appro- 
 priately introduce the particulars I am now about 
 to give. One day a middle-aged lady called upon 
 us ; and after feeling her way carefully with some 
 few questions, she proceeded to open her business. 
 Her daughter had been seduced— she was in a 
 way to become a mother — and she had been 
 brought down to Lewisham for her confinement, 
 which was expected to take place hourly. Every 
 precaution had been adopted to envelope the affair 
 in mystery, so that the young lady's secret might 
 be preserved and her honour saved. The proposi- 
 
334 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A I.ADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 tion made to my sister and me was — ' Would we 
 take the child from its very birth and bring it 
 up ?' "We said, ' Yes, if such periodical payments 
 as might be agreed upon were guaranteed by some 
 person of undoubted responsibility.' We were 
 referred to an eminent stockbroker in the City of 
 London ; and the answer was completely satis- 
 factory. As a matter of course the young lady 
 and her mother had been living under an assumed 
 name for some few weeks at Lewisham — their real 
 name was not mentioned to us at all " 
 
 " And that assumed name was Sergeant, I pre- 
 sume ?" said Hester. 
 
 " That name was Sergeant. Well, the bargain 
 was struck " 
 
 " Did the stockbrokers themselves know the 
 real name ?" 
 
 " That is more than I can say ; and as you 
 ought to be able to guess, it is the very point 
 which my sister has now gone to endeavour to 
 find out. I should think it most probable that 
 tlie stockbroking firm must have known by whom 
 they were employed in the matter. But be that 
 as it may, their pledge and promise were consi- 
 dered safe and secure enough ; and as I just now 
 said, the bargain was struck. It devolved upon 
 me to go and fetch the child a few hours after its 
 birth, so that it might not be known at our esta- 
 blishment whence the little stranger came. I went 
 to the lodgings •" 
 
 " And you saw my mother?" exclaimed Hester 
 quickly. " Yes ! — you told this much to M. 
 I Ponchard ! But you did not give him a descrip- 
 , tion of .the authoress of my being ; neither did 
 you repeat what she said to you ; — and this was 
 one reason why I suddenly resolved upon seeking 
 the recapitulation of the narrative from your 
 lips, lest Ponchard might have omitted aught of 
 it." 
 
 " If I did not give a description of your 
 mother, Hester, it was because I was not per- 
 mitted to see her face ; for she was veiled — yes, 
 closely veiled, and I could not even so much as 
 obtain a glimpse of her features. But I remem- 
 ber this much — that I was struck by the beauty 
 of her arm — it was superbly modelled — and, Ah ! 
 now that I bethink me yes, to be sure " 
 
 " What ? what ?" demanded the young girl, 
 full of excitement. 
 
 " I think I can't be dreaming," continued Miss 
 Morphew, " when to the best of my recollection 
 I fancy that you have three little moles forming 
 a triangle, on the lower part of your right 
 arm ?" 
 
 " The marks are here ! Look !" cried Hester, 
 raising her sleeve. 
 
 " Ah, to be sure ! I recollect perfectly, I used 
 to aay to my sister how singular it was that you 
 should have precisely the same mark as your 
 mother." 
 
 " Had she those marks?" cried Hester. 
 
 "Yes — precisely as your's are placed— just on 
 the same spot too ; and I used to say to my 
 sister that if there should ever be any desire on 
 the part of your mother to claim you, there 
 would be no difficulty in establishing the iden- 
 tity. As for what your mother said to me at the 
 time, it was little enough, poor creature! — for 
 she was weeping and sobbing as if her heart 
 would break, when she knew that the fatal mo- 
 ment had come for her to part with her babe." 
 
 "Alas, poor mother!" murmured Hester, the 
 tears trickling down her cheeks. " But even 
 though she spoke little, tell me what was it that 
 she did say." 
 
 " Surely you can guess what a mother would 
 say under such circumstances ? She told me to 
 be good and kind to you " 
 
 "Ah! then, she loved me," moaned Hester; 
 " and of her own accord she doubtless would not 
 have parted from me, although I was the child of 
 shame I And from that moment you never again 
 saw anything of either my mother or of her 
 mother ?" 
 
 " Never," replied Caroline Morphew. " You 
 remained with us until you were seven — the re- 
 mittances always came regularly — and when you 
 attained that age, we received a letter to the 
 effect that arrangements had been made with Miss 
 Thompson to receive you at her seminary at 
 Brompton. You were removed accordingly ; and 
 shortly afterwards ruin came upon my sister and 
 myself at Hillside House. These calamities 
 ravaged us like a desolating army ; a malignant 
 fever broke out in the school — we had previously 
 got involved in some pecuniary difficulties — so 
 that when once the school was broken up by 
 sickness it became impossible to stave off com- 
 plete destruction. Our downward descent was 
 rapid; and — arid — you now see to what we are 
 reduced!" 
 
 There was a pause, — at the expiration of which 
 Hester said, "And now, will you tell me the real 
 truth upon one point? Why have you sup- 
 pressed the name of the stockbroking firm from 
 whom you received the guarantee on my ac- 
 count ?" 
 
 The dame flung a sinister glance upon Hester, 
 and then she averted her head without answering 
 the question. The young woman had therefore 
 no difficulty in comprehending that this reserve 
 on the part of the two old women might be 
 attributed to the selfish motive which Ponchard 
 had suggested as the explanation. 
 
 " Here is my sister!" said Caroline Morphew, 
 as some one was heard to enter the passage of the 
 house, for the front door stood open. 
 
 The elder Miss Morphew entered ; and Hester 
 at once sprang towards her, exclaiming, " Tell me 
 without delay — have you learnt anything ?" 
 
 "Ah!" cried the elder dame; "this, then, 
 must be Hester Sergeant ?" 
 
 "Yes — the same! the same!" ejaculated the 
 young woman. " Tell me, I beseech you " 
 
 "Ah, my dear,'' responded the elder Miss Mor- 
 phew, shaking her head ominously, " there is no 
 good news for you." 
 
 " Do not say this !" cried Hester : " do not 
 show such utter selfishness ! Remember that 
 there is a sanctity in such a secret, and you must 
 not make it the object of mean vile bargaining ! 
 Besides, low as we have fallen, yet let it not be 
 said that all good and 'generous feelings are ex- 
 tinct !" 
 
 "Do not excite yourself, my dear," interrupted 
 the elder Miss Morphew. " I have nothing to tell 
 you— and you may go to the same quarter your- 
 self if you like. You will see that I am not de- 
 ceiving yon." 
 
 " The name, then ! — the name ?" cried Hester. 
 
 " The father is dead — but the son carries on 
 the business in the City. The name i Warren. 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 835 
 
 He has a splendid house at Highbury; and if 
 you wish to see him with the least possible delay, 
 you can call there before nine to-morrow morning 
 
 Unless indeed you are bolder than I, my 
 
 dear, and have the effrontery to visit him at his 
 place of business in the City." 
 
 There was a sort of mocking flippant accent in 
 the tones of the old woman, as well as something 
 in her manner which showed the spiteful dispo- 
 sition seeking to revenge itself for some disap- 
 pointment which its own selfishness had expe- 
 rienced. 
 
 "But what did he tell you ?" asked Hester, who 
 was in a state of feverish excitement. 
 
 " He told me just this, — that fifty pounds used 
 to be regularly remitted every Christmas for your 
 benefit, until about four or five years ago when 
 these remittances suddenly ceased. Sometimes 
 the money was sent in the form of a bank-note in 
 an envelope, unaccompanied by any letter — some- 
 times the cash was left at the office by a mes- 
 senger or porter who could give no account of his 
 employer. As a matter of course, when the 
 money ceased to be paid to the stockbroker, 
 the stockbroker ceased to pay it to the school- 
 mistress." 
 
 Hester heaved a profound sigh, and her head 
 drooped upon her bosom. There was a silence of 
 nearly a minute, during which the two sisters 
 exchanged significant looks, — the younger asking 
 by means of a glance whether the facts were just 
 as the elder was representing them, or whether 
 for some reason or another she was deceiving the 
 young girl, though giving the name of the stock- 
 broker? But the elder Miss Morphew quickly 
 made Caroline understand that it was just as she 
 had been explaining, and that there was no 
 chance of making a good bargain out of the 
 business. 
 
 " There is one thing that strikes me as strange I" 
 ejaculated Hester, suddenly raising her head. 
 
 " And what is that, my dear ?" asked the elder 
 crone, who, as she contemplated the girl's coun- 
 tenance, gradually began to revolve a certain idea 
 in her mind. 
 
 " It occurs to me," pursued Hester, " that it is 
 a very strange thing the stockbroker's firm should 
 guarantee the annual payment of the stipend to 
 yon without knowing by whom they were em- 
 ployed. It does not look rational. Either this 
 Mr. Warren must know more than he chooses to 
 tell — or else you are deceiving me. I am forced 
 to speak out, and if I wrong you or give you of- 
 fence " 
 
 " I will forgive you, my dear," answered the 
 eider of the two old women. " You are wronging 
 me. Of what use is it for me to tell you a false- 
 hood to-night when you may "make inquiries for 
 yourself to-morrow?" 
 
 "True!" said Hester, as hope once more died 
 within her. 
 
 " As for the inconsistency which you think you 
 have discovered in the conduct of those stock- 
 brokers," pursued Miss Morphew, "this present 
 Mr. Warren assures me that the transaction was 
 originally settled with ins father, and that he 
 himself knows not precisely what took place -at 
 the outset. This is no doubt true, for Mr. War- 
 ren is under thirty, and the affair itself took place 
 < — let me see— you must be past sixteen, Hester 
 Well, thet), U took place upwards of sixteen 
 
 years ago. This present Mr. Warren must have 
 been quite a boy at the time." 
 
 "But surely in an office of such a description, 
 there must be documents — memoranda — re- 
 cords—" 
 
 "Mr. Warren assured me that there is nothing 
 of the sort. He is enabled to speak positively on 
 the subject, for the plain simple reason that when 
 the remittances ceased four or five years ago, Miss 
 Thompson wrote and begged that he would in- 
 form her whether he possessed any clue to your 
 parentage ? It was then that he searched 
 amongst all the office -documents, and all the pri- 
 vate papers left behind by his deceased father — 
 t>ut without success. Now, Hester, do you be- 
 lieve me ? But why should I ask, since to-morrow- 
 morning you may go and ascertain all these points 
 for yourself ?" 
 
 " It is useless," murmured the young girl ; " I 
 believe you! — and all hope of discovering my 
 parentage is at an end. But perhaps it is so much 
 the better !" she suddenly exclaimed, as her looks 
 assumed that air of bold hardihood which they had 
 of late acquired. " What parents would like to 
 recognise me? I was a fool to yield to the delu- 
 sion ; but I never should have done so if it had 
 not been for Ponchard! I yielded to his per- 
 suasiveness in suffering him to talk to you about 
 me ; and it was also in consequence of what he 
 said that I came here to see you this evening. And 
 a pretty meeting it is !" added the girl, with a 
 loud reckless laugh ; — "a happy state for the young 
 pupil to meet her old governesses in!" 
 
 The elder crone was well repaid by this bitter 
 taunt for the spiteful mockery which she had ere 
 now thrown into her own speech ; and her thin 
 lips were compressed with a rage which she had 
 some difficulty in restraining. But she did not 
 choose to irritate Hester Sergeant, on account of 
 that particular idea which, as we have just now 
 said, she was revolving in her mind. 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to take something to 
 drink, my dear?" said the younger of the two 
 crones. 
 
 " No — yes, I will I There ! fetch brandy !" — 
 and Hester threw down half-a-sovereign upon the 
 table ; for Ponchard had been liberal to her within 
 the last three or four days. 
 
 Caroline Morphew isstied forth to procure the 
 liquor ; and when she was gone, the elder hag, 
 takiDg Hester's hand, said in a coaxing tone and 
 with cajoling manner, "You are very pretty, my 
 dear — a trifle too pale perhaps — but the least touch 
 of rouge upon the cheeks would give a colour 
 almost as good as the natural carmine of health. 
 You have a good figure too — and pretty teeth ; 
 and if you were to study how to smile more softly 
 and sweetly, and also to look a little more bashful 
 and downcast, you might succeed wonderfully. 
 And I and my sister will put you in the way of 
 achieving this success. Come and live, therefore, 
 with us, my dear — leave the people you are now 
 dwelling with ! Surely we have a better claim 
 upon you than they could possibly have? — and as 
 I daresay it is a matter of perfect indifference to 
 M. Ponchard where you live, as long as he can 
 
 come and see you whenever he likes- But what 
 
 is the matter, my dear ?" 
 
 Hester had first pf all abandoned her hand to 
 the old woman because she fell into a train of 
 thought which rendered her unconscious of what 
 
338 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS, OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 she was doing : then she listened abstractedly, 
 until a full sense of the crone's meaning broke 
 upon her — and abruptly withdrawing her hand, 
 she gave vent to a laugh of scornful mockery. 
 
 " What do I mean ?" she cried, in answer to 
 the dame's question. " Why, I mean that it would 
 be strange indeed if I who had been your pupil in 
 the days of my innocence, should now place my- 
 self under you to be trained more thoroughly and 
 completely in the ways of vice than I already am ! 
 No, no ! you keep to your' own sphere, and let me 
 keep to mine ! It is enough that we have met 
 once to recall the past most painfully to us both 
 — at least to me .'" ' 
 
 " Then you will uot accept my proposal V" cried 
 the hag, quivering with rage. 
 
 " No — I will not," answered the girl boldly. 
 
 " Hush ! here comes my sister !'— and there is 
 some one with her!" 
 
 And sure enough footsteps were at the moment 
 heard entering the house; and a voice was ex- 
 claiming, as if in tipsy mirthfulness, ' " What ! got 
 a bottle of lush, old dame? Then, by jingo ! I'll 
 come and help you drink it — and pay for another 
 too !" • _ • : 
 
 Hester had started when that voice was first 
 heard'speaking at the threshold of the front door : 
 then she sprang abruptly up to her feet, and was 
 seized with a strong visible agitation. Caroline 
 Morphew entered, saying, " Walk in, sir— pray 
 walk in! ' I'm sure you'll be welcome." 
 
 She was followed by a young man who was 
 somewhat' shabbily dressed, and wore a rough 
 loose overcoat, though it was summer. The young 
 girl remained transfixed : but the instant he caught 
 sight of her,' a cry of joy burstfrom his lips ; and 
 exclaiming, " Hester! at last I have found you!" 
 he sprang forward to catch her in his arms. 
 
 "No, no! Stand' back, Thomas Robinson !" 
 she cried, or rather shrieked forth, as ' she. herself 
 suddenly stepped back and raised her arm as if to 
 beckon him off. " Come not near me*!-. -touch me 
 not ! ■ You see the vile thing I am ! I ain pol- 
 lution's self !" 
 
 "Poor girl !" — and young Kobinsou caught her 
 in his arms, just as she was about to 'sink "down 
 overwhelmed by the power' and weight of ineffable 
 emotions. 
 
 CHA.VTER LXIV. 
 
 THE LISTENER AT THE CASEMENT. 
 
 Ok the day following his singular adventure at 
 Charlton Villa, Edward Walpolo did not visit his 
 relatives at Highbury House ; but in the evening 
 ' he drove up into that neighbourhood, and left his 
 phaeton at the same tavern where it had stopped 
 for him on the preceding night. He was inspired 
 by a wish to see Azaline again. It wa3 true that 
 she had told him she should leave Charlton Villa 
 in the course of this particular day ; but on the 
 other hand he thought it quite probable that she 
 might have prolonged her visit. At all events ho 
 had decided upon taking his chance in the matter ; 
 far he did not dare call upon the young lady at 
 her parents' residence, as she had given him no 
 invitation to do so, nor indeed any encouragement. 
 He felt that there was a certain degree of coldness 
 
 in their parting, or at least on her side ; and he 
 was afraid that she was to some little degree 
 offended by the pertinacity with which he had 
 proposed the continuation of their acquaintance. 
 He could not bear to think that this bright and 
 beautiful creature should think less favourably of 
 him than he could wish her to' do ; and moreover 
 there were other and scarcely definable sentiments 
 which were prompting him to seek another inter- 
 view with the Hon. Miss Osborne. 
 . Thus was it that, taking the chance of finding 
 her at Charlton Villa, Edward Walpole returned 
 into that neighbourhood.' It was not his purpose 
 to present himself at the house as an ordinary 
 visitor might do ; for he did not know but that 
 he might be denied admission by Lady Amesbury 
 after the remonstrances Which' Azaline was sure to 
 have addressed to her. Besides, he. thought there 
 was something peculiarly romantic in Azaline's 
 disposition, and that his own proceedings towards 
 her would acquire an additional charm if they 
 were conducted in a kindred vein; 
 : After these explanations,' the" reader will not be 
 astonished to find Edward WalrVole making his 
 way stealthily through the grounds of Charlton 
 Villa between nine and ten o'clock in the evening. 
 He saw that there 'was "a light' in the room from 
 which the sounds of ■the tambourine, and the' 
 castanets, and the silvery flow of laughter had 
 emanated on the - preceding night : he observed 
 also that the casement was again open— and aslie 
 drew near, he h^ard voices in' conversation. His 
 heartbeat more quickly, for he recognised those 
 voices : — the presentiment which had brought him 
 on this occasion' to that spot had not.' deceived 
 him — for. Azaline Osborne was there ! <™ 
 
 He drew still nearer to the casement, treading 
 noiselessly as he advanced ; :and he soon arrived 
 sufficiently cSfese to be enabled to look through 
 the screen of verdure and of natural beauties formed 
 by flowers on the green stand in the window recess. 
 There was Azaline, in her evening toilet, reclining 
 upon the sofa with that sort of self-abandonment 
 which in itself was perfectly! innocent because she 
 believed that- no male eye was near, but which in 
 reality had an air most provokirigly volupfiious. 
 Near her Lady Ainesbury was. seated; aid 'she 
 held a large piece of cardboard in her hand. There 
 was a picture upon it — but what the subject was 
 Edward Walpole could not immediately perceive. 
 . "And so this is really your ' phantasy, my dear 
 Azaline ?" said Lady Amesbury. 
 
 " I. am positively serious," replied Miss Osborne ; 
 but at the same time her beautiful mouth was 
 wreathed into a smile the good-humoured sweet- 
 ness of which might have engendered a doubt 
 whether sh| was really quite so serious as she 
 pretended. ' 
 
 Edward Walpole was about to beat a retreat, 
 that he might reflect upon the course which he 
 should pursue— whether he should announce him- 
 self at the window, or go boldly round to the 
 front door— for he did not like to remain any 
 longer an eavesdropper and a listener where two 
 ladies believed themsolves to be completely alone. 
 But something that Azaline next said, in reply to 
 Lady Ainesbury's previous question, riveted him 
 to the spot. 
 
 " You ask me, my friend, whether that is really 
 my phantasy ? — and I tell you that I am serious. 
 I smile — and you look incredulous. But why 
 
 .35$"'"-- 
 
TIIK YOUNO DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 £37 
 
 No. 43. — The Young Duchess. 
 
S38 
 
 the Youito duchess; ok, memoirs op A lady of quality. 
 
 should I not carry out some such wild idea as 
 this? You know that I am not the sort of 
 being to pursue any of the ordinary and well- 
 worn ways of life. I must strike out a new path 
 for myself ; and after all it would not be com- 
 pletely novel — nor is the idea altogether so ori- 
 ginal as you seem to have fancied." 
 
 " I should think it original enough, Azaline," 
 said Lady Ainesbury, in her usual quiet tone, 
 and as she still contemplated the picture which 
 she held in her hand. 
 
 At that moment Edward WftlpOle's curiosity 
 received an irresistible impulse 5 for he caught a 
 glimpse of the subject qf tfye" picture, and ven- 
 turing to peep still further forward through the 
 leafy scene, he was enablM tb stiry ey it in all its 
 details. It represented A beautiful creature in an 
 oriental costume ; and the race, was by no means 
 unlike that of Azaline hers'eli', except .that the 
 eyes, instead of being wide opened in the frank- 
 ness and candour of her disposition, were half- 
 closed as if with a species of voluptuous, languor. 
 We should observe, that it w^s a lithographic 
 print, beautifully coloured ; and the fair heroine 
 of the subject was depicted as reclining upon 
 cushions spread upon the terrace of ah, oriental 
 harem, and overlooking the sea. Near the foot- 
 stool on which her exquisitely modelled limbs 
 rested, were the two embroidered slippers which 
 she had tossed from her shapely feet_: her right 
 arm supported her well-ibriried head; and she 
 looked as if she were in the midst of a voluptuous 
 languor, or else about to sink off into a soft jep'o'Se 
 after imbibing the fragrant coffee which was sjijt 
 plied from a tray that stood near her. Such was 
 the subject of the picture; — which was about; 
 two feet in width, by about one and a-half in 
 height. 
 
 " No, the idea is not novel," pursued Azaline. 
 " Did not Lady Stanhope naturalise herself as it 
 were in the East — assume the dress of Oriental 
 women — and settling her abode in the sacred 
 clime of Palestine; acquire the admiration and 
 respect of the native people, so that they called 
 her the Queen of Tadihor?" 
 
 " Yes — I remember to hive read »f that eccen- 
 tric person," said Lady Amesbury. " But do you 
 really mean me to understand that you have an 
 ambition to follow in her footsteps ? Do not say 
 so, Azaline ! You are only jesting — and I think 
 I can understand it all." 
 
 " What is it that you understand, my dear 
 friend ?" asked Miss Osborne, with a smile. 
 
 " Listen," said Lady Amesbury. " I pur- 
 chased this picture because it struck me that the 
 face bore a great resemblance to your own beau- 
 tiful countenance " 
 
 "Beautiful or not," said Azaline, carelessly, 
 " I am only as God has made me. If ugly, I 
 could not help it ; and if good-looking, there is 
 no merit on my part, and therefore nothing fof hie 
 to be vain of. But go on. You purchased that 
 picture because you fancied it to be like me ?" 
 
 " And then," continued Lady Amesbury, '.'in 
 one of those pleasant moods which often cha- 
 racterize you, happy creature that you toe, 
 Azaline ! you think to amuse and mystify me by 
 pretending that you would like to dress yourself 
 in that very costume, adopt that very self-same 
 mode of life, and convert yourself into a second 
 Lady Stanhope, to be wondered at by one half of 
 
 the world, and to be laughed at by the other 
 half!" 
 
 " I assuredly should not court a notoriety suffi- 
 cient to inspire wonderment ; neither on the other 
 hand should I feel particularly distressed at find- 
 ing myself the object of ridicule. I tell you, my 
 dear*:iend, that I hate the artificial forms of th4 
 society of our Western Europe — I abominate its 
 selfishness and despise its hollowness. It is bar- 
 barism in the midst of civilization. But to lead 
 an untrammelled life in orient climes, — surely 
 that is civilization in the midst of barbarism ? 
 Then, I prefer the latter !" 
 
 " Yoii would not become a female hermit ?" 
 
 " Not I !" ejaculated Azaline. " I could not 
 exist without human companionship. To dwell 
 alone would be to shut oneself out from the sound 
 of the human voice, which, when kind in its 
 tones and natural in the ideas which it conveys, 
 is the sweetest of all music ! No — I must live 
 amohgst my fellow-creatures ; but I would fain 
 seek another society than this, which, as I have 
 before said; is all artificiality and hollowness, 
 egotism; and, insincerity !" 
 
 " And perhaps, my dear Azaline," interjected 
 Lady Amesbriry, with a certain slyness of look, 
 " you would like to find some very agreeable 
 companion amongst this English society of our's, 
 who would share , your own sentiments — sympa- 
 thise with your ideas— and abandoning London 
 for ever, go and fix his abode with you on the 
 banks of the BosphoruS. or in one of the isles of 
 the Levant?, I mean, azaline, that if any hand- 
 some, genteel; and elegant young gentleman, feel- 
 ing a disposition to convert himself into a Greek 
 or Turk, were to throw himself at your feet, you 
 WoUld ,not prove cruel to his suit ?" 
 
 _'' I have never yet loved, my dear friend," an- 
 swered Azaline ; " but rest assured that I believe 
 in the, existence of that sentiment in all its 
 strength and its purity— and I am neither so 
 miserably affected nor so presumptuously self- 
 sufficient as to pretend that I am beyond reach of 
 its influence." ... 
 
 "And will you really tell me, Azaline, that 
 with such ideas as these, you did not feel that 
 Edward Walpole made the slightest impression on 
 your heart ?" 
 
 " You have joked and bantered the enough 
 within the last ten minutes, my dear friend," re- 
 plied Azaline! good-naturedly, " to enable you to 
 grant me a little respite " 
 
 " But about that young gentleman?" persisted 
 Lady, AmeSbury : " was I altogether wrong " 
 
 "Wrong in introducing him into my pre- 
 sence ?" exclaimed Azaline, with some degree of 
 vehemence, while the colour mounted to her 
 cheeks : but instantaneously repressing that rising 
 anger, she went on to say mildly and gently, 
 "You cannot have forgotten, my dear friend, what 
 I told you last night after he had taken his de- 
 parture— —" 
 
 "You were inclined to scold me very severely, 
 Azaline !" 
 
 "Perhaps I did speak more sharply than I 
 ought to have doha— because you know you were 
 very foolish : " 
 
 " I did it for the best — I really thought he had 
 made an impression on your heart. I know what 
 lovers are !" — and then suddenly stopping short, 
 Lady Amesbury heaved a profound sigh. 
 
THE YOtn!G DUCTIESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 339 
 
 Her humour had hitherto been gay, and even 
 at moments merry, as she chatted with Azaline 
 on the topic which the coloured lithograph seemed 
 to have engendered. But now all in a moment 
 a shade came over her countenance — her looks 
 grew profoundly pensive, until she absolutely ap- 
 peared to have fallen into a blank despondency. 
 Azaline surveyed her attentively for upwards of 
 a minute : compassion and curiosity were in the 
 looks of the beautiful young lady ; and Edward 
 Walpole — the unseen and unsuspected witness, 
 who was still riveted to the spot — thought that 
 never had the charming Azaline appeared more 
 truly lovely in his eyes than at this moment. 
 
 " My dear friend," Miss Osborne at length said, 
 in a soft voice, as she laid her hand upon that of 
 Lady Amesbury, "you must not give way to 
 gloomy ideas. Tou know that I am here to 
 render you gay and cheerful — it is for this pur- 
 pose that I yielded to your wish, and postponed 
 my departure " 
 
 " I know it, Azaline — I know it ! — and you are 
 very, very kind!" said Lady Amesbury. "In- 
 deed, I Jove you so dearly and so fondly, that 
 there are (imes when I feel I ought to have no 
 secrets from you — but that I should unbosom my- 
 self " 
 
 " Give me not your confidence on any point," 
 interrupted Miss Osborne earnestly, " without 
 the maturest consideration- If yon cherish any 
 secret cause of grief, think not that I have any 
 undue euriosity " 
 
 " No, Azaline — I would not wrong you thus ! 
 Tou are all kindness and goodness — strange and 
 peculiar in views — but, Oh ! how excellent- 
 hearted ! But I, Azaline — there are times when 
 my brain seems to be confused— and though I see 
 clearly with my outward eyes, my mental vision 
 gets clouded and misty " 
 
 " Come, cheer up," cried Azaline, starting from 
 the sofa. "Shall I dance to you? shall I sing ?" 
 
 " No, dear friend : sit down," said Lady Ames- 
 bury, gently but firmly ; and there was something 
 in her look and her tone which made Azaline 
 comply with her request, or rather command. " I 
 feel that I must speak to you of the past," she 
 continued. "Yes — I do not know why — but I 
 cannot restrain myself. There is a secret here, 
 Azaline "—and she laid her hand upon her heart 
 — " which has been to me the cause of indescrib- 
 able; misery — a secret dating from many years 
 back " ■■;, . 
 
 " Many ygajs, my dear ^friend ?"•' inte/posed 
 Azaline. "Why, you are but thirty-five I" 
 
 " But what if I speak of a date bajpngmg to 
 that period when girlhood was ripening into 
 womanhood?— ^when I was eighteen or nineteen, 
 for instance? — and that was when you were a 
 mere infant, my sweet friend !" 
 
 "And does your, heart possess a sorrow,'' in- 
 quired Azaline, in a soft voice, " which goes back 
 to 1 that date? Ah! I./wjll confess my earliest 
 inijSfijssions wl'tK regaj^ ,ip you were associated 
 wtel'Somexa^ue^'iSoatihg idea that you were not 
 aWjgether hirppy {"■-: = ' ' ' r ', 
 
 "When yquwss young, Azaline, you were 
 far more inteUiggnt amd- observing than other 
 girls," said Lady Amesb'Ary ; " and it is no won- 
 
 despair ! We were speaking just now of love. 
 Did any woman ever love as I loved ? And yot 
 — Strange caprice! 'twas one much older than 
 myself! But still I loved him dearly — and I was 
 so blindly confident in his rectitude that 1 believed 
 all the reasons he alleged as necessary for the 
 concealment of our love ! Ah, Azaline ! you do 
 not already think too well of human nature ; but 
 your ideas on that point will possibly receive a 
 still severer shock when I tell you how cruelly 
 I was deceived — how infamously beguiled — how 
 treacherously wronged! Oh, the idea is still 
 madness !" 
 
 " Quit the subject, dear friend !" cried Azaline 
 entreatingly. 
 
 "No, no!" responded Lady Amesbury, with 
 feverish excitement : " I must pursue the theme 
 unto the end ! Listen then ! — hear of what ini- 
 quity man is capable! Listen, I say— and 
 shudder and tremble — Oh ! and weep for me like- 
 wise, when you learn that never was a deceit 
 more stupendous than that which was practised 
 upon me! For he to whom my young heart 
 was so deyotedly given — he was already the 
 husband of another !" 
 
 " Oh, this was infamous !" exclaimed Azaline ; 
 " infamous beyond all the power of language to 
 describe or the imagination to conceive !" 
 
 "And have you comprehended me, my dear 
 friend?" asked L»dy Amesbury ; " have you un- 
 derstood me in the fullest sense? It may be that 
 yon have not; for your mind is so pure " 
 
 " I did indeed dread to arrive at the worst pos- 
 sible conclusion," answered Azaline : " but now 
 I can no longer doubt " 
 
 "Oh, I was more to be pitied than to be 
 blamed !" pursued Lady Amesbury ; " for I was 
 so young — so confiding — so loving — that every 
 advantage might be taken of that inexperience 
 and that devotion on my part ! Thus he beguiled 
 me — and when it was no longer possible for me 
 to conceal my condition from the eyes of my 
 mother, I besought him, my seducer, to delay not 
 the act of justice which he was bound to render 
 me. Then it was that he was necessitated to reveal 
 the truth! — he was a married man! Conceive 
 my despair! No! — you cannot!" — and Lady 
 Amesbury, burying her face in her kerchief, 
 sobbed under the influence of those terrible recol- 
 lections of the past. 
 
 " I can imagine, my dear friend," rejoined 
 Azaline, in a soft and compassionating tone, 
 "that of all beings who deserve sympathy for 
 their earthly sorrows, you stood in need of it 
 more than any !" 
 
 " I flung myself at my mother's feet," resumed 
 Lady Amesbury, " and confessed everything It 
 wasjjijpossiblc to conceal it from the knowledge 
 of my father likewise. But what was to be done ? 
 To seek to punish my, seducer would have been to 
 expose my own disgrace ; and the more prudent 
 alternative was adopted — namely, that of hushing 
 up the matter. Be who was the author of all 
 this wrong and fearful mischief, was only too 
 anxious and ready on his own side that it should 
 be hushed up ; and measures were taken accord- 
 ingly. _ But I will not dwell upon the details ; 
 suffice it to say that I became a mother, and that 
 my seducer, being possessed of ample means, pro- 
 vided the requisite funds for the maintenance of 
 the unfortunate offspring that was to bs repu- 
 
340 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 diated and ignored from the very instant of its 
 birth !" 
 
 "Alas, poor babe!" murmured Miss Osborne, 
 who was deeply touched by the narrative of her 
 unfortunate friend. 
 
 " And now, Azaline," eontined Lady Amesbury, 
 " you will no longer be -surprised that there 
 should have been something thoughtful and pen- 
 sive in my looks when you first knew me, and 
 that I did not seem as if I was completely happy. 
 Good God ! how could I be ? Often and often 
 used I to lie awake of nights, wondering whether 
 the poor child were alive — and if so, whether it 
 were well and kindly treated ? — and I used some- 
 times to think that I should go mad! Then 
 General Amesbury was introduced to me: but so 
 completely was my mind abstracted from every- 
 thing save the one dread topic — the one fatal in- 
 cident of my life — that I did not observe how I 
 had become the object of his particular attentions, 
 until he one evening offered me his hand in mar- 
 riage. I started as if from a dream: I gazed 
 upon him in wonder and doubt. It was in the 
 midst of a brilliant assemblage that the incident 
 
 took place Or rather I ought to say, it was in 
 
 a conservatory to which he had drawn me apart 
 from the gay company that were assembled. And 
 then as I did not answer him, but gazed in such a 
 strange way, he took my hand and conducted me 
 into the principal drawing-room, where he, led me 
 to my mother's side ; and still in a half-dreamy 
 state of bewilderment, methought that I heard 
 some words issue from his lips to the effect that 
 ' silence had given consent.' But not to weary 
 you, my dear Azaline, with the details of this 
 sad and strange history of mine, I may simply 
 observe that General Amesbury had interpreted 
 my doubt and consternation into a bashful confu- 
 sion, and my silence into assent. When I under- 
 stood it all, I was for dealing plainly and candidly 
 with him ; but my mother entreated and implored 
 that . I would accept the offer which had been 
 made ; and when I was still reluctant to practise 
 a deceit upon an honourable and confiding man, 
 I learnt for the first time that my father's affairs 
 were far from prosperous, and that more than I 
 could possibly anticipate now depended upon my 
 alliance with General Amesbury. And thus I 
 yielded, Azaline — and we were married!" 
 
 There was a pause, during which Lady Ames- 
 bury kept her eyes bent down ; she was evidently 
 absorbed in deep and mournful meditation ; and 
 Azaline did not venture to interrupt it. Outside 
 the casement Edward Walpole still stood, riveted 
 to the spot — drinking in all the strange revealings 
 and confessions to which accident had rendered 
 him a listener — and so completely enthralled by 
 the interest thereof that he no longer thought 
 even for a single instant whether it were honour- 
 able on his part to remain an eavesdropper there. 
 
 " When once the indissoluble knot was tied," 
 pursued Lady Amesbury, at length breaking 
 silence once more, "I resolved to become the 
 most faithful and devoted of wives. I felt that 
 my husband had been deceived in me, and that it 
 was therefore my duty to make every atonement 
 and every recompense by the kindness and tender- 
 ness of my conduct. And thus I so far did my 
 duty ; and heaven only knows how often I strove 
 to appear contented with my lot — aye, and even 
 happy and gay when remorse was gnawing at my 
 
 heart and the recollections of the past were tear- 
 ing like vulture-claws at my brain. We went out 
 to India, as you know, very soon after my mar- 
 riage; and years passed away. At longth my 
 husband died full of honours : and I lost not a 
 moment after the funeral obsequies in returning to 
 England. One thought was uppermost in my 
 mind ! — one idea was dominant ! I was now my 
 own mistress ; and what recked I even if the secret 
 of my earlier years should transpire to the know- 
 ledge of the world ? I had no longer a husband 
 to be horrified or shocked thereby ! My parents 
 also were dead ; and I had no near kindred whose 
 feelings there was any necessity of consulting. 
 Now therefore, Azaline, can you guess, I ask, 
 what idea must have been uppermost in my mind 
 — what project I was forming — what plan I was 
 yearning to carry out ? Ah ! could I ever forget 
 that I was a mother? — and for long years my 
 heart had yearned towards my child — the poor 
 ignored one — the cruelly repudiated and heart- 
 lessly abandoned offspring of my first and only 
 love!" 
 
 There was another pause — but not. one of silent 
 meditation on Lady Amesbury's part ; it was now 
 an interval of sobbing and weeping, for she was 
 well-nigh overcome by her emotions as she ap- 
 proached the climax of her sadly interesting nar- 
 rative. . 
 
 " For heaven's sake console yourself, my dear 
 friend," said Azaline, who was almost as much 
 afflicted by the spectacle of this grief as the un- 
 happy victim of the grief itself. " Ton must not 
 thus give way to sorrows which ought to be met 
 by a Christian fortitude !" 
 
 " Oh, speak not to me of Christian fortitude, 
 Azaline !" cried Lady Amesbury, almost fiercely, 
 and in a manner which was very different indeed 
 from her usual mildness, meekness, and melancholy 
 amiability ; " speak not to me of Christian forti- 
 tude ! You cannot possibly appreciate the pang 
 which I suffered when on arriving in England I 
 learnt that my poor child was no more ! Yes— 
 the daughter whom I should have clasped to my 
 bosom — whom I should have covered with kisses 
 — whom I should have taken from her abode 
 amongst strangers, to find a home with her mother, 
 — she was no more ! I do believe, Azaline, that 
 the effect of that intelligence was to cloud my 
 brain ; and God knows it would not have been 
 astonishing if the affliction with which I was thus 
 smitten had destroyed my intellects altogether !" 
 
 "Alas, my poor friend," said Azaline, in her 
 soft gentle voice, " this is indeed a sad tale which 
 you have told me !" 
 
 "0 God! that my sufferings may soon cease, 
 and that I may not exist much longer to endure 
 a weight of mental woe which is fast becoming 
 intolerable !" — and as the unfortunate lady thus 
 spoke, she clasped her hands together and raised 
 them towards the heaven where dwelt the divine 
 power unto which she so agonizingly appealed. 
 
 By that action on hen part the> sleeves of fte* 
 dress fell back from the lower part of the arms';' 
 and as the eye of Edward Walpole caught sight 
 of three moles placed triangularly upon the right 
 forearm, a cry escaped his lips— and . obedient 
 only to the wild impulse Which suddenly seized 
 upon him, he dashed through, the casement, 
 cleared his abrupt and rapid way amidst the 
 screen of verdure, and appearing in the pre- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 341 
 
 sence of the two startled and affrighted ladies, he 
 exclaimed, " No, no ! your daughter is not dead ! 
 She lives, and shall be restored you !" 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 EDWARD AND HESTER. 
 
 It was the day following the incidents which we 
 have just related : it was about the hour of noon 
 — and upon a sofa in a small but comfortably 
 furnished apartment, Hester Sergeant was re- 
 clining. She was very pale and very languid ; 
 and the medicine-bottles on the" table showed 
 that she had been receiving medical attendance. 
 Most assuredly the house where we now find her 
 was not the odious habitation of the Grills ; neither 
 was it the den of infamy kept by the Morphews : 
 but it was a respectable lodging-house, in a quiet 
 street at no great distance from Hanover Square. 
 It was kept by a widow woman of matronly ap- 
 pearance, and whose disposition was kind and 
 benevolent ; so that even without the munificent 
 earnest of his liberality which Edward Walpole 
 gave her on consigning Hester to her care, she 
 would have treated the young female with every 
 possible attention. We should observe that Wal- 
 pole had borne Hester away from the Morphews' 
 house in Granby Street, — and placing her in a 
 cab had driven at once to his own lodgings 
 in Hanover Square, — not with the settled pur- 
 pose of outraging all decency by introducing 
 a mistress there, but simply for the purpose of 
 inquiring at once of his own landlady where he 
 could procure a suitable lodging for one who had 
 been unfortunate and in whom he was deeply in- 
 terested? Though it was in the middle of the 
 night when this occurred, yet as gold is omnipo- 
 tent in the British metropolis, as elsewhere, the 
 landlady of the house in Hanover Square did not 
 grumble at being called up from her bed for such 
 a purpose ; neither did the landlady of the other 
 house, in the neighbouring street, to which the 
 recommendation was given. 
 
 The reader is now aware under what circum- 
 stances Hester Sergeant became the inmate of 
 this respectable and comfortable abode, where we 
 find her reclining upon a sofa, at the hour of 
 noon, as we have already said. She heard a 
 knock at the front door: her heart palpitated 
 with suspense, until the steady and regular tread 
 of the footsteps which began to ascend the stairs, 
 announced the coming of the physician, instead 
 of the approach of him whom she longed yet 
 almost dreaded to see. The doctor — an elderly, 
 good-tempered man, with a benevolent counte- 
 nance — entered the apartment ; and sitting down 
 near his patient, he asked her a few of the usual 
 questions with the utmost kindness of tone and 
 look. 
 
 " You say you are better," he pursued ; " and 
 that is pleasing intelligence. But I must see you 
 quite well ; and in order that this result shall be 
 brought about with the least possibly delay, I 
 must still interdict you from whatsoever may 
 prove of an exciting character. Thus you must 
 keep yourself perfectly quiet for a day or 
 two " 
 
 "Doctor," interrupted Hester^ "has Mr. Wal- 
 
 pole told you anything connected with the 
 past ?" 
 
 " Nothing more than this, my dear girl, — that 
 you loved one another some time ago — that you 
 were separated— that you were utterly lost to 
 each other— and that you suddenlymet again the 
 night before last." 
 
 "Well then," said Hester, "you can easily 
 guess how much we have to say to each other!" 
 
 " Did I not allow you," asked the physician, 
 with a smile, " to be together two whole hours 
 yesterday ? — and were you not much the worse 
 for the excitement ? and did you not go off into 
 a swoon? and was not I sent for? and did I not 
 then feel it my duty to exact from Mr. Walpole a 
 solemn pledge that he would not see you again 
 until I gave him my permission ?" 
 
 "And when will that permission be given?" in- 
 quired Hester, with a visible anxiety depicted on 
 her countenance. 
 
 " Have you not comprehended, my dear girL" 
 asked the physician, with a benevolent smile and 
 a deprecating look, — "have you not compre- 
 hended from what I just now said that I meant 
 you to be kept very quiet for a few days? — which 
 in plain terms means that I would rather you 
 would not see Mr. Walpole just for the present." 
 
 "And I can tell you : sir," answered Hester, 
 with some degree of violence, "that there is 
 such a thing as killing one with nervous suspense 
 and anxiety just as easily as by the excitement 
 of interviews with one from whom there has been 
 a long separation." 
 
 " You surely can have nothing more to say to 
 each other," asked the physician, " after having 
 been together two whole hours yesterday — besides 
 all the opportunities for conversation when you 
 met the night before last? Surely, I say, nothing 
 could have been left unsaid ?" 
 
 "Pardon me, sir," answered Hester; "but 
 much indeed was left unsaid ; and it is in order 
 that the remainder should be told, I am now so 
 anxious to see Edward Walpole. I beseech you 
 therefore " 
 
 "Well," interrupted the physician, "if this is 
 the case, I see that I must consent. But remem- 
 ber, it is only because you assure me that one 
 sort of excitement is worse than another. For 
 there is much truth in your observation: but 
 still, in cases of this kind, I like to hear what 
 my patients may have to say for themselves bo- 
 fore I finally yield to their wishes." 
 
 "And therefore, kind sir," exclaimed Hester, 
 " you will let Mr. Walpole come to me without 
 delay ?" 
 
 " I will drive to his house at once, and signify 
 that permission is accorded him to this effect. 
 For to tell you the truth, Miss Sergeant, you are 
 not the only one who is impatient ; for Mr. Wal- 
 pole himself has already sent me one note and 
 two verbal messages this morning " 
 
 " Then in heaven's name, sir, hasten and tell 
 him that he may come !" cried Hester. 
 
 The good-natured physician complied with this 
 request ; and taking his seat in his carriage, drove 
 direct to Hanover Square. Edward Walpole, -who 
 from the window of his drawing-room had seen 
 the yehiole approach, darted down the staircase, 
 and rushed' out of the front door just as the 
 equipage drew up before it. 
 
 "May I go to her?" was the young man's 
 
842 
 
 THE TOUNQ DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITT. 
 
 eager and anxious inquiry. " You see how faith- 
 fully I have kept my word !" 
 
 '' But not without a violent inclination to break 
 it," interjected the physician, with one of his 
 good-tempered benevolent smiles. " Witness the 
 note and the two messages '' 
 
 "Yes — I was indeed urgent!" exclaimed Ed- 
 ward ; " aye, and at the earliest hour this morn- 
 ing, too, at which I could in propriety send to 
 you; because I have something of the utmost 
 importance to communicate to that poor girl !" 
 
 The doctor's countenance became grave; and 
 ho said, " I do really hope, Mr. "Walpole, that it 
 is nothing which may renew the excitement of 
 yesterday?" 
 
 " Do you mean, doctor, that there is anything 
 serious to be apprehended on the part of your 
 patient ? — anything more than what you have 
 told me ? Speak I — do speak, I conjure you I" 
 
 "Mr. Walpole, I am not one who has the 
 habit of making molehills into a mountain ; nor 
 do I ever study to increase my own professional 
 importance by assuming mysterious airs, or by 
 enhancing the danger of the cases brought under 
 my cognisance. I would not for the world trifle 
 with the feelings, nor unnecessarily work upon 
 the fears of those who are interested in my 
 patients " 
 
 " Good God !" exclaimed Walpole, with dis- 
 mayed looks ; " to what is this preface to lead ?" 
 
 "Simply to this," answered the physician, — 
 — " that Miss Sergeant's nerves have sustained a 
 very great shock — there is indeed every indica- 
 tion of their having been strongly wrought upon 
 for some time past — she is moreover very young 
 — and she has evidently suffered much. She 
 therefore requires all possible care ; for every 
 fresh source of excitement is a blow struck at a 
 vital part ; whereas she needs every species of 
 anodyne." 
 
 " But if the intelligence I have to communicate 
 be good ?" asked Walpole eagerly. 
 
 " Ah, well^that is certainly something," re- 
 turned the physician ; " and heaven knows that I 
 should be the last to stand in the way of such 
 species of anodynes being administered ! But 
 yet happiness has its excitement as well as afflic- 
 tion has ; and the very state to which Miss Ser- 
 geant is now brought arose from her joy in meet- 
 ing you. However, you must go to her — that is 
 clear enough. But pray be cautious in breaking 
 your good news gradiently and considerately." 
 
 Walpole pressed the physician's hand, and was 
 about to dart away from the carriage window at 
 which this colloquy took place, when the worthy 
 doctor beckoned him back, and said in a low but 
 earnest tone, " Now mind and be cautious, Mr. 
 Walpole ; for it is not without reason, I assure 
 you-, that Miss Sergeant requires the utmost 
 mental tranquillity. Without attempting to 
 penetrate into whatsoever may have been the 
 nature of the sufferings through which she has 
 passed, yet I am bound as an honest man to tell 
 you that they have left upon her an effect which 
 can only be repaired by the mode of treatment I 
 have suggested. I do not say this to frighten 
 you : I have been still more studious in endea- 
 vouring to avoid frightening her : but I repeat my 
 warning, that this is indeed no case to be trifled 
 with." 
 
 The carriage then drove away, and Edward 
 
 Walpole stood looking after it for several mo- 
 ments, as he with some doubt and anxiety weighed 
 in his mind what could be the precise meaning of 
 the physician's words, and whether indeed there 
 were even more danger in the case than he had 
 chosen to admit ? But youth is a period of hope ; 
 and therefore Edward did not long remain de- 
 sponding ; nor did he willingly abandon himself 
 to the contemplation of the worst side of the pic- 
 ture. No ! — he suddenly started away from the 
 spot where he had remained standing ; and as he 
 hurried in the direction of Hester's lodgings,, he 
 felt his spirits rise almost into complete buoyancy 
 as he mentally ejaculated, " The good doctor is 
 naturally cautious ! — his warning shall not be neg- 
 lected! But the tidings which I have now to 
 break to Hester, will be inevitably fraught with 
 all the most healing influences !" 
 
 On entering the apartment where Hester re- 
 clined upon the sofa, Walpole hastened towards 
 her with inquiries anxiously and tenderly put ; 
 and as he took her hand, he pressed his lips to her 
 brow His conduct towards her was that which 
 a brother might display towards a sister. The 
 instant the door had opened a vivid blush appeared 
 upon Hester's cheeks, which the next moment be- 
 came deadly pale ; and she half averted her looks 
 as if ashamed to encounter those of Walpole. He 
 sat down by her side ; and still retainijg her hand 
 in his own, he said in a gentle voice, " The kind 
 doctor tells me that you must not be excited, 
 Hester — and he has told you the same. There- 
 fore we must be very quiet in our discourse — ~" 
 
 "And at all events," interjected the young 
 woman, '.' I shall feel much better when this in- 
 terview is over. I know not how it is, Edward 
 
 Ah ! how strange it seems to me to call you 
 
 by this Christian name instead of that by which 
 I knew you in other times I" 
 
 " What were you going to say, Hester ? You 
 know not how it is " 
 
 " No — I can scarcely define my own feelings," 
 continued the girl, pressing his hand, but averting 
 her looks ; ' " for my emotions are so contradictory 
 and so inconsistent one with another ! I like to 
 see you — and yet I feel ashamed in your presence ! 
 I looked forward with a tender yearning to your 
 arrival — and yet I dreaded it !" 
 
 "You need not blush in my presence, Hester," 
 said Edward, with mingled tenderness and solem- 
 nity. "You are not responsible for the past — 
 circumstances made you what you were For the 
 present you are safe — and for the future there 
 shall be atonement and happiness." 
 
 " The future ?" repeated Hester softly. " Oh ! 
 if you mean the future of this life, you are not 
 speaking of a very long period ; for I feel, Edward, 
 
 as if death cannot be far off And perhaps his 
 
 presence will not be altogether unwelcome !" 
 
 " Speak not thus, Hester! — speak not thus!" 
 exclaimed Edward Walpole vehemently, and yet 
 shudderingly ; for he recollected all that the good 
 physician had said, and he now thpught, as he 
 gazed upon the girl's pale face, that it was indeed 
 only too possible the bloom of health might never 
 be brought, back to it. 
 
 "Well, dear Edward," she answered, smiling 
 with a sweetness that had not for along time past 
 appeared upon those lips of her's, "I will say 
 nothing to vex or grieve you, for you are so kind 
 tomeT 
 
THE TOCSG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 343 
 
 "Why did yon just now say," asked Walpole, 
 ' that yon should be reliered Then this interview 
 was over?" 
 
 " Because," replied Hester, " all our mutual 
 explanations are not as yet given " 
 
 "Sow, you must not excite yourself," inter- 
 rupted 'Walpole, " with reverting to the past. It 
 
 is unnecessary at least, I mean, it is needless 
 
 for you to retrospect painfully. Nothing can be 
 amended — nothing altered !" 
 
 " God knows this is true enough !" murmured 
 Hester, clasping her hands together, while an ex- 
 pression of anguish swept over her countenance. 
 
 " Hester ! Hester ! do not torture yourself 
 thus!" said Walpole urgently. " Oh, believe me, 
 there is happiness in store for you ! — yes, much 
 happiness! I am not speaking wildly nor at 
 random " 
 
 " Listen to me, Edward," she suddenly inter- 
 rupted him. " I told you my history down to the 
 very instant when we met the night before last ; 
 and yon may easily suppose that I am anxious to 
 learn what has occurred <• you since we parted 
 under snch cruel circumstances. Good heavens, 
 that parting ! And now when we meet, I find 
 you rich and prosperous — and as yet yon have 
 given me no explanations on this point; you 
 merely said that circumstances had taken a most 
 wondrous turn in your favour." 
 
 " And if I did not enter into full explanations 
 yesterday, Hester," responded Walpole, "it was 
 simply because I feared to excite you by too 
 mnch conversation. Ton had been speaking 
 nearly the whole time that we were permitted to 
 remain together " 
 
 " Alas, yes !" murmured the young girl ; " and 
 a dismal history was it that I had to reveal ! But 
 still I did not tell you all ! There was one thing 
 I kept back " 
 
 " Does it enter into the thread of those circum- 
 stances which are connected with all the mysteries 
 of your birth?" 
 
 "No, no! — it has naught to do with that V in- 
 terrupted Hester with a visible shudder. 
 
 " Then, if it be a painful subject and needless 
 to speak about," said Walpole, "for heaven's 
 sake do not think of it, Hester — much less allude 
 to it any farther !" — and then with a generous 
 considerateness Hie young man went on to say in 
 hurried accents, " I will divert your attention from 
 such subjects as those by entering at once on snch 
 details as concern mysel£ Yet my history is 
 short enough, and few are the details which lead 
 to the climax so marvellous and so providential ! 
 Ton know, Hester, what my sentence was: — 
 four months 1 imprisonment in the City Compter, 
 and to be afterwards transferred for a term to the 
 Parkhurst Reformatory in the Isle of Wight. My 
 conduct during my captivity in the Compter was 
 snch that I bore a good character with me to the 
 Reformatory ; so that on my arrival there I was 
 appointed under-schoolmaster — and in that situa- 
 tion enjoyed certain advantages and privileges. 
 It was originally ordered that I should be kept 
 there for two years ; but at the expiration of a 
 few months I was told that I was free if I chose 
 to avail myself of the pardon thus afforded me. I 
 thought of you, Hester — and I longed to fly back 
 to the metropolis to seek you. But then I asked 
 myself of what avail it was for me, penniless and 
 characterless, to attempt such a search? I 
 
 reasoned that if yon had done well, I might only 
 be compromising you or unsettling your mind by 
 appearing before yon, even if I should succeed in 
 finding you out at all; — and on the other hand, I 
 thought that if it should not be well with you, it 
 would only be dragging you down stQI more 
 deeply into the mire to ask you to join once again 
 your destinies with mine. And then, too, I will 
 candidly confess that as you never came near me 
 after my condemnation to the Compter — as you 
 neTer wrote to me either there or at Parkhurst — I 
 did entertain the hope that some kind friend had 
 been raised up by heaven to take you by the 
 hand." 
 
 The young girl moaned ; and Edward Walpole 
 hastened to continue his narrative. 
 
 " Well then, Hester, for those and other reasons 
 I did not choose to avail myself of the freedom 
 that was offered me. I begged that I should be 
 permitted to fulfil my time at Parkhurst, so that 
 I might have a chance of accumulating some 
 little savings if I were allowed a trifling stipend 
 for instructing the young lads. My prayer was 
 granted — time passed on, until one day I was 
 summoned intp the governor's parlour, and cer- 
 tain questions were put to ne. I was asked if I 
 were really, as I had represented myself to the 
 chaplain of the Compter in London, the same 
 Thomas Robinson who had fled from a particular 
 workhouse ; and to this and other queries I gave 
 truthful answers. Then a gentleman was intro- 
 duced into the parlour — he told me that his name 
 was Seymour, and that for certain reasons which 
 he would not then explain, he had become in- 
 terested in my welfare ; he proposed to take me 
 away with him, and to provide for me in snch a 
 manner that I should be thenceforth placed above 
 want. Conceive the effect produced upon me by 
 this announcement ! Methought it was a dream : 
 and yet how quickly was it realized ! The very 
 next day I was in London, and established in my 
 present lodgings in Hanover Square. Fortnne 
 continued to shower its bounties upon me with a 
 hand so lavish that there were actually times 
 when I mistrusted the very source of all this 
 wonderful prosperity and dreaded lest there might 
 be some sinister and ulterior motive. But no ! — 
 everything was real and genuine, and I was 
 gradually being led on to learn the full extent of 
 the happiness that was now to compensate for 
 long years of neglect, sorrow, and misery. In a 
 word, Hester, that Mr. Seymour of whom I am 
 speaking proved to be my uncle — my parentage 
 became known to me — it was eminently respect- 
 able — and start not, Hester, nor think that I am 
 exaggerating, when I tell yon that I possess a 
 fortune of five thousand a-year." 
 
 "Heaven be thanked, Edward," replied tie 
 young girl, " that such prosperity should have 
 overtaken yon! But how was it that with a 
 parentage so wealthy and respectable you could 
 have been so cruelly abandoned in vour in- 
 fancy?" '- 
 
 Not even to Hester Sergeant would Edward 
 Walpole reveal the secret of his uncle's trea- 
 cherous and infamous conduct towards him : that 
 secret he considered to be a sacred one; and he 
 therefore naturally fell back upon a portion of the 
 tale which Mr. Seymour himself had devised as a 
 means of accounting for the fact. 
 
 " I was stolen," he 3aid, " by -gipsies in my 
 
S4-1 
 
 TJIN yoU-\G DUCIJESS J OK, MEMOIKS OF A LADY Ob' QUALITY. 
 
 Infancy ; and they, afraid perhaps of the conse- 
 quences of the deed, consigned me to .the work- 
 house. Years and years passed away — and I 
 was looked upon by my relatives as irrevocably 
 lost, until by some means a whisper reached Mr. 
 Seymour's ear, which led him to make inquiries. 
 It is- too long a tale to tell now, Hester — but you 
 know the result. And now," hastily continued 
 the young man, " let me add something to render 
 my history complete. No sooner was I installed 
 in my luxurious apartments in Hanover Square — 
 no sooner was I in possession of ample means and 
 could lavish gold as profusely as it was bestowed 
 on me — than I again wondered, Hester, what 
 might be your lot; — and now, there was no 
 longer a reason why I should forbear from 
 making inquiries concerning you. And so I lost 
 no time in calling, at the lodgings which I knew, 
 you occupied when last I , saw' you — I mean on 
 the day of ray trial ; and there — and there " 
 
 " Yes — I understand you, Edward," murmured 
 the young girl, in a scarcely audible voice, and 
 again speaking with averted looks : "you learnt 
 sufficient to make you aware that I had fallen 
 very low ; and though all trace was lost of me, 
 yet was it surmised that I must still be plying a 
 loathsome traffic for my bread." 
 
 " And then I vowed to find: you," continued 
 Walpole hurriedly : " I swore that I would never 
 rest until I should have learnt what had become 
 of you. And ,so, night' after night I plunged 
 amidst all the scenes of crime 1 and debauchery — 
 scattering about my gold as if, it were so much 
 dross, in theiope that by the inquiries which I 
 set on foot I might obtain the clue that I sought. 
 Yes — night after night '■ 
 
 " Good heavens !" interrupted Hester, shudder- 
 ing from head to foot, and with a look which for 
 a moment was absolutely ghastly ; "what fearful 
 risks you incurred in visiting such hideous dens ! 
 Oh, I know them but too well!" — aad the young 
 girl shivered visibly as she lay half-reclining 
 upon the sofa. 
 
 " Yes, I am aware of it now," responded Ed- 
 ward; "but I entertained no such apprehensions 
 at first. I too tremble when I think of the fear- 
 ful risks I ran — the horrible perils I may have 
 escaped! I used to visit those places dressed 
 in the same costume in which perhaps I had just 
 quitted the theatre — displaying my jewellery, not 
 from any idle vanity, but simply from an utter 
 thoughtlessness of the folly of such an nnguarded 
 proceeding. And thus I went on until two or 
 three days ago, when a circumstance which filled 
 the entire metropolis with horror, suddenly had 
 the effect of rendering me cautious ; so that before 
 I again set but on my expeditions, I dressed my- 
 self in shabby attire, threw on a rough loose 
 overcoat, and imitated the part of some profligate 
 of a lower degree, instead of the reckless spend- 
 thrift of a higher order. But, good heaven, 
 Hester ! you are fainting I" 
 
 ' " No, no ! — I shall be better presently," mur- 
 mured the young girl, who was as pale as death. 
 "Give me some water, Edward. , Thank you! 
 Yes — I am better now. Oh, how deep is my gra- 
 titude for these self-sacrifices which you have 
 made on my account ! — plunging into those 
 haunts of infamy which must have been loath- 
 some to you — seeking those vile neighbourhoods 
 which were so perilous " 
 
 " Say no more upon the subject, Hester ! 
 Heaven be thanked that my efforts were crowned 
 with success, and that I discovered you after a 
 comparatively short search; while. on the other 
 hand I escaped all such perils as those whereof 
 the hideous crime of the other day may be re- 
 garded as a fearful and . mysterious illustration ! 
 But, Oh ! again you look very ill, Hester ! Ah, 
 your nerves are fearfully unstrung — and I am ex- 
 citing you !" 
 
 "No, no — it is not you!" murmured the young 
 girl, recovering herself with a desperate effort 
 just as she was about to sink off into a swoon : 
 " it is not you that are exciting me, Edward ! 
 It is the horrible subject which haunts my brain ! 
 Did I not just now tell you that when I recounted 
 the particulars of my history, from the date of 
 our separation down to that of our . meeting the 
 night before last, I omitted one incident ?" 
 
 "Yes: and I enjoined you not to think of it 
 any more if it were a painful topic. I repeat 
 that injunction, Hester," added Walpole em- 
 phatically. — 
 
 " But I cannot obey you, Edward : it is some- 
 thing that I must tell you !" 
 
 "Do not harass or distress yourself thus, 
 Hester ! — do not, I conjure you ! But listen to 
 me. I wish to speak to you seriously — there is 
 happiness in store for you — much happiness ! I 
 have a revelation to make— prepare yourself " 
 
 But the young girl was too much' absorbed in 
 the horrible recollections that were now upper- 
 most in her mind to heed what Walpole was say- 
 ing to her, or even to catch the sense of his 
 words ; and suddenly grasping him violently by 
 the wrist, she exclaimed impatiently, and almost 
 petulantly, " Listen to me ! — do listen to me ! Let 
 me speak." 
 
 " Think how you are exciting yourself, Hester ! 
 I tremble " " 
 
 "My excitement will grow fearful if you do 
 not let me 'unbosom myself of this dread secret !" 
 — and there, was now something so strange and 
 peculiar in the young girl's look, tone, and man- 
 ner, that Walpole gazed upon her with mingled 
 bewilderment and consternation. " And yet it is 
 a secret which must be kept even by you when I 
 tell it. Swear to me, Edward— swear that you 
 will never open your lips to reveal this secret 
 unless you receive my permission!" 
 
 " Good heavens ! what mean you ?" asked 
 Walpole, struck with a vague and horrible sus- 
 picion as he recollected to what fearful topic allu- 
 sions had recently been made in the conversation. 
 
 " Swear first of all, Edward ! swear," cried the 
 young girl vehemently, "that you will never 
 betray the horrible secret !" 
 
 " Hester, you will kill yourself with this ex- 
 citement!" 
 
 " No, no ! — it is you who are killing me, be- 
 cause you will not do my bidding. Swear, I ask 
 you!" 
 
 " I cannot, Hester I I dare not — I must not 
 take such an oath! You distress me cruelly — • 
 you frighten me horribly! Oh, what — what do 
 you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean that I have no longer a confidant nor 
 a friend in Edward Walpole," responded the girl, 
 rising with a sort of sullen dignity from her 
 seat; "and therefore I will not for another mo- 
 ment accept the asylum he has given me," 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OB' A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 345 
 
 HESTER 
 
 " Heater, you are mad !" cried Walpole, goaded 
 to the very verge of despair. "Stay, I beseech 
 you! Heavens I how pale you are! Oh, come 
 back to your seat ! I will do everything you de- 
 sire ! I will swear to keep your secret !" 
 
 " Ah, now you are my friend — my brother once 
 
 again !"— and Hester pressed both his hands in 
 
 her own as she thus spoke : then resuming her 
 
 place upon the sofa, she said, " Sit near me again 
 
 No. 44. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 — nearer still, for I must speak only iu whispers 1 
 The walls themselves would have ears for such a 
 fearful secret as this !" 
 
 The young man's face was almost as white as 
 that of the young woman : he gasped for breath 
 — he could not give utterance to a syllable — he 
 felt that he stood upon the threshold of some 
 horrible revelation — and he had already some- 
 thing more than a vague suspicion of what it 
 
316 
 
 THE YOUNQ DUCHESS; OK, MEMCIES OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 might be. And he listened with a glacial terror 
 and with an awful consternation, as Hester pro- 
 ceeded in a low whispering tone, which was hollow 
 and gloomy, to reveal the particulars of the 
 tragedy so far as it had come to her knowledge. 
 She had seen the corpse in the house where she 
 had dwelt — she knew that Grills and his wife 
 had been bribed by Henri Ponchard to dispose of 
 it — there could not be a doubt in her mind that 
 Mrs. Grills was the woman who had been seen by 
 the toll-keeper on Waterloo Bridge, or that the 
 carpet-bag contained the remains of fhe dead 
 body of which she had caugjflt a glimpse in the 
 scullery ! 
 
 Was it wonderful tha,t Edward Walpole should 
 be appalled as he listened to this tale of horrbr ? 
 — or could he be any longer surprised if Hester's 
 mind should have been labouring under an im- 
 pression stronger, and either more exciting or 
 more overwhelming than any for which she could 
 previously account ? When the narrative was 
 finished, a deep silence prevailed, — a silence as 
 solemn and as awful as that which reigns in the ; 
 churchyard by night ! 
 
 At length Edward said in a low tone, " And 
 you liveij in the house where you knew that all 
 this was going on ?" 
 
 " What could I do, Edward ?" she asked, wi,tjh 
 a look that seemed to reproach him for putting 
 the question. "I knew that I was watched— 
 that my footsteps were dogged — and that at tjhe j 
 first sign of an intent to betray the secret I should 
 become the victim of those wretches." 
 
 " But when you went out, even .though you I 
 saw that you were followed, you might have sud- 
 denly claimed the protection of the first police- 
 man whom you met ?" 
 
 " Ah, I see, Edward," cried H e ^ er i bitterly, 
 " that your experiences of the sorrows and mise- 
 ries of the world have not been half so acute 
 and terrible as mine ! Ever since you and I 
 were separated, when the arm of the law tore 
 you from ine, I met with but one person who 
 spbke to me with kindness. And, Oh ! to a lost, 
 fallen, degraded creature such as I was, the 
 slightest look' of sympathy is a pearl beyond all 
 price ! the leasts-benevolent word is as manna 
 falling from heaven itself ! Henri Ponchard was 
 the one who thus looked compassionately upon me 
 and spoke kindly to me. I experienced an illimii- ■ 
 able sense of gratitude to that man : I would not 
 have injured a hair of his head even though he 
 had committed ten thousand murders and I was 
 cognizant of his stupendous turpitude ! But how 
 much less, therefore, would I say or do aught to 
 . implicate him, when I know that he is guiltless of 
 the deed of Wood ; for, as I just now explained 
 to you, I learnt sufficient by eavesdropping and 
 listening to convince me that the unfortunate de- 
 ceased must have met his death at the hands of 
 some other. Frequently methought that Henri 
 Ponchard suspected that I knew something of the 
 matter — and, Oh ! I will confess that there were 
 times when I was afraid of him : I feared lest he 
 should be prompted by desperation itself to en- 
 sure the safety of the secret by malting away with 
 me !" 
 
 " And this," exclaimed Walpole, with a look 
 and tone of irrepressible disgust, — " and this is 
 the man whom vou studied so scrupulously to 
 shield ?" 
 
 "Hear me out, Edward 1" the girl interrupted 
 him. " I tell you I was grateful to that man, 
 even though for awhile I was afraid of him ! 
 But then all of a sudden he displayed so much 
 goodness of heart towards me, when thinking 
 that he had the means of placing me in the 
 right track towards the discovery of my parentage, 
 — he took so much trouble — he spoke so kindly 
 and encouragingly — that at last I felt convinced 
 I had wronged him in the idea that he was 
 capable of doing me a mischief even though it 
 
 were for the ensurance of his own safety ! 
 
 But enough upon the subject ! I see that I have 
 disgusterj as well as horrified you, Edward. Per- 
 haps I myself have become more loathsome in 
 your eyes than ^ was before!" 
 
 *•' Hester, Hester ! speak not thus !'" exclaimed 
 Walpole. "Oh, it is a frightful secret which you 
 have revealed to me!" 
 
 "And which ybii have sworn to keep 1" added 
 the girl impressively. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! — fear not tha;t I shall betray it !" 
 cried the young man, scarcely able to repress a 
 shudder as with a quick mental glaoCe }re re- 
 viewed all he had heard. 
 
 " It was a secret which I could not keep to my- 
 self," pursued Hester ; " and though I really know 
 not the good of scaring and horrifying you with 
 the revelation, yet it seems to have relieved my 
 mind!" 
 
 " Then in that case," interjected the generous- 
 hegurted Edward, " I will no longer appear to re- 
 gret that you should have taken me into your 
 coiifidence Oh the point. No ! — enough upon the 
 topic ! And now let us turn to another one — 
 [though roally, Hester, I tremble at the possible 
 
 [consequences of all this excitement " 
 
 ' " Do not entertain this fear on my account, 
 Edward,"' interrupted the young woman. " After 
 all that I have just gone through in revealing 
 that tremendous secret, there is nothing you can 
 now have to tell me that will do me any harm. 
 Besides, after all, what can it be? There is no 
 greater happiness can possibly await me in this 
 life," she added, with a sigh, " than that which 
 I experience in meeting you and in learning of 
 your ' miraculous prosperity : while on the other 
 hand I do indeed' begin to feel as if fortune had 
 ceased to persecute me, and that I never again 
 can know so great an amount of misery as that 
 from which you have dragged me. Ah ! Edward, 
 if it the whole world there were one being at 
 whose hands I would have received bounties in 
 preference to another, that one was you! But 
 think not — think not," the young girl hastily 
 went on to say, while a blush overspread her 
 cheeks, — "think not by this language on my 
 part that I am again courting your affection 
 otherwise than that of a brother towards a sister ! 
 No, no, Edward ! it were impossible ! I am 
 
 aware that I cannot be your wife and as to 
 
 again becoming your mistress — no, never ! 
 never!" 
 
 There was a pause — during which Edward 
 Walpole gazed with mingled admiration and sur- 
 prise upon this young girl of so singular a dispo- 
 sition, and who still ratained so many good quali- 
 ties inject and so many right principles unim- 
 paired after having been dragged through the mire 
 qf all possible pollutions and contaminations. 
 
 "No!" she resumed, with sudden vehemence j 
 
THE YOUNQ DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 347 
 
 " not for worlds would I destroy or sully the pure 
 feeling of friendship which now exists between 
 us ! — or may I not call it the fraternal love 
 which on our restoration to each other has super- 
 seded whatsoever passion formerly subsisted be- 
 tween us ? No, Edward ! I would not be your 
 mistress! — for even without all the considera- 
 tions which I have just now set before you, 1 de- 
 clare that come what will and happen what may, 
 Vice and I have shaken hands for ever ! I would 
 "ooner perish as a suicide than return into the life 
 of misery from which you have rescued me !" 
 
 " And there is no chance, Hester, that you will 
 ever be tempted to such a relapse," exclaimed 
 >Valpole vehemently ; " still less that you will be 
 driven to the horrible alternative that you have 
 suggested ! But now that you have unfolded all 
 your mind to me, do you not feel calmer?" 
 
 " I do, Edward — I do. I wished that this in- 
 terview should see everything explained and 
 cleared up between us, so that nothing might 
 remain unsaid and there should be no unnatural 
 excitement for me after to-day. Yet it was for 
 this very reason that I dreaded as well as longed 
 fur the present meeting !" 
 
 "Now you are exciting yourself again, Hes- 
 ter! Pray be calm! There is a subject which I 
 have been endeavouring to approach for the last 
 half-hour ; but scarcely do I get near it, when 
 you say something to repel me." 
 
 " Speak, Edward. I am now perfectly calm. 
 Besides, I am bound to listen to you !" — and as 
 she thus spoke, she reclined back gently on the 
 cushions again. 
 
 *' We have been talking upon subjects of a 
 varied character," resumed Walpole, '' most of 
 them disagreeable and unpleasant enough : but 
 • now the one which I am about to approach is 
 calculated to be fraught with the purest and most 
 unalloyed happiness — and it interests you most 
 deeply. I was telling you this much just now 
 — but you did not hear me at' the time : other 
 things were uppermost in your mind." 
 X, " Edward," said Hester, " after all that has 
 been done for me, I can conceive no new source 
 whence happiness may arise except in a quarter 
 where all hope appears to be dead !" 
 
 " There is always hope while there is life," re- 
 plied Walpole significantly ; "and who shall 
 venture to define the power or the readiness of 
 providence to develop even those mysteries which 
 may appear most inscrutable?" 
 
 " Oh, Edward !" cried the young girl, catching 
 at his words ; " are you indeed destined to prove 
 a good angel to me altogether ? Speak, speak ! 
 Has not a sufficient amount of happiness been as 
 yet awarded me for the miseries of the past?" 
 
 " Now, thank heaven, that I have got you in 
 the right track, Hester," pursued Walpole, with a 
 smile, " you will be prepared to receive the happy 
 tidings " 
 
 "What? what? Speak ! Oh, speak ! Do not 
 hesitate ! I will command myself!" 
 
 " Yes, Hester — you must be as calm as possible! 
 I am about to speak to you of — of " 
 
 The young girl gasped, she essayed, to speak — 
 but she could hot ; and Walpole, fancying that 
 she was sufficiently prepared and that further 
 suspense might only prove injurious, proceeded to 
 say 1 , " The secret of your parentage is not alto- 
 gether lost. On the contrary, heaven has placed 
 
 me in a particular path, for its own purposes, that 
 I might become the means of giving a daughter 
 to the arms of a mother now fervently longing 
 to strain her to her bosom !" 
 
 Hester took Walpole's hand and pressed it be- 
 tween both her own, while the tears were trickling 
 down her cheeks, and the workings of her coun- 
 tenance showed how deeply stirred were the ten- 
 derest, the liveliest, and the strongest emotions 
 of her heart. Her power of speech was still 
 suspended : hut, Oh ! what a volume of eloquence 
 in her looks ! 
 
 " You must prepare to learn, Hester," continued 
 Walpole, drawing aside the veil with as much 
 delicacy as possible, "that though a mother is 
 ready and eager to claim, and to recognise you, 
 yet that you will know no father's love! Not 
 
 that the author of your being is dea'd No ! he 
 
 lives — and although I am acquainted with his 
 name, yet it were perhaps better that you your- 
 self should not ask it ; for he deeply, deeply 
 wronged your mother — and this poor mother of 
 your's cannot look upon him otherwise than with 
 feelings that are even stronger than repugnance." 
 
 "Enough, Edward ! enough !" murmured Hester; 
 " I will not ask concerning my father. But my 
 mother — Oh, my mother! when may I see her? 
 when may I embrace her ?" 
 
 " Presently, Hester — this very day " 
 
 " Oh, Edward ! did I not say that you were to 
 prove unto me like an angel from heaven ? My 
 mother ! — is it possible ? my mother !" — and the 
 poor creature, again Sinking back upon the 
 cushions from which in her excited feelings she 
 had raised herself, placed her hands before her 
 eyes and yielded to the hitherto unknown luxury 
 of feelings which were engendered by the power 
 of being enabled to pronounce the sweet and 
 touching name of " Mother !" 
 
 The young man then proceeded, in the same 
 delicate way as before, to give Hester some few 
 requisite explanations, — telling her that her 
 mother was Lady Amesbury, the widow of the 
 celebrated General Officer — that she was affluent 
 — still young, and of prepossessing appearance — 
 but that her intellects were to some little degree 
 disordered, chiefly it might be believed, from the 
 supposition that her daughter had ceased to exist, 
 and that there was consequently now every hope 
 of a complete mental improvement when that 
 daughter should be restored to her. It were use- 
 less to elaborate this portion of our tale with 
 reiterated descriptions of the sentiments and feel- 
 ings displayed by Hester as she listened to the 
 various revelations that were being breathed in 
 her ear ; but there is one particular point which 
 requires explanation, and which we shall now 
 give in the young man's own words. 
 
 " I should tell you, Hester, that your mother 
 knew of the pecuniary arrangements that were 
 made on your behalf by her unprincipled seducer : 
 she knew likewise that these arrangements were 
 effected through the medium of his broker, Mr. 
 Warren, the father of the individual who at pre- 
 sent carries on the business. It was because your 
 poor mother was constantly expressing a wish to 
 her mother to embrace her child, if only for a mo- 
 ment, that it was determined to remove you from 
 one seminary to another ; and hence your sudden 
 transference from the care of the Morphews at 
 Lewisham to Miss Thompson's at Brompton. The 
 
348 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Morphews, be it understood, were strictly en- 
 joined to afford no information on the point to 
 your mother if by any chance she should take it 
 into her head to call upon them for the purpose. 
 Well, it was not very long after your removal to 
 Brompton that your mother married General 
 Amesbury and went out to India. On her return 
 about three years ago, she at once applied to Mr. 
 Warren for information concerning you, and was 
 assured by that gentleman that you were dead. 
 She believed him to be a respectable man — as re- 
 spectable as his father was before him ; and never 
 for a single instant did it occur to herthatforany 
 reason she was being grossly deceived." 
 
 " And why should this stockbroker have thus 
 deceived her ?". asked Hester : " why should he 
 have acted so cruelly and so villanously ?" 
 
 " I have been to him this morning," responded 
 Walpole. "As I have already told you, it was 
 last night that acctdent rendered me a listener tb' 
 the conversation of your mother with Miss Os- 
 borne ; and, Oh ! the scene which ensued when I 
 burst through the window, declaring that her 
 daughter was not dead and that she should be 
 restored unto her ! But of that I have already 
 spoken. Well, then, it was agreed that I should 
 see Warren this morning, to ascertain the real 
 truth from his lips, and discover upon what 
 ground he had declared you to be dead — to find 
 out also why the remittances had been stopped if 
 he did not really believe you to be no more. I 
 will not trouble you with details, Hester. Suffice 
 it to say that when I announced my mission to 
 Warren, the confusion which seized upon him 
 heralded a confession of guilt. He threw himself 
 on my mercy — he avowed all the stupendous 
 wickedness whereof he had been guilty. It ap- 
 pears that at his father's death he became fright- 
 fully embarrassed, and he laid hands upon every 
 available sum in order to maintain his credit and 
 prop up a failing business. The capital which 
 had been lodged in the Bank of England, to 
 furnish an income for your maintenance, was 
 drawn out by virtue of the power of attorney held 
 by Mr. Warren. He thought to himself that as 
 your mother was married and gone to India, she 
 would be little likely to ask any questions thence- 
 forth in reference to her child ; and he did not an- 
 ticipate any trouble on the part of your father. 
 Thus, poor Hester ! he thought he might deal 
 with thee in the manner best suited to his own 
 selfish interests : he plundered thee of thy fortune, 
 little thinking that the day would ever come 
 when there might arise a questioning on the sub- 
 ject ! And that day has at length come. 
 Thoroughly humiliated was that man as he stood 
 before me just now, confessing the truth, and be- 
 seeching that time might be given him for making 
 restitution." 
 
 " And what did you do, Edward ?" asked 
 Hester. " It was not the time to be vindictive, 
 when heaven was working out its own good pur- 
 poses despite the machinations of the wicked!" 
 
 "Thus I also reasoned, Hester — and I loft 
 the miserable man with the assurance that his 
 guilt should be overlooked. But now that these 
 explanations are complete, let me ask whether you 
 think that you are sufficiently strong " 
 
 " To meet my mother? to fly into her arms ? to 
 receive her kisses ? Oh, Edward ! if I were upon 
 the bed of death," cried the young girl, with a 
 
 wild enthusiasm, " V should be enabled to spring 
 from it to be welcomed by a mother !" 
 
 Walpole looked at his watch; and then he 
 said, "I am afraid, Hester, that the worthy 
 doctor will blame me very much for all this ex- 
 citement " 
 
 "No, no! it is inspiring me with new life!" 
 exclaimed Hester. " I feel— Oh ! I feel that if 
 any medicament could resuscitate the vital powers, 
 so as yet to give me a chance of a few more years 
 of life, it is all this happiness which I am now ex- 
 periencing !" 
 
 " And therefore your felicity may as well be 
 crowned with the least possible delay, Hester," re- 
 joined Walpole. " It isnow two o'clock : — at four 
 your mother shall be here." 
 
 "Two hours ? — only two hours ? And yet they 
 seem an age ! May I not go to her ?" 
 
 " No : — that is a step which I cannot possibly 
 permit without the sanction of the doctor : for if 
 
 anything serious were to occur Besides, 
 
 Hester," continued Walpole, interrupting himself; 
 " if you pass through this coming ordeal of hap- 
 piness without suffering too much from its ex- 
 citement, there can be no doubt that your mother 
 will take you away to -morrow, and you will go to 
 that home which I feel convinced she is now pre- 
 paring for your reception!" 
 
 " I will submit to all you suggest or advise," 
 answered Hester; and then, with the vivid 
 scarlet mantling on her countenance, and with 
 downcast looks, she murmured, " You have been 
 compelled to tell my mother how low I have 
 
 fallen- Are you sure that when the first gush of 
 
 feeling is over, she will not despise and loathe 
 me?'! • ■ ; • . , 
 
 ." Good heavens — no, Hester !" exclaimed Wal- 
 pole vehemently. " Perhaps, if it were possible 
 for her to yearn all the more eagerly to embrace 
 her child, it is because she knows that this child 
 of her's has been unfortunate — that she has fallen 
 — and that she has suffered! But think not, 
 Hester, that I have told your mother the very 
 worst ! No, no ! she knows not how low you have 
 been ! — she knows not everything ! — and she need 
 never know it ! It is a topic on which she will 
 be little likely to speak to you of her own accord. 
 Need I add, Hester," faltered the young man, 
 now blushing in his turn, " that I have said but 
 
 little relative to my antecedents and naught 
 
 in respect to the crime which separated me from 
 you and rendered me the inmate of a gaol." 
 
 " Edward," responded the young woman, seri- 
 ously and impressively, " whenever by word or 
 deed I shall injure you, then may you declare 
 that no such feeling as gratitude exists upon the 
 earth, but that the human heart is indeed the 
 grave instead of the well-spring of all virtues !" 
 
 Walpele pressed her hand ; and rising from his 
 seat, he said, " I shall leave you now, Hester ; 
 and at four o'clock may you rely upon welcoming 
 your mother. Meanwhile compose yourself to the 
 best of your ability — sleep if you can — yield to 
 no despondency — mistrust not the happiness which 
 is now yours in all its most substantial reality !" 
 
 The young man departed ; and the recommen- 
 dation which he gave in a short time found its 
 accomplishment. Hester slept. There are feel- 
 ings which overwhelm even with their soothing 
 influence ; and excitement must necessarily be 
 followed by reaction. Thus slumber stole upon the 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 849 
 
 girl's eyes ; and it was well that such proved to be 
 the case ; for her^ mind became refreshed and 
 strengthened against the hour appointed for her 
 meeting with her mother. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVL 
 
 AZALINE AND EDWARD. 
 
 It was past four o'clock in the afternoon ; and in 
 the ground-floor parlour of the lodging-house 
 where dwelt Hester Sergeant, Edward Walpole 
 was now seated with Azaline Osborne. The young 
 lady was attired in an elegant walking dress : 
 she had on her bonnet — her gloves were upon her 
 hands ; and from these circumstances the reader 
 may rightly opine that she had not been long 
 there, and that neither did she purpose that her 
 visit should be of any considerable length. In 
 fact, she had good-naturedly accompanied Lady 
 Amesbury, and she was now tarrying a little 
 while to ascertain how the meeting between the 
 mother and daughter passed off in the room over- 
 head, and to assure herself that her own services 
 would not be needed in any respect by either of 
 them. Edward Walpole remained at the house 
 for precisely the same purpose; and thus were 
 the two young people thrown together in the par- 
 lour upon the ground floor. 
 
 "The meeting must inevitably have proved," 
 said Azaline, diverging from other topics, " one of 
 the most pathetically interesting and affecting 
 that can possibly be conceived." 
 
 "Oh, most interesting! most affecting!" ex- 
 claimed Walpole ardently. 
 
 "I am quite curious to see this new-found 
 daughter of my friend Lady Amesbury's," said 
 Azaline. " I shall remain until I think that I 
 may without indiscretion ascend to the room 
 above, tap at the door, and request a few minutes' 
 admission." 
 
 " And you will see Hester, Miss Osborne ?" 
 exclaimed Walpole. 
 
 " Most assuredly. Why should I not ?" — and 
 it was with almost an air of surprise that the 
 beautiful Azaline gazed upon the young man. 
 
 " You are the most liberal-minded and generous- 
 hearted being," he cried with fervour, " that I ever 
 encountered !" 
 
 " And you, sir," she replied, with a smile, " are 
 the most inveterately disagreeable person that I 
 ever encountered ; because you will insist on 
 paying me compliments although you know how 
 utterly distasteful they are." 
 
 "A thousand pardons, Miss Osborne!" ejacu- 
 lated Walpole. " But really it is impossible to 
 beheld without emotion so much true magna- 
 nimity on your part. You know," he added, in a 
 low tone and with hesitating manner, " how this 
 
 poor girl has proved erring and frail " 
 
 " I only know that she is a fellow-creature and 
 that she has suffered. I call myself a Christian — 
 and I feel bound to perform a Christian's duties. 
 Next to her own mother I will be the first to take 
 her by the hand." 
 
 "Good heavens, Miss Osborne!" exclaimed 
 Walpole, actually startled and thrilled in his en- 
 thusiastic admiration of the noble-minded and 
 generous-souled young lady ; " such words 
 
 coming from your lips bespeak you to be an 
 angel!" 
 
 " One of a very poor terrestrial mould, I am 
 afraid," she responded, with an ingenuous smile, 
 which displayed the pearly treasures of her teeth. 
 " Not so !" rejoined Edward, enthusiastically ; 
 "but so high above all other earthly beings whom 
 I ever knew or dreamt of, that I could fall down 
 and worship you !" 
 
 " And if you choose to render yourself an 
 idolater, Mr. Walpole," responded Azaline, with 
 another smile — one of those smiles, so frank and 
 good-tempered, which seem most appropriate for 
 such beauteous'lips, — " it does not by any means 
 follow that I should consent to be set up as the 
 idol of your worship." 
 
 " But Oh, Miss Osborne ! the worshipper asks 
 not whether his idol will consent to receive his 
 adoration! The incense of his homage ascends 
 spontaneously, unchecked, unrestrained !" 
 
 " Do you write poetry, Mr. Walpole?" in- 
 quired Azaline, with a carelessness of air and in- 
 difference of look which struck him for the in- 
 stant as being the studied affectations of a 
 coquette. 
 
 " I do not pretend to be a poet, Miss Osborne," 
 he answered, humbly and meekly. "But if I 
 were, would it not be cruel on your part to check 
 the poetic enthusiasm ?" 
 
 " On the contrary," she interrupted him, half 
 smiling, half seriously : " it would be the greatest 
 possible benefit I could confer upon you. This 
 is not a poetical age, Mr. Walpole " 
 
 "And yet methinks, Miss Osborne," he an- 
 swered, recovering courage, and speaking with a. 
 smile of sly significancy, " the age of poetry can 
 scarcely be said to have passed when beautiful 
 young ladies bend their longing eyes upon the 
 East, as if in adoration of the rising sun — and 
 indulge their imaginations with romantic dreams 
 of a delicious existence in those climes — clad in 
 the picturesque costume of the Orient, and seek- 
 ing even to emulate the eccentric glories of the 
 Queen of Tadmor !" , 
 
 Azaline blushed and smiled as she listened to 
 this speech, — to which she rejoined, " I know, 
 Mr. Walpole, that you are an excellent listener 
 to conversations which you ought not to over- 
 hear ; and rest assured that I should have taken 
 the most serious offence at your conduct of last 
 night, if it had not brought about a result which 
 I hope will completely redound to the happiness 
 of my friend Lady Amesbury and her daughter. 
 For this reason your behaviour," she continued, 
 in a sort of serio-comic style, " must be regarded 
 as having been under the direction of some pre- 
 ternatural influence; for otherwise it would be 
 completely indefensible, and therefore unpardon- 
 able." 
 
 " I thank heaven, Miss Osborne," replied Wal- 
 pole, "that there should exist excuses which 
 plead for me in your favour. I could not possibly 
 have endured your displeasure — — " 
 
 "Enough of this style of language, Mr. Wal- 
 pole," interrupted Azaline. "Must I over and 
 over again remind you that I hate compliments 
 — and most of all those that are conveyed by im- 
 plication or inference rather than in a direct 
 manner. Pray talk rationally ! You are not a 
 simpleton — and I flatter myself I have some little 
 common sense. You would think it a miserable 
 
350 
 
 THE YOUNQ DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 affectation if I were to tell yon that I by no 
 means understand the language in which you 
 have ventured to address me ; and therefore, to 
 prove to you at once that I do comprehend it, and 
 that I wish it to cease, I will ask you seriously 
 and gravely whether you have no duties to fulfil 
 towards her who is now being strained to the 
 bosom of a mother ?" 
 
 " Good heavens !" ejaculated Edward with ve- 
 hemence, "how is it possible that I can discuss 
 snch a subject with you ?" 
 
 Azaline did not immediately reply : she re- 
 flected — and then she said, " If you think it 
 worth while to say anything upon the subject, 
 Mr. Walpole, I shall listen — because it were need- 
 less as well as useless to deny that circumstances 
 have established a certain degree of friendship be- 
 tween us." 
 
 The young man's heart thrilled at this admis- 
 sion ; and it occurred to him that Miss Osborne 
 was attaching something more than a casual in- 
 terest to the explanations which she evidently 
 sought ; nay, he even hoped that she regarded 
 them as important. 
 
 " You know," he said — " for you were present 
 at all which last night took place between Lady 
 Amesbury and myself, when I so unceremoniously 
 broke in upon your discourse — and for which 
 offence I thank heaven that I have received your 
 forgiveness " 
 
 " Keep to the main point, Mr. Walpole," said 
 Azaline. " Proceed. You were about to tell me 
 that I know something. What is it that I 
 know ?" 
 
 " You know," pursued the young man, " that 
 relations of a certain intimate character took 
 place two years ago between Hester and myself, 
 when we were both boy and girl — and I was not 
 then rich — indeed I was very poor — and poverty 
 separated us — for I was compelled to go and take 
 
 a situation, while she poor girl But really, 
 
 Miss Osborne, this is a topic on which I ought 
 not to dwell!" 
 
 " The long and short of it is, Mr. Walpole," 
 said Azaline, " that Hester somewhile ago was 
 the same to you as your wife, and at that time 
 you were so poor that you could not maintain 
 her ; and thus you separated. Well, now you 
 meet again, and under circumstances that are 
 completely altered. You are rich, and she will be 
 rich ! Will you not now make her your wife in 
 reality? for I repeat that she was as good as 
 your wife ere your separation." 
 
 " But, Oh, Miss Osborne !" exclaimed Walpole, 
 " during that interval " 
 
 " Ah, well," said Azaline; "I comprehend that 
 poor Hester was not altogether virtuous : but her 
 position was such that with all her might and 
 main she could not resist the force of circum- 
 stances. Yet you yourself assured her anxious 
 and almost anguished mother, when she ques- 
 tioned you last night, — you yourself assured her, 
 I say, that Hester's conduct must be held as 
 venial, if not justifiable— that it was very far 
 from having been downright profligate or de- 
 praved." 
 
 " True — I said all this, Miss Osborne," inter- 
 jected Walpole. " But, Ah ! can you not sur- 
 mise that I spoke mildly upon that subjects — I 
 glossed over the real truth — because I was fearful 
 of planting the dagger too deeply in the bosom of 
 
 a mother who was questioning me in reference to 
 a daughter !" 
 
 " I will take this for granted," said Azaline ; 
 " it was generous and considerate on your part to 
 spare that mother's feelings as much as possible. 
 Well, but just now, when I said that I would be 
 the very first to take the poor frail girl by the hand, 
 did you not eulogize my conduct in terms so en- 
 thusiastic that I was compelled to rebuke them 
 and to beseech that you would not address me 
 with such flattering words? Surely, Mr. Wal- 
 pole, if you so well understand what constitutes 
 the magnanimous and the generous, you must be 
 prepared to give a practical illustration to your 
 own views? In a word, you must marry 
 Hester." 
 
 Edward rose from his seat — paced twice or 
 thrice through the room — and then suddenly 
 throwing himself at the young lady's feet, he said, 
 " Miss Osborne, I love you — and you only ! Nay, 
 do not repel me ! I beseech you to hear me ! I 
 will give you a proof of this love of mine. Listen ! 
 I constitute you the arbitress of my destiny. 
 Command me to wed Hester, and I will do so. 
 Yes — I swear that I will obey you, and then you 
 will not doubt the sincerity of this self-sacrificing 
 devotion on my part !" 
 
 Azaline did not give any immediate answer : 
 she even permitted the young man to continue 
 kneeling for a few moments longer at her feet ere 
 she bade him rise. 
 
 " Leave that position, Mr. Walpole," she said : 
 "*it is not for you to kneel in my presence. The 
 conversation has taken a turn but little foreseen 
 by me in the outset ; and the terms in which you 
 have now addressed me, entitle you to attention 
 and deliberate consideration on my part. You 
 appoint me the arbitress of your destinies : it 
 is a strange position for me to find myself in, 
 seeing how short, how very short our acquaint- 
 ance has been ; and yet on the other hand it ap- 
 pears as if the current of circumstances had 
 flowed on naturally to this issue. Well, then, I 
 accept the position. And now let me question 
 you. Do you no longer love Hester ?" 
 
 "1 never loved her!" was the answer emphati- 
 cally given. 
 
 "What, sir?" exclaimed Azaline: "are you 
 trifling with me ? Do you mean to deceive me ?" 
 
 "I beseech you to- listen, Miss Osborne!" re- 
 sumed Edward Walpole, with the mingled calmness 
 and impressiveness of candour and sincerity. "I 
 always thought that I loved Hester until I first 
 beheld you. Then I experienced a sentiment that" 
 was quite different from anything I had ever 
 known before. I did not understand this at first: 
 neither did I find it easy to analyse my feelings : 
 — and perhaps it was not altogether until this 
 very day — only a few hours ago — that I com- 
 pletely understood them." 
 
 " And what brought you to this understand- 
 ing ?" asked Azaline. 
 
 " Hester herself told me that we must henoe» 
 forth look upon each other only as brother ancj 
 sister." 
 
 " Ah, she said that — did she ?" observed Miss 
 Osborne, as if quite in a careless way, and as if 
 the discourse were becoming tedious to her. 
 
 " I am telling you nothing but the truth. Not 
 for worlds would I deceive you ! Besides, Hester 
 herself would corroborate all my assertions " 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 851 
 
 " Mr. Walpole, can you think for a single mo- 
 ment that I should appeal to Hester for a corro- 
 boration ?" 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Osbprne," said the young 
 man, meekly, and looking as if the rebuff had 
 deeply humiliated him. " I flattered myself that 
 the topic might have a little more interest for 
 you than I see that it has." 
 
 " Well, at all events," rejoined Azaline, " you 
 may as well tell me what Hester did say, since 
 you are upon the topic : for after all, I do take a 
 friendly interest in the matter." 
 
 " And just now," Edward hastened to exclaim, 
 "you admitted that I had a right to demand your 
 attention and your deliberate consideration!" 
 
 " True — I think I did say something of the 
 sort :" and Azaline seemed to be playing carelessly 
 with her parasol. 
 
 "Said something of the sort ?" cried the young 
 man, astonished and bewildered at this humour of 
 seeming indifference which Azaline was displaying. 
 "Why, you even accepted the position of arbi- 
 tress of my destinies!" 
 
 " That is likewise true,'' she said. " But pro- 
 ceed. I think you were going to tell me " 
 
 " That Hester assured me this day," resumed 
 Walpole, still feeling rebuked, hurt, and humiliated 
 by what he naturally took to be a capricious 
 change of manner on AzahWs part, so that it 
 was in the midst of deep discouragement he thus 
 pursued the theme, — " Hester assured me that she 
 never could become my wife, and that as for re- 
 ceiving me on terms equivocal — or — or — immoral 
 — it was impossible. She in every sense appre- 
 ciates the delicacy of her position ; and 1 feel 
 convinced that if I were to fall down at her feet 
 and implore her to marry me, she would re- 
 fuse." 
 
 " And you yourself, Mr. Walpole," said Azaline, 
 "experience sentiments so changed in reference 
 to Hester that you are by no means sorry she 
 has come to this determination ?" 
 
 " I should have been prepared to do my duty to 
 the very utmost towards that poor girl, Miss 
 Osborne : but I should indeed be speaking falsely 
 and should be endeavouring to mislead you, if I 
 were for a single moment to pretend that I am not 
 rejoiced at the decision to which she herself first 
 arrived. Oh ! and it was when she was speaking 
 to me this day in those terms, that I attained the 
 full and complete appreciation of my own senti- 
 ments. Pray grant me your attention while I 
 speak with candour — perhaps with boldness — for 
 a few minutes only ! I never loved Hester Ser- 
 geant. Circumstances originally threw us together 
 in a way which engendered feelings that had to 
 me the semblance of love. But love, in its purity, 
 its holiness, and in the sanctity of its devotion, 
 it was not! Tou will ask, then, why after a 
 separation which might have deadened and de- 
 stroyed a feeling so feebly grounded, I sought for 
 her so anxiously when I became rici ? It was a 
 mixture of impulses — a variety of motives. Com- 
 passion — sympathy — curiosity — a friendly feeling 
 on behalf of the poor girl whom I had known 
 under other circumstances — with perhaps more or 
 less a sense of something resembling a duty to 
 seek after one whom I had known in my poverty 
 and whom I might at length provide' for in the 
 period of my wealth — these were the causes that 
 instigated me in that search : but if they be all 
 
 assembled together, they do not constitute the 
 sentiment of love tt' 
 
 Azaline was still playing with her parasol ; and 
 when Walpole had done speaking, she said with a 
 half-smile, the meaning of which he could not 
 understand, " And so this is your pleading ia the 
 presence of one whom you have made the arbitress 
 of your destinies? Well, I must admit that if 
 you do not love Hester it would be very hard to 
 order you to marry her. But that is nbt all s for 
 inasmuch as she has declared that she cannot 
 marry you, even if you were to propose such an 
 alliance, you are in no sense wronging her and 
 you leave no duty unfulfilled. Therefore, Mr. 
 Walpole," added Azaline, while a slight flush 
 seemed for an instant to flit over her cheeks, 
 " you are undoubtedly free to — to— I mean, you 
 are at liberty to consider everything at an end 
 between Hester and yourself." 
 
 " And may I not hope — may I not flatter my- 
 self," faltered the young man, — " or shall I be 
 esteemed too daring, if under existing circum- 
 stances " 
 
 '• I do really think, Mr Walpole," Azaline in- 
 terrupted him, with a smile, " that I shall now 
 venture up-stairs and introduce my3elf to Hester. 
 Perhaps it would be better that you should not 
 follow me just at present— and therefore you can 
 remain here until I come back to tell you how it 
 fares with the mother and daughter, and whether 
 there are any further services you can render 
 them." 
 
 Having thus spoken, Azaline glided from the 
 room ; and as the door closed behind her, Walpole- 
 struck himself violently upon the breast with his 
 clenched fists. 
 
 "By heaven, I understand her nowl" he men- 
 tally ejaculated. " She is a whimsical, heartless 
 coquette — pretending all kinds of eccentricities — 
 affecting all sorts of peculiarities ! Ah, that smile 
 which was upon her lips as she turned to leave 
 the room ! it was full of mockery ! I do believe 
 that she is malignant and mischievous as well as 
 heartless ! She has led me on to make a perfect 
 fool of myself ! Oh, that I should have been so 
 blind as to think that she took the slightest in- 
 terest in aught that concerned Hester or myself! 
 Infatuated madman that I was ! The idea, that 
 she, the high-born daughter of a peer, should con- 
 descend to notice with favour one so obscure and 
 humble as I ! Ah, I have played the silliest game 
 that ever was ! — I have rendered myself a laugh- 
 ingstock to that capricious beauty ! How she 
 drew me out ! How she led me on into the mi- 
 nutest explanations ! I am almost inclined to 
 vow that I will be revenged ! But no ! this were 
 unworthy of mel" 
 
 The young man paced to and fro in the apart- 
 ment, a prey to all the varied feelings which found 
 expression in the train of thoughts we have jusit 
 teen describing. 
 
 "And yet she is so beautiful!" he suddenly 
 ejaculated, in a tone that was loud enough to 
 have been heard if any one had been present. 
 " Must I renounce her altogether? must I resign 
 myself to the hideous eonviction that I have been 
 trifled with by a finished coquette whose pride 
 exists in the pretence of humility, and whose 
 vanity seeks to gratify itself by means of the com- 
 pliments that are paid to an affected liberalism? 
 But, Ah! what said Lady Amesbury the other 
 
352 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHKSS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 night? Faiat heart never won fair lady I 'Tis an 
 old adage which she quoted : but may I not regard 
 it as a species of prophetic encouragement offered 
 to myself! Why should I renounce a love-siege 
 which has only just commenced ? why should I 
 abandon all hope and yield myself to despair? 
 Even the defences which the most finished 
 coquette throws up around her heart, may not be 
 impregnable. What if I were to persevere? 
 Was a grand success ever achieved without some 
 trouble ? was a mighty result ever accomplished 
 without previous toils and labours, perplexities 
 and difficulties? But, Oh! that half-mocking 
 smile which appeared upon those beauteous lips 
 as she turned to quit the room ! it has shed its 
 baleful influence upon me in a way but too well 
 calculated to discourage all hope!" — and then 
 again the young man found himself giving vent 
 to such mental ejaculations as, "Miserable co- 
 quette ! heartless creature ! malignant trifler ! 
 and yet how lovely ! — good heavens, how fasci- 
 nating! how beautiful ! how,bewitching! Syren 
 — Circe! Yet how like an angel and a god- 
 dess !" 
 
 Upwards of half an hour elapsed while the 
 young man was passing through all these strong 
 and rending transitions of feeling, until at length 
 the door opened and Miss Osborne reappeared. 
 There was a heightened colour upon her cheeks : 
 a tear glistened in each eye ; and Edward's heart 
 seemed to bound within him as the thought 
 flashed to his brain, " After all, she is not unfeel- 
 ing!" 
 
 , She sat down upon the sofa ; but it was again 
 with that peculiar smile which Edward could not 
 understand, and which in one sense seemed so 
 sweet upon those beautiful lips, yet in another 
 sense did him harm to behold it. She said, 
 " Well, I've seen your Hester, Mr. Walpole." 
 
 "My Hester, Miss Osborne?" he ejaculated. 
 
 " Oh, you need not catch me up so- quickly as 
 all that, Mr. Walpole !" replied Azaline : " you 
 knew very well what I meant. I will call her 
 your friend Hester, if you will." 
 
 The young man thought there was something 
 flippant and light in Azaline's manner ; and his 
 opinion again turned dead against the possibility 
 of her possessing any real good feeling ; so that 
 it was with a mingled bitterness and cold reserve 
 that he said, "I should have thought, Miss Os- 
 borne, you would have had something more grave 
 and serious to remark upon after having wit- 
 nessed the scene up-stairs. For though I myself 
 chose not to intrude upon it, yet can I fancy 
 what it must be." 
 
 " 1 am enabled to assure you, Mr. Walpole," 
 exclaimed Azaline, smiling, " that it is a scene of 
 complete happiness — yet a happiness which in 
 itself is touching and affecting." 
 
 " It is fortunate, Miss Osborne," interjected 
 Edward, as if with the bitterness of a retort, 
 "that you have at length found something to 
 touch your heart." 
 
 " Oh, yes," cried the young lady ; " it was in- 
 describably affecting to hear how Hester spoke." 
 
 " And may I be permitted to inquire what was 
 the chief topic?" 
 
 " She spoke of many things, Mr. Walpole. 
 But, Oh ! she is not ungrateful — and I am bound 
 to confess that it was of yon principally she 
 
 "Of me?" said the young man. "But yea: 
 I know that Hester would speak well of me." 
 
 " As in duty bound, Mr. Walpole," suggested 
 Azaline. 
 
 " And therefore you have only taken what she 
 
 has said of me as a mere matter of course 
 
 But of what consequence is it ? I think, Miss 
 Osborne, I shall now take my leave :" — and there 
 was something restless, agitated, and perturbed 
 in Walpole's manner, tone, and looks. 
 
 "Perhaps, as you have constituted me the 
 arbitress of your destinies," resumed Azaline, " and 
 therefore invested me with more or less of a judi- 
 cial character towards you, I ought in justice to 
 declare that never did one human being speak 
 more highly of another than that grateful girl 
 has just spoken of you. And it was with no 
 false enthusiasm — with no strained effect — that 
 she spoke, but with the most genuine sincerity. 
 Indeed, the veriest sceptic in the world, Mr. Wal- 
 pole, could not doubt the value of a character 
 when proclaimed in such terms. And then too, 
 when all this panegyric comes to be associated 
 with whatsoever other little circumstances had 
 transpired in your favour — other proofs I mean 
 of your generosity and honourable feeling, your 
 magnanimity, the goodness of your disposition, — 
 when, I say, I take all these things into consi- 
 deration, I must confess that I am by no means 
 sorry to have formed your acquaintance ; and 
 — and — I will even admit that I have perhaps 
 reason to be proud of your friendship." *. 
 
 Azaline had first begun this long speech with 
 a smiling mien, which still appeared to the dis- 
 torted vision of the young man to be full of banter 
 and mockery ; then, as she progressed, her manner 
 became more grave, until her voice ceased speak- 
 ing amidst an affability, a, kindness — almost a 
 tenderness — which were now no longer to be mis- 
 taken. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Osborne!" exclaimed Walpole, his 
 heart again leaping within him ; " is it possible 
 you can thus think well of me ?" * 
 
 " How can I think otherwise, after all I have 
 seen and heard of you ?" 
 
 "But you have only known me for so short a 
 time!" 
 
 "Ah! now you yourself are raising objec- 
 tions !" said the young lady, with an arch smile 
 indescribably sweet. 
 
 : " Good heavens ! what do you mean ?" ex- 
 claimed Edward, full of rapture and suspense : 
 " what am I to understand ? what may I 
 hope?" 
 
 " You may understand, Mr. Walpole,'' rejoined 
 Azaline, bending upon him a look full of tender- 
 ness, " that I believe you to be a worthy and ex- 
 cellent young man ; and if any words of hope 
 falling from my lips can constitute your happi- 
 ness, they shall be spoken you may consider 
 
 them already as good as said !" 
 
 It was a cry of joy with which Edward wel- 
 comed this assurance : and throwing himself upon 
 his knees at Azaline's feet, he took her hand and 
 pressed it to his lips. He gazed up into her 
 lovely countenance : there was a long silence — 
 and by the looks which she bent npon him, she 
 showed that he was indeed very far from being an 
 object of indifference to her. 
 ' But all of a sudden Walpole started up as if a 
 serpent had stung him ; and springing up to his 
 
feet, he began pacing the room in an excited 
 manner. 
 
 "What is the matter with you, Edward?" 
 asked Azaline, stopping him, taking his hand, and 
 looking with affectionate anxiety in his face. 
 
 " I am not worthy of you, Azaline!" he cried. 
 
 "Not worthy of me? Surely it is for me to 
 make the appreciation of yonr good qualities," she 
 said ; " and did I not ere now specify and enume- 
 rate them?" 
 
 " But there is something which has been kept 
 back ! something which has been withheld from 
 your knowledge ! Oh, do not ask me ! — but let 
 me leave you, Azaline ! Forget that this scene 
 has taken place ! I tell you that I am not worthy 
 of you!" 
 
 "And I tell you, Edward Walpole," answered 
 
 Miss Osborne, impressively, " that you are worthy 
 
 of me — and I love you — and I am prepared to 
 
 present you to my parents as my intended hns- 
 
 No. 45. — The Young. Duchess. 
 
 band. Heaven knows that I care but little for 
 the advantage of wealth that you possess — and it 
 has no weight in influencing my feelings. I love 
 you for yourself alone. Nevertheless, your pecu- 
 niary position will smooth down every difficulty 
 which my father and mother might possibly raise 
 up ; and therefore on this point you need enter- 
 tain no apprehension." 
 
 " Admirable Azaline !" cried the young man : 
 and then the enthusiastic admiration which 
 his looks for an instant expressed, was succeeded 
 by a look of anguished bitterness, as he dashed 
 his open palm against his brow, exclaiming, " Oh, 
 why am I unworthy of you? why have I so 
 foully deceived you ?" 
 
 Any other young lady would have been fright- 
 tened and shocked by these self-accusings : but it 
 was different in respect to Azaline. With firm- 
 ness, decision, and emphasis, blended with femi- 
 nine tenderness, she said, " If there be any inci- 
 
351 
 
 THE TOUNQ DDCIIESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A IJlDY OF QUALITY. 
 
 dent of your past life which you have hitherto 
 kept unrevealed until this moment, I have no 
 reason to complain. It is only within the last 
 few minutes that I had acquired any right to 
 penetrate into your circumstances at all. And let 
 me add, that I already know too much to your 
 credit to be easily swayed in an opposite direc- 
 tion." 
 
 " Azalihe ! as amiable as you are beautiful ! 
 I tremble at the idea of losing you — and yet I 
 dare not deceive you !" 
 
 " I like you all the better, Edward, for this 
 honest assurance. It is pefllaps," continued the 
 young lady, " some youthful error " 
 
 " Worse than an error, Azaline !" he ejaculated t 
 " it was a crime!" 
 
 " Yon may call it a crime if you will," she re- 
 sponded, with unalarmed looks ; " but I cannot 
 bring myself to believe that you were ever guilty 
 of any cold-blooded deliberate wickedness proving 
 your whole nature la be corrupt and your entire 
 disposition to be thoroughijr 'debased and de- 
 graded." 
 
 " No— thank heaven, no !" bried Walpole. " It 
 was an impulse off desperation's Self — want goaded 
 me td crime — destitution — misery — aye, ami 
 shared too by another !" 
 
 " Well, tell me all this, Edward," interrupted 
 Azaline. "You kttow that there is no ridiculous 
 fastidiousness about me ; and t am inclined to 
 view offences precisely as they ate, arid not in the 
 light in which society's laws seem to ofdain that 
 they shall be considered." 
 
 Thus speakihg, she resumed her seat upon the 
 sofa : she motioned Walpole to place himself by 
 her side ; and calmly, and without excitement, as 
 also without too much encouragement on the one 
 hand or any mistrust oh the fcthef, she said, " And 
 now tell me your secret/' 
 
 Then the young man revealed to her that one 
 fatal episode in his history: he narrated it in a 
 few words; and she listened with a countenance 
 that remained unmoved in its expression, as "we 
 have just described it. 
 
 "Edward," she said, when he had finished, "my 
 good opinion is in no way changed concerning 
 you. Tranquillize your feelings. Not for a single 
 instant do I hesitate to declare my readiness to 
 become your wife ! But perhaps after all that has 
 occurred, it would please you to leave your native 
 country for a period — indeed I may say for years ; 
 so that you should never stand the chance of meet- 
 ing ahy one who may have known you in less 
 prosperous times ?" 
 
 " And do you ihean me to separate myself from 
 you until all recolle'ctioh of the past is, so to 
 speak, blown over ?" — and it was with the anguish 
 of indescribable stispense that the young man 
 gazed upon the beautiful conntenance Of Azaline 
 Osborne. 
 
 "No: — such was not exactly my meaning," she 
 responded : and then, with one of those Siniles so 
 deliciously sweet, displaying the pearly teeth, she 
 went on to remark, " There is perhaps such a 
 thing as realising a certain dream which happened 
 to come to your knowledge." 
 
 "Oh, I understand, Aaaline!" cried Edward : 
 "that wished-for journey to the East ! — that 
 abandonment of England's barbarism in the midst 
 of civilization, for the purpose of seeking a civil- 
 ization in the mlds't of barTjarlsm !" 
 
 "So that the circumstance of your having 
 listened at the casement, Edward," rejoined Aza- 
 line, with another smile of arch sweetness, " shall 
 have had its uses in more ways than one." 
 
 " Oh, blessed be that evening !" exclaimed the 
 young man enthusiastically : " blessed be the in- 
 inspiration which led me to listen at that case- 
 ment! — for to this^circumstance may be ascribed 
 all the happiness which is now being enjoyed by a 
 mother and daughter in the room above, and all 
 the ineffable bliss which I am experiencing with 
 you here !" 
 
 "And therefore, added Azaline, as she aban- 
 doned her hand to her lover, who pressed it with 
 rapture to his ltos, " the dream of oriental travel 
 In which I indulged, Was not a mere phantasy on 
 my part ; and there was also something prophetic 
 in the words that Lady Aihesbury spoke when she 
 said that it I Were to meet toe with congenial sen- 
 timents who would become the companion of my 
 voyage, t should not go Sitae !" 
 
 CHAPTER LXVII. 
 
 Tift GAFFnB*- ASH niS FRIEND. 
 
 ftM British public has h&d the assurance of no 
 less a person than Mr. Thomas Gaffney that the 
 Sag in Armour-, situated in Marylebone Lane, was 
 a highly respectable pubis* • house : but perhaps 
 the assertion might be dottbted from the simple 
 fact that this worthy had taken to frequent it. 
 We are hot h«wever going to inflict so much 
 tedioite'rieiSS upoH eur readers as would be involved 
 ill the discussion of the point ; and therefore, with- 
 out tat-ther preface, We will proceed to state that 
 on a particular evening, Bottle few days after the 
 incidents we have just been relating, Mr. Gaffney 
 might have been seen oecuMed with his grog and 
 his pi$e in the parlour Of the public-house afore- 
 said. He WAS flashily dressSd) Ss on a previous 
 occasion When We saw him : riaffielftj* Thornbury 
 Park in the advehtuJe of Sir Abel Kingston and 
 the water-tank ; but his appearance was still more 
 dissipated than ever, and his garments were some- 
 what soiled with the liquors that had been spilt 
 over them when he was in a state of intoxication. 
 Every now and then he looked up at the clock ; 
 and then gave a slight gesture of impatience, as if 
 he were expecting some one who was behind his 
 time. There were half-a-dozen other men present 
 in the parlour of the public-house \ and the con- 
 versation chiefly turned upon horses, betting, 
 sporting matters, and prizefighting — with all of 
 which Mr. Gaffney was exceedingly familiar. 
 
 Presently the door Opened ; and an individual, 
 still more flashily dressed, and looking more dissi- 
 pated than himself, made his appearance. Gaff- 
 ney's countenance brightened up, as he said, 
 " Well, Jack — you're come at last. I'd begun to 
 giVe you up." 
 
 Mr. Pepperc6rn — for he was the new-comer — 
 called for something to drink ; and when he had 
 thus refreshed himself, he obeyed a sign Which was 
 made by his friend to follow him. They bade the 
 persons in the parlour " good night," as if about 
 to leave the house ; but instead of doing so, they 
 ascended to a little back room on the first floor, 
 where candles were iighted, and materials for 
 
THE YOUXG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 355 
 
 drinking and smoking were ready prepared upon 
 the table. 
 
 "I couldn't come before, Tim," said Jack 
 Peppercorn, as they sat down together : "I only 
 got back from the country an hour ago ; and while 
 I was getting a bit of summut to eat, the slavey 
 at my lodgings delivered the message you had 
 left for me. What's in the wiad? Anythink 
 good i" 
 
 " How's the cash department with you, Jack ?" 
 demanded Gaffney, withqut immediately answering 
 his friend's question. 
 
 "At low watermark, Tim. I traced the feller 
 as took me in with that horse-transaction and 
 t'other matters, down as far as Ashford, and there 
 1 lost sight of him : so I come back no better than 
 I went — but perhaps a little the worser. And you, 
 Tim ?" 
 
 " Why, you know, Jack, the night I got so ior 
 fernal drunk at the boozing-ken over in South- 
 ward that blackguard Irish fellow picked my 
 pocket " 
 
 " Well, well, I know that, Tim — and you swore 
 a oath as you'd never rest till you'd ferreted him 
 out. My eyes I wasn't you wild, Tim ?" 
 
 " And wasn't it enow to make a chap wild-^«o 
 many good bank-notes changing hands in such a 
 cursed fashion ! But I wasn't wilder than yon, 
 Jack, when that horse-chaunting scoundrel let you 
 in, and then not satisfied with swindling you out 
 of half your blunt, set them two skittle-sharping 
 fellows to rob you of the rest." 
 
 " Well," said Jack Peppercorn, making a wry 
 face, " I 'spose the long and the short of it is, 
 Tim, that you and me is both in the same case — 
 regularly sewed up, with scarce a feather to fly 
 with, and deuced little better off in the world for 
 all them fine affairs which we had a few weeks 
 ago, with Dukes and Duchesses, and that ere un- 
 beknown cove which sent us down into Dorsetshire 
 to Squire Ponsford's." 
 
 " You've put the matter just as it stands, Jack," 
 replied Mr. Thomas Gaffney : — and here we may 
 parenthetically remark, that though his Christian 
 name was really Thomas, yet he was usually 
 known as Timothy, or plain Tim, by his comrades 
 —a change of nomenclature being not altogether 
 uncommon amongst gentlemen of his dubious avo- 
 cations. 
 
 "Then we are both what's called stumped, 
 Tim?" remarked Peppercorn ; " and I s'pose that 
 you wouldn't have sent such a pressing message 
 for me if you hadn't got same nice little business 
 in-hand?" 
 
 "That's about it, Jack," responded Gaffney; 
 "and I'm werry much deceived in my man if 
 you ain't the chap as is game for the transac- 
 tion." 
 
 " Tell us what's to be done, Tim, and you'll 
 see that I shan't flinch. Besides," continued Pepi 
 percorn, " even if one's courage wasn't screwed 
 up uncommon tight, this hungry state of the 
 pocket would soon goad and aggrawate a feller 
 into all sorts of bravery. But what's in the 
 wind, Tim?" he again asked. 
 
 Mr. Gaffney slowly expelled a long whiff of 
 smoke from between his lips ; and then fixing his 
 eyes with an almost solemn degree of signirkency 
 upon hit companion, he said, "Jack, I've made a 
 di»kivery— and I mean us to profit by It. The 
 Unbeknown it no longtr unbeknown. " 
 
 " D'ye mean the chap that sent us off into 
 Dorsetshire on the Ponsford business ?" 
 
 " The same," rejoined Gaffney. " You recol- 
 lect I told you that I wasn't at all sure about him 
 — I didn't know whether he himself was Rupert 
 Pringle or not — I didn't even know his name, or 
 where he lived — he gave me the appintment on 
 one of the bridges " 
 
 "And to do him justice," interjected Jack Pep- 
 percorn, " he paid you the price agreed upon for 
 the little business down in Dorsetshire, although 
 you hadn't got the papers to hand over to him. 
 That was' what I call doing the thing handsome, 
 Tim — and I said so at the time." 
 
 " Well," observed GarLiey, with a peculiar dry- 
 ness, ' ' if you're so deuced well pleased with our 
 customer, it's werry Hkely you'll hesitate to enter 
 into the business that I was a-going to pro- 
 pose." 
 
 " I don't understand you, Tim," replied Pepper- 
 corn. " I never had no scruples yet — and I don't 
 think I'm likely to become a wictim to any veak- 
 ness in that kind of way just at present. But 
 does this Unbeknown now want us to do summut 
 so werry desperate that you thinks as how I shall 
 flinch?" 
 
 '* In the first place, I tell you," replied Gaffney, 
 " that he's no longer a unbeknown ; and in the 
 second place I must make you understand that 
 we are not going to vork for him, but in a certain 
 sense against him." 
 
 "Well," said Peppereorn coolly, "if anybody 
 else will pay us better " 
 
 " It's not that, Jack. I doubt whethej? any one 
 can pay us better : but there's a slight diiierence 
 betwixt the feller's paying us of his own accord, 
 or without his will." 
 
 " Ah ! now I begin to twig," said Jack Pepper- 
 corn with a knowing leer. " Go on, Tim." 
 
 " Why, the long and short of it is," pursued 
 Gaffney, " this Unbeknown, as we used to call 
 him, is a werry rich genelmaa — or miser, they 
 say, with lots of tin — and his crib is worth the 
 crackiag." 
 
 *' Then let us crack it," said Peppercorn. " Who 
 is he ?" 
 
 " His name's Casey j and he lives up in Hatton 
 Garden. I found this out the day before yester- 
 day. It was quite by accident. I was going 
 along Holborn, when I saw a cab pass^and who 
 the deuce should be in it but my friend the Un- 
 beknown, as he still was ,at that hour to me. I 
 saw it turn into Hatton^Garden. Then my genel- 
 man got down, walking werry feeble and looking 
 worry pale, as if he had been" ill ; and he stops to 
 quarrel with the cabman about his fare for five 
 minutes — so I'd a good stare at him from a dis- 
 tance, and was sure I couldn't be mistaken. Well, 
 in the evening, I makes inquiries when it was 
 dusk, and finds out who my genelman is." 
 
 "Then he's not Bupert Pringle arter all?" said 
 Peppercorn. 
 
 "How should I know? or what does it matter 
 to us? Perhaps Casey is a false name : perhaps 
 it isn't. It's all the same to us." 
 
 " I don't know that," said Peppercorn thought- 
 fully. " If so be he's raly Rupert Pringle, we 
 might get out of hint by threats as much or more 
 than we shall by violence." 
 
 "Nonsense, Jack! I'm ashamed on yott for 
 your nignorance!" replied Gaffney. "Suppose 
 
85G 
 
 THE YOOTG DTTCTTES9; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 he is Rupert Pringle — who could do him a injury 
 except Squire Ponsford ? But the Squire himself 
 can't without the help of them dockiments ; and 
 I don't suppose that Stephen Ashborne, the bailiff, 
 took 'em from me, after all he said, just to give 
 'em back into the Squire's hand. No, no ! He 
 said that precisely what he wanted was that the 
 chap which employed us in the matter, should 
 apply to him for the papers. So no doubt he has 
 done so ; and them papers have long ago been 
 burnt to tinder." 
 
 " You're right, Tim,'' said Peppercorn : " there's 
 nothing to be done in that line. I see I'd better 
 listen to what you've got to propose than sit here 
 argufying." 
 
 " I've deuced little more to say," rejoined Gaff- 
 ney, "except this much — that Casey is a rich 
 man and a miser — that misers generally keep the 
 best part of their gold under lock and key in 
 their own houses — and that therefore this per- 
 tikler house in Hatton Garden may prbve a werry 
 conwenient one for us to wisit. I haven't been 
 idle, Jack, since the idea first entered my 
 head " 
 
 "What did you do, then?" asked Pepper- 
 corn. 
 
 "Why, rayther a bold thing," pursued Gaffney. 
 
 "I dressed myself up as a policeman Tou 
 
 know Ben Bunk, the landlord here, always has 
 two or three disguises of that sort for the use of 
 any pertikler friends of his — : — And I came into 
 the neighbourhood last evening after dusk ; and 
 blowed if I'd been five minutes in Hatton Garden 
 before I was in the midst of a most tender and 
 loving conwersation with the housemaid, who had 
 just slipped on her bonnet and shawl to go on an 
 errand to the clear-starcher's. Well, I played my 
 cards so skilfully, that what betwixt the pretty 
 housemaid and a chhnley-sweep that I met 
 coming out of the house this morning, and whom 
 I questioned, I managed to get all the informa- 
 tion wanted. The family consists of father and 
 mother, son and daughter. The father has been 
 ill lately, and so he sleeps in a room by himself ; 
 and Mrs. Casey also sleeps alone at present. The 
 daughter's chamber is next to the mother's. The 
 young man — Sylvester's his name — a deuce of a 
 swell ! — occupies a room on the third floor. How- 
 somever, I tell you I know the whole geography 
 of the place ; and there's a good business to be 
 done if you like to do it with me." 
 
 " I'm your man, Tim, without another word," 
 answered the worthy who was thus appealed to. 
 "When is it to be done?" 
 
 " To-night," responded Gaffney. " It's now 
 about ten o'clock — and midnight shall be our 
 time." 
 
 " Good," rejoined Peppercorn : and then the two 
 villains proceeded to discuss the details of their 
 intended expedition, 
 
 There we will leave them for the present, in the 
 up-stairs parlour of the Sog in Armour in Mary- 
 lebone Lane, — while we shift the scene to another 
 quarter of London. 
 
 It was about a quarter before twelve o'clock, 
 that Stephen Ashborne was walking with another 
 individual up Holborn Hill. The latter personage 
 was about forty — with an open, frank, but some- 
 what careworn and even dissipated countenance; 
 and he was dressed in the style which indicates 
 the lover of field sports, while the unmistakable 
 
 gentility of his bearing forbade the belief that this 
 style of costume was any mere vulgar gentish as- 
 sumption on his part. We may as well at once in- 
 form the reader that this was Sir Norton Bridge- 
 man, in whose service Stephen Ashborne had been 
 prior to his application for the situation of bailiff 
 on the estatas of Squire Ponsford. 
 
 " And thus, Stephen," said Sir Norton, " you 
 have been doing nothing since you left me in 
 Hampshire ?" 
 
 " Next to nothing," responded Ashborne, falter- 
 ing for a moment. " It is true I did enter the 
 service of Squire Ponsford, as I told you just now, 
 
 sir " 
 
 " Ah, but you said it was only for a few days," 
 interjected Sir Norton ; " and you did not like the 
 berth?" 
 
 " True enough ! — and I left it. Then I came 
 
 up to London, looking out for something to do 
 
 Indeed to tell you the truth, Sir Norton, I thought 
 of emigrating — and so I was making inquiries on 
 
 the subject " 
 
 " Well, well," interrupted Bridgeman, who was 
 evidently a kind-hearted personage, and who 
 spoke with a friendly familiarity to Ashborne, 
 " you shan't think of emigrating now. It is lucky 
 I have fallen in with you — and you shall soon re- 
 turn to your old berth in Hampshire. You see, 
 my affairs weren't quite so desperate as I fancied 
 — and then the sudden death of that distant 
 cousin of mine, with the consequent tumbling-in 
 of a legacy that I had never expected — together 
 with the generous forbearance of my principal 
 creditor, the eminent contractor Mr. Seymour, — 
 all these circumstances have helped to facilitate 
 a settlement ; so that in a week or two's time, my 
 lawyer assures me that I shall be set upon my 
 legs again." 
 
 " I am rejoiced to hear it, sir," remarked Ash- 
 borne feelingly. 
 
 " I know you are, my good fellow. I am sure 
 of it," replied Sir Norton. "But, as you per- 
 ceive, I am living very quietly just now — because 
 if I were to launch out before the business is 
 finally settled, my other creditors might prove 
 more difficult in being brought to terms. That's 
 the reason you found me dining at the compara- 
 tively cheap and humble tavern where you hap- 
 pened so singularly to drop in to take your own 
 dinner." 
 
 " And where," added Ashborne, speaking with 
 additional fervour,' " I have passed so pleasant an 
 evening, Sir Norton, in your company." 
 
 " Well, here we are at the corner of Hatton 
 Garden,'' said Sir Norton, now stopping short. 
 " This is where I am lodging for the present, next 
 door to my own lawyer's — so it is very conve- 
 nient, you perceive. However, there is my card — 
 you must come and see me to-morrow according 
 to the appointment I just now gave you — and 
 then we will settle all our future arrangements. 
 Good night, Ashborne, my dear fellow ! I am 
 really quite rejoiced that I should have fallen in 
 with you 1" 
 
 There was a warm shaking of the hands, and 
 then the baronet and the bailiff separated. The 
 former turned into Hatton Garden — which, for 
 the benefit of some of our country readers who 
 are unacquainted with London, we may as well 
 observe is no garden at all, though in former 
 times it was: but it is now a rather wide street 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIBS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 357 
 
 leading out of Holborn. It was along this latter 
 thoroughfare that Stephen Ashborne was about 
 to continue his own way, when he was sud- 
 denly struck by the appearance of a man who in 
 company with another individual, passed him 
 somewhat hastily at the moment. Ashborne 
 glanced back, and lost Bight of the two men as 
 they turned into Hatton Garden. Ashborne 
 hesitated : he thought he must be mistaken — but 
 the next moment he mentally ejaculated, " No, I 
 am not wrong ! It must have been the fellow 
 Gaffney ! And here too, in this neighbourhood ! 
 Can it be possible that he is still employing such 
 ruffians for any purpose of his own ?" 
 
 Ashborne no longer hesitated to follow the two 
 men. He soon came within view of them again ; 
 and as they were hastening along Hatton Garden, 
 he was careful not to let them perceive that he 
 was watching them. He was convinced that the 
 recognition had not been mutual ; for Gaffney 
 had passed him by in a hurried and preoccupied 
 manner which showed that he had something im- 
 portant upon his mind. As for Peppercorn, Ash- 
 borne did not know him ; for be it recollected that 
 the bailiff had not fallen in with the inferior 
 villain on the night when he had encountered the 
 principal one at The Firs. 
 
 Stephen Ashborne, still acting cautiously and 
 warily, kept his eye upsn the two men, and 
 speedily saw them halt in front of a particular 
 house, fling their regards around, and then look 
 up at the windows of the habitation itself. 
 
 " Yes, it is this house !" muttered Stephen to 
 himself : "and it is therefore with him that their 
 business lies ! Yet can they have any evil in- 
 tent? do they meditate any treachery or mischief 
 against him ?" 
 
 Such were the questions which for a moment 
 flashed to Stephen's mind : but the suspicions 
 which engendered them were almost instanta- 
 neously dispelled. He knew that the men had 
 been employed — or at least one of them — by Mr. 
 Casey to perform the particular service at The 
 Firs in Dorsetshire ; and ought it therefore to be 
 looked upon as very extraordinary that they 
 should now be seeking that same Mr. Casey ? 
 Might he not have fresh employment to give 
 them ? Might they not be coming to that house 
 according to his own appointment ? 
 
 Such was naturally the train of reasoning 
 which now swept through the mind of Stephen 
 Ashborne ; and if he were not perfectly convinced 
 on the point, he at all events did not think fit to 
 interfere — at least at this stage of the proceed- 
 ings. But still he watched at a little distance, 
 and from the shade of a doorway which effec- 
 tually concealed his person from their view. 
 
 Hatton Garden is no considerable thorough- 
 fare, even in the daytime : but at night it is com- 
 paratively deserted. There was not literally a 
 soul to be seen by Tim Gaffney and Jack Pepper- 
 corn as they once more swept their looks to and 
 fro ere descending into the area of the house. 
 Stephen Ashborne saw them disappear down those 
 steps : he waited a minute or two — then he 
 walked past — he looked over the area-railings — 
 but the two men were already inside the dwell- 
 ing. 
 
 " Such prompt admission seems to prove that 
 they were expected," he said to himself. " Alas, 
 that he whom I am compelled to call my father 
 
 should still be pursuing those paths which render 
 the assistance of such men necessary unto him !" 
 
 With this reflection Stephen Ashborne was 
 about to retrace his way, and interfere no farther 
 in the proceedings which had up to this point 
 interested him, when his mind was smitten with 
 a certain vague misgiving ; and retiring to a 
 little distance, on the opposite side of the street, 
 he paused and watched anew. 
 
 But let us now follow in the footsteps of the 
 villains whose conduct was more or less the sub- 
 ject of perplexity with him. A skeleton-key had 
 quickly unlocked the area-gate : — down the steps 
 the two men had descended : and another of those 
 implements so useful in the burglarious profession, 
 had promptly procured admission into the front 
 kitchen. For amongst the particulars which the 
 prudent and foreseeing Mr. Gaffney had contrived 
 to learn previous to undertaking the campaign, 
 was the fact that no bolts were fastened inside 
 the door that afforded this ingress. Once within 
 the house, the burglars soon ascertained that all 
 was still ; and they delayed not their operations. 
 A dark lantern was quickly lighted ; and by 
 the aid thereof the lower rooms were inspected — 
 namely, the breakfast-parlour, the dining-room, 
 and the little study or office specially appro- 
 priated to Mr. Casey's own use: 
 
 " No silver, Jack ! Nothink but plated ar- 
 ticles !" whispered Mr. Gaffney, with a look and 
 tone of infinite disgust, to his companion, after 
 they had made a rapid search of the contents of 
 the side-board in the dining-room. " The silver 
 forks and spoons is gone up-stairs — if so be they 
 uses any at all. No wine neither ! Nothink but 
 a drain of sherry in this decanter" — placing it to 
 his lips : — " and blow me if even this isn't Cape 
 Madeira at one- and- three the bottle ! Depend 
 upon it, Jack, they're werry mean people !" 
 
 " Misers' families always is," responded Mr. 
 Peppercorn. "But it's no use wasting time 
 here " 
 
 "Not a bit, Jack," interjected his comrade. 
 " Come — let's creep up-stairs to the miser's room 
 
 1 know which it is. Here — hold the darkey 
 
 while I get ready the settler :" — thus using the 
 slang term for chloroform. 
 
 The two ruffians, having made all the prepara- 
 tions which they deemed requisite, crept noise- 
 lessly up the stairs ; and Tim Gaffney, who 
 acted as leader, halted at length at a par- 
 ticular door, where, with suspended breath, he 
 and his companion listened. A complete si- 
 lence prevailed within : but a peep through 
 the key-hole showed that a rushlight or taper 
 was burning in that chamber. Gently did Tim 
 Gaffney now try the handle of the door : it 
 was not locked— it yielded to his touch— and he 
 opened it. But the moment his looks were 
 plunged into the interior of that apartment, he 
 gave a slight start as he beheld articles of female 
 apparel scattered about. Then he glanced to- 
 wards the couch ; and there, instead of the cada- 
 verous and wrinkled countenance of the miser, he 
 beheld the fresh and youthful face of a female of 
 exquisite beauty. 
 
 Gaffney's first impulse was to withdraw, — 
 when his attention was suddenly drawn to cer- 
 tain articles which he beheld upon the toilet-table 
 where the wax taper was burning. These were a 
 gold watch and chain, a purse, some rings, and 
 
358 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIBS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 other articles' of jewellery : so that it suddenly 
 occurred to the principal burglar that as he had 
 once found his way into that chamber, it would 
 be a sin not to stretch forth his hand and grasp 
 the booty which lay almost within reach. Selina 
 Casey — for she it was — slept soundly : but Tim 
 Gaffney, by way of making sure doubly sure, 
 applied the chloroform to her nostrils — and the 
 dreamy repose of slumber at once passed into a 
 state of trance-like unconsciousness. Meanwhile 
 Jack Peppercorn, who had followed his leader 
 into the room, was securing the jewellery about 
 his person, and for a moment glancing at the 
 contents of the purse to satisfy himself as to the 
 value of this portion of the booty. 
 
 Tim Gaffney — confident that no alarm was to 
 be apprehended on the part of the young lady — 
 was not disposed to quit the chamber until' he 
 had made sure that there was nothing else which 
 was worth carrying off; and a box, having the 
 air of a jewel-casket, standing upon a side-table, 
 caught his eye. It was locked : but by the aid 
 of one of the convenient little instruments wit£ 
 which he had provided himself, he forced the lid 
 in the twinkling of an eye ; while Jack Pepper- 
 corn as skilfully and as rapidly played a shnilar 
 paFt in reference to a writing-desk which was 
 standing upon the same table. The jewel-casket 
 contained a few more trinkets, which were at once 
 taken possession of: but the contents of the 
 writing-desk rewarded not the trouble of the 
 rifler. Jack Peppercorn tossed out all the papers 
 which it contained, in the hope of finding some 
 bank-notes : but his search was vain ; and as for 
 the papers themselves, they looked more like legal 
 documents of some species or another than those 
 little packets of letters and billets which one 
 might have expected to find in a young lady's 
 writing-desk. Without taking the trouble to re- 
 place these documents in the repository whence 
 he had tossed them, Peppercorn left them strown 
 in disorder about the table, a,nd silently followed 
 Tim Gaffney from the chamber. 
 
 They closed the door, and paused for a few mo- 
 ments upon the landing. Tim Gaffney looked 
 puzzled ; and his companion gazed upon him with 
 a certain air of anxiety and perplexity. In short, 
 the difficulty was in respect to Mr. Casey's room, 
 Gaffney saw that he had either made a mistake 
 in respect to the information he had received ; or 
 else that some change had that very day been 
 effected in reference to the sleeping apartments. 
 In the one where he expected to find Mr, Casey, 
 Selina had been discovered sleeping. Where, 
 now, was the miser himself to be looked for? 
 But Tim's doubt and hesitation only lasted for a 
 few moments : his mind was quickly made up, as 
 he said to himself, " What a fool I am ! I must 
 have mistook the two rooms ! — so now we shall 
 find the father in the one which I thought be- 
 longed to the daughter." 
 
 He thereupon led the way, softly, and on tiptoe 
 as before, to the room which he supposed was the 
 one where he should find the usurer ; and on try- 
 ing the door he was not very much astonished to 
 discover that it was locked. By aid of the dark 
 lantern, ho quickly ascertained that the key was 
 in the lock i then he applied his ear to the key- 
 hole) and listening with suspended breath, he 
 could catch the regular heavy breathing of the 
 occupant of that room. That the individual was 
 
 of the male sex, he was tolerably well convinced ; 
 and he delayed no longer to commence operations 
 upon the door by means of the implements with 
 which he was provided. We have already de- 
 scribed, in a previous chapter, the process by 
 which a door locked from the inside might be 
 opened from the outside; and it will therefore 
 now be sufficient to .state that Tim Gaffney 
 adopted in the present case precisely the same 
 means which he had used to effect an entry into 
 Squire Ponsford's sleeping-room at The Firs. 
 
 All continued still withlin the chamber, except 
 the regular heavy breathing of its - occupant : 
 darkness likewise prevailed in that room ; and as 
 the curtains were drawn close over the window, 
 no ray of moonlight could penetrate to show the 
 burglars who the sleeper was. They carefully 
 closed the door, and stole on tiptoe towards the 
 bed, guided hy the sounds of the sleeper's breath- 
 ing ; and then Tim Gaffney turned the dark lan- 
 tern so as to fling a ray of light upon the couch. 
 The countenance of the miser was at once recog- 
 nised ; but before the chloroform could be applied 
 to his nostrils, he started Up — for the light had 
 suddenly awakened one who was but little accus- 
 tomed to sleep heavily. Yet the cry which rose 
 to the very brim of his lips found no farther vent ; 
 for the eyes which thus suddenly became wide 
 open, had not even time to twinkle ere a terrific 
 blow, dealt by the butt-end of a pistol upon the 
 unfortunate man's forehead, struck him down 
 senseless upon his pillow. It was Pepperporn 
 who had thus been prepared for any emergency 
 that might arise ; and he received a' look of ap- 
 proval on the part of his friend Tim Gaffney. 
 
 "Now for a rummage, Jack," nastily whispered 
 the latter; " and let's look sharp about it. Hullo, 
 now ! take care, clumsy !" 
 
 This ejaculation was called fqrth by the fact 
 that as Jack Peppercorn was striding across the 
 chamber towards the toilet-table, where a bunch 
 of keys and a purse were lying, he caught his 
 foot in one of the window curtains, which flowed 
 upon the carpet ; so that he not only only tore it 
 open for a moment, but likewise made the rings 
 rattle upon the pole to which the draperies were 
 suspended. 
 
 " All right, Tim," said Peppercorn, closing the 
 curtains again; "there's no harm done:" — and 
 with these words he proceeded to assist hjs friend 
 in what the latter had been pleased tq denominate 
 a rummage. 
 
 The purse contained but little : an old greasy 
 pocket-book, which was rapidly examined, afforded 
 not the agreeable spectacle of hank-notes : fruit- 
 less also was the search into a chest of drawers 
 and a trunk, the contents of which were tossed out 
 upon tbe'floor: vain likewise was the special en- 
 deavour of Tiin Gaffney to ascertain whether 
 there were any iron safe concealed in the cup- 
 boards or in the walls, or any strong-box in 
 which the miser's hoards werp kept. For he had 
 the, vulgar notion wh'ch is entertained relative to 
 all persons of a griping, hoarding, usurious cha* 
 racter — namely, that thay always secure their 
 money-bags in the place which they think best 
 adapted for their own personal surveillance. 
 
 "Well, here's ago, Tim!" whispered Jack Pep- 
 percorn : "a regular floorer I Where can the old 
 hunks have put all his tin ?" 
 
 " I'm blessed If I can tell, Jack," answered 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, 5IE5IOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 ess 
 
 Tim, also speaking in a low whisper, and with a 
 look of deep disappointment. "Yet them keys 
 must belong to somewhere !" 
 
 "Ah, if we only knowed where," said Jack 
 Peppercorn gloomily. 
 
 " Hark !" suddenly ejaculated Tim Gaffney, 
 though in a subdued tone ; " what's that 
 noise?" 
 
 " I'm blowed if there isn't footsteps somewhere !" 
 said Jack. " Douse the glim, quick !" 
 
 " Stop ! hush !" — and Gaffney stole towards the 
 door, which he partially opened : then listening 
 for an instant only — for that space of time was 
 sufficient — he turned towards his companion j 
 quickly -whispering, " We must look out for it, 
 Jack ! There's an alarm somehow or another!" 
 
 Gaffney shut up the lantern as he spoke : then 
 he again listened. The sounds which had previ- 
 ously alarmed him had ceased ; but as he peeped 
 over the banister of the landing, he beheld a sud- 
 den gleam of light thrown across the hall below. 
 The glare of a policeman's bull's-eye was familiar 
 enough to the ruffian ; and grasping Peppercorn 
 abruptly and violently by the wrist, he said in a 
 hurried whisper, "This Way, Jack! On tiptoe, 
 and treaa like a mouse, for your very life !" 
 
 Tim Gaflney led the way to a window at the 
 back of the landing: for by the topographical 
 knowledge which he had acquired in respect to the 
 premises, he knew that this window opened upon 
 the leads of a small building abutting against the 
 back part of the house. His hand .felt for the 
 latch, the unfastening of which made a sharp 
 click — which however signified but little, for the 
 next instant the noise occasioned by flinging up 
 the window caused a hurried rush of footsteps to 
 proceed from the flight of stairs below that land- 
 ing-place. Through the open window sprang Tim 
 Gaffney: after him went Jack Peppercorn ; and 
 they alighted upon the leads of the projecting 
 building, which was some eight Or ten feet lower 
 than the window from which they had descended. 
 The moon was shining brightly; and a glance 
 flnng over the parapet of the building, showed 
 Tim Gaffney in a moment that he was once more 
 somewhat out in his reckoning. He had fancied 
 that there would be a comparatively easy descent 
 from the top of the Out-building into the yard 
 below, whence he had reckoned that he and his 
 companion might escape into some of the adjoin- 
 ing premises, from which they should finally dis- 
 cover the means of egress: but now to his 
 consternation he saw that the yard at the back of 
 the house was much lower than the level of Hat- 
 ton Garden upon Which the front looked. Thus, 
 to be brief, instead of having merely a dozen or so 
 of feet to lower themselves down, the burglars 
 found to their dismay that it was into a depth of 
 more than double that distance that they must 
 now leap ! 
 
 They hesitated — they recoiled from the precipice 
 over which they looked. 
 
 " Hullo, ifly men ! you'd better give in and sur- 
 render!" exclaimed the voice of a poEcemah, 
 whose head was now thrust out of the window. 
 
 "Take them! capture them! shoot them!" 
 cried another voice, speaking in tones that were 
 vehement and excited. " Murder has been done ! 
 seize the wretches !" 
 
 " Murder ?" echoed Tim Gaflhey. " Then here' 
 goes !" — and down from the building he leapt, just 
 
 a3 the police-constable sprang out of the window 
 upon the roof of that abutting edifice. 
 
 " I surrender," said Jack Peppercorn, Who did 
 not dare follow the desperate leap taken by his 
 comrade. 
 
 The policeman sprang his rattle and raised ah 
 alarm ; and when the sounds had subsided, groans 
 were heard coming up from below. 
 
 " Poor Tim ! I'm afeard it's all over with him," 
 said Jack Peppercorn, as he looked down and be- 
 held his companion lying all doubled up like a 
 bundle of old clothes in the paved yard beneath. 
 
 We will just interrupt the thread of our narra- 
 tive for a moment to inform the reader that 
 Stephen Ashborne, While watching the house from 
 the opposite side of the street, had seen a light 
 suddenly appear and then as rapidly disappear 
 in one of the front room3 on the second floor. This, 
 be it understood, was when Jack Peppercorn clum- 
 sily kicked apart the draperies in Mr. Casey's ~ 
 chamber. Ashborne was at once struck by the 
 suspicious nature of the incident. Without ex- 
 actly comprehending how the circumstance oc- 
 curred, he thought it was the quick vanishing of 
 the light of a dark lantern. If So, then those 
 men had entered stealthily and with an evil in- 
 tent. Besides, was it to be supposed that if they 
 had gone thither by Mr. Casey's own appointment, 
 he would have received them in one of the upper 
 rooms, with the chance of alarming his family and 
 the domestics? — but would it not have been some- 
 where in the lower part of the house that he would 
 have given an audience to visitors arriving at that 
 hour and evidently under circumstances of seCrecy 
 and steal thiness ? 
 
 All these ideas passed much more rapidly 
 through the brain of Stephen Ashborne than we 
 have been enabled to commit them to paper ; and 
 as at the moment a police-constable happened 
 to be passing, the yotthg man communicated his 
 suspicion that a burglarious attempt was then 
 being made in respect to the house opposite. The 
 officer at once agreed to accompany Ashborne : 
 they first of all tried the area-gate — and on find- 
 ing it unlocked, they descended. When the door 
 leading from the area into the kitchen was found 
 to be unfastened, suspicion grew still stronger : 
 the constable and Ashborne ascended into the hall 
 — and in less than a minute afterwards the sudden 
 opening of the window on the Second landing led 
 to the catastrophe already described. 
 
 But we should observe that Stephen Ashborn*8 
 had snatched the bull's-eye, or dark lantern, frdnl 
 the hand of the policeman ; for he Was in a hor- 
 rible state of uncertainty as to whit might have 
 been going on in the hoilse. He saw a chamber- 
 door half open on the second landing, which waH 
 the same whence the burgt&rs had descended ffom 
 the window : he entered— and there he beheld 
 the spectacle which caused him the next instant 
 to rush forth again, and proclaim with horrified 
 looks and excited tones that murder had been 
 committed ! 
 
 Alarm and Confusion now prevailed throilghtftit 
 the House. Mrs. Casey, half-dressed, was hurry- 
 ing from her own chamber : Sylvester, in a gaudy 
 silk dressing-gown, and arnled with flokef and 
 tongs, but looking deadly .pale and desperately 
 frightened, had ventured to descend half-way- 
 down the stairs from the higher storey, Where he 
 slept; and the two matt-servants, who constituted 
 
360 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 the entire domestic staff of the establishment, 
 were clinging to each other, half apparelled as 
 they were, a few stairs above the one on which 
 the valorous Sylvester had so discreetly halted. 
 
 "What is it?" he exclaimed: "what's the 
 row ? I say, policeman, spring your rattle again, 
 
 old fellow — and if nobody else comes " 
 
 "There is nothing to apprehend, sir," said 
 Stephen Ashborne, mournfully yet sternly. " The 
 fatal mischief, I fear, is done." 
 
 Here Mrs. Casey sprang forward from the 
 threshold of her own chamber ; and darting into 
 the room which her husband had occupied, she 
 began to give vent to piteous lamentations. ■ Syl- 
 vester flung down the weapons with which he 
 had armed himself, and hurried after his mother ; 
 while Ashborne quickly demanded of the trem- 
 bling and affrighted maid-servants where dwelt 
 the nearest medical man. 
 
 "Doctor Scott — over the way," was the re- 
 sponse : and in the twinkling of an eye Ashborne 
 was speeding to fetch the professional gentleman. 
 As he tore open the front door, two or three 
 other police-constables arrived upon the spot, to 
 which they had been attracted by the sound of 
 their comrade's rattle ; and we may add a great 
 portion of the neighbourhood had been aroused 
 by the same din, so that the utmost excitement 
 began to prevail, every worthy householder being 
 smitten with the dread apprehension that if it 
 were a house on fire it must be his own, or that 
 if thieves had broken in anywhere it must be his 
 own special habitation that was invaded. 
 
 Dr. Scott was speedily called up ; and he was 
 close upon the heels of Stephen Ashborne as the 
 latter retraced his .way into the house. They 
 ascended straight to^the miser's apartment ; and 
 there they found Mrs. Casey supporting her hus- 
 band upon her bosom— while Sylvester, in obe- 
 dience to her instructions, was bathing his father's 
 brow with water and applying salts and essences 
 to his nostrils. Dr. Scott approached the couch ; 
 and Stephen Ashborne stood by with a deep cloud 
 upon his countenance. He indeed saw that all 
 was over : he had suspected it from the very 
 first — and it was only in obedience to a last faint 
 hope, and in the usual spirit of Christian precau- 
 tion, that he had rushed across the street to fetch 
 the medical man. Dr. Scott's judgment was soon 
 given : — Mr. Casey had ceased to exist ! 
 
 The widow threw herself with tears and lamen- 
 tations upon the body of her husband : Sylvester 
 set up a howl, which was too noisy to have much 
 sincerity in it ; and Stephen Ashborne stood by 
 with folded arms and tearless eyes, gazing with 
 a profound mournfulness upon the face of the 
 dead. He felt his father's loss, — that father whom 
 he however dared not or chose not to proclaim as 
 such ! — and if he wept not outwardly, it was that 
 his heart was shedding tears of blood inwardly. 
 
 " Madam," he said, abruptly starting from that 
 species of stupor in which he had been standing 
 — and as he thus approached Mrs. Casey, he spoke 
 with a tone of the kindest sympathy, — " your 
 daughter— where is she? Must she not be in- 
 formed " 
 
 Mrs. Casey started: she had utterly forgotten 
 her daughter — or else perhaps she thought that 
 Selina must be somewhere near, as Sylvester him- 
 self was ; for her mind was in a cruel state of 
 agitation, dismay, and affliction. Her daughter I 
 
 Good heavens! where was she? how could she 
 have forgotten her ? Had any mischief befallen 
 her ? had any evil overtaken the poor girl ? 
 
 With passionate vehemence the poor woman 
 gave vent to these queries : but we do not record 
 them precisely in her own language, because this 
 is not a scene which will admit of the infusion of 
 that spirit of ludicrousness which pertains to the 
 speaking of bad grammar. She besought Syl- 
 vester to accompany her to Selina's chamber : but 
 the young man hesitated : — there might be a 
 whole host of desperadoes concealed under the 
 bed — indeed he would rather not, unless there 
 was at least one police-officer to accompany them ! 
 Then Stephen Ashborne stepped forward and of- 
 fered the poor lady his arm, saying, " Permit me 
 to escort you, madam, to your daughter's cham- 
 ber." 
 
 " Oh ! whoever you are, kind sir " 
 
 ■' Ah, by the bye, who are you, sir ?" inquired 
 Sylvester, thus cutting short the expression of 
 gratitude which was issuing from his mother's lips. 
 
 " I'm sure we're much indebted to you, sir " 
 
 Mrs. Casey asked his name; and after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation he replied, " My name is Stephen 
 Ashborne, madam ; .'and it was by a mere accident 
 that I was just now led to suspect something and 
 that I gave the alarm. Would to God," he added, 
 with mingled bitterness and fervour, " I had done 
 so at first, instead of hesitating and delaying as 
 I did !" 
 
 Mrs. Casey did not understand what he meant ; 
 and she had not time to ask, for the door of her 
 daughter's chamber was now reached. She opened 
 it and entered, followed by Sylvester : but Stephen 
 Ashborne remained outside the threshold through 
 a feeling of delicate respect for the sanctity of a 
 young lady's sleeping apartment. It was again 
 with a wild shriek that Mrs. Casey precipitated 
 herself towards the couch ; — and the ejaculations 
 of despair which burst from her lips overcame 
 every other consideration beyond that of a terrified 
 curiosity on Ashborne's part, so that he no longer 
 hesitated to enter the room. There lay Selina, 
 looking as if she were dead ! But Dr. ■Scott now 
 appeared upon the scene ; and he quickly relieved 
 the agonies of a mother's suspense — for even at 
 the first moment a certain odour which faintly 
 prevailed in the room told him that chloroform 
 had been used. 
 
 "Thank God!" cried Mrs. Casey; and giving 
 vent to the natural feelings of a parent, she threw 
 herself into her son's arms, bidding him express 
 his gratitude to heaven that he had not lost a 
 sister that night as well as a father. 
 
 Dr. Scott hastened to apply the proper resto- 
 ratives to Selina, the mother soon rendering her 
 assistance ; and Stephen Ashborne was about to 
 retire from the chamber, when all of a sudden 
 Sylvester Casey ejaculated, " Hullo ! what's all 
 this here ? Papers ! deeds 1 Why, I'm Mowed 
 if the thieves haven't been here too !" 
 
 A cry of terror from Mrs. Casey's lips indicated 
 the feeling with which she was inspired at the 
 bare idea of the ruffians having been in her 
 daughter's chamber. 
 
 " My eyes I" cried Sylvester, who, having ap- 
 proached the table, was now turning over some of 
 the documents which had been tossed out of the 
 writing-desk : " here's a go !" 
 
 ". Sir,"" said Stephen Ashborne, turning back 
 
THE YOUNG DUOHXS.S J OK, MEMOIRS 01? A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 3C1 
 
 vzry/M/'- 
 
 No. 4G.— The Young Duchess. 
 
3fl2 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 from the door to which he was advancing, and 
 addressing Sylvester with that same mingling of 
 sternness and mourn fulness which he had before 
 displayed towards the young man, — " The voice 
 should not be raised so loudly in the house of the 
 dead — especially when' it is a father's loss whom 
 you have to deplore !" ; 
 
 It was almost with fierceness, and certainly with 
 sharpness and irritation, that Sylvester Casey 
 turned round upon Stephen Ashborne as if he 
 were about to demand of him by what, right he 
 interfered or administered a rebuke., But there 
 was something in Stephen's demeanour which 
 overawed the ill-conditioned young man ; and 
 turning again , towards the table, he exclaimed, 
 " Look, mother ! here's the documents that father 
 lost !" 
 
 At that moment Selina .opened, her eyes ; and 
 Mrs. Casey, heedless of what her son had just 
 said, folded her daughter to her bosom, weeping 
 and sobbing bitterly! , 
 
 " Yes— by Jove ! hero they ajre !" exclaimed 
 Sylvester ( " the very deeds, themselves ! sixty 
 thousand pounds' worth; as* tie governor himself 
 said I Thai at least is,,goba— for they're mine 
 now ! I'm the" heir — ap.d Pro. just so much the 
 richer than I should have beea without the docu- 
 ments !" 
 
 A scream burst from Selina's lips,* as she sat 
 up in^ihe couch with her eyes glaring wildly upon 
 her brother, who stood at the table gathering up 
 the papers that were strown about. 
 
 "Ah, poor girl!" said the. afflicted mother, 
 " yoij don't know what has happened !" 
 
 "How came the papers here, Selina?" asked 
 Sylvester. 
 
 " Don't talk of it," said, Mrs. Casey reproach- 
 fully, " when your poor father lies dgad " 
 
 "Dead? No! no!" — and in wildest accents 
 did the words peal forth from Selina's lips. 
 
 Mrs. Casey could give no reply ; and Dr. Scott 
 hastened to explain tp the young lady in a few 
 words that a mournful tragedy had characterised 
 the hour then passing — that ruffians had broken 
 into the house, and that her father was mur- 
 dered ! 
 
 " God forgive me !" moaned the wretched Selena, 
 clasping her hands in an agony of grief. " But 
 tell me — tell me — did my father know that 'twas 
 I who stole from him t^iose papers ?" 
 
 " Don't say it child I don't say it 1" exclaimed 
 the mother, terribly excited. , , 
 
 "I did do it! — alas, I did do it!" crier} Selina. 
 " Tell me — tell me— has my father cursed me?" 
 
 "Unhappy child, how could you have done 
 such a thing? But your poor father did not know 
 it !" — and the mother again wept and sobbed as 
 if her heart would break. 
 
 "God be thanked thpt my father knew riot 
 what I had done !" — and it was with indescribable 
 fervour that Selina spoke these words. 
 
 Not daring to tarry longer upon the scene- 
 fearing indeed that he had already lingered too 
 much amidst the sanctity of those family revela- 
 tions to be consistent with a strict delicacy of 
 conduct — yet astounded and bewildered by the 
 things which had thus become known unto him 
 — Stephen Ashborne stole forth from the apart- 
 ment, gently and noiselessly closing the door be- 
 hind him. 
 
 On inquiry of the police-constables, he found 
 
 that Jack Peppercorn had been conveyed to the 
 station-house, and that Tim GatTney was at the 
 same;, time borne, horribly maimed, to the nearest 
 hospital. The young man gave his address to the 
 constables in, case he should be wanted to assist 
 with his, evidence the purposes of justice ; and 
 then leayip.g the ill-fated house, he betook his 
 way in. mingled sadness and horror to his own 
 lodgings. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIII. 
 
 STEPHEN ASHBOKNE. 
 
 It was but a little past nine o'clock in the morn- 
 ing after the tragic occurrences just related, that 
 Stephen Ashborne issued from the humble lodg- 
 ing where he dwelt, and proceeded to the West 
 End of the town. On entering, one of the prin- 
 cipal streets, he appeared to he seized with a 
 sudden hesitation: his manner, hitherto decided 
 and firm in its piirpose, grew abruptly irresolute ; 
 and stopping short altogether, he mentally ejacu- 
 lated, " Shall I go ? or shall I not ?" 
 
 The workings of his features indicated the 
 strength of the emotions that were agitating 
 within: his cheeks grew red and pale in rapid 
 transitions — his lips quivered — and a strange 
 sinister light gleamed in his eyes. But the fit 
 quickly, passed ; and he muttered to himself, 
 "Yes, I must go! So solemnly adjured am I 
 that I dare not refuse the summons ! And then 
 too, it is an appeal, and not a threat; and there 
 is the fervid asseveration that no mischief is in- 
 tended. Yes — I will go !" 
 
 Stephen Ashborne continued his way, all the 
 more resolutely perhaps after that temporary 
 hesitation ; and in a few minutes he reached the 
 door , of a handsome house in the fashionable 
 quarter of the town to which his steps had 
 brought him. His summons at the bell was 
 quickly answered, by a servant in livery : he gave 
 his name, and was ushered into a parlour, where 
 he was riot kept many moments waiting ere the 
 j>er son'age. who had sent for him made his appear- 
 ance. , .Th'is was Squire Ponsford. He looked 
 pale, ill, ,a'nd careworn ; the calm gravity which 
 was jjorit ,fo sit upon his countenance, had been 
 superseded by an air of distress. He was en- 
 veloped in a morning gown; and though only 
 five, or six \peeks had elapsed since Stephen Ash- 
 bOTne. saw .nim last, on the fearfully memorable 
 occasion which the reader cannot fail to remem- 
 ber } yet his form appeared to have shrunk and to 
 have become emaciated even in that compara- 
 tively brje^ sp^'ce of time. 
 
 . % Yes — this was the first occasion on which 
 Stepien Ashborne had met Mr. Ponsford since 
 that terrible day on which so fell a deed was done 
 and such terrific revealings were vented from the 
 lirjs of tie young man to smite the ears and 
 1 paralyse tie heart of the horrified father of the 
 rained Pamela! This was the first time they 
 had met since that day ; and if on the one hand 
 Mr. Ponsford adopted the air of a suppliant, 
 Stephen Ashborne did not on the other hand dis- 
 play any vindictive satisfaction on account of 
 the crime he had perpetrated towards the beau- 
 teous and innocent Pamela. 
 
THE YOUNQ DUCHESS ; OB, JTEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 363 
 
 " You have found me out, sir," said Ashborne ; 
 " you have besought me to come hither — and I 
 have not thought fit to disregard the summons. 
 Yet it were well that our interview should be 
 short, and that whatsoever you may have to say 
 should be spoken in the fewest words possible." 
 
 " Yes — my demand shall be briefly made," re- 
 plied Mr. Ponsford ; " and let your answer be as 
 quickly given. You have outraged my daughter 
 
 Perhaps there may ensue consequences which 
 
 would cover her with shame if she had not a 
 father'3 name to give to the possible fruit of your 
 crime ! In a word, therefore, Mr. Ashborne, you 
 will not refuse to marry her ?" 
 
 " And you, the father of that young lady," 
 said Stephen, with a cold voice, manner, and look, 
 " can make this request of one who has inflicted 
 such a terrible injury upon your daughter!" 
 
 " I do, Mr. Ashborne," was the response. 
 
 "But your daughter herself," continued Ste- 
 phen — " is it possible that she would accept as a, 
 husband the man who inflicted upon her so 
 stupendous an outrage ?" 
 
 " She will accept you as a husband, Mr. Ash- 
 borne," rejoined Ponsford. 
 
 "Have you told her everything, sir?" de- 
 manded Stephen : " have you explained to her 
 how it was not the mere kindling of a desire on my 
 part, nor a paroxysm of uncontrollable lust — but 
 that it was a hideous revenge which I wreaked 
 — despoiling your daughter of her honour because 
 you, John Ponsford, violated the chastity of my 
 mother !" 
 
 The unhappy father trembled visibly from 
 head to foot — his pale countenance grew paler 
 still — his lips quivered — and it was with nervous 
 accents that he said, "No, no — I have not told my 
 daughter all this ! How could I look my own 
 child in the face and talk to her on such mon- 
 strous topics ? The veriest ruffian on God's earth 
 would revolt against such gross indelicacy !" 
 
 " Then what have you said, sir ?" demanded 
 Ashbome, folding his arms across his chest and 
 speaking in a stern peremptory tone. " Have 
 you thrown the whole weight of the iniquity upon 
 me, — presenting my crime to your daughter's 
 view as one utterly unprovoked, and therefore so 
 savage, so barbarous, so hellish indeed in its 
 nature, that none but a. demon incarnate could 
 have perpetrated it ?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Ashbome," replied Ponsford; "I 
 have not sought to leave this impression upon my 
 daughter's mind. Was I not compelled to offer 
 some excuse for not invoking the law to smite 
 you with all its awfullest vengeance? Well, then, 
 it was not merely sufficient to tell Pamela that 
 the hideous incident must he hushed up for her 
 own sake — because in the frantic ravings which 
 succeeded her return to consciousness, she de- 
 manded every species of retributive justice that 
 human laws could possibly afford! — she recked 
 not for her own fame or honour then ! And 
 therefore you see, Mr. Ashborne, I was compelled 
 to say something — to — to " 
 
 "To invent an excuse," interjected Stephen 
 sternly, " for not handing me over to the grasp 
 of the law." 
 
 " Yes— it was so," said Ponsford, in a trembling 
 tone. " I told my daughter that your parents had 
 snstained great wrongs at my hands in times 
 past — I confessed that I had been very guilty 
 
 towards them Oh I I did not spare these self- 
 
 accusiogs ! No, no ! I did not ! — for I told 
 Pamela that in the same hour which should be> 
 hold you, Stephen Ashbome, given over to the 
 grasp of justice, my own repute would bo blasted 
 by the terrific exposures which would issue from 
 your lips I And Pamela asked me for no more : 
 she sought no farther explanations : — she shud- 
 dered—she shrank within herself — for then, for 
 the first time, she found herself compelled to 
 look upon her own father as far from being the 
 upright faultless man she had always thought 
 him, but one who had heavy sins upon his con- 
 science !" 
 
 "And thus," said Ashborne, "your daughter 
 thinks that if it be possible for extenuation to 
 exist for the wreaking of so horrible a ven- 
 geance, it is to be found on my behalf? Is 
 this her impression, Mr. Ponsford ?" 
 
 " For a young creature who has sustained so 
 deep a wrong — so foul an injury," answered the 
 Squire, "it is difficult indeed to soften in any 
 sense the keen bitterness of her appreciation of 
 that wrong. But still, Mr. Ashbome, it must be 
 evident to you that I have succeeded in reasoning 
 somewhat with Pamela when I repeat that she is 
 ready to receive you as a husband." 
 
 " And what if I were to refuse ?" asked Stephen, 
 speaking suddenly after a pause of nearly a 
 minute. 
 
 "No, no — you cannot!" exclaimed Ponsford : 
 "you cannot — and you will not! You are not 
 naturally deficient in good feeling -" 
 
 "No! — heaven knows that I am not!" inter- 
 jected Ashborne bitterly. " There used to be an 
 angel in the sanctuary of my heart ; and it must 
 have been a terrific sense of my mother's wrongs 
 which could have expelled that divine tenant to 
 make room for the entry of a demon !" 
 
 "Well, then," cried Ponsford eagerly, "you 
 will not refuse my request — my supplication — my 
 prayer? I know that the injuries inflicted upon 
 your mother were great and manifold : but surely 
 they are now avenged ! — surely you have wreaked 
 upon me an adequate punishment ! Ah, and there 
 are some- — nay, doubtless there are many in the 
 world, who would say that the chastisement is too 
 great, even as it falls upon me only ; while in re- 
 spect to my poor daughter, who of herself never 
 injured you, you can scarcely feel that you had a 
 right to wound me so deeply through her ! But 
 suppose, Stephen Ashborne, you had come to me 
 and said that you meant to kill me — that you 
 had prepared the means of inflicting horrible 
 agonies upon me — and that I might vainly cry 
 out for succour, — and then if you had begun 
 to carry your threats into execution, you would 
 have been justified ! — yes, justified, I repeat, 
 even though the mode by which you put me 
 to death should have outrivalled the tortures 
 of impalement or of flaying ! Yes — you 
 would have been justified ; because in striking 
 that blow you wduld have smitten me only ! But 
 you did not do this ! — you wounded me through 
 another — and that other a being clothed with 
 purity and innocence! — one who had never in- 
 jured you ! You inflicted two distinct vengeances, 
 Stephen Ashborne! You were not just — you 
 hav9 exacted more than your due ! You had no 
 right to strike two ! Against one only — and that 
 one myself — should your arm have been raised !" 
 
364 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " Where men deal with vengeances and retri- 
 butions," answered Stephen Ashborne sternly, 
 " they are not likely to prove over nice in the 
 means which they adopt for carrying on their 
 warfare. Where the provocation is terrible, the 
 chastisement must be commensurate, and the sins 
 of parents may become visited upon the children. 
 But perhaps, from all you have been saying you 
 may have meant to deduce some special argu- 
 ment ?" 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Ponsford, " to prove to you 
 that inasmuch as your vengeance has gone too 
 far, you are bound to make some little atone- 
 ment." 
 
 "Proceed," said Ashborne, seeing that the 
 Squire paused for a response. 
 
 " You have doomed my daughter to a life of 
 wretchedness ; and for her sake I implore you to 
 take the one step that may in some little degree 
 mitigate the magnitude of her woe by at least en- 
 suring her against the possibility of shame and 
 dishonour. In a word, I ask you to marry her. 
 Think not that I imagine it possible for you to 
 live together — nor could she desire it. But con- 
 sent to accompany her to the altar, Mr. Ashborne 
 — and on leaving the church you will separate, 
 most likely for ever ! — You do not answer me ?" 
 
 " I am reflecting — I am thinking of all you 
 have said," responded Ashborne. " If I were to 
 reply promptly, inconsiderately, and in my present 
 state of mind, I should decide in the negative — I 
 should say, No ! I should proclaim that the oath 
 which I took when I knelt by my mother's corpse, 
 has only been adequately met by the vengeance 
 which I have wreaked, and that if I now do aught 
 to mitigate the effect of tha"t vengeance the oath 
 itself would become proportionately deprived of 
 its complete fulfilment. Yes — sueh would be my 
 decision if I gave it now on the spur of the 
 moment ; — and yet I am still accessible to argu- 
 ment — so that if you have aught more to adduce, 
 Mr. Ponsford, I will listen." 
 
 " I have implored only for my daughter's sake," 
 replied the Squire. " I know — or at least I fear 
 it would be useless to urge anything on my own 
 behalf. And yet, as you are not altogether without 
 compassion — as your's is a soul not lost, but merely 
 warped — you may perhaps feel moved somewhat 
 towards me, when I tell you that I have a disease 
 wlyjch may at any instant strike me down — and 
 the only marvel is that I survived the blow which 
 smote me on that terrible day ! But it is no in- 
 vented tale which I am telling for the mere sake 
 of exciting your sympathy; and I declare that 
 death may at any instant lay his hand upon me 
 — for it is a heart disease which I have — and not 
 more rapid is the thunder-stroke of apoplexy than 
 will be the lightning-velocity of the arrow which, 
 thrown from Death's hand, shall strike me down a 
 corpse !" 
 
 " If you had continued to plead only for your 
 daughter's sake," said Ashborne, with an impla- 
 cable sternness of tone and look, " I might have 
 been moved — I should have yielded! But now 
 that you have dared obtrude your own sorrows 
 upon me as a reason why I should exhibit leniency 
 or do an act of mercy, I say, No ! no ! — ten thou- 
 sand times— no!" 
 
 The voice of Stephen Ashborne rose thrillingly 
 as he thus spoke ; and John Ponsford shrank back 
 aghast, for he thought that everything was at an 
 
 end and that the young man's resolve was un- 
 alterably proclaimed. But as Stephen Ashborne 
 lingered in the room and did not offer to leave it, 
 Ponsford took courage ; and suddenly going upon 
 altogether another tack, he said, " Mr. Ashborne, 
 I have forgotten to name one thing — and perhaps 
 you will still grant me your attention for a few 
 moments." 
 
 " Proceed," said Stephen sternly. " What more 
 have you to urge ?" 
 
 " It may now be too late — it may be unneces- 
 sary and useless — but still I would not have you 
 think that a debased and niggard meanness forms 
 an item in the category of faults with which your 
 imagination doubtless invests me. No ! — far from 
 it ! I should have said to you that as I am rich, 
 he who weds my daughter shall be likewise well 
 cared for — yes, even in such a case as this when 
 marriage would be followed by immediate sepa- 
 ration ! And surely, Stephen Ashborne, it must 
 be a matter of more or less moment with you to 
 be able to reckon with certitude upon your pecu- 
 niary resources — to know whence the means of 
 your livelihood may come — to have no care for the 
 morrow — in a word, to be independent. " 
 
 "Enough, sir! enough!" exclaimed the young 
 man, with vehement indignation. " Would you 
 have me sell myself for gold ? By heaven ! this 
 insult — this outrage " 
 
 " Nay — I meant it not as such," interrupted 
 Ponsford. "Listen! be reasonable! Did I not 
 ask you to marry my daughter? — and if you com- 
 plied, would it not be but right that I should 
 make over to you a portion of the wealth which 
 at my death must become her's ? My daughter, 
 sir, is not dowerless " 
 
 "Again I say enough!" interrupted Osborne. 
 "If I have lingered to hear ^the speeches which 
 you have last addressed to me, it was only that I 
 might satisfy myself to what length your cunning 
 speciousness could reach. Your pecuniary offers I 
 reject with scorn ! If you flung all your gold at 
 my feet, I would not accept it as a bribe to induce 
 me to lead your daughter to the altar! No," 
 continued Ashborne, his voice faltering and quiver- 
 ing slightly ; " if I did yield — if I did consent 
 to the demand which you have made — it would 
 have been for the sake of her who was perhaps 
 too cruelly wronged ! Yes — my God ! I have had 
 my doubts! — and Ah! the way in which you 
 yourself ere now shaped the matter, when you 
 bade me observe that I had wreaked two ven- 
 geances instead of one— this assuredly made an 
 impression upon my mind ! Therefore, I repeat, 
 if any consideration could have weighed effectu- 
 ally with me, it would have been for your daugh- 
 ter's sake, and not for the bribes which you have 
 proffered me !" 
 
 An inner door flew open at thia moment ; and 
 Pamela, gliding into the room, threw herself at 
 Stephen Ashborne's feet, exclaiming in wiffl and 
 heart-rending accents, " Then if not for my father's 
 sake, at least for mine ! for mine !" 
 
 We have before said that Pamela was exceed- 
 ingly beautiful. The masses of her rich chesnut 
 hair— flowing either in heavy tresses, or else scat- 
 tering themselves in myriads of hyperion ringlets 
 — enframed, without shading, a countenance which 
 was wont to be characterised by an angelic love- 
 liness until tha destroyer of her innocence had 
 appeared to shed his psstilential breath upon all 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 365 
 
 the best feelings and sweetest sentiments of her 
 soul. Indescribably beautiful she still was : but, 
 Ob ! how changed under the goading sense of the 
 terrific and irreparable injury which she had re- 
 ceived ! The whole world appeared to her in a 
 new and different light. She had been wont to 
 look upon it through the mirror of her own inno- 
 cence : she now regarded it as it were through a 
 glass darkly. She had well-nigh lost all her faith 
 in human nature. She — naturally so pure, so good, 
 so kind, and so generous — to have been visited by 
 such a calamity — it almost made her doubt the jus- 
 tice of heaven itself ! And thus the change that had 
 taken place in her mind, had necessarily produced 
 its influence upon her countenance. If she smiled 
 now, it was no longer with an expression of un- 
 alloyed sweetness upon her lips: but there was a 
 sad commingling of bitterness. Her looks no 
 longer beamed with the soft satisfaction of an in- 
 nocent and contented heart : there was some- 
 thing in her regards that would have seemed 
 singular and unaccountable indeed to a stranger 
 — and the compassionating individual would have 
 turned in surprise and sorrow to look again at the 
 young creature who was so beautiful and yet so 
 unhappy ! 
 
 Such was the unfortunate being who now knelt 
 at the feet of Stephen Ashborne, — her chesnut 
 hair flowing wildly over her shoulders — her pale 
 anguished countenance upturned towards his own 
 - — her hands clasped — and the accents of her ap- 
 pealing voice vibrating all tremulous yet rending 
 in his ears. A deadly pallor seized upon Ash- 
 borne's cheeks : he recoiled likewise for a moment, 
 as if smitten with a remorseful sense of his deep 
 guilt ; and then he shaded his eyes with his hat. 
 He could not bear to look upon the lovely creature 
 whom he had destroyed : — vengeance against the 
 father was at the moment forgotten in the illimi- 
 table compassion and sympathy which he expe- 
 rienced for the daughter ! 
 
 "You will grant my prayer!" cried Pamela, 
 now seizing one of the young man's hands and 
 holding it forcibly in both her own. 
 
 " Answer me a question," he said, in a deep 
 hoarse voice. " Tell me — have you overheard 
 anything that has just now passed betwixt your 
 father and myself?" 
 
 "No," answered Pamela. "I scarcely know 
 why you ask me — but I tell you the truth. 
 Throughout my life I have been accustomed to 
 tell the truth ; and on no account will I give 
 utterance to a falsehood. I knew that you were 
 here — I thought the interview a long one — I was 
 full of suspense — Oh, a suspense so painful ! — and 
 so I approached the door to listen to what was 
 passing; and then my ear caught the few last 
 words which you said." 
 
 As Stephen Ashborne glanced towards Mr. 
 Ponsford, he saw that this gentleman suddenly 
 experienced an immense relief on finding that his 
 daughter still remained ignorant of those facts 
 which he would have little liked to come to her 
 knowledge. 
 
 " Rise, Pamela," said Stephen Ashborne ; "and 
 answer me yet another question !" 
 
 The unfortunate creature rose from her suppliant 
 posture ; and as she now met Ashborne's pitying 
 and mournful look fixed upon her, a burning blush 
 suffused itself over her countenance: but the next 
 instant she once more became pale as death. Her 
 
 violet eyes were bent downward : and as she stood 
 there, the very personification of Beauty in dis- 
 tress, Stephen Ashborne asked himself how he 
 could ever have been such a miscreant as to 
 carry his vengeance to such a length, and with a, 
 false notion of retributive justice crush the purest 
 and loveliest flower that ever bloomed in this 
 world? 
 
 " Miss Ponsford," he asked in a voice that was 
 deeper and hoarser than before, and which indi- 
 cated a powerful concentration of feelings, "tell 
 me deliberately and calmly from your own lips — 
 do you desire that I should lead you to the 
 altar?" 
 
 " I have knelt at your feet," she responded, in 
 a faint and almost dying tone, " to implore that 
 you will give me a name instead of that which is 
 now sullied." 
 
 " But I am only an obscure and humble indi- 
 vidual " 
 
 " And I," she interjected, with a look of direst 
 woe ; " how lowly am I fallen in my own esti- 
 mation !" 
 
 " But you must hate and detest the very sight 
 of me!" pursued Stephen, now speaking with 
 vehemence ; " you must look upon me as the most 
 abominable of miscreants — the most loathsome of 
 reptiles — the most hideous of monsters !" 
 
 " Cannot you understand," asked Pamela, with 
 a look and voice of mingled reproachfulness and 
 entreaty, " that this interview is a painful one ?" 
 
 "Yes!" ejaculated Ashborne; " and I ought 
 not to prolong it ! But before I say the parting 
 word, let me put one more question, Miss Pons- 
 ford Let me ask whether you really look upon 
 
 me as a villain of the blackest die ?" 
 
 " Oh, my God !" cried the miserable girl, literally 
 wringing her hands, and quivering from head to 
 foot as she spoke ; " he is dragging me purposely 
 through an ordeal of questionings ! — he is wilfully 
 and wantonly goading my soul to madness ! Ste- 
 phen Ashborne, if there were ever a single moment 
 when from what my father has told me, I could 
 have fancied that you were perhaps less guilty 
 towards me than I might otherwise have deemed 
 you, — you are now pursuing a course of cold- 
 blooded and refined cruelty which is going far 
 towards making me think the very worst of you ! 
 Oh, if you have yet one single remaining spark 
 of honour or generosity — — " 
 
 " Enough, Miss Ponsford !" interrupted Ash- 
 borne. " I only wished to satisfy myself that 
 your father had really told you something which 
 may have the effect of rendering me less odious in 
 your eyes !" 
 
 " I have told you that I love truth," said 
 Pamela ; " and every word which flows from my 
 lips is hallowed by the sincerity of the heart. Be- 
 lieve me, therefore, when I declare unto you that 
 my father has done you this justice, — that with- 
 out entering into particulars (and heaven knows 
 I do not require them !) he has given me to 
 understand that he is far from being without a 
 fault towards your kith and kindred— and that 
 you might well smart under the sense of keen and 
 poignant wrongs ! And now, in heaven's name, 
 let this interview end!" 
 
 " It shall, Pamela," interjected Ashborne. " I 
 would go down upon my knees and implore your 
 pardon, were it not that my vengeance would 
 cease to be vengeance if I expressed contrition 
 
36(! 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 for it ! But the atonement you have demanded 
 Bhall be made. One more meeting — and then 
 will we separate for ever ! Strange mockery !^ 
 that next meeting shall be at the sacred shrine 
 where indissoluble bonds are woven ; and yet ours 
 shall be severed in a moment then and there ! 
 Poor girl ! if I thought that one word of sym- 
 pathy from my lips " 
 
 Here Pamela bent upon her destroyer a look of 
 indescribable misery and reproachfulness : her lips 
 wavered for an instant as if shs would fain have 
 spoken something that rose to the tip of her 
 tongue ; but whatever it were, it remained unsaid 
 — and in another moment she disappeared from 
 his view. 
 
 " Mr. Ponsford," he said, approaching the 
 father, "make all your arrangements for this 
 ceremony — and fear not that I shall fail in my 
 promise or that I shall be otherwise than punc- 
 tual." 
 
 The Squire reflected for a few moments ; and 
 then he said, "To-morrow morning — here — at 
 ten o'clock — I will procure a special license — and 
 — and — all shall be concluded." 
 
 Ashborne bowed coldly, and issued from the 
 house. 
 
 The appointment was duly kept on the ensuing 
 morning ; and this singular marriage took place. 
 The minister of the Gospel came, accompanied by 
 his clerk: an elderly female-servant, who had 
 long been in the Squire's family and who acted 
 as housekeeper of the town-man3ion, was present 
 at the ceremony. The bridegroom and bride were 
 both as pale as death : the clergyman and clerk 
 could not fail to conjecture that there was some- 
 thing strange, if not absolutely sinister and wrong, 
 in this wedding so mysteriously conducted ; but 
 all the legal requirements were fulfilled — their 
 fees were liberally paid — and there was conse- 
 quently no pretext for them to interfere. As for 
 mere curiosity, the entire circumstances of the 
 scene repelled the thought that it might pos- 
 sibly be gratified. And when the ceremony 
 was over and the clergyman and his acolyte had 
 withdrawn, Stephen Ashborne tarried not, but 
 promptly took his own departure, having imprinted 
 no kiss upon the cheek of his bride nor pressed 
 the hand of her father ! 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 hester's father. 
 
 In the forenoon of that same day Edward Wal- 
 pole called at Charlton Villa ; for Azaline still 
 remained a visitress there. Hester had been re- 
 moved to the maternal abode; and as she still 
 continued very ill, her mother was filled with 
 affliction — so that the restoration of her daughter, 
 instead of proving of benefit to the mental condi- 
 tion of her ladyship, seemed for the present to 
 threaten to become the source of still greater 
 grief. Thus the generous-hearted Azaline would 
 not desert her friend Lady Araesbury in such 
 an emergency; and she prolonged her visit to 
 Charlton Villa instead of returning to Trentham 
 Houso in Berkeley Square. 
 
 But perhaps the beauteous Azaline had another 
 motive for preferring the abode of her friend to 
 
 the paternal habitation ? perhaps she felt that she 
 could more conveniently receive the visits of Ed- 
 ward Walpole at the former place than at the 
 latter — or at least for the present, until she should 
 have communicated to her father and mother the 
 engagement which she had formed and obtain theii 
 assent ? 
 
 But to continue the thread of our narrative, we 
 must repeat that it was on the forenoon of the 
 same day on which the strange bridal ceremony 
 took place, that Edward Walpole alighted from his 
 'horse at the gate of Charlton Villa ; and flinging 
 the bridle to the man-servant who answered his 
 summons, he passed into the dwelling. „ Not find- 
 ing Azaline in the parlour which was usually occu- 
 pied at that period of the day, he was about to 
 seek her in another apartment, when encountering 
 a female domestic, he learnt from her that Miss 
 Osborne had gone a few minutes back into the 
 garden. Edward went in search of her ; and he 
 presently caught sight of the well-known beauteous 
 form, seated, or rather half reclining, upon the 
 grass near a fountain in a secluded part of the 
 grounds. Determined to surprise her, he approached 
 stealthily from behind ; and he soon discerned that 
 she was turning the leaves of a large book, over 
 which she was bending. At length Walpole had 
 contrived to draw so near, without being over- 
 heard, that he was enabled to peep at the contents 
 of the book; and just at that instant Azaline 
 gave audible utterance to the musings with which 
 her mind was occupied. Little suspecting that 
 he who was thus uppermost in her thoughts was 
 so near, .she ejaculated, " How foolish he would 
 deem me if he knew that I was really sincere in 
 this oriental project of mine! But, Oh! this 
 is assuredly the costume that I shall choose !" 
 
 It was a large volume of plates referring en- 
 tirely to oriental subjects, representing the most 
 celebrated cities and scenes of the East, and 
 giving delineations of national costumes in a 
 most picturesque and attractive manner. At the 
 instant when Edward Walpole, bending his head 
 forward, peeped over at the volume, the plate 
 which Azaline was contemplating represented a 
 beautiful female figure, reclining upon a divan, 
 holding a fan in one hand, and extending the 
 other to receive the refreshment which it might 
 he supposed a slave was at the instant offering. 
 The costume was light, elegant, and admirably 
 calculated to develop the symmetry of a fine 
 figure. Such was the subject of the plate on 
 which Azaline's eyes were fixed. 
 
 "Never shall I think you foolish, Azaline!" — 
 and as the well-known voice fell upon her ears, 
 she started, looked upward, and blushed deeply. 
 
 But instantaneously regaining her self-posses- 
 sion, she proffered Walpole her hand, saying with 
 one of her sweet smiles, " You are welcome, Ed- 
 ward : but you stole upon me in a somewhat un- 
 handsome manner, for which I have a very great 
 mind to scold you severely " 
 
 " Of that you are incapable, dear Azaline !" 
 replied the happy youth, flinging himself by her 
 side on the grass, and carrying to his lips the 
 hand which she had given him. 
 
 "After all," she resumed, "that you should 
 have intruded on the privacy of my thoughts, I 
 can scarcely deplore : for you had a proof that 
 my mind was occupied with your image while I 
 deemed you awaj'. But once again tell me 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS J OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 367 
 
 Edward — do you not think me a strange, -way- 
 ward, silly creature — foolish even to childishness 
 — in suffering myself to be amused with these 
 notions of our contemplated Eastern travel?" 
 
 " I love you all the more, Azaline," cried Wal- 
 pole enthusiastically, "for everything that there 
 is eo romantic and wild in your imagination — 
 your tastes " 
 
 " And would you really like to see me attired, 
 Edward, in some oriental costume ? But, Ah ! I 
 forgot !" she abruptly exclaimed, with another of 
 her sweet smiles. "The very question I have 
 put will only lead you into paying me compli- 
 ments and offering me flatteries ! — and therefore let 
 us at once turn the discourse to some other topic." 
 
 " Not before I have proclaimed my conviction," 
 answered Walpole, "that no matter what costume 
 you may wear, you must ever be the loveliest of 
 your sex " 
 
 " Edward ! I will not permit it !" 
 
 " You must shine peerless amongst all women — 
 conspicuous above all ! — more brilliant — more 
 dazzling !" 
 
 "Are there no means of stopping your lips, 
 Edward?" 
 
 " Only thus," rejoined the youth : and he 
 pressed a kiss upon the beauteous mouth of Aza- 
 line. 
 
 " And, now, sir," she said, blushing and smiling 
 — half affecting anger in her tone, and yet with 
 tenderness and pleasure blending softly in her 
 looks, — " and now, sir, that I have been punished 
 for my thoughtlessness in putting a question which 
 led you into that sphere of compliments and flat- 
 teries wherein you are so proficient, I trust that 
 we are going to be rational. There are two or 
 three subjects on which I desire to speak to you. 
 In the first place I must positively return home 
 this afternoon : the death of this Mr. -Casey may 
 have more or less effect — though I cannot tell to 
 what extent now — upon my father's pecuniary 
 circumstances. I am naturally anxious to learn 
 how this may be " 
 
 "And if you return .to Berkeley Square, Aza- 
 line," said Walpole anxiously, " must I apprehend 
 that " 
 
 " That I shall cease to desire your society ?" 
 interjected Azaline, with an arch smile. " Oh, I 
 daresay, Edward, you will be enabled to find your 
 way to Berkeley Square by invitation, just as you 
 have found it every day for a week past to Charl- 
 ton Villa." 
 
 " Oh, but that invitation, Azaline ?" exclaimed 
 the youth. " In spite of all your kind assurances, 
 I tremble at the decision which your parents may 
 pronounce when you appeal to them!" 
 
 " Fear nothing, Edward ;" — Azaline paused for 
 a moment, blushing as if ashamed of her own 
 vehemence ; and then she said in a slower and 
 lower tone, " My parents and my brother will 
 offer no barrier to our happiness, Edward. Indeed, 
 of Launcelot I can speak with as much certitude 
 as if I were enunciating my own sentiments. I 
 have been liberal towards him in regard to the 
 affections of his own heart — I took his part when 
 my parents would have compelled him to contract 
 an alliance which he detested — I smiled upon the 
 object of his love — I proved to him that I at least 
 possessed no prejudices ; and therefore, even set- 
 ting aside the natural generosity of his disposition, 
 he has every reason to become our partisan." 
 
 "Thanks, dearest Azaline — thanks, for this 
 assurance!" cried Walpole enthusiastically. "But 
 your parents ?" 
 
 " Edward," responded the young lady, with a 
 serious tone, and yet with a smile upon her lips, 
 " you know that I love you : I do not hesitate to 
 proclaim this fact over and over again ; and much 
 as I reverence and respect my parents, I shall 
 assuredly follow the dictates of my own heart in 
 preference to the dictation of a paternal despotism, 
 even if it were attempted. But I do not appre- 
 hend any such demonstration of cruelty on the 
 part of my father and mother. Enough, however, 
 upon this point for the present : there is another 
 subject on which we must converse most seriously. 
 Poor Hester was much worse la3t night " 
 
 "And what says the physician now?" asked 
 Walpole quickly. 
 
 " He looks gloomy, and answers evasively when 
 Lady Amesbury adjures him in that impassioned 
 manner which you have observed, that he will 
 save her child ! And during the past night her 
 ladyship seemed to awaken to the full sense of the 
 danger which threatens Hester, and of the be- 
 reavement which therefore menaces herself. This 
 morning she came to my chamber at an early 
 hour ; and she avowed to me a certain wish which 
 her heart cherishes, and the execution of which also 
 appears in the light of a duty. She hopes that 
 you, Edward, will become the means of fulfilling 
 this desire on her part — and that too with the 
 least possible delay." 
 
 "Tell me how I can serve Lady Amesbury," 
 cried Walpole, " and you shall see with what ala- 
 crity I will undertake any task which she may 
 assign to me." 
 
 Azaline Osborne proceeded to enter upon ex- 
 planations ; but we need not chronicle the details 
 which flowed from her lips. It will be sufficient 
 for the purposes of our narrative if we follow in 
 the footsteps of Edward Walpole, when he pre- 
 sently left Charlton Villa. 
 
 Remounting his horse, Edward repaired at 
 once to the West End of the town ; and alight- 
 ing at the door of a handsome-looking house, he 
 inquired for Mr. Ponsford. The servant who an- 
 swered the summons seemed to hesitate: he said 
 that his master was certainly at home, but that he 
 did not think he would receive any visitors ; for 
 we should observe that after the ceremony of the 
 private marriage, Ponsford had shut himself up in 
 his library, with an intimation to the domestics 
 that he did not wish to be disturbed. 
 
 " It is not a mere ordinary visit which I am 
 paying your master," said Walpole: "indeed I 
 am personally unknown to him, as he likewise is 
 to me. But I seek him on a matter of some im- 
 portance — and for this reason I request an imme- 
 diate interview." 
 
 The domestic retired to convey this message to 
 Mr. Ponsford; and Edward Walpole was promptly 
 ushered into the library. Ponsford rose from his seat 
 to receive him ; and Walpole, who had been wonder- 
 ing what kind of a man it was with whom he was 
 about to be brought into contact, was much struck 
 with that pale, serious, and melancholy counte- 
 nance, the features of which were still so hand- 
 some notwithstanding that the individual himself 
 had numbered sixty winters. On the other hand 
 Ponsford marvelled what could be the important 
 business which had procured him this visit from 
 
368 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OP A tADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 the young man of interesting appearance who now 
 stood before him. 
 
 " It is not altogether an agreeable task which I 
 hare to perform, Mr. Ponsford," said Walpole, 
 taking the chair that was indicated by that gen- 
 tleman ; " and I could have wished that one of 
 maturer years and of a larger experience in the 
 world might have acted as my substitute on the 
 present occasion." 
 
 " Pray be explicit, Mr. Walpole," said Ponsford, 
 "and in as few words as possible come to the 
 point." 
 
 " You must permit me to remind you," resumed 
 ' Walpole, "of an episode in your life which dating 
 some seventeen years back " 
 
 "Ah!" ejaculated the Squire, giving a sudden 
 start :' " to what do you allude?" — and it was with 
 a visible effort that he strove to tranquillize and 
 compose the feelings which had become so suddenly 
 agitated. 
 
 " It is not for me, Mr. Ponsford, to read you a 
 lesson of morality — no, nor yet to act as the 
 champion of one whose wrongs are of so old a 
 date " 
 
 "You allude, Mr. Walpole, to a certain indis- 
 cretion on my part. It is impossible lean mis- 
 take your meaning ! But for what purpose have 
 you come to recall to my mind one of those inci- 
 dents which from their very nature it were desirable 
 to blot out of a man's life ?" 
 
 " If I mention the name of Lady Amesbury," 
 continued Walpole, " it must be sufficient to prove 
 not merely that I am well acquainted with all the 
 details of that episode in your life, but also that I 
 am now an accredited agent coming direct from 
 her ladyship." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I know that she to whom you allude, 
 married General Amesbury. Years have elapsed 
 since I heard anything concerning her — unless in- 
 deed it were the intelligence that she was left a 
 widow " 
 
 " And has it never occurred to you, Mr. Pons- 
 ford," asked Walpole, — "has it never suggested 
 itself to your feelings to make an inquiry relative 
 to the offspring of that illicit love of yours?" 
 
 " By heaven, yes, Mr. Walpole 1" exclaimed 
 Ponsford; " I did make such inquiries— and more 
 than once too! But why these questions? — to 
 what is all this discourse to lead ?" 
 
 " To a piece of intelligence which by Lady 
 Amesbury's desire I come to impart." 
 
 " If it be, Mr. Walpole," rejoined Ponsford, 
 " that the poor child is dead, you come somewhat 
 late to make the announcement." 
 
 " And how did it at anytime reach your ears?" 
 asked Edward. 
 
 " From the only source to which I could apply 
 for any information at all upon the subject. It 
 must have been three or four years ago that I ad- 
 dressed myself to that source — and then I was 
 told that the child was dead." 
 
 " And if she were now alive, Mr. Ponsford," in- 
 terjected Walpole, " she would be in her seven- 
 teenth year." 
 
 " What, in heaven's name, do yon mean ?" ex- 
 claimed the Squire. " Why thus allude to her ? 
 Your words, Mr. Walpole, are calculated to en- 
 gender a strange idea in my mind — bat yet it is 
 impossible! Warren could not have been mistaken! 
 — and as for wilfully deceiving me, such a thing 
 is altogether out of the question !" 
 
 " Mr. Warren has deceived you," exclaimed the 
 young man impressively: — "your daughter lives! 
 she is now clasped in the arms of her mother ! — 
 but, alas ! Death seems to be following close upon 
 her track — and this is the reason wherefore 1 am 
 here to make an announcement which Lady 
 Amesbury deemed it her duty to convey unto 
 you." 
 
 Ponsford listened with the stupor of astonish- 
 ment to the details of this intelligence : and then 
 suddenly rising from his seat, he approached his 
 visitor, saying in a voice that was low and tremu- 
 lous, "Is it possible, Mr. Walpole — tell me, 
 is it possible that one whom I believed dead, yet 
 lives?" 
 
 "She lives, sir— she lives! But heaven only 
 can tell how long she may be spared to the mother 
 unto whose arms she has been restored ! " 
 
 "Or to the father," added Ponsford emphati- 
 cally, "who now likewise yearns to fold her to his 
 heart !" 
 
 "Do you really mean,, Mr. Ponsford," asked 
 Walpole, " that such is the state ot your feeling?" 
 
 ".Most solemnly I declare it to be!" was the 
 impressive answer. " You may think, Mr. Wal- 
 pole,, that I am not a man capable of entertaining 
 such kindly sentiments — judging me from my 
 antecedents, you may suppose — and naturally so 
 — that I am callous as I was formerly treacherous 
 — hard-hearted as I was once perfidious " 
 
 " Now I do really know by the terms in which 
 you are speaking," exclaimed Walpole, alike 
 affected and delighted, "that all good feeling is 
 not extinguished in your heart ! I shall therefore 
 return from my embassy with more satisfaction 
 than I experienced when entering upon it ; and I 
 shall be enabled to assure Lady'Amesbury that 
 the father of her child is not altogether indifferent 
 to that child's welfare !" 
 
 "Heaven forbid I" exclaimed Ponsford. "The 
 time was, Mr. Walpole, when I should have treated 
 your mission with indifference— perhaps scorn and 
 contempt — and when I should even have deemed 
 it an impertinence that you came to address me 
 on such a subject. But now, on the contrary, I 
 thank you! I am an altered man. It is not 
 altogether the weight of years upon my brow that 
 has made its pressure felt upon my heart : but it 
 is that circumstances have combined of late to 
 convince me that there is a heaven to take cog- 
 nizance of misdeeds committed upon earth, and 
 that sooner or later there must be retribution for 
 all wrong-doing. Oh, if I were to enter into 
 particulars!"— and for a moment Ponsford wrung 
 his hands bitterly. " But no, no ! — this cannot 
 be ! Suffice it for you to know, Mr. Walpole, 
 that the heavy hand of affliction has been laid 
 upon me, and that within the sphere of my own 
 family circle I have been made to experience a 
 terrible chastisement for much of my past wrong- 
 doing. If I now tell you this, it is to prove with 
 how much sincerity I proclaim my contrition — 
 my deep, deep contrition — for the stupendous 
 wrong which in times past I inflicted upon that 
 tender, loving, and confiding creature who now 
 bears the name of Lady Amesbury ! Go to her, 
 therefore— tell her all this — and ask her whether 
 I may be permitted to throw myself at her feet, 
 and likewise whether I may share with her the 
 privilege of embracing the child of our illicit and 
 fatal love?" 
 
TIIE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 369 
 
 ADELAIDE CLARKE. 
 
 " Think you, Mr. Ponsford, that it was for a 
 mere idle purpose, or in any aimless mood, that 
 her ladyship sent me on my present mission to 
 yon? If I were bidden to come and tell you 
 that your daughter 4ived, and was found, and 
 was restored to her mother, — think you that 
 it must not have been likewise to tell you that if 
 your feelings prompted you to hasten to that spot 
 and to clasp your child to your breast, you would 
 be welcomed?" 
 
 " I will go, Mr. Walpole — I will go," answered 
 Ponsford. "But tell me something of my 
 daughter! When was she restored to her 
 mother?" 
 
 " Only a week ago,'' rejoined Walpole. 
 
 " And why did Warren practise that gross de- 
 ception upon me ?" demanded the Squire : " why 
 did he " 
 
 " Question me not now," said the youth. " I 
 No. 47. — The Yousg Duchess. 
 
 have not leisure to enter into details: I must 
 speed back to Highgate and report to Lady 
 Amesbury the issue of my embassy. She dwells 
 at Charlton Villa; and thither may you follow 
 me, Mr. Ponsford — but not immediately; for I 
 must have time to prepare her ladyship to receive 
 you — it will be likewise necessary to prepare 
 Hester to receive her father ; for as yet she does 
 not even know your name !" 
 
 "And I also, Mr. Walpole," responded the 
 Squire, " must have some little interval to pre- 
 pare my own mind — aye, and to compose the feel- 
 ings which have just been so powerfully agitated 
 by the intelligence you have brought. It were 
 perhaps better, therefore, if a few hours were 
 suffered to elapse " 
 
 " Be it so," rejoined the young man, rising to 
 depart. 
 
 " Yet one word more ere you take your depar- 
 
370 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 ture !" said Ponsford. " Tell me — is the poor 
 girl beyond all hope? has the hand of Death 
 been so remorselessly laid upon her ?" 
 
 " There is hope while there is life, Mr. Pons- ! 
 ford; and heaven can resuscitate those whose 
 feet may appear to be touching upon the very 
 brink of the tomb ! At the same time, I would ' 
 not inspire you with a delusive confidence, nor ' 
 conceal from you the seriousness of poor Hester's 
 condition. She has endured sufferings and trials 
 — she has known poverty and sorrow " 
 
 " Oh, that she may live," continued the Squire, 
 with impassioned vehemence, " to afford me time 
 to atone for the past and to shower upon her 
 head all the bounties which wealth can bestow ! 
 One word more, Mr. Walpole I Is Hester all that 
 a parent could wish to find in a daughter ? — is 
 she calculated to prove a comfort to her mother if 
 it should please heaven to spare her?" 
 
 "Yes, yes !" exclaimed Walpole, not daring to 
 give any other answer, nor to tamper for another 
 moment with a subject which might lead to the 
 necessity of revelations but little agreeable to the 
 ears of a father. " And now farewell for the pre- 
 sent, Mr. Ponsford. Ere this day shall have 
 closed, you will have knelt for pardon at the feet 
 of one whom in years past you so frightfully 
 wronged, and you will have embraced the daughter 
 whom you believed to be dead !" 
 
 Having thus spoken; Edward Walpole hastily 
 quitted the library, in order to avoid any further 
 discourse on the topic which he felt to be so deli- 
 cate, so difficult, and so perilous. 
 
 " It is not from my lips,'' he said to himself, as 
 he was again seated on his steed, and riding 
 away from Ponsford's mansion, — " it is not from 
 my lips that the father must hear of his daughter's 
 disgrace and dishonour ! Heaven forbid ! There 
 will be time enough for such sad revealings — 
 even if it be necessary that they should ever be 
 made at all I And, Oh ! if poor Hester's life be 
 already doomed, and if it be destined that she 
 shall occupy an early grave — better, better far to 
 draw the veil over the sad, sad part of her life, 
 and that never even unto her own sire it shall be 
 known to what a depth she was plunged down by 
 the merciless hand of necessity, and from what a 
 vortex of infamies and abominations she was 
 redeemed ere finding herself restored to the arms 
 of a mother !" 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 EETKIBUTION. 
 
 Well and truly had Squire Ponsford said that 
 sooner or later there must be retribution for all 
 wrong-doing ! The fact was already bitterly ex- 
 emplified within the range of his own experiences. 
 When casting a retrospective glance over the in- 
 cidents of his life, he shuddered as he thought 
 of the many heartless deeds he had committed 
 — the many treacheries of which he had been 
 guilty towards confiding women. And specially, 
 when he looked back to the period of his criminal 
 passion for Adelaide Clarke — and when he remem- 
 bered how terribly he had outraged her— he 
 writhed, he groaned inwardly, his whole frame in- 
 deed became convulsed with the violence of his 
 
 internal feelings, as he thought of the fearful 
 retribution which had overtaken him through the 
 medium of the foul wrong offered to his own 
 daughter. When he had looked at Pamela, con- 
 templated her loveliness, and thought of all the 
 innocence of her mind, he had been smitten with 
 a horrible stupor of wonderment at the idea that 
 any one could have been such a villain as to vio- 
 late the sanctity of so much beauty and virtue. 
 But then conscience raised its voice within his 
 breast, and asked him whether Adelaide Clarke 
 was not also lovely and virtuous ere she became 
 his victim ? Looking back for a quarter of a cen- 
 tury, Ponsford beheld that fair one as completely 
 invested with innocence and purity as was his own 
 daughter previous to the outrage which dishonoured 
 her ! And then, as Ponsford, while looking back 
 over the past, beheld the image of Adelaide 
 Clarke prominent amongst those who had become 
 the victims of his evil passions, the regards of his 
 mental vision next settled upon another sweetly 
 beautiful countenance — the countenance of her 
 whom he had so perfidiously seduced — the mother 
 of the unfortunate Hester ! 
 
 "Adelaide Clarke has been avenged — bitterly, 
 bitterly avenged!" said Ponsford to himself, as he 
 paced to and fro in the library after Edward Wal- 
 pole had taken his leave: "has heaven decreed 
 that the wrongs of the other " — and he now 
 alluded to Lady Amesbury— "are likewise to be 
 avenged ? No, no ! she will forgive me ! It is 
 for this that I have received permission to visit 
 her and to throw myself at her feet ! Yet what 
 means this feeling which now oppresses me ? why 
 is it that I seem as if a presentiment of evil were 
 haunting me ? Oh, what farther atonement can 
 
 I make for my past deeds ? Ah, a thought 
 
 strikes me !" 
 
 Ponsford mused for some few minutes upon the 
 idea which had occurred to him ere he proceeded 
 to carry it into execution ; buf at length having 
 arrived at a decision upon the point, he issued 
 forth from the library. Ascending to his daugh- 
 ter's chamber, he knocked at the door. There was 
 no answer. He knocked again — and then the 
 door was opened ; and Pamela, deadly pale, made 
 her appearance upon the threshold. Yes — deadly 
 pale! just as she was two or three hours back 
 when she retired slowly from the drawing-room 
 where the marriage had been solemnised. Her 
 features were rigid — and, Oh, so sadly beautiful in 
 that despairing fixedness of their expression ! It 
 was without the display of the slightest emotion 
 of any kind that she beheld her father ; and as it 
 was evident by his manner he wished to speak to 
 her, she led the way in silence into the species of 
 boudoir which served as an ante-room to her own 
 chamber. 
 
 She sat down : her father placed himself by her 
 side — and taking her hand, he said, "Pamela, I 
 thought to find you at least more resigned — I can 
 scarcely say more cheerful — after the ceremony 
 which has made you a wife." 
 
 " Would to heaven that for your sake, I could 
 be cheerful and gay, dear father !" exclaimed the 
 unhappy young lady. " Oh, you must have suf- 
 fered terribly on my account !" 
 
 " And yet perhaps not more than I have de- 
 served, my poor child," responded the Squire, 
 gazing with keenest anguish and affliction upon 
 his beauteous but grief-stricken daughter. 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 371 
 
 " Do not accuse yourself thus, dear father," she 
 said. " I wish there was anything I could do to 
 render you happier than you have of late been— 
 to console you — to prove to you that I am not 
 selfish in respect to my own sorrows — and that if 
 I surfer from the sense of my irreparable calamity, 
 I have lost none of the loving tenderness and de- 
 votion which I owe to you, my sire !" 
 
 " There is something you can do, Pamela," an 
 swered Mr. Ponsford ; " and it was to speak to 
 you on this subject that I have now sought you, 
 Listen to me, my child! Some years ago— about 
 seventeen or eighteen — at the time when you were 
 an infant in the cradle — I was guilty of an indis- 
 cretion— *a crime Alas, that a father should be 
 
 compelled to blush in the presence of his own 
 daughter !" 
 
 " Then do not tell me anything to make you 
 blush, father!" interjected Pamela, with » look 
 and tone of anguished entreaty. 
 
 " But I must enter upon certain explanations, 
 my child — and you must listen to them; for they 
 constitute a requisite preliminary to the final 
 revelation." 
 
 "Then rest assured, dear father," responded the 
 generous-souled Pamela, " in whatever you may 
 be about to confess, you will not be too severely 
 judged by your own loving daughter." 
 
 " I was about to tell you, Pamela, that at the 
 period to which I have alluded I was guilty of an 
 
 indiscretion Yes, I was very wicked — faithless 
 
 towards your mother — perfidious towards the 
 victim of my criminality! There was one who 
 
 loved me — she knew not I was married Suffer 
 
 me to spare the details, Pamela " 
 
 "Yes, lather — yes!" and the daughter was 
 much agitated. 
 
 " I tell you that I was very guilty, Pamela — and 
 she who loved me became my victim — and — and 
 — a child was born. The transaction was hushed 
 up for more reasons than one — for the sake of the 
 unfortunate and betrayed young creature whom I 
 could not wed— and for my own sake, married as 
 I was to another ! But I made ample provision 
 in a pecuniary sense for the maintenance of that 
 offspring; and years elapsed, Pamela— and then I 
 was told that the child was dead — but this day — 
 yes, this day, I have learnt that it is otherwise ! 
 Indeed, within the hour that is now passing, have 
 I been told that she lives — and therefore I have 
 another daughter, Pamela, besides yourself !" 
 
 "And I therefore have a sister!" cried the 
 young lady, clasping her hands in a paroxysm of 
 mingled surprise and delight. 
 
 " Yes — you have a sister, Pamela — if thus you 
 choose to call her, and if thus you will recognise 
 her, despite the stigma that rests upon her birth." 
 
 " Heaven forbid that I should be so unjust and 
 cruel," cried Pamela, " as to make that the sub- 
 ject of reproach to her who is guiltless of it ! It 
 is sufficient, dear father, that you have told me 
 I have a sister ! Oh, and I feel convinced that I 
 shall love her as well as if she sprang from the 
 same mother whose memory I so much love and 
 revere !" 
 
 " God bless you for these assurances, Pamela !" 
 murmured Mr. Ponsford, deeply affected. " You 
 
 shall see your sister 1 fear that she is very 
 
 ill — she has suffered much " 
 
 "What is her name?" asked Pamela, in a 
 compassionating tone. 
 
 " Her name is Hester," was the reply. 
 
 "Alas, poor sister!" said the young lady, with 
 a voice and look of still deeper tenderness : " how 
 profoundly I feel for her !" 
 
 " And I am sure, Pamela," continued her 
 father, ■' that your gentle and kind ministrations 
 will ptove beneficial to her. Oh! how delightful 
 would it be if you were to become the means of 
 raising her up from the couch of sickness! — if 
 your attentions, and vigils, and watchings, were 
 to be thus rewarded 1" 
 
 "Oh let me try, dear father!" interrupted 
 Pamela enthusiastically, " You have already 
 said more than enough to interest me deeply in 
 this daughter whom you have just discovered, 
 and this dear sister who is to be given unto 
 me!" 
 
 " Let me assure you, Pamela," added her sire, 
 " that she is in every way worthy of the interest 
 with which you are inspired. If it were other- 
 wise, I would not for the world bring you in con- 
 tact with her ! But positive and without reserve 
 was the answer which I received, — When in sus- 
 pense and uncertainty — aye, and in fearful doubt- 
 fulness, I put the question ere now to the young 
 gentleman who brought me the intelligence, — I 
 put the question, I say, which was to the effect 
 whether the poor girl had passed stainless and 
 pure through the ordeal of sufferings and tempta^ 
 tions which, alas! she has most probably been 
 doomed to encounter ?"' 
 
 " Every additional word that falls front your 
 lips, my dear father," exclaimed Pamela, " ren- 
 ders me more and more anxious to hasten and 
 claim my new sister !" 
 
 "And in her companionship)" said PonsforJ, 
 inquiringly, " you will more or less forget, my 
 child, your own afflictions ?" 
 
 "If there be yet a chance of happiness on earth 
 for me," cried Pamela, " it will arise from impart- 
 ing happiness to others. Oh, the thought of 
 having a sister is delightful to a degree ! And 
 nearly my own age too !" 
 
 " And thus, if heaven should spare her," added 
 Ponsford, " there will yet be the source of a pure 
 and holy light to shine upon your life, — that life 
 which, alas ! 1 lately feared was doomed to the 
 unbroken dulness of night !" 
 
 Best assured, dear father, that in the society 
 of the sister whom I am sure I shall love'and who 
 will love me, I shall find solace and comfort — 
 perhaps even happiness !" 
 
 "I thought that it might be so," exclaimed 
 Ponsford; "and this was one of the reasons 
 which decided me in taking you into my confi- 
 dence — even though in doing so it was necessary 
 I should make a revelation that caused me to 
 blush in your presence !" 
 
 "And now tell me, father," said the young 
 lady eagerly, "when I shall taste the first 
 draught of this new well-spring of happiness ? ' 
 
 "This evening, Pamela," was the response. 
 " Yes — you shall accompany me ! Hester is with 
 her mother — that mother who was the victim of 
 my perfidy, and to whom I shall kneel for pardon. 
 Oh, it shall be an hour of atonement for me! 
 Prepare yourself, therefore, Pamela, for the meet- 
 ing which is thus to take place ere the present 
 day shall have closed!" 
 
 With these words Mr. Ponsford affectionately 
 embraced his daughter, whom he then left to 
 
372 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 such thoughts and feelings as the announcements 
 he had made were well calculated to engender. 
 
 Returning to the library, Mr. Ponsford was re- 
 minded, by hearing a time-piece proclaim the 
 hour, that it was now incumbent for him to visit 
 the medical man under whose care he had placed 
 himself on account of the diseased state of his 
 heart. He was just issuing from his house, when 
 who should be passing at the very moment but 
 Mr. "Warren the stockbroker ! 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Ponsford!" exclaimed the man of 
 business, stretching forth his hand : " you again 
 in London ! But what means this ?" he asked, 
 as the Squire drew back, haughtily rejecting the 
 proffered hand of the other. 
 
 " It means, sir, that I cannot possibly consider 
 myself on the same friendly terms with you as 
 formerly, until a certain matter which now looks 
 black enough, shall have been cleared up." 
 
 Warren turned pale for a moment : but in- 
 stantaneously recovering himself, he said with a 
 composure which was doubtless more or less 
 forced, " Of course we cannot talk in the streets." 
 
 " Decidedly not, sir. Be good enough to step 
 in-doors with me." 
 
 Mr. Ponsford accordingly led the way into the 
 library, whither he was followed by the stock- 
 broker. 
 
 The latter threw himself upon a seat ; and 
 brushing his hat with the sleeve of his coat in a 
 nonchalant way, he said, " I am ready, Mr. Pons- 
 ford, to hear whatsoever accusation you may 
 have to bring against me : for that something of 
 this sort is about to take place, may be argued 
 alike from your words and manner." 
 
 " Mr. "Warren, there is a certain subject," re- 
 sumed Ponsford, in a grave tone, " which could 
 not fail to be invested with a deep interest for 
 me." 
 
 " "What subject, in the name of heaven ?" asked 
 "Warren, with a well-affected air of surprise. 
 
 " Do not trifle with me, sir," exclaimed Pons- 
 ford sternly ; "you know very well what I mean. 
 The child — the unfortunate child " 
 
 " Ah ! what the deuce, my dear Mr. Ponsford !" 
 cried "Warren, pretending to laugh, " do you begin 
 to affect an interest in that matter ?" 
 
 " Begin to affect ?" repeated Ponsford indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " Why, yes. When did you ever before show 
 any symptom of interest on that point ? If so, 
 it was in my father's time : but since the business 
 has been in my hands I have never seen or 
 met you except casually " 
 
 " Perhaps not, sir," interrupted Ponsford. " But 
 my solicitor made a certain inquiry some three 
 years back — and I must tell you that during 
 your father's life-time such inquiries were more 
 than once made " 
 
 " Very likely," observed Warren. " I knew 
 little or nothing of what was taking place in my 
 father's life-time. As for the inquiry which you 
 Say your solicitor has made since my father's 
 death, I do recollect something about it now " 
 
 " And the aiaswer you gave, sir, was a false 
 one I" cried Ponsford angrily. " You declared 
 that the poor girl was dead!" 
 
 "Well — and what then?" demanded Warren, 
 mustering all his impudence to his aid ; for he 
 wanted to ascertain to what extent Mr. Ponsford 
 was instructed in all that had recently occurred. 
 
 " What then ?" echoed this gentleman, his 
 cheeks crimsoning and his eyes flashing : " why, 
 sir, you gave utterance to a base falsehood ! You 
 were wilfully deceiving me !" 
 
 " Deceiving gou f" said the stockbroker, with 
 an air of effrontery and assumed surprise. 
 
 " Yes — me, through the medium of the solici- 
 tors by whom the inquiry was made !" 
 
 " And what if at the time I really thought the 
 girl was dead ?" said Warren. 
 
 " You did not think it ! I feel convinced that 
 you did not ! You were practising a wilful and 
 gross deception ! I have yet to learn all the par- 
 ticulars but rest assured that I shall investi- 
 gate them down to the very minutest details ; and 
 as you have proved a villain in the case, prepare 
 to find me merciless !" 
 
 Again did Warren turn pale, and his lip 
 quivered for a moment : but again recovering his 
 self-possession, he said, " And pray may I venture 
 to ask to what point your knowledge does really 
 extend, and upon what grounds you are address- 
 ing me as if I were a deliberate villain instead of 
 the victim of a temporary mistake ?" 
 
 " Let it suffice for you to know, Mr. Warren, 
 that I am on the right track to unravel the entire 
 skein of your iniquity. Retribution and vengeance 
 is the order of the day ; and you shall not escape 
 the proper doom Unless, indeed," added Pons- 
 ford, as a thought struck him, for he all in a 
 moment feared that it was quite possible he might 
 be going too far, "you can prove to me you were 
 really mistaken when you represented the poor 
 child to be dead, and that no motive of cupidity 
 influenced you." ' 
 
 " And what proof can I offer you ?" demanded 
 Warren. 
 
 "Listen, and let me recall to memory a few 
 facts," pursued Ponsford. " I placed in your 
 father'3 hand, between sixteen and seventeen 
 years ago, a certain sum to be invested in the 
 Bank of England, and to serve as a capital for the 
 support of my illegitimate daughter." 
 
 " That fact is not denied, Mr. Ponsford," said 
 Warren. " Proceed." 
 
 " Your father was handsomely remunerated at 
 the time for his trouble," continued the Squire ; 
 " and I furthermore agreed that if anything should 
 happen to the child, the money should pass into 
 your father's possession. I believed him to be 
 strictly honourable — I still think so ; for it was 
 you, Mr. Warren, who regardless of the good 
 example left you by your father, played the 
 foulest and most iniquitous part ! You proclaimed 
 the poor girl to be dead, in order that you might 
 self-appropriate the funds that had been furnished 
 for her use !" 
 
 " It is easy to surmise evil motives on the part 
 of others, Mr. Ponsford," said Warren, who was 
 still fishing, through the means of his own inter- 
 jected remarks, for a clue towards ascertaining the 
 precise extent of the Squire's knowledge upon the 
 subject. 
 
 "Then if you were really labouring under a 
 mistake — if it were an error on your part when 
 you declared my daughter to have ceased to exist 
 — you will now at once prove the rectitude of your 
 conduct by handing me over the power of attorney 
 authorising your firm to receive the interest of the 
 capital or to sell out in case of need ; and you will 
 refund me the capital itself Unless indeed," 
 
THE YOUNG duchess; or, memoirs ok a lady of quality. 
 
 373 
 
 added Ponsford, with an ironical smile, "it be 
 still in the Bank of England — which I think you 
 will scarcely venture to assert" 
 
 "No ! — I confess at once," answered the stock- 
 broker, " that I took possession of the money on 
 hearing that Hester Sergeant was dead." 
 
 " And now that she happens to be alive," said 
 Fonsford, coolly, " you will of course refund the 
 money ?" 
 
 "You can scarcely mean this, Mr. Ponsford!" 
 exclaimed Warren. " What ! surely such a secret 
 is worth ita purchase-money ? — and have not I 
 kept it faithfully?" 
 
 " So far as I am concerned, it will cease to be 
 a secret — or at least I shall care not to whose ears 
 it may become known ; for this very day shall I 
 embrace my poor daughter — my long neglected 
 child !" 
 
 "But Lady Amesbury?" interjected Warren. 
 " Surely, surely you must reflect that she has a 
 refutation to lose ?" 
 
 " She has acknowledged her daughter," re- 
 joined Ponsford ; " and she will allow the world 
 to think or say what it likes." 
 
 " But your own daughter — I mean, Miss Pons- 
 ford — the lovely Pamela your heiress ! — you 
 
 would not have her penetrating into the mysteries 
 of her father's past life? No, no, Mr. Pons- 
 ford !" 
 
 " My daughter Pamela knows everything," in- 
 terjected the Squire. " And now, Mr. Warren, I 
 have borne with you long enough. The part you 
 have played is infamous; and in order to punish 
 you for it, I shall insist upon the immediate pro- 
 duction of the money for which you are re- 
 sponsible." 
 
 The stockbroker, who had gradually felt the 
 ground slipping away from under his feet, and 
 who had seen each successive straw of hope float 
 away from him as he tried to clutch it, now looked 
 agitated and excited : he bit his lip — he played 
 nervously with his watch-chain — and he revolved 
 in his mind the various details of his predicament, 
 to ascertain if everything was indeed lost. 
 
 " But still, Mr. Ponsford," he said, after a long 
 pause, "you are not so mad as to invoke the 
 public gaze to settle itself upon all the minute 
 peculiarities of this case. Surely, surely, I say, 
 for the girl's own sake, even though you and her 
 mother may prove so reckless of public opi- 
 nion " 
 
 " My poor daughter, sir," interrupted Ponsford, 
 proudly, " cannot suffer in the world's opinion. It 
 is only the vilest prejudice that makes the ille- 
 gitimacy of birth a crime against the individual. 
 Sustained by her own approving conscience — 
 knowing that despite all the sufferings and tempta- 
 tions to which she was exposed by your iniquity, 
 she maintained her honour undefiled, her good 
 name immaculate, her character stainless " 
 
 Ponsford stopped short, because he was suddenly 
 seized with astonishment at the manner in which 
 Warren was gazing upon him. 
 
 "What on earth are you talking of?" asked 
 the stockbroker, astonished and bewildered, and 
 also looking as if he were ready to burst forth 
 into a fit of ironical laughter. 
 
 " Is there anything strange in what I have been 
 saying ?" demanded Ponsford : " is it astonishing 
 that I should experience a certain degree of pride 
 in pronouncing this eulogy upon the poor girl who 
 
 so well deserves it ! Ah, sir, when I think of al 
 that might have happened as the result of your 
 villany — when I reflect that Hester might have 
 succumbed to the temptations which naturally rose 
 np around her — when through your base dishonesty 
 she was thrown penniless upon the world — and 
 when the maddening thought occurs to me that 
 she might have been plunged into the abysm of 
 crime — she might have fallen deep down into the 
 
 vortex of pollutions and abominations Oh! 
 
 when I think of all this, Mr. Warren, my blood 
 tingles in my veins, but at the same time my flesh 
 creeps shudderingly upon my bones !" 
 
 " Oh," said the stockbroker, with a half asto- 
 nished, half mocking expression of countenance. 
 
 " And therefore," continued Ponsford, who had 
 warmed so completely with bis subject that he 
 failed to notice the semi-ironical aspect of his lis- 
 tener, " when I reflect that this poor girl of mine, 
 abandoned by her parents — plundered by the man 
 who ought to have acted as it were her guardian 
 and her friend — thrown adrift upon the world - ex- 
 posed to heaven knows what amount of temptations 
 — harassed by sufferings which I tremble even now 
 to allow my imagination to depict — when I reflect, 
 I say, that Hester, my child, thus situated, should 
 have come forth from the ordeal pure, and chaste, 
 and uncontaminated — fit to prove the comfort of 
 her mother, if God should spare her life — I may 
 well feel proud of her, and I may even rejoice at 
 being enabled to present her to my Pamela as a 
 sister !" . 
 
 " Ha !" said Mr. AVarren curtly. " But what 
 if it were all the very reverse of this pleasant and 
 agreeable picture ?" 
 
 " Oh, mention it not I But do you, sir, go 
 down upon your knees and thank heaven that the 
 black turpitude of your conduct did not prove the 
 cause of adding another victim to the painted and 
 flaunting band of daughters of crime that render 
 the streets of this huge metropolis odious and loath- 
 some ! Ah I and if this had happened, it would 
 not have been the only consequence of your vil- 
 lany ! For if I had only found a daughter, merely 
 to learn that she was lost and degraded — a pol- 
 luted and abandoned one— it would have proved 
 to me a blow which I could not have recovered I 
 Ab, then you might have laughed at me, villain 
 that you are ! and you might have held me in 
 defiance ! You might have rejoiced in the plunder 
 of the young girl ! — you might have chuckled in 
 the certainty of impunity! Nay, more — you 
 might have added insult to injury : for you might 
 have told me to go and hide my diminished head 
 
 But what means this strange look on your 
 
 part ?" suddenly demanded Ponsford, again struck 
 by the sinister mocking expression which the 
 stockbroker's countenance had assumed. 
 
 " What does it mean?" said Warren, with in- 
 solence in his tone, and with a still more unmis- 
 takable expression of that sinister aspect. 
 
 Ponsford was now more than startled — he was 
 almost affrighted; and he experienced a revul- 
 sion of feeling which filled him with a species of 
 presentiment that he was about to hear something 
 terrible. 
 
 " Speak, speak," he said, in a hoarse voice : 
 " why do you look at me in this manner ?" 
 
 "Perhaps it would be as well," replied the 
 stockbroker, with an air of assurance, "if we 
 were to drop the subject altogether. But don't 
 
374 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 you think of asking for the return of your money, 
 or of molesting me on that account — no, nor of 
 even so much as daring to breathe a single syllable 
 against the integrity of my character." 
 
 " This is his consummate impudence ! or he 
 meditates some atrocious lie!" thought Ponsford 
 to himself, partially regaining his self-possession 
 and courage : then bending his looks sternly 
 upon the stockbroker, he said, " Enough of your 
 treacheries and machinations ! — they will no 
 longer avail you ! I am not to be deluded by the 
 base inuendoes which you seem so fully capable 
 of throwing out. Ah ! and for this conduct on 
 your part I will prove all the more stern and im- 
 placable in wreaking vengeance and invoking re- 
 tribution on your head ! Mr. Warren, unless that 
 money be forthcoming by nine o'clock to-morrow 
 morning, . 1 shall at once, and without farther 
 notice, place the business in the hands of my 
 solicitors, with insl ructions that they are to pro- 
 ceed to any extremity in order to inflict upon you 
 the fullest measure of chastisement which your 
 turpitude deserves." 
 
 Warren laughed scornfully. 
 
 " Ha, villain ! do you dare defy me ?" — and 
 Squire Ponsford foamed at the mouth with rage : 
 but this was not altogether natural — he had in 
 some sense lashed himself up to it, as a refuge, so 
 to speak, wherein he might shroud himself from 
 a certain vague terror which was again growing 
 upon him. 
 
 " Who dares call me a villain ?" demanded the 
 stockbroker insolently. " Villain back in your 
 teeth ! And now go and do your worst against 
 me. Talk of vengeance ! Dare to raise but so 
 much as a finger, and the vengeance that I will 
 wreak shall be terrible !" 
 
 " Good heaven ! what do you mean ?" — and 
 Ponsford quivered and trembled despite all his 
 endeavours to maintain a, firm and collected de- 
 meanour. 
 
 "Fool!" ejaculated Warren contemptuously; 
 " to whose interest can it have been to mislead 
 you so in respect to your new-found daughter? 
 and by what infatuation have you betn yield- 
 ing yourself up to the comfortable belief of her 
 matchless purity and stainless chastity ?" 
 
 "Calumniate her not, villain!" thundered 
 Ponsford : and then he stood gasping and panting 
 for breath. 
 
 " Calumniate her indeed ! — that would be a 
 difficult job, I can tell you!" — and there was a 
 withering scorn in Warren's look, tone, and man- 
 ner. " Your daughter so virtuous and good ! your 
 Hester such a paragon of excellence! Ha, ha! 
 Why, there is not a street-walker more degraded ! 
 — not a prostitute more common!" 
 
 Ponsford literally shrieked ; and he was spring- 
 ing forward tiger-like to seize upon Warren, when 
 the latter caught him forcibly by the wrist ; and 
 making h'm sit down in a chair, said contemptu- 
 ously, " There! be quiet ! If you venture to lay 
 a hand upon me, I will teach you a lesson that 
 you shall remember for the rest of your life — 
 which, by the bye, it might happen to shorten 
 somewhat." 
 
 '■ I will be revenged !" muttered Ponsford 
 hoarsely : " I will be revenged ! You think that 
 I believe your calumnies ? You — you — dare not 
 offer to prove them ! But come, Warren — if you 
 want mercy at my hands, confess that you have 
 
 given a wild license to your tongue — I may not 
 perhaps be unreasonable " 
 
 " I trust in naught to your mercy," answered 
 the stockbroker : " but I know that in your fears 
 and your pride I am safe ! Look you, Mr. Pons- 
 ford ! I do not know who may have deceived you 
 concerning Hester's character, or what the motive 
 
 may have been unless it be that you have 
 
 seen the young fellow Edward Walpole " 
 
 "Yes, 'twas he ["ejaculated Ponsford. "Surely, 
 surely, he is a respectable young man?" 
 
 " Very likely," answered Warren. " He came 
 and got certain facts from my lips : but I did not 
 then know all I have since learnt — or else I 
 should not have looked quite so humble in his 
 presence, I can assure you. Perhaps he still 
 thinks I have not discovered all." 
 
 "What do you mean? what do you mean?" 
 asked Ponsford, with feverish nervousness. 
 
 " I mean," continued Warren, " that a certain 
 old lady named Morphew came and called upon 
 
 me yesterday It was the second time she had 
 
 been. On the first occasion she was guarded 
 enough ; but yesterday she spoke out pretty 
 plainly, and she told me what sort of a life 
 Hester had been leading. If you doubt it, go and 
 inquire for yourself. The Morphews keep a house 
 of a certain description in Granby Street, Water- 
 loo Eoad ; and it was there that Edward Walpole 
 fell in with your Hester, whom it seems he had 
 known previously, but under what circumstances 
 I am not aware." 
 
 Ponsford was groaning heavily ; and he offered 
 no comment upon this last speech which the stock- 
 broker had addressed to him. 
 
 " By the bye," resumed Warren, " these Mor- 
 phews were the very schoolmistresses in whose 
 care your Hester was placed. The coincidence is 
 singular and ludicrous enough. The pupil meets 
 her old governesses after having for years lost 
 sight of each other ; and in what pleasant posi- 
 tions do they relatively appear ! The girl, an 
 unfortunate ! the dames keeping a house of in- 
 famy ! Ha, ha ! There's a pretty story to tell 
 to the world ! Go and tell it if you dare !" 
 
 Ponsford again groaned : this time he endea- 
 voured to speak, but could not ; and the stock- 
 broker, who seemed to be implacable, went on to 
 say, " We now understand on what terms we are 
 placed towards each other. So long as you ab- 
 stain from mentioning anything on the pecuniary 
 topic, depend upon it that I shall know nothing 
 about your new-found daughter. And tell that 
 young Walpole, if you see him, that he likewise 
 had better be careful, or else I shall deem it my 
 duty to inform his uncle Mr. Seymour how he 
 frequents such agreeable houses and forms such 
 pleasant acquaintances. So now farewell." 
 
 With these words the stockbroker bowed slightly, 
 as well as with an off-hand jaunty air, and is- 
 sued from the room. As he went forth from the 
 house, humming an opera tune, he chuckled in- 
 wardly at the result of an interview which had 
 at one stage assumed a somewhat menacing 
 aspect. 
 
 Meanwhile Pamela was reflecting in her own 
 apartment upon all that her father had told her ; 
 and endeavouring to wean her attention as much as 
 possible from the contemplation of her own special 
 sources of sorrow, she sought for promising 
 sources of bliss in an appoaching companionship 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 375 
 
 with a sister. Thus a couple of hours passed ; 
 and when it was about four in the afternoon, 
 Pamela began to wonder why her father had 
 not sent for her to take the usual airing in 
 the carriage before dinner. She descended to the 
 library, where he was accustomed to pass the 
 greater portion of his time when at home ; and 
 as she entered, she beheld him in his chair appa- 
 rently fast asleep, but in an attitude which at 
 once struck her as being a most uncomfortable 
 one She hastened forward to arouse him— 
 but she suddenly stopped short in dread horror, 
 for the expression of his countenance was ghastly 
 and death-like. Then she mustered up courage to 
 approach nearer ; and in another moment a rend- 
 ing cry burst from her lips as she became fully 
 sensible of -the fearful truth that her father was a 
 corpse ! 
 
 CHAPTER LXXI. 
 
 SYLVESTER AND THE PEER. 
 
 According to the intimation which Azaline had 
 given to Edward Walpole, she returned home to 
 Berkeley Square in the afternoon of the same 
 day of which we have been writing. As she 
 descended from Lady Amesbury's carriage, which 
 bore her thither, she became aware of the fact that 
 she was at the moment serving as the focus of 
 attraction for a quizzing-glass which was stuck in 
 the eye of a young man who was approaching 
 from a little distance. He was plain and com- 
 mon-looking : his hair was of that unmistakable 
 red which the license of no poesy can soften down 
 into auburn, and which the imagination of no 
 romancist could tinge with a golden hue. He 
 was dressed in' black ; and the crape round his 
 hat showed that he was in mourning : but his 
 villanously vulgar taste was displayed in the 
 quantities of jewellery which lie wore about his 
 person, despite the sombre shade of his garments. 
 Azaline at once averted her eyes in mingled dis- 
 gust and contempt from the ill-bred personage 
 who was thus impertinently scanning her with 
 his glass : but to her surprise he immediately 
 joined her on the steps of the front entrance of 
 Trentham House. 
 
 " Beg pardon, Miss," he said, with an air that 
 was half familiar, and yet half subdued, or even 
 daunted by the high-bred elegance and dignity of 
 Azaline's appearance ; " but I know you, though 
 perhaps you don't know me. My name's Casey 
 — t'other day Mr. Casey Junior — but now Mr. 
 Casey Senior, at your service." 
 
 Azaline considered it politic and prudent to 
 show an affable demeanour towards an individual 
 who might have it in his power to exercise no 
 small influence over her father's pecuniary posi- 
 tion ; she at once smiled graciously, saying, " I 
 had not the pleasure of knowing you personally 
 until now, Mr. Casey :" — then assuming a sudden 
 seriousness of countenance, she added in a suitable 
 tone, " Permit me to offer my sympathy on ac- 
 count of the loss you have sustained." 
 
 " Thank'ee, Miss," responded Sylvester. " Of 
 course a loss is a loss — though it's more or less 
 felt according to circumstances. The governor 
 was ailing in health and deuced queer in temper ; 
 
 so, barring the way in which he was knocked off 
 the hooks, one may say, 'twixt you and me and 
 the post, Miss Osborne, that it was a happy re- 
 lease." 
 
 It was to Azaline's infinite relief that the front 
 door was opened at this moment ; for otherwise 
 Bhe could scarcely have repressed a manifestation 
 of disgust at the low, vulgar, flippant heartleBS- 
 ness thus evinced by the young man in allusion 
 to his murdered sire. 
 
 " I presume, Mr. Casey," she said, " that you 
 were about to call upon my father ?" 
 
 " Why, yes, Miss," answered Sylvester, who was 
 now fixing his eyes devouringly upon the beau- 
 tiful countenance which was once more turned 
 towards him. " Me and your governor have got 
 some little matters to talk about ; and if so be 
 his lordship's at home " 
 
 " His lordship is at home, sir," interposed the 
 domestic who had just opened the street door, and 
 who perceived at a glance how unwelcome Syl- 
 vester's insolent look and vulgar speech were to 
 Miss Osborne. 
 
 " That's just the ticket, then," said Sylvester. 
 " I don't think his lordship knows me by sight : 
 therefore just take my card, old fellow, and an- 
 nounce me in proper style. It isn't a black-edged 
 one, because I haven't had time to get them 
 printed yet." 
 
 The lacquey, who had drawn himself up to the 
 full of his six feet two inches of height on being 
 adjured as an old fellow, received the card with as 
 much dignity as if Sylvester himself were the 
 menial ; and simply saying, " This way," without 
 the complimentary adjunct of " Sir," he led Syl- 
 vester into an apartment where Lord Trentham 
 was engaged in reading the newspapers. But the 
 young man did not enter that room before he had 
 flung a parting look over his shoulder at Azaline, 
 as she moved gracefully across the hall towards 
 the principal staircase. 
 
 "Mr. Sylvester Casey,'' cried the domestic, thus 
 announcing the visitor; and as the powdered 
 lacquey then quitted the apartment, an expression 
 of unspeakable disgust and disdain appeared 
 upon his countenance, which indeed was all 
 screwed up as if some very disagreeable odour 
 were assailing hi3 nostrils. 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Casey," said Lord Trentham, 
 unbending as much as he possibly could from the 
 height of his aristocratic dignity, and forcing him- 
 self to assume a friendly and affable demeanour, 
 for the same reasons which had ere now influenced 
 his daughter in pursuing the same course. " Be- 
 lieve me, Mr. Casey, that whatsoever little diffe- 
 rences may have taken place between your late 
 father and myself, I was much shocked when in 
 yesterday's newspapers I read the horrid account of 
 what had taken place on the preceding night." 
 
 " Well, my lord," answered Sylvester, running 
 his hand through his fiery red hair, "it was a 
 horrid business, you know — but it's a satisfaction 
 to think that the rascals are in limbo least- 
 ways one of them ; for to'ther is laying in such a 
 dangerous state at the hospital that I'm blowed if 
 I think he'll ever get up no more — which will be 
 a sad loss to the hangman." 
 
 " I hope, Mr. Casey," said the nobleman, " that 
 your mother and sister bear up with fortitude 
 against their bereavement ?" 
 
 " Pretty well, my lord — pretty well, for that 
 
376 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY, 
 
 matter," answered Sylvester. " You see, my lord, 
 as I tell them, it's of no mortal use to go off Into 
 hysterics, or to sit down snivelling and whimper- 
 ing all day long ! It isn't Christian-like. One 
 must grin and bear in this world: that's my 
 maxim, my lord. I'm sure everything shall be 
 clone for the deceased that can be done; and I 
 know I've ordered a deuced deal flier funeral for 
 him than ever he would have ordered for himself. 
 Beeause, 'twixt you and me and the post, my 
 lord, the governor was precious close-fisted. But 
 that's all the better for me, of course — becausel'm 
 now his heir." 
 
 While listening to this tirade, Lord Trentham 
 was a prey to the acutest suspense, and he was 
 trembling with an irritating impatience; for to 
 him it was almost a matter of life and death to 
 know how he stood in a pecuniary sense towards 
 his visitor, and whether the lost deeds and docu- 
 ments, for the sum of sixty thousand pounds, had 
 been discovered — and if so, whether they were to 
 be put in summary force against him. But he 
 was compelled to master his emotions as well as 
 he was able, and to play the part of a willing, in- 
 terested, and sympathising listener to the vul- 
 garisms and impertinences of Sylvester Casey. 
 
 " You see, my lord," resumed this precious in- 
 dividual, "funerals isn't so expensive as they 
 used to be. You can get a jolly fine one now for 
 a twenty pun' note ! I don't knowwhetheryou've 
 seen 'em, my lord — but they've got the black 
 coach and the hearse all in one, looking like a 
 sort of 'bus ; and it's deuced convenient, because 
 if there's only half a dozen mourners or so, the 
 same pair of horses and the same four wheels 
 takes them and the coffin all in a lump, as one 
 may say." 
 
 Lord Trentham affected to blow his nose that 
 he might conceal with his kerchief the expression 
 of unconquerable disgust which he felt was 
 spreading over his countenance. 
 
 *' Then, as I tell my mother and Selina," con- 
 tinued Sylvester, " they ought to bear in mind 
 the other ways in which we are expressing our 
 regrets for the deceased. You've got to-day's 
 paper, my lord, laying on the table there ? Well, 
 just look among the tleaLhs,' and there you'll see 
 the flourish I've put in — as a paid advertisement 
 of course. But it speaks of the deceased as 
 being beloved by a large circle of friends " 
 
 " I have seen the announcement, Mr. Casey," 
 interposed his lordship. 
 
 " But you haven't seen the epitaph, though, 
 that I've drawed up," pursued Sylvester. " It's 
 a rum 'un, I can tell you ! "What the deuce have 
 I done with it ?" — and he proceeded to thrust his 
 fingers into all his pockets. 
 
 " Pray do not trouble yourself so," said the 
 nobleman, scarcely able to maintain even the 
 most distant air of politeness. " I have no doubt 
 you have done due honour to the memory of the 
 deceased." 
 
 "I should rather think I have too!" cried 
 Sylvester. " I've laid it on precious thick, I can 
 tell you, my lord ! ' Deeply lamented by all who 
 knew him — irrepayrable loss — void left in society 
 not easily replaced — fond parient — stanch friend 
 — true philanthropist — charitable to the poor — 
 sincere Christian ' — and all that sort of thing. 
 Of course your lordship knows as well as me 
 that them epitaphs is all gammon " 
 
 "Would you permit me, Mr. Casey," inter- 
 rupted the nobleman, "to offer you some little 
 refreshment before we enter upon the business 
 which has procured me the honour of this 
 visit?" 
 
 " Well, no, I thank'ee, my lord. I'm not 
 peckish just now ; and being rayther out of 
 sorts with one thing or another, I daren't drink 
 much before dinner. But now to business, as 
 your lordship says. I'm sure," added Sylvester, 
 with a sort of knowing look and a mocking grin, 
 " your lordship will be uncommon pleased to hear 
 that the lost securities have all turned up ?" 
 
 " Indeed?" said the nobleman, in a faint voice, 
 and with a heart that appeared to sink within 
 him : and then ha added slowly and deliberately, 
 " Documents of such value could scarcely be sup- 
 posed to have become lost altogether. No neglect 
 or carelessness would reach to such an extent." 
 
 " Well, my lord, there wasn't much neglect or 
 carelessness in the matter, anyhow. I may as 
 well be plain with you, and tell your lordship at 
 once that my sister Selina took it into her head 
 that the papers were best in her possession ; for 
 all the truth has come out now — and, in a word, 
 she didn't want to marry your son Launcelqt." 
 
 "And now, Mr. Casey," said the nobleman, 
 quivering with suspense, " these documents are 
 doubtless in your hands — you are your deceased 
 father's heir " 
 
 " As a matter of course, my lord. So I thought 
 I'd just step down to Berkeley Square and have a 
 quiet chat over the business. Don't make your- 
 self uneasy, my lord 1 think I can see a way 
 
 of putting matters in a channel that shall be 
 pleasant and agreeable to all of us." 
 
 " Ah ! I am delighted to hear you speak thus, 
 Mr. Casey," cried the nobleman, beginning to 
 breathe more freely. " Pray explain yourself. I 
 think you said that your sister " 
 
 " No offence, my lord — but she don't want to 
 marry your son. Well, there's no harm done : 
 for if all I hear is true, your son don't want to 
 marry her. But that's no reason why there 
 shouldn't be a union 'twixt the two fami- 
 lies " 
 
 "Hey? what, Mr. Casey?"— and Lord Trent- 
 ham drew his chair a little closer to that on which 
 his visitor was seated. 
 
 " I thought I spoke out plain enough, my lord," 
 continued the young man. " I said there was no 
 reason why there shouldn't be a union 'twixt the 
 two families. Your lordship has always wished 
 it " 
 
 "Ahem, Mr. Casey ! But if your sister enter- 
 tains this repugnance " 
 
 " Put Selina out of the question, my lord," ex- 
 claimed Sylvester; "and look at me! Well! 
 what do you see? A dashing young chap that 
 by the death of his father intestate has suddenly 
 dropped into a matter of eighty or a hundred 
 thousand pounds or so, and therefore an heir that 
 isn't to be sneezed at. Well, my lord, that's me. 
 And so, as I was thinking over matters yesterday, 
 it struck me that your lordship has got a daughter 
 as well as a son " 
 
 " Ah 1" — and the nobleman drew his chair 
 with a movement of nervous uneasiness still 
 more closely to that which his visitor occupied. 
 
 "And Azaline is a deuced pretty girl — un- 
 common genteel — and with just that air of dis- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 377 
 
 
 flnction that I love to see in the female sex. So 
 it struck me, my lord, that ^ou and I might jog 
 on our horses pretty well together, and an arrange- 
 ment might be made suitable to all parties. That 
 was my idea — and that's why I came down to 
 Berkeley Square just now. Well, thought I to 
 myself, here's a good omen '' 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked his lordship. 
 
 " I mean that just as I reached the front door 
 
 For you must know I walked down, my lord 
 
 — I flatter myself I'm a man of taste and know 
 what's right — so I couldn't drive that stunning 
 turn-out of mine with the spanking prads, while 
 the governor is still above-ground " 
 
 "I understand you, Mr Casey," interrupted 
 Trentham, rather impatiently : " you were saying 
 that just as you reached my front door " 
 
 "Who should I meet but Azaline herself? 
 Don't think me familiar, my lord, that I call 
 No. 48. — The Youmo Duchess. 
 
 her by her Christian name : it's only because I 
 hope to have a full right very shortly to call the 
 dear creature so always. Well, my lord, if from 
 having merely seen your daughter a few times in 
 the Park and other public places, as well as her 
 portraits in the Book of Beauty and Keepsake 
 and other Annuals, I was rather smitten with her, 
 you may suppose what I must have felt when 1 
 found myself just now face to face with her. In- 
 deed, I don't mind telling your lordship that she 
 even looks handsomer close than she does at a 
 distance — and that's saying a precious deal for 
 any woman. But what I like in your daughter, 
 is that when I told her who I was, she looked 
 quite kind and affable — none of your infernal 
 
 stuck-up nonsense " 
 
 "And so, Mr. Casey," interrupted Lord Trent- 
 tham, " you have decided, from what I can un- 
 derstand, upon proposing for my daughter's hand? 
 
378 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OT A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 It is extremely unexpected — unforeseen — perplex- 
 ing Indeed, it is impossible for me to surmise 
 
 ■what my daughter's sentiments may be " 
 
 "Just listen a bit," ejaculated Sylvester; " for 
 I've got the whole thing cut and dried in my 
 mind — and so it would be much better for us to 
 come to a complete understanding at once." 
 "Much better, Mr. Casey. Pray proceed." 
 "You owe me, my lord, sixty thousand 
 pounds," resumed the young man; "and this 
 
 sum I can claim at any moment aye, and 
 
 enforce too if I choose. There's all the papers in 
 i my possession. And I know very well it's a sum 
 too large for you to pay all in a moment — while 
 on t'other hand it's much too large for me to lose 
 Now, what I say is this : — Your feftiily estates 
 ought to go to Launcelot at your death — that's 
 clear enough. I'll give up twenty thousand 
 pound of the sixty — and we can let the other 
 forty remain as a sort of charge on the estate, 
 to be paid off at the rate of a thousand a-year ; 
 and as a matter of course Launcelot must become 
 a party to this transaction. If you was to insure 
 your life, my lord you ain t too old — you're 
 
 not more than five and fifty it would make 
 
 things still better for Launcelot, *nd at your 
 death relieve the estates altogether from the 
 burden. But that's your look-out — not mine." 
 
 "The arrangement, Mr. Casey," answered 
 Lord Trentham, " is one which I might accept, 
 provided my daughter would agree to the alliance 
 which you have proposed. But really — I am 
 afraid" — and the proud peer surveyed Sylvester 
 from head to foot as he spoke — " I am afraid that 
 Azaline " 
 
 "Oh, that be bothered !" exclaimed the young 
 man. " She'll like me well enough when she 
 comes to know me better. Besides, love has 
 nothing to do with money-matters. This was the 
 maxim you acted upon, my lord, when you agreed 
 to make your son Launcelot marry my sister 
 Selina." 
 
 The nobleman bit his lip, and observed, " True, 
 Mr. Casey : marriage has become more or less a 
 conventionalism. But still there are cases 
 Indeed I know not what to say — I must consult 
 Lady Trentham " 
 
 " Consult fiddlesticks !" exclaimed Sylvester. 
 
 The nobleman fell back aghast in his chair : 
 then slowly drawing himself up to his full height 
 in a sitting posture, he asked in a freezing tone, 
 " What was that you said, sir? I think — I think 
 I must have been mistaken." 
 
 "Beg pardon, my lord — beg pardon:" and 
 Sylvester coloured up to the very summit of his 
 forehead, for he felt that he had been guilty of a 
 fearful solecism in good manners. "It's — it's" 
 — and he ran his hand through his horrid red 
 hair in the bewildering attempt to seek for a 
 sufficient apology — until lighting, as he flattered 
 himself, upon a brilliant idea, he hastened to 
 ejaculate, " It's the affection I bear for your 
 lordship's daughter that hurried me away. How- 
 ever, no offence ! " 
 
 "I accept the apology, sir:" and Trentham 
 again suffered himself to become partially affable. 
 
 Sylvester felt humiliated, and it was therefor* 
 perfectly consistent with the obtuseness and nar- 
 rowness of his ill-conditioned mind that he should 
 suddenly feel himself animated by a certain spite 
 against the individual in whose presence he was 
 
 thus humbled — so that he quickly began lo 
 wonder within himself how it was that he was 
 cringing and apologizing where he fancied that he 
 had a right to dictate, to menace, and to bully. 
 
 "Now come, my lord," he said, with so abrupt 
 a snappishness of manner that it for a moment 
 startled the nobleman, "let's get on with our 
 business. I'm not a fellow to dilly-dally. I've 
 told you what I'll do — and it is for you to say 
 whether you'll meet me on fair terms or not." 
 
 "Mr. Casey, in one word," responded Lord 
 Trentham, "I can express the hope and the wish 
 that I have formed. I beg that you will permit 
 the entire sum of sixty thousand pounds to re- 
 main as a charge upon the estate, to be paid off 
 at the rate of two thousand a year — Launcelot 
 becoming a party to the transaction, and I in- 
 suring my life, if you desire it." 
 
 "And what about Azaline?" demanded Syl- 
 vester impatiently. 
 
 " The arrangement I am now suggesting," re- 
 joined Trentham, " is in contemplation of the 
 sure and certain fact that my daughter will de- 
 cline the honour which you have proposed when 
 seeking her hand in marriage." 
 
 " Then I cry off altogether !" exclaimed Syl- 
 vester, with coarse dogged sullenness, as he rose 
 
 from his seat. " So when Bulteel comes " 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Casey ?" inquired 
 the nobleman, seized with alarm at the mention 
 of the ominous name of the solicitor who had so 
 very recently put ah execution into the mansion. 
 " Mr. Bulteel— do yon expect him ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do, my lord. I told him that I was 
 coming here, and why I was coming. I desired 
 him to follow me in an hoar, that he might draw 
 up an agreement betwixt you and me, and witness 
 it, so that there need be no more palaverings or 
 comings and goings in this business. For I mad9 
 sure you'd agree, my lord." 
 
 " A little patience, Mr. Casey — a little patience ! 
 I have not definitively refused." 
 
 "So much the better. I left Bulteel at the 
 house in Hatton Garden, making out a list of all 
 the deeds and documents that relate to your busi- 
 ness, my lord ; so that when he comes you will 
 see exactly how you stand. And I also told him 
 to have a good look over all my father's papers, 
 to see whether there's anything else that concerns 
 your lordship, besides the deeds that were lost 
 and found again." 
 
 "And therefore, Mr. Casey," said Trentham, 
 trembling nervously, " you expect that when your 
 solicitor Mr. Bulteel arrives, I shall be prepared 
 to give an answer ?" 
 
 " Yes — that's what I' expect," responded Syl- 
 vester. " My mind is made up to have the affair 
 settled at once, somehow or another. Don't think 
 that I'm too hard -upon you, my lord ; because 
 remember that if you've got a daughter that you're 
 anxious about, there's on t'other side sixty thou- 
 sand pounds that I ought to look' precious sharp 
 after. So give me the daughter ; and I say in re- 
 turn, ' Here's quits as far as twenty thousand go, 
 and there's pleasant and easy terms for paying off 
 the remaining forty thousand.' That's the gi3t of 
 the whole business. There it lies, in a nutshell ; 
 and blow me if anybody can say I'm dropping 
 down too hard upon your lordship !" 
 
 " But if on the other hand, Mr. Casey, I should 
 be unable to give you a positive answer — or if — i( 
 
THB YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 37'J 
 
 1 should decline Indeed I see not very well 
 
 how I can say yea, without consulting Azaline — 
 and Lady Trentham — and Launcelot— " 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense, my lord ! I'm not going 
 to be humbugged and trifled with! A positive 
 answer I'll have— yes or no — within the hour ! If 
 yes, Bulteel shall draw up the agreement: if no, 
 he shall put in an execution this very evening ; 
 and hang me if I think that the horse-riding gal 
 of the Circus will find you that money as she did 
 the twenty thousand a fortnight or three weeks 
 ago! But here's Bulteel." 
 
 This ejaculation was elicited by a summons at 
 the front door, which echoed through the house, 
 and which Sylvester recognised to be the attorney's 
 knock; for it was expressive of a sense of im- 
 portance on the part of the individual himself. In 
 a few moments a domestic made his appearance, 
 announcing Mr. Bulteel. 
 
 The attorney bowed to the nobleman ; and then 
 turning to Sylvester, he said, " I wish to speak 
 to you particularly." 
 
 " WeJJ, speak on !" cried the young man. " J 
 
 suppose you've brought the list- " 
 
 "You desired me to examine your deceased 
 fathers papers," said the lawyer. " I have done 
 
 so, Mr. Casey " 
 
 "And I dare say," interjected Sylvester, " you 
 are going to tell me that you have found some 
 other documents which regard his lordship here ? 
 So if that's the case, out with it at once : there 
 need be no secrets !" 
 
 " I certainly have found a document," answered 
 the solicitor, the expression of whose countenance 
 was peculiar, and whose manner seemed to have 
 something cold and constrained in it as be gave 
 his responses to the young man. 
 
 " Well, and what the devil is the document ?" 
 demanded the latter impatiently. " If it's an- 
 other bond or warrant-of-attorney of his lord- 
 ship's, I'll throw it in with the rest — there'll only 
 be something more to charge on the estate— that's 
 all." 
 
 "I was about to inform you," rejoined Mr. 
 Bulteel, "that the document which I have dis- 
 covered has no reference to his lordship's affairs. 
 It is quite of another description." 
 
 " Of what description ?" asked Sylvester. 
 " Why don't you speak out, man ?" 
 
 " Ton had better retire with me, Mr. Casey. 
 
 It is a private matter ." 
 
 '• Hang the private matters !" exclaimed Syl- 
 jrester, putting himself into a passion, and also 
 thinking that it was a. fine thing to display a 
 resolute will of his own, and be enabled to bully 
 his professional adviser in the presence of a third 
 person — more especially as the said professional 
 adviser did not seem to be half civil and cringing 
 enough on the present occasion. 
 
 " Mr. Casey," said Bulteel — " for the last time 
 I beg of you to retire with me." 
 
 "I won't !" interjected Sylvester doggedly. " Go 
 on. You've found a document, you say ?" 
 
 "Yes — a will :" and the lawyer spoke with 
 strong accentuation. 
 
 " A will ?" cried Sylvester. ." Well, I suppose 
 you want me to open and read it?" 
 
 "It is already opened and read, Mr. Casey," 
 replied the attorney. "It was unsealed— in a 
 secret drawer, the spring of which was discovered 
 by accident >-" [ 
 
 " Well," interrupted Sylvester, "of course the 
 governor has left me the whole or the best part of 
 
 his property — sole executor perhaps " 
 
 "Nothing of the sort, Mr. Casey,'' answered 
 Bulteel. " Your father has left you next to no- 
 thing ; — and be has bequeathed the bulk of his 
 property — indeed the coincidence is a most sin- 
 gular one— to that very identical Stephen Ash- 
 borne who the night before last " 
 
 " What !" vociferated Sylvester, with dismayed 
 looks ; " it's a lie that you're telling — or else a 
 forgery that has been committed!" 
 
 "Mr. Casey," interrupted Bulteel, with a stern 
 expression of countenance, " if it were not that 
 I could make allowances, and perhaps even sym- 
 pathise with you " 
 
 " Hang your sympathy !" thundered the furious 
 Sylvester. "I'll prosecute — 111 indict! — I'll 
 dispute the will ! There can be no earthly pre- 
 tence " 
 
 "There is every pretence — every reason, and 
 every excuse for your deceased father's conduct 
 in this instance," said Bulteel. " The will itself 
 explains it ; for Stephen Ashborne is your half- 
 brother — your father's illegitimate son." 
 
 Sylvester looked confounded for a few mo- 
 ments; but abruptly bursting forth again, he 
 gave vent to some shocking imprecations, — 
 adding, " It won't do ! that cock won't fight ! — 
 It's all gammon ! Even if it was true, a bastard 
 isn't going to cut off a lawful begotten son like 
 this ! — Don't flatter yourself, my lord," cried the 
 yonng man, now turning towards Trentham, who 
 had remained a silent but by no means disin- 
 terested spectator of the present scene, — " don't 
 flatter yourself that it's all up with me and that 
 you've got to deal with another. Deuce a bit ! 
 I shall recover my own rights yet — and then, my 
 lord, I'll keep yo.u to terms. Azaline or ruin! — 
 your daughter for me, or destruction for your- 
 self!" 
 
 "Neither!" exclaimed the voice of one who 
 abruptly entered the apartment at that moment. 
 
 " Ah !" cried Sylvester, turning pale, and re- 
 coiling from the unexpected presence of this in- 
 dividual. 
 
 "Stephen Ashborne himself!" ejaculated Bul- 
 teel. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 THE WILL. 
 
 In order to explain the sudden apparition of 
 Stephen Ashborne at Trentham House at that 
 particular crisis, we must interrupt the thread of 
 our narrative for a brief space, which however 
 the reader will find serviceably occupied by the 
 explanations we are about to place on record. 
 
 When Sylvester Casey set out from Hatton 
 Garden, on his expedition to Trentham House, for 
 the purpose of bargaining fur the fair hand of 
 Azaline, he left Mr. Bulteel in the study, or 
 office, to look over his deceased father's papers. 
 Sylvester had not quitted the house many 
 minutes, when Stephen Ashborne knocked at the 
 door. He inquired for Mrs, and Miss Casey ; and 
 he was asked to walk in. He was conducted to 
 a parlour, where he waited a little while until the 
 door opened and Selina made her appearance. 
 
380 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 TVe should observe that she had seen Ashborne 
 for a few minutes on the preceding day, when an 
 inquest upon the deceased was held at the house ; 
 and he had attended to give such evidence as was 
 required from his lips. But on that occasion 
 nothing more had taken place betwixt the young 
 lady and him, beyond the expression of condo- 
 lence and sympathy on his part, and from her 
 own lips the assurance of gratitude for the atten- 
 tions he had shown throughout the series of de- 
 plorable occurrences. They therefore were but 
 little better than strangers to each other; and as 
 the first violent ebullitions of Selina's grief had by 
 this time subsided, she was enabled to contem- 
 plate with more attention the young man whose 
 near relationship to her deceased sire she at that 
 moment was so far from suspecting. She re- 
 ceived him with that lady-like courtesy which 
 she knew so well how to demonstrate : she bade 
 him be seated — she apologised for having kept 
 him waiting — and she likewise bade him excuse 
 the non-appearance of her mother, who was too 
 much afflicted to receive any one under existing 
 circumstances. 
 
 "At the same time, Mr. Ashborne," added 
 Selina, "my mother desires me to express her 
 deepest gratitude for all that you did the night 
 before last." 
 
 " Would to God, Miss Casey," exclaimed the 
 young man, with fervour, " that I had only made 
 a little more haste to enter the house ! I might 
 have prevented the crowning iniquity ! But the 
 ways of heaven are inscrutable — and it was doubt- 
 less decreed by providence that I should tarry and 
 linger until it was too late 1" 
 
 "Mr. Ashborne," said Selina, after a pause, 
 during which the young lady seemed to be medi- 
 tating painfully and uneasily, " I am glad that I 
 have an opportunity of speaking alone to you for 
 a few minutes. You must have thought that 
 certain occurrences the other night wore a very 
 strange aspect ; for I understand," she continued, 
 with a blush suffusing her cheeks, " that you were 
 in my chamber when I was brought back to con- 
 sciousness — you now know to what I allude — I 
 mean those documents which had been tossed out 
 of my writing-desk " 
 
 "Miss Casey," observed Osborne, "I should 
 not certainly have ventured to intrude upon the 
 sanctity of family secrets by the display of any 
 impertinent curiosity on my part : but inasmuch 
 as you have of your own accord broached the 
 subject, I do not hesitate to admit that the scene 
 to which you allude made a deep impression on 
 my mind." 
 
 " I asked my mother to tell me all that took 
 place in your presence : she told me to the best of 
 her recollection — and therefore I saw that you 
 heard and saw enough, Mr. Ashborne," pursued 
 Selina, faltering and hesitating at every word, 
 "to enable you to comprehend that there were 
 certain deeds which I had abstracted — purloined 
 —stolen, if you will " 
 
 " Do not use harsh terms, Miss Casey I" inter- 
 rupted Ashborne, with warmth. "Little as I 
 know of you, I nevertheless already know you too 
 well to believe that words of so stern an import 
 can be properly applied to yourself! There must 
 have been strong and powerful reasons which in- 
 duced you to conceal those documents from your 
 father." 
 
 " Yes — reasons the most powerful," responded 
 the young lady, who was evidently labouring 
 under much inward agitation. " But I need 
 scarcely tell you, Mr. Ashborne, that it was not 
 my purpose to deprive my father of his property 
 altogether. No, no ! — the amount was too serious 
 and the crime would have been too great I I had 
 certain aims to accomplish ; and when those were 
 achieved, I should have thrown myself at my 
 father's feet and confessed everything. Yes — I 
 should then have restored the papers and besought 
 his pardon. That such was my intention, you 
 may readily believe, Mr. Ashborne ; for if it were 
 otherwise, I should not have kept the documents 
 in my possession — I should have destroyed them 
 altogether !" 
 
 " The proof is indisputable," replied Stephen : 
 " but even without it, your word would be suf- 
 ficient to convince me." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Ashborne," resumed the young lady, 
 " you are generously considerate towards me ; a>d 
 I hope that I am not altogether unworthy of the 
 kind construction which you are thus disposed to 
 put upon the case, even before you are made 
 acquainted with all the circumstances. And be- 
 lieve me, it was for no insignificant purpose that 
 I abstracted those documents from my father's 
 office ! And, Oh ! I know that there was a mo- 
 ment when he suspected me ! Yes — he suspected 
 me ! for he adjured me by everything sacred to 
 swear unto him that I was not the accomplice of 
 Launcelot Osborne in that theft! And I did 
 swear — because it was the truth ! I had no ac- 
 complice — I acted by myself, wholly and solely. 
 Thus, without perjury, I swore that Launcelot was 
 not my accomplice — and I have every reason to 
 hope that my father believed me !" 
 
 Stephen Ashborne listened with an interest that 
 deepened into amazement; and as Selina ceased 
 speaking, he said, " You are alluding, Miss Casey, 
 to family matters which are but little known to 
 me, for though it is true I did hear some rumour 
 to the effect that you were tc accompany the 
 Hon. Launcelot Osborne to the altar " 
 
 " Yes, yes — I was speaking as if I fancied that 
 you already knew everything 1" exclaimed Selina. 
 "Confusion and agitation prevail in my mind! 
 Forgive me, Mr. Ashborne, if my explanations 
 are not more coherent and intelligible." 
 
 " Alas, Miss Casey," said the young man, " it 
 were impossible that I could do otherwise than 
 feel how great and manifold must have been your 
 trials ! But in reference to those documents — 
 the value of which, as I judged from something 
 that your brother said when he found them upon 
 the table the night before last, is of the enormous 
 amount of sixty thousand pounds " 
 
 " Nominally, Mr. Ashborne — nominally," inter- 
 jected Selina, with an almost hysterieal nervous- 
 ness of manner. 
 
 " I do not understand you," said Stephen, with 
 another look of surprise. 
 
 " Oh! one must not speak ill of the dead — 
 especially of one's father! But still — but still 
 truth compels me to express my belief — nay, my 
 conviction — that the unfortunate Lord Trentham 
 was compelled to pay dearly for the sums that he 
 borrowed and the accommodation that was granted 
 him." 
 
 " Now, I understand you, Miss Casey. In plain 
 terms, the sums that were originally lent by your 
 
THE YOUICG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 381 
 
 father, had swollen fearfully by usurious pro- 
 cesses ?" 
 
 " Yes — that is my meaning, Mr. Ashborne. And 
 now you may understand how painful it is for me 
 to speak thus of my father ! But I may likewise 
 observe that for this same reason I experienced 
 all the less remorse and compunction in abstract- 
 ing those deeds, when the best and dearest interests 
 of a member of the Trentham family were at 
 stake. I will now explain myself in a few words. 
 My father sought to compel Launcelot Osborne to 
 conduct me to the altar. Launcelot loved me not 
 — he loved another" — and Selina's voice faltered 
 for a moment. " Oh, Mr. Ashborne 1 my soul 
 recoiled from the bare idea of becoming a bride 
 under such circumstances ! I had not sufficient 
 ambition to force myself thus into a patrician 
 family : but on the other hand, I may say with- 
 out incurring the imputation of vanity, that I 
 entertained too deep a sense of justice to demand so 
 great a sacrifice on the part of that young man! 
 And then too, my soul recoiled also from the idea 
 that my father was making use of those docu- 
 ments — the fruit of usury — as the engine of 
 coercion : and therefore I stole those papers; Mr. 
 Ashborne ! Yes, I abstracted them ! I concealed 
 them, in order to release Lord Trentham from the 
 immediate pressure of my sire's tyranny, and to 
 save Launcelot from the necessity ot sacrificing 
 himself to the dire necessities of a proud but 
 ruined patrician family ! Now you know all, Mr. 
 Ashborne. Perhaps you will blame me— despise 
 me — notwithstanding the generous assurances 
 you ere now gave " 
 
 " Blame and despise yon ? No, admirable 
 young lady that you are !" cried Stephen : then 
 fixing his eyes upon her in a manner which was 
 full of a mysterious significance*, he added, " If I 
 had the honour of being your relation, I should 
 indeed feel proud of you ! Bat now those docu- 
 ments have found their way into your brother's 
 hands " 
 
 " And the son," interjected Selina, with bitter- 
 ness, " is already preparing, to a certain extent, 
 to follow in the footsteps of the father !" 
 
 " You do not mean me to understand that your 
 brother Sylvester thinks of forcing you into this 
 alliance with Launcelot Osborne ?" 
 
 " No — it is not this which is now afflicting me," 
 rejoined Selina. "On the contrary, so far as 
 that subject is concerned, I have every reason to be 
 contented and satisfied ; for scarcely an hour has 
 elapsed since I had certain explanations with my 
 brother — and he told me that he would not revive 
 his departed sire's project of compelling Launce- 
 lot to conduct me to the altar. But Oh ! while 
 that same father still remains unburied, and 
 affliction is in the house, and the thoughts of all 
 who are connected with the dead should be riveted 
 on solemn things, — Oh, that the selfishness and 
 worldly-mindedness of my brother should thus 
 display themselves !" 
 
 " In what manner, Miss Casey ?" asked Ashborne. 
 
 " The weapons which were forged by usury," 
 resumed the young lady, " have passed from the 
 hands of the father to the son ; and though they 
 will be differently used by the latter " 
 
 " Perhaps your brother is in haste to enforce 
 payment of the sums owing by Lord Trentham ?" 
 
 " That is not all," interjected Selina. " Lord 
 Trentham has a beauteous daughter ; and to her 
 
 hand has Sylvester the boldness to aspire. Launce- 
 lot loves his sister Azaline dearly ; and if fresh 
 complications should now arise through this insane 
 presumption on Sylvester's part, there will be 
 fresh sources of misery for each and all !" 
 
 " Good heavens ! is it possible," exclaimed Ash- 
 bome indignantly, " that your brother can think 
 ot using his power over the Trentham family to 
 such a purpose." 
 
 "Alas, it is too true! My brother left me ere 
 now with that intent : he vowed that either Aza- 
 line should become this very day his promised 
 bride, or else that no mercy should be shown to the 
 Trentham family." 
 
 " Ah. this is too bad," said Ashborne, gloomily. 
 " The mantle of the father has descended only too 
 suitably and appropriately upon the shoulders of 
 the son. It amounts to a persecution ! Lord 
 Trentham may be a debtor — but he ought not to 
 be treated as a criminal." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Ashborne, what noble sentiments !" 
 cried Selina. " Would to heaven that Sylvester 
 possessed such a mind as your's ! Yet pardon me 
 this warmth," she continued, blushing deeply. 
 " I do not feel as if I were speaking to a stranger 
 — it seems, to me as if it were an old friend who 
 had a right to all my confidential revealings " 
 
 " Treat me as such !" rejoined Ashborne. " Ah, 
 if you could treat me as a brother, I should indeed 
 be proud of such a sister ! Let me at once assure 
 you, Selina," he continued, now for the first time 
 addressing her by her Christian name, " that I am 
 adopting no covert means of conveying any ulte- 
 rior meaning, nor of expressing any feeling beyond 
 that which my words embody. For I am already 
 married !" — and as he thus spoke, an indescribable 
 expression of mingled anguish and bitterness swept 
 over his handsome countenance. 
 
 Selina, however, saw it not : for she was blush- 
 ing and casting down her eyes : she was thinking 
 to herself at the time that these assurances of a 
 mere fraternal feeling were indeed unnecessary 
 from Ashborne's lips, inasmuch as her heart was 
 already filled with the image of another — and she 
 had registered a vow in heaven, to the effect that 
 as the involuntary affections of her soul had been 
 led to rivet themselves upon Launcelot Osborne, 
 she would at least have the satisfaction of remain- 
 ing faithful to his memory — and for bis sake 
 therefore would she continue for ever unwedded ! 
 
 " Would to God," suddenly exclaimed Ash- 
 borne, " that the fraternal friendship which I offer 
 yon, Selina, had it in its power to prove itself in 
 some signal manner ! — would to God that I had 
 the means of arresting the course of your brother, 
 ere the career of tyrannous coercion, heartless 
 selfishness, and arrogant presumption be fully en- 
 tered upon 1" 
 
 " Yes — if you possessed this power,'' responded 
 Selina, " I am sure that you would exercise it — 
 1 am confident that you would! Pardon my 
 boldness — but I cannot help telling you that there 
 is so much frankness in your speech — so much 
 ma gnanimi ty in your sentiments, that it is impos- 
 sible to doubt the generosity of your heart ! But, 
 alas ! we are both equally powerless to check my 
 brother in this career on which he has entered. 
 He is obstinate and self-willed; and, Ob! with 
 the terrible weapons which he is now enabled to 
 wield in menace against the unhappy family of 
 Trentham " 
 
382 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 " By heaven," exclaimed Stephen Ashborne, in a 
 burst of genial fervour, "if those bonds and deeds 
 were mine, I would sooner thrust them every one 
 into the fire than use them as the means of a base 
 cowardly coercion, or suffer them to be thus used! 
 Ah, if there were magicians now-a-days ! — if it 
 were possible to possess oneself of an enchanter's 
 wand " . 
 
 But Stephen Ashborne stopped short ; for the 
 door opened, and Mr. Bulteel, the lawyer, made 
 his appearance. There was something peculiar in 
 the expression of his countenance: he hesitated 
 whether to advance into the room — he looked at 
 Selina as if equally at a loss whether he should 
 speak in her presence; and then, again turning 
 towards the young man, he said, " I have a com- 
 munication for your ears, Mr ^shborne — I mean a 
 
 private one And yet I do not know that it 
 
 need be private, for it refers also to every member 
 of this family.'' 
 
 "Eefers to U3, Mr. Bulteel?" cried Selina. 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " Perhaps, in duty bound," resumed the lawyer, 
 "I ought first of all to have spoken to your 
 mother — or else to your brother — for whom inr 
 deed the tidings will come with the force of a 
 blow " 
 
 " Speak out, Mr. Bulteel ! " said Ashborne. 
 " What does all this signify ? You have a paper 
 in your hand?" 
 
 " Yes — it is a will. In one word, Miss Casey," 
 continued the lawyer, thus addressing himself to 
 Selina, " your brother Sylvester is disinherited — 
 cut off indeed with only the barest pittance ! And 
 this gentleman," turning to Stephen Ashborne, " is 
 the heir of the deceased's property — and — and — 
 your half-brother, Miss Casey." 
 
 Thus suddenly was it that sources of wild 
 amazement were opened up for Selina; and as 
 she stood gazing in bewilderment, first upon the 
 lawyer, then upon Stephen Ashborne, the latter 
 took her hand and pressed it with fraternal 
 warmth, saying, " Yes — it is true, Selina, that I 
 am your half-brother ; — and it was this know- 
 ledge that rendered me apparently bold and 
 familiar in my language towards you ere now. 
 Oh, you see it was not without a justification 
 that I proffered you my friendship — that I offered 
 you my fraternal love — and that I called you by 
 your Christian name with all that delicate ten- 
 derness which a brother would display towards a 
 sister !" 
 
 Stephen Ashborne pressed his lips upon Selina's 
 fair brow, while she said murmuringly and in a 
 half-broken voice, "All this is wonderful and 
 amazing ; but it could not be otierwise than with 
 feelings of joy and delight that I acknowledge you 
 as a brother ! And if my late father should have 
 had motives for the preference which he has 
 shown you over Sylvester, it is not for me to 
 question or dispute his judgment." 
 
 "Miss Casey," interrupted Mr. Bulteel, "all 
 who are acquainted with you must be well aware 
 of the amiability and generosity of your dis- 
 position. It is not therefore surprising to find 
 you thus cordially welcoming your half-brother, 
 nor to see you thus bending obediently to what- 
 soever may be the wishes and decrees of your late 
 father. It were well now, perhaps, if you were 
 to seek your mother — explain to ljer that a will 
 has been found — yes, and you may add likewise 
 
 that a handsome income is settled upon her- 
 self." 
 
 "I will go," said Selina; "and I will prepare 
 her, Stephen, to receive yon." 
 
 The young lady thereupon quitted the room; 
 and as soon as the door had closed behind her, 
 Mr. Bulteel addressed Stephen Ashborne in the 
 following terms : — 
 
 " This will was made only a few days ago, and 
 I cannot tell what motive Mr. Casey may have had 
 in not employing or consulting me in the matter 
 at the time — unless the explanation of the mys- 
 tery is to he found in the fact that he procured the 
 intervention of a strange lawyer in order the more 
 completely to guarantee the secrecy of the pro- 
 ceeding. He might have thought that I, being 
 acquainted with the members of his family, might 
 wilfully or inadvertently breathe a whisper on the 
 point if I were employed in the transaction. 
 However, here is the will, regularly drawn up and 
 duly attested. It sets forth that the testator, 
 having for various reasons felt dissatisfied with 
 the conduct of his lawfully begotten son Sylvester, 
 and entertaining the confident belief .that the best 
 and kindest method of dealing with that young 
 man is to throw him more or less upon his own 
 resources, thereby necessitating habits of industry 
 and steadiness in the place of idleness and dissi- 
 pation, — he, the testator, has accordingly left the 
 said son Sylvester an annual income of fifty-two 
 pounds arising from certain stocks herein specified. 
 Furthermore the testator acknowledges you, Wil- 
 liam Ashborne, to be his son by the deceased 
 Adelaide Clarke — he believes you to possess a 
 good disposition, as well as thrifty and industrious 
 habits : he is moreover desirous of atoning to the 
 best of his ability for whatsoever neglect your 
 deceased mother and yourself may have had 
 reason to complain of at his hands. He therefore 
 leaves you the hulk of his fortune. The will 
 enters into certain specifications relative to the 
 lost deeds and documents ; but inasmuch as they 
 are now found, I need not trouble you, Mr.»Ash- 
 borne, with any details on that head. In con- 
 clusion, let me congratulate you upon being the 
 heir to about eighty thousand pounds." 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Bulteel," said the young 
 man, who had listened with deep attention to the 
 lawyer's explanations. " Of that eighty thousand 
 pounds I presume that the Trentham securities, to 
 the amount of sixty thousand, form a part?" 
 
 " Decidedly so," responded the attorney. 
 
 "How is Mrs. Casey provided for?" asked 
 Stephen. 
 
 ■ " Ten thousand pounds in the funds are settled 
 upon her," rejoined Bulteel ; " and at her death 
 to devolve upon her daughter Selina." 
 
 "Then thank heaven," exclaimed Ashborne, 
 "they are comfortably provided for!" 
 
 " Yes I" pursued Bulteel ; " and entering further 
 into details, I may explain that this house, the 
 furniture, the plate, wines, and so forth, are all 
 bequeathed to the widow. Here is the will ; and 
 if you will permit me, I can very soon take the 
 proper steps to put you in possession of your 
 fortune." 
 
 " Where are the Trentham securities?" inquired 
 Ashborne. 
 
 " They are all in the deceased's study : I have 
 just been looking over them. Indeed, when I 
 come to think of it, it is rather fortunate that 
 
THE YOCNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIKS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 383 
 
 Sylvester should have left them with me ; for he is 
 a somewhat slippery fellow." 
 
 " Can I take possession of them at once ?" de- 
 manded Ashborne. 
 
 Bulteel reflected for a few moments ; and then 
 he said, hesitatingly, yet with a certain degree of 
 
 significance, " I do not exactly know the will, 
 
 you see, is not proved yet — the letters of admi- 
 nistration are not taken out — Sylvester might do 
 such a thing as enter a caveat against it — though 
 I scarcely think he would be so foolish, inasmuch 
 
 as there is not the slightest ground " 
 
 " But what if I were to assert my rights at 
 once," interrupted Ashborne, " go into the study, 
 take possession of the documents, and depart with 
 them ?" 
 
 The expression of the lawyer's countenanoe 
 deepened in significancy, as he partially shrugged 
 his shoulders and said, " Well, Mr. Ashborne, if 
 you choose to take such a step there is no one to 
 prevent you. I am now going to see Mrs. Casey 
 for a few minutes; and then I shall seize the im- 
 mediate opportunity of breaking to Sylvester this 
 change in his affairs. If in the meanwhile you 
 choose to enter the study, lock up the papers, or 
 take them away with you, I canuot help it." 
 
 Having thus spoken, Mr. Bulteel bowed and 
 issued from the room. Stephen Ashborne paced 
 to and fro for three or four minutes, wondering at 
 all that had occurred, and asking himself whether 
 it could be a dream ; — then abruptly hastening 
 from the apartment, he was speeding towards 
 the study, when he encountered Selina upon the 
 landing. 
 
 " Whither are you going, Stephen ?" she asked. 
 " My mother will see you presently. Mr. Bulteel 
 has just gone to speak to her, and explain the 
 contents of the will." 
 
 " I will come back and see your mother, Selina," 
 answered Ashborne, "when I shall have fulfilled 
 a duty which has now become paramount Surely 
 you must understand me, Selina ? Even if the 
 days of magic be passed, those of providential 
 marvel still remain ; and from such sources may 
 a wand potent as that of the enchanter be derived. 
 Such is the case now ! It was no idle boast which 
 I so recently made in your presence! Those 
 
 documents " 
 
 " Is it possible, Stephen, that you will divest 
 yourself of nearly all the wealth that has thus 
 suddenly fallen into your hands ?" and it was with 
 mingled admiration and suspense that Selina gazed 
 upon her half-brother. 
 
 " Yes— I will do that," he responded, "for your 
 sake, Selina — for your sake ! Noble-hearted girl 
 that you are, all your generous wishes on behalf 
 of the Trentham family .shall be fulfilled !" 
 
 He wrung her hands ; and then speeding to the 
 study, took possession of all the bonds, securities, 
 and other documents which related to the affairs 
 of Lord Trentham. Securing the papers about his 
 person, he quitted the house, took his seat in a 
 cab, and gave the order to be driven to Berkeley . 
 Square. The vehicle rattled away ; and Ashborne 
 throwing himself back into the interior, folding 
 his arms across his chest, and suffering his head 
 to droop, gave way to his own reflections. How 
 many important events had that day occurred! 
 In the morning he had become a husband,^-<the 
 husband of the ruined and dishonoured Pamela ! 
 In the" afternoon he found himself the heir to a' 
 
 fortune, and enabled to perform a generous deed 
 upon which he was now bent! His soul had 
 yearned to proclaim the fact that he was Selina's 
 half-brother ; and an accident had revealed the 
 secret which he would not have dared enunciate 
 from his own lips. He had aspired to the pos- 
 session of a particular power at a moment when it 
 seemed impossible that this aspiration could be 
 realised even by the wildest freak of romance : but 
 it nevertheless was realised — that power was now 
 in his possession — it was the enchanter's wand 
 that he was grasping — and he was on his way to 
 wield it with effect ! It all seemed to be dream- 
 like — incredible — as Stephen Ashborne, rapidly 
 ran his mental glances over the quick succession 
 of accidents which had thus characterised this 
 memorable day. 
 
 The vehicle was rofling onward — the districts 
 of Hatton Garden and Holborn were already left 
 far behind — and the West End was reached. Still 
 as the cab pursued its way, Stephen Ashborne 
 continued wrapped in deep meditation, — until he 
 was abruptly startled by a voice exclaiming, 
 " Stop, stop ! Are you engaged ?" 
 
 " Don't you see I am ?" responded the driver 
 gruffly. " But what's the matter, yellow-plush '/" 
 
 These words were addressed to a livery-servant 
 who had come rushing forth from a house with 
 the excited demand which first startled Ashborne 
 from his reverie. He looked up — he knew that 
 livery — he knew also the house from which the 
 lacquey had sped. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he hastily inquired. 
 "Ah, Mr. Ashborne!" cried the domestic; 
 " for heaven's sake go for a. doctor ! or lend me 
 the cab !" 
 
 " One word ?" interjected Stephen. " What 
 has happened ?" 
 
 " Master's dead, sir — and poor Miss— Oh, I beg 
 
 pardon, Mrs. Ashborne " 
 
 "Go for the doctor!" exclaimed Stephen, 
 springing out of the cab : and he rushed into the 
 house. 
 
 There was no ntcesBity for him to put another 
 syllable of inquiry in respect to the actual con- 
 dition of Pamela : for as he sprang into the hall, 
 he beheld her inanimate form being borne by 
 two or three female-servants towards the stair- 
 case. He folloVed: no one offered to prevent 
 him ; for it was of course well known throughout 
 the entire household that he had in the morning 
 become Pamela's husband, — though why that 
 strangely hurried marriage had occurred none 
 could tell. 
 
 Pamela was borne to her chamber : she was 
 laid upon a sofa — and Stephen hastened to assist 
 the handmaidens in administering restoratives. 
 
 " Is it true," he now ventured to ask in a very 
 low tone, " that Mr. Ponsford is dead ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir — it is only too true ! Poor dear 
 young missus went to the library — and then such 
 
 a cry as rang through the house And if you 
 
 go there, sir, you'll see him sitting in his chair — 
 unless the other servants have moved.him by this 
 
 time " 
 
 "He had a disease of .the heart," observed 
 another of the handmaidens ; " and from what 
 the doctor said, as he told -his valet, it was to be 
 expected that this would happen sooner or 
 later." 
 
 "Where is that doctor?" ejaculated Stephen 
 
384 
 
 ThE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 impatiently. "Pamela does not recover! Get 
 other restoratives ! — something stronger !" 
 
 " See, Mr. Ashborne ! her lips move ! Yes — 
 and now her bosom heaves !" 
 
 " Ah ! it is so ! Life is returning !" 
 
 The physician now made his appearance ; and 
 Stephen Ashborne, drawing the principal hand- 
 maiden aside, said to her, "Tell your young mis- 
 tress presently that I was here at this fearful 
 crisis — that accidentally, or may I not rather say 
 
 providentially, I was passing at the moment 
 
 Yes, providentially ! — for surely it must have 
 been intended by heaven for some wise purpose 
 of its own. Tell her, therefore, that I was here 
 — yea, and say that I ministered unto her ; and 
 you may likewise add that I will return presently 
 
 Say anything you cui to console her for 
 
 this loss of her father! On, the bereavement is 
 terrible !" 
 
 Stephen Ashborne paused — raised his hand to 
 his brow — reflected for a few moments — and then 
 he proceeded as follows : — 
 
 " Tell your young mistress all this ; and say 
 likewise that I will come back presently — and if 
 she think fit to see me I shaE be happy : but if 
 on the other hand she would rather shut herself 
 up in the seclusion of her own desolate heart, she 
 need only signify her wish to me, and not for ^n 
 instant would I think of intruding upon her 
 grief! But tell her — tell her — that as she is now 
 alone in the world, I am suddenly inspired by a 
 
 consciousness of my duties as a husband In 
 
 short, say everything which yqur own good sense 
 may dictate as being likely to prove soothing to 
 the afflicted j'oung lady !" 
 
 The abigail promised that she would faithfully 
 and strictly fulfil the instructions thus given her ; 
 and Stephen Ashborne took his departure. Fresh 
 food was there for his thoughts — fresh aliment 
 for his marvelling meditation ! How many more 
 thrilling, startling, and important incidents were 
 to be crowded into the comparatively brief space 
 of this memorable day ! — and what would be 
 Pamela's answer to the species of overture which 
 he had just made her through the medium of the 
 confidential lady's-maid ? 
 
 While thus giving way to his reflections, the 
 young man was borne to Berkeley Square ; and 
 he alighted from the cab at the door of Trentham 
 House. He inquired for his lordship, and was 
 informed that the nobleman was engaged. 
 
 " With Mr. Sylvester Casey perhaps ?" said 
 Stephen interrogatively. 
 
 " Yes, sir," was the response ; " and likewise 
 with Mr. Bulteel, a, lawyer, who has just ar- 
 rived." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! so much the better !" ejaculated 
 Stephen. " The very gentleman whom I could 
 most wish to meet in the presence of his lordship ! 
 Lead the way and announce me." 
 
 " What name, sir, if you please ?" 
 
 " What name ? Oh, it is of no consequence ! 
 The name is not known to his lordship ! I can 
 nevertheless assure you that my business is of 
 
 the most important character But why do you 
 
 hesitate ? why do you look so suspicious ?" 
 
 " Because, sir, to tell the truth, Mr. Bulteel's a 
 lawyer — and his name's already too well known 
 within these walls. That of Casey moreover 
 isn't very popular amongst us ; and so, begging 
 your pardon, sir " 
 
 " My good fellow," interrupted Ashborne, " if 
 you apprehend mischief on your master's account 
 I can assure you it is without a cause. I come to 
 help him, and not to injure him." 
 
 The lacquey's features brightened up ; and he at 
 once led the way to the apartment where Lord 
 Trentham was so deeply interested in the startling 
 announcements that were being made by Mr. Bul- 
 teel to Sylvester Casey. 
 
 We have now brought the narrative down to 
 the point at which the preceding chapter broke 
 off; and from that particular conjuncture we may 
 resume it. 
 
 " Lord Trentham," said Stephen Ashborne, ad- 
 vancing towards the nobleman, " I come not 
 hither to exult over what may be almost termed 
 the downfall, or at least the discomfiture of this 
 young man :" — and he pointed to Sylvester. " On 
 the contrary, I could compassionate him, were it 
 not that he was about to have made use of his sup- 
 posed possession of wealth for so evil a purpose." 
 
 " Oh, it's all very well talking," cried Sylvester, 
 now assuming a tone of defiance ; " but you and 
 Bulteel are in league together — that" s plain 
 enough! However, I'll fight you — I don't pre- 
 tend to be a lawyer, but I know there's such a 
 thing as disputing a will " 
 
 " Think not," interrupted Ashborne, " that there 
 is any chance of success in the present instance ! 
 It was not Mr. Bulteel who drew the will — no 
 acquaintances of mine witnessedit " 
 
 "One word, Mr. Ashborne," interrupted the 
 lawyer sternly. " This young fellow is determined 
 to make me speak out ! Well then, let him know, 
 to his confusion, that his father has cut him off 
 because of his lazy, idle, and dissipated habits — 
 and also because he was reckless and imprudent 
 enough to accept a bill for a thousand pounds on 
 behalf of a scamp named Abel Kingston, and which 
 bill was duly paid by Mr. Casey senior when in 
 the hands of a discounter named Pluckley." 
 
 " And how do you know all this ?" demanded 
 Sylvester, whose air of confidence was rapidly 
 disappearing. 
 
 " The will itself specifies the facts," answered 
 Bulteel, "But tell me, Mr. Sylvester, did not 
 your father once assure you that you would some 
 day know more completely than you even did 
 then, what he thought of you ?" 
 
 " Why, by Jove, now I recollect — yes, to be 
 sure ! it was that very same night when me and 
 the governor was driving home together from 
 Pluckley's in the cab " 
 
 "And now, therefore," rejoined Bulteel, "you 
 see that your father uttered no vain threat. Can 
 you recollect the date of the incident itself? I 
 mean the occasion when he used those warning 
 words?" 
 
 "How the deuce should I know?" exclaimed 
 Sylvester petulantly. "But of course I do! It 
 was on the night of the 31st of May ; and may I 
 be hanged if I think the governor could have 
 been serious in cutting me off in this manner!" 
 
 "It was on the 1st of June, sir," answered 
 Bulteel, impressively, " that your deceased father 
 made the will which has this day been dis- 
 covered." 
 
 Sylvester staggered back a pace or two, with 
 the air of one who felt that he was completely 
 beaten ; and he looked for a few instants as if he 
 were about to weep. 
 
THE YOUNO DUCIIESS; OB, MEMOIRS OI A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 385 
 
 AZ ALINE, IN AH ORIENTAL COSTUME. 
 No. 49.— Thb Young Duchess. 
 
386 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MBJIOIES Or A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 " Well, what has the governor done for me ?" 
 he at length asked, in a snivelling tone and with 
 humbled mien. 
 
 He has left you fifty-two pounds a year," re- 
 plied Bulteel, "together with numerous recom- 
 mendations on behalf of a steady and industrious 
 mode of life for the future." 
 
 Sylvester made a horrible grimace at this an- 
 nouncement ; and then abruptly turning upon his 
 heel, he quitted the apartment 
 
 " There goes one," said the lawyer, " who never 
 will come to any good!" 
 
 "Mr. Bulteel," said Ashborne, "I am glad that 
 you happened to be here at this time ; but your 
 presence is now no longer necessary. I wish to 
 speak to his lordship in private." 
 
 The attorney made his bow, and withdrew ; and 
 Trentham, accosting the young man, said, " Mr. 
 Ashborne, when you first entered the room it was 
 with an exclamation calculated to inspire me with 
 every hope " 
 
 "Which shall be fulfilled, my lord!"' 
 
 At this instant the door was heard to open, and 
 Azaline appeared upon the threshold. She thought 
 that her father was alone: — but on perceiving 
 that there was still some one wjtb him, she spoke 
 a few words in apology for the intrusion, and was 
 about to retire — when Ashborne exclaimed, " If 
 that be your lordship's daughter, let her- enter ! 
 There is no need of any reserve or secrecy now." 
 
 Azaline accordingly advanced into the room; 
 and Lord Trentham said, "Strange things have 
 occurred, my child. This gentleman's name is Mr. 
 Ashborne : he is heir, no matter under what cir- 
 cumstances, to the deceased Mr. Casey's property 
 — and he is therefore my creditor." 
 
 " And inasmuch as I have not the honour of 
 being acquainted with your lordship, nor with 
 your lordship's family," said Ashborne, " and 
 never should have coveted that honour, nor shall 
 henceforth avail myself of it, it is through no love 
 for you that I am adopting the present course. 
 Indeed, my lord, as a man of the world, you must 
 fully comprehend that one stranger cannot sur- 
 render up sixty thousand pounds to another, unless 
 for very potent reasons. But those reasons exist 
 and now, my lord, behold the results !" 
 
 Thus speaking, Stephen Ashborne drew forth a 
 number of documents and papers from all his 
 pockets; and flinging them upon the table, he pro- 
 ceeded to tear them across separately and indivi- 
 dually, the nobleman and his daughter looking 
 on with mingled astonishment, delight, and admi- 
 ration. 
 
 " Good heavens ! is this possible f " at length 
 spoke Trentham, gasping under the influence of 
 his emotions. 
 
 "I can scarcely understand it!" said the he- 
 wildered Azaline. 
 
 " I will explain it all," resumed. Ashborne, 
 "I have already told you that it was not fcr 
 your sakes I have done this. No^but it is for 
 the sake of one whom I am now proud to call my 
 sister— for one of the best and purest and noblest- 
 minded of human beings — one whom, if she had 
 possessed the power to save you, my lord — or 
 you, Miss Osborne, from annoyance, persecution, 
 or vulgar tyranny, would most cheerfully have 
 done so ! It is she therefore whom you are now 
 to admire — to thank — aye, and to remember in 
 your prayers! It was she who interceded and 
 
 persuaded! — I only am the agent and executor 
 of her generous purposes. My lord, you are no 
 longer a debtor ; your estates are free. Miss Os- 
 borne, you need not apprehend that your hand 
 will npw be sought by one on whom I feel con- 
 vinced that you would rather die than bestow it I 
 Finally, in ope word learn that for all this you 
 have to thank the generous-hearted Selina !" 
 
 " But you, admirable young man !" exclaimed 
 Lord Trentham : and then he stopped short — for 
 Stephen Ashborne, tarrying to say no more — to 
 hear no more^and to receive no thanks for what 
 he had dons, disappeared with ghost-like rapidity 
 from the apartment. 
 
 We" will leave Lord Trentham and Azaline to 
 the wondering discussion of all that had just taken 
 place, and to the pjeasing duty of giving ex- 
 planations to Lady Trentham, while we will 
 follow in the fpptsteps pf Stephen Ashborne. On 
 leaving Trentham House, be returned, according 
 to promise, tp the mansion where Mr. Ponsford 
 ha(f been so suddenly and so awfully smitten by 
 the arrow of the Angel of Death, and where 
 Stephen expected to receive an answer to the 
 species of overture be had conveyed to his wife 
 through the' medium of the abigail. He reached 
 the hpuse — he alighted from the cab — he knocked 
 at the front door. He was at once struck by the 
 sombre, gloomy, and ominous look of the domestic 
 who answered the summons. Two or three other 
 servants were in the hall as Ashborne entered it ; 
 and they also maintained a moody silence. Some- 
 thing new had evidently happened, — something 
 awful and overwhelming — of that fearful nature 
 which prevented voluntary disclosure and checked 
 the of uciousness which springs forward to reveal 
 things of an ordinary character. A question must 
 ' be put ere that sombre silence would be broken. 
 
 And Ashborne, full of a deep awe-felt mis- 
 giving, did put that question. What had hap- 
 pened ? He now soon learnt the worst. Pamela 
 was no more! She had burst a blood-vessel; 
 and in less than an hour she had ceased to exist. 
 Death had advanced with fearfully rapid strides 
 upon its prey, so young, so beautiful I But it was 
 no wonder that dissolution should have been so 
 speedy after that last fatal blow which had 
 smitten her, in the death of her father ! 
 
 " She was conscious until almost the last," said 
 the weeping abigail to Stephen Ashborne, adown 
 wh,p&e cheeks the tears were likewise trickling. 
 " I delivered, all your messages, sir — and the poor 
 
 dear lady was. much moved Yes, she was 
 
 deeply touched! She said she hoped you would 
 coioo back before she died, that she might assure 
 you of hw fljjgiveness. I don't know what she 
 meant, sjr=-but those were her words. Yes! — 
 and then she expressed a fervent wish that you 
 
 might experience happiness in the world until 
 
 at last, sir, with her dying breath she repeated 
 the assurance of her forgiveness, and charged me 
 to, tell yoft that you were fully pardoned." 
 
 " Cod be thanked !" murmured Ashborne, rais- 
 ing his kerqhief to his eyes. " But who will now 
 see after the rites of sepulture for the two who 
 have thus perished — father and daughter?" 
 
 "Who, sir?" cried the abigail, with some little 
 degree of astonishment. " Why, who should d; 
 so but you, sir ?" 
 
 " I ? — I ?" — and Ashborne looked bewildered. 
 
 " Why, to be sure, sir ! You are master heri 
 
THE YOUNG DTJOHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 W 
 
 now. The poor dear young lady was no doubt 
 her father's heiress — aud you, sir, as her husband, 
 are now the heir." 
 
 " Ah I" — aud Ashbome was at the instant 
 struck by the fact for the first time. " More 
 riches I more riches !" he muttered to himself, as 
 he turned to leave the room where this little col- 
 loquy took place. " More riches ! — and I who 
 reck not for them ! — I who have now naught to 
 live for — but, Oh! so much to regret and to de- 
 plore, and to render life a burden unto me I" 
 
 A few minutes afterwards the unhappy, re- 
 morse-stricken young man was kneeling by the 
 side of the couch whereon lay the dead Pamela. 
 One of her white hands was pressed to his lips, and 
 the tears were flowing profusely from his eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII. 
 
 CHELSEA REACH. 
 
 A memorable day, indeed, was this whereof we 
 are writing ! — for our narrative has not yet done 
 with the incidents that belonged to it, and we are 
 about to shift the attention of the reader to other 
 scenes. 
 
 It was in the afternoon that a tall handsome 
 young man, with dark curling hair, and fine eyes 
 to match — dressed in a sailor's costume, and with 
 a complexion sufficiently tanned or sunburnt to 
 denote an acquaintance with tropical climes, with- 
 out however at all marring the manly beauty or 
 general expression of that good-looking, interest- 
 ing face — plunged hastily amidst the maze of 
 streets which lie behind Astley's Theatre. The 
 garb which that young man wore, was not that 
 of the common seaman ; but it was characteristic 
 of the rank of an officer in the mercantile service. 
 It was his best uniform that he had on ; — the gold 
 band round the cap and the anchor buttons on 
 the jacket and waistcoat shone in the bright sun- 
 beams. A joyous hopeful expression mingled 
 with the natural frankness and open-hearted 
 honesty of the handsome face ; and as he sped 
 along, his dark eyes glanced rapidly from one 
 familiar object to another, so that any observer 
 might have guessed he was returning home after 
 a long absence at sea. We may add that his age 
 was about nineteen : and we may as well avail 
 ourselves of the present opportunity of stating 
 that he had been a conple of years in the mari- 
 time profession, his rank now being that of third 
 mate on board the finest ship belonging to one of 
 our most eminent merchant-princes. 
 
 This young gentleman quickly entered a par- 
 ticular street, and so»n came in sight of the 
 special house that he sought. He knocked at 
 the door ; and he literally trembled with impa- 
 tience until the summons was answered. During 
 the minute that thus elapsed — and, Oh I that 
 minute was a veritable age ! — he Wondered who 
 would first appear — whether it would be the being 
 whom he so fervently longed to embrace, or 
 whether the faithful servant who he knew would 
 be so rejoiced to welcome him. Again and again 
 he glanced at the window to see if any one were 
 neebing out ; bat no familiar face met his view. 
 T*i there were the well-r«membered draperies { 
 and thus h« had no doubt that she whom he j 
 
 sought still dwelt there. Besides, the last letters 
 he had received from her, and which were waiting 
 for him at St. Helena, had not even so much as 
 hinted at any prospect of change of abode ; and 
 thus the young man made sure of finding her 
 there. 
 
 At length the door opened ; and an old woman 
 appeared within the passage. She was a stranger 
 to the young man ; and he was rushing impa- 
 tiently past her, when she caught him by the 
 arm, crying, " Heyday, young sir ! what does this 
 mean ?'' 
 
 "My sister ? Imogen?" he cried : and he was 
 bursting away from the old woman, when the 
 exclamation which came from her lips made him 
 stop short. 
 
 " She is not here !"— thes9 were the words spoken 
 by the crone. 
 
 "Not here? Yon mean that she is not at home? 
 But she lives here?" 
 
 " Not now, sir. I suppose you are her brother 
 — I heerd tell of a brother that she had at 
 sea " 
 
 " Where it my sister ?" was the next query, 
 also put with impatience. - 
 
 "Down at Chelsea, Mr. Hartland," wa3 the 
 response. 
 
 "Ah, then she has moved? Is she no longer 
 connected with the theatre." 
 
 " No, sir. ' She gave up her engagement about 
 a fortnight ago— at the same time that she left 
 this place and put me in to take care of it j 'cause 
 why, you see, I was recommended to her by a 
 friend of her's, a Miss Denton, which is also on the 
 stage." 
 
 "And you say that my sister now lives at 
 Chelsea?" interrupted Walter Hartland: for he 
 the young seaman was. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Prospect Villa— that's the name of 
 the place — though I've never been there: but 
 Miss Hartland told me that I was to direct any 
 letters that might come for her to that address. ' 
 
 " Oh !" — and the impulsive young sailor was 
 about to rush off again, when a thought struck 
 him ; and curbing his impatience, he said, " Arid 
 the little girl — Annie I mean — is she quite well ?" 
 
 " Quite well, when she left this house with Miss 
 Hartland. Ah, — and a sweet little creetur' too is 
 Annie 1" 
 
 " Aud the domestic — the faithful servant Fanny 
 — is she still With my sister ?" 
 
 "I believe so, sir — leastways she went away 
 with Miss Hartland—" 
 
 "And my sister herself is quite well?" ex- 
 claimed Walter, with some little degree of anxiety 
 floating in his mind. " She did not quit the stage 
 through ill-health ?" 
 
 "Not that I'm aweer of, sir," replied the old 
 woman. 
 
 Walter looked hard at her, in order to ascertain 
 whether she might know more than she chose to 
 tell : but nothing in the expression of her coun- 
 tenance, which was honest and simple, seemed to 
 strengthen the suspicion. Walter hesitated there- 
 fore to put the next question that came to the tip 
 of his tongue: but at length with a species of 
 abruptness he added, " Do you know why Imogen 
 has removed to Chelsea ?" 
 
 " I raly don't, sir. I shouldn't like to say any- 
 thing scandalous against Miss Hartland " 
 
 "Heaven forbid 1" ejaculated Walter, with a 
 
388 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; CE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 strange sensation shooting quiveringly through 
 him. 
 
 " No — not for the world, sir ! — and therefore if 
 people do talk it's no business of mine, and I never 
 give myself to gossiping. I know none of the 
 neighbours — for I'm a stranger in this quarter, as 
 one may say " 
 
 "My good woman," interrupted Walter — and 
 his voice was tremulous as he thus spoke; " I see 
 that you have heard something about my sister — 
 a scandal and a falsehood, no doubt ; but still I 
 beg you to tell me what it is. Don't be afraid to 
 speak out ! I shall not be angry. It is not your 
 fault if people deal in tittle-tattle and idle gossip." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Hartland, since you speak so fair 
 as this, I ought to tell you that two or three times 
 when I've been in at the chandler's at the corner 
 of the street, I've heard whispers going on, and I 
 fancy they was meant to draw me out if so be I 
 knew anything; but I took no notice of 'em — I 
 made believe not to hear 'em " 
 
 " Tell me what was said, my good woman — tell 
 me what was said !" — and Walter's voice was low 
 and hoarse. 
 
 " Why, sir, nobody seemed to know anything 
 for certain ; but there was something said about a 
 handsome young gentleman who had been seen 
 calling on Miss Hartland two or three times in the 
 evening ; and then too the gossips said that a 
 beautiful girl like her didn't leave the stage all 
 of a sudden for nothing — and then there was nods 
 and winks and shakes of the head and so on." 
 
 " Perdition ! ' muttered Walter in a deep under- 
 tone : and then he ground his handsome teeth to- 
 gether. " But no !" he suddenly exclaimed, speak- 
 ing aloud : " it is utterly impossible that Imogen 
 could have done anything wrong! Here, my 
 good woman :" — and he thrust a piece of gold into 
 her hand. He was then about to hurry forth from 
 the house, when again recollecting something, he 
 asked, " Whereabouts is Prospect Villa ? — for 
 Chelsea is a large place." 
 
 " Near the Cheyne Walk,'' was the reply, ac- 
 companied with a profusion of thanks for the 
 liberal donation which the crone had just re- 
 ceived. 
 
 Away sped the young seaman from the house ; 
 and several of the neighbours stepped out to greet 
 him as he passed : but curt and rapid were his 
 acknowledgments of the same — and he quickly 
 disappeared from their view. Making the best of 
 his way to the stairs at Westminster Bridge, he 
 inquired when one of the river steamers would be 
 likely to touch at that point? 
 
 " There's none of 'em comes to this side of the 
 bridge," replied an elderly boatman. " They 
 touches on t other side. But stop a moment, sir !" 
 he exclaimed as Walter was on the point of dart- 
 ing away for the purpose of crossing the bridge 
 and taking the steamer on the opposite side of the 
 river. " Where does your honour want to go to ?" 
 
 " To Chelsea," was the hastily given answer. 
 
 "Well, sir, there's the steamer just passing 
 under the bridge from the pier on t'other side ; 
 and so you're too late. It'll be half an hour afore 
 there's another." 
 
 " Half an hour ?" ejaculated Walter. " Why, 
 I thought the Chelsea boats ran every ten'minutes 
 or quarter of an hour ?" 
 
 " How long has your honour been away at sea?" 
 inquired the boatman. 
 
 " A couple of years," was the response frankly 
 but quickly given. 
 
 "Ah, well, sir, them steamers have changed 
 their times of running while you was away :" — 
 and the boatman's countenance displayed a cool 
 hardihood as he told the ready lie. " Look, here, 
 your honour! there's a nice boat— there's a fresh 
 breeze from the east — we'll hoist sail— and if I 
 don't run you up to the Reach afore any steamer 
 could take you there, then don't pay me nothin' 
 at all, but kick me into the bargain." 
 
 " That I will certainly do !" exclaimed Walter, 
 but it was with a good-natured smile, as he sprang 
 into the boat, 
 
 The owner thereof gave a sly grin of satisfaction 
 and triumph as he followed the customer whom 
 he had thus inveigled — the boat was thrust from 
 the steps — the fellow quickly pulled it into the 
 middle of the stream — the sail was then hoisted — 
 and the little bark certainly sped on at a good 
 rate, though not in a manner calculated to justify 
 its owner's boast, or save him from the conse- 
 quences of his temerity if Walter were inclined to 
 hold him to a hard bargain. 
 
 " Why, you villain, you !" presently cried the 
 young man, but still with the frank hearty good- 
 humoured look and laugh of a sailor ; " here's 
 another steamer bearing down upon us — and not 
 half the time has elapsed that you mentioned 
 since the other one must have touched at West- 
 minster Bridge!" 
 
 " Well, I'm blowed, your honour," said the boat- 
 man, with a well assumed expression of surprise 
 and disgust, "if ever I trust the time-tables of 
 them lying Companies again. They're always a 
 chopping and changing about. It's competition 
 as does it. One Company puts on extra boats : 
 then another does the same. But never do you 
 mind, sir ! We'll be at Chelsea in plenty of time 
 for whatsumever business you've got in hand. 
 That there steamboat touches at every place on 
 both sides — while we're cutting straight ahead, 
 with the breeze freshening as we get higher up." 
 
 Walter Hartland made no comment upon these 
 observations : he saw that he had been deceived 
 by the boatman — but he took the cheat with cha- 
 racteristic good-nature; for notwithstanding his 
 impatience to behold his sister, his was not a tem- 
 per that could be ruffled by the fact of a few 
 minutes' delay, which was indeed the outside to be 
 expected from the mode of conveyance he had 
 adopted. Bemaining silent, he gave way to his 
 reflections There was a certain uneasiness in his 
 mind which he could not conquer, notwithstand- 
 ing all the efforts he made for the purpose. That 
 name of Prospect Villa frightened him ! It surely 
 must be a place of abode too expensive for his 
 sister's means ? — and yet might it not be possible 
 that she had found some female friend whose guest 
 she had become — some benevolent lady into whose 
 companionship she had been taken? Yet the gos- 
 siping story of the handsome young gentleman 
 visiting his sister in the evening, haunted his 
 mind; and he could not exclude the harrowing 
 reflection that the stage was notorious for its 
 temptations, and that few indeed were the young 
 females who passed stainless through its ordeal. 
 And then, in case the very worst should have 
 happened — in case he should discover that Imogen 
 had indeed fallen from the path of virtue— he be- 
 gan to make excuses for her in advance : or at 
 
THE touno duchess; or, memoirs of a lady op quality. 
 
 389 
 
 least he strove to do so He said to himself, 
 " She may have heen pressed by poverty — her 
 earnings may have been insufficient — she may 
 have contracted debts— she may have trembled at 
 the idea of her very bed being sold from under 
 her — and thus she may have succumbed to the 
 tempter ! ; Or she may have loved deeply and de- 
 votedly Ah !" and the thought that now struck 
 
 him with lightning rapidity, made his heart leap 
 with exultation and his countenance lighten up 
 with animation. 
 
 What was this thought ? 
 
 "She may be married — privately married! I 
 have heard that women connected with the stage 
 often retain their own names, and continue to pass 
 themselves off as single, though in reality they 
 are honestly wedded wives. Heaven grant that 
 this may be so !" 
 
 But as the galvanic enthusiasm of the thought 
 subsided, doubt and uncertainty returned to the 
 young man's mind: they quickly deepened into 
 misgiving once more — and a cloud descended over 
 his handsome features. Thus he remained wrapped 
 up in a reverie which gradually grew more and 
 more sombre, until he was suddenly startled up 
 from it by a loud ejaculation which burst from 
 the lips of the boatman. 
 
 We will explain what was the occasion of the cry. 
 The little bark was just entering upon Chelsea 
 Keacta, when an accident occurred to another 
 boat at some little distance. In that boat a lady 
 and gentleman were seated, and they had a man 
 with them. The latter, while endeavouring to 
 put up a mast — or "step it," as it is technically 
 termed — accidentally fell across the gunwale in 
 such an awkward manner that the boat was in- 
 stantaneously upset, the catastrophe being aided 
 by the sudden springing-up of the lady from her 
 seat at the first terrified glance at what was hap- 
 pening. Thus in the twinkling of an eye all three 
 persons were in the water — lady, gentleman, and 
 boatman ; and this was the cause of the exclama- 
 tion which, bursting from the lips of the owner of 
 the boat wherein Walter Hartland was seated, so 
 abruptly aroused him from bis gloomy train of 
 thought. 
 
 The accident took place in the middle of Chelsea 
 Beach, where the river is broad and the current 
 rapid. Walter Hartland's boat was at least a 
 couple of hundred yards off in the one direction, 
 while at about a similar interval in the other 
 direction a steam-vessel was pursuing its way. 
 The moment the accident was observed on board 
 the steamer, it stayed its course and began to put 
 about with a praiseworthy alacrity on the part of 
 the captain. In the middle of the broad stream 
 floated the unfortunate boat, keel upwards; and 
 the three human beings who had occupied it were 
 seen struggling in the water. A rending scream 
 burst from the lips of the lady — and then down 
 she went. 
 
 " Help, help ! — not me — but her I" were the 
 words which in wild anguish and in agonising 
 appeal rang from the tongue of the young gentle- 
 man who had been upset with her ; for young he 
 was — as was likewise that fair object of his all- 
 absorbing interest. 
 
 " Here she is !" exclaimed Walter Hartland : 
 and he unhesitatingly plunged into the river. 
 
 He struck out gallantly and swiftly ; and a 
 few 'instants brought him to the spot where he 
 
 thought he had seen the young lady come up 
 again. But, no! — it was only her straw hat 
 which was floating on the water ! 
 
 " Help, help !" was the vociferation that now 
 burst from the lips of the boatman who had been 
 upset — and fearfully indicative of perilous distress 
 was that cry : but scarcely was it uttered, when 
 down went the unfortunate wretch as if he had 
 been suddenly shot — and he sank to rise no more, 
 — unless it were as a swollen livid corpse, a few 
 days afterwards, lower down the river. 
 
 "Save her! save her!" was the exclamation 
 with which the young gentleman greeted the cry 
 of "Here she is!" which had thrilled with such 
 joyous hopefulness from the lips of Walter Hart- 
 land : and then a cry of anguish was sent forth 
 by the former as the latter held up only the hat 
 which he had succeeded in reaching. 
 
 But now there was another exultant shout 
 from Walter's lips; and at the same time he 
 was striking out with all his force, swimming 
 towards a point where a garment appeared upou 
 the surface of the river. The young gentleman 
 beheld the same object, and desperately strove to 
 swim towards it : but being evidently exhausted, 
 he went down' with almost as much suddenness 
 as his boatman had done a few instants before. 
 More successful — because more accustomed to the 
 circumstances and perils of the waters — Walter 
 Hartlahd reached the lady. She sank as he ap- 
 proached her — down he dived after her — she 
 came up again at a little distance — and then the 
 ejaculation of "Good heavens !" burst in mingled 
 horror and amazement from Walter's lips as he 
 caught a complete view of the face of the fair one 
 whom he was endeavouring to save. And then 
 more energetic, if possible, became these endea- 
 vours on his part — and they were crowned with 
 complete success ! 
 
 Meanwhile the steamer, having put about, 
 made its way towards the scene of the catas- 
 trophe ; and the young gentleman, who reappeared 
 above the water for the third time, was rescued, 
 though with some difficulty. A few instants more, 
 and it would have been too late ! 
 
 This young gentleman was clad in a boating 
 costume, consisting of the invariable guernsey 
 and loose trowsers : he was very handsome — and 
 it was easy to perceive, though he was in a state 
 of complete unconsciousness, that he was a person 
 of condition and good-breeding. When he opened 
 his eyes, he was lying in the cabin surrounded by 
 the captain and half a dozen of the passengers, 
 who were administering restoratives, and who 
 were all taking a lively interest in the result. 
 
 " Where is she ?" he asked the very first 
 moment his ideas began to grow collected. " Good 
 God ! is it possible- — " 
 
 "You've nothing to fear, sir," the captain 
 hastened to interject : " the lady is safe !" 
 
 An expression indicative of indescribable relief 
 appeared upon the countenance of the young 
 gentleman: he joined his hands, and evidently 
 poured forth his gratitude through the medium of 
 inward silent prayer. 
 
 " But where is she ?" he asked, now looking 
 anxiously around him. 
 
 " She was taken into the boat that was scud- 
 ding up the stream, and to which the young 
 gentleman who saved her belonged. They then 
 made for the Swan Pier " 
 
300 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OE, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "How know you that she lives?" was the 
 eager and affrighted question that the young gen- 
 tleman now put. 
 
 "Make yourself easy on that head, sir," re- 
 sponded the captain. "We had our misgivings 
 at first — we thought the boat was shooting in so 
 fast that the lady might be taken to a doctor's 
 — but we saw her sit up " 
 
 "Thank God!" ejaculated the young gentle- 
 man. " How long did I remain senseless ?" 
 
 " For a matter of five or six minutes, or so, sir." 
 
 " And therefore the boat has by this time 
 reached the pier — and she is on shore ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes — it's all right enough !— that's quite 
 clear ! Don't make yourself anxious." 
 
 " No, no — since you assure me that she is safe ! 
 And now, if you will have the kindness to land 
 me also " 
 
 "That shall be done in a very few moments. 
 Where would you like to be landed, sir ?" 
 
 " Oh, at the Swan Pier, also :"— and the young 
 gentleman made an impatient sign for the captain 
 to lead the way up the cabin stairs. 
 
 "I hope you have not far to go, sir? I have 
 got a change of clothos on board — and if you 
 would condescend to accept of their use " 
 
 " Thank you ; but my own residence is but a 
 very short distance from the pier." 
 
 " So much the better, sir :" — and the captain 
 sprang upon the deck, to give the orders for 
 putting in to the point where the rescued one 
 wished to be landed. 
 
 Meanwhile this individual expressed his thanks 
 to those passengers who had demonstrated so 
 great an interest in bis behalf j and it was with a 
 liberal hand that he rewarded the captain and the 
 men belonging to the steamer. He was evidently 
 full of impatience to reach the pier ; and the in- 
 stant the steamer ran alongside, he leapt upon it. 
 Many persons were collected there, the rumour of 
 the accident having quickly spread throughout the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 " Where is the lady ?" was the question at once 
 put by the young gentleman. 
 
 " Gone home, I suppose, sir," replied one of the 
 people there congregated. " I saw ,the brave 
 young sailor who rescued her, put her into a 
 cab " 
 
 "And she was uninjured — unhurt? though 
 doubtless suffering " 
 
 " She certainly looked faint and ill, sir ; but 
 she knew that you had been pioked up— - — " 
 
 "Ah, then, she is relieved from suspense ? But 
 concerning the poor fellow who was with rae in 
 the boat ?" 
 
 " Ah, it's all over, sir, with him," observed 
 another of the bystanders. 
 
 " I feared so I" said the young gentleman. " Poo* 
 fellow! But tell me, has he a wife and children 
 whom he has now left a widow and fatherless ? — 
 for if so, it shall be my care to keep them from 
 want." 
 
 He was however assured by some one who was 
 standing by, and who knew the deceased boatman, 
 that the unfortunate wretch had left none behind 
 him who would suffer from his loss ; and this in- 
 telligence was naturally gratifying to the young 
 gentleman. He now hurried from the pier ; and 
 leaping into a cab, ordered it to drive to Prospect 
 Villa — for this young gentleman who so narrowly 
 with his life under the circumstances 
 
 which we have been describing, was none other 
 than the Hon. Launcelot Osborne. 
 
 In a few minutes he reached the Villa : — and a 
 picturesque little residence it was, standing apart 
 from the other buildings in Cheyne Walk, its front 
 looking upon the river, and its back upon a gar- 
 den neatly laid out. On alighting from the cab, 
 Launcelot's hurriedly put query was, " How is 
 Imogen ? where is she ?" 
 
 Fanny, who had opened the front door, was 
 filled with affright on beholding her young master 
 dripping wet and with wild excited looks. The 
 question which he put, dismayed her; and she 
 was smitten with the stupor of silence. 
 
 " Tell me, Fanny — tell me 1 where is Imogen ? 
 I know she is safe " 
 
 "Safe, sir? God grant it! But she is not 
 here !" 
 
 " Not here ? Why, she was put into a cab ! 
 Ah, then she may have been taken to the doctor's 
 after all ! Run and see, Fanny ! Go quick ! — 
 while I change my clothes I Fear nothing ! — she 
 is safe, I tell you ! She was rescued ! ' 
 
 But still Launcelot could not help thinking it 
 somewhat strange that the object of his devoted 
 love had not returned forthwith to the Villa. This 
 she might have done and have sent at once for 
 medical attendance while she was changing her 
 apparel. As be thus reflected therefore, Launcelot 
 feared she might have been hurt after all, even 
 to the extent of sustaining a fractured limb or a 
 dislocated arm by the force with which she was 
 possibly dragged up into the boat. He performed 
 his toilet with feverish rapidity ; and by the time 
 he had finished it, Fanny came back breathless 
 with haste, anxiety, and suspense. She had been 
 to half a dozen medical men in the neighbour- 
 hood ; and to the house of none had Imogen been 
 conveyed. 
 
 Away sped Launcelot back to the pier : he in- 
 stituted fresh inquiries — but he could obtain no 
 additional particulars — merely such details as 
 served to corroborate the former statement, that 
 Imogen had been placed in a cab by the hand- 
 some and gallant young gentleman in the naval 
 uniform who had rescued her from drowning. No 
 one could tell whither the cab had driven : no one 
 seemed to have overheard the directions, what- 
 soever they were, which the officer had given to 
 the driver. Launcelot stood bewildered : he 
 knew not what to think or how to act. There 
 were misgivings in his mind — hut he could 
 scarcely tell of what nature they were : he was 
 too excited and anxious to be enabled to exercise 
 the patience necessary for analyzing and defining 
 them. Suddenly he bethought himself that it 
 Would at least be prudent to ascertain, if possible, 
 who the young Bailor was and where he lived, so 
 that in case of need be might know where to 
 address himself for such information as it would 
 be requisite to obtain if Imogen should remain 
 much longer absent. Launcelot accordingly de- 
 scended upon the dummy or barge, to look for the 
 , boat which had brought the young stranger to 
 Chelsea. But it was not to be seen ; and on in- 
 quiry, Launcelot learnt that it had sailed away 
 soon after having landed its freight; and the 
 boatman himself being unknown to the people 
 belonging to the Chelsea Pier, there seemed to be 
 no further ehance of following up any satisfac- 
 tory clue in this quarter. 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUAIJTY, 
 
 391 
 
 Again did Launcelot hurry home to the Villa, 
 with the feverish hope that he should find Imogen 
 there: but no! she was still absent — and poor 
 Fanny was overwhelmed with grief. This dis- 
 tress was quickly infectious with regard to poor 
 little Annie, who began to cry bitterly when she 
 gathered from what was being said that Imogen 
 was lost- As for Launcelot, he was now well- 
 nigh reduced to despair. That Imogen could 
 have purposely fled with the young stranger in 
 the naval uniform, was not for a moment to be 
 thcught of: he knew her much too well — he could 
 pledge his own existence upon her fidelity ! On 
 the other hand, that the young stranger himself 
 could have violently effected her abduction, was 
 scarcely more probable: for how could this be 
 done in a crowded neighbourhood and in the 
 broad daylight? Launcelot therefore reverted to 
 the idea that Imogen must have been injured 
 despite the assurance which he had received to 
 the contrary when first landing from the steamer 
 on the pier;— and he hastened to eall at the 
 dwelling of every professional man and at the 
 shop of every chemist in the entire district. Still 
 his inquiries were unavailing; and as each suc- 
 cessive negative was given, he felt that his brain 
 was becoming more and more fevered, until he 
 dreaded lest his terrible excitement should termi- 
 nate in madness. For, Oh ! what could he do if 
 his Imogen were lost to him forever? He now 
 felt that he loved her more devotedly than he had 
 even fancied before the strange occurrences of this 
 day, strong though he had known his passion to 
 be for her. To be brief, after having prosecuted 
 his inquiries without the slightest success, he re- 
 turned to Prospect Villa. Three hours had now 
 elapsed since the accident upon the Thames, and 
 still no sign of Imogen. Launcelot could scarcely 
 believe it ! — he seemed to be the sport of some 
 horrible dream : he inquired of himself whether 
 he were awake or in the midst of a nightmare ? 
 He was constantly rushing to the window — the 
 slightest sound took him to the front door : but 
 still no sign of Imogen ! 
 
 All this time the idea had never occurred to him 
 that by any possibility the young stranger in the 
 naval uniform might be her own brother. Of this 
 brother she had never spoken to him but once — 
 and that was on the occasion when she had told 
 him her history and the circumstances under 
 which the hand of calamity had fallen heavily 
 upon her family, forcing herself upon the stage 
 and sending her brother to sea. Launcelot only 
 just knew, therefore, the one fact that she had a 
 brother at sea. But that this brother should have 
 suddenly turned np at such a crisis, did not for 
 an instant strike him. There was, consequently, 
 no species of conjecture whereby he might solve 
 the strange and terrible mystery that now ap- 
 peared to envelope the fate of his Imogen. 
 
 Four hours elapsed — and Launcelot was on the 
 point of sallying forth again to renew his inquiries, 
 when a cab drove up to the front of the villa, and 
 out sprang a young gentleman in a naval uniform. 
 A cry of mingled hope and apprehension hurst 
 from the lips of Launcelot, as he precipitated him- 
 self down the steps of the front door ; and in a 
 state of almost breathless suspense, he demanded, 
 " Where is Imogen ? what have you done with 
 her? what has happened to her? Speak! speak! 
 — for God's sake, speak !" 
 
 But the young officer remained silent ; and 
 now, as Launcelot contemplated his countenance, 
 it struck him that there was an expression of pro- 
 found mournfnlness in it — aye, and not merely 
 mournfulness, but likewise some deeper feeling the 
 precise nature of which Osborne could not under- 
 stand. 
 
 "Speak ! speak ! for heaven's sake speak !" he 
 cried. " Why this silence ?" 
 
 " Let me accompany you into the house, Mr. 
 Osborne," said the officer, whose tone was as pe- 
 culiar as his leoks. 
 
 Launcelot led the way in a state of the most 
 feverish suspense; and the instant the parlour 
 was reached, he turned round upon the young 
 roan, who followed him, — crying in a voice that 
 might even be described as full of a plaintive ap- 
 peal, " Tell me, where is Imogen ? I adjure you 
 to tell me !" 
 
 " Mr. Osborne, I have a most painful duty to 
 perform," was the solemnly given answer. " Me- 
 thought that you might have understood by my 
 manner — by my silence — yes, and even by ray 
 looks, that I was the bearer of no agreeable intel- 
 ligence. Prepare yourself to hear the worst." 
 
 " What ! Imogen injured — hurt — mangled ? 
 No, no! — do not say it!'' — and Launcelot was 
 almost frantic. " They could not have deceived 
 me ! — they assured me that she was unhurt ! Yet, 
 Oh, my God ! I had my misgivings and my 
 suspicions ! — I went everywhere to make inquiries ! 
 — and now those fears are confirmed ! But, no, 
 no ! — again I say it cannot be !" 
 
 "Alas," was the response, "the tidings which I 
 have to impart, are evidently worse than you 
 could have anticipated " 
 
 "You will not No, no! — you will not tell me 
 
 that she is — is " and Launcelot gasped ere he 
 
 could bring himself to give utterance to the word 
 "dead!" 
 
 "1 mean that she is no more:" — and it would 
 be impossible to describe the solemn impressive- 
 ness with which this answer was given. 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Launcelot, wildly : " Imo- 
 gen dead? No, no ! — do not tell me this ! Imogen 
 dead ! No — it is not true ! Who are you that 
 come to deceive me — to trifle with me ?" 
 
 " Who am I, Mr. Osborne ? Perhaps under 
 other circumstances I should tell you hr fiercer 
 words and with sterner looks, that I am Imogen's 
 brother." 
 
 " Ah 1" — and then as Launcelot fixed his eyes 
 again upon the countenance of the young officer, 
 he discerned something in the features which re- 
 minded him of the beautiful profile of Imogen. 
 " And you are her brother ? Yes— I see that you 
 are ! — you must be ! And now, alas ! I can doubt 
 yon no longer ! — I must not hesitate to believe you 
 when you say that Imogen has ceased to exist !" 
 
 Launcelot sank upon a chair — shaded his eyes 
 with one hand — remained profoundly silent for 
 upwards of a minute — and then sobbed violently. 
 Walter Hartland looked on coldly and without 
 compassion : at least whatsoever he might have 
 felt inwardly, was not in the slightest degree ex- 
 pressed upon his countenance. 
 
 " Is this true? can it be possible ?" Launcelot 
 began asking himself when his sobbing had sub- 
 sided : " or is it all a dream ? Imogen gone from 
 me ! — the bright — the beautiful — the affectionate 
 one whom I loved so well !" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 "Mr. Osborne," said Walter, " the grief which 
 you display for my sister's loss, makes me almost 
 inclined to respect you for the love you bore her, 
 notwithstanding that this love was so fatal to her 
 honour." 
 
 "As there is a heaven above us," exclaimed 
 Launcelot vehemently, " I offered to espouse her 
 — to make her my wife — but it was she who re- 
 fused !" 
 
 " It is now useless, Mr. Osborne, to discuss the 
 past," replied Walter, with mournful severity of 
 tone and look. " That she refused you is indeed 
 true — for- you had seduced her first " 
 
 "Seduced her? Oh, what an expression when 
 bearing reference to the strong love that I 
 cherished for her ! — that love which was so ten- 
 derly reciprocated I And if it led us into error, 
 it did not render me false to my honourable inten- 
 tions ! — but, I repeat, it was your sister who re- 
 fused to become my wife I" 
 
 " Yes— because she felt first of all, that having 
 been your mistress she could not become your 
 wife ; and secondly she had seen your parents, 
 and she knew that they would never consent to 
 your union. She- loved you too much to suffer 
 you to mar your own prospects orruin your posi- 
 tion in the world by becoming the husband of an 
 equestrian performer ; and she was also too proud 
 to force herself into a family that would have 
 despised and disowned her." 
 
 " Oh, if she has told you all this, Mr, Hart- 
 land," exclaimed Launcelot, " she must have said 
 other things concerning me! — she must have 
 charged you with some message— some last as- 
 surance of love and affection ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Osborne : Imogen charged me to con- 
 vey her last wishes unto you. She said that loving 
 you as she did, she was almost glad for your sake 
 that ye were to be parted by the hand of Death ; 
 for that she knew how impossible it was for -.your 
 family interests as well as your own personal ad- 
 vantages to be served and forwarded so long as 
 such a connexion endured. And therefore, ter- 
 rible though it were for her to know that she had 
 already looked her last on you, yet in another 
 sense she was rejoiced ; for her love towards you, 
 Mr. Osborne, was a self-martyrdom !" 
 
 " Alas, poor Imogen !" and Launcelot was now 
 weeping copiously. 
 
 ° My sister bade you mourn not for her, but to 
 think of those who have other claims upon you," 
 pursued Walter Hartland. " Yes — she enjoined 
 me to bid you remember that you have a father 
 and mother whose wishes and whose interests you 
 are bound to consider ; and that your family for- 
 tunes are only to be rebuilt by means of some 
 exalted marriage — such a marriage in fine as your 
 rank and position warrant you in aspiring unto," 
 
 " Good heavens ! did Imogen speak thus ?" 
 murmured Launcelot in a broken voice. 
 
 " She spoke thus — and it was with sense, and 
 reason, and justice also that she spoke !" 
 
 " But Imogen herself had every claim upon 
 me!" cried Launcelot, — " the claim of love -the 
 claim of one who had surrendered up a fortune for 
 the services of my family I Do you know that 
 
 Imogen had twenty thousand pounds It was 
 
 but yesterday she explained to me how she had 
 obtained the amount——" 
 
 " I know everything to which you allude," said 
 Walter ; " and there can be no doubt that my 
 
 poor sister was one of the most generous-hearted 
 of women!" 
 
 " Oh, the best ! the best I" murmured Launcelot 
 fervently. "And I repeat, she had every claim 
 
 upon me I Oh, that she had lived !" but here 
 
 his voice was choked with his deep convulsive 
 sobbings. 
 
 " The shock she had sustained by the accident 
 was too great for her," resumed Walter: "the 
 system received a blow which quickly proved fatal. 
 She broke a blood-vessel " 
 
 " Oh — but the best medical advice " 
 
 " She had it, Mr, Osborne. Think you that I 
 would have neglected her ? No, no ! Painful as it 
 was for me to learn, when setting foot again upon 
 my native land, that my sister had fallen from 
 the path of virtue and had become the mistress of 
 a young patrician, — yet Oh ! when Death laid hi3 
 cold hand upon her, and she was breathing her 
 last words in my ears, it was not then, at such a 
 moment, that I could display harshness or severity 
 towards her ! No ! — heaven forbid !" 
 
 " Oh, thank you — thank you, for that assur- 
 ance I" murmured Launcelot : and grasping Wal- 
 ter's hand, he said, " We are not enemies?" 
 
 " We are not enemies, Mr. Osborne ; because, 
 after all you have said, it would be impossible for 
 me to deny that you stand towards my deceased 
 sister in a very different light from that of the 
 ordinary seducer. And therefore I repeat that we 
 are not enemies, Mr. Osborne. But it were useless 
 for me to say that we will be friends, because our 
 pathways lie in different directions in the world, 
 and it is little probable that when we separate in 
 a few minutes — as we are about to do — we shall 
 ever meet again. But I bear you no ill-will." 
 
 "I will accompany you, Mr. Hartland!'' an- 
 swered Launcelot. " Where are the remains of 
 Imogen? where did she die? where is that beau- 
 teous form ? where reposes the head that has lain 
 upon this bosom of mine? where has death closed 
 the eyes of that countenance which I loved so 
 much in life and would fain behold for the last 
 time in death ?" 
 
 "Mr. Osborne," said Walter, firmly and se- 
 verely, " you will not accompany me to the place 
 where Imogen lies. It were useless " 
 
 " What !" interrupted Launcelot, with passion- 
 ate vehemence : " not be permitted to press my 
 lips for the last time to Imogen's brow ? — not be 
 suffered to kneel by her corpse and pray God to 
 have mercy upon the soul which has fled from the 
 most beauteous tenement that ever the eternal 
 spirit inhabited upon earth I" 
 
 " Understand me, Mr Osborne," responded 
 Walter : " I comprehend the feelings which dic- 
 tate the wish on your part — but I cannot consent 
 to gratify it. 1 bore Imogen to the house of 
 highly respectable friends of mine, — friends 
 amongst whom there are ladies as pure, virtuous, 
 and good as your own sister ; and they need not 
 know that Imogen was the mistress of a scion of 
 the aristocracy at the time of her death." 
 
 " Let me go as a friend I represent me as a re- 
 latioiil^no matter what, only suffer me to go!" — 
 anj|oLa,uncelot'8 accents were full of the most 
 earnest and pathetic appeal. 
 " '^Slo, Mr. Osborne— no, it cannot be permitted. 
 I adjure you to respect the character of my sister 
 in her death — you who did not altogether respect it 
 in her lifetime ! Suffer me as her brother— her only 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MKMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 393 
 
 surviving relative — to conduct the last sad ob- 
 sequies with so much privacy — I might even say 
 secrecy — that Calumny which respects not even 
 the dead, may not know upon whose grave, grassy 
 and flower-bedecked, it sits in some village church- 
 yard, — -ignorant of who sleeps below, and there- 
 fore unable to' defame her !'* 
 
 " Good heavens !" murmured Launcelot, who 
 seemed as if his heart were breaking ; " is this to 
 be the end of poor Imogen ? — is it thus that in 
 her death she is to be secluded ? shall no name be 
 inscribed upon her tomb ?" 
 
 "Yes — the name of Imogen on a stone at the 
 head of the grave," rejoined Walter ; " but not a 
 syllable of detail to tell the world who this 
 Imogen was ! Some day you shall learn where 
 she is thus secluded from life ; and if your heart 
 still entertain the slightest yearning towards her, 
 you may be permitted to go and drop a tear over 
 her grave !" 
 
 So. 50. — The Touxo Duchess. 
 
 There was a pause, during which Launcelot 
 strove hard to resign himself to the course marked 
 out by the brother of the lost Imogen. But, Oh ! 
 how difficult to yield up the hope of looking for 
 the last time upon the countenance of the beloved 
 and perished one ! Accordingly, Launcelot made 
 one more appeal to Walter Hartland; but the 
 latter speedily checked him, saying with a cold 
 severity that repelled all further intercession, 
 " Suffer me, Mr. Osborne, to become the guardian 
 of my sister's name in her death, since yov. re- 
 spected it so little in her life time !" 
 
 Launcelot bent down his looks, distressed and 
 humiliated, but with a seal upon his lips. 
 
 "And now, Mr. Osborne," resumed Walter, " I 
 have only to fulfil one of the last instructions 
 which I received from my poor sister — and then I 
 shall bid you farewell. I promised to take charge 
 of little Annie." 
 
 " Leave the child with me !" exclaimed Launcelot 
 
394 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 vehemently; "and I -will rear her for Imogen's 
 sake ! Imogen loved the child fondly ; and, Oh ! 
 it will be a solace and a pleasure to me to have 
 henceforth about me something that Imogen 
 loved !" 
 
 " This request, Mr. Osborne, I must also refuse. 
 My -word was solemnly given to my sister," con- 
 tinued Walter, " to take charge of Annie ; and 
 my pledge must be fulfilled. Oh! believe me, 
 she would not on her death-bed have permitted 
 you to be embarrassed with a charge which could 
 not fail to militate materially against all your 
 future prospects — even as it had given a scope to 
 scandalous tongues and created false prejudices in 
 reference to my poor sister herself! Let me de- 
 part, therefore, with Annie and the faithful 
 domestic ; and do you, Mr. Osborne, hasten to re- 
 turn into that sphere to which you properly belong 
 and which you were formed to adorn." 
 
 Launcelot made no answer: he again threw 
 himself upon the chair whence he had ere now 
 risen ; and covering his face with his hands, he 
 became absorbed in the depth of his unutterable 
 woe. Walter Hartland glided noiselessly from 
 the room — and Launcelot perceived it not: but 
 when the unhappy young gentleman awoke from 
 his reverie and looked about him, he found him- 
 self alone. In less than a minute afterwards he 
 ascertained that Fanny and the little girl were 
 gone, with the brother of the lost Imogen ! 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 ZADOU SKI'S POCKF.I-BOOK. 
 
 Three weeks had now elapsed since the murder 
 of Ivan Zadouski, and the disposal of his muti- 
 lated corpse in the carpet-bag. No clue had in 
 the meanwhile been discovered toward the un- 
 ravelling of the fearful mystery ; so that Mr. and 
 Mrs. Grills were now enjoying a sense of the 
 completest security, and hence Henri Ponchard 
 hesitated not occasionally to call at their house to 
 ascertain whether anything fresh had transpired. 
 
 One evening — about three weeks after the mur- 
 der, as we have already said — the Frenchman 
 made his appearance at the house of infamy in 
 that low vile neighbourhood ; and the instant his 
 summons at the front door was answered by Mrs. 
 Grills in person, she gave vent to an ejaculation 
 which was unmistakably significant of the fact 
 that she had something of importance to commu- 
 nicate. 
 
 " What is it, my good woman ?" asked Pon- 
 chard, with his accustomed coolness as he pre- 
 ceded Mrs. Grills into the parlour. 
 
 " A discovery, sir ! a discovery ! — though I 
 don't know what you may make of it." 
 
 " A discovery of what ? not of the business in 
 which we were engaged ? — or else you would not 
 look quite so smiling and satisfied over the mat- 
 ter?" 
 
 " No— there's nothink to be afeerd on, that I 
 know of," pursued Mrs. Grills : " and indeed I 
 don't know whether the discovery is of any use 
 at all " 
 
 "Make haste, woman!" interrupted Ponchard, 
 now speaking somewhat impatiently. 
 
 " You know I told you of the tall gentleman I 
 
 met on the bridge, with the light brown hair — 
 the auburn whiskers — the light moustachios, with 
 the points all curled " 
 
 " Very well ! what of this personage ?" de- 
 manded Henri Ponchard. 
 
 " I saw him again to day," rejoined Mrs. Grills. 
 " I had a little business to transact in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Regent Street — just to look after a 
 young milliner-gal that one of my customers has 
 taken a fancy to — when who sh'onld I see coming 
 along on horseback, followed by a groom at a 
 short distance, but my tall distinguished-looking 
 friend of Waterloo Bridge! You may be sure, 
 sir, I very soon popped out of the way, for if he 
 had happened to see me, he might by chance have 
 recognised my face again " 
 
 " Well, well," said Ponchard; "to what is all 
 this to lead? I suppose the fact is, you've dis- 
 covered who the gentleman was? '' 
 
 "Yes — that's just it," said' Mrs. Grills: "for 
 as I dodged round the corner of a street I heard 
 one gentleman tell another who he was. You'd 
 never guess if you was to go on thinking and 
 thinking from now till doomsday! — so I won't 
 keep you any longer in suspense ; but I'll just tell 
 you at -"once tljat the tall handsome man which 
 met me on the bridge, was none other than the 
 Russian Grand Date !" 
 
 " What ? " and Henri Ponchard literally 
 bounded upon his seat. " The' Russian Grand 
 Duke ? Good heavens I Yes, yes ! ' I comprehend 
 it all ! To be sure ! he may have had an ap- 
 pointment with the Pole! — this is now evident 
 enough !" 
 
 " Yes — he said so at the time,", observed Mrs. 
 Grills, who was now smitten with wonder at the 
 effect which her revelation had produced upon 
 Ponchard. 
 
 "Extraordinary coincidences!" ejaculated this 
 individual. " But, Ah ! it is indeed something 
 whieh may possibly be turned to advantage !'' — 
 and with these words he was rushing forth from 
 the apartment, when Mrs. Grills detained him. 
 
 "Just one word, sir! one word!" she cried. 
 " There's nothink to fear — is there ? " 
 
 "Nothing, nothing!" he hastily responded. 
 " No !— nothing to fear I" 
 
 "One word more, sir! What about Hester? 
 Anythink new in that quarter ! Have you seen 
 her again ? " 
 
 " No ! It was with difficulty I obtained that 
 one interview with her the other day at Charlton 
 Villa: for she is ill — her newly discovered parent 
 would hardly leave her " 
 
 " Perhaps she may die," interjected Mrs. Grills 
 brutally; " and that'll be so much the better ; for 
 she's the only person that could tell anythink that 
 might prove at all inconwenient to us." 
 
 Ponchard flung upon the woman a look of the 
 deepest disgust ; but instantaneously altering the 
 expression of his countenance, lest he should 
 offend her, he said, " Fear nothing on the part of 
 poor Hester. She will not suffor a word to escape 
 her lips that will tend to do me an injury. Of 
 this I am well assured 1 It is not likely that I 
 shall see her again very soon — even if we ever 
 meet any more; for, X repeat, she is hastening 
 towards the tomb " 
 
 " Well," interjected Mrs. Grills, " if so be you're 
 
 satisfied about tb i gal, I'm sure I am though 
 
 Grills did say f',iat if " 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 395 
 
 But Henri Ponchard waited to bear no more ; 
 and he rushed from the house. He lost no time 
 in returning to his own lodgings ; and there he 
 took from the bottom of a trunk, which he kept 
 carefully locked, an old pocket-book tied round 
 with a piece of string. This he secured about his 
 person ; and having made some little improve- 
 ment in his toilet — for which purpose the con- 
 tents of the trunk furnished the means — he 
 hastened off towards the West End. 
 
 It was about half-past nine o'clock in the even- 
 ing when Henri Ponchard thus bent his way to 
 the patrician quarter of Grosvenor Square ; and 
 on reaching the mansion of Count Olonetz, he at 
 once boldly inquired for the Grand Duke. 
 
 "Your name, if yon please?" said the domestic 
 to whom he addressed himself. " I will take it 
 to his Imperial Highness, and see whether au 
 audience can be granted — though perhaps at this 
 hour it were better that you should explain your 
 business in writing." 
 
 "Not so, if you please," answered Ponchard. 
 " His Imperial Highness will grant me an inter- 
 view, I am confident, if you will have the good- 
 ness to say that my business is of more than 
 ordinary importance and relates to an appoint- 
 ment which has never been kept." 
 
 " But your name, sir, if you please?" persisted 
 the domestic. 
 
 " Tou will see how needless it is for me to give 
 my name, when once you shall have delivered my 
 message to his Imperial Highness." 
 
 The lacquey withdrew ; and in a very few mo- 
 ments he returned, bidding Ponchard follow him. 
 The Frenchman was conducted up the magnificent 
 staircase, to an apartment where he found him- 
 self in the presence of a tall, distinguished- 
 looking personage, precisely answering the de- 
 scription given by Mrs. Grills of the Eussian 
 imperial prince. The domestic instantaneously 
 withdrew; and the Grand Duke — who had 
 thrown a glance of rapid scrutiny at the French- 
 man on his entrance — exclaimed with an air of 
 mingled excitement and disappointment, " You 
 are not he whom I expected to behold !" 
 
 " No, my lord," answered Ponchard, in a calm 
 collected manner. " I am not Ivan Zadouski." 
 
 " Then what meant you by the message which 
 you sent, relative to the appointment that had 
 never been kept?" demanded the Prince impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " I mean your Imperial Highness to under- 
 stand that I am here in the place of that same 
 Ivan Zadouski." 
 
 " For what purpose?" asked the Grand Duke, 
 looking strangely, suspiciously, and also with an 
 air of acute suspense at the Frenchman. " Speak 
 quickly ! — for I must tell you that I have had 
 terrible misgivings - 1 have read certain horrible 
 accounts in the public journals " 
 
 Ponchard pretended to look astonished, as he 
 said, " I do not understand your Imperial High- 
 ness. I have called to place in your hands cer- 
 tain papers which your Highness is doubtless 
 anxious to possess " 
 
 "Answer me!" interrupted the Grand Duke. 
 " Do you come from Ivan Zadouski? Does he 
 still live ? or has he been made away with ? and 
 is this the reason that the appointment was never 
 kept? "Who was the woman I met upon the 
 bridge ?" 
 
 " My lord," said Henri Ponchard, " I do not 
 understand you. Suffice it for me to state that 
 circumstances prevented Ivan Zadouski from keep- 
 ing the appointment that night " 
 
 " But the next night, and several consecutive 
 nights?" cried the Duke. "I was there " 
 
 "Well, ray lord, the same circumstances pre- 
 vented Ivan Zadouski from meeting your Imperial 
 Highness. This is all that I am enabled to state 
 upon the point ; and perhaps your Highness will 
 be more satisfied if I proceed at once to business 
 by placing this packet of papers in your august 
 hand." 
 
 Thus saying, Ponchard produced a pocket-book, 
 which the Prince snatched somewhat abruptly 
 from him ; and then hastening to seat himself at 
 the table, he began to glance over the papers 
 which the pocket-book contained. The French- 
 man watched him with a calm but intense scrutiny ; 
 and he could judge from the change in the illus- 
 trious individual's countenance, the varying effects 
 which those letters were producing upon him. At 
 length the Grand Duke — evidently struggling 
 hard to master his emotions — deliberately replaced 
 the documents in the pocket-book, tied the string 
 around it, and then slowly turning his looks upon 
 the Frenchman, said, " Of course you know the 
 contents of these papers?" 
 
 " I am acquainted with their contents, may it 
 please your Highness," was Ponchard's reply. 
 " But I am discreet — and I never betray a secret 
 for the keeping of which I am well paid." 
 
 " I understand you, sir," rejoined the Grand 
 Duke, his lip turning pale and quivering as he 
 spoke. " You know that these papers contain the 
 damning evidence of a husband's dishonour and a 
 wife's guilt : — you rightly surmise therefore that, 
 though these sad details are far from being alto- 
 gether a secret,- yet that I, as that injured hus- 
 band, were loath for them to obtain a world-wide 
 notoriety. Yes, yes ! — for my-dear child's sake ! 
 Well, sir, you shall be bribed — you shall be well 
 rewarded !" 
 
 Thus speaking, the Russian Prince drew forth 
 his purse ; and thence he counted down a number 
 of bank-notes, a glance at which showed Pon- 
 chard that they were of considerable value. He 
 gathered them together, bowed to the Grand 
 Duke, and was about to quit the apartment, when 
 the Prince caught him abruptly and violently by 
 the wrist, saying in a low deep voice full of con- 
 centrated passion, " Tell me what you know, and 
 the secret shall be safe ! Tell me that Ivan Za- 
 douski has ceased to exist — tell me that those 
 were his remains which were so strangely disposed 
 of the other night — and the discovery of which 
 filled the whole metropolis with horror! Tell me, 
 I repeat, that Ivan Zadouski is no more, and I 
 shall thank you — yes, shall thank you ; for I shall 
 know that retribution has overtaken the paramour 
 of my guilty wife!" 
 
 Henri Ponchard reflected for -i few moments 
 with an inscrutable expression of countenance ; 
 and then, as if making up his mind what response 
 to give, he said, " I see that we may trust each 
 other, my lord. Well then, it is as your High- 
 ness suspects : — Ivan Zadouski has paid the penalty 
 of whatsoever crimes he may have at any time 
 committed !" 
 
 " Ah !" said the Grand Duke, an expression of 
 gloating ferocity coining over his countenance for 
 
396 
 
 'Dili YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, S1EMOI11S OF A LADY Off QUALITY. 
 
 an instant : " it is thus — is it ? And now answer 
 ine ! What has Count Mandeville to do with the 
 transaction? how came he to be mixed up with 
 Ivan Zadouski?" 
 
 "Count Mandeville?" exclaimed Ponchard, 
 with an air of the most unfeigned surprise. 
 
 " Yes — Count Mandeville," rejoined the Grand 
 Duke "I know little or nothing about him be- 
 yond suspecting him to be a spy of Count Olo- 
 netz " 
 
 "A spy?" echoed Ponsford, as a light began to 
 break in upon him : " a spy of the Eussian Am- 
 bassador ?" 
 
 " I have every reason to think so," rejoined the 
 Grand Duke. "Nay more! — I have even heard 
 it whispered that he serves the French Ambas- 
 sador in a like capacity — though I have no means 
 of vouching for this latter fact." 
 
 "A man who would be a spy in one instance," 
 said Ponchard gloomily, " will act as a spy in an- 
 other. But wherefore did your Imperial Highness 
 ere now associate that man's name with Ivan 
 Zadouski ?" 
 
 "Because it was he who made for me the 
 appointment with Zadouski on Waterloo Bridge." 
 
 "Indeed?" — and again Ponchard looked sus- 
 picious. " On my soul, my lord, I was ignorant 
 that Mandeville had meddled in this affair ; for it 
 was not he who had any concern in Ivan Za- 
 douski's death. Ask me no more, my lord. Doubt- 
 less, as it is I who have brought you the pocket-book 
 and papers belonging to the deceased, your High- 
 ness will entertain the conviction that it was by 
 my hand he met his death. It will be therefore 
 useless to give your Highness an assurance to the 
 contrary " 
 
 " I agree with you, sir,'' said the Grand Duke, 
 " that it were useless for us to discuss the subject 
 any farther :" — and with these words he suffered 
 Ponchard to take his departure. 
 
 The Frenchman, on leaving the mansion of the 
 Russian Embassy, bent his way towards a coffee- 
 house in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square, 
 which was chiefly frequented by foreign refugees, 
 and where he hoped to meet with Karl Petronoff. 
 Nor was he disappointed ; for the individual just 
 named was found enveloped in a cloud of tobacco- 
 smoke, in the midst of which he was playing at 
 dominoes with a comrade. Ponchard waited some- 
 what impatiently until the game was concluded ; 
 and then beckoning Petronoff to follow him, he 
 led the way out of the coffee-house. 
 
 " What is it?" asked Petronoff, without dis- 
 playing any considerable degree of excitement or 
 anxiety. " Is that business discovered?" 
 
 "No — not yet — though it may be — aye, and 
 betrayed and exposed likewise!" responded the 
 Frenchman. "I have just made a most im- 
 portant discovery " 
 
 "Of what nature?" demanded Petronoff. 
 
 "Ivan Zadouski was no spy!" pursued Pon- 
 chard. " Blinded by circumstances, as indeed we 
 all were at the time — you struck down the wrong 
 man !" 
 
 " By heavens, Ponchard !" replied Petronoff, 
 "you have told me the only thing that could 
 possibly excite within me a sentiment of remorse 
 for the deed that I committed. Ah ! if Zadouski 
 were really no spy and no traitor, I could weep— 
 I could beat my breast and tear my hair ;*' 
 
 "All of which will be unavailing," interjected 
 
 Ponchard, "and would not recall to life the unfor- 
 fortunate victim of this fatal mistake !" 
 
 "True! — true, my friend!" murmured Karl 
 Petronoff, deeply moved. "True! But who was 
 the traitor? — for there must have been one 
 amongst us !" 
 
 " Who was he ? Mandeville himself !'' 
 
 It was a tremendous start which Karl Petronoff 
 gave, as he ejaculated, " Oh ! purblind that we 
 were not to have seen it, or at least suspected it ! 
 But there must be revenge, Ponchard !" 
 
 " Aye — and our own safety must be consulted," 
 said the Frenchman. " Look you ! Mandeville 
 is certain to discover sooner or later, even if he 
 does not already know it, that Ivan Zadouski has 
 disappeared: he will put two and two together — 
 he will compare dates — and following up the clue, 
 he will go to the police-office and examine the 
 garments that were found in the carpet-bag. 
 Then he will be enabled to unveil everything — ■ 
 and he will hold all our lives in his power! 
 Well, then, for us to be in the power of such a 
 villain as that " 
 
 "Enough, Ponchard — enough!" interrupted 
 Petronoff, whose countenance, as the lamp-light 
 fell upon it, wore an expression of fierce and 
 savage resolution : " my mind was already made 
 up even before you had presented these arguments 
 to my consideration !" 
 
 But let us leave the two foreigners to the dis- 
 cission of whatever plan might now be suggest- 
 ing itself for the execution of their vindictive 
 design,' and let us return to the Eussian Grand 
 Duke, whom we left in possession of the papers 
 which had prddueed such a powerful effect upon 
 him. 
 
 So soon as Ponchard had taken his departure, 
 the Imperial Prince reflected in deep moodiness 
 for a few minutes : then he consulted his watch — 
 and muttering to himself, " Ten o'clock — it is not 
 yet too late!" — he seemed to decide all in a 
 moment how he was to act. Descending a private 
 staircase, he hastened to the stables at the back 
 of the premises, ordered a horse to be saddled, and 
 dispensing with any attendance, rode away at a 
 rapid pace. In less than three-quarters of an 
 hour he reached Hendon Court ; and fastening the 
 bridle to the gates, proceeded up the avenue to- 
 wards the front-door. The footman, who an- 
 swered the summons, immediately recognised the 
 foreigner who had called upwards of three weeks 
 previously, who had given no name, and who had 
 so long an interview with Mildred upon theoccosion. 
 
 " I wish to see that lady," began the Prince, 
 " whom I saw here once before " 
 
 " Be pleased to walk in, sir," said the footman, 
 little suspecting the rank of the visitor. 
 
 The Grand Duke was accordingly ushered into 
 the breakfast-parlour — the very same room where 
 he had previously met Mildred ; and in the course 
 of two or three minutes she made her appearance. 
 She was elegantly dressed as on the former occa- 
 sion to which we have referred: her toilet was 
 chosen with an evident view to the setting off her 
 charms to all their most imposing and voluptuous 
 advantages, — so that it actually seemed as if she 
 had been awaiting this visit and was prepared for 
 it, though more than three weeks had elapsed 
 since the former interview which we have de- 
 scribed, and though in the meantime she had 
 heard naught from the Imperial Grand Duke. 
 
THE YOl'iNO DUCHI'.f 
 
 Ull, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 397 
 
 It was a quick searching glance, full of sus- 
 pense and anxiety, which Mildred flung upon the 
 visitor — for her husband he could not be called, 
 though in her heart for three weeks past the hope 
 had been fluttering that such he would indeed 
 again become unto her. His countenance was' 
 severe and sombre ; but in the absence of any ex- 
 pression denoting excitement, there was nothing 
 sufficiently marked or decisive to destroy alto- 
 gether that hope which she had been cherishing. 
 
 "Mildred," said the Grand Duke, in a cold 
 level tone, " why do I find you decked out thus — 
 almost the same as when we met so accidentally 
 the other night? Is it that there's company in 
 the house ? Tet I hear not the sounds of music 
 nor of *gaiety " 
 
 "There is no company iu the house," answered 
 Mildred. "My mother is an invalid, and sees no 
 society at present. But if you ask me wherefore 
 I wear a costume fitting for this occasion, the ex- 
 planation can be speedily given. It is because 
 when you were last here, you gave me to under- 
 stand that I might possibly see you again ; and 
 therefore I have been expecting you — and as you 
 said that I should not be compromised in any way 
 methought that you would come after the shades 
 of evening closed in ; — and would you have had 
 me unprepared to receive you ?" 
 
 " Tou thought that I should return, Mildred," 
 said the latter, still severe and cold in his looks 
 and his accents ; " and did you not tremble at the 
 idea of again finding yourself in my presence ?" 
 
 "Are we to recapitulate and argue over and 
 over again all that was said the other evening ?" 
 — and Mildred spoke with a touching tremulous- 
 ness in her voice and with a soft deprecating en- 
 treaty in her handsome eyes. 
 
 " Do you persist, Mildred," asked the Prince, 
 " in the declaration of your innocence ?" 
 
 " I do ! I do !" she exclaimed, with that ven- 
 turesome hardihood which was determined to risk 
 everything in playing for so important a stake: 
 — besides, she asked herself what could he have 
 possibly discovered since they last met ? 
 
 " Tou speak as if you think that my mind is 
 easy to be beguiled," resumed the Grand Duke, 
 " and as if I was still labouring under the effect 
 of all you said to me when last we met in this 
 room. But you are wrong. Things have come 
 to my knowledge " 
 
 "If I have been calumniated," cried Mildred 
 vehemently, "give me an opportunity of excul- 
 pating myself! Ah, I understand it all ! That 
 false, deceitful creature Ethel Trevor has been 
 speaking to you against me !" 
 
 " Not so," replied the Grand Duke : then fixing 
 his eyes sternly upon Mildred, he asked, "But 
 how did you know that Ethel Trevor was now 
 living with our — our daughter ? — for that you do 
 possess this knowledge, I judge from the way in 
 which you have mentioned Mrs. Trevor's name ?" 
 
 "How did I know it?" — and Mildred looked 
 confused. 
 
 "Yes — how did you know it?" repeated the 
 Grand Duke. "When I was here the other 
 night, you told me that Ethel had got another 
 place somewhere — you declared that you knew not 
 where " 
 
 "Nor did I then!" ejaculated Mildred. "I 
 swear that I did not !" 
 
 "Ethel left the following morning,'' pursued 
 
 the Grand Duke ; " and I am confident she did 
 not tell you whither she was going. No ! she 
 did not even mention the circumstance to Lady 
 Langport ! She assured me that she did not ; 
 and she is a young lady of truthfulness and sin- 
 cerity. How, then, did you know that she was 
 coming to be the friend and companion of 
 Boxana ?" 
 
 " Do you assure me that she has not spoken 
 against me?" asked Mildred. 
 
 " Not one word ! not one syllable ! I swear it!" 
 exclaimed the Grand Duke. "Tell me, then 
 — unless you would have me think that you have 
 been acting the part of a spy on Ethel Trevor's 
 movements or my proceedings " 
 
 " No, no ! I have not done so !" interjected 
 Mildred. "I have scarcely left Hendon Court 
 for more than an hour or two at a time since you 
 were here last : I have been so anxiously await- 
 ing your return ! And now that you are here, it 
 is only to fill my soul with fresh unhappiness I" 
 
 "Because I have received fresh testimony 
 against you!" said the Duke impressively. 
 
 "Calumny! falsehood! Oh, good God!" cried 
 Mildred, clasping her hands with an air of wildest 
 grief; "am I always to be the victim of misre- 
 presentation and of circumstantial evidence— the 
 victim I may say of the cruellest tyranny!" 
 
 " Not so," interrupted the Grand Duke sternly. 
 " Alas ! it was a bitter, bitter moment for me, 
 Mildred, when the hope which since our last in- 
 terview I had cherished, that you might after all 
 be innocent, was suddenly destroyed! — aye, and 
 destroyed, too, by such evidence that no sophistry 
 on your part can refute !" 
 
 "Then it. must be that villain Mandeville!" 
 exclaimed Mildred, her eyes flashing forth vin- 
 dictive fires. " I always dreaded this ! At 
 
 least 1 mean — I knew that he was a miscreant 
 
 capable of pursuing me with implacability ! Do 
 not believe him ! I will unmask him ! I will ex- 
 pose him ! He is an adventurer — an impostor ! 
 He is not a Frenchman — neither is he a Count ! 
 He is an Englishman ! I believe, too, of an in- 
 famous character " 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the Grand Duke, with un- 
 feigned surprise: "Mandeville that same English- 
 man who betrayed you into the bands of the 
 Russian Consul at Bombay ?" 
 
 "The same! the same!" cried Mildred, quiver- 
 ing with passion. "And now he has dared 
 calumniate me " 
 
 " Mildred," interrupted the Grand Duke sternly, 
 " when I demanded of you at our former inter- 
 view in this room, what had become of that Eng- 
 lishman, you declared that you did not know ; 
 and yet you must have even then been aware that 
 he was living in this country as Count Mande- 
 ville ! But, Oh, Mildred ! it was your guilty con- 
 science which prompted that false and deceptive 
 answer ! for you dared not tell me where I might 
 find that Englishman ! — you dreaded lest it might 
 be my intention to seek him out and question 
 him !" 
 
 " No !" cried Mildred, again putting a bold 
 face upon the matter; "you are not altogether 
 correct in your view of the case ! It was not the 
 truth that I dreaded from the lips of the self- 
 styled. Mandeville — but it was his aptitude for 
 malignant falsehood !" 
 
 "Enough, enough, Mildred!" cried the Grand 
 
198 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCIIKSS ; OR, MJKMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 Duke, with a sudden air of disgust which showed 
 that he thought the present scene had gone suffi- 
 ciently far. "If I have condescended thus to 
 question you — to reason and to argue with j'ou — 
 it has only been for the purpose of ascertaining to 
 what extent the vile hypocrisy and detestable 
 speciousness of your character could reach ! Hear 
 me! — interrupt me not! It was neither from the 
 lips of Ethel Trevor nor the adventurer Mande- 
 ville, that I have heard aught against you But 
 the damning evidence of your guilt, — the irre- 
 sistible proof that Ivan Zadouski was your para- 
 mour when he fled with you from Siberia — aye, and 
 before !— these proofs, I say, Mildred, have fallen 
 accidentally into my hand! — they are here! — 
 your own letters — those billets, full of love and 
 tenderness, stealthily written to the handsome 
 aide-de-camp, when you were a prisoner in the 
 palace of Tobolsk ! You dare not deny your own 
 writing!" — and with these words, the Grand 
 Duke, tearing open the pocket-book, flung the 
 documents with fierce indignation upon the 
 table. 
 
 Mildred was annihilated. This was a blow 
 which she had little expected: it was the very 
 last species of evidence that she could have 
 dreamt of being brought against her. The first 
 wild haggard look of consternation and dismay 
 which she flung at the papers, showed her indeed 
 but too plainly that they were the amatory billets 
 which she had penned years ago at Tobolsk to 
 the then, handsome aide-de-camp Ivan Zadouski. 
 Why he had kept them — whether as the memo- 
 rials of a love sincerely felt, or as the proofs of an 
 amour which had been wonderfully gratifying to 
 his pride, or with the hope that the correspondence 
 might some day serve as a means of extortion — 
 we cannot now undertake to say. Suffice it for 
 the purposes of our tale, and to the utter con- 
 fusion of the wretched Mildred, the documents 
 had been preserved — and they were there brought 
 before her, as the damning evidence of her 
 guilt! 
 
 "Now, vile woman," said the Grand Duke, in 
 a voice implacably severe, " everything is at an 
 end betwixt you and me ! So our relative posi- 
 tions ought indeed to have remained : and but for 
 your wily hypocrisy and speciousness they would 
 have continued, had not accident thrown us to- 
 gether the other day. And now I leave you, 
 never again to be saddened by even a single 
 thought concerning your welfare — but on the con- 
 trary, utterly indifferent to your fate, whatever it 
 may be ! Beware of your future conduct : be- 
 ware, I tell you ! — for by heaven, I feel something 
 more than indifferent towards you 1 There is a 
 vindictive demon rising up in my soul — and — 
 and — wretch that thou art ! I dare trust myself 
 with thee no longer 1" 
 
 Having thus spoken — all the latter sentences 
 having been furiously vociferated forth — the 
 Grand Duke rushed from the apartment, flung 
 himself out of the house, closing the front door 
 violently behind him : and springing into his 
 saddle, rode at a fast gallop back into London. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXV. 
 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 A few minutes after this interview, Mildred re- 
 paired to her mother's bedchamber, to which her 
 ladyship bad already retired, and where she was 
 seated in an arm-chair until it might please her 
 daughter to come and assist in the usual night- 
 toilet. Lady Langport had been startled by the 
 violent closing of the front door ; and she had sat 
 in nervous doubt as to what had possibly been 
 the cause until Mildred made her appearance. 
 
 " What was that din ?" inquired her ladyship ; 
 " who left the house so abruptly and so rudely ? 
 But good heavens, Mildred ! how pale you are ! 
 how wild and frightened are your looks? What 
 has happened, my dear child? what has hap- 
 pened? Speak, speak, I conjure you!" 
 
 "Enough has happened, mother, I can tell 
 you," was the answer given almost with a savage 
 impatience. " It is now quite a chance whether 
 I shall be left at peace or dragged off to Siberia 
 again." 
 
 " Mildred ! do not tell me this" — and Lady 
 Langport gasped for breath, " Who has been 
 here?" 
 
 " Who? The Grand Duke— my husband, if I 
 dare call him so. But no, no !" added Mildred, 
 with a sort of hysterical laugh : " that hope is all 
 annihilated !" 
 
 "You do not mean to tell me," said Lady 
 Langport, in consternation, " that the Grand Duke 
 has been to Hendon Court ? " 
 
 ." He has just left it it was he who banged 
 
 the front door so violently : it was he whose horse 
 you might have heard galloping away so madly!" 
 
 " Heaven have mercy upon us !" said the poor 
 lady, as if in dying tones. " What could he want 
 here?" 
 
 " It is not the first time that he has been here," 
 said Mildred, who spoke in a harsh, irritable, 
 brutal tone, as if fully prepared to visit upon her 
 unfortunate mother the sense of her own goaded 
 and excited feelings. 
 
 " Not the first time ?" exclaimed Lady Lang- 
 port, with renewed amazement. 
 
 " No : he was here the other night, upwards of 
 three weeks ago — you remember that foreigner 
 I told you that I had met with while shopping in 
 London " 
 
 " And that was the Grand Duke?" said Lady 
 Langport. " Oh, Mildred ! deal candidly with me 
 at last ! — tell me everything, I beseech you ! How 
 have you again incurred the anger of the Russian 
 Prince ?" 
 
 " There is little enough to tell — and yet it is 
 sufficiently serious, I can assure you," rtjoiued 
 Mildred, still in that curt, harsh, semi-brutal 
 strain which seemed to throw the fault of her own 
 misdeeds upon another. " The Duke came on 
 the first occasion to see you — to ask you about 
 Ethel Trevor, I think " 
 
 "About Ethel Trevor?" repeated Lady Lang- 
 port. 
 
 "Yes. That deceitful hussey Ethel has wormed 
 herself into the good graces of the Grand Duke 
 —she is there, at the Russian Embassy — she is 
 the companion and friend of my own daughter 
 Roxana -" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY, 
 
 399 
 
 " How long have you known this ?" asked her 
 mother in amazement. 
 
 " Oh, ever since she left Hendon Court. In- 
 deed, I knew it in the morning of the same day 
 on which she left." 
 
 " And yet you never told me ?" cried her mother 
 reproachfully ; " and I who was so anxious to 
 know whither she was going, and yet through 
 motives of delicacy abstained from asking '" 
 
 " What was the use of my telling you ?" said 
 Mildred, in a sullen objurgatory tone ; "you would 
 only have preached about the means that I adopted 
 to find out where she was going, when I saw that 
 she was so excessively close on the point and was 
 so steadfastly bent on making a mystery of the 
 matter." 
 
 " Well — and what means did you adopt?" asked 
 Lady Langport. 
 
 Mildred laughed in a heartless, callous manner, 
 like one who was throwing off a mask, and 
 chuckling shamelessly and unabashed in her mis- 
 deeds. 
 
 " Why 1 opened a letter which came for Ethel 
 that morning; and there I read that the arrange- 
 ment entered into on the preceding day between 
 herself and Count Olonetz, had received the 
 approbation of his Imperial Highness the Grand 
 Duke, and that she might go as soon as she 
 thought fit and take up her abode with the Prin- 
 cess Eoxana. Yes — that was what the letter said. 
 I sealed it again cunningly enough, so that I don't 
 think Ethel ever suspected it had been tampered 
 with. The minx ! what trouble I gave myself to 
 be as polite and civil as possible to her all that 
 morning ! — how I coaxed and cajoled her in the 
 breakfast-parlour, for fear lest she might go and 
 prejudice the Grand Duke against me !" 
 
 " Has she done so ?" asked Lady Langport. 
 
 " The Duke says not^— and I don't know that it 
 much matters whether she has or not ; for other 
 things have turned up " 
 
 " What do you mean, my dear child ?" inquired 
 her ladyship, with the intensest anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, how yon are bothering me, mother ! But 
 never mind," added Mildred, with another chuck- 
 ling laugh ; " I may as well tell you all about it. 
 The truth is, when the Duke was here the other 
 night, I almost succeeded in making him believe 
 in my innocence — I mean with regard to Ivan 
 Zadouski and the Englishman, Mandeville as he 
 now calls himself. And here, for the last three 
 weeks or more, I have been indulging in all sorts 
 of dreams — I have seen all difficulties cleared 
 away — a re-marriage— myself a Grand Duchess 
 — acknowledged by the family — shining like a 
 brilliant meteor in the world — dazzling the eyes 
 of all in England — blazing at St. Peters- 
 burgh " 
 
 "And what has destroyed all these brilliant 
 dreams, my poor child ?'' demanded Lady Lang- 
 port. 
 
 " What has destroyed them ? Why, the mo3t 
 infernal accident — the enrsedest piece of ill- 
 lack " 
 
 "Good heavens, Mildred!" cried Lady Lang- 
 port, shocked at her daughter's language : " do 
 not swear in this dreadful manner!'" 
 
 " Swear '{" echoed Mildred scornfully. " It is 
 enough to make an angel swear !" — and she lite- 
 rally ground her brilliant teeth with rage. " Who 
 fonld have thought of Zadousfci's keeping all my 
 
 letters? or that he would be villain enough to 
 give them up to the Grand Duke, as he must 
 have done ? That is the mischief that has been 
 committed ! — that is how all my dreams of am- 
 bition have been blighted !" 
 
 "Oh, that you should ever have entertained 
 such dreams, my poor child !*' murmured Lady 
 Langport in a voice which quivered with emotion. 
 " Why eonld you not settle yourself peaceably 
 down in the home which your mother had been 
 so glad to offer you? — why were you not warned 
 by past experiences ?" 
 
 " That's right, mother ! do begin preaching in 
 your usual strain ! Instead of talking such stuff 
 and nonsense as this, let us consider how we are 
 to act." 
 
 " How we are to act ?" repeated her ladyship, 
 in mingled alarm and surprise. " Have you not 
 told me everything? is there anything left be- 
 hind ? have you fresh calamities to disclose ?" 
 
 "I scarcely know what to tell you, or what to 
 think," replied Mildred. " I am bewildered and 
 almost terrified to death. Consternation and 
 misgiving sit like a nightmare upon my soul! 
 The Grand Duke left me with menaces — his ire 
 was tierce against me — and, Oh ! if in his rage he 
 should either do me a mischief of his own accord, 
 or else betray to that cold-blooded villain Olonetz 
 the fact that we have met, Siberia may again 
 become my doom !" 
 
 " Siberia !" — and Lady Langport shuddered 
 from head to foot. 
 
 "The bare thought is enough to drive me mad!" 
 resumed Mildred. " I must not buoy myself with 
 any wild or insane hope — I must not fancy my- 
 self to be in security when I am not ! But I must 
 act as if danger were already at my heels." 
 
 "What do you propose to do?" asked her 
 mother, down whose cheeks the tears were 
 trickling. 
 
 "Do? What should I do but get from Eng- 
 land as quick as I can — go to America — the only 
 place where I may reckon on being in safety !"' 
 
 " Good heavens, my poor girl !" cried Lady 
 Langport ; " are we thus to be separated ?" 
 
 u T5o — we will not be separated, depend upon 
 that !" rejoined Mildred. " We will go away to- 
 gether. How can I live without you — —I mean 
 in a pecuniary sense. You must realize to- 
 morrow everything you possibly can — sell out of 
 the funds — borrow upon Hendon Court, until a 
 sale can be effected -" 
 
 "Mildred, it is impossible," interrupted Lady 
 Langport, astonished and afflicted. "Dearly, 
 dearly as I love you — much as I would do to 
 serve you — I cannot possibly undertake a voyage 
 across the Atlantic." 
 
 " Oh, but you must ! Xow I tell you what it 
 is, mother, the moment is come when it is neces- 
 sary there should be a thorough understanding 
 between us. I don't mean to leave you behind 
 me, to take another companion or toady into your 
 service — some deep' designing minx, like Ethel 
 Trevor for instance, who would have induced 
 you to cut off your own daughter withont a 
 shilling " 
 
 " Xever !" ejaculated Lady Langport. " Ethel 
 was incapable' of such conduct !" 
 
 " Oh, I know her better than you do : I soon 
 saw through her. But no matter— it doesn't suit 
 my policy to leave you alone to the tender mercy 
 
400 
 
 THIS YOUNG duchess; ok, memoirs ok a lady of quality. 
 
 of audi desiguing jades as these, who will in- 
 sinuate themselves into your good graces only 
 for the sake of taking advantage of your weakness 
 and making you renounce your own flesh and 
 blood. Therefore you must come with me." 
 
 "What! to America?" almost shrieked forth 
 Lady Langport. " I cannot ! — it would kill me ! 
 I am weak and feeble — I have been agitated and 
 ill of late ' ' 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense!" cried Mildred, con- 
 temptuously. " You who pass yourself off as only 
 forty or so before the world, and call yourself my 
 elder sister!" 
 
 "Mildred! Mildred! this is dreadful! — this is 
 most unkind ! You are killing me !" 
 
 "Mother, I hate these scenes. Tell me once 
 for all, whether you will. go with me to America 
 or not — and I shall know how to act." 
 
 " Mildred, do not speak thus harshly and 
 angrily," implored the unfortunate old lady. " I 
 would do everything for you, my child — but I 
 cannot perform impossibilities. Let me go to- 
 morrow and 'fling myself upon my knees before 
 Count Olonetz — beseech his mercy on your be- 
 half " 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Mildred sneeringly, "and 
 tell him that the Grand Duke has been down to 
 see me at Hendon Court. It would be enough to 
 get us both seized upon — I mean you and me — 
 and packed off to Siberia 1" 
 
 " We will appeal to the English Government, 
 Mildred — we will place ourselves under the pro- 
 tection of our Queen, her Ministers, her Parlia- 
 ment, her magistrates " 
 
 Mildred laughed scornfully. 
 
 " What cares a Russian Ambassador for all 
 these," she asked, "when he has his own parti- 
 cular policy to carry out ? Do you not know 
 how insidiously, treacherously, covertly, and 
 stealthily, Russian schemes are prosecuted? Ah, 
 if you had only half my experience !" 
 
 "Alas, my poor chid," faltered the weeping 
 mother, " I fear that the picture is only too 
 accurate as you draw it. But what can be done? 
 Take all the money I can raise in a moment — fly 
 you to America - trust to me for frequent and 
 liberal l * mittances " 
 
 " It will not do, mother," interrupted Mildred. 
 " I know that you like me well enough, and that 
 you are sincere in what you propose, but you are 
 too weak-minded to be trusted. Some designing 
 person, like Ethel Trevor, would get hold of you, 
 and by rendering herself necessary to you " 
 
 " No, no, Mildred ! I never could forget you, 
 my beloved daughter !" 
 
 " I am not going to trust to any chances, nor 
 run any risks," responded Mildred, in a tone of 
 curt decisiveness. "I have told you what my 
 plan is — and you must follow it. To-morrow, 
 immediately after breakfast, we will go into the 
 City, raise all the money we can, and then away 
 to Liverpool. If these Russians mean U3 any 
 harm, they would not try to execute their plans 
 until- to-morrow night, and we should therefore 
 get an ample start of them. So now let us con- 
 sider the business as good as settled !" 
 
 "Mildred, my dear child — Mildred, my beloved 
 daughter, I would not deceive you. I must not 
 therefore let you cliDg to a hope that cannot be 
 fulfilled. Once for all, then, understand me well : 
 I cannot leave England — I could not undertake 
 
 this voyage — it would kill me! I am much 
 weaker than you think. Oh, Mildred," added 
 the wretched womau, bursting into tears, " you 
 who know what my real age is, and how fright- 
 fully emaciated 1 am— you surely ought not to 
 wonder when I tell you of my physical weakness, 
 my sense of debility, the feeling that I have of 
 the rapid breaking up of my constitution " 
 
 " All this is nonsense, mother !" interrupted the 
 heartless daughter. " Put the matter in its right 
 light — say at once that in your inordinate vanity 
 you cling with such desperate tenacity to the 
 preservation of your secret, that you dare not 
 undertake a voyage across the Atlantic, for fear 
 that during the transit, and amidst the inconve- 
 niences of ship-board, you should not be enabled 
 to attend to all those little niceties of the toilet 
 which now serve so effectually to disguise you. 
 This is the real truth of the matter— you know it 
 is — and you had much better tell it at once." 
 
 "Mildred, Mildred! Is it possible that such 
 words as these can come from the lips of my own 
 daughter?" and the- wretched woman literally 
 wrung her hands in despair. 
 
 "Enough of this nonsense, mother! Will you 
 go to America — yes or no ? " 
 
 "No — 1 cannot.. I beseech you, Mildred, to 
 have mercy upon me ! For heaven's sake do not 
 be cruel and harsh towards me!"— and again 
 Lady Langport's hands were clasped together 
 imploringly and beseechingly. 
 
 " We will see," brutally responded the daughter, 
 " whether we cannot put an end to this nonsense. 
 Just shift for yourself to-night, you conceited old 
 hag ! — make your own toilet — and when I come 
 in in the morning, see whether you can dispense 
 with my services ! We are necessary to each 
 other! I have already acknowledged that you 
 are necessary to me — and I will now prove that 
 I am necessary to you!" 
 
 Having thus spoken, Mildred abruptly quitted 
 the' room, locking the door behind her, and taking 
 away the .key. Lady Langport had listened with 
 the; stupor of consternation and dismay to that 
 last terrible speech which her daughter had ad- 
 dressed to her ; and as the door was closed vio- 
 lently, and the key was turned in the lock, the 
 miserable woman sank down with a hollow groau 
 upon the carpet. 
 
 Be it remembered that Mildred occupied the 
 chamber which was wont to be Ethel's during 
 the brief stay of the latter at Hendon Court. It 
 communicated with Lady Langport's dressing- 
 room ; but the door was locked, and Mildred was 
 determined not to open it until the morning. Her 
 own night-toilet was speedily performed; and 
 when she had sought her couch, she listened to 
 hear whether her mother would seek the dressing- 
 room. Half an hour elapsed,- — half an hour of 
 complete silence ; and then, at the expiration of 
 this interval, Mildred heard an inner door open ; 
 and she said to herself, " Ah, the old hag is 
 coming into the dressing-room after all!" 
 
 Yes, sure enough, her mother was in the dress- 
 ing-room ; and Mildred could even hear her 
 moaning and sobbing as she disapparelled herself 
 without the accustomed aid: but the heartless 
 daughter rose not from her couch — opened not 
 the door — flew not to assist her unhappy parent 
 — but muttered to herself, with a low inward 
 laugh, " It will be a good lesson for her ! I shall 
 
THE YOUXC DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADT OP QUALITY. 
 
 -1 II 1 
 
 cany my point — and to-morrow she will be as 
 submissive and docile as she was obstinate and 
 perverse to-night." 
 
 Sleep soon after stole upon Mildred's eyes ; 
 while her mother was still performing her own 
 unassisted toilet, amidst moans and sobs, in the 
 adjoining chamber. 
 
 Mildred awoke at about seven o'clock in the 
 morning, and first performed her own toilet before 
 she thought of entering her mother's suite of 
 apartments. Then — saying to herself, "We shall 
 now see what sort of a humour the old hag is 
 in V she unlocked the door of communication with 
 the dressing-room. There she beheld all the vari- 
 ous articles of her mother's false -and artificial 
 toilet — garments here and garments there — corset 
 upon corset — all the wrappings, in fine, which, 
 without aid, she had unrolled as it-were from her 
 mummy-form ! 
 
 " It is one thing to get out of these disguises, 
 No. 51. — The Youhg Duchess. 
 
 but another to get into them," thought Mildred 
 to herself, still chuckling at the idea that her 
 mother would now, on the occasion of the morning 
 toilet, acknowledge her complete dependence upon 
 her daughter. 
 
 Mildred passed from the dressing-chamber into 
 the bath-room ; but scarcely had she crossed the 
 threshold, when a cry escaped her lips. For there, 
 lying across the side of the bath, which stood in 
 ] the middle of the chamber, was the emaciated 
 form of her mother — white and motionless — look- 
 ing like a skeleton with the mere skin upon its 
 bones ! — there it was ! — lying, too, in a position 
 which seemed to repel the idea that life could 
 still be a dweller in that wretched atomy ! It 
 was a moment of dread uncertainty, for Mildred 
 was now veritably alarmed. Another instant, 
 and all suspense was over. Her mother was 
 dead! 
 The head of the unfortunate woman was hn- 
 
402 
 
 THI£ YOIJS'G L-UCUKSS; OK, HiJiMOIIlS OF A L.\ 
 
 merged in the bath, but there was no reason to 
 suppose that she had committed snicide and had 
 purposely held her head dipped in the wa£er until 
 life was extinct. On the contrary, there was 
 every proof that she had met her death by an 
 accident, — tripping over the carpet while travers- 
 ing the bath-room, falling across the bath itself, 
 and striking her head against the opposite side, 
 so that being stunned by the blow, she fell with 
 her head into the water, and was thus suffocated. 
 That such indeed was the mode of her death, was 
 subsequently established to the satisfaction of a 
 Coroner's Jury. 
 
 Mildred gave an immediate alarm. The female 
 servants sped to the chamber ; and the nature of 
 the tragedy was quickly made known to them. 
 We will pass over the horror and amazement 
 which were experienced when the veritable con- 
 dition of their mistress was discovered by the 
 domestics, and when they found that instead of 
 being a fine, buxom, handsomely-formed woman 
 of between thirty and forty, she was a miserable 
 emaciated hag of sixty ! 
 
 Mildred speedily recovered from the first effects 
 of the shock which she had sustained, to think of 
 her own safety. She began to examine the con- 
 tents of her deceased mother's writing-desk and 
 drawers : she took forth all such papers as seemed 
 to regard the property which she now meant to 
 claim as her inheritance. Provided with this 
 documentary evidence, she hastened off into the 
 City, which she reached by eleven o'clock in the 
 forenoon. She sought a stockbroker, and ex- 
 plained to him her business. Her mother had just 
 died — she was the heiress — she wanted to raise 
 money immediately, for certain special purposes. 
 Well, nothing could be more easy, so soon as she 
 could establish her identity ! The coachman and 
 footman who had accompanied the carriage, would 
 as a matter of course be competent for this pur- 
 pose. They were at onee appealed to ; but, he- 
 hold ! they declared Mildred to be the sister, and 
 not the daughter of the deceased Lady Langport ! 
 
 Mihh-ed had forgotten to tell them the real 
 truth and tutor them what to say if questioned ! 
 
 The stockbroker was suspicious; vainly did 
 Mildred explain to him how matters stood: he 
 declined to have anything to do with the business. 
 She went to another, and then another ; but as 
 she could not identify herself in a suitable and 
 proper manner, there' was nothing to be done. At 
 length she went to consult an attorney, to whom 
 she was recommended ; and he explained how a 
 search must in the first instance be made for a 
 will — and how if none were found, letters of 
 administration must be taken out — and how it 
 would be requisite for her to prove that she 
 was really the daughter, and not the sister, of the 
 deceased Lady Langport. 
 
 It was almost in a state of despair that Mildred 
 returned to Hendon Court. She now beheld in 
 her path a thousand difficulties of which she had 
 not at first dreamt; and she saw that it would be 
 the work of some considerable time to get the 
 business settled even when those difficulties should 
 be overcome. Meanwhile what might happen ? — 
 should she be left at peace by those whom she 
 regarded as her Russian enemies ? As she thought 
 of Siberia — that awful region of glacial winter— 
 her very blood appeared to freeze in her veins. 
 She felt as if she were being punished for the 
 
 heartless cruelty she had shown towards her 
 mother. Ah! now, that she had leisure to re- 
 flect upon that mother's death, could she avoid 
 experiencing a certain horrid sensation as if she 
 were guilty of matricide? Had not that poor 
 mother, in a word, come to so sad an end in con- 
 sequence of the cold-blooded neglect to which the 
 daughter had abandoned her on the occasion ? 
 She shut herself in the drawing-room and gave 
 way to her unpleasant reflections. Presently she 
 was made aware that the Coroner and jurymen 
 had arrived to view the corpse ; and it became ab- 
 solutely necessary for Mildred to attend in the 
 presence of the inquisition which was held in the- 
 dining-room, to give evidence concerning the 
 manner in which she had discovered the death of 
 Lady Langport in the morning. That ceremony 
 was however soon over : for the Coroner, through 
 motives of delicacy towards the deceased's daugh- 
 ter — as Mildred now represented herself to be — 
 wonld not detain her longer than was necessary. 
 A suitable verdict was returned — the jury de- 
 parted — and Hendon Court was once more silent 
 again. 
 
 The hours passed : one of the female servants 
 inquired if Mildred had given any instructions 
 relative to the funeral? — but Mildred answered 
 half vaguely, half impatiently, to the effect that 
 she had as yet found no leisure for the purpose, 
 but she would see to the matter on the morrow. 
 She then retired to her own chamber : but she 
 could not sleep. Horrible thoughts oppressed 
 her ; and as night, always brings its moat appall- 
 ing terrors to the guilty conscience, so did the 
 hours of darkness now more than ever impress 
 Mildred that she had proved the murderess of her 
 mother. It ' was a night of fearful mental tor- 
 tures which she thus passed ; arid when she rose 
 in the morning she recoiled in horrof and affright 
 from the reflection of her own countenance in the 
 mirror. 
 
 Endeavouring to escape from her wretched re- 
 flections by plunging into the bustle of business, 
 Mildred ordered the carriage to be got in readi- 
 ness, that she might go into London to give the 
 requisite orders for the funeral, and likewise to 
 renew her attempts to raise an immediate sum of 
 money. But groom — coachman — footman, all 
 refused to obey her orders. They wore sullen 
 yet determined looks; and when she questioned 
 them, they gave her pretty plainly to understand 
 that they considered that there was something 
 sinister in her position, first passing herself off as 
 the sister and then claiming to be the daughter of 
 the deceased. Her ineffectual endeavours to raise 
 money on the preceding day, together with other 
 circumstances, had been fully discussed in the 
 servants'-hall ; and Mildred found herself looked 
 upon as something very much in the light of an 
 impostress. The domestics were moreover shocked 
 at the discovery which had been made in reference 
 to their deceased mistress : they also fancied that 
 there was something strange in the mode of her 
 death, and that the Coroner's Jury had been too 
 quick in recording a verdict which so completely 
 exonerated Mildred from all blame. In a word, 
 the servants, with only one or two exceptions, 
 looked suspiciously upon Mildred ; and when she 
 flew into a rage with them, they unhesitatingly 
 proclaimed their desire to quit with the least pos- 
 sible delay a house where such sinister circum- 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 403 
 
 stances had taken place. Fortunately Mildred 
 could command at the moment enough ready 
 money to settle their wages ; and they departed 
 The only servants who remained, were a house- 
 maid and the old gardener, who entertained a 
 somewhat better opinion of Mildred than the rest, 
 or who at all events were too good-hearted to 
 leave her utterly alone in the midst of her exist- 
 ing embarrassments. 
 
 Mildred was now downright ill ; and for the 
 first time in her life she felt that she had no 
 energy for anything. She could not muster up 
 the courage to go into London : she therefore sent 
 for an undertaker and likewise for the lawyer who 
 had been recommended to her. The business of 
 the undertaker was soon disposed of : the lawyer 
 passed two or three hours in conferring with 
 Mildred upon the circumstances of her position, 
 and examining the papers of the deceased Lady 
 Langport. No will was discovered : the lawyer 
 again stated that letters of administration must 
 be taken out, and that Mildred would have to 
 prove herself the daughter of the deceased. But 
 how was this to he done ? Not for worlds would 
 she refer to Count Olonetz — for fear, lest by in- 
 truding herself upon his notice, she should only 
 precipitate the vengeance which every instant she 
 dreaded would come upon her from that quarter. 
 Bewildered and uncertain how to act, she dis- 
 missed the attorney with an excuse to the effect 
 that she would consider the matter and commu- 
 nicate with him on the morrow. 
 
 Soon after his departure, the housemaid threw 
 herself in Mildred's way, and dropped dark hints 
 to the effect that mischief was brewing, and that 
 if there were really anything to apprehend, she 
 had better fly ere it was too late. Mildred be- 
 sought the young woman to speak out ; and after 
 much persuasion and cross-questioning, she elicited 
 the following facts, — that the discharged servants 
 had been talking in the neighbourhood, that un- 
 pleasant rumours were spreading in reference to 
 Lady Langport's death, and that some busy per- 
 sons, dissatisfied with the verdict of the Coroner's 
 Jury, intended to apply to a magistrate with the 
 view to have the matter more deeply investi- 
 gated. 
 
 "But what does this mean?" asked Mildred, 
 trembling with nervous terror and with concen- 
 trated rage. 
 
 Again there was considerable hesitation and 
 reluctance on the part of the girl ; but at length 
 she said, " Well, ma'am, there's no use in dis- 
 guising the truth — but they do say that a warrant 
 is to be applied for." 
 
 Notwithstanding Mildred's innocence of any 
 actual violence against her mother in reference to 
 the tatter's death, she nevertheless saw that it 
 was quite possible to render the case most sus- 
 picious against her; and she was overwhelmed 
 with affright. Such was her state of mind, when 
 at about six o'clock in the 'evening, as she hap- 
 pened to be glancing forth from one of the draw- 
 ing-room windows, she beheld a domestic in the 
 livery of Count Olonetz ride past on horseback. 
 The spectacle produced upon her the same effect 
 as did the print of a human foot in the sand on 
 Robinson Crusoe — it filled her with a mortal 
 terror. The man rode by — but slowly, and evi- 
 dently looking about him. In a very few 
 minutes he was seen retracing his way ; and then 
 
 Mildred, precipitating herself down the stairs, 
 conjured the housemaid to say in answer to any 
 inquiries which might be made, that she had left 
 Hendon Court and gone no one knew whither. 
 The girl promised to comply with this request, 
 though she could not understand the meaning of 
 it ; and Mildred proceeded to lock herself in her 
 own chamber. She heard the ringing of the front 
 door bell — she knew there was a parley; and 
 then, after awhile, the Russian domestic rode 
 away. " It was however some time before Mildred 
 would open the door of her chamber, and not 
 until she was positively assured by the housemaid 
 that the coast was clear. 
 
 "What did he say? what did he want?" 
 asked Mildred anxiously. 
 
 "He spoke very indifferent English, ma'am: 
 he asked if this was Hendon Court — and he said 
 he wanted to speak to you particularly. I told 
 him you were gone — he looked surprised " 
 
 "Bid he seem incredulous?" demanded Mildred 
 quickly. , 
 
 " Why, yes, ma'am : but he Inquired when you 
 went— I told him a few falsehoods — and he re- 
 luctantly took his departure." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you !" exclaimed Mildred, 
 with the fervid accents of real gratitude : " you 
 know not what a service you have rendered me ! 
 Go, and deny me now to every one, no matter 
 whpm ! I must reflect well, yet speedily, how I 
 am to act !" 
 
 Mildred was again alone in her chamber ; and 
 she said to herself, " The pjot is thickening ! — the 
 worst is about to take place — and Russian ven- 
 geance will again doom me to Siberia!" 
 
 She shuddered: she felt that her brain was 
 reeling — it seemed to her as if she must go mad. 
 She longed to fly from the house ; and yet it ap- 
 peared as if some irresistible spell kept her linger- 
 ing there. If she went away, she must resign all 
 hope of establishing her claims to her deceased 
 mother's property : but on the other hand, if she 
 remained, she felt assured that it would only be 
 to fall again into the hands of the merciless Rus- 
 sians, or else into the grasp of English police- 
 officers. 
 
 Another hour passed: then there was another 
 ring at the front door bell — and in a perfect 
 agony of suspense Mildred awaited the result. 
 Presently the housemaid knocked at the chamber 
 door ; and as the wretched Mildred opened it, it 
 was with a mortal dread lest the girl should be 
 proving treacherous and her enemies should rush 
 in upon her ! 
 
 " Who was that visitor ?" she demanded with 
 feverish haste. 
 
 " There were two this time," was the response. 
 
 " Two ? Who were they ?" 
 
 "Also Russians. They said they came from 
 the Embassy in Grosvenor Square — they insisted 
 upon seeing you — I told them the same tale that 
 I had told to the former " 
 
 " And did they believe it ? What said they ?" 
 
 " They shook their heads — they declared that 
 they knew better — that they must see you— 
 that it was useless for you to try and deceive 
 them " 
 
 "Oh, I am lost! I am lost!" murmured the 
 wretched Mildred : but conquering her emotions, 
 she demanded, " Are they gone ?" 
 
 " Tes, ma'am : and they bade me tell you that 
 
404 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; CK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 they shall return at nine o'clock to-morrow morn- 
 ing, as their business with you is of the utmost 
 importance. Indeed, they declared that it was 
 entirely for your good " 
 
 " Oh, a snare ! a snare !" ejaculated Mildred : 
 and then she abruptly dismissed the housemaid 
 from the chamber. 
 
 When again alone,- she gave renewed vent to 
 her lamentations — it was impossible she could 
 escape from her harrowiDg and torturing reflec- 
 tions ! The Russians were determined to have 
 her ! — this was too evident ! Even now flight 
 was impossible ! — for doubtless the house was 
 watched ! And if not the Russians, then there 
 was the certainty of a warrant being issued by a 
 magistrate : — and might she not become the 
 victim of circumstantial evidence ? Might she 
 not even be sent to the scaffold as the murderess 
 of her mother? Such were the ideas which 
 h ranted and agonised her. Darkness set in : she 
 lighted a taper in the chamber ; she flung her 
 looks shudderingly around — for it seemed to her 
 fevered imagination as if dim ghostly shapes were 
 gliding along the walls. She took her head as 
 it were in her two hands — she pressed those hands 
 to her throbbing brows — and with a sudden effort 
 of a will that in past times was wont to be strong 
 enough, she said, " I will be calm ! I will be 
 calm !" 
 
 Then she strove to reflect deliberately upon her 
 position, and envisage all its circumstances with 
 fortitude and resolution. 
 
 "What if I have been giving way to mere 
 panic terrors ? what if those myrmidons of the 
 Russian Embassy were mere spies, or «lse the 
 bearers of some messages — and not the agents of 
 treachery or of evil ? what if this alarm relative 
 to the warrant and magisterial intervention be all 
 idle gossip ? Why, then I may yet combat 
 successfully against other obstacles. Oh, if my 
 mother had but made a will! — or if there were 
 enough ready money in the house to enable me to 
 flee into some place of certain security, until all 
 threatening clouds, if any, should have blown over, 
 and time should have been gained to assert and 
 realize my rights as Lady Langport's daughter ! 
 But no, no ! — have I not searched everywhere ?" 
 
 She paused in her musings : she reflected. An 
 idea had suddenly struck her. Her countenance 
 brightened up ; and starting from her seat, she 
 ejaculated, " Good heavens ! can it be possible 
 that I should have overlooked it ? To be sure ! 
 that room which I have never yet seen open, and 
 which I have always forgotten to ask why it is 
 kept shut ! And I remember likewise that key — 
 that key!" 
 
 There was now a hurry in Mildred's actions as 
 there was in her thoughts ; and hastening to un- 
 lock the inner door of her bed-chamber, she passed 
 into the dressing-room which has been so often 
 mentioned — that dressing-room where the deceased 
 Lady Langport was wont to perform her horrible 
 toilet. There, in the walnut-wood bureau, hung 
 the key ; and of this Mildred took possession. 
 Oh, that she could have forgotten it before ! — Oh, 
 that she could have all this time overlooked the 
 room that was thus locked up ! It was unac- 
 countable, she thought to herself : — and yet it 
 had so happened. 
 
 Retracing her way, Mildred took the taper in 
 her hand, and quitting her chamber, threaded the 
 
 passage at the extremity of which was the room 
 that she sought. The key turned in the lock : 
 but just as she was pushing open the door, a 
 draught from the inside extinguished her candle. 
 The beams of the starlight however penetrated 
 feebly into the chamber ; and Mildred advanced 
 a pace or two, to obtain such a glimpse of it as 
 she might be able to catch previous to retracing 
 her steps to light the taper again. There was 
 a dark object in the middle of the room : it was 
 within her reach — she advanced — she stretched 
 out a hand — and at that instant the moon flung 
 its rays full through the window into the apart- 
 ment. Good heavens ! it was a coffin which 
 Mildred beheld there ! — a coffin upon its tressels ! 
 — and with the sudden terror and surprise which 
 this discovery produced, she received such a shock 
 that she fell forward — the coffin was upset — and 
 Mildred rolled upon the floor. 
 
 She knew not how she got away from that 
 place : there was an interval of horrible confusion 
 in her thoughts — almost constituting a blank — 
 until she found herself again in her own chamber. 
 She had just lighted the taper — she had flung 
 herself into an arm-chair, and was moaning, "My 
 God ! what next ? what next ?" 
 
 Oh, that house of horrors ! It was too much 
 for even her strong mind to endure ! Her brain 
 reeled — her reason appeared to be abandoning 
 her. She could no longer argue with herself 
 against the probabilities of Russian vengeance 
 and magisterial warrants : she felt herself a lost, 
 a doomed woman ; while supernatural terrors 
 added their overwhelming influences to the other 
 sources of apprehension which we have named. 
 Nor was remorse absent from that pandemonium 
 of horrible feelings and sensations in which she 
 was now writhing. 
 
 No couch was pressed by Mildred that night : 
 no sleep visited her eyelids. It was indeed a 
 night of horrors that she passed ! At length the 
 morning dawned : she began to take courage 
 somewhat : she was advancing to the casement 
 to draw aside the curtains and completely to ad- 
 mit the cheerfulness of the orient beams into her 
 chamber, when she chanced to catch a glimpse of 
 herself in the mirror. Oh, what a start! Oh, 
 what a cry ! — a start of bewildering amaze — a 
 cry of wildest terror ! And no wonder ! — for 
 during the agonising hours of the past night — 
 hours of harrowing remorse, excruciating terrors, 
 bitter regrets, and mortal apprehensions— Mil- 
 dred's hair had turned white ! 
 
 This was too much. She was stricken a blow 
 which reduced her to utter despair. Vanity with her 
 was a leading sentiment : the loss of her beauty 
 was a fearful calamity. She thought of her 
 mother : — was she destined to become like her ? 
 was this the first abrupt and rapid step towards 
 a complete change in her entire system, — a 
 rapid transition of her voluptuous loveliness 
 into the most loathsome ugliness ? Intolerable 
 idea! — thought not to be endured! There was 
 now a real madness in Mildred's brain. What 
 new idea strikes her ? what is there amidst the 
 numerous and mysterious articles belonging to 
 her deceased mother's toilet-table that Mildred 
 now so eagerly seeks ? Ah, does she know that 
 one special cosmetic, containing a corrosive subli- 
 mate, was the deadliest poison ? 
 
 The hours passed away : it was vergiDg towards 
 
THE YOUNQ DUCHESS; OB, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITT. 
 
 405 
 
 nine o'clock in the morning — and one of the Rus- 
 sian emissaries who had called on the preceding 
 evening, again made his appearance. When the 
 housemaid opened the front door, the man with- 
 out alighting from his horse, presented her a note, 
 saying, " Give this to your mistress — or forward 
 it to her if she be really gone. It is important." 
 
 Then, without waiting for a syllable of response, 
 he rode away. The housemaid hastened up to 
 Mildred's chamber : she knocked at the door — 
 but received no answer. She turned the handle 
 — the door was unlocked — she entered, expecting 
 to find Mildred sleeping : but Oh ! what a spec- 
 tacle met her view ! For there, lying back in a 
 large easy chair, was the lifeless form of Mildred : 
 —the dark velvet of the cushion threw out into 
 ghastly relief the hair that had turned white in 
 a single night ; and at her feet lay the empty 
 phial which at once afforded a fearful indication 
 of the manner of her death ! 
 
 When the letter which had been left with the 
 housemaid, came to be read before another jury 
 which so soon assembled there beneath that fated 
 roof, its contents were found to be as follow : — 
 
 "June 22nd, 1847. 
 " Receive my sincere condolements, Mildred, on 
 the death of your mother, the sad intelligence of 
 which has accidentally reached my ears. His 
 Imperial Highness the Grand Duke tells me that 
 you know where I am ; and he therefore permits 
 me to write these few lines. Nay, more— he wishes 
 it ; for he enjoins me to convey unto you his hope, 
 his counael, and his prayer that you will henceforth 
 lead a quiet and peaceful life, which may atone 
 for your past errors. And I, Mildred, was anxious 
 to write to you, because methinks it probable that 
 your poor mother may not have revealed to you a 
 certain secret which she one day made' known to 
 me. In a few words it will be explained. The 
 key in the walnut-wood bureau opens the door at 
 the end of the passage j and in the chamber which 
 has been shut up, you will find the coffin wherein 
 the remains of your deceased parent are to be de- 
 posited ! If you know this already, there is no 
 harm done in the fact of my penning these few 
 lines : but if, on the other hand, you were ignorant 
 of the communication, you will experience a 
 melancholy satisfaction in knowing what your 
 mother's wishes were, so that you may be enabled 
 to fulfil them. I shall charge the bearer of this 
 letter to deliver it only into your hand, so that I 
 may be sure it will reach you in safety. 
 
 "ETHEL." 
 
 To this lettar the following postcript had been 
 added : — 
 
 " June 23rd, 7 o'clock in the morning. 
 " I cannot think, Mildred, that you have really 
 left Hendon Court so suddenly and abruptly. 
 There must be some mistake. Tet my messenger 
 brought back this note yesterday evening; and 
 two persons whom Count Olonetz sent to com- 
 municate with yon, likewise failed in their object. 
 His Excellency has now desired me to explain the 
 motive for which he sent those persons. Your 
 attorney called upon his lordship yesterday, repre- 
 sented the embarrassment you were in, and hinted 
 at the reluctance and terror which you experi- 
 enced in reference to an application to this Em- 
 
 bassy. His Excellency therefore sent to give the 
 assurance that you had really nothing to appre- 
 hend ; but that, on the contrary, he respects youC 
 grief on account of the loss of your mother, ho 
 sympathises with you, and he will render you 
 every assistance in establishing your identity as 
 the daughter instead of the sister of the deceased. 
 Of the two persons whom his Excellency sent to 
 Hendon Court yesterday evening, one was his 
 private secretary, who was charged with the con- 
 fidential communication for your ears : the other 
 was an assistant-clerk who would have remained 
 to take down any instructions you might have 
 to give. But since it appears that the visits of 
 those people inspire you with terror — (for again I 
 cannot believe that you have really left Hendon 
 Court) — I write this postscript at the request of 
 Count Olonetz ; and his lordship bids me reiterate 
 the assurance that under existing circumstances 
 he will endeavour to befriend you, and by enabling 
 you to obtain the inheritance which is justly 
 your's, place you permanently above want, and 
 afford you an opportunity of leading an amended 
 life. 
 
 " ETHEL." 
 
 Thus the reader will comprehend that Mildred 
 had indeed yielded to unfounded panic terrors 
 in respect to the visit of the Russians to Hendon 
 Court, and that no harm was really intended her. 
 Her attorney had, without her knowledge, taken 
 a decisive step and performed a well-meant part 
 which would have led to immediate good results. 
 As for the tale of threatened magisterial inter- 
 vention and the issue of a warrant, it was veri- 
 tably the idlest of gossip. But in every respect 
 Mildred's uneasy conscience had conjured up the 
 direst alarms and the most tremendous terrors, by 
 which she was so encompassed and hemmed in 
 that there was no escape from them, and the result 
 was that she perished a miserable suicide. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI, 
 
 UNCLE AM> NEPHEW. 
 
 It was between eight and nine o'clock in the 
 evening, that a middle-aged man, dressed with 
 the greatest nicety and precision, alighted at the 
 door of the Clarendon Hotel in Bond Street. He 
 inquired of a waiter if Count de Mandeville were 
 in his apartments : the waiter summoned Edmund 
 Vaughan, the Count's valet ; and this individual 
 at once recognised Mr. Phipps, the head clerk of 
 Mr. Warren the stoekbroker, at whose office his 
 master was occasionally accustomed to call. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Phipps, is it you, sir? exclaimed 
 Edmund, with a half-familiar air ; for this aris- 
 tocratic valet always measured out his own polite- 
 ness according to the social positions of the 
 individuals with whom he was dealing at the 
 time. " The Count is not very well — he took a 
 rather early dinner in his own apartments, instead 
 of dining out, as he might have done, at some 
 grand entertainment — I forget where " 
 
 "If your master is alone, Edmund," said Mr. 
 Phipps, "he will doubtless see me. I have got a 
 little business of importance to transact with the 
 Count." 
 
406 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS, OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 This was sufficient ; and Edmund Vaughan 
 accordingly led the way to a handsomely-furnished 
 gitting-apartment where Mandeville, in an ele- 
 gantly flowered French silk dressing-gown, loosely 
 gathered at the waist by a golden cord, to the end 
 of which immense tassels depended, was lounging 
 in an easy chair near a table on which appeared a 
 bottle of claret and an elegant dessert. 
 
 Mr. Phipps made a low ceremonious bow as 
 Edmund threw open the door and announced him : 
 but the instant that door closed again and the 
 valet had retired, a remarkable change came over 
 the entire demeanour of Mr. Phipps. His aspect 
 lost all its habitual cringing servility ; and with a 
 look and air of the most perfect familiarity, ease, 
 and self-possession, he said, " Well, Matt, my boy, 
 you don't look so very ill after all !" 
 
 " Hush with your Matt !" answered the Count, 
 in a tone of angry expostulation. " What the 
 devil " 
 
 "Come, come— no petulance or ill-temper!" 
 said Phipps, quietly seating himself at the table. 
 "You don't think I would do you a mischief, 
 
 Matt 1 beg pardon — I suppose I must call you 
 
 Cow/it," he, added, smiling. " We are rowing in 
 the same boat, as it were ; and it is not very likely 
 I should do anything to blow the whole affair to 
 the winds." 
 
 " But what have you come here for now ?" de- 
 manded Mandeville. "Has Warren sent you for 
 any purpose ? is there anything wrong ?" 
 
 "There are just two or three things that I 
 should like to talk to you about," answered Phipps; 
 " and as I am obliged to be upon my p's and q's 
 and treat you as my Lord the Count. when you 
 come to the office in the City, we can't of course 
 have any confidential discourse there. Besides, I 
 wanted to see how you looked in all your grandeur 
 at the Clarendon. So for these various reasons I 
 just put on my best clothes and dropped in to 
 have half an hour's chat with you. Is this claret ? 
 Well, it's a wine I'm rather fond of. I daresay I 
 don't get it quite as good as you drink it here at 
 the Clarendon ?" 
 
 Thu3 speaking, Mr.. Ehipps deliberately helped 
 himself to a bumper ; and while he quaffed it with 
 evident gusto, he surveyed the apartment — the 
 chandelier, the mirrors, the rich hangings, the 
 elegant furniture, and the dessert upon the table- 
 au with a visible satisfaction. Mandeville could 
 not help smiling ; and refilling his own glass, he 
 presently said, " Well, and what are these things 
 you wanted to speak to me about?" 
 
 " Why, my dear nephew " 
 
 " Hush, hush, man ! no uncle nor nephew 
 here I" interrupted Mandeville. "The very wails 
 have ears ! But speak low — wery low, mind— and 
 then you may say anything." 
 
 "I suppose I had better call you Hippolyte," 
 said Phipps, with a significant grin. " But, no I 
 that will be too familiar by far; and, after all, I 
 must admit that I like you much better as Count 
 Hippolyte Mandeville of the present day than as 
 plain Matthew Calvert of other times." 
 
 " Have you been drinking ?" asked Mande- 
 ville, looking very hard at Phipps ; " or are you 
 in a mood of unusual jocularity ?" 
 
 "Only the latter, my dear nephew, I can 
 assure you. The truth is, Matt, I feel happy in 
 seeing you in such good feather ; for it inspires 
 ine with confidence in the success of all our plans 
 
 and projects. But still you seem to get on slow 
 in winning some heiress, or working your way so 
 completely into the good graces of the Duchess of 
 Ardleigh as to be enabled to exercise complete 
 eontrol over her purse." 
 
 " Slow indeed ?" ejaculated Mandeville "Why, 
 I've only been a couple of months in London; 
 and look at the sensation I've made and the posi- 
 tion I have achieved for myself! As for an 
 heiress, I believe, that before another month has 
 passed, I shall be enabled to propose with confi- 
 dence to a young lady whose dower is a hundred 
 thousand pounds, and who will have ten thousand 
 a-year at her father's death— I mean Lady Sarah 
 Lloyd." 
 
 " And why not propose at once 1" asked Phipps. 
 
 " Because I have only known her three weeks, 
 and the courtship would be too short. She is 
 however madly in love with me ; and there is no 
 possible chance of failure. When the time comes 
 for me to pop the question, I know what the re- 
 sponse will be. As for her old father, he is in 
 his dotage and will yield his assent." 
 
 " Well then," observed Mr. Phipps, " here you 
 have a young girl ready to throw herself into 
 your arms, and an old fool of a father prepared to 
 say yes whenever you ask the question ; and yet 
 you are going to delay it for a whole month !" 
 
 " Yes — it would be precipitating matters most 
 injudiciously to propose earlier : the young lady's 
 feelings would be outraged! — the father would sus- 
 pect something sinister — and the whole project 
 would be ruined. Besides, there is another 
 things " 
 
 " And what is that ?" asked Phipps, refilling 
 his glass with the claret that was so much to his 
 taste. 
 
 " Why,'' replied Mandeville, " my position 
 will become far more substantial and solid in the 
 course of two or three weeks, and I shall take a 
 standing which will render all reference to any 
 other quarter entirely out of the question. Not 
 that I think that such reference would be desired 
 in any case : but sfill it is better to be upon one's 
 guard." 
 
 "And what is to happen, most prudent and 
 cautious nephew of mine," demanded. Phipps, 
 "that is to have the effect of establishing your 
 fortune on so solid a foundation ?" 
 
 The Count gave a complacent smile, sipped his 
 wine, and said, "You will confess, when I tell 
 you, that I manage matters in a masterly manner. 
 The fact is, I have rendered some little service to 
 the French Ambassador — aye, and I may add to 
 the French Government, — in recompense for which 
 I am shortly to receive the cordon of the Legion 
 of Honour. We must have a paragraph in all 
 the newspapers; and with such a public recog- 
 nition of my name, title, and social standing, on 
 the part of his August Majesty Louis Philippe, 
 who would dare to echo the word adventurer, even 
 if some malevolent lip were to whisper it upon 
 the zephyr's breath ?" 
 
 " You are becoming quite poetical, Matt," ob- 
 served Mr. Phipps. "But now will you be kind 
 enough to tell me how you are off for ready 
 money ?" 
 
 " I have ample for my present wants. I am in 
 good credit, thanks to the reports which Warren 
 spread about me." 
 
 " But have you got any money to spare ?" asked 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LU)T OF QUALI1Y, 
 
 407 
 
 Phipps. " That is the point to which I have been 
 desiring to come." 
 
 " Money to spare ?" ejaculated Mandeville. 
 " Do you mean that yon want any ?" 
 
 " Yes — that is the precise position of affairs, so 
 far as I am concerned," was the response. 
 
 Mandeville made a movement expressive of 
 vexation ; and then he said, " I thought it was a 
 well understood thing betwixt you and me, at the 
 very outset, that you would make no demand 
 whatsoever until I should have realized the grand 
 scheme of marrying an heiress. "Was I not to be 
 left to the full benefit and enjoyment of my own 
 resources, whatsoever they might be, without 
 being in any way hampered by claims, wants, or 
 necessities on your part ?" 
 
 " Such was certainly the agreement, my dear 
 nephew," answered Phipps ; " and most willingly 
 would I adhere thereto, were it not that certain 
 little wants and requirements of my own have 
 arisen " 
 
 " Then I suppose," interjected Mandeville, with 
 an air of angry impatience, "you have been 
 speculating again in shares, or in the funds ?" 
 
 " Well, something of the sort," said Phipps ; 
 "and not to lengthen the story unnecessarily, 
 unless I have about three thousand pounds in the 
 course of to-morrow, I shall feel myself very 
 awkwardly placed." 
 
 " Three thousand pounds ?" ejaculated Mande- 
 ville. 
 
 " Yes — neither more nor less," rejoined Phipps. 
 
 "Impossible! I cannot furnish you the money 
 to-morrow! You must wait two or three weeks 
 — my own plans would be hampered and inter- 
 fered with — the success of my schemes might be 
 jeopardized " 
 
 "I am afraid, Matt," said Phipps, "that they 
 will be jeopardized even still more completely if 
 the money is not found." 
 
 " Explain yourself," said Mandeville, with an 
 air of alarm. " There is more behind ! — you have 
 nqt told me all ! I see you are beating about the 
 bush. Come, uncle — come !" and this was the 
 first time he thus addressed Phipps as a rela- 
 tive during the interview; "do be candid! If 
 yon have committed any folly, tell me what it 
 is!" 
 
 " I had such faith in your tact and skill, Matt," 
 resumed Phipps, " that I made sure you would 
 have married an heiress and stepped into a splendid 
 fortune by this time : or else I thought to myself 
 that you could not fail to be on such terms with 
 the Duchess of Ardleigh that you might have had 
 anything for the asking, even to the extent of 
 thousands " 
 
 "Well, and so I might," exclaimed Mande- 
 ville, " if it had not been for those accursed occur- 
 rences at Thornbury three weeks ago ! Ever 
 since the murder of Mrs. Quinlan and the death 
 of the Dowager, the young Duchess has main- 
 tained the strictest seclusion — she has shut herself 
 up and will see no one : and how could I possibly 
 force myself into her presence? Such conduct 
 would have been to compromise her most seriously 
 on the one hand — and to ruin myself in her esti- 
 mation on the other, because she would have at 
 once come to the conclusion that I did not really 
 love her, but was merely a selfish heartless ad- 
 venturer, like that Sir Abel Kingston " 
 
 " I was just going to mention the name," said 
 
 Phipps, " to remind you of the immense services 
 you have rendered the young Duchess." 
 
 "As if it was necessary to remind me of them I" 
 ejaculated Mandeville. " But look you, uncle— I 
 beg that you will permit me to pursue my own 
 game in tile way that I have sketched it out. I 
 know that I shall succeed — and then you shall 
 want for nothing. But in the meanwhile you 
 must not harass nor perplex me — you must not 
 trouble me with your affairs — much less must you 
 make any demands upon my purse " 
 
 "But I tell you, Matt," interjected Phipps, 
 " that your name is compromised along with my 
 own, to the extent of three thousand pounds !" 
 
 " What the deuce do you mean ?" demanded 
 Mandeville, sharply, and almost fiercely. 
 
 " Don't fly into a rage. You yourself said ere 
 now that the very walls had ears " 
 
 "Well, well," cried Mandeville, though in a. 
 subdued tone : " what startling revelation or con- 
 fession is all this to lead to ? I see that you have 
 been doing something the avowal of which you 
 are loath to make : — but this is a mere waste of 
 time — it is trifling also !" 
 
 " True, my dear nephew. And therefore," con- 
 tinued Phipps, "without further preface I will 
 confess that in a certain respect we stand in 
 pretty much the same predicament as we did pre- 
 cisely fifteen years ago." 
 
 "My God!" — and it was with a moan that 
 Mandeville rose from his seat,— first staggering 
 as if smitten a blow the instant he was upon his 
 legs — and then turning abruptly towards Phipps, 
 whom he grasped violently by the wrist, saying 
 in a low hoarse tone, "Miserable man! do yon 
 mean to tell me that another forgery has been 
 committed? Fifteen years ago! — Ah! you did 
 well to remind me of that period ! — fifteen years 
 ago, when I was a clerk together with yourself in 
 Warren'^ office, you gambled fhett — you led me 
 into trouble — aye, even my very neck was 
 jeopardized in respect to the hangman's halter !" 
 
 "But yon will confess, Matt," said Phipps, 
 " that there was not much to corrupt in you at 
 that period : you were already a pretty good hand 
 at spending money faster than you got it — and 
 you were well versed in all the various ways 
 of debauchery and dissipation. Why," added 
 Phipps, with a low chuckling laugh, "after you 
 had seduced old Warren's daughter, it was not 
 a much deeper iniquity to imitate the handwriting 
 of her father!" 
 
 " But who suggested the crime ?" asked Man- 
 deville, again speaking in a low hoarse voice. 
 "It was you! You, taking advantage of my 
 necessities, showed me how I might meet them 
 and triumph over my difficulties ! Well, it was 
 natural that when the deed was done I should con- 
 sent to receive my half of the profits. And then, 
 when discovery came, did I not take all upon my 
 shoulders ? did I not listen to you when you fell 
 down upon your knees before me and pleaded on 
 behalf of your wife whom you had recently mar- 
 ried and the young child that was just born unto 
 you ?" 
 
 "All this is true, Matt," said Phipps : "you 
 acted nobly in the case. But after all, what 
 would have been the use of your acting other- 
 wise ? You were discovered : I was not even 
 suspected. It would have been useless to drag 
 me into the difficulty. So you see, Matt, you 
 
408 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY 
 
 were not exactly a scapegoat — nor did you make 
 any such wonderful sacrifice on my behalf. In 
 plain terms, you could not have saved yourself 
 by inculpating me. And you must not forget 
 that by keeping silence in reference to my share 
 in the business, you left me at large to work for 
 you — which I did day and night, — interceding 
 here and entreating there — so that the result was, 
 instead of being sent to the scaffold, your sentence 
 was commuted " 
 
 "Enough of all this!" interjected Mandeville, 
 impatiently: and he began to pace to and fro in 
 the apartment with agitated steps. 
 
 "No, no — it is not enough of it !" said Phipps, 
 t' since you seem to reproach me on account of 
 that transaction. , At the end of fifteen years you 
 come back to England, and you find me in my 
 old place— clerk in that stock-broking office ; and 
 ready and willing to assist . you. How could you 
 iave managed .without me ? how could ybu have 
 passed yourself off as a wealthy foreigner and 
 maintained your position, unless some respectable, 
 or seeming respectable person, like Warren, had 
 whispered all kinds of tales to guarantee the 
 various representations, which you were giving of 
 yourself? Well, and was it not, I repeat, through 
 me that you were enabled to obtain that insight 
 into Warren's affairs which rendered Mm your 
 slave, ready to say anything you might choose to 
 dictate ? Of what use would it have been that 
 you could tell the tale how Dr. Mordaunt killed 
 his sister while endeavouring to produce abortion 
 — or that you could tell how Sir Moses Bellamy 
 had been in Newgate— or how Smithers, the 
 schoolmaster,, had once followed the same voca- 
 tion, at the hulks — or that Michael Casey, had 
 formerly borne the name of Pringle when in New 
 South Wales,— of what use, I ask, would have 
 been these various pieces of knowledge which, you 
 obtained, years ago, when you yourself were in 
 Newgate, and. at the hulks, and in Australia, — of 
 what use could they have been, unless I, by my 
 knowledge of Warren's private affairs, his diffi- 
 culties, and his embarrassments, had been enabled 
 to suggest the very means by which all your own 
 special knowledge was Jo be rendered available? 
 Ah ! Warren little suspected that I knew his 
 affairs so intimately and so deeply ! — And now, 
 talking of all these things, Matt," said Phipps, 
 thus interrupting himself as it were, " puts 
 me in mind that there is one point upon which 
 I should really very much like to be enlightened. 
 I have frequently wished to ask the ques- 
 tion " 
 
 "What is it?" demanded Mandeville, now 
 suddenly stopping short in the midst of his agi- 
 tated walk, during which he seemed to be utterly 
 heedless of the long tirade that was flowing from 
 the lips of his uncle. 
 
 " Why," rejoined the latter, " in respect to all 
 those persons who were troubling Warren at the 
 time, you were enabled to tell him sufficient con- 
 cerning Mordaunt and Bellamy, Casey and 
 Smithers, to strike them each such a blow as 
 paralysed them and rendered them powerless. 
 But how did you manage in respect to Seymour, 
 the great contractor, against whose private cha- 
 racter and antecedents neither yon nor I knew 
 anything !" 
 
 " Pshaw!" ejaculated Mandeville, impatiently : 
 "how can you devote your attention to such 
 
 comparative trifles, when all your thoughts should 
 be given to more serious matters ?'' 
 
 " It is a point on which I experience an ardent 
 curiosity," rejoined Phipps ; "for there must have 
 been some admirable stroke of policy on your 
 part " 
 
 " Well, well," said Mandeville, flattered by the 
 compliment that was just paid him, and some- 
 what appeased in respect to the rage which had 
 previously taken possession of him, "it was a 
 fine stroke— one of the best I ever played — and 
 by heaven! uncle, it niay be taken as » fair 
 illustration of that genius which has got me on 
 and which shall yet make me a brilliant fortune ! 
 Ah, I may indeed feel proud when I think of all 
 I have done ! I, the obscure, humbly born, indif- 
 ferently, educated Matthew Calvert — acquiring 
 everything polite, genteel, and intellectual — ■ 
 learning Continental languages as if I were a 
 native of the very countries themselves — catching 
 all the refinement of behaviour and elegance of 
 manner which characterise the French — endowing 
 my conversation, ' so to speak, with brilliancy of 
 wit and funds of anecdote " 
 
 " Granting all this to be the case," said Phipps, 
 " yoil will admit that you are singing your own 
 praises to no very humble tune; and you also 
 forget that you have had opportunities of travel 
 and associations, of which you could not very 
 well help profiting. No sooner escaped from 
 transportation in New South Wales, than you fell 
 in with the divorced ' Russian Grand Duchess: 
 then you were employed by the Russian diplo- 
 matists themselves, and were thus brought in 
 contact' with the most polished of nobles and gen- 
 tleme'n^then travelling through Europe " 
 
 " True, true," ejaculated Mandeville : " but do 
 you pretend that any one else would have pro- 
 fited by such circumstances as I have done? No- 
 thing of the kind ! It was tact — it was intelli- 
 gence—it was a certain aptitude for everything 
 intellectual, genteel, and polished— it was the 
 inborn taste of the refined gentleman " 
 
 " Well, we will not dispute upon the point," 
 said Phipps, smiling at his nephew's arrant con- 
 ceit. : " Ah, by the bye ! we have wandered 
 greatly from our former topic ! You were about 
 to explain how you contrived in respect to Sey- 
 mour the contractor " 
 
 " To be sure ! I will tell you," rejoined Mande- 
 ville. "I have little faith in human virtue; 
 I believe therefore that there is a dark spot in the 
 heart of every one — a stain upon every con- 
 science. Yes — every man has at one period of his 
 life done something that he would not like to 
 have dragged into light. Was it not therefore 
 fair to suppose that Seymour — a man of the 
 world — having pushed on his way through diffi- 
 culties, and fought the great battle of life before 
 he amassed a fortune — was it not fair, I ask, to 
 suppose that such a man was sure to come within 
 the range of my theory? I did not therefore 
 consider it was a hazardous stroke, but that it 
 was a sure one which I was playing, when I said 
 to Warren, ' If Seymour threatens you, tell him 
 boldly there is a secret in his life which has come 
 to your knowledge, and the proofs of which are 
 not wanting ! ' " 
 
 "Ah, it was thus that you played the game?" 
 said Phipps. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mandeville; "and my firm 
 
THB YOUNQ DUCnESS ; OR, MEMOI11S OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 409 
 
 conviction is that if you pounce upon any man at 
 random and say to him, ' There ik a dark secret 
 in your life which is known to me !' you would 
 at once conjure up fbeblush of shame and guilt 
 to his lips." 
 
 " I think it. is very likely," said Phipps, mus- 
 ing over this detestable piece of philosophy 
 which had just reached his ears. "Yet all people 
 can't be bad. No, — I know that I myself have 
 my weak moments sometimes, when I would 
 rather do good than evil " 
 
 "Tow indeed?" — and Mandeville laughed 
 tauntingly and scornfully. 
 
 " Well, it is of no consequence," said Phipps : 
 and then he muttered injnm undertone, "Perhaps 
 you would not be best pleased, Nephew Matt, if I 
 quoted a proof of the, statement I have just made. 
 You little think that, in one of those weak mo- 
 ments I warned poor Ethel Trevor against you. 
 It was when I met her in the Kilburn or Hendon 
 No. 52. — The Young Duchess. 
 
 omnibus— I recollect 1 Poor creature-! I thought 
 she had. suffered enough, being robbed as she was 
 by Warren. Well, well— it's a queer world !— but 
 I know that even a villain may have his good 
 points !" • 
 
 " What the deuce are you muttering about to 
 yourself?" demanded Mandeville, who had re- 
 sumed his agitated walk, from which he however 
 again stopped suddenly short. " But rather tell 
 me at once, miserable man, what i3 the full ex- 
 tent of this new crime which you have perpetrated 
 — this fresh mischief which you have done ?" 
 
 " Have you not understood me yet, Mat ?" in- 
 quired the uncle. " And yet I have told you some 
 half-dozen times. It is a bill of exchange for three 
 thousand pounds, drawn by you, Hippolyte Count 
 de Mandeville— upon your bankers in Paris, and 
 accepted by them " 
 
 "The bankers in Paris?" echoed the Count. 
 "Then we are lost! Of what use will it be to 
 
410 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OK, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 find the money ? The bill will be sent to them 
 for payment — they will deny their acceptance, 
 even though millions were paid into their hands 
 to meet the bill!" 
 
 " Softly, softly, my dear nephew," interrupted 
 Mr. Phipps : "lam not accustomed to do things 
 in quite such a bungling style as this. No, no ! 
 — the bill will not go to the London agents of the 
 Paris bankers for payment, nor yet to the Paris 
 bankers either — provided you get me the three 
 thousand pounds by to-morrow afternoon at four 
 o'clock. Kemember, however, that's imperative I" 
 
 "Now," said Mandeville, sternly confronting 
 Ms precious uncle, " will you have the goodness 
 to tell me at once, and in as few words as possible, 
 exactly how the business stands — for by all you 
 have just told me you have mystified me more 
 than ever." 
 
 " Listen, Mat — and you shall have a specimen 
 of what real conciseness is. I wanted three thou- 
 sand pounds and I went to a certain Mr. Dobson, 
 money-lender, to whom I made known my re- 
 quirement. 'What's the security?' he asked. — 
 ' The bill of Count Mandeville, concerning whom 
 you may inquire of my employer Mr. Warren.' — 
 'Why does not Warren lend you the money?' 
 asked Dobson. — ' Because,' I replied, ' Mandeville 
 does not wish him to know anything about it.' — 
 'Then, in plain terms,' says Dobsofi, 'you are 
 raising this money for Mandeville himself?' — 
 ' Just so,' I replied. ' The pension he deceives 
 from the King of France will be due at an early 
 date, and his French bankers will accept the bill 
 for his accommodation.' — ' Ah, I understand,' said 
 Dobson : ' he does not want the bill to get into 
 the market. Very well : he can have the money ; 
 and the bill shall remain in my portfolio until the 
 day before it is due, when I expect you to come 
 and take it up ; otherwise I shall of course pay it 
 into my bankers that they may present it for 
 payment in the ordinary manner.' — This is how 
 the matter stands," added Phipps. 
 
 " Enough," said Mandeville with a stern brevity 
 in his speech, and with anger in his looks. "It 
 is not your fault if you have not compromised me 
 beyond redemption !" 
 
 " You should not have boasted, Mat, what a 
 clever fellow you are, and what wonderful things 
 you can do in the shortest possible space of time — 
 how you could carry everything before you, seduce 
 duchesses, marry heiresses, and accomplish as much 
 in a few weeks as would take any other person as 
 many months for the mere initiatory proceed- 
 ings I" 
 
 " Well, well," interjected Mandeville petulantly 
 — for he knew that there was much truth in his 
 uncle's observations ; " there is enough of it ! 
 Come to me at three o'clock to-morrow, and you 
 shall have the money." 
 
 " That is what I call speaking reasonably and 
 fairly — and also proving that you are the rapid, 
 dashing, sharp, determined dog you've chosen to 
 represent yourself." 
 
 With these words Mr. Phipps took his depar- 
 ture, leaving his nephew to ponder the difficulties 
 there might be in the way of raising the three 
 thousand pounds in.time to prevent a terrific ex- 
 plosion. But Mandeville — as we shall continue 
 to call the adventurer, in order to prevent con- 
 fusion in our narrative, although the reader is now 
 aware that he was none other than Matthew Cal- 
 
 vert, the quondam delinquent clerk in the service 
 of the late Mr. Warren, and the story of whose 
 death had been propagated by his uncle Mr. 
 Phipps, — Mandeville, we say, had already re- 
 volved in his own mind the sources whence the 
 required sum might be obtained. He had faith in 
 his star ; and indeed the immense confidence hi 
 possessed in his own abilities had proved the main 
 source of all the recent successes of his adven- 
 turous life. The task which he had in hand did 
 riot therefore prevent him from sleeping soundly 
 that night — though he was deeply enraged against 
 his uncle for having done a deed which might 
 havo compromised them both beyond all repara- 
 tion. 
 
 Mandeville rose early on the enSaing morfting, 
 entered his carriage, and drove to" to* French 
 Ambassador's. He had it in hi* power to demand 
 a pecuniary reward for the service recently ren- 
 dered in the matter of the breaking up of the 
 conspiracy : and if he had hitherto abstained from 
 seeking such recompense, it was because he wished 
 to stand all the better with the Ambassador, to 
 seem to be more independent than he really was 
 in his monetary affairsy and thus diminish those 
 scruples which might have eSdsfced on the part of 
 the French Government in respect to the bestowal 
 upon him of the Legion of HoHour. But now, 
 pressed by neeesUity, he determined upon asking 
 for a pecuniary recompense, in addition to the 
 titular one; and dutfmg the short ride to the 
 French Embassy, he made up a tale to aeeonnt 
 for this sudden want on Ms part. But behold ! 
 his hope was doomed to) disappointment in this 
 quarter ; the French Ambassador had left late on 
 the preceding evening for Paris, to which capital 
 he had been suddenly summoned. 
 
 Mandeville bit Bis lip for a moment, and drove 
 to the Russian Embassy. He knew that while on 
 the one hand the Imperial Prince had never met 
 Ivan Zadouski on the bridge, on the other hand 
 Count Olonetz had likewise failed in capturing 
 that individual : but Mandeville had by no 
 means suspected the real truth — namely, that 
 Zadouslii had been murdered. He therefore attri- 
 buted the absence of the Pole from the appoint- 
 ment which had been made on Waterloo Bridge, 
 to the fact that he suspected some treachery and 
 had deemed it more prudent to keep aloof. Man- 
 deville therefore now resolved to tell some tale 
 which might obtain for him the three thousand 
 pounds he required ; and with this view he 
 drove to the Russian Embassy. He first inquired 
 for the Grand Duke, whom he thought it would 
 be far more easy to dupe and deceive than Count 
 Olonetz ; but his Imperial Highness had gone 
 out a few minutes previously. Mandeville then 
 inquired for Count Olonetz ; hut he was informed 
 that his Excellency had just gone down to the 
 Foreign Office, where it was probable that he 
 would be detained for some hours, inasmuch as it 
 was expected that the Embassy would leave the 
 British metropolis in a day or two, after having 
 been detained at least three weeks longer than had 
 been originally anticipated. Again Mandeville bit 
 his lip for a moment : but then, as he recollected that 
 he had still one resource left, he inquired of the 
 hall-porter, " Is that English lady still residing 
 here ? I mean Mrs. Trevor." 
 
 "Yes, sir," was the response. "And poor 
 lady I she is at this moment in great trouble 1" 
 
" Trouble ? Indeed !— how so ?" 
 
 " Her little boy was last night seized with con- 
 vulsions ; and the poor child lies at the point of 
 death." 
 
 " Ah !" said Mandeville with an assumed air 
 of compassion. " I am sorry to hear such intel- 
 ligence." 
 
 He then drove back to the Clarendon Hotel ; 
 but within half an hour he was in his phaeton, 
 accompanied by Edmund Vaughan, on his way 
 into Buckinghamshire. 
 
 For a long time not a word was spoken — until 
 at last Mandeville, thinking that he noticed some- 
 thing strange on the part of his valet, said, 
 " Why do you keep looking round in that manner, 
 Edmund ?" 
 
 " I look round, sir !" 
 
 "Yes, to be sure! You cannot possibly be 
 afraid of highwaymen in broad daylight, between 
 eleven and twelve in the forenoon — on this well- 
 frequented road " 
 
 " No, sir — I am not afraid of highwaymen," 
 rejoined the valet. "But the truth is, sir, it 
 struck me.that when you first went out this morn- 
 ing, I saw an ill-looking fellow of a foreigner with 
 a beard, lounging about the front of the hotel ; 
 and then just as the phaeton drove round to the 
 door after you had dismissed your carriage, sir, 
 it struck me that I saw the same man again — but 
 he almost instantly disappeared." 
 
 " Do you suppose he was watching me, there- 
 fore ?" 
 
 " I don't know, sir. I didn't like the man's 
 look — there was a misgiving in my mind — one 
 can't help these feelings at times " 
 
 " A foreigner — watching me ?" murmured Man- 
 deville between his lips. " Describe this person — 
 what is his appearance ?" 
 
 " Bearded, sir, as I have already said " 
 
 "Could it be Zadouski? — Do you mean a beard 
 of glossy blackness, with but a few grey hairs ?" 
 
 " No, sir : the person I mean, as well as I could 
 obtain a glimpse of him, had a beard more indi- 
 cative of age. But, after all, I daresay, sir, it 
 was a mere fancy on my part — and he was not 
 watching you at all : but I thought I would men- 
 tion it." 
 
 " Then why have you glanced behind so fre- 
 quently?" asked Mandeville. 
 
 " Again I may have been foolish, sir, in my 
 misgivings," responded Edmund; "but three or 
 four times I thought that I heard a horse follow- 
 ing, and the idea had grown up in my mind that 
 it was going at the same pace as ourselves — just 
 for all the world as if keeping at a certain dis- 
 tance." 
 
 " Do you near the sounds now?" asked Man- 
 deville. 
 
 " No, sir. And again I say it may have been 
 nothing more than fancy after all." 
 
 " Most likely !— or at all events nothing signi- 
 ficant :" — but though Mandeville thus spoke with 
 his accustomed tone and air of confidence, he did 
 not feel altogether so reassured in the secret 
 depths of his own mind, that there was naught to 
 care for in the incident. " ft cannot be Za- 
 douski '" he thought to himself : " it is not Pon- 
 chard — for he wears scarcely any beard at all, 
 and no whiskers. At* it maybe Karl Petronoff! 
 But if so, why should he watch me ? Can it be 
 that the part I played with the French Ambas- 
 
 sador has been discovered? And yet this is 
 scarcely possible ! Indeed, it seems to be alto- 
 gether impossible ."' 
 
 But although Mandeville endeavoured thus to 
 reassure himself, he could not banish a latent mis- 
 giving and lurking sense of danger from his mind. 
 He kept listening : but the sounds of horse's feet 
 coming from behind, reached not his ears : and 
 we should observe that he was careful to compose 
 his countenance in a way. that might prevent his 
 valet from suspecting there was really anything 
 that he dreaded. 
 
 "By the bye, Edmund," said Mandeville, 
 abruptly breaking a silence which had again pre- 
 vailed for some time, " have you ever seen any- 
 thing of that man — what is his name ? Ah ! 
 Luke Parkins !" 
 
 " Oh," cried Edmund, with a smile ; " the valet 
 of that precious baronet Sir Abel Kingston, whom 
 we packed off so nicely three or four weeks ago ? 
 Ah, how well he was got up for that occasion ! 
 Never shall I forget the infirm-looking old gentle- 
 man, with whiskers and moustache shaved ofl, 
 and his cheeks coloured so as to seem all wrink- 
 led " 
 
 "Well, well," interjected Mandeville impa- 
 tiently; " we do not want to recall the particulars 
 of that transaction." 
 
 " No — certainly not, sir. I beg pardon — but 
 still it is something that I cannot help smiling at 
 when I think of it ! — it was done so neatly ! And 
 Miss Denton too, who played her part so well ! — 
 Ah ! Luke Parkins little thought when he helped 
 his master to escape out of Newgate, and got him 
 to Pluckley's house in the Haymarket, what was 
 to happen so soon, and how the baronet was to 
 be spirited away!" 
 
 " Have you seen Luke Parkins since the trans- 
 action'?" inquired Mandeville. " This was the 
 question I just now put." 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," said the valet; "I'm afraid 
 I took a liberty in chattering too much. Well, 
 I have seen Luke Parkins — it was yesterday — and 
 I thought he looked uncommon down in the 
 mouth. I'm sorry for it." 
 
 "No doubt!" said Mandeville, impressively: 
 " he must have been a very faithful fellow to his 
 master; and fidelity of this sort cannot be too 
 well rewarded," continued Mandeville, empha- 
 sising his words and bending a significant look 
 on his own valet. " You know that I can appre- 
 ciate fidelity on the part of a dependant. Bnt 
 tell me — did Parkins speak of his master?" 
 
 " But very little, sir ; he hardly mentioned his 
 name. Methought he had a. kind of bewildered 
 look " 
 
 "Poor fellow! — the sudden disappearance of 
 his master must indeed have proved unaccount- 
 able to him ! I hope he is not suffering through 
 poverty?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it, sir!" answered Vaughan. 
 " Besides, he told me he thought of taking a but- 
 ler's situation that was offered him." 
 
 " Of course you did not say a word calculated 
 to excite a suspicion in his mind that you knew 
 full well what he had done for his master ?" 
 
 " Good heavens, no, sir ! — not a word !" ejacu- 
 lated Edmund. " I hope you know me to be too 
 cautious. Ah, sir, it was a clever game which 
 Luke and his master must have played at the 
 time!" 
 
41.2 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS; CB, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 "And yet a simple one enough," answered 
 Mandeville ; " for all the details of the case are 
 self-evident. Sir Abel partook of some drug which 
 threw him into a trance — then Luke Parkins was 
 ready at hand, and it all depended upon the tact 
 with which he conducted the remainder of the 
 business, to ensure a complete success. To tell 
 the tale of how the Baronet had been troubled 
 with a heart-disease — to make the low fellows of 
 an Old Bailey jury beastly drunk — to take ad- 
 vantage of the readiness of the hurried and bust- 
 ling prison-surgeon to snatch at the very first idea 
 that might save trouble — then to get possession 
 of the seeming corpse, on pretence of giving it 
 that decent burial which none else would afford, — 
 all this," added Mandeville, " was a comparatively 
 easy part to be played when he who played it 
 was a man of tact, intrepidity, and keen wit." 
 
 Here the conversation was interrupted by the 
 appearance of Beaconsfield, where, in a very few 
 minutes, the phaeton drove up to the front of the 
 principal inn. There Mandeville was known ; 
 and he was instantaneously received with every 
 attention. 
 
 Without informing Edward Vaughan of his 
 present destination, but merely remarking that he 
 should be back in an hour or two, he set off on 
 foot for Thornbury Park He had scarcely pro- 
 ceeded half an hour, and had just reached the 
 outskirt of the park, when he beheld a lady walk- 
 ing slowly along the lane, a little way ahead ; 
 and quickly recognising the superb figure on which 
 his eyes thus rested, he was instantaneously by her 
 side. 
 
 " Mary, dearest Mary !" he exclaimed, his entire 
 countenance expressing mingled joy and tender- 
 ness. ' : Oh, what bliss to meet you again !" 
 
 " Hippolyte, is it you?" — and it struck the 
 Count that there was a certain coldness or reserve 
 in the manner of the young Duchess. 
 
 " What ! are you astonished that I should seek 
 you after a separation of more than three weeks ? 
 But perhaps you are annoyed that I did not come 
 hither sooner, despite the billet which you wrote 
 in answer to mine ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," interjected the Duchess ; "I wrote 
 to you, Hippolyte, to beg that you would not 
 seek me— at least not for the present, — that you 
 would leave me to my seclusion and my sor- 
 row " 
 
 " True ! you wrote thus, Mary," rejoined Man- 
 deville ; " and have I not obeyed you ? But I 
 could curb my impatience no longer : I longed to 
 fly to you — to gaze upon you once again — to tell 
 you how much I love you — to learn from your 
 sweet lips that I am still loved in return " 
 
 "Hush, Hippolyte! hush!" interjected the 
 Duchess: "this may not be!" — and she spoke 
 with a modest dignity and firmness, but yet with 
 an air of sincerest friendship. " Nay, do not in- 
 terrupt me ! — but listen ! You are endowed with 
 a brilliant intelligence — with generous feelings 
 likewise — yes, with the noblest of sentiments, — 
 and you will therefore understand me when I de- 
 clare that recent events have produced the 
 strongest impression on my mind. It appears to me 
 as if heaven itself interposed, by its own awfully 
 significant means, to rescue me from proving 
 faithless to my husband ! It was thus with the 
 first towards whom I displayed a weakness of 
 feeling — I mean Sir Abel Kingston ! — it was so 
 
 in respect to yourself! — and— and — in these two 
 instances only have I ever thought of infidelity 
 towards the Duke of Ardleigh ! I know that I 
 have been guilty in thought, though not in fact, 
 — criminal in intent, though not in deed ; and I 
 must therefore ever look upon myself as one who 
 has been weak, erring, reprehensible, if not actu- 
 ally culpable. But that, thank God! I have 
 never been ! And you, Hippolyte — you who de- 
 clare that you love me — will respect me all the 
 more when I entreat — nay, stipulate and com- 
 mand, that henceforth there shall be naught but 
 friendship between you and me!" 
 
 " What, Mary !" exclaimed Mandeville, who 
 had listened to this speech with a surprise border- 
 ing on consternation ; " you tell me this after all 
 that has taken place between us ? And for whom 
 is it that you propose to retain this prudish chas- 
 tity of yours ? The husband who has betrayed 
 ybu! — the man who has loved his mistress far 
 better than he loved you, his wife !" 
 
 " Speak not harshly nor severely, Hippolyte," 
 interrupted the Duchess. " On my husband's mind 
 also have recent events produced their effect !" 
 
 " Ah, try him ! put him to the test !" exclaimed 
 Mandeville, with contemptuous irony. "I will 
 tell' you how ! Say to him that you know where 
 his Ethel is — reveal to him that she is at the 
 Russian Embassy in Grosvenor Square. Oh ! 
 and add, if you will, that she now weeps over her 
 child — Ms child — who is at the point of death !" 
 
 At this instant a scream burst from the lips of 
 the young Duchess; but it was not evoked by 
 the intelligence she had just heard : — it was pro- 
 duced by the sudden glimpse which she caught of 
 a bearded face with a sinister expression, peeping 
 forth from amidst the adjacent trees. And not 
 only was the expression of this countenance fierce 
 and threatening — aye, even frightful with its 
 ferocious glaring eyes — but another object had 
 also simultaneously caught the look of the young 
 Duchess: namely, a pistol. But scarcely had 
 that shriek pealed from her lips — indeed while it 
 was still vibrating in the air — the pistol exploded, 
 and a yell of pain thrilled from the tongue of 
 Mandeville. 
 
 Then another cry rang through the air: it was 
 from the lips of the young Duchess — and with 
 the sudden feeling of revived affection -for Man- 
 deville, she threw herself into his arms. At the 
 very same instant the pistol, which was a re- 
 volver, was discharged again ; and a third wild 
 cry from the tongue of the Duchess indicated a 
 mortal agony. Mandeville fell with a, heavy 
 groan ; and the Duchess sank down upon him. 
 Then there was a rustling amidst the adjacent 
 trees : and Karl Petronoff — for he indeed was the 
 assassin — sprang upon a horse which was tied at 
 a little distance, and plunging into the diverging 
 lanes, galloped away from the scene of his double 
 crime. 
 
 Almost immediately afterwards another horse- 
 man, coming from the opposite direction, rode up 
 to the spot ; and a cry of horror burst from his 
 tongue at the spectacle which met his eyesr— for 
 this was the young Duke of Ardleigh. himself. 
 Springing from his steed, he caught his wife in 
 his arms ; and she murmured faintly, yet audibly, 
 " Herbert, I have never proved faithless to you! 
 I am about to die — I swear that I am speaking 
 the truth !" 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 
 
 413 
 
 " I believe yon, Mary ! Bat if it were other- 
 wise, I should blame you not! Oh, you are 
 wounded! and he too! — it is Mandeville! By 
 heaven, he is dead !" 
 
 "Dead? Oh, what a fate!"— and the young 
 Duchess moaned deeply. "The assassin was 
 there — amidst the trees ! No, start not ! — he is 
 
 gone 
 
 !" 
 
 " Oh, for aid ! What am I to do ?" cried the 
 young Duke, flinging his afflicted and bewildered 
 looks around. 
 
 " You can do nothing. Listen to me, Herbert !" 
 — and the young Duchess spoke in a voice so 
 deep and solemn that her husband's attention was 
 instantaneously riveted upon the wish that her 
 words had expressed, though he listened with a 
 profoundly painful interest. "There ! support me 
 thus, Herbert ! I am dying ! Oh, do not start 
 in that horrified manner ! — it is as I tell yon ! I 
 feel it here !" — and she pointed to her bosom. 
 
 "Good heavens!" moaned the young Duke, as 
 he saw that the blood was welling forth from a 
 wound in the immediate vicinage of the heart. 
 " Is it possible, Mary ? Oh, live ! — live for me ! 
 I will he unto you otherwise than I have been ! 
 Oh, I swear it, Mary ! — for now, at last, I feel 
 how dear you are unto me !" 
 
 " Oh, Herbert !" said the Duchess, with a smile 
 of extraordinary sweetness, "there is one still 
 dearer unto you — one with whom you may now 
 be happy !" 
 
 " Talk not thus, Mary ! you wound me to the 
 very quick ! — it is a sacrilege of the heart's sanc- 
 tuary to deem me capable of thinking of another 
 while thou art thus wounded !" 
 
 " Dying," added the Duchess faintly. 
 " No, no ! — it must not be !" cried her husband, 
 almost frantically. " Oh, is there no help ? does 
 no one hear me? Mary, I am strong — I will 
 carry you in my arms to the house!" 
 
 " Remove me, Herbert, and I shall die instan- 
 taneously ! Oh, suffer me to remain thus until 
 the last !" was Mary's softly-breathed request. 
 " Yes, thus ! Ay — and again press your lips to 
 mine ! — one more kiss ! And now I shall die 
 happy! — and you shall live to be happy, Herbert! 
 But, Ah ! your boy— your little Alfred ! Haste, 
 haste ! —leave me to die alone ! — speed to your 
 Ethel ! — she weeps by the side of her son !" 
 
 "O Ood! what is this that you say?" ex- 
 claimed the Duke, startled throughout his entire 
 being. 
 
 " Alas, it is so, Herbert ! Go — remain not here ! 
 — speed, speed to London ! Ah — the film of 
 
 death " 
 
 " Mary, Mary ! what more have you to say ?" 
 and the young Duke strained his wife with a 
 mingled tenderness and convulsiveness in his 
 arms. 
 
 " Oh, that my last words," she feebly and 
 faintly murmured, "should give you back her 
 who was lost ! — and God grant that you and Ethel 
 may be happy ! Seek — seek her, Herbert — at — 
 
 at — the Russian Embassy and — and — hesitate 
 
 not to espouse her hesitate not !" 
 
 And thus speaking, the once brilliant Duchess 
 of Ardleigh expired in the arms of her husband. 
 
 Shift we now the scene. It was some hours 
 later on that eventful day ; it was between seven 
 and eight o'clock in the evening ; and by the side 
 of a conch in a chamber at the Russian Embassy 
 
 knelt Ethel,— Ethel still beautiful as ever, but 
 pale and afflicted— the tears raining in torrents 
 from her soft hazel eyes— sobs convuUbg her 
 bosom! For there, upon that couch, lay her 
 child— her beloved little Alfred ! The only joy 
 of her heart was now wrested from her! Yes— 
 for the child was dead! It appeared to be an 
 amount of calamity too stupendous to be real, and 
 a woe too terrible to endure. 
 
 " God help me !" moaned the afflicted creature. 
 " God help me !— for now is my bereavement com- 
 plete! Oh, my lost child! Oh, my perished 
 dear one! Now indeed is this world a blank! — 
 and there is none — and there is none to comfort 
 me!" 
 
 « Yes — one, dearest Ethel !" — and at the same 
 time that a loved and familiar voice thus broke 
 softly and tenderly upon her ear, a form glided 
 as gently towards her and knelt by her side. 
 " Yes, one, -Ethel ! — I, your husband ! Oh, start 
 not!— these are no mocking words that I speak! — 
 but believe me when I call thee my wife — my 
 duchess — my well-beloved — from whom I shall 
 separate no more !" 
 
 And as the young Duke in a few words ex- 
 plained the horrible tragedy which had that day 
 occurred at Thornbnry, Ethel sank into his arms ; 
 and then the bereaved father and mother knelt 
 and prayed and wept together by the side of the 
 conch whereon lay the corpse of their little son ! 
 
 CHAPTER L XXV I II. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Mandeville was not dead ; but he had fainted 
 from the effect of the wound which .he had re- 
 ceived. For six weeks he battled for life through 
 intervals of fever and trance-like stupor; and 
 during that period he was perfectly unconscious 
 of all that was passing around him. When he 
 regained his senses, it was to receive no very 
 agreeable intelligence — which was however chari- 
 tably broken to him by degrees. A complete 
 explosion had taken place. The bill had been 
 presented for payment — the Paris bankers had 
 pronounced their acceptance a forgery — Phipps 
 had been arrested — and further inquiries had de- 
 veloped the fact that Mandeville was an impostor, 
 that his proper name was Matthew Calvert, and 
 that some years back he had escaped from trans- 
 portation in Australia. The consequence was 
 that the precious uncle and nephew appeared at 
 the Old Bailey during the same Sessions,. — the 
 former prosecuted for forgery, the latter as a re- 
 turned transport; and both were sentenced to 
 banishment for the remainder of their lives. We 
 should observe that Phipps, fancying that he had 
 some cause of grievance against Warren, revealed 
 the desperate condition of this individual's affairs, 
 which at once sent him headlong into the Gazette. 
 But inasmuch as Mr. Warren had done the thing 
 wholesale, and had plundered people of hundreds 
 of thousands, instead of being a mere petty, 
 peddling insolvent on a small scale, he was com- 
 passionated by the Commissioner, complimented 
 be the assignees, and sympathized with by the 
 great Dons of the City generally; so that he 
 passed the Court with flying colours. When we 
 
414. 
 
 THE YOUNG DUCHESS ; OR, MEMOIKS OF A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 last heard of him, he was — or appeared to be — in 
 finer feather than ever, with a larger yacht, a 
 handsomer house, more horses, and more mis- 
 tresses, than he had even possessed prior to his 
 bankruptcy. 
 
 The reader will perhaps be prepared to learn 
 that Hester Sergeant was not long destined to re- 
 main a creature of this life, In the course of a 
 few weeks after her restoration to her mother, she 
 expired in the arms of the parent whom she thus 
 knew for so short a time. The effect was to 
 damage still more completely than before the in- 
 tellect of Lady Amesbury, who was however 
 thereby saved from too keen an appreciation of 
 the loss of the daughter whom she had hoped to 
 save to become unto, her * source of solace and 
 comfort. 
 
 Edward Walpole became the happy husband of 
 the beautiful Azaline ; and in the faithful execu- 
 tion of the imaginative projects conceived by the 
 latter, and which appeared at the time to be so 
 deeply tinged with romance, they have for the 
 most part inhabited an orient clime since their 
 nuptials. They possess a charming villa upon the 
 banks of the Bosphorus ; and Azaline's brilliant 
 and beautiful form is set off to the fullest advan- 
 tage by the characteristic feminine costume of the 
 country which she and her husband have, so to 
 speak, adopted as their own. 
 
 We may now in a few rapid wprds dispose of 
 almost as many characters, by stating that Tim 
 Gaflhey died of the injuries sustained on the night 
 of the burglary in Hatton Garden, and that his 
 friend Jack Peppercorn was transported for the 
 same offence — that Ponchard and Petronoff fell 
 together, fighting side by side in the French Revo- 
 lution of 1848 — and that Sir Abel Kingston 
 perished of a sun-stroke while dragging his 
 wearied limbs as a member of the Condemned 
 Regiment over the arid wastes of Sahara. 
 
 SylveSler Casey, receiving an allowance of 
 three hundred a-year, which, was settled upon 
 him through the generosity of Stephen Ashborne, 
 committed a last folly by suffering himself to be 
 inveigled into a marriage with Alice Denton, who 
 keeps him in such excellent order as to verify the 
 old proverb of " the grey mare being 1;he better 
 horse." He is compelled to put up with her ex- 
 travagancies and her infidelities ; for how can a 
 person possibly find fault when he dares not say 
 that his soul is his own ? As for Stephen Ash- 
 borne, he lives in almost complete seclusion at The 
 Firs in Dorsetshire : but manifold indeed are his 
 charities, and noble is the use which he makes of 
 the large fortune he inherited through his wife, 
 the perished and lamented Pamela. 
 
 Edmund and Lavinia married soon after the 
 tragical occurrences at Thornbury ; and the reader 
 may be prepared to learn that such shrewd and 
 worldly-minded people have not failed to double 
 and treble the savings which they acquired by 
 various means when they were respectively in 
 service. 
 
 It was not until nearly a twelvemonth after the 
 death of Mary Duchess of Ardleigh, by the bullet 
 of the assassin Petronoff, that the beauteous Ethel 
 succeeded unto her place. It was through her 
 own delicacy of feeling that this delay took place ; 
 but at the expiration thereof she accompanied her 
 beloved Herbert to the altar, and became Duchess 
 of Ardleigh in her turn. A blooming progeny is 
 
 rising around them ; and when Ethel gazes upon 
 these the offspring of a legitimate wedded love, 
 she cannot repress the thought, though she sighs 
 as she gives way to it, that it was perhaps after 
 all a merciful dispensation of Providence which 
 took her little Alfred in his infancy, instead of 
 leaving him to grow up to the knowledge and the 
 shame of his illegitimacy. We may add that the 
 Princess Roxana — who has married one of her 
 cousins, a Prince of the Imperial House of Ro- 
 manoff — frequently corresponds with the Duchess 
 of Ardleigh; and it is always in the style of 
 " dearest Ethel," and " dearest Roxana " that 
 their correspondence is carried on. 
 
 We have now to conclude our narrative with 
 an episode of a somewhat startling description. 
 All the generous services rendered by Selina Casey 
 to the House of Trentham, were duly and effec- 
 tively represented by Azaline to her brother 
 Launcelot. At first he listened only with a sense 
 of gratitude ; then feelings of the most admiring 
 friendship arose in his mind — until he began to 
 conceive that there was virtually a paramount 
 duty which he was sacredly and solemnly bound 
 to perform. But let it not be thought that the 
 image of Imogen was banished from his recollec- 
 tion. Far from it ! He cherished it as that of 
 the only being he could ever love ; and it was 
 therefore in a species of self-martyrising sense, at 
 the altar of duty, that after the lapse of some 
 months he offered his hand to Selina. At first 
 she refused him ; but he addressed her with so 
 much frankness and candour — he showed himself 
 so desirous to recompense all her many virtues 
 by taking on himself the task of ensuring her hap- 
 piness — that she yielded. Ah, the hesitation was 
 not long — the struggle was not great : for did she 
 not love him ? 
 
 Then there was a year, — yes, one brief year of 
 almost celestial bliss for the amiable and beautiful 
 Selina : but at the end of that period she died, in 
 giving birth to an infant who perished at the same 
 fime. Then there were some months of gloomy 
 moody seclusion for Launcelot, who felt that in 
 the death of Selina he had lost a true and sincere 
 friend. Though he had not loved her in the fullest 
 sense of the term, yet he had esteemed, admired, 
 and respected her ; and when she went down into 
 the grave, it seemed to him as if there were no 
 longer aught on earth to make him wish to live. 
 At length so morbid became the condition of his 
 mind, — that mind which was always romantic 
 and endowed with the most refined sublimation of 
 intellectuality — that his relatives became alarmed; 
 and the medical advisers recommended prompt 
 change of scene, accompanied by activity of pur- 
 suits. Launcelot, too sensible to be obstinate, — 
 too intelligent to prove deaf to salutary advice — 
 at once yielded. 
 
 Some few months afterwards, in the middle of 
 the summer of 1849, an English traveller, with a 
 knapsack at his back, was passing through one of 
 the most delightful districts of Switzerland. He 
 was not above four and twenty years of age — of 
 remarkably handsome countenance, with brown 
 hair, and fine blue eyes. There was an unmis- 
 takable air of distinction and refinement about 
 him which plainly indicated that if he were per- 
 forming a pedestrian tour, and was apparelled 
 accordingly, it was a matter of choice and not of 
 compulsion. Presently he entered a little village 
 
THE YOUNG DUCHESS i OR, MEMOIRS OP A LADY OP QUALITY. 
 
 415 
 
 where at the moment a somewhat interesting scene 
 was taking place. A beautiful female — whose 
 age might be between two or three and twenty, 
 and who was apparelled in a fantastic garb, but 
 one which exquisitely became her — was dancing ; 
 while a fascinating little girl, with a profusion of soft 
 flaxen curls, and whose age might be about seven, 
 was playing the tambourine. Though it was a 
 poor village, yet such was the interest which the 
 performer and her little companion excited, that 
 coins rained in upon the tambourine when the 
 latter presented it to the spectators. The dance 
 concluded ; and the dancer herself retired to a 
 seat within the court-yard of a picturesque inn, 
 where she and the girl rested themselves, while 
 the waitress of the hostelry hastened to procure 
 some refreshments that were ordered. 
 
 This was the moment at which the English 
 pedestrian traveller entered the court-yard of the 
 inn, wearied with a walk of several hours, and 
 glad that he had reached the place where he pur- 
 posed to repose himself. But good heavens ! why 
 does he stop short ? wherefore is the very cry of 
 amazement which rises up to his lips, suspended 
 thereon ? What does he behold ? That costume ! 
 that splendid form! — and that child with the 
 profusion of flaxen hair ! is it possible ? or is it 
 a dream ? Is the dead alive ? is the lost found ? 
 what mystery is now to be explained ? Ah, she 
 raises her eyes !— "those eyes of a beautiful blue ! — 
 and then forth from her lips peals a mingled cry 
 of joy and wonder — and the English traveller 
 doubts no longer as to the reality of what is 
 passing. 
 
 "Launcelot!" 
 
 " Imogen ! dearest Imogen !" 
 
 These were the ejaculations that now rang 
 forth ; and the next moment those who uttered 
 them were clasped in each other's arms. 
 
 Oh, what a meeting ! — what joy ! what happi- 
 ness for both ! Imogen knew that Launcelot had 
 married Selina : she knew also of Selina's death ; 
 and there was consequently little to be explained 
 on his side. But on her's, how much was there 
 to tell ! Yes — how much to reveal since they had 
 last seen each other at Chelsea precisely two years 
 back! Then Imogen explained to Launcelot how 
 her brother Walter had found out that she was 
 living with a young gentleman — how he had im- 
 plored her to quit a mode of life which was so 
 discreditable to her — how he had at first threat- 
 ened to take summary vengeance upon Launcelot 
 as the seducer of his sister — but how she (Imogen) 
 had explained everything exactly as it occurred, 
 not even forgetting her own vow which she had 
 sworn never to marry Launcelot without the con- 
 sent of his parents. Thereupon her brother had 
 
 said to her, " They will never consent, Imogen ; 
 and besides, from all you have told me, it is 
 clearly to the interest of this young gentleman 
 that he should marry Miss Casey, if he desire to 
 save his family from ruin. By remaining with 
 him as his mistress, you ruin his interests and 
 destroy your own reputation at one and the same 
 time. This must end! He will never marry 
 Selina while you live ! — he will ever be seeking 
 after you till he finds you ! Be you dead unto 
 him ; and by this sacrifice on your part you will 
 save him and redeem yourself !" 
 
 It was thus Imogen's brother had spoken ; and 
 she — the generous-hearted, the magnanimous, and 
 the self-sacrificing — had yielded to his representa- 
 tions. They had at once gone abroad ; and they 
 lived for a while upon the money which Walter 
 had brought home with him from sea. When 
 this failed they found themselves in Switzerland, 
 without resources in a land of strangers. Then 
 first of all Walter became a boatman on a neigh- 
 bouring lake, and Imogen took in needlework; 
 Fanny — the faithful Fanny, who still remained 
 with them, performed the domestic duties of the 
 little household. But there had lately been a 
 lack of travellers in that district — Walter's custom 
 had fallen off— and poverty was staring them in 
 the face, when Imogen determined to put on her 
 long-discarded theatrical costume, and accom- 
 panied by little Annie, try. her fortune amongst 
 the peasants of the Alpine villages. That very 
 
 day was her first venture and it was also her 
 
 last! 
 
 - Her last, yes! — because Launcelot was now 
 restored to her — and Walter Hartland readily as- 
 sented to the brilliant match which was so in- 
 genuously and sincerely proposed by the young 
 patrician. Launcelot wrote to his parents, de- 
 claring that his happiness depended upon their 
 concurrence with the step which he was so desirous 
 to take ; and they had recently been tod deeply 
 under apprehension concerning their son's health, 
 alike physical and mental, to refuse their consent. 
 Thus all Imogen's magnanimous love was re- 
 warded at last ; and she became the happy wife 
 of Launcelot. She is now Lady Trentham, her 
 husband having recently succeeded to the family 
 title through the death of his father. Walter 
 Hartland is a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy, 
 which service he entered, by his own choice, soon 
 after his sister's marriage : and the interest of his 
 brother-in-law will not be wanting to push him 
 onward in the career he has chosen. Little Annie 
 passes as the niece of Lady Trentham, — by whom, 
 as well as by Launcelot, she is as much loved, 
 however, as if she were one of the bright and 
 beautiful progeny which have blest their union. 
 
\. y. 
 
 f 
 
 %* 
 
 ■r 
 
 \ 
 
 L\ 
 
 \ 
 
 i