{^ V" ^ \/ v^ ^ V * 'k V <$ ^ * f » THE SEAMSTRESS; OK, THE WHITE SLAVE OF ENGLAND. BY Cj. W. M. REYNOLDS, AriHOE OF THE FIRST AND 8ECOSD SERIES OP " THE 1IT8TEEIB3 OP LONDON," " THE MrSTEEIES OF THE COURT OF LONDON," "THE COEAL ISLAND," "THE BRONZE STATUE," "FAUST," "THE NECROMANCER," " THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE," " POPE JOAN," " THE PIXT," " ROBERT ?JACAIEE," "MART PRICE," "THE DATS OF HOGAETH," "KENNETH," " WAGNEE, THE NVEHE-WOLF," "THE SOLDIER'S WIFE," "THE EYE HOUSE PLOT," &C., &C. W' T T H F I F T E E N I L L U S T R A T IONS. DRAWN BY HENllY ANELAY. LONDON : FEINTED AND PUBLISHED, FOR MR. REYNOLDS, BY JOHN DICKS, AT THE OFFICE, No. 7, "WELLINGTON STREET NORTH, STRAND, 1853. THE SEAMSTHESS. CHAPTER I. TIRGIXIA. Tavistock Street is a narrow and gloomy tlioroughfaro lyinoj between the bustling Strand and the equally busy mart of Covent Garden. The reader may picture to himself a dark and slugijish ditch in some spot where there is a rushing, roaring torrent on the one hand, and an ever-agitated lake oa the other ; — and such is the relationship which Tavistock Street bears to the great living fl )od that pours along the Strand, and the cnuatnut activity of swarming life in C.>rc.it Garden. The mingling bum of myrmds of voices and the din of countless vehicles reach the ears of the dwellers in that dingy- 1 joking, sombre street: but seldom are its echoes awakened by carriages passing through it, — while the number of foot passengers is at no time great enough to send forth those sounds peculiar to the many-trampling feet of crowded ways. The shops in Tavistock Street are few and by no moans imposing in appearance : the hair-dresser's, the oilman's, the picture- warehouse, the masquerade- clothier's, and the gin-palace are the principal. The houses seem to be chielly private ones : but tiiey are generally occupied by lodgers whose names and avocations are specified on little brass-plates affixed to the door-post and each serving as an index to the particular bell which must be rung in order to summon forth the special individual whom the visitor requires. Some of those houses are per- fi.-ctly respectable: but in others there arc female lodgers whose reputation would not exactly stand the test which Ca;sar insisted upon applying to his own wife. We must now introduce our readers to a little chamber on the uppermost floor of one of the dingiest-looking houses in Tavistock Street. That back attic — for it was nothing more — was as scrupu- lously clean as the nicest sense of female tidiness could render it : but its aspect was that of cold, cheerless penury. Upon the floor was stretched the humble bedding — a flock mattrass and one thin blanket, with a pair of sheets as white as snow. A small deal table, a solitary chair, a basin and ewor, a candlestick, a little moveable cupboard, and a piece of broken looking-glass hanging to the win- dow, completed the furniture — if such indeed the articles may be called — of that poor chamber. A neat straw-bonnet, a shawl, and a cotton dress, were suspended to pegs in one corner of the room ; and a bandbox contained a few other necessaries belonging to the scanty wardrobe of tho young person who occupied this miserable attic. And who was this young person ? Eeader, pic- ture to yourself a pale and pensive girl of about eighteen, — with a countenance as beautiful as the utmost perfection of features could render if, — a No. 1. — The Seamstbess. figure slightly formed, but full of sylpliide grace,— a hand of the most delicate shnpe— and feet and ankles small even to a fault. Her face was oval, with one of those complesious so dazzlingly fair that the skin seems transparent: her forehead, high and admirably formed, and stainless as ala- baster, announced the iatclloctuality of her cha- racter; — while the simple mode in which she wore her rich brown hair and tho general expression of her countenance gave her an appearance of virginal artlcssness calculated to inspire the most tender interest. The eyes of this sweet girl were large and of a deep blue : without being intensely eloquent, they were full of sensibility, as if the holiest and most meltiug light of heaven dwelt in their limpid depths. Her nose was perfectly straight, and, with tho well-formed forehead, exquisitely chiselled mouth, and rounded chin, gave a classic outline to her profile. Her lips were of the pure red of the rose; and, without hyperbolical affectation, it seemed as if the simplest words passing between them must be invested with a charm peculiarly their own. But, Oh! when in some sunshine moment, a smile appeared upon those lips— reveal- ing teeth that were white and even as strings of orient pearls — impartitig a slight dimple to the chia — and diffusing over the countenance a radiance that lit up the eyes as with twin-lamps of celestial glory, — then was it that this fair being, at ether times so sweetly gentle, became suddenly endowed with all that unconscious fascination and winning loveliness which constitute the charming woman. She was attired in the plainest manner : but in her simple neatness she was more adorned by her own modest and unassuming loveliness than if the bird-of-paradise had given its plumage to wavo above her brow and Golconda its most star-like gems to gleam upon her hair. Her dress, of a dark stuff, ascended to the throat, thus concealing tho charms of that bust whose virgin contours tho close- fitting corsago nevertheless developed ; — and nl- though not the slightest attempt at unnatural com- pression was ever made, or even dreamt of, by the young creature, her waist was of the most dclicato proportion. In stature she was not above tho mid- dle height : but when she stood, the graceful elegance of her form and its flowing outlines of sylphiile beauty made her appear taller than she really was. But she was nut one of those beings whose beauty blazes upon the eye all in a moment, to dazzle, to bewilder, and to overpower: on the contrary, it was not at the first glance that even the keenest obser- ver amongst men and tho greatest admirer of tho fair sex would single her out ns a creature endowed with a rare loveliness. There was nothing radiant — nothing grandly striking — nothing magnificently imposing about he:'. A mudesty almost too timid for dignity, an nrllessno^s bordering upon infantine THE SEA'M'SliRl-^SS. simplicitr, and then the air of pcusivcrxeos. 'fl'hjoli was becoming habitual to her, sur>'Ottrjdf-d 'li^t^ ,ii§ it' were with a veil and threw her into the back-ground whenever a stranger's glance was flung upon her. But by almost imperceptible degrees there would come upon the mind of the observer a consciousness that he was in the presence of one whoso unobtru- sive loveliness was gradually, gradually unfolding itself to his perception — stealing as it were upon his senses, like the perfume of unseen flowers, — until he would be brought to contemplate with mingled surprise and respectful admiration that beauty which thus dawn upon him from behind the veil of its own modest simplicity. Nor was the young girl whom we are describing thus sweetly bashful and innocently retiring in ap- pearance only : she was so in sooth. ; Despite of an experience already bitter with regard to this world's varying fortunes and cold heartlessness, — despite also of that natural quickness of apprehension and appreciation of circumstances and things, which resulted from a fine intellect, — the purity of her thoughts remained as unimpaired as the chastity of her morals ; — and although her sad condition — poor, orphan, friendless as she was — had necessarily thrown her, even at so tender an age, into occasional situations only too well calculated to shock her vir- gin mind, yet as her imagination was too fond of cherishing the most wholesome ideas to find even leisure to dwell upon opposite reflections, the result was that through her knowledge of life and its ways increased day by day, her soul passed uncontanii- uated through the ordeal. We said that she was pale : but as yet it was not a pallor that had fixed its settled abode upon her cheeks. The natural plumpness of the flesh was sustained by the vigour of youthfulness and the strength of a good constitution; — and thus was it apparent that if this poor orphan gentle girl could only be suddenly or even soon rescued from the sad condition in which we find her, — snatched away from the miserable attic in which she toiled early and late, — and borne off into the country, to inhale the fresh bracing air, wander amidst the green fields, pluck flowers almost as fair as herself, and listen to the warbhng ol birds whose voices were nearly as harmonious as hor own, — Oh ! if all this could be done for her while it was yet time, then the roses would come back to her cheeks to mingle with the purity of the lily which was already there ! But, alas ! small is the prospect of such a blissful change in the condition of the orphan Virginia! And now we behold her toiling far into the night, — the long, long night of winter;— toiling, by the feeble glimmer of the solitary candle, at the work which she has in hand. The clock of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, has already proclaimed the hour of one — one in the morning! — and yet the poor girl quits not her scat to retire to her humble pallet. Nevertheless she is ready to sink with fatigue : her temples throb violently — her back aches— her fingers are stiff— her limbs arc rigid. The snow lies thick upon the roofs that may be seen from her attic- window : the moon shines with a lustre that is the very purity of ice-like coldness itself; — and yet she feels not the piercing chill. A feverish oxcitcmout tingles in her blood and sustains an unnatural warmth throughout her entire being : for she is pusliing her physical energies to the extreme — she ■is goading berseir on as it were with whip and spur '--she liuot Snish her task before she dares think of se"eking her couch I Fain would she pause if only for five minutes — just to get up and stretch her limbs by walking to and fro in that chamber, narrow and circumscribed though it be. But she must not — she may not pause thus! — she knows full well that if she once checks the unnatural tide of over-wrought energies now hurrying her along, a complete paralyzation of the whole powers, mental and physical, would instanta- neously take place. She resembles the high-mettled steed which, to suit its master's stern necessity, allows itself to be ridden to the very death, — keeping up at last with a kind of mechanical energy and artificial strength — surviving as it were the exhaus- tion of its legitimate power — and yet at any mo- ment ready to drop down dead it its foot should only happen to be tripped up with a stone or its rider should suddenly attempt to rein it in ! Conscious, therefore, that to pause even for a minute would be to surrender herself up to utter prostration, Virginia pursues the toil which is only too well calculated to produce in a iev^ hours tlie efi'ect of as many years' wear and tear upon her con- stitution. Since five in the morning had she been at work: 'twas now one on the next morning; — twenty hours of unceasing, unvarying toil— broken only by two intervals of ten minutes each to allow the poor girl to partake of some trifling refresh- ment ! But how happens it that she — this poverty- stricken young creature who hath nothing save the innocence of her own sweet pensive Countenance to become security in her behalf, — how happens it that she should have been entrusted with a superb dress of costly velvet to make up? For such is the work to which she is now devoting all the energies she can possibly concentrate to the accomplishment of the task. And let us pause for a moment to ex- amine in detail the amount of property thus con- fided to an orphan girl whose entire worldly posses- sions are contained within the four walls of that narrow, poor, and cheerless attic ! First, there were eighteen yards of the most mag- nificent velvet, at one guinea per yard — making £18 18. fully and poignantly alive to the fact that in pro- portion as the garden of her dream was warm, glowing, and delicious, so is the garret of her reality chill, wretched, and cheerless. CHAPTER II. TnE VELVET DEE3 8. The clock of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, is how striking seven, as Virginia rises from her humble pallet. The snow has piled itself up on the window- ledge, veiling the lower row of the small panes with a natural curtain of dense gauze. The atmosphere of the chamber is fraught with an intense chill; and from the badly fastened door and window the searching draughts penetrate like keen and cutting shafts of invisible ice. The water is frozen in the ewer ; and the maiden's breath freezes into a vapour-wreath as it emanates from the ivory doors and the rosy portals of her charming mouth. No wonder, then, that ere Virginia Mordaunt had even awakened from her slumber, the barbed chiU of the winter-morning should have pierced through the thin blanket even unto the very mar- row of her bones. Shivering from head to foot, she abandons that couch whereon she would fain repose her weary limbs a short time longer, cold though it be : for, after twenty-one hours and a half of con- tinuous, unwearied toil, four hours and a half of slumber were but the veriest shade and mockery of rest ! But not another minute might the maiden linger on that pallet : the clock had struck seven— and it was at seven that she had calculated upon rising when she had lain herself down so short a time before. And now she was compelled to break the ice in her pitcher before she could perform her ablu- tions ; — and while thus employed, her delicate hands turned blue with the cold — and her teeth chattered — and she felt so very, very wretched and dispirited altogether, that the poor girl burst into tears. For she thought that it was hard — oh I it was iiard to have toiled so much and have rested so litlle, — to ba compelled to sit up so many hours, and to be enable d to sleep for so short a time, — to plunge herself by sheer labour into such utter exhaustion, and to riso again with the stiffness still in every joint and the aching in every limb! But wiping away the pearly tears from her sweet plaintive countenance, Virginia addressed herself with reviving courage to her simple toilette. The intense chill of the water brought a colour back to her cheeks; and a copious bathing of the eyes miti. 4 THE SEAMSTRESS. gated their heaviness. lu a word, by the time sbe Sad resumed her apparel, the natural freshness of youth, aided by the vigour of a good coustitution, iiad so far triumphed over the lassitude and lan- guor which she felt on first rising from her couch that although still experiencing a sense of weari- ness, she was astonished that it sbould be so com- paratively slight when measured with the magni- tude of lior recent exertions. The moment slie was dressed, Virginia opened lier cupboard, and thence took forth the materials for lier frugal breakfast. Having put about a thimbleful of tea into a little brown earthenware tea-pot, she opened the door — tripped gently down stairs— and descended to the kitchen, where she was allowed to procure some boiling water. Of a dirty slatternly servant-girl she asked "bow Mrs. Jackson was this morning?" — and the response, indifi'erently but not insolently given, was to the effect that the female thus inquired about had passed a comfortable night and was somewhat better. " I suppose you are going to take up her break- fast now, Jane ? " observed Virginia, whose voice was of silvery sweetness and touching softness : then, perceiving that the girl nodded her bead affirmatively, she added, " Have the goodness, then, to inform Mrs. Jackson that the dress is finished and that I will be with her in about ten minutes." "And do you mean to say, Miss, that you've done that wclwet gown since the night before last P" inquired the servant-girl, gazing upon the young seamstress with mingled amazement and interest. " Yes — I finished it at half-past two o'clock this morning," replied Virginia, her beautiful lips wreathing into a smile of satisfaction as she lin- gered for a moment on the threshold of the kitchen- door. " And you ain't worn out?" ejaculated Jane, the expression of her countenance deepening in wonder and sympathy, — feelings which her usually cold and sullen disposition seldom allowed her to exhibit: tlien, shaking her head witli a kind of ominous so- lemnity, she added, "Bat you won't keep it up lung, Miss — you'll see you won't. It will kill you right oil in a few years if you do. Well, it's a pity — a great pity, such a sweet pretty creature as you are — and quite a lady too : but your fate is fixed, as the saying is— and in a short time you'll be glad to take it easy as Miss Barnet does." "Miss Barnet— the person who lives in the room underneath mine?" said Virginia, interrogatively. " I think I saw her on the stairs the day before yesterday — a tall, handsome, well-dressed female, of about two-and-twenty " "The same, Miss," replied Jane, with a faint smile of superciliousness upon her lip. " Has she not formed your acquaintance yet?" "She made some observation of ordinary civility as wo passed each other on tlie staircase," returned Virgiiia; "and I of course gave a suitable answer. But what did you nicnii, Juno, by tho remark that I shall soon be glad to imitate Miss Barnet?" The servant-girl, who was not above eighteen herself, but whose experience was such that she liad little left to learn, fixed her gaze steadfuslly up(jn Miss Mordaunt as if to read her through and through : but almost in a moment was tho satisfied that the air of artlosstiess which tho maiden's charming countenance wore, was nature's own veri- table impress and utterly beyond all power of affectation. Then did the grimy but not ill-looking features of the sorvaut-girl assume a look of the deepest commiseration, as she said in a. low tone, "And you really don't understand me, Miss ?" "Certainly I do not, Jane," was Virginia's im- mediate response : " or else I should not have solicited an explanation." "Then may you continue in ignorance, Miss," ejaculated the servant-girl, with an abruptness alike of tone and manner which seemed passing strange to our innocent heroine : and turning away, the slattern Jane, apparently relapsing into all her wonted sullenness and reserve, continued her work without taking any farther notice of tho young seamstress. Virginia accordingly liurried up-stairs to her own chamber; and as she sate down to drink her tea and eat a slice of dry bread therewith, she could not help reficcting that there was some- thing very singidar in tho servant- girl's observa- tion. But she had not much leisure for giving way to her thoughts upon the subject : for as soon as she had finished her frugal and hurried meal, she threw the .velvet dress carefully over her arm and once more descended the stairs. But this time, instead of proceeding down to the lowest region, she stopped at the back-room on the first storey and knocked gently at the door. A faint voice desired her to enter; and Virginia accordingly obeyed the invitation. It was a bed-chamber into which the maiden thus passed ; and an elderlj' female was lying in the couch. A cheerful fire blazed in the grate — that apartment was well-furnished — and the breakfast materials, neatly arranged upon a tray, stood on the table by the side of the bed. The air of comfort which pervaded the place struck the seamstress as being positively luxurious aftor the chill and cheer- less aspect of her own garret; and the genial warmth of the atmosphere struck as gratefully upon her shivering frame as a kind word falls beneficently upon the afllicted spirit. "I am glad to learn from Jane that j-ou are better this morning, Mrs. Jackson," said Virginia, as she approached the couch. " Yes — I have slept well — and that is a good thing for an invalid," returned the female, who possessed one of those cold, passionless countenances which afford not the slightest index to the reading of tho mind. "But you have finished the dress — ■ you have kept your word — and you are a good girl," she added, in nn imperturbable business-like fashion. "I hope it will give you satisfaction, madam," said A'irginia, as she held up the superb robe in such a manner that the light from the window gave a living lustro^o its gloss. "Come close," exclaimed Mrs. Jackson, raising herself partially up from the pillows which sup- ported her head : then, drawing the dress towards her, she examined it with a look which though hurried was keenly critical — while Virginia stood by, her gentle bosom palpitating with suspense. " "i'es — it will do excellently — that is to say, it will dn," observed the invalid, saddonly checking her- self 60 as to qualify any amount of praise which an :,, u ■ ll i| 1 '■'i' f $ w THE SEAMSTBESS. eTanescent and unintentional ebullition of enthu- siasin might hare implied. "JSTow, then, Miss, have you made out your bill and receipted it ?" "]S"o, madam— I — I — did not know whether I was to do so immediately— or not," faultered Vir- ginia. " And, moreover," she added, with increased hesitation, "I was not exactly aware what to charge." "Oh! the usual price, of course!" exclaimed Mrs. Jackson, fixing her large cold gray eyes, now made haggard with illness, upon the young maiden who was trembUng with suspense. "Three-and- Bixpence, you know, is the sum— and you must take the dress somewhere for me into the bargain. Now then, run and make out your little bill— and put on your bonnet and shawl, there's a good girl." Three-and-sixpence!— the words struck like a panic to the heart of Virginia— for the poor girl bad calculated upon at least double that sum as a recompense not so much for the time as for the skill employed in carrying out the special artistic design of the fashionable milliner who had origi- nally cut out the dress. The disappointment, then, fell with the sudden vkulence of a blight upon her feelings: but in order to conceal the tears that were gushing from her eyes, she instanta- neously quitted the room. Hurrying up to her own chamber, she threw herself upon the seat and gave free vent to her emotions. It was not so much for the mere pecu- niary consideration in this special instance that she was thus alllicted— although heaven knows she was poor enough: but her soul was wrung with a poignant anguish because she had hoped ! that a specimen of superior skill which she felt ! convinced she had afforded in the making up of j that dress, would have evoked such a recompense I as might serve not only as a positive recognition j of her ability but also as a promise of future em- | ployment. When, therefore, that miserable pit- tance was proposed, the maiden's hope was sud- denly blasted— her pride was wounded — and the sickening thought struck upon her soul that all her skill with the needle would never do more than sustain the frailest, narrowest barrier between herself and utter destitution ! Therefore was it that the poor girl wept : there- fore was it that the friendless orphan gave way to the full tide of her affliction. But those tears relieved her — and she was not of an age to bid farewell to hope altogether nor to hurry forward in order to meet despair half- way. She accordingly hastened to dry her checks : and, having written out her little bill in the neatest hand that ever embodied feminine grace in calli- graphic fluency, she put on her bonnet and shawl and once more hurried down stairs. " Now, Miss Mordaunt," said Mrs. Jackson, as soon as she had paid the three shillings and six- pence which she took from a purse beneath her pillow, — " put the dress carefully into that box and take it as quick as you can to Mrs. Pembroke- Great Eussell Street, Bloomsbury. Her address is on the box — so you cannot mistake it." Virginia hastened to obey the orders which she thus received, although she had previously enter- tained no idea that she was to bo employed as a messenger as well as a neodle-slavo. But she was naturally of an amiable and obliging dispositiou ; and she would not refuse such a service for a person confined to her bed by illness. Moreover, she was in hope of obtaining fresh work from Mrs. Jackson, in spite of the dispiriting incident which had ere now wrung such bitter tears from her eyes. In about twenty minutes the maiden reached Great Eussell Street ; and, having discovered Mrs. Pembi'oke's abode without difficulty, she was at once shown up into a handsomely-furnished apart- ment, where she found a good-looking middle-aged lady seated at breakfast. The table was spread with many luxuries : the appointments of the room generally denoted the possession of wealth on the part of its occupant ; — and she herself in her elegant French cap and morning-wrapper, was lounging upon the sofa with the indolent ease of one whose mind is troubled with very little care. " Well, Miss, so you come from Jackson with the velvet dress — eh ?" said Mrs. Pembroke, who had already heard from her servant the object of Vir- ginia's visit. " There — you need not take it out of the box — I've no doubt it is done properly — and if not, there's no time to make any alteration. Has Jackson sent her bill ?" "No, ma'am," replied the young seamstress, timidly — for Mrs. Pembroke spoke quite with the air of a superior and never once thought of asking her to sit down. " Mrs. Jackson is ill in bed." " 111 in bed, eh ? Well — I suppose she'll get over her indisposition, whatever it may be," observed Mrs. Pembroke, with all the heartless indifference of that fashionable class whose airs and manners she studiously affected. " Let me see — I am going out of town for a few weeks — and therefore I had better settle Jackson's bill at once. There is nothing be- tween us that I am aware of, except that dress : so write out the bill and receipt. Miss, and I will pay you for her. There are materials,'"' she added, point- ing languidly towards au elegant rose-wood desk that lay open on a side-table. '• How much am I to charge, madam, on Mrs. Jackson's behalf !" inquired Virginia, with in- creasing timidity — for the artless, bashful girl was overpowered by the great-lady-airs which Mrs. Pom- broke gave herself. "Oh! tho usual price, to be sure!" she exclaimed, quite surprised at the ignorauco displayed by tho question. " Seven shillings." And poor Virginia sighed as she sate down at the writing-table to draw up the receipt: for she now began to acquire a little insight into the way in which affairs of this nature wore conducted — and she wondered why she should not have re- ceived tho whole amount of seven shillings, this being the value of the making-up of the dress iu the second stage of its progress towards tho hands whence tho order originally emanated. The bill was accordingly made out; and Mrs. Pembroke tossed half-a- sovereign across the table. Vu:giuia gave the three shillings change, and was about to retire, when the languid latly observed in a somewhat more conciliatory tone than sho had hitherto adopted, " By the bye, you can do mo a great favour, Miss, if you would bo so kind." " I shall feel very happy, madam," answered tho amiable girl, with all the siuoero readiness of hor obliging disposition. "Tho truth is I am going out of town for a few weeks," resumed Mrs. Pembroke ; " and I THE 6EAMSTBESS. therefore told my young person who carries parcels i seated in this cabriolet caught sight of Virginia's for me, that she need not come any more until my return. I quite forgot last night when I thus dismissed her, that this robe was to be brought to me to-day ; and therefore, to come to the point at once, I have no one at hand just at this instant to convey it up to Portland Place for me. Will you undertake that task? — and — and permit me to pay your omnibus," added Mrs. Pembroke, tossing a sixpenny piece across the table towards Virginia. " I will take home the dress with much pleasure for you, madam," replied the young seamstreus : " but as I shall walk both to the place of destina- tion and back homeward, I do not require any money for omnibus-faro ;" — and, with her cheeks displaying the sUght flush of a pride somewhat wounded by the self-sufficiency of Mrs. Pembroke, Virginia took up the siipence and laid it down close by her side. "Well, just as you please, Miss," observed the lady, somewhat haughtily: then, instantaneously relapsing into the fashionable languour which she was assuming, she said, "You will greatly oblige me by taking the dress up to Madame Duplessy's establishment in Castle Street, Portland Place." " Certainly," replied Yirgiana : and she was pre- paring to depart with the box once more, when Mrs. Pembroke again made a motion for her to pause. " Give me half a sheet of that writing-paper and the ink-stand. Miss," said the lady, raising herself up to a sitting posture upon the sofa. "The Du- plessys are so particular — they always will have an invoice with everything, however trifling," she con- tinued in a murmuring tone to herself: then, having written out a bill upon a slip of paper, she handed it to Virginia, observing, "You must be sure to give this to Miss Dulcimer, Madame Du- plessy's fore-woman." The young seamstress promised to execute the commission punctually ; and, taking her departure from Mrs. Pembroke's abode, she sped along Ox- ford Street towards Portland Place. It was now close upon nine o'clock; and tho great thoroughfare was thronged by persons hurry- ing to their places of employment or business. A thaw had commenced, and the pavement was almost ankle-deep in mud. Virginia was compelled to hold up her dress a little to save it, plain and humble though it were, from being covered with dirt; and, as she thus went half-trippingly along, the neatest ankles and the prettiest feet in all the world were revealed to the admiring eyes of those who happened to observe them. The coldness of the weather and the exercise that she was taking enhanced into a perfect glow the colour which the chill water had brought to her cheeks when she was performing her ablutions in bcr own chamber: — and thus was it that Virginia Mordaunt had never perhaps appeared to greater advantage than on the present occasion, although wending her way along the muddy thoroughfare and carrying a large but very light box in her hand. She was just turning out of Oxford Street into Portland Place, when a handsome cabriolet, di-awn by a splendid animal, and with a genteel little page standing behind it, came dashing up from Bcgent Street. Suddenly the gentleman who was feet and ankles as they tripped glancingly over ■ the slimy pavement: and, being instantaneously ravished by their delicate symmetry, ho kept his i eyes fixed upon her until he was enabled to ob- tain a glimpse of her countenance. " She b lovely, by Jupiter '." ejaculated tho gen- tleman — who, by the bye, was not more than about one-and-twenty years of age, and eminently hand- some ; — and, suddenly reining in his spirited steed, he leapt from tho cabriolet, exclaiming to the agile page who was at the horse's head in a moment, " Follow at a short distance." The page touched his hat and jumped into the vehicle; while the young gentleman proceeded in the track of the beautiful seamstress who was now about thirty yards a-bead. CHAPTEK III. THE MILLINEB'S ESIABXI3HME5T. ToxArLT unsuspicious of the admiration which she had excited in the breast of the tall, handsome, and elegantly-dressed youth who was thus pursuing her, — and indeed, equally ignorant of the fact that sho was being purposely followed at all, — Virginia con- tinued her way into Great Castle Street, where she soon found out the splendid millinery establishment of Madame Duplessy and Co. The windows con- sisted of immense panes of plate-glass in gilt frames ; and within might be seen several caps and bonnets of the latest fashion and most exquisite appearance. The royal arms were mounted over the door ; and in large letters was conspicuously announced the fact, for the behoof of any one whom it could pos- sibly gratify, that Madame Duplessy enjoyed the patronage of some Eoyal Highness of the feminine gender. It may be as well to mention that Madame Du- plessy was in reality an Englishwoman bearing the not very euphonious name of Sauggins : but, being well aware in the first place that the ladies of the English Aristocracy would patronise nothing in the shape of native industry when French competition was in the way, and in the second place that the appellation of Snuggins was far from being a pass- port to patrician favour, the worthy milliner had coolly and quietly adopted a French name and dubbed herself a Frenchwoman. She had no hus- band : but she had a lover who lived with her, and thrashed her soundly into the bargain ; and this gentleman, who was well known at all the gambling- houses in London as plain Bill Smith, passed as Monsieur Duplessy in Castle Street. Tho female herself was pretty, sharp-witted, intriguing, and possessed of much tact ; and by aid of a suitable affectation of speech, she contrived to sustain her assumed character of a Frenchwoman with tolerable success ; while her paramour, by means of a mous- tache, an imperial, and a curiously - shaped hat, enacted the part of a Frenchman to equal perfec- tion. For be it well understood that tho notions entertained by the giddy, gay, and frivolous ladies of "high Ufa" relative to tho French people and tho French character, ai'o of the most distorted, ex- travagant, and fantastical description; and hence the faciUty with which those ignorant, prejudiced, THE BEAMSrEESS. ftsd narrc>w-miiided females of rank taxi fa<:hion are dnped by Bhanj-foreignerB and pBcado-coiitinentals. But to resume the thi-ead of oar narrative. Intc the splendid establishment of Madame DuplesBy and Co., — ti>e "OaupKOj," ij the vaj, lieing as fictiiious aB die aaffiDer''E French name and natural- ization, —did "Virginia Mordauut enter ^Tith a timid ptep; and ber gflanee -vras rapidlj thrown around the elegantlj-appointed shop — or rather mogasin^ as Madame Duplessy styled it. One bandeome Toun" woman was busily enf^ag'od in putting it in order ioi the day — that is to say, arranging a few bonnets, ocps, and turbans upon stands; another vtBlB measuring out a costly silk for a dress; — a third was packing up a box to be sent off into the country; and a fourth was sorting featbers and artificial flowers upon the counter. These proceed- ings were taking place under the inspection of Miss Polcimer, the forewoman — a middle-aged person wbose Janus- face could wi-eathe itself into the sun- mest smiles for a patrician customer, and assume the most chilling look for a sbop-girl or a seam- Etress. " Well, and what do yoa want ?" demanded this petticoat-BUtbority, flinging the question as it were across the shop at the young maiden who was eutering with such respectful timidity, TirgnBa stated in a few words the object of her mission ; wbereupon the forewoman bade ber open the boi. This order was immediately obeyed ; and Miss Dulcimer proceeded to inspect the velvet dress with tbe most critical eye. There was really no roum for tbe faintest cavil : tbe work was perfect ; — but Miss Dulcimer was the last person on tbe face of the earth to bestow praise where tbe spite of a p«lty tyranny might be safely vented. She accord- ingly found several faults, tbe glaring injustice of which made poor Virginia's heart swell almost to bursting. "And tb« invoice?" demanded Miss Dulcimer, with barsb abruptness, as if she secretly hoped that it really bad been forgotten, so that she might have a justifiable «md plausible ground for giving vent to ber natural peevisbness. "Here it is," said Virginia, presenting tbe bill which Mrs. Pembroke bad charged ber 1o deliver. " Fourteen shillings, eb 'f ejaculated Miss Dul- cimer, looking very much as if she longed to fly into a rage. " 2v ow I told Pembroke tbe other day that she must take such things as these at thirteen and six But, however, I'll settle that with her r she added in a determined tone. " Stop a minute, young woman." This command was addressed to Virginia, who had already begun to feel very uneasy in the pre- sence of such a barsb-speaking and cross-looking lady as Miss Dulcimer. She was however com- j pelled to remain, while the forewoman walked with I tbe air of a tragedy-queen to a little desk at tbe end of the shop. There she wrote out a bill — enclosed it ! in a cream-laid envelope, as the fancy stationers ! call it — sealed it with perfumed wax — and addressed . it in a handwriting as fluid as tbe blue ink itself. j " Now, young woman," said Miss Dulcimer, returning Xo the spot where she bad left Virginia standing, " you mtist have the goodness to take the dress and this note along with it, to tbe Duchess of Belmont's in Grosrenor Square. I can't sptfte any pf our joung people this morning — we are so busy. The note contains tbe bill — and you will wait far tbe money, mind. Hrr Grace already owes Ma- dame Duplessy upwaids of six hundred pao&ds ; and it is an understandiog that she is to pay cash in future, on consideration of tbe old debt not being pressed for. So, if you wait, her Grace will be sure to send down tbe money, which you will bring straight back bore to me. And now look sharp, and don't be more than a quarter of an hour getting to Grosvenor Square — for we promised that ber Grace should have tbe dress to try on by ten o'clock this morning, in case of alterations being required. Ah! things are going queer, I fancy, at tbe Bel- monts',"' added Miss Dulcimer, in an ejaculatory style, as she turned away from Virginia and ad- dressed tbe observation to the young woman who was arranging the artificial flowers. " So I have beard, ma'am," was the reply. "But bow is it that neither Madame Duplessy nor your- self ever go to try on ber Grace's dresses ?" " Oh ! because ber Grace has got fbat Prencli minx of a lady's-maid who always ivill take that duty upon berself," responded Miss Dulcimer, in a tone of deep disgust. "But, as I live, there's tbe Duke's son — the Marquis of Arden — passing by at this very moment ! — and di'in't be stare in at the window I" " Is that the Marquis ? Ob ! what a bandsome young man!" exclaimed tbe young woman to whom Miss Dulcimer bad been addressing those last ob- servations. " I just caught a glimpse of bim as be passed by. Bat I believe his lordship is tbe Duke's son by a former marriage, and that the present Duchess is only his step-mother r" Virginia did not bear the reply which Miss Dulcimer gave to this query on tbe part of tbe shop- woman : for at that precise moment the young maiden bad fiuisbed her task of carefully re-consigning tbe velvet dress to the box ; — and resuming ber burthen, she sallied forth once Hiore. The tall, elegantly-dressed stranger was watching at a bttle digtance: but the maiden did not observe him;— and, still utterly unconscious of the fact thut her footsteps were thus dogged and followed, she pur. sued her way towards Grosvenor Square. But why had the pensive expression of Virgiuia'st countenance deepened into a positive mournful- ness from the moment that tbe door of Madame Duplessy's establishment closed behind ber.* Be- cause she bad there received a farther insight into the circumstances connected with her own toil : she bad seen tbe value of fourteen sbilbngs set upaa ber labour— whereas this same labour bad only benefited ber to tbe amount of three abillings and sixpence I ■VVithont pausing, however, for tbe present to examine into the system and trace it step by step from its basis of selfish rapacity to its colossal height of tremendous injustice — and, without even upon t'nis occasion stopping to chronicle tbe thoughts which new experiences were engendering in the mind of tbe poor seamstress, — we will at once conduct ber to tbe mansion of tbe Duke of Belmont in Grosvenor Square. Tbe elegant young stranger was still fol- lowing ber at a short distance; and still also did bis pertinacious adherence to tbe track which she was pursuing, remain unnoticed by herself. On reaching tbe ducal abode, ^'i^ginia was at a loss whether to ascend the area-steps or to . nr S'riii?7Tr= 10 THE SEAMSTEE83. ring the front-door bell. She paused aud hesi- tated : bat at the moment when this bewilderment was becoming even paLnfud to herself, a footman in a splendid livery issued from the mansion. To him did she submit the cause of her embarrassment; and, ^fter having bestowed upon the maiden a look of such mingled insolence and patronising fami- liarity that it brought the warm blood up into her cheeks, the lace-bedizened iiunkey condescended to turn back a few paces and escort her into the hall. There a fat porter bade her pass into a waiting- room, while a page took charge of the bos con- taining the velvet-dress and the note enclosing the bill. Nearly an hour went by, while Virginia remained in that waiting-room. Several other persons, both male and female, were introduced thither in the same manner: but they were all speedily summoned, one after another, to the interviews which they sought with the Duke or Dachess, or with the su- perior officials of the mansion. At last Virginia began to think she was forgotten altogether : then the idea struck her that she had done wrong to wait at all; — and then, again, she reassured herself on this point by the recollection that she had been positively enjoined by Miss Dulcimer to wait for the money, " as the Duchess was sure to send it down." In fine, at the expii-ation of an hour, the page whom she had before seen entered the waiting-room and bade her follow him. Virginia was now conducted across the magnifi- cent marble hall — along a gallery ornamented with pictures and statues— and thence up a private stair- case leading to the apartments of the Duchess. On the thi-eshold of that suite the page withdrew; and a lady's-maid, in a tasteful morning-dress, now be- came Virginia's guide. They traversed an ante- room where three or four other female dependants, dressed in a similar style of tasteful elegance, were gossipping round the fire that blazed in the grate : then they passed through a small but beautifully- furnished saloon, embellished with all the expensive trifles and costly nick-nacks which are of so little real use and on which thousands and thousands may be lavished by an extravagantly-disposed woman. Beyond this apartment there was a boudoir, where the most elegant refinement mingled with a certain voluptuous luxuriousness, — an effect produced by the sofas with their large downy cushions, the thick carpet into which the feet sank deep, the numerous mirrors, the pictures whose subjects were of classic love-scenes, the alabaster statues representing groups of naked Graces and Bayaderes, the perfumed atmosphere, and the miniature orangery formed by the double window. From this enchanting place a door opened into a large and magnificently furnished bed-chamber, where a lady of grand and imposing beauty was trying on the velvet-dress, assisted by H sprightly-looking French feinmc-dechamhre, or abigail. CHAPTER IV. THE D0CUESS. The Duchess of Belmont was one of the finest wo- men of the day ; aud she had now reached that ago when, with her magnificent stylo of beauty, she ap- peared in all the glory of her meridian charms. Tiiirty-seven winters had passed over her head without marring the rich gloss that sate like a lustre upon her dark hair, or dimming the light that shone in the depths of her superb hazel eyes; — and the suns of thirty-seven summers seemed to have dealt with her glowing loveliness as with a delicious fruit of the tropics, and ripened it into a luxurious deve- lopment. Tall aud nobly formed, her figure was full of symmetry and grace, even in its grand propor- tions : the richness of its contours bordered just sufficiently upon embonpoint to render her a splen- did woman, without militating against a general appearance of feminine softness. Her countenance was remarkably handsome. The classic outline of her features left nothing for the most fastidious critic to desire : but in their expres- sion the pride of lofty rank was blended with a look of strong sensuality. It was a countenance admira- bly adapted to bear the stamp of genius and shine with the radiancy of that etherial light which the lamp of the mind can alone shed upon the human face : for assuredly had nature intended that high, open, and polished brow to bear the impress of the noblest thoughts, and those large, lustrous hazel eyes to reflect the glories of a brilUant intellect. But the false and factitious system of rearing, train- ing, and education to which all females in " high life" are subjected, not only left the rich treasures of her mind utterly unexplored, but even checked and finally subdued those endeavours which they naturally made to develope themselves of their own accord. Thus, being nurtured in the usual hollow and heartless style peculiar to her sphere, she had fallen into the same ways of acting and thinking as those shallow minded, frivolous, and self-sufficient beings by whom she was siu:rounded : her superior intellect became like a rare and delicate flower chok- ing amidst the briars through which it vainly endeavours to push its own wholesome growth ; — and thus in due course did the worldly pride of rank and station usurp the throne where the wsthu- tic pride of genius should have asserted its empire, wiiile the grossuess of the sense superseded the lofty purity aud refining influence of the senti- ment. Proud as a Duchess and vain as a woman, her Grace's manner would have proved intolerable on the part of her inferiors, had it not been for a cer- tain condescension which, without being positively amiable, mitigated her arrogance and selt-sulficieucy. Thus, even while standing upon the pedestal of her pride aud her vanity, she could afljrd to distributo a few patronising looks upon those who gazed up from below; — and there were even moments when these looks would expand into smiles, in acknow- ledgment of any homage ufi'ered up to her elevated rank or her superb beauty. And beautiful— or rather grandly handsome, sho indeed was ! Wo have already said that her hair was dark — that her eyes were hazel — and that her profile was chiselled in the perfection of classic elegance : we may now add that her complexion was dazzling fair — that her mouth was small, with lips resembling moist coral— and that her teeth were white as ivory. Nothing could exceed the sculptural richness of the proudly arching neck, the splendid bust, the sloping shoulders, and the rounded arms;— while every attitude when etauding, and every movement whea THE PEAMSTRE3S. walkiflg, denoted a proportionately fine and flowing ; " 1 cannot say — I do not know, madam — tUat is, length of limb. your ladyship — I mean your Grace," faultered the Such was the Duchess of Belmont, in whoso pre- young seamstress, blushing in the confusion which sence Virginia Mordaunt now found herself; — and, sei^sed upon her. as we has'c already stated, her Grace was trying ' "You do not know!" ejaculated the Duchess, on the velvet dress, with the assistance of her with mingled surprise and contempt. "If you can French lady's-maid. The robe fitted to perfection: j wi-ite, you must be aware whether you aflised your there was not a fault to find with it; — and as the own signature to this document; — and if you can Duchess surveyed herself in tho full length mirror only read, and not write, you can tell whether any before which she stood, a smile of satisfaction t one else has appended your name for you." played for a few moments upon her lips. Even i AVith these words the Duchess passed the bill to the French abigail, who was very diflicult to please, i the French lady's-maid, who handed it to Virginia ; expressed her full and complete approval, — speaking in her own native tongue when addi-essing her Grace, and in broken English when vouchsafing her remarks aside to Virginia. But since tho Duchess was in tho habit of dispens- ing with the attendance of her milliner to try on her dresses, — and since she invariably took the opinion of the French lady's-maid in the first instance, — for what earthly purpose had Virginia been sent for into the presence of her Grace ? The truth was that the proud, haughty, and eelf-sufiicient Duchess of Belmont was reduced by circumstances to the necessity of adopting a little manoeuvre in order to evade the immediate liquidation of tho bill which had been sent up in company with the dress ; — for inasmuch as she did not choose to send down an excuse by either of the pages in attendance, — and a5 it was t-otally at variance with the custom of the household to despatch her own lady's-maid with messages to the hall or waiting room, — the only plan which her Grace could adopt, was to send and summon Virginia to her own private chamber. Having taken off the velvet-di-ess, by the assist- ance of the 'Fiendi femme-de-cha»ibre, the Duchess assumed an elegant morning- wrapper ; and flinging herself into an easy-chair which stood near the fire, she said in a tone of aSected langour. " Clementine, give me Madame Duplessy's account." The French lady's-maid, to whom this command was issued, handed to her ducal mistress the per- fumed note which Miss Dulcimer had sent along with the velvet dress, and which Virginia had been 80 careful in delivering. Teariag ofi" the envelope, the Duchess ran her eyes over the bill, which was drawn up in the following manner : — Her Grace the Duchess of Belmont To Leonie Duplessy and Co. January 16th, 18^. To 18 yds. velvet, at IMs. per yd £18 13 To 18 yds. silk, at 4s. per yd 3 13 To lace for bertha and trimmings 15 15 To making up dress 4 1 £13 9 deceived Jor Duplessy and Co., Jane Dulcimer, When the Duchess of Belmont observed that the bill was already receipted — as plain and unmistak- able an intimation as could possibly be conveyed relative to the necessity of a cash payment — a severe though transitory contraction of the brows betokened her displeasure. But instantly regaining her self- possession, she turned towards Virginia, saying, in a tone more than usually condesceudinT, "Are you the person whose name stands at the bottom of this bill r" and the young maiden, trembling all over (she knew not why) as she took it, cast her eye mechaniciUly upon its contents. The very feature in the docu- ment which happened first to strike her, was the item for the "making up" of the dress; and she thus became aware that Madame Duplessy had charged the Duchess four guineas for what she (Vir- ginia) had been that morning paid three shillings and sixpence ! The poor gu-l's eyes remained rivetted upon that item for nearly a minute ; until she was suddenly recalled to herself by an impatient ejaculation which fell from the lips of the Duchess. " Well, young woman — is it, or is it iiot, your name?" was the demand made by the great lady. " I — I beg your Grace's pardon — I had for- gotten," returned the young seamstress, startled from the half reverie into which she had fallen. " No — this is not my name — it is that of the fore- woman, 1 believe " " You believe !" exclaimed the Duchess, afi'ecting to regard the timid, blushing, trembling girl with a look of suspicion. "Surely you must be acquainted with the names of the people in the estabUshment to which you belong? Clementine," added her Grace, turning her eyes upon the Frenchwoman, — " do you not think there is something strange in all this ?" " I do, my lady," was the fawning abigail's prompt reply. "And — and you would advise me not to pay the amount to this young person?" continued her Grace. Of course it is all the same to me: but " "But, as your ladyship observes, it would be better not," the Frenchwoman h;istened to respond. " I think I shall follow your advice, Clementine," said the Duchess, apparently in a musing strain: then, once more turning her eyes upon Virginia, sho added, "You may go back to Madame Duplessy and tell her that I shall send the amount of her bill in the course of tho morning. You can tear oU" the receipt, young woman, and leave the memorandum. It shall be duly attended to." "But does your Grace think mo capable of en- deavouring to impose upon your" exclaimed Vir- ginia, her wounded pride and her indignation now supplying her with a courage which rose paramount above her natural timidity. •' Was I not entrusted with the dress, to bring it home to your Grace?— and what is more probable than that I should also bo authorised to receive tho amount of this bill ? Just now I was bewildered : but at present I recol- lect full well that the name affixed to tho memoran- dum is that of Madame Duplessy's forewoman." " I would rather send the money by one of my own servant::," said the Duchess, afi'ecting the calm 13 ME SEAMSTEESS. deliberation of tone and manner which wag meant to imply a consciousness that she was justified in the course just announced. " Under other circumstances," observed the maiden, her feminine dignity inspired as it were with the excitement of tlie scene, and her courage rising in proportion as she felt herself smarting under a poignant and unmerited insult, — "under other circumstances I should thank your Grace for relieving me from the responsibility of becoming the bearer of so large a sum of money : but after the observations made by your Grace, I must firmly though most respectfully insist upon receiving the amount specified in this bill." " And pray, young woman, who authorised you to dictate to the Duchess of Belmont?" demanded the patrician damo, suddenly speaking as it were from the height of her lofty rank and proud posi- tion, — while her countenance expressed a sovereign hauteur and her magnificent eyes concentrated ail their power in the look which she fixed upon the young seamstress. "And may I not ask, with equal justice," said the maiden, astonished at her own dignified forti- tude, — "by what right your Grace ventures to sus- pect the integrity of the poor but honest Virginia Mordaunt ?" The proud and overbearmg Duchess of Belmont started as if a serpent had suddenly stung her — the colour fl«d at the same instant from her cheeks, leaving them ghastly pale — and she stared with almost a frienzied wildness upon the young maiden. Her whole aspect was that of a person who had either heard something too terrible to be believed, or else who had just received an insult too astound- ing to be regarded otherwise than as a mistake. The blow was evidently one of no ordinary nature : it was violent — it was severe — it was cruel; — and the noble lady's brain reeled and her entire form shook convulsively beneath the shock! But this paroxysm of tenseiy wrought feeling was as evanescent as it was violent. It resembled the abrupt and furious boiling up of a river's sur- face and the almost instantaneous subsiding of the agitation, which accompany the process of blasting with gunpowder the concrete accumulation below. The storm which had sprung up so strangely, which bad shaken her so terribly, and which had passed away so rapidly, scarce left a trace behind upon the countenance of the Duchess — save the pallor which still held the hues of health in abeyance upon her cheeks. In all other respects she recovered herself in an instant, — so promptly indeed, that Virginia who had trembled at the efl'ect which her words so unexpectedly produced, and the French- woman who shrank back with an unknown terror, found themselves the next moment wondering whether the incident which bewildered them had in reality just taken place, or whether it was only a fiction of their imagination. The occurrence, then, which has required so many words to explain and comment upon, only occupied in sooth a few moments. The start — the wild look — the air of mingled incredulity and terror, — all were simultaneous — and all were circumscribed within the verge of a dozen seconds. Then the Duchess was herself again — save and except the flight of colour from her cheeks : and therefore, as nature's roseate hue stole not speedily back again to its damask resting-place, it may be inferred that the mind still continued a prey to deep inward con- vulsions, although the lady's features had relapsed into an expression profoundly calm. But after she had withdrawn from Virginia's face that glance of transitory wildness — and after the strong spasm had ceased to vibrate through her fi-ame — she cast another but more composed and settled look on the young maiden, — a look which embraced her entire person without wandering over it, and enabled the Duchess to observe the cast of the features and the contours of the form all as it were at the same instant. Then, once more ^verting her eyes, the patrician lady appeared to reflect pro- foundly for nearly a minute, — while the French abigail watched her with continued amazement, and the young seamstress felt her position becoming so awkward and embarrassing that she would have left the room had not the unpaid account which she still held in her hand reminded her of the duty she had to perform. "Clementine," at length said the Duchess, in a low tone which was also tremulous, — and she spoke in the French language,— " you must go to his Grace's secretary and tell him that I am utterly without funds this morning — that, indeed, I have the most pressing urgency for forty or fifty pounds in fine, this milliner's bill mttst be paid at once. Go — and return quickly." The lady's-maid accordingly Lurried from the room; and Virginia was left alone with the Duchess. "Are you engaged in Madame Duplessy's esta- blishment?" inquired the patrician dame, without looking towards the young seamstress. " No, my lady," was the answer. " I never was even there until this morning. But I made that dress, which I was desired to bi»ng home to your Grace." "Then I suppose you work at home— at your own abode?" said the Duchess, speaking with an embarrassment in her manner and a pathos in her tone which she could not altogether subdue : then, having received a reply in the affirmative, she ob- served, but with an increasing hesitation and a deeper interest, " You r'eside, I suppose, with your parents ?" "Alas! no — would to God that they were alive to be kind and good to me I" exclaimed the seamstress, bursting into tears. "Poor girl !" murmured the Duchess, now gazing with inteutpess upon the fire — and a train of un- utterable thoughts swept over her countenance so grandly handsome, but now so pale. Then there was a long silence in that room, broken only by the half-stifled sobs that convulsed Virginia's bosom, as she wrestled with all her energy against the grief which had been so poignantly awakened by the questions of the Duchess of Belmont. "Have your parents been dead long?" inquired the patrician lady, in the same low and tremulous tone as before, and without averting her eyes from the fire which was blazing so cheerfully in the grate. " My father I never knew," answered Virginia, in a voice broken with sobs and full of deep emotion. "But my mother Oh I she was good and kind — kind as a mother's perfect kindness could bo and I lost her !" "Slio died?" said the Duchess, interrogatively: but her whole manner and tone— aye, and the looks, aUE SEAMSTRESS. 13 too, which she kept fixed upon the fire— where penetrated with feeling and pathos. " She died three years a^o, my lady," responded the young seamstress, the tears raining down her checks. "Her death was sudden— very sudden: and therefore the blow fell all the more heavily. Indeed, I had retired to rest happy and joyous in the possession of a mother who loved me dearly — tonderly — devotedly: and I awoke in the morning to find myself a bereaved and friendless orphan! Uh ! it was too mueh — too mueh " And the poor girl became convulsed with grief. The Duchess rose abruptly from her seat — threw a strange look of mingled compassion and inefi'able woe upon Virginia — and hurried into a dressing- room .idjoiuing. She closed the door behind her; — and the seamstress thus remained alone in the splendidly-furnished bed-chamber. The suddenness of her Grace's departure recalled the young girl in a moment to a sense of the awk- wardness of her own position, remaining there as she was to receive the payment of a bill, — not know- ing for what purpose the French lady's-maid had been so abruptly sent away, — and equally unable to comprehend the precipitate flight of the Duchess. A panic terror seized upon the maiden. Had she done any harm ? — could any mischief be intended her ? Poverty and friendlessness of position were not well calculated to inspire with confidence a young creature of her natural timidity, inexperience, and tender age; — and, hastily drying her eyes and cheeks, she was about to retire, when the Duchess emerged from the toilette-chamber adjoining. Her absence had not lusted more than a minute : but if its object had been to enable her to recover any amount of mental composure which she had lost during the preceding dialogue, she had certainly succeeded, at least so far as external appearances were concerned. Once more wearing a demeanour that was calm, dignified, and imposing, she resumed her seat by the fire; — observing, in a voice so steady that it sounded as if it had never been ruffled, " I am sorry to keep you waiting, young woman — sorry also that I should in the first instance have spoken or acted in a way calculated to wound your feelings or convey a suspicion relative to your character. My maid will return in a few moments " The opening of the chamber door and the re- appearance of the Frenchwoman interrupted the speech of the Duchess. The money had been pro- cured : the amount of the bill was forthwith handed over to the seamstress; and to the young maiden's rosppctful acknowledgment of thanks on behalf of Madume Duplessy, a cold and distant inclination of the head was the only return vouchsafed by the great lady. The Duchess took up a book, in the contents of which all her interest seemed to bo suddenly con- centratcd; — and Virginia Mordaunt withdrew, won- dering why her Grace should have appeared so kind and compassionate towards her a few minutes |)reviously, and so reserved and chillingly formal at last. ClI.\Pr£R V. 51 n. I, A V E N n A M. Ox descending the steps of the ducal mansion, with the now empty box in her hand, Vir;;inia suddenly became aware that she was the object of earnest attention on the part of a tall, and elegantly-dressed young gentleman who was standing at a little dis- tance. His eyes were fixed upon her with an ad- miration wherein enthusiasm and respect were so far blended that it was impossible to feel that in- tentness of gaze in the common light of a libertine insolence. Virginia met his look as she slowly descended the steps — and her eyes were mstanta- neously cast down : then, as the thought simultane- ously flashed to her mind that she must be mistaken and that it could not possibly be herself who was the object of such an earnest contemplation on the part of the young gentleman, she raised her eyes once more. Again their glances met,— /iers so timid, so furtive, and so promptly withdrawn — and his so full of a glowing admii-ation mingled with re- spect ! A deep blush spread rapidly over the countenance of Virginia, — the blush of maiden confusion, as she thus acquired the certainty that the elegant stranger was indeed gazing upon herself. With quickening step she turned to the opposite direction from that which she ought to pursue : but the handsome youth was almost instantaneously by her side. "Pardon me, Miss— a thousand times do I im- plore you to pardon me," he exclaimed, in a tone so supphcating that, in the suddenness of the surprise thus occasioned her, the maiden turned her fine blue eyes full upon him — and in his looks she read the same earnest entreaty, the same deprecating and respectfully fervid meaning, which were expressed in his voice. " Pardon me, Miss — but do, I beseech you, grant me a few moments' attention. I would not anger you— much less insult you: and yet I have been so struck by your beauty — your mo- desty " " Sir, you are a stranger to me — and I request — I command you to leave me," intoiTupted Virginia, now at length recovering the power of speech which amazement had temporarily suspended. " As heaven is my witness," exclaimed the young man, with passionate vehemence, " I only meant to accost you with becoming respect. Beautiful crea- ture that you are, do not prove as cruel as you are lovely." The blush which was already glowing upon Vir- ginia's cheeks, deepened into the most vivid crimson ; and stopping suddenly short, she threw upon the young man a look which seemed to say, as eloquently as such charming eyes could possibly speak, " What have I done that you should insult mer" Then, turning abruptly round, she sped along in the pro- per direction which she should have taken when issuing from the ducal mansion. I5ut the young stranger was once more by her side ere she had accomplished a dozen paces; — and, with fervid ejaculations of passionate sincerity, he disavowed the slightest intention of insulting or annoying her. He besought her to listen to him lor a few moments ; and so earnest were his gestures, so vehement his language, that Virginia 14 THE SEAMSTEESS. became terrified lest tlie observation of passers-by or gazers from the windows should be attracted. Cruelly embarrassed how to act, and covered with confusion, the maiden felt her presence of miud abandoning her : but at this very moment the intei-vention of a third party rescued Virginia from the painful awkwardness of her position, and recalled the young gentleman to a sense of pro- yviety. " Charles — Charles— I am surprised at you !" ex- claimed a middle-aged gentleinan who had just entered Grosvenor Square from the nearest street. "In the broad daylight — before the very windows too— and a young creature whose appearance alone should protect her against insult !" " Mr. Lavenham !" ejaculated the young stranger, raising his eyes from Virginia's countenance, and meeting the reproving looks of one whom he evi- dently dared not treat with disrespect : for all the fervour of mien and manner which he had ex- hibited towards the seamstress now changed in a moment into mingled shame and contrition. " This young person, sir," he observed, " will do me the justice to admit that I said nothing to insult her. I am incapable of such an action !" " And yet, Charles," replied Mr. Lavenham mildly, "there is no one reason why you are justi- fied in forcing yourself upon the notice of this young creature — whereas there are a thousand reasons why you should not. Come — take my arm, Miss; and I will see you in safety away from this neighbourhood." These last words were addressed to Virginia, ■who mechanically accepted the protection which was pi'ofifered with a species of paternal kindness cs well as with an unaffected bluntness of tone and manner ; — and her middle-aged companion, with- out taking any farther notice of the young gen- tleman, escorted the seamstress out of the Square, into the nearest street, with as much respect and attention as if she had been a lady of title carrying an elegant reticule in her hand instead of a mil- liner's box. The occurrence had taken place so promptly that Virginia had not an instant for reflection ere she thus found herself supported on the arm of a gen- tleman concerning whom she knew nothing more than that the elegant young stranger had addressed him by the name of Lavenham. But when she threw a hasty and timid look at the companion whom circumstances had thus given her, she could experience no other sentiment than one of mingled gratitude, respect, and confidence : for Mr. Laven- ham was evidently a man moving in the superior ranks of life— his countenance wore an expression »f affability mingled with a settled melancholy — and in his appearance were united the polish of good breeding, the commanding power of intellect, and the benevolence of a truly compassionate soul. Gradually as the conviction penetrated into the maiden's mind that she — the poor humble seam- stress, carrying a milliner's box in her hand — was walking in one of the most fashionable quarters of the West End, 8U])ported on the arm of one whom her own refined discrimination signalized as a gentleman of good social standing— gradually as this conviction settled in lier iniud, we say, did she perceive, or fancy that she perceived, the necessity of releasing him as speedily as possible from a position which she feared might have proved irksome to him even from the very first. She accordingly began to murmur some words of thanks for his kindness, making at the same time a motion as if she were about to withdraw her arm: but cutting her short with a species of blunt and frank benevolence, and tucking up her arm again in hia own, Mr. Lavenham said, " I am not ashamed of walking with you, if you are not ashamed of walking with me. But whither are you going ?" "To Madame Duplessy's in Great Castle Street, sir," was the response. "Ah! the fashionable milliner?" exclaimed Mr. Lavenham : then, after a few moments' pau^e, he said, "Did you ever see that young gentleman before ? — I mean the one who was persecuting you with his nonsense just now ?" " I never saw him before, sir," replied Virginia. "And you do not even know who he is, perhaps?" continued Mr. Lavenham. " I have not the slightest knowledge of him," re- joined the seamstress. "But suppose I had not come up just at that moment," observed her companion, eyeing her fixedly from beneath his brows, — "should you not have ended by looking more favourably upon so handsome a youth ? Come, speak the truth, my dear — and I shall think all the better of you for yoiu" sincerity." "Had you not treated me so kindly, sir," an- swered Virginia, in a low tone of mingled reproach and emotion, " I should noio think that you also were disposed to insult me. Ah ! sir, it is a hard thing that because one is poor, no credit will be given for rectitude of conduct — no faith put in vir- tuous intentions !" — and the maiden burst into tears. "Don't cry — don't cry, my dear!" ejaculated Mr. Lavenham. "Pooh! nonsense— I did not mean to vex you! And now, by Jove ! 1 feel a tear trickling down my own cheek," he added, as he passed his silk handkerchief rapidly over his countenance. "Well, I would rather have your indignant grie^ as an answer to the question I put to you, than a mere verbal protestation which might as well be false as true. What is your name. Miss ?" " Virginia Mordaunt," was the reply. "A sweet name — a very sweet name !" observed Mr. Lavenham. "' You must not bo olfended with me for saying so : I am old enough to be your father. And you belong to Madame Duplessy's ? Now, my dear young lady," he continued, his tone suddenly becoming serious and even solemn, — "do let me beseech you to cling to that love of integrity and that appreciation of a go6d character which at present constitute the basis of j-our virtue. You are young — you are well-looking— you are de- pendent, no doubt, upon your labour fi)ryour bread; and London abounds in temptations. I speak to you, my dear, as if I were your father : for, seme- how or another, I feel an interest in you. Think of my advice therefore ; and although you may be poor, you will succeed iu compelling the world to give you credit for that rectitude of conduct and those virtuous intentions of which you have spoken. And now, good bye, Miss Mordaunt. I shall not forget you — nor shall I lose sight of you." With these words, the middle agod gentleman wrung the hand of the youthful seamstress witli a THE SEAMSTEESS. 15 cordial warmth which seemed to flow from his in- most heart; — and then, turning abruptly round, he hurried away in the direction whence they had just come. His pace was quick, as if he wore labouring under some emotion; — and he never once looked behind him as he sped towards Grosvenor Square. But Virginia could not help stopping for a few moments to follow with her ej-es the worthy man who had acted and spoken with so much parental kindness towards her; — and when he disappeared round the corner into the Square, a profound sigh rose to her lips — for it suddenly seemed to her as if she had lost a good friend almost as soon as shs had found one. And this impression remaining upon her mind, it was with a heavy heart that she continued her way to Great Castle Street, where she duly paid to Miss Dulcimer the money received from the Duchess of Belmont. The forewoman barely thanked the young seamstress for having executed her commis- sion; — and our heroine retraced her way to Tavis- tock Street, her mind full of the thoughts naturally resulting from the varied incidents of the morning. CHAPTEE VI. MISS B.IENET. "We have already observed that the house in which Virginia Mordaunt occupied a poor cheerless garret, was one of the most dingy-looking in Tavistock Street. It was let out in lodgings from bottom to top ; and on the door-post were sundry ziuc and brass plates, affording an index to the names and avocations of the principal tenants. Thus, for in- stance, a working-jeweller on a very small scale oc- cupied the parlours on the ground-floor; Mrs. Jack- son, the middle-woman, had the suite of rooms on tlie first-floor. On the second-floor front there was a music-master; and the back room of the same storey was occupied by two sisters, who were elderly women and earned a scanty livelihood by shoe- binding. In the front room of the third storey a poor wood-engraver dwelt with his wife and half- dozen cbik-lren ; and in the back chamber on tbat floor, lodged the Miss Barnet of whom mention lias already been made. Finally, the front attic at the top of the house was occupied by an old woman and her daughter, who went out charring when they could get work, and were addicted to drinking when they could get gin; — and the back garret, as the reader is aware, was tenanted by our humble lieroine, Virginia Mordaunt. Mrs. Drake, the landlady of this house swarming with inhabitants, was a widow on the shady side ol eixty. Her sole means of subsistence depended upon the rents paid by the various lodgers ; — and the lease of the premises' therefore constituted as it were her stock-in-trade— her capital— the source ol her maintenance — the element of her respectability — the only barrier between herself and the work- house. But in order to make both ends meet and have the necessary sum put by to pay rent, rates and taxes, when quarter-day came round, the poor creature was compelled to live in the kitchen and tke out with respect to food as well as she was able. In fact, even when every room in her house was let, the benefit which she gained was but very little more than that of living rent free, with per- haps half-a-crown or throe shillings a-week in the shape of actual profit : and thou, on the oiher hand, she had to face the risks of having some of her room unoccupied from time to time — bad debts — • occasional repairs — and other casualties to which landlords and landladies often find themselves Uable, to their own especial cost. It must bo understood that Mrs. Drake let all her lodgings unfurnished — for the simple reason that she had never been able, during the thirty years of her widowhood, to replace the furniture which had been sold off under an execution to pay her husband's debts at his decease. To re-furnish the house— or only a portion of it— had been the most enthusiastic of her hopes and the extreme of her ambition : but year after year had gone by — disappointment had gradually traced its lines upon a countenance once so comely— grief and privation had reduced to spareuess and meagreness a form once buxom with rounded proportions — the hair that was once dark and glossy became gray and grizzly — and in the aspect of the lean, withered, care-worn old woman of sixty was read the world's too common history of disappoint hope and blighted aspiration. Thus was it that the years of Mrs. Drake's widowhood had passed in a continuous struggle with poverty, vexation, and embarrassment,— thirty of those long years, during which she had to main- tain an appearance of respectability at the sacrifice of the comforts, and often of the necessaries of life, — suffering many hard privations in order to meet with exactitude the periodical calls of the landlord and the tax-gatherer, — and forced to endui-e the en- cumbrance of a large house with all its attendant ex- penses and cares, in order that she might live rent- fi'ce in one of the kitchens ! Her struggle agamst the world's vicissitudes had been a hard, a severe, and a painful one ; and the inevitable consequence was that all the fine feelings and generous quahties of her youthful heart had been stifled and subdued one after another, their places being filled up by selfishness, egotism, and suspicion. In fact, her mind and her disposition gradually yielding with natural plasticity to the cir- cumstances of which sliO was the victim, she be- came modelled by those noxious influences into the veritable type of the old landlady, — ready to dun, competent even to abuse, and inexorable in forcing the payment of rent by every available means. But in spite of all her struggles, Mrs. Drake would not have been able to " keep the house over her head," — to use hor own expression, — were it not for the assistance of Mrs. Jackson. This female had occupied the widow's first-floor for many years, and paid for attendance into the bargain. The servant was therefore kept for her special behoof; and tho remnants of Mrs. Jackson's meals constituted no small item in the resources of Mrs. Drake's own vic- tualling department. Within the last few mouths, moreover, Miss Barnet had made arraugeuionts with Mrs. Drake to be wailed upon and have her repasts cooked by the servant ; — and thus at the period at which our history treats, the widow was in circumstances a trifle more felicitous than they had been for many, many years. JIaving recorded these few particulars relative to 1(3 THE oEAMSTBESS. the house in Tavistock Street and its landlady, we may resume the thread of our narrative. Upon returning home, after her adventures at the West End, Virginia Mordaunt hastened up to her cheerless chamber and laid aside her bonnet and shawl. She then descended to Mrs. Jackson's bed- chamber : but as the doctor was there at the moment, she was told to return in a quarter of an hour. In- stead of retracing her steps to her own room, she continued her way down stairs to the kitchen, where Mrs. Drake was superintending the preparation of some mutton-broth which grimy-faced Jane was cooking for Mrs. Jackson's dinner. "I have brought you the week's rent, Mrs. Drake," said Virginia, in her soft and somewhat melancholy voice : and she handed eighteen-pence to the landlady. '• Thank you, my dear," , ob-served the widow, whom the odour of the broth — or rather tbe pro- spect of partaking of it— had put into a tolerably good humour. " The rent was due yesterday, mind : but it is all the same to me to have it to-day. In- deed, I shouldn't mention it at all, only it's just as well to keep regular." " Depend upon it, ma'am, I shall always prove as punctual as my means will permit," observed Virginia, with difficulty stifling a profound sigh: then, after hesitating for a few moments, she said with a timid air of embarrassment, "Do you happen to know, Mrs. Drake, where I should be likely to apply with any degree of success for some work?" "No — that I'm sure I don't!" ejaculated the land- lady, her whole manner undergoing a sudden change as the prospect of the maiden's inability to pay the next week's eighteen-pence sprang up before her. " But do you mean to tell me, Mias Mordaunt, that you are already out of work ?" "For the moment — ^just for the moment," faul- tered Virginia, dismayed at the signiticant manner in which the old woman spoke, and which carried to the orphan's mind the unmistakable certainty that on failing to pay the rent she must expect to bo turned forth from her lodging. " Can't Mrs. Jackson give you anything to do?" demanded the landlady. " I am afraid that Mrs. Jackson's illness — and another circumstance," replied Virginiii, with in- creasing embarrassment, " will prevent her " " "NVliat other circumstances?" inquired Mrs. Drake, sharply. " I mean that the lady from whom Mrs. Jackson appears to receive work, is going out of town for a few weeks," added the young seamstress. "Ah! that is a bad business!" murmured the landlady, her looks now becoming troubled as well as stern and suspicious. " But you had better go up and speak to Mrs. Jackson upon the subject : — and, by the bye, there is Miss Barnet, who can get as much work as she pleases, but who is too idle to do any — she might put some of it in your way." " Do you not think, ma'am," hastily interposed the slattern domestic, who had hitherto remained a silent listener, but who now broke in uijon the dis- course with some degree of excitement, — "do you not think, ma'am, that Miss Mordaunt could apply to other people belter than to Miss Barnet ?" " Hold your tongue, Jano— and don't interfere," said Mrs. Drake, in u tone of harsh rebuke : then, turning towards Virginia, she observed, " Miss Bar- net is a good-natured young woman, though some- what too thoughtless and gay; but there can't be any harm in your applying to her for some of the work which she may have for the asking." "I thank you for the suggestion," exclaimed the young seamstress : and away she sped from the kitchen, without observing the deprecatory shake of the head and warning look whereby the well- meaning Jane sought to convey her disapproval of the course recommended by her mistress. On reaching the door of Mrs. Jackson's bed- chamber, Virginia knocked gently and was invited to enter. The medical man had taken his depar- ture; and the invalid was now prepared to listen to the young seamstress, as she explained the result of her mission. "I went to Mrs. Pembroke," said Virginia; "and that lady is going out of town for several weeks." " Going out of town I" echoed Mrs. Jackson, an expression of dismay suddenly appearing upon her countenance. " But did she not send me any pri- vate communication ? — a note — a message " " Nothing, save the money which she said was due to you, madam," replied Virginia. " I was told to make out a bill and receipt on your behalf — for seven shillings — and here is the amount," added the maiden, with a sigh, as she placed the coin upon the table near the bed. " And Mrs. Pembroke is going out of town ? — and she treats me with this cold and wanton indif- ference ?' murmured Mrs. Jackson to herself, her features, already made ghastly by illness, now be- coming perfectly hideous with the look of blackest hatred that swept over them. " She even botraj's the terms upon which I get her work done : she has let this young girl know the real value of her labour ! Even this I could have put up with: — for it might have been an oversight on her part. But not to have given wie the chance of procuring work from the same sources whence she has obtained it, — not to have put me into the proper channel to become her successor in the enjoyment of the patronage which has made her rich, — Ah? it is this that cuts me to the soul. I suppose she means to retire altogether — and she has probably sold the (/oxl- will of her connexion for a handsome sum of money ! And now what is to become of me? — what is to become of me ?" Thus mused the invalid woman in a low murmur- ing tone, so that the young seamstress only cauglit a small portion of the complaints to which she was giving utterance. But Virginia had that morning acquired a suflicient insight into the system of which she herself was the victim, to euab e her to com- prehend that the departure of Mrs. Pembroke from town would prove seriously injurious to Mrs. Jack- son : and this fear she had indeed expressed when in conversation with the landlady down stairs. The evil which she had thus foreseen, and the conse- quences of which redounded upon herself, now there- fore received a mournful contirmation in the effect which the circumstance produced upon Mrs. Jack- son: and as the ejuculatory question wherewith that female concluded her murmuring lament, was uttered loud enough to strike with all the fulness of its ominous meaning upon the maiden's ears, it touched a kindred chord in the young creature's heart and found an ec!io on her lips as with a deep No. 3. — TUF. SKAMSTUr:;-' 18 THE SEAMSTEESS. sob sbe murmured, " And what also will become of me ?" But Mrs. Jackson heard not the response which her own lamentation had elicited from the poor Beamstress : nor did she bestow a thought upon the friendless, orphan, helpless condition of that beautiful girl who was thus standing, iu an attitude of drooping mournfulness, by her bed-side. The ■woman, with characteristic selfishness, was totally absorbed in her own gloomy reflections; and sbe had no feeling, no thought, no heart, for the adver- sity of another. "What made you so long in returning?" she suddenly demanded of Virginia. The maiden accordingly explained that she had been requested by Mrs. Pembroke to take the velvet dress to Madame Duplessy's in Gieat Castle Street, —and that she had thence been instructed to convey it to the Duchess of Belmont's in Grosvenor Square. But she said nothing relative to the particulars of her interview with that noble lady — nor yet con- cerning the handsome young gentleman who had accosted her, and the interference of Mr. Lavenham : for these circumstances had nothing to with Mrs. Jackson. " Well, Miss," said the woman after another long pause, "I am too ill to look after work at present — and no work will come to me without looking after it. So I must make the best of it — and in a few days " '•' Can I be of any service to you in applying for work at such places as you may point out ?" asked Virginia. " What ! do you even seek to ferret out my con- nexion with the trade, that you may undermine me ?" exclaimed Mrs. Jackson, darting an angry look from her pillow at the young seamstress. " Oh ! madam, such a thought never entered my imagination for a moment !" cried Virginia, the tears starting forth from her long lashes. " I am incapable of anything like treachery," she added, with the altered tone of a sudden access of indig- nation as the foulness of the suspicion struck her with redoubled force. " Well, well — I did not mean to vex you, my dear," said Mrs. Jackson, adopting a more concilia- tory manner. " But everything now seems to go wrong with me : and this illness of mine How- ever," she exclaimed, suddenly interrupting herself, " I must endeavour to get well as soon as I can — and then, perhaps, matters will mend a little. In the meantime I have no more work to give you. Miss Mordaunt ; and I do not know where to re- commend you to apply. When I require your ser- vices again, I will let you know." And she turned round in her bed, as if she wished to compose herself to slumber. Virginia accordingly took the hint and retired. But as she was ascending mournfully to her own chamber she suddenly recollected the advice given her by the landlady relative to Miss Barnet, and which suggestion she had lost sight of during her interview with Mrs .Jackson. A faint beam of hope played upon her sweet countenance as she quickened her pace towards that young female's apartment. She knocked gently : the door was immediately opened —and Miss Barnet appeared upon the threshold. " Ah ! Miss Mordaunt, is that you ?" she exclaimed n a tone of good-natured welcome. " So you have resolved upon being neighbourly at last, after living here three or four weeks and scarcely speaking to me when I met you upon the stairs the other day ? But never mind — walk in — and let us become good friends at once." " I can assure you. Miss Barnet," observed the maiden, as she accepted the invitation and entered the room, " that I intended nothing unneighbourly : and when you spoke to me the day before yesterday, I answered you without reserve. But I am always so afraid of being obtrusive — I feel the loneliness of my position so much that there are times when I fancy I shall never meet a real friend again " " Come, come, my dear girl," exclaimed Miss Barnet, with a voice and manner of frank and open hearted kindness; "don't give way to gloomy thoughts. There — sit down near the fire — and we will have half-an-hour's gossip together." Virginia accordingly took the chair to which her new acquaintance pointed ; and the rapid glance which the young maiden threw around the chamber showed her that it was very neatly and comfortably furnished. A good carpet — a warm hearth-rug — a French japan bedstead, with dimity curtains hang- ing from a horizontal pole — half-a-dozen neat chairs — a table in the middle of the room, and another in I a corner for the toilette — drapery to the window — a bright fender and polished fire-irons — and several mantel-ornaments, — all these articles gave to the place an air of comfort contrasting strongly and forcibly with the cheerless aspect of Virginia's own poor garret. And now a word or two respecting Miss Barnet herself, before we resume the thread of ouF narra- tive. She was a fine, tall, showy young woman, of about two or three-and-twenty years of age. Her eyes were large, dark, and full of fire, — crowned by brows as black as ebony and giving a somewhat bold look to the general expression of her countenance. Handsome she decidedly was, — physically and sen- suously handsome, but deriving no charm from any- thing of an intellectual or sentimental character in her features. Her facial outline was boldly though faultlessly pencilled: her lips were full and of a luscious red — her teeth were large, but white as ivory and admirably even; — her chin was well rounded — and her oval-shaped head was poised upon a neck so superbly white and gracefully arching that a queen might have envied it. Her complexion was indeed very fine ; and upon her cheeks there was a sufficiency of carnation tint to denote a vigor- ous constitution and a robust health which neither toil nor dissipation had as yet visibly impaired. Her hair was black — of a rich luxuriance — and with a lustrous gloss upon it. She wore it in ring- lets, which showered down on each side of her full plump cheeks, and swept the handsomely-shaped shoulders the dazzling whiteness of which her some- what low-bodied dress was permitted (o expose. Her bust was in the same large proportions with the other contours of her fine form : her waist was symmetrical, without being positively wasp-like. She had a good hand, of which she was evidently proud — inasmuch as the almond-shaped nails were kept with the utmost care ; — and although her feet and ankles could not be termed delicate, the former were gracefully modelled and the latter well rounded. Altogether Miss Barnet was a splendid specimen of woman in the perfection of her vital system ; but her THE SEAMSTBESS. 19 charms where wholly of a physical nature, blending not in tho slightest degree with the softer fascina- tions which denote tho angelic nature of tho sex in general. She was dressed with neatness, and yet with a certain coquetry indicating that she was by no means unaware of her personal attractions. Good- natured and generous- hearted she naturally was : but tho mole of life which she had adopted, ren- dered hor not only callous to virtuoas principles, but even prompted her to look with contempt upon those who made them their r;ile of conduct. That contempt would sometimes deepen into a positive prejudice bordering upon aversion; and thus, des- pite &i tendencies originally kind and humane, her disposition had become so warped by unwholesome influences as to lead her sometimes to ridicule and at others to detest any one who was really enviable in the possession of that diadem of purity which had fallen from her own brow. Such was Miss Barnet, Virginia Mordaunt's neigh- bour; — and having thus briefly described her person and glanced at her character, we will proceed to record the discourse which took place between her- self and our young heroine on the occasion that has now brought them together. " Well, since I have declared that we shall become friends at once and without any further ceremony," said Miss Barnet, seating herself opposite to Vir- ginia, " let us behave as if we had known each other for a dozen years past. And I will candidly confess that I wished to make your acquaintance: for there arc moments when I feel the want of a female com- panion " " Heaven knows that you could not have expe- rienced this want more acutely than I !" exclaimed the young seamstress. " But then," she added, after a few instants' pause, and glancing round the room, "you have everything to make you happy and comfortable — and I " " You are poor — I know you are poor," inter- rupted Miss Barnet : " and I thought you were proud. That is tho reason I did not force my- self upon your acquaintance — and yet I longed to know you. Jane — the servant-girl down stairs —told me how hard you worked ; and it required no one to tell me how badly you were paid. I have gone througli all that myself; and my expe- rience has been as bitter as anybody's." "Would that I knew how to amend my con- dition !" exclaimed Virginia, with a profound sigh. "I was tolerably well educated — I learnt a few ac- complishments, such as music and drawing -" " And therefore you think you arc qualified for a •governess P" interrupted Miss Barnet. " My dear girl But what is your 'Christian name?" "Virginia," was the response. "Oh! what a romantic name!" cried Miss Bar- net, good-humouredly. " Mine is Julia; so you shall call me Julia in future — and I will call you Virginia. But as I was about to observe, you fancy that you arc fitted for a nursery-governess ? Now don't entertain such an idea : the market is clogged with goods of that kind; and morcovei*, if you did succeed iu obtaining such a situation you would lind that it is one of tho most horrible slavery. No — you had better stick to your needle " " But I anj ('carlul of experiencing dillicullies in procuring work," remarked Virginia: "and even when I am fortunate in that respect, tho remune- ration is so low " " That it scarcely keeps you from starving," ex- claimed Julia. " Now, all that you have at this moment uppermost in your thoughts, has been felt and pondered over by me. I have gone through the entire ordeal. You have been working for Jackson — have you not? Well, I worked for her myself for a long time — until I could struggle no longer against cold, penury, want, insolence, and everything else that one has to put up with as a seamstress." " You have indeed summed up with a painful accuracy the details of the truth," observed our heroine, with another deep-drawn sigh. " But there is one question which I am desirous to ask you, Miss Barnet " "No — call me Julia," interrupted the dark-eyed young lady: "or I shall think that you are not disposed to be friendly with me. Now, what is tho information you seek to glean from my ex- perience ?" " I wish to learn if it be possible for the poor seamstress to obtain the real value of her labour," answered Virginia : " I do not mean the value which she herself might be disposed to put upon it - but the value which it actually fetches when made a marketable commodity by others. Shall I give you an outline of my brief experience ? — and you will then understand wherefore I ask the ques- tion which I have put, and what is the precise meaning I would convey in that question." " I can full well anticipate the general nature of your experience, my dear Virginia," said Miss Barnet: "but nevertheless, I should like to hear your views upon the subject, as well as an ac- count of the particular treatment you may have received. Pray, therefore, proceed: I am all at- tention." w^Everything I have to say, Julia, can be summed up in a few words," continued Miss Mordaunt. " In the first place Mrs. Jackson, learning from the landlady that I am honest, of good character, and to be trusted, gives me a splendid velvet dress to make up. As I sate at work, I calculated the cost of the materials, which could not have amounted to much less than forty pounds. And these valuable articles are confided to me— a poor half-starving girl," proceeded Virginia, the tears running down her cheeks, — " to me, I say, whose cupboard was well nigh empty and who beheld not a single spark of fire in tho grate ! Well, by dint of tho severest toil I accomplished the task in a space of time so short that it is even incredible to myself. And as a reward for this intense labour I received three shillings and sixpence from Mrs. Jackson. But Mrs. Jackson, who never put a single stitch into the dress, receives seven shillings from a certain Mrs. Pembroke, to whom I am ordered to convey tho dress. Then Mrs. Pembroke receives fourteen shillings from Madame Duplessy, who originally gave out the dress to be made; — and, last of all, Madame Duplessy charges the Duchess of Belmont, who ordered the dress, four guineas for the making up alone. Now it is quite clear that my labour, which has only produced three shillings and six- pence to myself, was worth four guineas to Madame Duplessy. But if Madame Duplessy will only undertake to pay fourteen shillings for the product 20 THE SEAMSTEE3S. of my labour, wherefore should I not at least re- ceive the whole of this amount myself — instead of a poor three shillings and sixpence ?" " Because, my dear friend, the system is infamous to a degree and the poor workers are its wretched victims," answered Julia, with a bitterness arising from painful reminiscences rather than, from any present associations. "Madame Duplessy employs a middle- woman, because it saves trouble in the first instance — and secondly because the result is to keep down the price of the work thus put out to be done. The middle- woman whom Madame Duplessy em- ploys, contracts with sub-agents constituting a second grade of middle-women; — and from these last do the needlewomen receive their work and their pittances, Madame Duplessy, for instance, cares not through how many hands tho work may have passed ere it returns again to her : or rather I should say, the more hands it passes through, the better she is pleased, because the earnings of the wretched needlewomen who do the work are di- minished in proportion. By thus keeping down the vrages of the needlewomen, the great houses — such as Madame Duplessy's — can from time to time re- duce the prices paid to the middle- women. Madame Duplessy says to Mrs. Pembroke, ' You have been able to beat down you,T toorJcers to such low wages, that you can easily afford to reduce your own prices' —Then Mrs. Pembroke says to Mrs. Jackson, 'My prices are reduced, and I must expect you, to reduce yours.' — And finally, Mrs. Jackson says to Virginia Mordaunt, or any other young slave whom she em- ploys, 'My prices are reduced, and your wages must therefore be diminished.' — The result is that your earnings, Virginia, will continue to grow less and less: but I question whether Madame Duplessy will lower her prices towards her aristocratic cus- tomers." " I understand fully how the system operates," said our heroine : " indeed, I obtained a pretty tolerable insight into it this morning — and the im- pressions I then received are now confirmed by your explanations. But my query yet remains to be answered " " Ah ! I recollect," ejaculated Miss Barnet. " You wish to know why you cannot obtain work direct from Madame Duplessy, for instance, without the intervention of a Mrs. Jackson or a Mrs. Pembroke ? The answer is plain and easy, my dear friend. In the first place the system of middle-women saves trouble to such houses as Madame Duplessy's; and secondly it keeps down the wages, as I have ex- plained to you. This is after all the main point. By the mere fact of the work passing through several hands, it becomes more difficult to obtain on the part of the needlewomen — and the result is a readiness to work for almost any pittance sooner than have no work at all. Moreover, where so many agencies are engaged and so many interests are combined in keeping down wages, how can the poor seamstress possibly make a stand against such a colossal tyranny? Mrs. Jackson crushes you — Mrs. Pembroke grinds Mrs. Jackson— and Madame Duplessy keeps a tight hand over Mrs. Pembroke. By such a complicated machinery your earnings are reduced to a far lower standard than Madame Duplessy could possibly succeed in bringing them, if the dealings took place between herself and yourself without the intervention of any other parties. Madame Duplessy, you tell me, charged the Duchess of Belmont four guineas for the dress; but she only paid fourteen shillings for the making of it. Now, were Madame Duplessy left to fight the battle of labour's value direct with you who did the labour, she would be pretty well at your mercy — because you could charge her at least a guinea for the work which she charged the Duchess four guineas for: and, however discontented Madame Duplessy might be at such a charge on your part, she has not the time to run all over London to ascertain who will work cheaper for her than you. But the intervention of the middle-women settles the point for Madame Duplessy, by fighting her battle with you — a battle in which yoto are neces- sarily conquered and crushed. The result is that she gets done for fourteen shillings that work which she would otherwise be charged a guinea for: and thus, by the fact that the work passes through the hands of several persons, and each person has to get a living out of its price, this price is actually kept down below the standard that it would be able to maintain if the one individual who did the work were alone paid. From all that I have now told you, Virginia," added Miss Barnet, "it is quite clear that Madame Duplessy has a direct interest in sustaining the system of middle-women, and that she would therefore discourage any innovation upon the mode of conducting her business." " To middle-women, then, must I alone look for work ?" said the young seamstress, in a tone of the deepest melancholy. " It will be difficult for you to obtain it in any other way," responded Miss Barnet. " And yet I thought — that is, I received from Mrs. Drake a hint to the efibct — that you had sometimes more work than you could accomplish," faultered Virginia ; " and if that were the case, I hoped — I felt assured — at least I resolved to ask you " " I know what you would say," interrupted Miss Barnet : " and I will do all I can for you in that re- spect. I possess a good friend iti the forewoman of a large house at the West End ; and she sends me as much work as she possibly can upon the sly. But if her employers knew that she did this, instead of sending everything to the middle-woman who con- tracts with them, she would lose her situation. Therefore you must keep the matter as secret as possible— and I shall be able to assist you." " Believe me, my dear friend," exclaimed Vir- ginia, with tears in her eyes, " that I am deeply, deeply grateful to you for this kindness on your part." " Oh ! it is nothing worth thanking me for," cried Miss Barnet. " The truth is, I hate work — I can't bear it — and yet I do not exactly choose to let Mrs. Ilubinson— that is the name of my friend tho forewoman — know that I can do without it." " You are happy in the possession of other re- sources," said A^irginia, with a profound sigh. " But I suppose you have kind friends who assist you " " Yes — very kind friends," ejaculated Miss Bar- net, with a smile which struck Virginia as being peculiar in its expression. "Look here," continued JuHa, starting from her seat and throwing open the door of a cupboard in which several handsome dresses were hanging : " I can be as smart as any lady of quality, when I choose. Ucro is a beau'iful THE SEAMSTRESS. 21 silk," she adJed, taking down one of the dresses aad displaying it to Virginia's admiring eyes : " this was a present made to me only last Monday week. And here is a lovely merino. But that is not all. Look here !" And opening a largo band-bos, Miss Barnet drew forth a velvet bonnet, a cachmere shawl, and a splendid fur tippet all of which articles she exhibited to the young seamstress who surveyed them with admiration, but without the slightest envy. For Virginia coveted not the elegancies nor the luxuries of life : her modest aspirations were limited to the attainment of the necessaries. " Now do you not think that I must have a very good and kind friend to give me all these beautiful things ?" exclaimed Miss Barnet, in a tone of joyous triumph : then, without waiting for an answer, she said significantly, "But you could be just as happy and comfortable, and independent as I am, if you liked." A suspicion, vague and uncertain as the ringing of far-ofF bells in the ears, rose up in Virginia's mind as that remark struck upon her understand- ing as a temptation; — and at the same instant she remembered the singular and mysterious manner in which the servant Jane had alluded to Miss Barnet. But still the young girl was not able to define even to herself the precise nature of the suspicion which had just been engendered in her soul; — and with a trembling of the whole frame, as if beneath the in- fluence of a panic-terror, she fixed her large blue eyes inquiringly upon her new friend. " What innocence !" ejaculated this young lady, her sensual-looking lips wreathing for the moment into a smile of contempt: but she instantaneously added, with her wonted good-humour, " We will not t ilk any more upon that subject at present, my dear Virginia. Another time, perhaps, I may be more explicit. And now, as I have not a stitch of work to put in your hands at the moment, I will go and see what my friend Mrs. Eobinson can do for us in that way." Miss Mordaunt again expressed her thanks to her new acquaintance, and then retired, pensive and full of vac;ue misgivings, to her own cold and cheer- less chamber. CHAPTER VII, THE BALL. Between eight and nine o'clock in the evening a brilliant company began to assemble at Belmont House in Grosvenor Square. In rapid succession did the splendid equipages dash up to the front door of the palatial mansion — set down the elegantly- apparelled guests — and then shoot away, with their lamps shining like meteors, into the obscurity of the distance. From the open portals of the ducal dwelling streamed forth a flood of light, in the midst of which the numerous domestics in their gorgeous liveries resembled the variegated insects of the tropica flying and buzzing about in the beams of a refulgent sun. Through the spacious hall, with its pillars and its statues, its vasee, and its lamps, passed the numerous guests, — titled dames in glossy velvet, and beauteous damsels in rustling satin, escorted by nobles and gentlemen dressed for the ball-room scene, — up the marble staircase which rose so grandly from the hall as if leading to thfl very palace of the sun itsalf, — across the spaciouj landing decorated with evergreens and hot-house flowers, — into the magnificent saloons where the light of the wax-tapers in the superb chandeliers of crystal was reflected in the vast mirrors which likewise multiplied the forms of elegance, and grace, and beauty already assembled there 1 Soft was the perfume filling the warm air that glowed with a living lustre whose flood received a roseate tint from the rich crimson drapery and the furniture; — and through the gorgeous apartments sounded in loud and thrilling strains the music which the unrivalled band poured forth. It ap- peared as if the Genius of Harmony were speaking in tones of the grandest exultation; — and every pulse beat the more quickly, and every heart throbbed the more joyously, and every eye flashed the more brightly, as those glorious notes swept along the chords of the sensations that seemed to vibrate to the profundities of the soul ! By half-past nine o'clock upwards of eight hun- dred guests were assembled in the saloons.of Belmont House ; and amongst them might be observed all the various specimens of the world of aristocracy and fashion. There were dowagers with gorgeous turbans surmounting faces the wrinkles of which were concealed as much as art could possibly mitigate the appearances of old age : there were matrons whose air of elegant hauteur and gracious condescension derived a stateliness from the embon- point of middle-age; — there were young wives who received with the easy listlessness of habit the complimentary nothings addressed to them by the gallants of the ball-room ; — and there also were damsels whose happiness would be made or marred for the whole evening by the extent to which they were either courted or neglected. Here also were intriguing mothers each with their two or three marriageable daughters, — a few maiden aunts, very prim, very particular, and also very spiteful in criticising everything and everybody present, — and some dozen or so of widows, looking out for second husbands. Of the male sex the specimens were equally varied, though all of course belonging to what is termed "the highest circle." There were noblemen who would not have envied the lot of angels unless they could trace their genealogy back to some cut-throat Norman Baron who came over with the ruflian marauder William the Conqueror; — and there were other great peers who rejoiced in the honour of being descended from the shameless strumpets who sold their charms to Charles II. Of these two classes of hereditary nobles, the latter were perhaps the most self-suflicient, arrogant, and prone to boast of their glorious ancestry. Then there was a consider- able sprinkling of the younger scions of the Aristo- cracy, — the sons, brothers, nephews, and cousins of peers ; and as a general rule it might be observed that the dullest and the heaviest-looking, or else the vainest and most frivolous, were sure to bo members of Parliament. Then, again, amidst the male guests might bo distinguished a dozen Colonels in the Guards, very handsome, very dissipated, and very great favourites with the ladies, — a few naval officers the fastidious elegance of whose appearance seemed utterly unable to sustain a breeze olf Gravosond, 22 THE SEAMSTRESS. much less a storm in the Atlantic,— a sprinkling of well-dressed young gentlemen of straw, who some how or another managed to move in the very best society, — and a goodly number of baronets who were large land-owners, and in nine instances out of ten very obstinate, very prejudiced, very argumentative, and very much addicted to Port wine. Such were the principal components of the bril- liant society assembled on the present occasion : but we may add that the company, as just glanced at, were dotted with two or three foreign Ambassadors, sharp-faced and cunning-looking — five or six Eng- lish diplomatists, reserved in manner, cold in aspect, and cautious in discourse— and a couple of Hereditary German Princes who were on a visit to the English Court, and whose travelling expenses from their native lands were defrayed by the Eng- lish Treasury. The Duchess of Belmont, leaning upon the arm of her husband, received her guests in the principal saloon of the magnificent suite thrown open for the occasion. Never had her. Grace appeared more grandly handsome : never had she shone to greater advantage. The white plumes which waved so gracefully above her head, enhanced the dignity of her mien and threw out in a more striking contrast the dark glory of her hair. Eair as the lily and delicate as the camellia was her transparent com- plexion, — save where upon the cheeks the excite- ment of the scene shed the hue of the softest blush- ing rose. She was attired in the velvet dress which had been brought home in the morning; and never did shapely robe do more complete justice to the har- mony of exquisite proportions. Apparelled as she then was — looking all radiant in her sunny smiles and her magnificent beauty— and with that digni- fied elegance which characterised all her movements, the brilliant Duchess of Belmont seemed the imper- sonation of all those feminine perfections which even the richest language in the universe is too poor to describe. The effect of such an indefinable assem- blage of charms, — charms which could alike fasci- nate and overpower, bewilder and entrance, ravish and astound, — such an effect as this, we say, can be felt, but never analysed. It was a perfect halo of loveliness which environed her, as a glory encircles the brow of a saint; — and yet the empire which her appearance asserted over the heart of every man who gazed upon her, was entirely of a physical nature; — the first look sent forth from the depths of her fine dark eyes, or the first smile that went warm and sunny from that splendid countenance to the soul of an admirer, would dominate and enthral the sense, although without exercising the famtost influence over the sentiment. She was a veoman to be adored with the strong ardour and the luxurious passion which constituted the worship paid to the Paphian Venus : but her's was not that bright, that nymph-liko beauty which engcudorod the pure, chaste, and aesthetic love that formed the soul and essence of Greek poesy. We said that she was loaning upon the arm of her husband as she received her numerous guests. His Grace the Duke of Belmont was three-and- twcnty years older than his wife : he was conse- (jucntly sixty at the period of which wo are writing. In person he was short — thin — but well made. Hia countenance was pale, and was marked with an expression which the superficial observer would deem severe, but which the more attentive seru- tinizer would discover to be that care-worn look which by degrees settles itself indelibly upon the features, despite the struggle of the strong and haughty soul to subdue it. On the brow so lofty and intellectual, sate a calm which was unnatural when studied in connexion with the eyes that were alike vivid and thoughtful, restless and melancholy ; — and in the smile whose very urbanity was mingled with the aristocratic pride that never unbent com- pletely, might be seen the endeavour of a sickening heart to conceal a terrible mistrust with respect to the future. The present Duchess was the second wife of the Duke of Belmont. By his first wife he had three children; namely, one son and two daughters. The mother died in giving birth to the youngest; and about three years afterwards the Duke married the beautiful but portionless Lady Augusta Cavendish — ■ who consequently became the brilliantDuchess whom we have already introduced so thoroughly to our readers. This second union was unproductive of issue; and therefore, having no children of her own, the Duchess made a somewhat more aflfectionate step-mother to the offspring of her husband's former marriage, than second wives usually prove them- selves to be, especially in those aristocratic circles wh^re everything is shallow, heartless, and un- nijtural. I /And now a few words relative to the Duke of iBelmont's progeny ere we resume the thread of our narrative. The son, who had just attained his twenty- first year, and who bore the title of the Marquis of Arden, was none other than that same tall, slender, handsome young man who had fol- lowed Virginia Mordaunt, and whose attentions to the charming maiden were so abruptly cut short by the appearanca of Mr. Laveuham. Not only was his physical beauty of that clas-ic and intellectual character which rendered him an object of interest as well as admiration amongst the fair sex, — but his mind was indeed far superior to the usual aris- tocratic standard of intelligence. He possessed all the elements of genius, without having nurtured any one of them sufficiently to develope itself into positive brilliancy : but still the scintillations of that fine intellect frequently flashed forth, as the sparks are struck from the flint by every accidental con- cussion on the highway. Naturally of good prin- ciples, generous-hearted, and chivalrous in dis- position, he would have proved a perfect model of his sex, alike in virtue and in heroism, had not the very station of life into which he was born sur- rounded him with evil influences. As the heir ot the haughty house of Belmont, he was caressed and made much of in the society wherein ho moved : tlie festivals, recreations, and pleasures of fashionable life, in which he was compelled (o take part, weaned him away from those intellectual pursuits which at ono period would have been more congenial to his tastes; — and thus was he gradually unpolled into the vortex of dissipation which absorbs all tho best feelings and drowns all the wholesome instincts of tho upper classes. Tho consequeuco was that at one-and-twenty, the Marquis of Arden was already extravagant in money matter.^, and therefore on the high road to become a reckless spendthrift, — already THE SEAMSTRESS. 23 fond of betting at races, steeple-cliases, and billiard- tables, and therefore in the right path to become a confirmed gamester, — already flushed with his suc- cesses amongst the fair sex, and indeed keeping a mistress, and therefore in a direct road to become a confirmed voluptuary. Lady Clarissa Melcombe, the Duke's elder daughter, was nineteen years of age : her sister, lady Mary, was seventeen. The former was hand- some — proud — and reserved : the latter was beauti- ful— affable — and ingenuous. Lady Clarissa in- herited all the family ambition, hauteur, and peeuuiarj extravagance : Lady Mary was a charm- ing exception to the ordinary aggregate of heart- lessness, frivolity, and wastefulness which constitute the character of young females in high life. Lady Clarissa Melcombe was jealous, envious, and selfish, even to the grudging of her own sister any particle of happiness in which she herself could not share : Lady Mary would have thought no personal sacrifice too great in order to afford the slightest pleasure to the hearts of those whom she loved. Lady Clarissa looked upon the Duchess as a brilliant rival who frequently engaged and monopolised attentions which would otherwise be devoted to herself: whereas Lady Mary regarded her step-mother as a kind and affectionate substitute for the maternal parent she had lost. The reader will therefore per- ceive how great was the discrepancy between the characters and dispositions of the two young ladies. And now, while the Duke and Duchess are re- ceiving the guests who continue to pour in, the sisters are conversing with some of those who were amongst the earliest arrivals. At first Lady Clarissa appears radiant with happiness : never did she seem more gracious — more condescending — more tiioroughly good-humoured. Even the natural amiability and unaffected cordiality of Lady Mary ceased to shine to the usual advantage in contrast with the mien and manner of her sister. It was evident that Lady Clarissa was acting in accordance with a pre-determination to render herself especially agreeable upon the present occcasion. But alas! for human resolutions! — in a short time, just as the discourse was progressing with all possible suavity amongst the group of which the high-born sisters had become the centre— just as the young ladies seated near, and the young gentlemen who were lounging in that charming vicinage, were tossing about from one to the other those fashion- negligence into a vacant chair by the side of the beautiful Lady Mary Melcombe, to whom ho began exclusively toaddress his discourse, all Lady Clarissa's studied good-humour and forced affability fled in a moment. Vainly did she endeavour to rally her spirits— fruitlessly did she strive with all her strength and all her power to appear at her ease : the cloud was not to be lifted from her brow — the gloom was not. to be dispersed from her features; — nor was it within the compass of her ability to mi- tigate the lightnings which her really fine eyes darted forth at brief intervals upon her amiable, gay, and charming sister who remained utterly un- conscious of the mortal envy which she was thus conjuring up. In the meantime the Duke's son and heir, the young and elegant Marquis of Arden, was lounging through the brilliantly-lighted saloons, — pausing to exchange a few words with those guests who were most intimately known to him — bowing to others — and every now and then stopping for a short time to converse with any little knot or group that was composed of young and beautiful damsels. Then as his fine dark eyes lingered for a few minutes with a sensuous gloating upon their charms, and as his bright red lips repealed the white teeth between, soft looks glanced tenderly back upon him, reflecting his own and blending somewhat with their warm and impassioned ardour. Presently Mr. Lavenham was ushered into the splendid saloons ; and he was immediately welcomed by the Duke and Duchess with the cordiality which is only bestowed upon an old and staunch friend. He was dressed with the most scrupulous neatness, but in a plain and unassuming style: his whole appearance indicated the polished, well-educated, enlightened, and liberal-minded gentleman; — and though a simple commoner, without even the most insignificant of those aristocratic titles which are so much prized in the upper circles and so justly con- temned by the masses of the people in general,— without oven the factitious aid of one of those tinsel adornments to give a prestige to his name, he was greeted with respect and friendly warmth by all the noblest and highest in that brilliant com- pany. The dancing commenced : the Earl of Mostyndale became Lady Mary's partner in the first quadrille — while her elder sister. Lady Clarissa, was compelled to bestow her hand upon an antiquated beau who able nothings and elegant trifles which form the [ had numbered sixty winters, but who would fain per conversational staple upon such occasions,— at this suadethe world that he was yet a young man of fort v. particular period was it that the young, handsome, I The fact of having been selected by such an ancient and wealthy Earl of Mostyndale sauntered up to | specimen of extravagant dandyism for the opening the group. j dance, completed Lady Clarissa's vexation; — and Unmarried—possessed of a splendid fortune— j if burning looks had the power to kill, the glances with a countenance as intellectually beautiful as | of almost fiend-like malignity which she threw that of Apollo — bearing a stainless character alike upon her sister, would have stretched this excellent and amiable young lady dead upon the painted floor over which her delicate feet moved with such grace- ful lightness. in public and in private life — and endowed with those honourable and generous feelings which had passed scatheless through the ordeal of temptation, — the Earl of Mostyndale was the object against ■whom all intriguing mammas directed their wiles, and to whom the aspirations of all marriageable young ladies were certain to soar. To receive at- tontions from him, was at once to arouse the envy and hatred, the jealousy and spite of all those whom the preference threw into the back-ground;— and thus While the first quadrille was proceeding, the Duka was it that when his lordship dropped with easy ' of Behnont had quitted his wife and joined a knot CHAPTEE VII L THE COirSERVATORT. 24 THE SEA3ISTRES3. of nobles and gentlemen who were discussing some prominent political topic of the day. The Duchess, upon abandoning her husband's arm, had seated herself upon a sofa to rest for a few minutes after the fatigue of receiving the guests; and she was almost immediately joined by Mr. Lavenham. The movement which she made and the smile which she bestowed upon him were a sufficient invitation for him to take a seat by her side; — and, after some general remarks, he observed, as his eyes looked in the direction of the couple to whom his words al- luded, " I perceive that Mostyndale is paying a sig- nificant attention to Lady Mary." " And what do you augur therefrom, Mr. Laven- ham ?" asked the splendid Duchess, with another of those sweet smiles which she would only have bestowed — at least in public — upon an individual who occupied a very friendly footing with regard to the family. " Your Grace knows the inference which I should like to deduce from the marked attentions that Lord Mostyndale is now paying to your younger step- daughter," replied Mr. Lavenham, his words having the measured tone and accent of importance : then, suddenly lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, " It would indeed be a fortunate event if such an alliance were to take place." "Then you believe that his Grace's affairs are only to be rescued from their present cruel embar- rassment by means of wealthy alliances on the part of his children?" said the Duchess, also speaking in a subdued tone, and with a sudden expression of pain, mortification, and even anguish, sweeping over her countenance, as the passing cloud throws its shade and ruffles with its breath the surface of the sun-lit sea. " This is not the time nor the place to discuss such matters," ob3erved Mr. Lavenham, hastily ; — "and I was wrong to make any remark which could possibly give so disagreeable a turn to the conversation." "Ah! my dear friend," murmured the Duchess, throwing around a hasty glance to assure herself that there were none of the guests nigh enough to overhear what she was saying, — " I am well aware that you only spoke in obedience to that kind and generous interest which you feel in our be- half " " In your behalf, Augusta," said Mr. Lavenham : and, while his voice sank to the lowest possible wliisper as he uttered those words, the look which he flung upon the Duchess and which met her's flashing with ineffable motions in return, was full of a peculiar meaning of mingled sorrow, sym- pathy, and devotion. " Come — give me your arm," he exclaimed, rising abruptly from the sofa ; " and let us enter the conservatory for a few minutes." The Duchess accordingly took Mr. Lavenham's arm; and, traversing the saloons, they passed into the hot-house opening from the extremity of that splendid suite of apartments. This spacious con- servatory was filled with a collection of rare plants and of exotic fruit-trees, — especially tho orange, the fig, the citron, and the olive. The glass walls and roof of the enclosure were covered internally with luxuriant vines, whence hung the rich bunches of purple and white grapes; and in a frame at one extremity several large pines were developing their luscious growth. Silver lamps, suspended to the sloping beams that supported the glass frame-wurk of the roof, made the fruitage glow like enormous gems amidst their emerald verdure; — and the place was heated to a degree of warmth that felt like the atmosphere of their native climes. In the front part of this conservatory a door, likewise made of glass, opened upon a flight of stone-steps leading down into the small garden at the back of the mansion : the hot-house therefore afforded the means of egress and ingress without rendering it necessary to pass through the saloons, which were only used upon grand occasions such as that which we have been describing. Near tho glass-door of the conservatory a table was spread with some of the fi'uits which were the progeny of the hot-house itself: a splendid pine— some bunches of grapes — and a pile of figs, appeared upon crystal dishes; — and a few silver dessert-knives lay ready for the service of those who, retreating from the ball-rooms, might fancy a slice of the golden-hued anana. All these particulars the reader will be careful to retain in his memory; as, trivial though some of them may appear at present, there is nof'a single detail just recorded which will prove irre- levant to the occurrences that will shortly develop themselves. Into this conservatory, then, did the Duchess of Belmont and Mr. Lavenham enter; — and it hap- pened that no one besides themselves was there at the time. "Yes, my dear Augusta," said the gentleman, resuming the thread of that topic on which the conversation had previously turned, — " it has always been for your sake that I have done my best to support the falling fortunes of the ducal house of which that unhappy marriage has made you a mem- ber. Think not, my dear friend — think not for a moment," continued Mr. Lavenham, his rich-toned and harmonious voice becoming tremulous with im- passioned accents, — " think not I say, that it has been through any friendship or sympathy for your husband " "Oh ! hush — hush!" murmured the Duchess, her whole frame quivering as she threw a rapid aiul frighteued glance around, — while she leant heavily upon her companion's arm, and he could feel the throbbing of tho bosom that was thus pressed against him: "we may be overheard Julius — we may be overheard ! And remember — oh ! re- member," she added, in an imploring tone, "that we have suffered ourselves this evening to relapse into a weakness of sentiment — a vain and useless fondness of manner — an ineffectual and tantalizing tenderness, such as for years past we have not shown towards each other! Ah! let us continue friends — friends only " "And forget that we were ever lovers f" suid Mr. Lavenham, in a low deep tone that was full of gentle reproach, as tho wind sighs plaintively through the vast forest on an autumn night. "No — never, never can I forget!" exclaimed tho Duchess, with a sudden and even alarming excite- ment in her manner. " But lot these memories of our youthful love be buried deep in our souls, like the treasures that avarice inters in some safe and unsuspected spot ! We know that the treasures aro there : and that knowladge must prove tho sole satisfaction that cau be derived from their posses- No. 4. — Tup: Seamstiuss. 26 THE SEAMSTEESS. Bion. My honour as a woman — my duty as a wife — my pride as a lady of exalted rank, all demand this sacrifice of the heart's dearest and best affec- tions." " Nor would I attempt to wean you away from your duty, Augusta — nor to place you in a position that would turn your pride into shame — nor do aught to dim the brightness of that coronet which marriage has figuratively placed upon thy brow ! ' ' — and as Mr. Lavenham gave utterance to these words in a tone of solemn earnestness and marked emphasis, his features, naturally expressive and faultlessly regular, glowed with the animation of high-minded principle and chivalrous feeling. " Ne- vertheless," he added, with a different manner and in a softer tone, "ere we take leave of this subject — perhaps for ever, — and ere I pledge myself sacredly and sincerely never again to resuscitate, at least by means of words, those memories to which you have so beautifully and pathetically alluded,— let me enjoy the momentary satisfaction of assuring you, Augusta, that I have remained un- married simply because I never, never would prove a renegade to those vows and oaths which in earlier and happier days I pledged to you; — and if any other proof of my imperishable devotion to that love which once was my hope, my joy, and the very talisman of my happiness, — if any farther proof, I say, be wanting, you may behold it in the fact that the larger portion of my once princely fortune has been freely, cheerfully, and even eagerly given to prop up the affairs of this great ducal house the fall of which would overwhelmn yov, in its ruins ! For although time has passed over my heart, yet were its inmost recesses laid bare, it would resemble the disentombed city of the Vesuvian lava, — its gems undimmed, its jewels unfaded, — all, all the same as on that day when the fliood of burning levin poured down upon it, smothering everything, but consuming nothing ! And now that I have given thee these assurances, Augusta, my mind seems to have dis- burdened itself of a weight whence it has long sought relief; — and we will bid farewell to the sub- ject for ever !" " Oh ! why, why have we touched upon it ?" sobbed the Duchess, her tears falling thick and fast, as she supported herself — or rather clung to the arm of her companion, so that he felt all the soft elasticity of that superb form as it pressed itself against him — while the mellow lustre of the lamps fell upon her pale and agitated features. " Compose yourself, Augusta — in the name of heaven, compose yourself?" exclaimed Julius La- venham, now seriously alarmed at the emotions which his words had conjured up. j " My CJod ! wherefore did I yield to the persua- j sions of li'iends — to the commands of a father — to ' the entreaties of a mother?" murmured the still weeping and almost agonising lady, as the tide of '■ mcmony surged up higher and higher in her wilder! ng brain. " Oh ! wherefore did I not Hy to thoe on that day when they dragged me as it were to the altar ?" " Because I was then poor — unknown — friend- less," tinswered Mr. Lavenham, with a sudden accent of bitterness in bis voice; — " and ^yoM were sacrificed to i'amily exigencies !" " Oh ! you will not reproach me, Julius — you will not reproach me now'." murmured the Duchess, throwing her splendid white arms around his neck in obedience to one of those sudden and irresistible impulses which no human being can at the moment conquer, and which often give a new aspect to all the future destiny of a life. "Reproach you! — no — never — never!" exclaimed Mr. Lavenham, hurried away by his feelings to such an uncontrollable degree that he strained the weeping lady to his breast and fastened his lips upon her stainless forehead. For nearly a minute did they remain thus locked in each other's arms, — forgetful of the joyous, busy, animated scene so near at hand — deaf to the music that poured its rich volume so grandly through the brilliantly-lighted saloons — unmindful of the crowds of guests any one of whom might at a moment saunter into that conservatory ; for nearly a minute, we say, did the Duchess and her companion thus yield themselves up to the all-absorbing delicious- ness— the deep, the ineffable joy of that fervid embrace. Suddenly the noble lady extricated herself from the arms of Julius Lavenham, and fixed upon him her large dark eyes glowing with the same anima- tion that suffused itself in a burning blush over her countenance. That look, — so full of passion and shame, — so replete with mingled tenderness and despair, — was such an one as we might suppose Eve to have cast upon Adam when the conse- quences of tasting the forbidden fruit were re- vealed unto them both in the garden of Eden. " I know what you would say, Augusta," mur- mured Mr. Lavenham, his countenance becoming sorely troubled, and his entire frame trembling with agitation : " I feel all the eloquence of that fond, appealing, despairing look which you fix upon me ?" "Need I then ask you in words, Julius," said the Duchess, in a voice so low and soft that it sounded like an uncertain melody floating tremu- lously upon the breeze, — '• need I then ask you in words what course we are to pursue noio 1" " You mean, Augusta, that this weakness on our part has suddenly broken down every barrier which a stern and imperious sense of duty had enabled us to raise up against the torrent of our inclinations?" said Mr. Lavenham, looking with a fervid tender- ness into the depths of her large, dark, eloquent eyes. " My meaning was unmistakable, Julius," re- sponded the Duchess, in the same low and plaintive tone as before; — "and you have therefore read it aright. For years past — ever since the day when I became his bride — have I struggled to remain faith- ful to my duty as a wife and my reputation as a woman ; — and, although the memory of our youth- ful love hung round my soul with the charm of an undying perfume, yet in the very fortitude and constancy wherewith I resisted its influence, was there a species of mental satisfaction amounting to something more than a pious resignation — some- thing more, even, than mere contentment, — almost to happiness ! But now, by the incidents of this evening, the spell of that fortitude is destroyed — the talisman of that constancy has lost its power iu a ?iiomcut. All the affections of my youth are re- kindled, never to be subdued — much less extin- guished; — and you see before you, Julius, a woman who — though ten minutes ago shuddering at the bare idea of perilling her fame, and recoiling from THX BEAH3XBES3. 27 the thought of wrecking her honour, her reputation, and her proud position— now fuels that she cannot live longer without you, and is ready to make any sacrilice for the sake of that love which she bears thee!" " What — Oh 1 what would you have mc do, Augusta ?" demanded Mr. Lavenham, now terribly agitated; — for he was tossed upon the whirlwind of indescribable feelings — his passion for that splendid ercAture heaving him on its billows in one direction, and his honourable principles urging him with a strong current in another. " What would I have you do, Julius r" echoed the Duchess, in a voice that was full of the con- centrated emotions evincing a desperate resolve irrevocably adopted. "Take me hence — let me fly with thee — and death alone shall henceforth part us !" And once more she sank upon his breast, her own bosom heaving and sinking convulsively as she strained him in her arms. For nearly a minute was the chivalrous-minded man torn with conflicting feelings that tortured him as if he were stretched upon a rack ; the workings of his countenance indicated all the rending anguish which he thus endured; — strong spasms convulsed his soul and shook his entire being to its deepest confines. " No — no ! this must not be !" he suddenly ex- claimed, tearing himself with an almost wild ab- ruptness from the lady, who started back with a cry resembUng a suppressed shriek. " This must not be!" he repeated, in a state of terrible excite- ment; then, snatching up one of the silver fruit- knives from the table close at hand, he said in a voice that all in a moment sank and changed to a low, thick hoarseness, "Sooner, Augusta— sooner would I plunge this weapon into thy bosom and then immolate myself upon the blood-stained altar of our love, than that thou should'st live to feel the world's cold scorn and become an outcast from that society which thou wast made to gladden and embellish I No — never, never will I consent to become the destroyer of thy peace — the worker of thy ruin !" " You refuse — you refuse ! " murmured the wretched lady, sinking at his feet ; and, extending her clasped hands towards him, she said, " Strike, , JuUus — strike! Better to perish by thine hand, j than live to feel that all thy love was a mockery — i nil thine affection a falsehood and a deceit !" ' " Unhappy woman," exclaimed Lavenham, " thou art driving me to desperation— madness I I am not the master of my own actions " " Strike, I say — strike !" murmured the Duchess, whose brain was reeling and whose senses were abandoning her. " God !" ejaculated Julius Lavenham, who on his part felt as if the toils of hell were closing rapidly in around him. * * # * # * * * * The joyous scene was at its height — the dance was proceeding with all its thrilling fervour and exhilarating influence : — and the glorious music was Sounding loud and triumphant through the splendid saloons of Belmont House. The absence of the Duchess and Mr. Lavenham had not been observed ; —and their voices in the conservatory v^ero drowned by the volume of harmony which the magnificent band poured forth. The Duke himself had been for some minutes absent from the saloons : a do- mestic had delivered to him a note which seemed to have demanded his immediate attention ebewhere. Lady Mary was still receiving the marked cour- tesies of the young and handsome Earl of Mostyn- dale;— Lady Clarissa, her elder sister, was pouting in the card-room amidst the dowager whist-players ; — and the ^larquis of Ardcn was flirting with the fairest of the many lovely beings whose presence graced the ducal mansion this night. All were therefore occupied with their own amuse- ments or their own thoughts in those brilliantly- lighted saloons,— when suddenly a piercing shriek, pealing through the sounding music, struck like a death-note upon every ear. The band ceased in a moment — and for a moment also a dread silence pervaded the saloons. Every foot was paralysed in the midst of the dance — every cheek turned deathly pale— every lip became ashy white and quivering;- and eyes, that an instant before were lighted up with lore and joy, now sud- denly gazed in vacant dismay. Then there was a simultaneous rush on the part of several nobles and gentlemen towards the con- servatory whence that piercing shriek had evidently thrilled forth so agonisingly; — the ladies followed, chnging to each other as if all were menaced by some common danger ; — and in another moment the tide of startled guests poured into the hot- house. Ejaculations of mingled horror and amazement on the part of the foremost warned those who were in the rear that something terrible had occurred; and a scene of indescribable confusion, dismay, and consternation ensued. For, behold! the Duchess of Belmont was lying upon the floor of the conservatory, weltering in her blood ; and the red dyed fruit-knife which had in- flicted the woimd, was held in the hand of Mr. Lavenham, who was apparently about to escape by means of the glass door which stood wide open, when he was suddenly seized upon by the foremost gentlemen, amidst the cries of execration that branded him as the murderer of the Duchess. CHAPTER IX. THE THEEE VISITORS. —THE CATA.8X&0FHE. We stated towards the close of the preceding chap- ter that while the Duchess of Belmont and Mr. Lavenham were conversing in the hot-house, a note had been delivered to the Duke who immediately quitted the saloons to devote his attention to some urgent business to which it alluded. AVe now ob- serve more explicitly that this letter was handed to him almost immediately after his wife had pro- ceeded to the conservatory in company with Mr. Lavenham. The domestic who presented the note, whispered an intuuatioa to the effect that it re- garded some pressing matter; — and his Grace, stepping aside from the group of nobles with whom lie had been conversing, glanced hastily over the billet. A quivering sensation shot through his frame, and his naturally pale cheeks blanched as completely as if Death had suddenly laid its icy 28 THE SEAMSTEESS. hand upon hiin : but instantaneously recovering his presence of mind, he followed the servant from the brilliantly-lighted apartments. Upon gaining the landing outside, he turned somewhat abruptly round upon the domestic, and said, " Where is the man who sent up this note ?" " I have shown them into the library, my lord/' was the answer. " You have shown them ?" echoed the Duke, with a petulance which he could not control: then, in- stantaneously experiencing a sentiment of shame at making his servant the victim of his vexation, he said in a milder tone, "How many persons are there waiting below ?" " Three, my lord," was the rejoinder. The Duke asked no farther questions, but pro- ceeded at once to the library — while the domestic hastened to communicate to his fellow servants tlic suspicions which he had formed relative to the pre- sent incident. On entering the library, the Duke of Belmont found the three persons coolly and comfortably seated, as if they were " quite at home." They howeVcr rose the instant his Grace made his appear- ance; — and the rapid glance which the Duke threw upon them, one after another, produced in his mind a feeling of disgust and aversion which expressed itself for a moment upon his countenance. One was a tall, good-looking man, with that peculiar facial outline which denotes tho Hebrew race : he was well dressed, had a gentlemanly appearance, and wore upon his features a certain air of frankness and good-nature which is not usually ascribed by tale-writers to individuals of his profession. Tho other two men were not of the Jewish family : nor had they, at least so far as personal appearance went, anything to be proud of in that respect; — for their sinister countenances and ominous looks con- trasted strangely with the frank and open-hearted aspect of the Jew. Moreover, notwithstanding it was evident they had assumed their best apparel and bestowed some little attention on their toilette for this special occasion, there was a certain air of seediness about them which precluded all possibility of misconception relative to their state and circum- stance. " You are Mr, Solomon, I presume," said the Duke, conquering his aversion almost as speedily as it was conceived and forcing himself to adopt an air of more than ordinary condescension towards the individual whom he particularly addressed. " That is my name, my lord," replied the Jewish gentleman, speaking with a tone and manner that were properly respectful, without being servilely cringing or fawning. " I am sorry to have disturbed your Grace at such an hour and on such an occa- sion : but Mr. Collinson, the lawyer, insisted upon its being done to-night — and I had no alternative. I however proceeded as delicately as I could, and sent your lordship up a few lines to explain tho nature of my business. Otherwise'?! was afraid you would refuse to sec strangers this evening ; and as wc must have persisted in remaining until we did see your Grace, tho servant would have thought it odd." " I am obliged to you, Mr. Solomon, for this con- sideration on your part," said the Duke, who had listened with attention to all that the sherilF's-oflScer — for such indeed the Jewish gentleman was — had just spoken. "But surely Mr. Collinson docs not intend you to push this matter to the extreme .''" " I am afraid, my lord, that I have no alternative but to leave my men in possession," answered Mr. Solomon, glancing towards his followers, "unless the debt is paid or very satisfactory security given. But even this latter I could not take upon myself to accept. Your Grace must not blame me." " On the contrary, I have thanked you for the urbanity and delicacy which have marked your pro- ceedings, Mr. Solomon," returned the Duke. " It is too late for me to see Collinson to-night — and if your men remain in the house, my domestics will perceive in that circumstance the confirmation of those suspicions which your visit has no doubt already engendered. Are you compelled to leave your men here ?" " Having once taken possession, my lord," replied Mr. Solomon, " I dare not withdraw my followers except upon full payment. Thirteen thousand seven hundred and odd pounds, my lord, is the amount," added the officer, as he glanced at a slip of paper which he held in his hand. "By heaven! this is perplexing to a degree," muttered the Duke between his quivering lips as ho began to pace the room in an excited manner. " An execution in the abode of the Belmonts! What a disgrace — what a disgrace 1" — then, stopping sud- denly short and fixing his eyes significantly upon Mr. Solomon, he said with rapid accents, " Grant me but until to-morrow evening, and I will endea- vour to find the amount." " If your lordship means that I am to retire with my men," observed the sheriff's officer, " I must reiterate the impossibility of such a proceeding." "I will make you a handsome — a very handsome present," urged the Duke, dropping his voice to a low whisper. " I thank your Grace — but I dare not," responded Mr. Solomon. "Consider ray position — it will be ruin — total ruinl" continued that nobleman who was so proud — so haughty— and who entertained such an aver- sion for the race to which belonged the individual of whom he was thus anxiously and earnestly im- ploring a boon. "' If it be once known that there is a seizure in my house, all possibility of amicable arrangement will be destroyed. My numerous creditors " He stopped short : for he suddenly perceived that the very arguments he was using in order to per- suade Mr. Solomon to accede to his request, wero those best calculated to influence tho officer in a stern performance of his duty — inasmuch as his Grace was only laying bare the desperate condition of his circumstances. "Since your Grace has alluded to your other liabilities," said Mr. Solomon, "I think it only right to inform you that from what I have heard, one or two more executions will be issued to- morrow ; and that was the real reason why Collin- son ordered mo to bo beforehand with them and come to-night." "Then you have no power to assist mo in any way?" demanded the Duke, his manner suddenly becoming stern and severe. " None, my lord," was the officer's calm reply. " In that case I must break tho sad intelligoncd to Augusta at once," muttered tho Duke to himselti THE SEAMSTRESS, 29 ^ a terrible tightening of the heart accompanjintj the resolution which ho thus expressed. "It will not bo wise to incur the risk of her learning this fatal blow by some side-wind : I will at once seek her — lead her away for a few minutes from the festal scene — and whisper the misfortune in her ears. Oh! how I now loathe and detest that splendid gaiety — that joyous revelry which reigns in the saloons above ! 'lis the veriest mockery that could exist in the face of this tremendous calamity ! But I must away to the Duchess." Having thus mused while he again paced to and fro in a disturbed and agitated manner, the wretched nobleman abruptly quitted the apart- ment. Mr. Solomon now gave some ofBcial instructions to his two men, and was about to take his depar- ture, leaving them in possession of the ducal man- sion, when it struck him that he had better wait a little louger to ascertain whether it were yet possible for his Grace to procure the requisite amount that night and thus get rid of the seizure. He accord- ingly whilcd away a quarter of an hour by ex- amining an elegant volume of plates that lay upon the table, while his two men carried on a whispered ] ,conversati§rasp — when tbe Duke sprang forward and caught him by the arm. "Stop! — wo must not part immediately," cs- claimed his Grace, profoundly agitated. "At all events, let us talk the matter over." "Be it so," said Mr. Collinson, returning towards tho fire. " Is that your ultimatum ?" demanded the Duke, pointing towards tbe paper. "It is, my lord," was the phlegmatic reply. " You know that I am a thorough man of business and that my mind is made up in a moment. It is mado up now." "But you cannot insist upon such outrageous conditions ?" urged his Grace, with a wild mingling of indignation, anguish, and reproach in his voice and manner. "I do insist upon tbem, ray lord," answered Collinson : " that is to say, if I am to be a party in this tran30,ction." " Y''ou are taking an unworthy advantage of my ■ position," said the unliappy noblemau, almost wring- ing his hands. "You place me completely in your power — you become as it were the arbiter of tho destinies of my two daughters. Oh! Mr. Collinson, pause — reflect— re-consider the one point upon which ' we are at variance in the terms respectively pro- posed " " I have reflected, my lord — and, so far as I am concerned, there is nothing to re-consider," said tho lawyer, with that coolness which is soi provoking towards a man who is excited. " Malediction !" murmured the Duke ; and turn- ing away, he began to pace the room once more, like a chafed lion in his cage : but at the expiration of a few minutes, he abruptly accosted the lawyer, exclaiming, " If I agree, when will ftie money be forthcoming ?" "Tbe moment the banks are open — at nine o'clock," was the response : and Mr. Collinson took snuff with an air of indifference, although he was chuckling inwai'dly all tbe time, for he saw that the victory was his own. " Arc there no other terms upon which I can obtain the money f" asked the Duke, liis wavering becoming every instant more and more apparent. "None that I am aware of," replied Mr. Col- linson. "■ Will ;t/ou advance me fifty thousand— only fifty thousand — upon the joint security of myself and Lord Arden ?" demanded his Grace. " Not a penny, my lord — not a pennj'," was tho rejoinder. "Then I must accept your proposal- 1 must yield to your conditions," exclaimed the nobleman, giving utterance to the words with a great effort, and then appearing to deplore his own want of moral courage in having uttered tliem at all. "At half-past nino o'clock, Mr. Collinson, I shall expect you here with the money " "And the agreement," added tho lawyer. "In- stead of going to bed on my return home, I will sit up and prepare it. Shall I bring one of my clerks to witness it ?" " Yes— yes," I'csponded the Duke, as a sensation of faintness came over him : for be felt as if he had THE SEAMSTRESS, already consented to sign his own death-sentence. " Good night — good night." " Or rather good morning, my lord," responded the lawyer ; — and he then took bis departure. CHAPTER XI. THE DAT AFTEE THE BALL. At half-past eight in the morning the Duke issued from his bed-cliamber ; and proceeding to the apart- ment of the Duchess, he knocked gently at the door, which was immediately opened by Clementine, the French lady's-maid. She placed her finger upon her lip, as much as to imply that the Duchess was Bleeping and should not be disturbed; — and the Duke, after hesitating a moment, beckoned her to fullow him into the ante-chamber. Clementine accordingly closed the door of com- munication between the boudoir and sleeping apart- ment, the arrangements of which have already been described in a previous chapter; — and, wondering ■what the Duke could have to say to her with an air of so much mystery, she followed him to the ante- chamber belonging to that suite of rooms. " How is her ladyship this morning, do you think, Clementine?" inquired the nobleman: "at least, so far as you are enabled to judge ?" " Her Grace has slept well, my lord," was the reply. " The medical gentleman remained with her Grace, as you are aware, until nearly four o'clock ; and it was a good sign that they considered them- selves justified in leaving her for a short while. The surgeon returned half-an-hour ago and was pleased to fiud that her Grace was slumbering so tranquilly. He will come back again presently with the physi- cian." " And you will doubtless continue to attend upon your lady, Clementine ?" said the Duke, inquiringly. "It will be my duty and pleasure to remain as much as possible with her Grace, my lord," was the answer. " Good !" exclaimed the nobleman. '•' You are an excellent young woman — and I have confidence in you. It is therefore my wish that you do remain as much as you can with your lady. Her Grace will require all your care — all your attention; — and you may rest assured of being well rewarded. Day and night must you stay with her, Clementine," added the Duke, with a marked emphasis; "and to none other of her Grace's attendants must you yield up your post by her bed-side. This is my command — my wish — my entreaty: — do you comprehend?" "Yes, my lord," returned the Frenchwoman, supremely flattered by the trust thus reposed in her. "1 promise your Grace that I will not quit my dear lady oven for a moment, until she be out of danger." " Tliatis precisely what I require," said the Duke. "And you will not fail to watcli attentively for tlio moment when her Grace shall recover the faculty of speech — so that you may instantaneously communi- cate the fact to me." " I will remember all your lordship's injunctions," responded Clementine. " Not only must you keep watch for that pur- pose," continued the Duke, — "but likewise to catch the very first murmur that may escape from her tongue as the herald of the reviving power of speech. Now, do not forget to come or send and fetch me to her Grace's chamber the moment her energies and faculties appear to be recovering from the shock which they have experienced." "Your Grace shall bo obeyed in everything," rejoined the nbigail. The Duke then reiterated his promises of reward and descended to the breakfast-parlour : while Clementine hastened on tip- too back to her lady's chamber. \:'"Ah! it is no wonder that his Grace is anxious to be the first to catch whatever may fall from her lips," thought the Frenchwoman within her- self, as she contemplated the pale but beautiful countenance of the sleeping Duchess. "This affair is involved in the deepest mystery— and his Grace is perhaps jealous and suspicious of his splendid wife. But why should Lavenham endeavour to make away with her? Ah! she is doubtless innocent, poor thing! — and ber assassin was driven to desper- ation because she repulsed him. Yes — that must be the true version of the affair. They say that Mr. Lavenham has lent the Duke no end of money; — and he certainly has been very intimate at tlie house. But I never saw or heard of the slightest thing at all wrong between him and her Grace. Ho always treated her with the utmost respect ; and ho seemed remarkably fond of Lord Arden, who is not her son at all. Ho was a friend to the family in all respects, up to the terrible moment tha: he com- mitted this awful deed. But the Duke is anxious to hear the first words that her ladyship breathes when she recovers the use of her speech. No such thing, my lord— no such thing! The first person shall be a certain Mademoiselle Clementme — and that's myself ! If there's any mystery in the affair, I'll find it out somehow or another." And the abigail smiled complaisantly as the current of her thoughts led to this satisfactory dc- termioation. In the meantime, as we have already said, the Duke of Belmont had descended to the breakfast- parlour, where he was shortly after joined by his son, the Marquis of Arden. Lady Mary Melcombe, the Duke's younger daughter, was somewhat better, but unable to leave her chamber; and Lady Cla- rissa remained with her sister. The Duke and his son were therefore alone together;— and an evident embarrassment prevailed on either side. For the young Marquis had not forgotten the manner in which he had been excluded from the deliberations between his father and Mr. CoUinson: while tho Duke remembered that ho had promised his son the fullest explanations, which ho was however by no means inclined to give. " May I ask," said Charles, at length breaking the long silence which had followed tho usual morning greetings, "whether your lordship's in- terview with Mr. CoUinson was productive of satisfactory results? I presume that I may mako this inquiry without being considered indiscreet, seeing that I am somewhat interested in tho aft'airs of tho house of Belmont." " Wherefore this ironical way of addressing me, Charles ?" demanded tho Duke, in a tone of uiinglod impatience and reproach. " Homowhat interested ! Of course you arc interested " " And therefore I could not understand the mo- tive which led to my exclusion from a conference of THE SEASIS'lHESS. SO important a nature," interrupted the young nobleman, still exhibiting a certain soreness at the treatment he had experienced and which ho was just at the very age to resent, even against his own father. "Charles," said the DuTie of Belmont, after a long pause, during which ho reflected upon the best means of satisfying his son, — "your own good sense ought to tell you that it would be an ordeal of painful humiliation for a father to avow his extravagances, his follies, and his errors, in the presence of his child. You did not of your own accord offer to spare me that humiliation ; and I was therefore compelled to throw out the hint which led you to leave me alone with Mr. Collinson last night." Tliis dexterous defence on the Duke's part ac- complished the desired effect; and the Marquis of Avden suddenly saw the whole affair in a new light. Instead of his having any complaint to make against his sire, he now felt that it was he himself who had acted indiscreetly and unkindly by even for a mo- ment evincing a desire to remain as the witness of a scene fraught with humiliation for his parent. " Forgive me, my dear father, for my conduct,"' exclaimed the young Marquis, seizing his sire's hand and pressing it to his lips. "Say no more upon the subject, Charles," re- turned the Duke, thus graciously doing what the Government sometimes does — namely, vouchsafing a pardon where no offence has been committed. " I am happy to inform you that my interview with Collinson was as satisfactory as 1 could have ex- pected, and that the threatened ruin is averted." " These are indeed joyous tidings!" exclaimed the Marquis, his handsome countenance lighting up with the animation cf happiness. " I have inquired concerning m)' dear mother-in-law this morning; and I find that she has slept tranquilly. Heavens ! what could have induced Mr. Lavenham to enact the part of a cowardly assassin ?" " It must have been a sudden access of delirium, to occasion fits of which he has been subjected for many, many years past," responded the Duke, in a low, deep tone. " Alas ! my dear Charles, he is more to be pitied than blamed ; — and when I proclaim this fact — I who am the husband of his victim — you and your sisters must not be reluctant to view the occurrence, fearful though it be, in the same chari- table light." / " On the contrary, my dear father," said the young nobleman, " it gives me the most unfeigned pleasure to hear that such palliation does actually exist for a deed which otherwise would wear the aspect of an unaccountable and myterious atrocity. I have ever regarded Mr. Lavenham as a kind and generous friend : I have loved and revered him as my god-father ; — and you are no stranger to the fact that be has made me the most munificent presents at various times. But as if all that were not enough to convince me of the regard which he entertains for me, he has given me the assurance that at his death I shall find myself named the sole heir to his vast wealth. Such generosity on his part could not fail to make a deep impression upon my mind ; and it is now with a proportionate amount of satisfaction and delight that I hear you proclaim him to bo an object ot sympatliy and commiseration, rather than of loathing and abhorrence." " Such is indeed the fact, Charles," observed tUo Duke; " and I must leave you to give the necessary explanations to Clarissa and Mary, so that they may learn to look upon poor Lavenham as the victim of a cruel misfortune, rather than as the responsible perpetrator of a tremendous crime. I shall instruct Collinson to appear at the police-ofBce presently, and make similar representations to the magistrate; and j'ou, Charles, will do well to attend on my be- half and offer corroborative evidence." "That duty shall I perform cheerfully, after all you have told me," replied the Marquis of Arden. At this moment a domestic entered the room to inform his Grace that Mr. Collinson had arrived with his head clerk, and that they had been shown into the library. " Do you wish to be present at our interview, Charles ?" demanded the Duke, well knowing what the reply would be. "Assuredly not, my dear father," exclaimed the young nobleman. The Duke pressed his son's hand in approval of this filial behaviour, and then hastened to tho library. Mr. Collinson's clerk produced the deed which his master had drawn up, and a duplicate of which ho handed to the Duke of Belmont. He then proceeded to read the original, the nobleman following him attentively in tho perusal of the counterpart. When the clerk came to that clause which specified the particular conditions as Mr. Collinson had detailed them, the Duke winced visibly, as if beneath the infliction of a poignant torture. But he made no observation ; — and Mr. Collinson took smdf with an air of complaisant indifference. The reading of the document was concluded; and his Grace proceeded to atBx his signature. His hand trembled : but his lips were firmly compressed, as if to keep down the emotions which struggled to find a vent. Mr. Collinson likewise signed the deed ; — and, this being done, he counted down upon the table the sum of one hundred thousand pounds, the prineip.al portion being in Bank notes, each for a very large amount. " I must now get your clerk to go and settle the claims of certain individuals v.'ho are in a position to adopt extreme measures against me," said the Duke. " Here is a list of their names and ad- dresses." The clerk received the paper together with tho sum requisite to liquidate the amounts due to tho creditors particularised therein ; — and he forthwith took his departure to execute the commission thus entrusted to him. The Duke then gave Collinson certain instructions relative to the course that he wished to be adopted with regard to Mr. Lavenham ; — and the lawyer, having promised to fulfil tho commands thus enjoined, hkewise took leave of his Grace. At twelve o'clock precisely on that day, Julius Lavenham was placed in the dock at the Marl- borough Street Police Office, charged with an at- tempt to assassinate her Grace the Duchess of Belmont. The prisoner, though deadly pale, was apparently firm and collected. He looked neither to the right nor to the left: but maintained his eyes fixed upon the countenance of the magistrate. And yet a keen observer would not have failed to 38 THE SEAMSTBESS, notice that there was a certaiu vacancy in this set- tied gaze, and that the unfortunate geatleman was not in reality contemplating the features of the functionary on whom his looks seemed to be settled. From time to time, too, there was a certain uervous quivering of the lips, which were instantaneously compressed in order to subdue that evidence of in- ternal emotion. The court was crowded to excess : for the occur- reuce had produced an immense sensation at the West End of the town, and a myriad rumours of the most conflicting character were afloat. No legal adviser had been retained for Mr. Lavenham: but Mr. CoUinson appeared on behalf of the Duke of Belmont. The Marquis of Ardea entered the court shortly before the commencement of the proceedings; and the magistrate requested the young nobleman to take a seat upon the bench. While complying with thia invitation, Charles threw a glance of min- gled sympathy and encouragement upon the pri- soner: but the unhappy man noticed it not — or if he did, ho gave no look of recognition or acknow- ledgment in return. The case was opened; and the charge against Julius Lavenham was made in the usual manner. Several nobles and gentlemen who were present at Belmont House on the previous evening, deposed to all that they knew of the occurrence in the conser- vatory. Their evidence amounted to this : that the entertainment was suddenly interrupted by a pierc- ing scream — that they rushed to the hot-house — that the Duchess of Belmont was lying upon the floor, weltering in her blood— and that Julius Lavenham, with a fruit-knife in his hand, appeared to be on the point of escaping by means of a glass- door which stood wide open. It was likewise shown that the fruit-knife was stained with blood; and the medical testimony proved it to have been the instru- ment whereby the wound was inflicted. The physician and surgeon, having established this fact, were called upon to report relative to the present condition of the Duchess;— and they de- clared that although the wound was not mortal, and that there were even hopes of her Grace's eventual recovery, a long time must nevertheless elapse ere she could possibly be expected to give those expla- nations that would tiirow a light upon the myste- rious occurrence. "In that case," said the magistrate, "I must remand the prisoner from time to time, until the depositions of the Duchess of Belmont can be taken." All eyes were now turned upon Mr. Lavenham, whose countenance suddenly indicated by its work- jags that a fierce struggle was taking place within his soul. But the storm was speedily subdued, as if by the exercise of an iron determination on his part: and in a voice which, although low and of Bcln^ont, is to spare her the paiu of being com-' pelled to appear in the witness-box of a criminal tribunal. No proceeding on my part shall in any way impede her progress towards recovery: and therefore, when she returns to consciousness and is advancing towards convalescence, her Grace shall not be destined to experience the shock of being told that when her health will permit she must ap- pear in a court of justice to bear evidence against the assassin. For this reason, then, do I at once admit that I am guilty. And let me add, injustice to the noble lady whom I liave so diabolically out- raged, that her fair fame must not be subjected to the slightest suspicion. The guilt has been all mine own ! For years have I loved her — madly loved her: but never until last night did I venture to insult her ears by breathing into them the tale of my unhallowed affection. She acted as a virtuous woman, who is devoted to her husband, could only act in such a case. She resented the flagrant insult which I had offered her : she commanded me to quit her presence forthwith, as the sole condition on which she would forbear from unmasking me in public. Maddened by disappointment — goaded to desperation by a keen sense of the position in which my insane conduct had placed me — and acting in obedience to an uncontrollable impulse, I snatched up a knife which lay near and -you know the rest," added the unhappy man, his head suddenly sinking upon his bosom. ../' There was a strange but subdued murmur through the court, — a murmur in which horror at the man's crime and sympathy for his position, were perceptibly commingled: but all who beard him, and especially those who knew him, were well persuaded that he must have been labouring undpr some terrible fatality to have perpetrated so shock- ing a deed. ^ "I must beg to state to your worship," said Mr, Collinsou, "that his Grace the Duke of Bel- mont, for whom I have the honour to appear, ac- quits the prisoner of any premeditation, and is indeed well assured that he could only have acted in obedience to a sudden access of insanity. This view of the case is borne out by the circumstance that Mr. Lavenham has frequently been troubled with fits of delirium, which, evanescent though they be, render him utterly irresponsible for his proceed- ings while they last. I think it right to make this statement " " AVhich I am hero to corroborate," exclaimed the Marquis of Arden, springing from his seat. " I should as soon have thought to hear that my own father had committed this crime as that Mr. Lavenham was guilty of it !" The prisoner now glanced towards the young nobleman for the first time during the proceedings ; and in that rapid look which he threw upon his Bupply it. I am guilty!" The thrill of a painful sensation ran through the court : but almost before it had subsided,— while, in fact, the chords which those words had touched, were still vibrating to every heart's core, — the pri- soner continued in a somewhat less calm and mea- sured strain. "Yes — I am guilty," ho said: "and tho solo atonement which I can now make to tho Duchess measured, trembled not, he said, " If any additional god-son, there was a singular and indescribable ox testimony be needed, my own accusing voice shall prcssion. But the next moment his eyes were averted again ; — and his heaving chest bore evidence to tho violence of tho sob that convulsed him while he subdued it. "Inasmuch as tho prisoner has pleaded guilty to tho charge imputed to him," said tho ningistrato, there is no necessity for a remand ; .and 1 there- fore commit him to Newgate, to take his trial at tho ensuing assizes." The moment this decision was pronounced, Mr. THE SEAUSTBESS. 39 Lavenham tui-ncd abruptly from the duck — the ushers and policeman cleared the way for his egress — and he hastened out of the court, as if he were anxious to escape from the gaze of those who thronged in such numbers there. CHAPTER XII. MUTUAL COSFIDENCE. It was about a week after the occurrences just re- lated ; — and if we peep into Miss Barnet's chamber, one evening at about six o'clock, we shall find that young person and Virginia Mordaunt seated at the tea-table, where the former naturally presided in her quality of hostess. For she had invited the seamstress to pass- the evening with her and have a pleasant chat ; — and inasmuch as Virginia had been toiling hard for the last three or four days with the work that she obtained through Miss Barnett's good offices, she was not sorry to indulge in a few hours' recreation. The tea-table presented an appearance of neatness harmonizing with the general aspect of Miss Bar- net's chamber. The metal tea-pot was polished to a degree that made it look like silver : the cups and saucers, sugar-basin, and milk -jug were arranged with due precision upon the tray; — and a new coUage-loaf, a seed-cake, and a small pat of fresh butter constituted the fare. A cheerful fire blazed in the grate : the curtains were drawn over the window ; — and the mellow light shed by a candle- lamp in the middle of the table, enhanced the air of humble comfort which characterised the room. As Virginia glanced around, she could not help envying Julia (he possession of such a neat abode: that is to say, she did not experience the sentiment of envy in.its evil meaning — much less was she jeal- ous of the comparative prosperity of her friend ; — ■ but she wished that she herself was as comfortably situated. Xot but that she still entertained some very distant misgivings relative to the source of this prosperity, — misgivings as vague and undefinable to her comprehension as the unknown terrors of those presentiments of evil which so frequently steal into the human mind without any apparent cause. Be- sides, Virginia was of so candid, pure, and confiding a nature, that she could not easily be induced to think ill of one who had behaved so kindly to her; — and she therefore did all she could to hush those uncertain suspicions which nevertheless, and in despite of herself, continued to float dreamily in her mind, but without making any vivid impression. The contrast between those two young females was assuredly great, and might now be especiallv noticed, seated as they were ulonc together in friendly companionship. The one was the personi- fication of a luxurious sensuousness : the other was the impersonation of the tenderest sensibilities; — the one was a glowing, ardent, impassioned Hebe- like creature, whom the libertine would covet as a mistress : the other was a retiring, bashful, in- genuoui, and Sylphido being, whom the true admirer of woman's angelic qualities would glory to make his wife: — the one was a true descendant of Eve after the fcll, when the diadem of innocence and immortality bad been dashed from the brow of the mother of the human race, leaving her the only charm of her external graces : but the other re- sembled Eve while yet in the garden of Eden and before the forbidden fruit had stained the virginal purity of her lips. Such were the different and antagonistic lights in which Julia Barnet and Virginia Mordaunt were to be regarded, — the former calculated only to minister to the luxurious longings of the man of pleasure — but the latter adapted to become the ornament, the honour, and the happiness of a good man's home. Whether the virtues of our orphan heroine will conduct her to that enviable destiny, will appear in the sequel. Miss Barnet did the honours of her tea-table in the most friendly manner. She was a young woman without any ridiculous affectation : and she did not look down with the air of a patroness upon the orphan seamstress -whom she was entertaining in her comfortable room. If she despised anything in reference to Miss Mordaunt, it assuredly was not her poverty — but her virtue : and as she contem- plated the sweet countenance which was impressed with an air of innocence as natural as that of a child, she thought within herself that the jpoverty of the young seamstress would not be long ere it broke down every barrier that protected the virtue! "Xow that we are seated so comfortably and in such a friendly manner together, my dear Virginia," said Miss Barnet, when the repast was concluded, " you shall tell me as much as you choose relative to your past history. For you are so young to be an orphan and so completely friendless in the world : although, be it understood, my dear girl, I mean to prove a friend to you to the utmost of my power " " You have already, Julia," observed our heroine, hastily \^-iping away the tears which had begun to trickle down her cheeks at the mention of that orphan state the bitterness of which she had been doomed to feel so keenly. "Had it not been for you, I do not know what would have become of me. But you were asking me concerning my earlier history ; and the friendship you have testified towards me, merits my fullest confidence. Listen, then — and I will enter upon a narrative which has so many features of varied interest for me, dull and tedious as it may perhaps appear to you." " On the contrary," exclaimed Miss Barnet, draw- ing her chair closer towards the fire; — "I am certain to sympathise with you in any feelings that the fletails of your history may engender, bcrausa I already entertain a very sincere friendship for you. And now proceed, my dear girl: I am all attention." "My father died when I was quite an infant," began Virginia; "and my mother never mentioned to me the station of life which he filled. She never spoke of him of her own accord: and if I occasion- ally ventured a question upon the subject, she would reply laconically and immediatel}- direct the con- versation into another channel. And very, very seldom was it that I ever did recur to that topic: for she was an excellent, kind, and indulgent parent towards me — and I would not lor worlds have wil- fully caused her the slightest afiliction. I was her only child — and she loved me tenderly. Three years have elapsed since she was snatched away from me — and at the lime of her death I was only fifteen. But, though too young to be thus aban- 40 THE SEAMSTEESS. doned to a state of orpLanage, I was nevertheless old enough to retain a vivid impression of every- thing that had taken place during the last few years of my poor mother's life. She was not rich — far from it: but she was in comfortable circum- stances. Otherwise she would not have been able to give me a respectable education. We inhabited a small house at Pentonville; and the furniture, which was neat though plain, was my mother's own property. From the earliest period that my me- mory was susceptible of the impressions made by the ordinary circumstances of life, I recollect that a gentleman was accustomed to call upon my mother at particular intervals. Eegularly as quarter-day came round, did this gentleman make his appear- ance ; and my mother as invariably seemed to ex- pect him — for she never oajitted to be at home on those occasions. In the same unchanging manner, too, did she receive him alone in the parlour, an established habit as regularly leading me to retire to my own chamber the instant his well-known knock was heard periodically at our door. He was accustomed to remain about two or three minutes — never longer; and I of course suppose — although my mother never gave me any information upon the subject— that this gentleman was some profes- sional agent who paid her a quarterly allowance. For any little out-standing accounts that there might happen to be, were invariably liquidated so soon as he had taken his departure. But all this is mere conjecture : for I never learnt who he was — nor did he give any name to the servant when he paid his regular visits. He merely knocked at the door — inquired if Mrs. Mordauut were at home — and then walked into the parlour as a matter of course. Two or three times, however, I caught a glimpse of his countenance ; not that I ever gave way to any culpable sentiment of curiosity with regard to that gentleman — much less thought of playing the part of a spy in respect to anything connected with a mother whom I loved so devotedly. It was purely through accident that I beheld him on those occasions : once when the maid-servant opened the front door as I was issuing from the par- lour in order to retire to my own chamber — a second time, when he passed by the window at which I happened to be standing as ho came a little earlier than usual — and a third time, when I was returning home from executing a little commission for my mother and he was just descending the steps of the street-dour. On each occasion he bowed politely and looked at me with a certain degree of atten- tion: but he never once addressed me in a single observation." "But jou would know him again, were you to meet him anywhere ?" said Julia, inquiringly. " Yes — amidst a thousand persons, or at the farthermost parts of the earth," replied Virginia, with the warmth of certainty as to the answer she was giving. " But I fear that it would be productive of no benefit to me, if I were to en- counter Lim," she added in a mournful tone : " because his visits to the house ceased when my poor mother died — and therefore I must conclude that whatever the motive of those visits might have been, it extended not beyond her lifetime. Three years have now elapsed since that dear parent's death took place ; and the catastrophe was all the more terrible because it occurred with such appalling suddenness. We had partaken in the evening of our wonted frugal supper — and we sate up half-an-hour later than was our custom, because my mother had become interested in a book of travels which I was reading to her. I never remembered to have seen her more cheer- ful or in better spirits. It was eleven o'clock when we retired to our respective chambers ; and she embraced me with her wonted tenderness as she bade me ' good night ' at the door of my room. Ah! who would have thought that in the depth, and silence, and moonshine of that lovely night, the Angel of Death was stealing into a happy home to bear away the spirit of one of its occupants and leave the other to all the madden- ing affliction of that sudden bereavement ? Yet so it was ? I remember that on retiring to my own chamber I paused for a few minutes at the window, ere I closed the curtains, to contemplate the tran- quil splendour of that starlit night. The heaven was of a deep blue, stretching like a vast canopy studded with gems, over the entire earth ; — and the crescent-moon was pi/re and cold as silver. It seemed to me as if angels were looking down upon the world from those far-off planets ; and my spirit received hope, and confidence, and inspiration from the thought. Never, never can I forget the thrill of ecstatic pleasure which shot through my heart as I felt that all the good genii of other spheres were holding their protective shields over the denizens of this, and that the Almighty would vouchsafe his mercy and his love to those who besought his grace. Under the influence of such feelings as these did I kneel down to pray : and the outpourings of my mingled gratitude and intercession were longer and more fervid than they had ever been before. Yoa will pardon me, Julia, for dwelling upon such circumstances : but the impressions of that evening, trifling as they may appear to you, have become seared as it were with red-hot ii-on upon my brain." " Go on — go on, Virgiuia," said Miss Barnet, much moved and still more deeply interested by the young maiden's narrative, so artless and so touching. *■■ I am no fanatic, Julia," continued Miss Mor- daunt, in a low voice that was plaintive and tremu- lous as some woodland melody of nature's own cre- ation: "much less am I a hypocrite. But I believe that there is something consolatory, soothing, and encouraging in prayer : and even if this be only the work of the imagination, the effect is still the same. On that memorable night of which I am speaking I retired to my couch happier if possible than I had felt for a long time. My dreams were cheerful as my sleep was refreshing: not a suspicion— not a presentiment of evil was commingled with those visions. When I awoke in the morning, the sun was already throwing its pensile rays between the curtains into my chamber; audi saw that it was later than the hour at which I had been wont to rise. My toilet was therefore perlbruied hastily; and I descended to the parlour in the expectation of finding that my mother had already risen. But she was not there ; and the servant said that she believed her mistress must be still sleeping, as she had just knocked at her bed-room door without obtaining any answer. Far from anticipating the tremendous affliction that was in store for me, I ascended to my mother's chamber and knocked gently : but no re- sponse was given. I knocked louder— but still KO. G. — TitE SrAilSTHESS. THE SEAMSTRESS. without the desired effect. Then was it for the first time that an unknown terror, dim and vague as a shadowy form seen amidst the darkness of night, took possession of me; — and the infection of my alarm was speedily caught by the servant. The door of my mother's chamber was fastened inside, and we could not open it. Louder and louder did I knock : but still no reply was given. I implored my mother to answer me ; and when I paused to listen, all was silejit as the grave. Maddened by the ex- cruciation of the terrors which now swayed me, I resolve t upon having the door broken open. A carpenter was sent for; and during the few minutes which elapsed ere he came, I sate down upon the stairs and wept the bitterest, most burning tears that ever flowed from my eyes. My mind was now macle up to the worst; and all the horrors of my orphan lot expanded before my mental view, like a rapid succession of hideous phantasmagorian scenes. At length the carpenter came — the door was forced open— and then a mortal tremor seized upon me as I essayed to cross that threshold which now seemed to me like the entrance to a sepulchre in which all hope was buried. The carpenter and the servant seemed to hang back in consternation : for the awful gloom of death was already filling the air of that house ! Summoning all my courage to my aid, I entered — and a single glance flung through the opening of the drapery confirmed all my worst anprchcnsions. There — in that couch to which she had retired apparently full of health and spirits — lay the inanimate form of my mother! The rending shriek which burst from my lips proclaimed the dreadful truth to those who still lingered upon the threshold; — and the servant sprang forward to re- ceive me in her arms as I staggered back beneath the weight of intolerable affliction. But in obe- dience to a sudden impulse, I threw myself upon the corpso of my pai-ent, and gave vent to all the passionate wildness of my grief. The carpenter ran to letch a surgeon; — but medical aid came too late — Oh ! far too late. My mother had been dead many hours: the vital heat had already abandoned her form, leaving it cold as marble — and as marble, pale! Her spirit had evidently quitted its mortal tenement 80 tranquilly that not even the trace of a death-pang was observable upon the calm and placid counte- nance, which would have appeared to be reposing only, but for that marble pallor !" Virginia paused : for her voice Lad become broken and scarcely audible with the profound sobs that convulsed her bosom — and the tears were now rain- ing down her cheeks. Julia Barnet, more deeply moved than ever in her lifetime she had been before, ministered the kindliest consolations; and, when the re-awakened affliction of the orphan girl had found a sufEcient vent, she became soothed. " Did you ever learn the cause of your mother's sudden death ?" inquired Julia, in a soft and gentle tone. "The medical man accounted for it by natural means," responded Virginia, her own voice still continuing tremulous and broken. "Oh! my mother was too good a woman to have dreamt of sell-destruction!" she excluimed with a sudden anxiety to rescue her revered partint's memory from the slightest suspicion on that score. " She was buried : I saw her remains consigned to the deep and silent grave; — and when my ears cauirht the dreadful sound of the earth thrown upon the coffin O God ! it seemed as if all the vital cords were snapping asunder one after the other in my heart and in my brain ! In a frantic condition was I borne from the churchyard : and for some months I hovered as it were between utter madness avid some lucid intervals of reason. At length I began gradually to grow calmer and more tranquil ; — and the necessity of Christian resignation dawned in by degrees upon my soul. The servant then ventured to hint that I should look into the state of my affairs ; — and I proceeded to examine my mother's desk to ascertain whether she had left any documents of importance or written instructions for my guidance. But tliero was not a single paper which threw the faintest light upon these matters which it was so necessary for me to know thoroughly. The sources of her income — the name and address of that gen- tleman who was wont to visit her, — all, all these important details were buried in profound mystery. I now learnt from the servant that the gentleman alluded to had called one day — at the proper time indeed for his periodic al visit — but while I was confined with delirium to my bed. He had seemed much astonished at hearing of my mother's death- made some brief inquiries concerning myself — and then abruptly took his departure without another word. He left no money, nor gave the slightest intimation of an intention to return at any future time. This conduct on his part was full of evil omen. It proved that if he really were an agent or a friend wlio was accustomed to pay my mother a. quarterly stipend, the allowance was not to be con- tmued to me. But anxiously and even hopefully — or rather despairingly, I know not which — did I linger on in expectation of the arrival of the ensuing quarter-day. It came — it passed; and the stranger- gentleman appeared not ! My utter friendlessness was now made apparent beyond all possibility of doubt ; — and I found myself involved in serious difficulties. My mother's funeral had absorbed nearly all the money which I discovered in the desk ; — and during the months which followed, I had subsisted chiefly by incurring debts with the tradesmen who were wont to supply the household. No alternative now remained but to dispose of the furniture to settle the liabilities which had been incurred; — and when this was done and the debts discharged to the uttermost farthing, I had but a few pounds left, besides a bed, a tabic, a few ch lirs, and some other trifling neces- saries. Of course I gave up the house and parted with the servant, who had been a good friend to me, but whom my circumstances would not per- mit me to retain any longer. Tiien I took a small chamber, to which I removed and endea- voured to obtain needle-work. But day after day brought its renewed disappointment ; — and frugally — sparingly — almost starviugly as I lived, my little reserve of money was growing less and less. Ah ! Julia, how bitter, bitter wore the scalding tears which I shed when, wearied and dispirited, I re- turned homo after a day's anxious wandering in search of employment! Had my poor mother been alive, I could have borne it all— oh! cheerfully borne it all: for we should have mingled our tears to- gether — and at least she would have been there to give me her blessing ! But I was alone — alone in the world — an orphan and friendless; — audi used THE SEAMSTRESS. 43 to pray to Leaven, in the anguish and bitterness of mj spirit, that I might be taken away from this earth on which there was not a hand to succour me, nor an eye to look kindly upon mo, nor a lip to breathe a word of solace in my ears. Death, so ter- rible to some, would have been so welcome to me ! For it was in the soUtude of my chamber that I experienced a full sense of all the dread loneliness of my condition; and there were moments when I would cover my face with my hands and endeavour to persuade myself that it was all a hideous dream and that it was impossible for me to be so thoroughly wretched as I fancied I was ! I asked myself bow I had sinned against heaven to deserve such tre- mendous afllictionSj — I who have never trodden upon a worm, much less done an injury to a single human being in existence ! Oh ! when I think of all I suffered — all the an;;uish I endured for thefii-st year after my poor mother's death, I am amazed that I could have ever survived the rending tortures of that affliction ! " Poor Virginia 1" murmured MlssBarnet, taking her young friend's hand and pressing it warmly: for the orphan was now weeping bitterly again. " You have indeed suffered severely — severely ! But do not despair — do not give way to despondency. Take the world as you find it — and bend to all the circumstances of life. It is impossible that you can fail to prosper iu the long run: you carry a fortune in your countenance. But with the needle alone Oh I no — never — never!" "Tell me what you mean, Julia," exclaimed iMiss Mordaunt, suddenly wiping away her tears, and speaking with an earnestness as if she were resolved to venture a desperate query in order to elicit a response that should clear up some mystery, of the truth of which she however entertained a glimmer- ing suspicion. " I will be candid with you, Virginia," said Miss Bamet, after a few moments' hesitation. "You need not tell me any more of your history : I can divine the rest. IIow you were forced to part with the greater portion of the little articles that were left to you after the sale of your furniture,— how you were compelled to shift from place to place as circumstances dictated, — how you have been strug- gling against difficulties until you moved into this house a few weeks ago and were accidentally thrown I in the way of Mrs. Jackson who has made a profit of your toil to sustain herself in indolence, — how all tliese things have happened to you, I can well understand: for those successive circumstances con- stitute the history of thousands of poor friendless creatures like you. With a slight variation here and there, perhaps, all this portion of your narra- tive is mhie also : but I have advanced a step far- ther than you in the career of the seamstress." "And that step?" ejaculated Miss Mordaunt, with a cold shudder passing over her like a presen- timent. % " In plain language, my dear friend," returned Miss Barnct, stooping forward and whispering the response in a luw tone, — " you have hitherto retained your virtue— whereas I have lost mine!" The veil fell from the young maiden's eyes, — that veil which until that moment had remained drawn between her suspicions on the one side and the fatal truth on the other, — that veil which had so far served the artless candour and the confiding gene- I rosity of her character as to prevent her misgivings relative to her now friend from expanding into the broad glare of a settled conviction. Her first impulse was to start from tho chair and I fly the presence of one who had just betrayed her own shame, — yes — fly, as slie would from tempta- I tion ! But some feeling, as unaccountable as it was indomitable, transfixed hrr to her seat; — and tho remembrance of her deep obligation to Miss Baruet, and likewise the thought that this young female had most probably been made the victim of some cruel circumstances over which she had no control, flashed simultaneously to the mind of Virginia. "You must not be shocked at me — you njust not; even think the worse of mc for what I have told\ you," said Julia, partially reading the thoughts ; which were traversing her young friend's imagina- ' tion. " Look here, Virginia," she continued, in an | impressive and almost solemn tone: "and listen" attentively ! I did not make society as it is : I was ' , born into it such as it is — I was compelled, willing f or unwilling, to yield to the circumstances arising! from its false, its. vitiated, its unjust condition andi influence. I would have remained virtuous if the ' world had allowed me. But it would not. Poverty — cold — disappointment — hunger — crushing toil — and rags, — these are enemies which strike at the most rigid virtue with the fury of a battering-ram. A far stronger edifice than mine would have given way. For I, too, have known what a cheerless garret is — without fire in the long, long nights of winter: I, too, have experienced the hardships of oppressive labour, and the horrors of starvation! I have worked as severely and arduously as you— I have worked, indeed, till my back has ached and the pain has spread all over my body, just as if I had been beaten with rods ! I have worked, Vir- ginia, until my eyes have grown dim, and my brain has reeled, and life seemed ebbing away from ^oy heart! I have worked in the cold until my limbs have been rigid as if with paralysis — until my fingers have been so benumbed that it appeared as if they might be chopped off with a hatchet and yet cause no pain. I have wept, too, over my work — oh! I have wept such bitter, scalding tears that it is a wonder my eyes were not burnt out of their sockets and my cheeks seamed all down ! And I, too, have prayed, Virginia — have prayed for release from that accursed state of mingled thraldom, and destitution: aye — and I have done more, Virginia — yes — more than you — for I have seriously and steadily looked Death in the face for long, long hours together wheu I have contemplated suicide!" "O horror! horror!" ejaculated the young seam- stress, covering her countenance with her hands, as if to shut out some fearful spectre from her view. "Will such a fate ever bo mine? — am I to pass through the same tremendous ordeal ?" "How much of the same destiny is already known to you, poor girl P" asked Miss Bamet, in tones of the deepest and most unfeigned commiseration. "Ah! do not deceive yourself, my dear friend: it is better that you should learn the whole dreadful truth at onco! Already — yes, already — are you advancing at a headlong pace towards the precipice whicli juust swallow up your virtue, your innocence, your compunctions, and your faith iu heaven, at the same time! You have work now — just for the moment : but how wretchedly is it paid ! And then 44 THE SEAMSTRESS. only consider to what a slender thread it hangs. A slackness in the custom at the shop of my friend's employers— or the discovery that my friend gives me this very work which I hand over to you— or her sudden death, or loss of situation, or removal to a better place, — oh ! how many chances have you against the continuance of that work, my poor Virginia. You think yourself wretched now: but believe me when I tell you that your condition may become ten thousand times worse. One evening — it was on a cold winter's night — I had been toiling hard for three days to finish a dress— I was starving —all my limbs were like ice — and I took home the work. The shutters of the shop were put up : the people had failed that day. A bailiff who was in possession under a writ of seizure, received the dress from me and told me that there- was no money — that I must make a claim to the official assignee and take my chance with the rest of the creditors. Con- ceive my position : it was awful ! Goaded to des- peration, I stretched out my hand in the street to implore such alms as God might send me through some charitable person. But the hand that was out- stretched in the hope of receiving the pittance of benevolence, was suddenly touched by the gold of the tempter. I was famishing — I had no means of paying my rent, and I knew that it was useless to return to my miserable garret without the sum due to a merciless landlady. Now, could the strongest- minded woman resist the temptation ? I did not !" " Alas ! my dear friend," murmured Virginia, taking Miss Barnet's hand and pressing it with even a sisterly warmth, — " I was just now disposed to blame you : but at present I commiserate you — deeply, deeply commiserate you!" "You need not do it now, Virginia — it is too late!" exclaimed Miss Barnet. "My destiny has been chalked out, and is being pursued ! I fell — and ever since that time I have been happier. Yes —■I have learnt to laugh at shame and ridicule virtue — aye, and mistrust religion. I could not make up my mind to die for virtue's sake : and so I live in comparative comfort on what priests and prudes may denominate the wages of vice. Well — but these wages are better than starving virtue — and human nature is too frail to hesitate long between the alternatives. Let those who blame me, act justly and blame the system of society. I am one of its victims — not one of its modellers. The model- lers of society are the rich, the wealthy, and the indolent great; — and the poor, miserable, starving workers are the victims. All these thoughts have been engendered in my mind by hours and hours of reflection upon my own circumstances and my own experience. Go and gaze through the brilliantly-lighted windows of the great mansions at the "West End of the town, and watch the forms of the dancers as they throw their shadows upon the curtains while bounding past : then say to yourself that the gorgeous robe and elegant dress of every liigh-born lady there is stained by the life-blood and infected by the pollution of the poor seamstresses who made them all !" "Just heaven: this picture is indeed too true !" exclaimed Virginia, wringing her hands. " And is there no hope for any unfortunate being of that oppressed class who may resolve to remain pure and spotless i" "Jlope for the virtuous seamstress!" ejaculated Miss Barnet, with a bitter laugh. " No, no, Vir- giuia— ten thousand times no! Ah I we met to have a pleasant and agreeable conversation: but the discourse has taken a sad and fearful turn. And never, never have I been so much moved by profound feelings since the day on which I plunged into the abyss of what the world calls shame. Your own history first touched a cord which long had slumbered in my soul; — and the vibration, which went to the deepest confines of my being, aroused all the latent associations that slept in the profound- est cells of my memory. But I will confess to you the whole truth, Virginia : I will keep nothing un- revealed with regard to myselfv In plain terms, then, I am now receiving the visits of a young gen- tleman who is handsome as an angel. I only know him as Mr. Osmond: but I have reason to believe that he is something higher in the social sphere. However, I do not annoy him with questions on that point, because he is kind and good to me : and, after all, it is only a suspicion on my part. He is not very well off: but he allows me enough to live in the manner which you see. Sometimes I do a little work for amusement's sake: but not often. I had so much of it — too much — when I was toil- ing sixteen hours a-day for a crust I Mr. Osmond has not been to see me for the last week : but ho has written me a kind note to assure me of his continued attachment; — and moreover I am not jealous. I know that I am handsome — and when he is weary of me, I shall not be long in finding another friend. That is my history !" And when Virginia took leave of Miss Barnet soon after ten o'clock, she retired to her own cham- ber with a deeper experience in the world's ways and a sadder state of feeling than she had known for a long, long time past. CHAPTER XIII. A PEKILOUS ADVENXURE. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon of the following day, that Miss Mordaunt issued from the lodging-house in Tavistock Street, to take home a dress to ^a lady residing in Spring Gardens. This was a portion of the work which she had received through the kind agency of Miss Barnet : but Mrs. Robinson, the forewoman who thus privately gave Julia materials to be made up, had requested that this iiarticular gown should be taken direct to tho lady for whom it was intended. By rights Miss Barnet ought to have conveyed the dress home, as Mrs. Robinson was altogether ignorant that Julia gave out the work to another person : but that young lady was expecting a visit from Mr. Osmond, in consequence of a note which she had received in tho morning — and she accordingly despatched Virginia with tho dress. Our heroine passed rapidly along Tavistock Street, with the band-box in her hand; — and in a low minutes she turned into the Strand. Her looks were more than usually pensive — her countenance was very pale: for lier conversation with Miss Barnet on tho preceding evening had made a deep impression upon her mind. Tho purity of her soul had not been diminished : but her experience had undergone a material expansion. She loved virtue rilE SEAMSTRESS. 4.5 as much as ever : but she now trembled lest an inexorable destiny should force her footsteps aside from the straightforward path which she hoped to be enabled to pursue. Ilcr confidence in herself was not precisclj weakened — because no impure aspira- tions had been kindled in her soul by the revelations of Miss Baruct : but she dreaded lest she should sooner or later find herself placed betwixt the dread alternatives— suicide or loss of innocence! Oh! it is shocking, shocking to think that the chastity of that young creature should have been even so far outraged and insulted by having such reflections as these forced upon her contemplation. And yet she could not shut those thoughts out from her mind: no struggle of which human nature is capable, could exclude the ideas which her own perilous position thus irresistibly conjured up. She endeavoured to fix her thoughts upon her mother's image — and then upon those incidents that v.'orc best calculated to engross them : such as the tragic occurrence at the Duchess of Belmont's eight days previously, and the subsequent committal of Jlr. Lavenham on a charge of murder. All these par- ticulars she had read, with amazement and sorrow, in a newspaper which Miss Barnet had lent her: and whenever the incidents recurred to her mind, she invariably murmured to herself, " I cannot be- lieve that the kind-hearted gentleman who was so good to me, could possibly have been guilty of such a deed!" But we must now follow the young maiden as we find her pursuing her way along the Strand towards Spring Grardens, — her eyes bent modestly upon the pavement over which her beauteous feet moved with such glancing lightness, — and her whole bearing indicative of the modesty that is anxious to escape observation. And it was in consequence of this bashful reserve on her part that she failed to notice the circumstance of her being now fol- lowed by that same handsome young gentleman wlio had accosted her a week previously in Grosvenor Square. ' This young gentleman, as the reader is well aware, was none other than the Marquis of Arden ; — and he was just issuing from a banking-house in the Strand, whither hs had been to obtain the money for a cheque given to him by his father, when he instantaneously recognised the lovely seamstress who was passing at the time. Although the Mar- quis was much weighed down in spirits, on account of the lamentable events which had so recently occurred, an ejaculation of joy burst from his lips as he caught sight of that sweetly interesting counte- nance : for it appeared as if an angel of light had suddenly crossed his clouded path. But so absorbed was Virginia in her own reflec- tions that she heard not the exclamation of pleasure, although it was uttered close to her car : nor, indeed, did she observe the young Marquis at all. There ■was a charm about her, plainly apparelled and re- tiring in manner though she were, that operated like an attractive spell upon the heart of the youth- ful nobleman; — and without any definite object in view — that is to say, without entertaining any set- tled intention regarding her, he immediately began to follow her footsteps, although he had an appoint- ment to keep elsewhere. There had been a levee at St. .James's Palace that day, — one of those trumpery and nauseating scenes which form the delight of a frivolous, vain, and ostentatious aristocracy; — and the carriages were just bearing away the various personages who had been present at the gew-gaw show of contemptible pomp and display. The neighbourhood of Charing Cross was therefore busy with the passage of those vehicles, — some bearing their titled owners towards Whitehall, and others conveying bloated aldermen and bedizened sheriff's back into the City. Absorbed in her reflections, Virginia was incau- tiously traversing a thoroughfare thronged with public and private vehicles of all descriptions, when cries of alarm suddenly burst upon her ears — fol- lowed by the close trampling of horses' hoofs, and then the plunging of the animals themselves. Wildly she glanced around— and the next moment sha was struck down by a blow dealt her on the shoulder by the head of one of the restive horses belonging to the carriage of a civic authority. A shriek burst from her lips — the band-box rolled away to a little distance — and ejaculations of alarm echoed on the footway on either side of the street. But at the very instant when the destruction of the young maiden appeared inevitable, beneath the hoofs of the plunging horses, the Marquis of Arden sprang to her aid with the swiftness of an arrow shot from a bow. Gallantly daring the same peril which menaced the prosti-ate Virginia, he tore her as if it were from the ground — clasped her in his arms — and rushed with her into the nearest shop. A policeman who was passing at the time, hastened to pick up the band box, which fortunately was unin- jured ; — and the crowd that they had collected for a few minutes, speedily dispersed on ascertaining that the poor girl had received no serious hurt. The shop into which the Marquis of Arden had hurried with his almost inanimate burthen fortu- nately chanced to bo that of a chemist ; and resto- ratives were therefore immediately administered. Virginia soon recovered : but no pen can convey an adequate idea of her mingled amazement and alarm when her beauteous blue eyes rested upon the countenance of the handsome young nobleman. A painful confusion brought back the vital colouring to her cheeks all in a moment ; — and then she as suddenly became pale again, while her whole form trembled like an aspen-leaf. The chemist, mistaking her emotions for the mere efl'ects of the extreme terror which she had just undergone, hastened to mix some soothing cordial; — and the instant liis back was thus turned, the Marquis of Arden said ia a low, tender, and hurried whisper, " Do not be afraid of me ! Have I not risked my life to save your's ?" A consciousness of ingi-atitudo struck like a re- morse to the soul of Virginia; — and she hastened to apologise in subdued, low, and broken murmurs, for not having immediately expressed her heartfelt thanks to her deliverer. "Do not attempt to excuse yourself, I implore you," said Charles, every veinthrilUng with rapture, as that soft voice wafted its tones of tremulous melody to his ears, and as the carnation blush re- turned to the maiden's cheeks. "It would be im- possible for you to ofl'oud me ; — and had I received a mortal injury in the attempt to rescue you, my expiring breath should have been laden only with the language of love. Ah! now you are angry v/ith me " 46 THE SKAMSTEESS. For Virginia had started resentfully as he gave utterance to those impassioned words: and then, the very next moment, she threw upon him a re- proachful and deprecatory glance, as much as to say, " It is ungenerous to take advantage of the immense obligation under which you have laid me." " Pardon me, I implore you," whispered Charles, full well comprehending the meaning of that elo- quent look. All this rapid interchange of words and varying excitement of feelings scarcely occupied a minute j at the expiration of which the chemist turned again towards Virginia and bade her swallow the mixture which he had just been compounding. She did so, and immediately afterwards rose from the chair in which her gallant young deliverer had placed her : but the chemist enjoined her to rest for a few mi- nutes longer — and the voice of professional autho- rity in which he spoke compelled her to obey. At this moment the policeman entered the shop with the band-box; and the Marquis of Arden instan- taneously presented him with a sovereign for his trouble. The officer expressed his thanks and withdrew ; — and when the eyes of Charles were again turned upon the seamstress, he saw that this generosity which he had shown on her behalf, had deepened the blush of confusion upon her cheeks. He also felt confused : for he knew not what to say in order to relieve the sentiment of shamo which the natural delicacy of Virginia's mind experienced oa behold- ing her deliverer thus display on her account a mu- nificence which she was not in a position to return. In the bewilderment of his own feelings he threw down another sovereign as a recompense to the chemist for the trouble occasioned; — and taking up the band-box, he presented his arm to the maiden to conduct her out of the shop. Blushing and trembling with a confusion that threw all her ideas into a perfect chaos, Virginia mechanically took the proiTered arm of the Mar- quis, whose name and rank were however still unknown to her : but scarcely had she thus obeyed the instinctive impulse of courtesy, when she per- ceived that her companion held the band-box in his band. " No, no!" she exclaimed suddenly: " I could not think of submitting you to such a humiliation;" — and abandoning his arm, she snatched the band- box from him with the abruptness of a nervous excitement. " You will at least accept my arm and permit mo to escort you in safety through the crowded streets ?" Baid Charles, fixing upon her a look of deep and touching reproach. "You are overwhelming me with obligations," murmured Virginia, as she once more laid her hand lightly upon his arm: for the thought suddenly flashed to her mind that in another moment the scene would wear a singularly ridiculous aspect in the eyes of the chemist. To put an end, therefore, to the extreme awkward- ness of her position in that respect, the young maiden accepted the escort of her deliverer, to whom she moreover entertained a natural sentiment of gratitude that forbade any discourteous abrupt- ness on her part. 'Do you now experience any ill effect from the recent accident ?" inquired the Marquis, the moment they issued from the chemist's shop — and the tone in which he spoke was respectful and tender. " Ifone, I thank you — that is to say, only a slight pain on the shoulder," responded Virgiraa, her heart fl.uttering like a bird in its cage — for shj was agitated with the most conflicting feehngs, — f.n anxiety to separate from her deliverer, and yet a fear of seeming ungrateful to one whom she owed her safety, if not her life. "Yes — the horse struck you upon the shoulder with his head as he was plunging violently," said the Marquis. " But I thank God it was no worse !" "My deepest gratitude is due to you, sir, for your generous succour," returned the maiden, trembling with embarrassment and perplexity. "That debt I can never pay you: but the money you expended on my behalf — that at least I must endeavour to return " " Good God ! can you think of such a thing ?" exclaimed the young Marquis, in an impassioned tone: then, without giving the seamstress time to reply, even if she were able at the moment to find words for an answer, he said, " You had every reason the other day to think ill of me : but I im- plore you not to imagine for a moment that I in- tended to offer you an insult. Oh! you must per- mit me to explain my conduct on that head, even though the explanation itself should recall a look of resentment to your countenance. But I was so struck on that occasion by your appearance, that I was not the master of my own actions ; and with a respectful admiration did I accost ycu " '•' Oh ! sir, you surely are unaware how painful this discourse must be to my feelings!" interrupted Virginia, in a tone of earnest appeal. " You have behaved generously to me — most generously — most nobly: do not — do not mar the eflect of such truly gallant conduct by addressing me in a language to which I can not — dare not listen." " But if I were to speak to you in the language of an honourable passion," exclaimed the Marquis of Arden, enthusiastically, " would you not at least hear me with courteous attention and think seri- ously of my proposal?" "Our stations in life, sir, arc evidently so dif- ferent," responded Virginia, in a tone of decision, '•' that I could not possibly flatter myself you were doing otherwise thau paying me some passing com- pliment. And lest you should have misunderstood my character," she added, with a flush of virgin pride upon her soft cheeks, " I beg you to learn at once that such language is most distasteful to me." " It is because I do understand your character, sweet girl," said the young Marquis, " that I am now addressing you in this manner." '■My business lies in this direction, sir," exclaimed the seamstress, suddenly abandoning the arm on which her hand had all the time reposed with a scarcely perceptible pressure. " You will now per- mit me to thank you once more for your kindness, and to take my respectful leave of you." The halt liad occurred at the corner of Spring Gardens; and the young nobleman felt that he could not prudently insist upon accompanying the maiden any farther. " One word — one single word more," he exclaimed, seizing her hand and pressing it warmly. " You THE SEAMSTRESS. '17 will give me ci'edit for the most honourable inteii- ' that haudsomc and fascinating youth to tyUoiu she tions — the most sincere motives — in beseeching already lay under such deep and signal obligations, you to afford luo an opportunity of rendering my i She according!}- paused once more, and remained a character, my disposition, and my views better prey to the embarrassment and perplexity of a cruel known to j-ou. I do not ask you to permit mo to ! indecision. visit you " " What do you require of me ?" she at length Virginia started — blushed deeply once more — asked, with eyes bent down and with blushing and abruptly withdrew the hand which the young cheeks. Marquis had for a few instants retained in his j "That you will repose in me such confidence as a own. i sister may place in a brother," replied Charles; "Oh! how unfortunate I am!" he cried: "I have offended you again. But I take heaven to witness my sincerity when I declare that such was not my intention! What can I do — what can I say, to convince you, sweet girl, that I have become inspired with feelings towards you such as I never knew before ? How can I secure your esteem ? — how win your friendship " and that you will aflbrd mo the pleasure of es- corting you for a walk in the neighbouring park to-morrow — or next day — or whenever it may please you." " The day after to-morrow," murmured the young maiden, " at the same hour, I will pass this way." And she fled precipitately : for scarcely had the words issued from her lips, when she was struck by " By permitting me to proceed upon my errand, a remorse that went to her very heart's core, as if sir," replied A'irginia, in a cold tone : and she was turning away, when her heart smote her with a sudden pang— for she felt, or at least thought, that she was behaving with ingratitude towards a young gentleman who had risked his life to save her own. She accordingly extended her hand to him, saying in a tremulous voice, "Do not think me ungrateful, sir — do not fancy that I am unmindful of the im- mense obligation I owe you : but be generous — and look upon me as a friendless orphan having no other fortune in the world than her own good name!" There was a deep and touching pathos in her looks, her tone, and her manner as she thus feel- ingly addressed the young Marquis; — and, as he beheld the lovely girl, blushing and trembling in his presence, and with delicacy, softness, and sensi- bility characterizing every feature of her interesting countenance, he forgot his rank — his position — his family, and yielded only to the impulse of his en- raptured soul. "If it be a crime to love you, sweet girl, then assuredly am I very culpable," he said, in a low but fervent tone; "and if the offer of an honourable affection be insulting to you, then must I at all risks dare your displeasure. Do not think lightly of what I say — do not regard my words as a mere passing compUment " " I must not listen to you any more!" exclaimed Virginia, her voice and manner showing that she was deeply moved : and she hurried away. But at the next moment he was by her side again. "We cannot part thus!" ho said, in a tone of decision. "Not for worlds will I attempt to follow you — not for worlds insult you by endeavouring to ascertain your abode. But I must see you again, sweet girl — my happiness depends upon it— and I implore you nut to plunge me into despair." Virginia was naturally confiding, artless, and un- suspicious of evil : and indeed the young nobleman meant none at that moment. He had not paused to analyse his own feelings: but ho was hurried along by an irresistible tide of emotions such as ho had never experienced before. The sincerity of his language and the ingenuousness of his manner failed not to produce their influence upon the maiden: and indeed, she would have been something less or something more than woman, had she remained altogether insensible to the earnest pleadings of she had just been perpetrating a crime! CHAPTER XIV. MEDITAIIOXS. Having discharged the commission ■which had taken her to Spring Gardens, Virginia Mordaunt retraced her way to Tavistock Street ; — and on arriving at the house in which she dwelt, the young maiden proceeded to the chamber of jMiss Barnet. For she had resolved to communicate to her friend all that had just occurred, and solicit her advice how to act in respect to the appointment which, in the perplexity of her ideas and the agitation of her feelings, she had made with her youthful deliverer. But the moment that Virginia knocked at the door of Miss Barnet's chamber, this young female came forth, apparelled in one of those elegant dresses which she had displayed to our heroine on the first occasion of their acquaintance; — and, placing her finger upon her lip with an arch expres- sion of countenance, she said in a subdued tone, "I can't ask you in, Virginia dear, just at present; because I am expecting a certain person." " I beg your pardon for intruding upon you, Julia," observed Miss Mordaunt : " I fancied you were disengaged — and " " And you meant to drop in and have half-an- hour's chat with me F" exclaimed Miss Barnet, suddenly finishing Virginia's sentence for her. " Well — so you should — and most happy would I be : only Mr. Osmond sent me a note this morning, promising faithfully to call in the afternoon — and indeed, I am somewhat surprised that he is not already here." " Well — another time," observed the young seam- stress, thereby meaning that she would defer to a future occasion whatever she had to communicato to her friend: and she hurried up to her own chamber. The garret was not quite so cheerless as when we first introduced our readers thither : for a handful of fire was now burning in the grate — and by the help of a few sticks, Virginia made it blaze up suffi- ciently to boil the water for her tea. Then sha spread her little table, and sate down to the frugal meal. 48 THE SEAMS i'KJiSia. But althougli she had eatea nothing since an early hour in the morning, — for breakfast and tea were the only two repasts which the poor seamstress was enabled to allow herself, — yet she experienced no appetite now; and the beverage which she was wont to find alike so cheering and so refreshing, was suffered to grow cold in the cup while she was absorbed in a profound reverie. The incidents of the afternoon naturally engrossed her attention. She blamed herself for having given that promise to meet the handsome unknown again — for a stranger, be it remembered, he was to her : and yet, on the other hand, she felt that she could have scarcely acted otherwise. He had rescued her from a fearful danger — perhaps from a dreadful death — at the risk of his own life : he had then liberally and generously opened his purse on her behalf; — and he therefore had some claim upon her gratitude. But did that claim encroach upon her maidenly prudence, when it was asserted in the form of a request to be allowed to meet her again ? This was the point. And still — and still the confiding, ingenuous, artless Virginia fixed her thoughts long and earnestly upon the fact that her youthful deliverer had pleaded honourable motives : and she blushed — oh ! she blushed, even in the soli- tude of her own chamber, as she called to mind the impassioned words he had addressed to her and the looks of enthusiastic sincerity which had accom- panied that language. Then she grew ashamed at having allowed her thoughts to dwell upon ail this ; — and she felt vexed with herself on account of the secret sensation of pleasure which the train of those reflections was gradually and almost imper- ceptibly exciting in her soul. But notwithstanding all her endeavours to turn her meditations into another channel, the image of that handsome youth would keep recurring to her mind ; — and she caught herself in the act of blushing a dozen times in the course of as many minutes, during which she was insensibly led into a review of all the details of the afternoon's adventure. Thus, the longer she refiected upon the one grand point — whether she should keep the appointment, or not — the more difficult did she find it to come to any positive decision. For as she reviewed every feature in the conduct of her youthful deliverer towards her, she could not help being struck by the mingled tenderness of manner, sincerity of tone, and delicacy of proceeding which he had exhibited towards her ; and she was accordingly led, alike by ber purity of soul and her natural good sense, into the following train of reflections: — " Were I a lady dwelling in a nice house, and under the protection of parents or friends, he would have been led by the usages of society — nay, even compelled by the laws of ordinary courtesy and good breeding — either to escort me home after the acci- dent, or at least to have demanded permission to call on the following day. This privilege would then afford him the opportunity of obtaining an insight into my disposition, and developing his own to me ; —and, under such circumstances, should I be jus- tified in refusing his honourable addresses? No: and the result would be— if he were indeed sincere, and if my own inclinations were not repugnant —that I should become the wife of a good and afi'ectionate young gentleman. But my sad position is the true cause of turniuii the current of events into another channel. He knew that I was only a poor seam- stress—that I had no home where I could receive him without injury to my good name — and that it was equally impossible for me to caU upon him. It was therefore an extreme delicacy on his part that prompted the solicitation for that interview which I have promised to grant. If his intentions be truly honourable, he has no other mode of avowing them and of convincing me of their sincerity. And how can they be otherwise than sincere ? He is too young — too generous — too noble-hearted, to be an accompUshed deceiver; and moreover, I would fly from him, as if from a pestilence, were he to whisper a syllable that I ought not to hear. But, then — on the other hand — I know him not even by name : he is a total stranger to me Ah ! I recollect— that unfortunate and kind-hearted Mr. Lavenham called him Charles ! His Christian name, then, is Charles. But I likewise remember that Mr. Lavenham ob- served to him, with a marked emphasis, that there could not possibly be one single reason why he should endeavour to form an acquaintance with me, whereas there were a thousand reasons why he should not .' No — assuredly, I must not keep that appointment !" And involuntarily heaving a profound sigh as she came to this conclusion, Virginia Mordaunt rose from her seat with the haste of one who endeavours to escape from a train of reflections to which she dares trust herself no longer; and having put away the tea-things, she took her work — resumed her chair — and began to ply her needle with as much diligence as possible; But, despite of all her endeavours to force her thoughts into other channels, they would persist in sliding insensibly back into their natural course;— and again did she find herself reviewing all the incidents of the afternoon and re«considering aU the arguments which her prudence, her delicacy, her good sense, and her inclinations, had severally and respectively conjured up for or against the keeping of the appointment. "]Mr. Lavenham might have entertained fears that Charles," — and she blushed deeply as she caught herself pronouncing that Christian name even with the silent voice that was speaking her thoughts in the profundities of her soul, — " that Charles could not be influenced by honourable mo- tives in seeking my acquaintance. And truly Mr. Lavenham had a perfect right to adopt that idea from the apparently rude and insulting course which Charles was then pursuing towards me. But perhaps the young gentleman was judged harslily ? Yes — he must have been : for did he not ere now insist upon explaining his conduct of the other day? — and has not the delicacy of his behaviour this afternoon confirmed the truth of his declaration that he was incapable of offering me an insult ? Oh 1 he pleaded so earnestly that wo should meet again : there was such sincerity in his language — in his looks — in his whole manner And then, did ho not passionately conjure me not to drive him to despair ? Oh ! if he should really love mo— and if any cruelty on my part " But Virginia, awaking with a sudden start from this profound reverie, instantaneously checked the current of her thoughts: and while she felt that her cheeks were burning with the blusli that was upon them, she also became aware that some now m. ■-:_^,:Tr{W^'^^^MS^^'^''^^ No. 7. — The Sfamstef.33. 50 THE SEAMSTBESS. chord was vibrating with an unknown pleasui'e in her heart. For, oh ! in the channel which her meditations had been insensibly suffered to take, the word Love had for the first time in the maiden's life occurred in connexion with herself: and although she was startled for a moment by the new voice which had thus given a whispered evidence of its being in the depths of her soul, yet at the next instant she felt her heart thrilling with the soft melody of the pleasing sound. For there is a magic in the idea as well as in the name of Love, which exercises its influence upon even the purest mind : and the very first moment the suspicion of either loving or being beloved takes inception in the female heart, the ■world around and all its circumstances begin to ap- pear in a new light. Then does there indeed seem to be something worth living for, — something that promises recompense for all the cruellest struggles against vicissitude and woe, — something, in fine, which, along the vista of past sorrows and present uncertainties, affords a glimpse of a paradise even in this world ! Yes — and it was that magic name of Love which Virginia, unconsciously and insensibly led on by the current of her reflections, had breathed unto herself,— whispering it like a word that stole by a heavenly inspiration into her mind, and accom- panied by a celestial ray which illumed that mind at the same moment and made it sensible of the phase of indescribable bliss on which it was en- tering. With drooping arms the maiden held in her bands the work upon which she had been so dili- gently engaged until that instant: — and relapsing into a reverie as profound as it was irresistible, she suffered her imagination to wander upon the en- chanted grounds of the future. Building up castles on the g. Iden sands of a realm of her own creating, she was led to fancy herself already emancipated from the crushing thraldom of her real position — wooed and courted by a youth as generous-hearted as he was handsome — next becoming the happy bride of him who loved her thus devotedly and whom she loved in return as tenderly and as well — and then settling down into all the placid enjoy- ments and tranquil pleasures of domestic life. Oh! it was a truly elysian dream amidst the mazes of which that poor girl's imagination now wandered : •—alas for her that it should ever have known an awakening ! And there she sate, giving way to the irresistible current of her reflections — or rather borne along in the sea-shell chariot which imagination was wafting upon the bosom of the silver streams that flow with musical sound through fancy's fairy land, — there she sate, while the fire died away in the grate and the candle was burning down into its socket; and the stern, cold realities of the world around her being forgotten, she was roving in the ideal realms of a brain created future. Oh ! how rudely — how cruelly was she recalled to herself by a lap at her door: and the sound, though low in reality, struck her with all tho violence of a thunder-shock. She sprang to her feet : nil her golden visions were dissipated as quick as tho eyo can wink; and she found herself as it were face to face once more with the lean, gaunt, hideous spectre of Misery ! The knock was repeated ; for a moment she pressed her hand forcibly to her brow, in order to steady her thoughts ; and the next instant she hur- ried to open the door. "I began to think you had gone to bed, Vir- ginia," said Miss Barnet, as she entered the chamber : " and yet I saw the light between the crevices of the door. But I suppose you had fallen asleep P" she added, as she observed the cheerless grate, and the candle with an immensely elongated wick. " What o'clock is it, Jul'a?" inquired the maiden, as with trembling hand she remedied the latter inconvenience by means of the snuffers. " Nearly nine," returned Miss Barnet : and it now struck Virginia that there was an accent of mingled bitterness and vexation in her friend's tone. " Has anything annoyed you, Julia ?" she in- quired, her suspicion receiving apparent eonfii-ma- tion from the troubled looks of Miss Barnet. " To tell you the truth, I am in a terrible rage," responded this young female, her eyes flashing fire. "You know that I have been expecting Mr. Osmond — that it was his own appointment — and that I waited.afc home at his express desire, conveyed to me by letter ? AVell, he has not made his appear- ance at all : and he has only just sent a hurried note of apology, without mentioning any cause, and like- wise without saying when he will come. Now, is not this enough to provoke me ?" A sudden feeling that was akin to disgust rose up in Virginia's mind towards Miss Barnet. Was it that the new sentiment which had taken birth in her own pure soul had shed a light upon her compre- hension in a particular respect, and so far enlarged her experience as to enable her to understand and appreciate all that there was revolting, indelicate, and repulsive in the idea of a young female decking herself out with meretricious gaiety to receive the man who pensioned her? Yes — assuredly, some such feelings as these sprang up in Virginia's mind, as her eyes settled upon Miss Barnet apparelled in one of her most gaudy dresses. "I ask whether this is not enough to provoke me ?" repeated the young woman, as Virginia did not immediately reply to the observation. "I am truly sorry that you should have expe- rienced any cause for annoyance, Julia," said Miss Mordaunt, her conscience reproaching her for what she believed to be a sentiment of ingratitude to- wards one who had rendered her the most import- ant services. " And yet you speak coldly, Virginia," ci'icd Miss Barnet, observing a sort of constraint in the manner of her friend. " Has anything unpleasant occurred to^ott?" For an instant the young seamstress hesitated how to answer. She had resolved to make a confi- dant of Julia relative to all that had taken place in the afternoon: but some scarcely definable sen- timent of repugnance to breathe her secret lo tho ears of such a person, now scaled hor lips. It was. in truth the delicacy of an incipient love essonti.dly pure and a-stlietie, rovoltnig from tho thought of blending oven tho outpouring of its confidence with the grossnoss of feelings entirely sensual. Tlie chaste spirit of Virginia shrank from a closer and more intimate contact with Julia's polluted being: THE SEAM3THE33. 51 and altiiougli the young raaitlen could not have defined to herself the real cause and meaning of this delicate antagonism, she nevertheless yielded to its secret iuUuence. "Do not tell me that I speak coldly to you, Julia," she exclaimed, after that instant's hesita- tion, and catching at the readiest means of evading a reply to the query which had been so directly put to her. " Am I not under the deepest obligations to you——" '• Well, I am glad to hear that you meant nothing unkind, Virginia," interrrupted Miss Barnet. " I dare say it is because I myself am in an ill-humour, that I fancied something like coldness on your part. But I wish I knew where my Osmond lived : I would hasten and demand an explanation. Ah 1 Virginia !" she added with a profound sigh, — " I never was jealous until this evening — and now I do feel that I love that beautiful youth — and my mind is filled with misgivings. He never treated me so indifierently before I" — and Miss Barnet burst into tears. of this world,— that she had not as yet seen enough of life to destroy all the freshness of that sublime confidence which belongs as it were to the very nature and disposition of the youth of both sexes, — that she owed a debt of deep gratitude to her deliverer, whose handsome appearance and fascinat- ing manners were only too well calculated to strengthen the favourable impression which his gallant conduct had made upon a mind naturally tender and susceptible, — that he had emphatically avowed the most honourable intentions, and had invoked her assent to another interview by the sanctity of that respect which a brother would ma- nifest towards a dearly- cherished sister, — be pleased to remember all this, gentle reader, — and likewise bear in mind the not less important fact that some still small voice had whispered the name of Love in the secret depths of Virginia's soul; — and then you will not be surprised if you hear us declare that on the day and at the hour specified, the young maiden bent her steps towards St. James's Park. Although it was in the month of January, the The generous soul of Virginia Mordaunf; was now 1 weather was remarkably fine. The air was crisp deeply moved ; and she said all she could in the way of solace to her afflicted friend. But she neverthe- less experienced the while a certain repugnance amounting almost to an actual loathing, at the idea with a frosty chill : the ground was hard as pave- ment; — and there was just a sufficient gleam of the declining sun to give a brightness to the atmosphere. The evergreens in the Park, the ornamental water of making any positive and direct allusion to that I with its picturesque islands, the greenness of the illicit connexion which subsisted between Miss grass-plots, and the general appearance of a verdure Barnet and her Mr. Osmond. She felt that it was a matter of which she herself should know nothing, — an aSair which never ought to have been revealed to her ears, and to which anything that she did not say in its disfavour might seem like encouragement. "Well, it is of uo use to make myself miserable about the business," exclaimed Miss Barnet, wiping her eyes. "We shall see (vhat time will bring forth : and if Osmond does not come and offer a very satisfactory apology in the course of to-morrow or next day, I shall know what to think and how to act. Thank my stars, I am handsomer now than when I fir^ knew him. And yet," she added, with another profound sigh, " I do really love him." She paused for a few moments — surveyed her countenance with complacent admiration in Vir- ginia's broken piece of looking-glass — and then smoothed down the rich masses of her raven hair. " Well, I wish he had come !" she exclaimed, with another sigh : then, turning towards the young seam- stress, " I am quite unsettled this evening, and shall go to the theatre at half-price. If you will accom- pany me, I will treat you." "Jfo— oh! no," cried Virginia, shrinking from the thought of visiting such a scene of gaiety with no better protection than that of Miss Barnet. " I thank you sincerely, .Tulia — but I much prefer continuing my work." "Well, then, I shall go alone," said the dark -eyed young woman : and bidding Virginia " good night" gbe quitted the chamber. that defied even the stern hand of winter, formed scene that would have proved refreshing to the eye of the maiden, were not her mind so occupied with conflicting thoughts that all her senses were ab- sorbed in her reflections and all her looks were turned inward. Iler gentle breast was heaving and sinking with quick undulations, while every puhe worked with a feverish celerity : her lips were parted with suspense, and revealed the teeth that appeared like two strings of pearls in contrast with moist coral. She was a prey to a painful nervous excitement: and yet her step was slow and uneven with the hesita- tion which constituted an under-current of feeling amidst the various emotions that were contending in her bosom. For while some impulses urged her forward, others prompted her to turn back : while one voice in her soul whispered flatteringly and agreeably of the approaching interview, ouothor seemed to give Jitterauce to the words of solemn warning. Thus was it that with fluttering heart, quick-beating pulse, animated countenance, and yet; with laggard steps, the young maiden entered tho enclosure of St. James's Park. Scarcely had she passed the gate in the iron- railings, when the hasty and furtive glance which she threw about her, encountered the joyous and impassioned look of her youthful deliverer : and in another moment ho was by her side. Her hand was instantaneously seized and pressed warmly in his own ; while some words of mingled tenderness and gratitude were breathed in her ear. But she had no power to withdraw her hand, and no faculty to comprehend the language in which the young Marquis expressed his fervid thanks that the ap. pointmcnt had been kept : a confusion that was not altogether unmixed with pleasurable sensations, had Gentle reader, have the kindness to remember that fastened upon her like a spell ; — and when she began Virginia Mordaunt was very young and but little , to recover from that strange bewilderment and was experienced in the wickedness, duplicity, and deceits ' enabled to collect her thoughts, she found herself CHAPTEE XV, THE MEETING. 52 THE SEAMSTRESS. leaning upon the arm of her handsome companion, Who was conducting her into tho least frequented walk of the spacious enclosure. " You have conferred upon me a happiness which I hardlj dared anticipate," said the young nobleman, his musical voice sounding low and tre- mulous as he bent his head slightly down towards the maiden : " and I promise you that I shall know how to appreciate this confidence which you have reposed in me." " And you do not think the worse of me for taking this step ?" murmured the seamstress, in a hesitat- ing tone. " The worse of you !" exclaimed Charles. " Oh ! no — no ! How was it possible that I could have an opportunity of telling you all I feel, unless you had consented thus to grant me an interview ?" " Nethertheless, I must assure you, sir, for my own sake," continued Virginia, "that it was not without an effort I could persuade myself there was no impropriety in this proceeding. I have argued the pomt over and over again — sometimes arriving at one resolution, and sometimes at another : and even at the last moment I hesitated still." "But you decided in favour of my happiness at last!" observed the young nobleman, in a voice expressive of ardent gratitude. "Had you not come," he continued, in a more solemn manner, " I should have been driven to despair : for you have made upon my mind an impression which never, never could be effaced, were I to live for ages. Now understand me well: because if I explain myself fully, you will be the better able to j udge of my sincerity. I move in a sphere where beautiful women abound; and you would not believe mo for a moment were I to declare that I never saw an angel in female form more beauteous than yourself. But you mai/ believe me when I assert that never have I encountered a being whose retiring, modest, and bashful loveliness was so calculated to rivet the purest and most enduring affections. There are beauties which dazzle and bewilder — and there are others which hold the senses spell-bound as it were while the influence of their presence lasts : but re- moved from the splendours of the former, and the fascinations of the latter, the effect speedily dies away, as the glory and the warmth of the sun are felt only so long as you bask in its rays. But there is that unobtrusive, retiring loveliness which hangs like a charm about its possessor and stamps its image upon the heart of its admirer " " You must not talk to me thus," murmured Virginia, holding down her blushing countenance as she leant upon her companion's arm : " I feel that I am doing wrong to listen to you. Besides, you know nothing of me — and I cannot be- lieve " "You cannot believe that it is possible to lore you without instituting all manner of inquiries concerning you beforehand ?" exclaimed the young i Marquis, repudiating the idea with a fervid scorn. "Ah! if your character were not depicted in your countenance, you would be less lovely than you are; — and if your disposition were not to be read in every lineament of your face, I should not have been so irresistibly attracted towards you. Oh! I am cer- tain that your position is not a happy one : and it will be the proudest and most joyous moment of my life when I can raise you to independence and place you in that sphere of which nature has formed j'ou to be the embellishment. But while I am thus ad- dressing you, I remember that I do not even know by what name to call you " " Virginia Mordaunt," said the young seamstress, her whole being thrilling and trembling with the mingled hopes and fears which the impassioned language of her youthful admirer had raised up in her breast, — hopes suca as a gentle mai len could not fail to experience under such circumstances, and fears lest they never should be realised. "Virginia — sweet Virginia!" cried the Marquis, rejoicing that the object of his infatuation possessed a name which was aUke so beautiful and so appro- priate. "Ah! permit me to call you simply Vir- ginla — and not cold and formal Miss Mordaunt: and you shall address me as Charles in return. But can you — will you love me?" he suddenly de- manded, with an unaffected eagerness to obtain an assurance on that head. "Your conduct towards me has already esta- blished large claims upon my gratitude," returned the maiden, in a subdued and tremulous tone : " and I will not be so false or so foolish as to declare that all you have now been saying to me has produced no impression upon my mind." "Then you think you can love me, Virginia- dear Virginia?" said the youth, in a whispering tone, that was full of tenderness. Dear Virginia ! — Oh ! never, never had her name sounded so softly musical and so deliciously sweet to her ears, as now when spoken by that voice which was in itself a combination of feminine har- mony with masculine depth, — a voice belonging to that very period of existence when it possesses the male intonation without the roughness of a more advanced age — and therefore when it is best adapted to penetrate with all its metallic richness of sound into the very depths of a woman's soul ! Nor was this influence lost upon Vu'ginia i^fcir that tender mention of her name struck a chord which vibrated to her heart's core. She felt that the words " Dear Virginia P' were a more touching and thrilling avowal of love than could possibly be conveyed in a thousand elaborate and well-rounded sentences. In giving utterance to those two words, the music of the young nobleman's voice invested her name with a singular and ravishing charm; — and the endearing tenderness of his manner was in itself full of the eloquence of passion. It was impossible to suspect his sincerity — his faith — his truthfulness : the enthusiasm of his words was as different from the cold sophistries of the deliberate seducer as the respectful admiration of his looks contrasted with the devouring regards of sensuality which he himself had been accustomed to fix upon other women. Dear Virginia J — Oh ! she saw that she was be- loved ! — with a woman's instinct, young and artless though she were, she felt that she was indeed dear to that handsome young man — and it suddenly seemed to her as if they had known each other and been intimate for years ! "Tell me, dearest Virginia — do you think you can love me?" he said, once more putting the ques- tion, but with a deeper tenderness alike of epithet and tone. "Look up — and tell mo that you can love me!" And thj muidcn, with every pulse thrilling at THE SEAMSTEESC), 5S that word " dearest" which had just beea addressed to her, did raise her blushiag couatenaneo : aad though her feeUngs hushed the syllables thao rose to her lips, yet did the Marquis of Ardea read the wished-for response in those eloquent blue eyes which blended their looks with his own. Yes — those beauteous orbs spoke in silence to his soul — and their language was the unmistakable coafessiou of a reciprocal love ! Yes : quickly as this change had been wrought iu the heart of Virginia — rapid as had been her learn- ings ia the lessons of love — the sentiment was not the less deeply rooted in her bosom. A few days— almost a few hours had done it all: but then, had she not been placed in circumstances the influence of which no young girl can be exposed" to with im- punity? That adventure which at once laid her under so vast an obligation to the young Marquis — then the mingled generosity and delicacy of his conduct, so closely following up that chivalrous gallintry which made him peril his life for her sake then the eflfect of her own meditations upon the course which she should adopt towards the hand- some youth — and now the tenderness of his looks, the music of his voice, and the enthusiasm of his language, — Oh I surely, surely, all these influences were more than sufficient to win the soft affections of a young and confiding girl, at that age when no selfish calculations nor voluptuous sensualities had penetrated like a serpent into the Eden of her heart . We said that Charles had conducted his fair com- panion into the most secluded walk in the Park. There were not many persons iu that avenue at the time; and therefore the lovers — for such they indeed now were — had escaped any unpleasant ob- servation, during the interesting discourse above detailed. Virginia was now leaning more confidently upon the arm of the handsome youth to whom she had given her love : that is to say, her hand reposed upon that arm with a more perceptible pressure than on the former occasion when they were to- gethei'. And she was happy — Oh! supremely happy: although it appeared to her as if she were walking iu a dream. The other day, and she had not a friend in the whole wide world : now, she had more than a friend — she was wooed by one who promised to make her his wife ! Ah ! was this fairy vision destined to endure ? — would it continue until all its associated hopes should be fully realised ? The sequel will show: but in the meantime the young Marquis is breathing to the maiden's ears thoio words of fervent love and golden promise whicli are so welcome to the heart that beats with its first Tirgmial affection ! "I have already assured you, dearest one," said the youth, his eyes pouring forth floods of tender- ness— while the maiden, with all the innocence of a fond reliance and ingenuous confidence, turned her heavenly countenance up towards his own, — " I have already assured you, dearest one, that never did aught in female form make such an impression upon my soul as your modest loveliness. And it is because I feel that I could not be happy without you,— it is also because I shall experience the most lively joy and tlic proudest of triumphs in raising you from a position of dependence and toil to one of prosperity and coiupoteucy,— it is for these rea- sons that I long tocouUuct you to the uUar as my bride. It is true that I move iu a sphere where this marriage may excite some astonishment : but when I present my young and lovely wife to the circle of my friends, they will be impressed with : no other conviction than her worthiness to attain I that rank. Tell me, then, dearest Virginia, whether ' you have relatives or friends to consult : — tell mo also what I can do to render you happy and place you at your ease until that day when you will con- sent to accompany me to the altar. Tell me, iu fine, all that concerns yoursel f " But at this moment an ejaculation of mingled astonishment and rage struck upon the ears of the lovers : and raising their eyes, they beheld Miss Barnet confronting them in the pathway. "Osmond! is this you? — and. Ah! you little ti'aitress - you deceitful Virginia!" exclaimed the infuriate young woman, gesticulating violently, while her cheeks were scarlet with passion. '■Osmond!" echoed Virginia, a fearful suspicion flashing across her brain: then, turning towards her lover with looks full of anguish, she cried, " No — no ! it cannot be ! You are not " But the infuriate manner in which Miss Barnet now continued to level the bitterest reproaches against the young man, carried to the turtured soul of the seamstress the wretched conviction that her lover was indeed none other than the paramour of her friend. "O heaven! have mercy upon me!" murmured the poor seamstress, suddenly abandoning the youth's arm and sta geriug for support against the iron railing which fenced the pathway. "Virginia — do not judge me harshly — hear me, I implore you!" exclaimed Charles, regardless of the bitter invectives which Miss Barnet was level- ling against him. " No — no — it is all over between us !'' cried Vir- ginia, in a voice penetrated with the anguish of cruel disappointment : and, suddenly gathering all her strength and all her presence of mind, she fled precipitately from the spot. TLie young Marquis, maddened by the scene, was about to rush after her ; but Miss Barnet seized him by the arm — clung to him with all her force — and was not to be shaken off, save by a degree of violence which Charles, goaded to desperation though he were, was incapable of exhibiting towards a woman. " Leave me, Julia — unhand me — I implore you to let me go !" he cried ; " and I will behave muni- ficenlly towards you." " Traitor ! — villain ! " exclaimed Miss Barnet, clinging to him with the tenacity of a tigress: "you shall not have another opportunity of making love to that hypocritical minx!" " Julia — I command you — I beseech you," cried the Marquis : " hear me " " You will not move me either by threats or prayers!" interrupted the enraged Miss Barnet. " There ! people are approaching — Virginia has dis- appeared—and now will you bo reasonable ?" "Yes — but permit mo to say one word to that young creature whom it appears you know," ex- claimed Charles; — " and then I will devote my attentions to you." " You cannot catch her up — she has fled precipi- tately — she is out of sight," persisted Miss Barnet, still clinging tenaciously to the arm of tiie youujj 54 THE SEAMSTRESS. Marquis. " If you choose to struggle with me, be it so — but you will expose youvselt' ■" "Yes — 'tis (00 true !" ci'ie^l Cliai-les, in atone of bitter vexation, as he saw the correctness of Julia's remark. " But henceforth everything is at an end between you and me," Jie exclaimed, as he led her abruptly into a diverging patb, so as to escape the observation of the persons who were now approach- ing near. "What have I done to offend you?" demanded Julia, now bursting into tears, but still clinging firmly to the young nobleman's arm. " Because I discover you in company with that deceitful cUit whom I have befriended, aud whom I fancied such a paragon of virtui'— such a perfect example of chastity and innocence that she could not look a man in the face " "Ah! slie is all that I believed, then!" cried the young Marquis, whose bitler annoyance was some- what mitigated by this tribute so s()i"i(aneously paid to the virtue of the seamstress. '• I suppose that she lives somewhere near you — perhaps in the same house " " I am sure I do not know whore she lives," in- terrupted Miss Barnet, pettishly : " and if I did, I should not be fool enough to tell you. Come, Caarles," she added coaxingly, "say that you are sorry for what has happened — proiuise that you will see Virginia no more — and let us be friends." The youug nobleman was about to give a stern refusal to this entreaty, and follow it up by dissolv- ing his connexion with Miss Barnet then and there, — when the thought flashed to his mind that it was only through lier means he could possibly hope to discover the place of Virginia's abode: for that Julia was acquainted with it, he was well able to yi ige from her words and manner when so petu- lantly asserting the contrary. He accordingly re- solved to adopt a scheme of cajolery with his mis- tress, and by assenting to reconciliation, worm out of her in the course of a few days the infor- mation which he despaired of gleaning in any oiher way. Having thus accomplished a triumph, as she flattered herself, over her rival, and having gra- ciously vouchsafed her pardon to her lover for his infidelity, Julia now insisted that he should escort her to some place of amusement. But the Marquis, fearful of being recognised by any of his numerous acquaintances, and unwilling to endanger the con- venient incognito of " Mi\ Osmond," would not concede to the young lady's demand. On the other hand, she was in no humour to take a refusal; and there was every prospect of another "scene" in the park, when Charles fortunately suggested a com- promise in the form of a tete-a, tcte dinner at some hotel where sucli accommodation might bo readily obtained without the risk of impertinent surmise or special notice. Miss Barnet assented to the proposition ; and away they sped together, through the now deepening gloom of the winter's evening. The nobleman expected that liis mistress, when duly plied with good things and flattery, and under the influence of champagne and cajolery, would sufl'er lierself to be wheedled out of the particular information which he was anxious to acquire nt her hands. But in this hope ho was completely disappointed; — and, havintj passed several hours in her company, he separated from her between ten and eleven o'clock without having succeeded iu bis object. Vexed and dispirited, the Marquis of Arden re- turned to Belmont House — while Miss Barnet, well primed with champagne, hastened home to Tavistock Street, burning to vent her wrath against poor Virginia. But if the young nobleman had his disappoint- ment on this occasion. Miss Barnet was likewise doomed to experience Iter's: for, on reaching the house where she dwelt, the first tidings which met her ears were to the effect that Miss Mordaunt had returned home some hours previously in a state of considerable agitation — that she had sent for a broker to whom she disposed of the few miserable articles of furniture which she possessed — and that, having paid her rent, she had taken her departure, no one knew whither 1 " On bidding me good bye," said Jane, the servant-girl, " she cried very much, poor thing! I I asked her if anything unpleasant had occurred : but she sobbed so, that I thought her heart would break. She could not find words to give me any explanation, even if she had intended: but she pressed my hand warmly, and hurried away, carry- ing her few necessari s in a little bundle. Ah! poor girl — she quite made my heart bleed for her ;" added the servant, with tears running down her cheeks. " And did she leave behind the work that I procured for her ?" inquired Miss Barnet, whose feelings as a jealous woman of narrow mind pre- vented her from sharing in tho'sympathy that the servant-girl experienced for the unhappy seams- tress. " Yes," replied Jane : " she gave the parcel to me; and I placed it in your room. Ah! she is a thoroughly honest aud good girl," added the servant, with a profound sigh. " But " And sliakiog her head in ominous expression of doubt whether the maiden's virtue would survive temptation and poverty, the good-natured Jane slowly descended to the kitchen. On the other hand, Julia hurried up to her own chamber, whore she found all the materials which she had procured from her friend Mrs. llobinson for Virginia Mordaunt to make up. In the middle of the packet was a small note, sealed, and ad- dressed to " Miss Barnet." The contents ran as follow : — " As I would not for worlds lie under the iiuputatioa of ingratitude towards yourself, and stillleS3 be suspected of impropriety of conduct, I beseech you to demand from Mr. Osmond a full explanation of all the circumstances wliich concern myself. Perhaps he may already have been generous enough to volunteer sucli an explanation : but if not, I bef^ you to solicit at his hands those details which, if truly given, must fully exculpate me in your eyes. I do not learo Tavistock Street Irom any dread of encountering you : but for motives of a lar ditf'erent character. "Your afllieted but grateful friend, " VIRGINIA MORDAUNT." "Well, perhaps she is not so mucli to blame as I thought at first," said Miss Barnet, tossing the note into the fire : and she then began to prepare for retiring to rest. THE SEAMSTRESS. 55 CHAPTEIl XVI. THE FBENCII PEMME-DE-CHAMBEE. tioa of our readers to the morning oa which we find MademoiseUo Clementine watching betimes by the couch of her invalid mistress. The Duchess of Belmont was sleeping: and there- It was about six o'clock in the morning, on the | fore it was no^ necessary that Clementine should day .that followed the incidents just related; and liave risen thus early from the sofa whereon she Mademoiselle Clementine, the French lady's-maid, was in the habit of passing the night while in at- was watching by the bed-side of the Duchess of tendance upon the wounded lady. But she had Belmont. The heavy drapery was drawn over the I'isen because the Duchess had given utterance to a windows— a fire blazed in the grate— and wax- [ ^ow words in the uneasy dream which was evidently candles were burning upon the mantel : for, as the ; disturbing her ; and although the French abigail reader will remember, it was in the depth of the had not been able to catch the sense and meaning winter season when darkness still hangs over the of those words, yet she saw that the power of speech hemisphere at that hour. ^'*s reviving on the part of her mistress. Anxious, Clementine was clad in a warm wrapper; and therefore, to be the first to catch whatever might a Parisian cap set off her dark hair and her in- ] intelligibly fall from the lips of the Duchess, Cle- teresting countenance, which had all the vivacity , nientine had risen noiselessly from the sofa: then, and archness of expression peculiar to the French as her Grace appeared to relapse into an easier femme-de-chambre. Even when alone or unob- ! slumber, and silence once more set its seal upoa served, there was a certain coquettish air about lier mouth, the lady's-maid leisurely and quietly ad- Mademoiselle Clementine wliich formed a part of justed her toilet to that elegant morning negligee her very nature; — and so accustomed was she to j which we have already described, enhance her personal attractions by the elegant | But scarcely had Clementine performed hor ablu- neatness and tasteful gentility of her attire, that ' tions, arranged her hair, and put on the elegant cap she was not to be deterred from the observance of and the tasteful wrapper, when the Duchess turned this habit by even the cares and duties associated uneasily in her couch once more; — and the name of with the sick-room. Julius Lavenham fell murmuringly from her lips. Ten days had now elapsed since the dreadful ! Those were the first words which she had articu- event that had consigned the brilliant Duchess of lated with an intelligible clearness; — and, noiseless Belmont to the couch which she still occupied as an as a ghost, did Clementine place herself by the side invalid, and by the side of which Clementine was of the couch. With suspended breath she leant over now watching. She had progressed from a con- ' her mistress, ready to catch whatever else might dilioa of alarming peril to one of comparative \ drop from that tongue which now appeared to havo safety, in a manner that had exceeded the most recovered the faculty of giving verbal expression to sanguine expectations of her medical attendants: the thoughts that were uppermost in the mind of but although consciousness he.d returned, the powers the sleeping lady. of distinct and intelligible articulation had hitherto ! As t^he light fell upon the countenance of the remained suspended. ! Duchess, it appeared that her cheeks were sliglitly Eelative to this point the Duke of Belmont had flushed: but at first Clementine thought that this exhibited an anxiety which had more and more W;is only the oscillating flames of the fire playing piqued the characteristic curiosity of Mademoiselle reflectively upon the features of her mistress. A. Clementine. Sometimfes be would sit for hours longer and close contemplation however proved that together by the side of the couch, gazing upon the it was indeed the flush of vital colouring which now pale features of the invalid; — and, as she fully re- ! tinged those cheeks hitherto so pale; — and the cognized him, mysteriously significant and strangely [ deepening uneasiness which marked the noble lady's expressive were the looks which they were wont to ' sluuaber, showed that in her visions she was a prey fasten upon each other. Without appearing to ob- to. thoughts of no pleasurable nature, serve them, Clementine had narrowly watched this r But, hark! she speaks again! A few words, conduct on their part; — and she was sufficiently falling low and murmuringly from the lips that skilled in the reading of the human countenance ] move slig itly to give them articulation, are caught to be enabled to notice that while the louks of the by the ear of the attentive Clementine. Then a deep silence pervades the room, broken only by the irre- gular and agitated breathing of the Duchess: for Clementine herself is breathless with listening sus- pense. In a few minutes her Grace speaks again : louder and more strongly articulated are the sylla- bles which now escape her tongue. Then all is silence once more. But, heavens ! what a secret have these last words made known to Clementine! Amazed, bewildered, and horrified, she staggers back a few paces and sinks into the arm-chair by the side of the couch. There seems to be a droning hum in her ears— a vague ringing in her brain — a tingling Duchess were usually fraught with an air of plain- tive appeal or earnest entreaty, those of the Duke were filled with a melancholy that was sombre and yet forgiving. Clementine was not present when his Grace visited the Duchess on the first occasion after the return of consciousness. But she had listened at the door; and she had caught the murmuring of the long whispers which the Duke was evidently breathing in the ears of his wife. A few moans and an occasional sob had indicated the disturbed feelings which filled the bosom of the Duchess; — and Clcraentino thought within herself that there i in all her veins — a thrilling throughout her limbs. must be secrets of deep and even fearful interest I She sees the whole adventure of the conservatory in between the ducal couple. I a now and most unexpected light : its aspect is alto- Having paused for a moment to glance at these I gcther changed; — the entire mystery is cleared up circumstances, wo may now resume the thread of I — and she is astounded and overwhelmed by the our story, in its proper course, and recal the atten- | elucidation. 56 THE SEAMSTBESS. Tlie Duchess speaks again; — and once more does Clementine listen attentively. The words to which her Grace gives utterance, are few — disjointed— and spoken painfully ; but they are comprehensive enough, and sufficiently plain to ratify the impres- sions which her former murmured revealings had made upon the mind of the Frenchwoman. Brief though they be, an entire history is contained - in their meaning: they confirm the clue previously afforded to the reading of a narrative which struck Clementine to be interesting as a romance and ter- rible as a night-mare. Ah ! the curiosity of that nbigail had indeed experienced a wild and strange gratification; — and she suddenly found herself in possession of a secret which But we must not anticipate: and therefore we will pursue the r'^-rular thread of our tale, by observing so soon as the French lady's-maid h^d learnt that tremendous secret,— so soon, also, as she had recovered from the startling and astounding effects of thii most unexpected discovery, — she drew the morning-wrapper closely around her form and hurried away to the apartment of the Duke. His Grace had already risen — for he too slept uneasily, as well as his invalid wife ;— and on receiving from Clementine the hurried intimation that the Duchess had given utterance to articulate words, he became visibly excited. But the Frenchwoman was now well able to comprehend the reason of that excite- ment ; and it was therefore no difficult matter for lipr to appear as calm and composed as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. With a feverish impatience and a nervous sus- pense did the Duke put several hurried questions to her; how many minutes had elapsed since the Duchess had first spoken?— whether the sense and meaning of her words had been caught and under- stood ? — whether her Grace was awake, or speaking in her slumber ? — and if Clementine had come away the instant that the articulate syllables had reached lipr ears ? The abigail, assuming an air of the most truthful sincerity, responded that her Grace had only spoken ft few words of unimportant meaning, — that it was with the vagueness and incoherency of a dream those syllables were uttered, — that she had lost not an instant ia hurrying to acquaint the Duke with the circumaiance,— and that the Duchess was still sleeping at the moment when she left her Grace's chamber. This was the colouring wherewith Clementine now chose to invest the matter : for the time had not yet come for her to make use of the stupendous secret which accident had so strangely revealed to her ears ! But all the while she was giving these varnished and distorted explanations, the Duke fixed upon her an earnest and scrutinising look, as if he sought to penetrate into her very soul. The French- woman, however, kept her countenance admirably ; —and the nobleman appeared satisfied that she was telling the truth, without either misrepresentation or suppression. Ho accordingly thrust a bank-note for fifty pounds into Clementine's hands, — telling her at the same time that it was a reward for her attentions towards the Duchess; — and having bade her seek her own chamber and take a few hours' rest, of which ho protended to think she must stand mucli in need, the Duke repaired to the apartment of his wife. The Frenchwoman did not follow him: on the contrary, she hastened to adopt the counsel he had given her ; — for she knew full well that nothing which might take place between the noble couple, could add any important materials to the stock of information she had already succeeded in ac- quiring. She therefore repaired to her own bed- chamber on an upper storey, while the Duke of Belmont proceeded to the apartments of the Duchess. He found her Grace just awaking from the uneasy slumber and disagreeable visions in which she had been wrapped; — and it was indeed true that she had recovered to a considerable extent the faculty of speech. What now took place between the Duke and his invalid wife, we are unable at present to explain : suffice it to say that their dis- course was long — frequently interrupted by tear9 and sobs on either side — and broken by intervals of physical prostration on the part of the Duchess. But when that interview terminated, their coun- tenances and their minds were evidently more se- rene ; — and the temporary agitation which lier Grace endured, had totally subsided by the time her me- dical attendants were announced. From that day forth her health continued to im- prove even more rapidly than before. The wound healed fast— her physical energies revived — and all danger of a relapse disappeared. Her husband spent many hours by her bed-side ; — and Clementine observed that his manner was most affectionate towards her. On the other hand, the Duchess ap- peared to receive his attentions with a sort of pious resignation, rather than as proofs and evidences of an attachment that was welcome to her : she never repulsed them — but she assuredly gave no sign of courting them. The calmness of a fixed and settled melancholy took possession of her ;— and even when she was declared convalescent, she seemed to have renounced all idea of ever returning to the pleasures, gaiety, and bustle of the realms of fashion — and to have been led by the influence of circumstances to a fixed resolution of withdrawing from the world as much as it was possible for a lady in her exalted position to carry such a design into execution. CHAPTER XVII. THE SKNTEN'CB. — THE VISIT. Two months and upwards had now elapsed since the tragic and mysterious adventure of the con» servatory at Belmont House ; and the April Ses- sions of the Central Criminal Court were drawing near. But so soon as the unfortunate Mr. Laven- ham, who in the meantime had remained a pri- soner in Newgate, received the intelligence that the Duchess was entirely convalescent, he sent for his legal adviser and addressed him in the following manner : — "I believe that until the day comes when it is my intention to pload guilty to the charge laid against rac, I am at liberty to dispose of my pro- perty in any way timt I may think fit. Well, such being the case, I intend and propose to assign tho enjoyment of all my worldly possessions to the Duchess of Belmont, as the only possible atone- No. 8.— The Sbjoistbess. 58 THE SEAMSTRESS. ment which I can now make for the fearful outrage which, under the influence of some shocking and unaccountable aberration, I committed against that noble lady. But I am desirous that you should draw up the deed of transfer in such a manner as to settle the property so completely and stringently upon her Grace, that it may never become liable to seizure by her husband's creditors. Moreover, as I hold mortgages to a large amount upon the estates of the Duke of Belmont, I have determined that the interest and benefit which 1 now possess therein shall likewise be transferred to the Duchess. But in all these bequests, I make this limitation, or rather reserve : that her Grace shall only enjoy a life interest in the property, without the power of incumbering, mortgaging, or in any manner making away with it ; and at her death the whole of this property shall devolve upon the Duke's son, the Marquis of Arden, or his heirs. Do you comprehend me ?— and can all this be done legally and conveniently ?" " It can," replied the lawyer. The deeds were prepared accordingly; — and a few days before the trial Mr. Lavenham af&xed his name and seal thereto. The Sessions commenced; and on the fourth morning the unhappy gentleman was placed in the dock and arraigned in due form. The court was crowded to excess: but none of the Belmont family were present. Their attendance was rendered un- necessary by the fact that Mr. Lavenham had resolved to plead guilty; and neither Charles or his father, much less the Duchess, had any inclination to witness proceedings of a character so painful to their feelings. Mr. Collinson however appeared on the Duke's behalf; but merely for the purpose of causing those statements which he had previously made at the Police Office, to be urged upon the notice of the bench. The lapse of nearly ten weeks had produced a great alteration in the personal appearance of Julius Lavenham. His cheeks were pale and sunken — his eyes had lost their fire— his hair was streaked with many threads of silver. That robust vigour of form which made him what is termed a fine man, had yielded to waste and emaciation ; — and his shoulders had acquired a sliglit stoop, as if he were physically as well as mentally bowed down by the weight of misfortune. A murmur ran through the crowded court as he entered the dock: but it was an univer- sal expression of sympathy towards one whom his equals regarded as a generous friend and excellent companion, and whom the poor loved and blessed for his illimitable charities. .' Mr. Lavenham appeared to be profoundly moved i by that demonstration of kindly and compassionate 1 freling towards him ; — and he passed his hand ' rapidly across his eyes, the lids of which had sud- denly grown moist with tears. Then, summoning to his aid all the presence of mind which he could command, he stood erect in the dock — with his looks fixed upon the Judge, and his thoughts ap- parently concentrated in the solemn proceeding of wliich he was the object. Amidst a profound silence on the part of the as- sembled multitude, Julius Lavenham was called upon to plead; — and in a firm toue he responded, "Guilty." There was a brief pause, during which the stillness that prevailed was more than solemn— it was awful. A painful — a disagreeable — an ominous sensation appeared to seize upon all present, — as if every one were for the moment identifying himself with the prisoner in the dock. But that silence, so dead and sinister, was sud- denly broken by Julius Lavenham himself; — and, in a voice that was so clear that not a word was lost, although its tone was low, he addressed the Judge in terms similar to those which he had used at the Police Court, His aim was to effect the complete exculpation of the Duchess of Belmont from even the faintest or slightest imaginings of injurious suspicion; — and as he proceeded in his address, his words and looks became inspired with all the animation of that chivalrous fervour which prompted the proceeding on his part. He ceased — and a murmur of approbation ran throughout the justice-hall — a murmur which not even the presiding functionary endeavoured to sup- press. When silence was restored, a barrister, who had been instructed by Mr. Collinson, r se and represented to the .Judge that Mr. Lavenham was a gentleman well known for his boundless philanthropy and extensive benevolence; — that he was subject to temporary fits of mental alienation, under the influence of which only was he capable of the deed now charged against him, — and that several noblemen and gentlemen were present to testify their regard for his character and moral worth. The learned counsel proceeded to state that the jbuke and Duchess of Belmont, so far from bearing any animosily towards the unfortunate prisoner, strongly and earnestly recommended him to the humane consideration of the court; — and the barrister concluded by observing that not only had Mr. Lavenham sought to atone for his offence by pleading guilty thereto and giving the fullest and completest explanation of the motives and feelings which prompted him at the time, but ho had likewise transferred the whole of his property for the immediate use of the noble lady whom ho had injured, and for the prospective benefit of the son of that husband whom his conduct had outraged. y'The learned counsel sate down amidst a hum of applause ; and the Judge proceeded to deliver his decision. He profoundly deplored the predicament in which an honourable and good man had been placed by llie temporary alienation of his self- governing mental powers; and he considered that the atonement which the prisoner had endeavoured to make in every way, had morally expiated the offences. But the law could not regard the issue precisely in the same light;— and therelbre tho Judge found himself compelled to order that Julius Lavenham be detained in custody during the pleasure of the Crown. His lordship however intimated that this term of imprisonment would be short, ami that at its expiration Mr. Lavenham would be handed over to the care of his friends. The prisoner bowed -throw one rapid but expres- sive look of gratitude around upon that auditory which had given him its kindest sympaihios— and then stepped down from tho dock. In another moment ho.disappearrd in the custody of the turn- keys of Newgate;— and thus ended the paiiilul ordeal through which bo had been compelled to pass During the period of his incarceration in Newgate IKE SSAMSTBESS. 59 previously to the trial, Mr. Lavenham bad received many indulgences at the hands of tlie governor — especially that of being separated from tbc other prisoners; — and this privilege, which was vouch- safed in consequence of the impression that he was a criminal merely through an access of mental aber- ration, wad continued to him after his trial. He was accordingly allowed to occupy a small chamber attached to the infirmary; and books and writing- materials were ordered to be supplied him under the discretionary supervision of the chaplain. It was about noon on the second day after Mr. Lavenham had appeared in the dock at the Old Bailey, that a turnkey entered his prison-room and intormed him that a young female desired to see bim. Mr. Larenham requested that she should be admitted; and the moment the visitress was ushered into his presence he recognised the seamstress to whom he had afforded his protection on the occasion when she was accosted by the Mai-quis of Arden in Grosvenor Square. Trembling and in tears did Virginia MorJaunt enter the room where Mr. Lavenham was contioed; — and the moment the hurried glance which she threw upon him showed her how much he was altered, she experienced a shock as powerful and as profound as if it were some near and dear relative whose unhappy position she was compelled to de- plore. For the grateful and generous soul of the poor maiden was cruelly affected by the misfortunes of one who had breathed kind words and poured forth salutary counsel in her ears; — and the ravages which care had evidently made upon the victim of those misfortunes, touched the tenderest chords of sweet Christian sympathy that vibrated to her heart's CO c. "Virginia — Miss Mordaunt— is this youf" ex- claimed Mr. Lavenham, who not only recollected the interesting countenance but likewise the name of the young seamstress: and taking her hand, he was about to thank her for this visit, all the kind intent of which he understood in a moment, — but his emotions overpowered him — his voice was suffo- cated by the feelings which rose as it were into his very throat — and the workings of his countenance proved how deeply he was affected. " Mr. Lavenham, you will pardon the boldness — the impropriety, perhaps, of the step which I have taken," said Virginia, in a broken voice and with ■ tears running down her cheeks; "but I felt an in- describable longing to come and see you — some unknown feeling prompted me " "Excellent girl!" exclaimed the prisoner, pressing her hand warmly in his own: then, turning abruptly away, he raised his handkerchief to his face and a 6ob was wafted to the maiden's ears. "Oh! sir — then you are indeed as unhappy as I feared!" murmured Virginia, tottering to a scat. "But you will pardon me for thus intruding " " Pardon you, my dear girl — for I speak to you as a father!" cried Lavenham, turning again towards her; " how can you usk me to pardou an act ol the most touching kindness? I understand your sweet dispusition — your truly Christian character, Virginia;— and I am rejoiced — yes, unfeignedly re- joiced at this con'luct on your part — because it makes me think better of a world which I had begun to hate, to despise, and to fear." " I am glad that you are not angry with me for intruding upon you, sir," resumed the seamstress, her countenance brightening up somewhat through her tears. " I trembled to take this step ; and yet, as I have already told you, stime inscrutable feeling p-ompted me to visit you, if only for a moment. For I longed to tell you that I never, never from the first believed you to be guilty " "Ah! what do you say? — what do you mean, Virginia?" exclaimed Mr. Lavenham, with a sud- den start, as if the words of that innocent young creature had touched the tenderest or else the most painful fibre in his heart: and ho now contem- plated her with a look so earnest, so intent, and yet so singular in its expression, that the felt alarmed and abashed. "1 hope that I have not offended you, sir?" she said, with a glance so toucliiugly deprecatory that Mr. Lavenham was again melted even to tears. "No, no — you have not offended me, my dear girl," he exclaimed: "how is it possible that you could offend me by believing in my innocence. And, ah ! it would grieve me to the very soul to destroy that belief in your pure and artless mind: for it seems as if an angel were looking at me through your eyes and speaking to me with your voice I Nevertheless, Virginia," he added, in a tone that suddenly became profoundly solemn, " I am com- pelled by an imperious sense of duty " "No— do not destroy that faith which I have in your rectitude — your humanity — your guiltless- ness," interrupted Virginia, with a species of hysterical excitement. " You are innocent — I know you are innocent — something tells me that you are — and no persuasion can induce me to believe the contrary. Some fearful combina- tion of circumstances has made you a victim: and although I cannot fathom the mystery, nor even try to do so — yet am I assured that you are guiltless;— Oh! yes — you are guiltless; — and it is because you are so, that I fancied it would be pleasing and soothing to your soul if there were one human voice in the world to breathe that conviction in your ears." " Virginia, let us change the subject," said Mr. Lavenham, profoundly moved. " Wo will talk about yourself: and therefore you will permit me to ask you whether you are happy and com- fortable -" " Yes, yes — oh ! yes," exclaimed the seamstress hastily. "But we will not touch upou anything regarding myself: for my solo purpose in coining hither was to show you that I am not unmindful of the generous treatment I experienced at your hands " " Generous treatment ! " echoed Lavenhatii. "Poor girl! I merely protected you against in- sult " " And you gave me advice which I shall never forget, sir," added the young maiden with a strong emphasis upon her words. "Ah! your kindness ou that occasion touched me profoundly; and it ap- peared as if I should he ungrateful, had I not yielded to that impulse wliicli prompted nio to penetrate thus into the dreadful pkco where they have imprisoned you. And now tell rae, sir — tell me," continue- act generously and suHer me to pursue my way alouo " "iN'o, no— I will not leave you yet — I swear I will not," exclaimed the Marquis of Arden. "You must and shall hear me, Virginia; — and I therefore beseech you not to force me into what may seem a persecution But, Oh! it is impossible," he cried, in a tone of vexation, " that you can havo tutored yourself to hate and abhor me. Tell me — tell me, Virginia — do you hate me? — do you repent of that moment when you suffered me to believe that you loved me——" "Oh I ilr. 0«mond, you cannot have forgotten how cruelly the dream to which I had yielded for an instant, was interrupted 1" murmured the seam- stress, far from unmoved by the evidences and assurances of affection which had greeted her ears and glided into her heart during the last few minutes. "Virginia," said the ilarquis of Ar'ou, in a low but impressive tone, " I shall not attempt to deny the intimacy which had for some short time subsisted between myself and Miss Barnct. But, innocent and pure as you are, even you yourself, Virginia, must be aware that young men are not altogether immaculate until they begin to love with a sincere, holy, and honourable affection. Such was my case. Before I saw you, I never knew what love was. There is as much differ- ence between the sentiments which I entertain for you and those which I experienced towards Miss Barnct, as there is between the immortal soul and the mortal tenement of clay which it inhabits in this world. And now let me tell you something, which, could 1 prove it, would leave you no alterna- tive but to pardon me. Nevertheless, I hope that you will put faith in the statement which I am about to make. Know, then, that in the morning of the very day on which I rescued you from the feet of the plunging horses, I had written a note to inform Miss Barnet that I should sec her in the afternoon ; and I was on my way to her abode, w hen tho incident occurred which had so nearly proved fatal to you. All my thoughts— all my ideas — all my feelings then became absorbed in that meeting with you: and alter you had promised, to see me again, I shrank with an inward sense of loathing from the appointment which I had made with Miss Barnet. 1 already loved you — sincerely, tenderly loved you : — I purposed to make you an offer of my hand, as I had previously given you my heart;— and I felt that I should be guilty of an act of flagrant perfidy and even gross indelicacy towards you, Virginia, were I to keep that appointment with a roistreso. I therefore returned home, to ponder upon your image— to rciicct upoa ail that had taken place that afternoon — and to indulge in delicious hopes for the future;— and it was not until some hours had elapsed, that I bethought me of sending a brief note to Miss Barnct, telling her that she need not expect me. In fine, I was already deter- mined to dissolve that connexion forthwith; — and now, I ask, whether my conduct deserves not to be viewed with a lenient eye i" " Yes— it is true — all true !" murmured tlie seamstress, ber heart palpitating with emotions of pleasure. "Ah ! you know that I am telling you the truth, then ?" exclaimed Charles, joyfully. " Thank heaven ! there is hope for me yet — and you do not hate me, Virginia — dear Virginia ?" •' Hate you Oh ! no, no !" cried the maiden, ail the fondness of her soul reviving towards that handsome young man whose words she could scarcely hear and the ardour of whose looks she could scarcely encounter with impunity. " Then, if you do not hate me, you can perhaps love me f" asked the nobleman: and without wait- ing for a reply, he said in a graver tone, " Now that we have met again, Virginia, I am glad that we should have been temporarily separated on ac- count of a feeling of so much delicacy on your part. Y'es — the course which you adopted on discovering the connexion between Miss Barnet and myself, is another and more strikmg proof of the innocence of your character — the propriety of your notions— the chaste rectitude of your own conduct. And let me assure you that after you fled so precipitately on that occasion when our dream of bliss was so unfor- tunately broken m upon, Miss Barnet said enough to convince me that you were all I had believed you to be— a model of virtue '" "Ah! she did me at least no injustice then?" said Virginia, touched by what slie supposed to be a good trait on the part of her late friend. "She did you every possible justice, Virginia," returned the Marquis of Arden; — "and I feel more proud of you — I kno.v that I can love you more devotedly — than if you were one of the titled or nobly-born damsels who glitter in the most brilliant spheres of society." Virginia threw upon her handsome companion a look of mingled fondness and gratitude; and in his eyes she road all the fervour and sincerity of that love which he had proffered her. "Now, my dearest girl," he continued, "I see that you have pardoned ma— that you have con- fidence in me — and that you do not hate me. But when will you be mine ? — when shall I lead you to the altar? — when sliall I bo blest by becoming your husband, and atquuring the legal privilege of pro- tecting you?" Virginia was now overwhelmed with confusion. She knew not what answer to give. On the one hand her inclinations prompted her to leave every- thing to the persuasion, pleasure, and discretion of her lover: but on tho other side, she felt all the im- prudence, if not tho impropriety of so hurriedly and so precipitately yielding to the enthusiastic ardour of a youth with whose character and position she was so completely unacquainted. She therefore paused— she hesitated; while her heart fluttered ner- vously as an allrightcd bird in its cage. "You do not answer me, Virginia?" said the young Marquis, in that low tone of fondness which THE SEAMSTEEbS. carried such a gush of exquisite feeliug to the soul of a womaa who loves for the first time aad yet knows so little of what love is. "Ah! I comprehend you, my dearest girl — I caa read what is passing ia your miud. You do not know me : or rather you know so little of me " "Nor do you know me more than I know you," interrupted Virginia, as the idea struck her ; — " and yet you have generously offered me your hand! AH that you do know of me is that I am a poor, friendless, orphan girl — that at present I am forced to toil hard for the bread I eat — and that my good name is my only dowry. Weil, eir, if you are con- tented to ujake mo your wife But, oh ! I cannot think that your relatives and friends will ever coun- tenance me !" she exclaimed, suddenly interrupting herself with bitterness, as if the thought threw a blight upon the sanguine hope that she had enter- tained an instant before. "Do not give way to thoughts which need not trouble us now, Virginia," said the Marquis of Arden. "You are all that is dear— all that is adorable in my estimation: — and I care nothing for friends or relatives — nothing for the opinion of the world ! Tell me, then, my well-beloved Vir- ginia—" " Oh ! do not press me any farther now," inter- rupted the maiden, in a faltering tone. " I must have leisure to collect my iueas— to weigh all that you have said or that my own mind has suggested : and therefore " " We will meet again to-morrow i" cried the young nobleman eagerly. " Yes — tell me — promise me, dearest Virginia, that we shall meet again to- morrow ?" The maiden murmured the affirmative response; —and after some hesitation and reflection, she agreed that the appointment should take place at noon in the Eegent's Park. It was not however without much reluctance that the Marquis of Arden consent d to separate from her even for the brief space of four-and-twenty hours : but he was com- pelled to tranquillize himself with the positive pledge which he exacted from Miss Mordauut to tao effect that nothing should induce her to dis- appoint hitn on the morrow; — and with this under- standing the lovers took leave of each other. But wherefore had Virginia Mordaunt fixed upon the Eegent's Park as the place of meeting for the ensuing day ? Because, on leaving Tavistock Street in the precipitate manner already recorded, she had betaken herself to a humble though respectable lodging in Camden Town, which is dose to tho Eegciit's Park; — and there she had since remained. During the interval her needle had procured her a scanty subsistence ; — but she was nevertheless grateful, because she had not failed to obtain full employment the whole time, thanks to the good offices of her new landlady. And yet how often — oh ! how often, had she found herself dropping her work and giving way to the many painful relleo- tious which would steal, like a spectral procession, into her brain: bow often, too, was that work moistened with her tears ! But now a brighter prospect appeared to bo opening to the view of this fair young creature ; — and as she tripped lightly back on her long, long walk homo to Camdun Town, alter her interview with him whom she still knew only as Charles Osmond, she could not prevent herself from yielding to those fond hopes and softly pleasing dreams in which the young heart will ever indulge when it loves for the first time. CHAP TEE XIX. IKE APPOIXXIIEUT. The day was bright, and cheerful, and even warm, with the gently smiling weather that often charac- terises the April of our English climate. Nature, like a charming widow who lays aside her mourning ^J degrees and as gradually assumes the ornaments which become her, was beginning to cast off tho sombre garb of Winter and don the gayer apparel of Spring. The trees were putting forth their ver- dure : the early flowers were disclosing their varie- gated beauties. Brighter grew the green of the meadows: purer and clearer the rivulet and lake. Cheerily hopped the innocent bird from bough to bough : more stately was the progress of the swan on the limpid water. The morning shower had sprinkled the- earth with its liquid pearls; and the sunbeams were reflected in the tears which Nature had shed in joy, and not in sorrow. The fruit-trees covered the garden-walls with their myriad blossoms : the peach and the nectarine shoots were displaying their beau- teous floral colouring. Tnere was a freshness, an elasticity, and a vigour in the very air, which seemed to renovate the invalid — cause the old to feel young again — and inspire the strong and youthful with a sensation of enduring healtli such as may be sup- posed to belong to immortality. Cheering in sooth was the delicious April day to the seamstress as she escaped from her close room and entered the Eegent's Park. Her lungs appeared to expand — her heart to dilate — and her step to become more elastic than ever. Hope and love, too, tinted her cheeks with the hue of the rose-bud : her eyes were bright, though soft and melting; — and her moist red lips seemed the portals whence came a breath as fragrant as the air with which it com- mingled. Never had Virginia Mordaunt felt in better spirits since the time when she possessed a dear mother whom she loved and by whom she was beloved so well. There was something propitious in the wea- ther: the sunny smiles of Nature appeared to sliine as much for her as for any ot.ier of God's creatures. And youth, too— Oh! youth is the time for hope; — and the April of our own native clime seems congenial with the Spring season of our existence. Tho pure and chaste thoughts inspired by Virgiuia's nascent love, were like the early flowers peeping forth from tho bosom of their mother. Earth; tho halo of inno- cence which surrounded her, >uis as untainted as the sun-light that enveloped the scene. What though her heart fluttered f— 'twas like the bird as ho disported in yonder tree:— what though hor bosom heaved and fell rapidly ? — 'twas like tho ripples in the sunbeams, as the swan stirred the surface of the lake. yJoy to thee, dear maiden — and may happiness attend upon thy love ! Thou hast alreaily suffered much— too much — iu this world, for one of thy tea- THB SEAMSTHESg, 63 der years, and gentle spirit, and kind heart: may'st I thou soon enter upon a more pleasing path, fair girl! But shall it be so? — hath the evil genius of thy destiny done its worst ? Oh ! this, at tho mo- ment when we are following thee to the trysting- place of love, is beyond the range of prophecy. We hope — but we may not forecast. All that we can now do is to say again, God speed thee, sweet maiden : — and with this fervent prayer on thy be- half, wo will yet follow in thy footsteps ! They met — that charming maiden and that hand- some youth: they met, in the cheering sun-light — and in each other's eyes they read a language more eloquent than any that the tongue could speak. Never had Virginia appeared so truly beautiful ; — and with rapture did the Marquis of Arden gaze upon her for several moments as he held her hand in his own. Then softly placing that hand under his arm, he led her into a retired walk; — and there they slowly paced to and fro, having eyes, ears, and thoughts only for each other. "Dearest Virginia," said the Marquis of Arden, in that low melting voice which came like the rich tones of an organ upon the maiden's ear, " I am now a^ured that you love me — and I am happy ! Firmly — Oh! firmly and devotedly do I believe that the 'e is such a sentiment as love at first sight ; — and more than that — I believe also that when two beings meet, whom heaven has destined for each other, the soul of one, if not of both, may ex- perience a mysterious yet distinct revealing of tho fact. Such at least was my case : for the moment that I first saw you, I loved you — and I accosted you with looks, and feelings, and words such as no other woman was ever the object of before. And when we met a second time— on the occasion which was so full of a terrific peril for you — a secret voice appeared to whisper in my soul that I was rescuing from danger or from death, the being who was destined to become my wife. We met a third time — and then I was happy, because I was enabled to tell you of my love and to hope that you loved me in return. But we were suddenly separated — and weeks elapsed until we met a^ain yesterday. During that interval I thought of you by day — I dreamt of you by nijjlit. Much as I loved you before, I taught myself to love you with a deeper worship still. I abandoned all my wonted pursuits — neg- lected ray friends — and wandered about for hours and hours together in tho hope of encountering you. This was my employment day after day — week after week; — and my soul was already sick with disappointment when we met so providentially yesterday. And now tell me, dearest Virginia, are you glad that we have thus met again ?" "Your own heart can furnish my response," said the maiden, lifting towards her lover's coun- tenance those eyes that were full of a melting tenderness. " And have you never once thought of me during the long interval of our separation ?" inquired Charles, in that tone and with that look which showed beforehand the nature of tho answer which he hoped and expected. "Yes— I tlioiight of you often — very often, Charles," returned the seamstress, holding down her blushing couk.tenauce. "But I fancied that we should never meet again — and " "You were grieved at tho thought ?" exclaimed tho nobleman. " Oh! tell me that you were afflicted at tho idea ?" " I was— I was," replied the artless Virginia : — "and I wept, too — yes— I wept often — very often " "Dearest, dearest} girl," cried the enraptured Charles : and, sweeping his eyes rapidly around to assure himself that they were unobserved, he caught her in his arolB. Then upon those lips which until that moment were virgin of man's caresses, did ho imprint a long and fervid kiss; — and again and again did he press the beauteous girl to his heart, the transports of his own soul pouring with warm transfusion into her own. For Oh ! the cooling draught that slakes the agonising thirst of the wanderer upon Araby's scorching sandsr— the first glimpse of land caught by the eye of the voyager on the pathless ocean,— the earliest smile with which the infant babe rewards a tender mother's care, — the reprieve which is borne to the doomed one at the instant that he is ascend- ing the steps of the scaffold,— the cry of victory in the ear of a general who knows that a nation's welfare depends upon the issue of the fi^ht, — the shout of "a sail! a sail!" echoing through a ship that is sinking or on fire, — Oh! none of these can possibly be fraught with an ecstacy so elysian and so profound as the first kisa enjoyed by a pure and holy love ! For nearly a minute did Virginia, lost in the experience of that pleasure so new and so full of rapture, abandon herself to the fervid embrace of the young nobleman who adored her with so fond a worship: then, gently disengaging herself fro n his arms, she sank upon a seat covered with confusion and with blushes. Charles placed himselt by her side — took her hand— and whispered in her ear, " Virginia — sweet Virginia — when wilt thou bestosv this fair hand on me?" The question suddenly aroused in the mind of the young girl all the reflections that had occupied her since she parted with Charles on the previous day until she met him again on the present occasion,— reflections which had been to some extent of an em- barrassing nature. For she had no means to pro- cure the fitting raiment of a briile;— ami her natural delicacy revolted from the thought of ac- cepting any pecuniary assistance from him until the nuptial benediction should have made her tho sharer of his fortunes. Oa the other hand the painful conviction had been forced upon her mind that if she were even fortunate enough to continue iu full employment, and if she were to work to the utmost tension of her energies, living all the wliile upoa tho barest necessaries to keep body and soul to- gether, she would not bo able to save enough to purcliase the simplest bridal apparel under a period of many, many weary months — even if she should succeed in doing so at all ! These were tho embarrassing reflections which now rose up in her mind, and which siio had lost sight of since tlie moment she entered tho park to meet her lover. The su upon her beauteous features and the pensive air wliich seized upon her the instant tlie young nublemaii put tho question that thus recalled these wildering thoughts to her memory, escaped not his notice: and as the eye of a lover is keen in observing all 64 TKK StAM^TRrSfl. variatioas of manner or countenance on the part of her whom he adores, so is his perception acute in penetrating the springs and causes of those changes. The truth flashed accordingly to the mind of the Marquis of Arden; — and he felt inwardly delighted — for he saw in Virginia's delicate reserve and maidenly pride on that particular point, another excellent and admirable phase in her character. " Dearest Virginia," he said, pressing her hand warmly between both his own, " will you not treat me as a friend — or at least repose in me the con- fidence that a sister shows towards a brother — until I am permitted to call you by the tender appella- tion of my bride ?" " What do you mean, Charles ?" inquired the maiden, throwing a hasty look upon her lover and then casting down her eyes as a deep blush suffused her coufttenance; for it instantaneously struck her that he had read the thoughts which were perplex- ing her at the moment. "I mean, my angel," responded the Marquis of Arden, " that you will allow me all those little rights and privileges which an accepted suitor is invariably permitted to enjoy, — that we shall meet daily until the happy moment which will unite us for ever — ♦.hat you will promise to receive a few trifling gifts as testimonials of my enduring love — and also that you will consent to bestow your patronage for the bridal apparel, ornaments, and so forth, upon such tradesmen as I may venture to point out, and who will be proud to serve the future wife of— of— — " The Marquis was about to reveal his rank : but he stopped short — for several motives chained his tongue in that respect. In the first place he was afraid that the timid and unassuming nature of the poor girl would shrink from the contemplation of an union with one whom the accident of birth had placed so highly above her; and therefore he fan- cied that it would be time enough to clear up all mystery on that head, when the bridal preparations had progressed too far and her affections were too much entangled to permit a retreat. Secondly, be was naturally anxious to guard against the possi- bility of his intended marriage with the seamstress reaching the ears of his family until the knot should have been indissolubly tied; -and thirdly, he was young and enthusiastic enough to cherish the ro- mantic desire of keeping for the very morning of the bridal the revelation of that lofty rank to which he honestly and sincerely purposed to raise the humble and obscure Virginia Mordaunt. He had therefore stopped short, we sa; . at the very instant when he was about to make known who he really was : but such was the confusion into which his fair companion had been plunged by her own embarrassing reflections and by the evident fact that Charles had read what was passing in her mind, that she did not perceive anything strange in the abruptness of his pause. For a few moments she struggled with the feelings that were agitating in her bosom: but they gained the mastery — and ahe burst into tears. "Why do you weep, Virginia? — Oh! why do you weep ?" demanded the young nobleman, once more straining her to his breast. " Have I said or ('one aught to oftend you?" "No — oh! no — far from it :" ropliod the maiden, in a faultering tone. " But now — at a time when other young women would have their parents, their brothers, their sisters, to aid them with their advice — I am friendless ■ " " No — not friendless Virginia !" exclaimed Charles, in a voice full of gentle reproach. " Have you not a friend in me ? — and will you not treat me as a brother until I become your husband?" "Yes — for you are all that is kind and good towards me," murmured the seamstress, smiling through her tears. " Maledictions upon the wretch who would in- jure you, my angel — my adored one!" cried the enthusiastic Charles, as he gazed in rapture upon that countenance, which was so full of t!ie sweetest and divinest beauty. Of her own accord the maiden took his hand aud pressed it in token of her gratitude; — and the young Marquis, availing himself of the increased confidence which was now established between them, spoke in the following manners— "Dearest Virginia, you have consented to be- come my bride; and that promise has filled me with unspeakable happiness. You will shortly become the partner of my fortunes, whatever they may be; — and should adversity overtake me, you will prove my ministering angel and my cftnsolcr. From this moment, then, must you be regarded as the sharer of all I possess — the participator in all the weal that may belong to my position, as in whatever woe my destiny may happen to have in store. Hesitate not, then, dearest one, to accept at my hands all that thy parents would give thee, were they now alive. Fortune does not always distribute her favours justly and impartially: else you would h". one of the richest women in the world. I know not how to speak more plainly — for I appreciate and comprehend full well all the admirable delicacy, the ingenuous reserve, and the maidenly pride which belong to your nature. But you must receive every- thing I say in the same spirit in which it is uttered ; and, as your future husband, you must consent to be guided by my counsel. Will you, then, meet me to-morrow, and after our interview act in accord- ance with a letter which I shall put into your hand?" " I place my entire confidence in you, Charles," was the softly whispered reply. The lovers then separated; — and Virginia retraced her way to that humble lodging whither the Marquis did not attempt to follow her, and the whereabouts of which he was likewise too delicate to demand. On the ensuing day they met again ; — and for upwards of two hours did they rove together in the park, exchanging tender vows and indulging in all the sweet discourse which is so welcome to the ears of those who truly love. When they parted on this occasion, tho nobleman placed a letter in Virginia's hands; — and on her return homo, she opened it with a trepidation for which she could scarcely account. It contained a Bank-note for a hundred pounds, and an earnest prayer that Virginia would not feel offended at tho course whicli her lover had adopted in order to enable Jier to hasten tho pre- parations for their bridal. Tho epistle was full of 1 the most impassioned pledges of undying affection ; I and tho whole proceeding exhibited a mingled deli- I cacy and forethought well calculated to touch tho ! maiden's tenderest feelings, without the possibility ' of wounding them. No. 9.— The Seamstress. 66 THE SEAMSTRESS. On the morrow the lovers met again; — and Vir- ginia, without alluding in words to the generous conduct of her intended husband, nevertheless showed him by her manner and her looks how fully she appreciated the generous consideration of which she was the object. Day after day, during the next fortnight, did they meet in the park ; — and on every occasion did they observe in each other fresh traits to demand their admiration and strengthen their love. At last Charles induced Virginia to accom- pany him as far as one of the fashionable streets at the West End ; and there he delicately hinted his desire that she should select at some jeweller's establishment the ornaments which she fancied for her bridal. But to this proposal the maiden re- turned a decided negative, — assuring her lover that he would only cause her pain by placing her in a position that would tend any farther to remind her of her dependence upon bis generosity. The Mar- quis persisted not for another moment : and ere they parted that day, he succeeded in winning from her an assent that their marriage should take place at the expiration of another fortnight. 1/ Trivial as the little incident of the walk to the West End may now appear to the reader, it will shortly prove to have been not altogether unim- portant. For while the Mai'quis of Ardeu and Vir- ginia Mordaunt were proceeding along the fashion- able street above alluded to, they were observed by Mademoiselle Clementine, the Duchess of Bel- mont's French lady's-maid; — and this prying abi- gail had no difficulty in recognizing the young seamstress whom she had seen on one occasion in Grosvenor Square. A feeling of rancorous jealousy took possession of Clementine : for she herself, even from her comparatively humble and dependent con- dition, had not only conceived a profound passion for the handsome Marquis, but had ventured to cherish the most exalted hopes and soaring aspi- rations with regard to this secret love of her's ! To be brief, Mademoiselle Clementiae followed the youthful lovers at a distance which enabled her to watch their movements without being observed by them: — and her quick eye speedily convinced her that the delicate attention and respectful admi- ration paid by the Marquis to the seamstress, were not the traits of that conduct which a man would observe towards a pensioned mistress. Clementine therefore concluded that something more important than a mere passing amour was upon the tapis ; — and she continued to follow the young couple, who were too much absorbed in their own alfaii-s to dream for an instant of the possibility of being thus ob- served and pursued. She saw them take leave of each other; — and when they had parted, she continued to follow Vir- ginia until she discovered the place where the maiden resided. CHAPTER XX. THE duke's daughters. The reader will be pleased to remember that nearly three months had elapsed since the splendid enter- tainment which closed in so sad and shocking a manner at Belmont House. During this interval the young, handsome, and accomplished Earl of Mostyndale had been a constant visitor at the ducal mansion ; and his addresses were assiduously paid to Lady Mary Melcombo. Nor was this beautiful and amiable being indifferent to the many good qualities of her suitor; — and when he seized the golden opportunity to whisper the tale of love in her ear, her blushes confirmed the hopes which he had ventured to entertain. Yes— she loved him in return — and as there appeared to be no earthly bar- rier in the way of their happiness. Lord Mostyn- dale solicited and obtained the young lady's per- mission to communicate with her father upon the subject. We may as well here pause to remark that the Earl was not the only frequent visitor at Belmont House during the last few weeks. Mr. CoUinson had suddenly grown into a close intimacy with the Duke, and appeared to have what might be called " the run of the mansion." That is to say, he called when he chose — remained as long as he liked— and often stayed to dinner without any express invita- tion. The Duke treated him as a familiar friend; — and the ladles of the faipily dared not therefore dis- play any annoyance at the frequency of his visits. Lord Mostyndale was however invariably cold, haughty, and distant towards the attorney;— for the Earl, naturally generous and strictly honourable, could not endure the society of a man whom report declared to have amassed a fortune by all kinds of slimy ways, and who frequently displayed in his discourse the utter selfishness of his character. But Collinson did not appear to trouble himself about the frigid reserve with which the Earl of Mostyndale treated him. He seemed perfectly con- tented with the familiar footing which he had gained in the ducal mansion, and from which he was very well assured that neither the Earl nor any one else could dislodge him. If he called when the sisters and Lord Mostyndale were seated together in the drawing-room, he would not appear to feel that he was not wanted: but, behaving just as if he knew that he was a welcome guest, ho would draw a chair close to either Lady Clarissa, or Lady Mary, as the phantasy might seem to strike him, and begin to converse with all the ease in the world upon the current topics of the day. Sometimes, if he saw that Lord Mostyndale was particularly attentive to the junior sister, he would actually thrust himself as it were in between them, and compel the young lady to listen to him: and this manoeuvre he prac- tised with an art so well glossed over, that it could neither be viewed with offended looks nor yet bo denominated downright rudeness. On other occa- sions he would seem to take a pleasure in engrossing Lady Clarissa's attention, without paying any par- ticular notice to Lady Mary; — and thus he appeared to arrogate to himself the right of monopolising the society of either sister according to his own good will and pleasure. The Duchess of Belmont was very rarely pre- sent in the drawing-room when these little scenes took . place. Since her recovery she had courted the solitude of her own suite of apartments during a considerable portion of each day; — and indisposi- tion was likewise ploadcd tVequcntly as tlio apology for her absence from the diuing-tablo. As for the Marquis of Arden, ho seldom or never courted the society of his sisters : for when ho was not walking with his beloved Virginia in the Regent's Park, he THE SEAMSTRESS. 67 was sure to be either rambling about alone, or else remaining shut up in his own room, pondering upon that love which had so completely absorbed his thoughts by day and his dreams by night. AVe have already stated that Lady Clarissa was haughty, selfish, and envious ; whereas Lady Mary was affable, kind-hearted, and amiable to a degree. The elder sister was bitterly jealous of any atten- tions paid to the younger ; — and therefore when she observed that the assiduities of the Earl of Mostyn- dale were every day becoming more earnest, marked, and significant towards Lady Mary, her vexation and spite knew no bcands. But she was compelled to veil her malignant feelings as much as possible ; — and these only became the more ran- corous for want of a vent. At last, when she found that Lord Mostyndale really loved her sister and evidently intended to propose for her hand, she worked herself up to a pitch of perfect hatred to- wards that nobleman. She panted for revenge, yet knew not how to wreak it. By degrees she began to dwell upon the fact that Lord Mostyndale evi- dently detested CoUinson ; and she accordingly resolved on encouraging the lawyer's visits as much as possible, in order to annoy her sister's noble suitor. The attorney soon noticed the increasing friendliness of Lady Clarissa's manner towards him; — and the real motive was not likely to be misun- derstood by one so wily, astute, and penetrating as he. Nor did he fail to take advantage of that con- duct on her part which furnished so many opportuni- ties of avenging himself for the coldness and reserve of Lord Mostyndale's manner towards him; — and without appearing to have any sinister motive in view, he made use of Lady Clarissa's agency to cause that nobleman an infinity of petty annoy- ances. Sometimes, when Lady Mary and Lord Mostyn- dale were seated together in a window-recess, con- versing with the tongue and with the eyes as lovers are wont to do, Mr. CoUinson would prompt Lady Clarissa to call the young nobleman to the table at which she might be seated, under pretext of solicit- ing his opinion relative to a drawing or a piece of poetry in her Album : and then, as Lady Clarissa artfully detained the Earl in conversation, CoUinson would approach Lady Mary and negligently drop into the chair next to her — thus taking her lover's place and preventing him from returning to it. Or again, CoUinson would draw Lady Clarissa's atten- tion to some passage in a standard poet ; and then, if requested to read it aloud, the wily lawyer would throw that task upon Mostyndale's shoulders, under pretence that his lordship could render far greater justice to the sublime passage than his own humble capacity would possibly aUow. By these and a hun- dred similar artifices, the pleasant tetes-d-tetes of the Earl and Lady Mary were constantly inter- rupted ; — and while the nobleman was prevented by ordinary courtesy as well as by his own pride from suffering his annoyance to become apparent, the lawyer likewise concealed his triumph at this series of petty vengeance which Lady Clarissa's tacit complicity enabled him to wreak upon Lady Maiy's noble suitor. Disgusted with CoUinson— sick of the little per- secutions of which he was thus the object, but which were each individually too trivial or too weU covered to notice openly— and beginning to read the maUg- I nant character of Lady Clarissa, Lord ^ilostyndale was led to hasten his suit somewhat with Lady Mary : and hence his resolve to demand her hand of t';e Duke after a comparatively brief court- ship. Accordingly, — having obtained the young lady's permission to that eifect, — the Earl of Mostyndale one morning sought an interview alone with the Duke of Belmont ; — and his Grace received him in the library. The noble suitor explained his hopes and aspirations in that frank, open, and candid manner which was natural to him; — adding that if he were fortunate enough to receive the Duke's assent to the match, he should be proud and happy to settle a handsome jointure upon the young lady whom he courted for a wife. But while be was yet speaking, the Earl could not help remarking the singularity of the expres- sion which gradually spread itself over the coun- tenance of the Duke of Belmont, — an expression so strange and undefinable, that the young noble- man knew not whether it was one of joy or sorrow, and whether he was to regard it as au index of hope or despair. Still his Grace listened with a profound attention, and never once uttered a word during the whole time the Earl was address- ing him. But when the latter had ceased speaking, the Duke turned slowly round in his chair — leant his head upon his hand, the elbow resting on the table — and immediately became buried in the deep- est meditations. " My dear Lord Mostyndale," he at length said, slowly raising his eyes and fixing them upon the countenance of the young nobleman, "I am agi- tated by emotions which I cannot explain to you. You have honoured my younger daughter with your preference — and you tell me that she loves you in return. But I did not require that assurance from your lips : as a father who anxiously watches over his children, I have not failed to observe the impression which your lordship has made upon her heart. And no wonder : for your lordship pos- sesses every qualification suited to win the affections of one who is equaUy worthy of a sincere and honourable love." "And yet your Grace, though pleased thus to speak of me, appears to hesitate r" exclaimed the Earl of Mostyndale, who was both grieved and sur- prised at the Duke's mysterious manner, which imparted an air of evasiveness to his language. " I hesitate, my lord," said his Grace of Belmont, speaking in a troubled tone, " because I am placed in a cruel embarrassment." "And that embarrassment?" demanded Mostyn- dale, quickly. "I know not how to explain it," returned the Duke. " And yet I feel the necessity of unbur- thening myself, at least partially to your lordship. But am I to understand that whatever may trans- pire between us now, is strictly confidential and private P" " I pledge your Grace my honour and word to that effect," said the Earl, marvelling more and more at the singular turn which the conversation was taking. "I thank your lordship for that assurance," observed the Duke : then, after a brief pause, and speaking with an embarrassment which showed that it cost him an eflbrt to give utterance to his bS jaiS tsEAMSTBESS. words, he said, "You love my daughter Mary — and you would doubtless make some sacrifice to obtain her hand ?" " Sacrifice ?" echoed Mostyndale, with a painful bewilderment. " What in heaven's name does your Grace mean ? I cannot even conjecture ?" " Suppose that it would cost you a large sum of money, my lord, to accomplish some aim on which your mind was set," said the Duke, a singular con- fusion gaining rapidly upon him, — " would you hesi- tate to make that sacrifice ?" " If I took a fancy to a particular horse or dog," replied the Earl, in a tone which was slightly accentuated with a disgust that he could not alto- gether restrain, — " I should not hesitate to give any reasonable sum in order to gratify the whim — although I take credit to myself for not being a man susceptible of any such silly longings or caprices. But when I think or speak of an amiable, accomplished, and beauteous young lady whom I am desirous of making my wife, I do not expect to treat the negotiation in a purely commercial and financial point of view." " But if I, as your father-in-law, were to beseech a certain pecuniary succour at your hands ?" said the Duke, driven by a sort of desperation to approach the main point as speedily as possible. "What I might do cheerfully from motives of friendship," exclaimed the Earl, "I should spurn indignantly as a matrimonial stipulation. In plain terms, if your Grace wishes me to ptirchase your daughter, I can only say that grieved as I shall be to behold the destruction of my hopes and the blight of my first affections, — nevertheless, a sense of duty both towards the young lady and myself will force me to cut the matter short at once." And Lord Mostyndale rose from his seat — took up his hat — and appeared to wait for the Duke's final decision. " You know not — you cannot conceive how pain- ful — how humiliating — how galling this scene is to my feelings," said his Grace of Belmont, in a low and tremulous tone, and with a manner that was full of entreaty. " But I am ruled by an imperious necessity " " Then your Grace has nothing of a more agree- able character to oflfer in reply to the proposal which I have ventured to make ?" interrupted Lord Mostyndale. " Oh ! my dear young friend," exclaimed the unhappy Duke, clasping his hands despairingly, — "you will plunge my poor daughter into an abyss of woe — for she loves you — she loves you." "And heaven knows how fervently I love her in return," said Lord Mostyndale, in a voice that was half stifled by emotion. " Nevertheless, I dare not sacrifice my own sense of propriety nor insult her delicacy by making the future Countess of Mostyn- dale an object of mean, paltry, debased money- trafficking. Of my own accord I proposed to settle a handsome independence upon your daughter : but beyond that " " My lord, there must be something beyond that," said the Duke, in a hollow tone and with a look of fixed despair. " Find me some one to lend me a hundred and twenty thousand pounds — and my daughter is yours." " Oh ! your Grace would do well to apply to that wealthy worthy, Mr. Collinson, who enjoys such a familiar footing in the house," observed Lord Mostyndale, unable to subdue his disgust and indignation at the mercenary proposal which con- stituted the Duke's ultimatum. "Ah! Collinson — the wretch!" murmured his Grace, as he sank back in the seat from which ho also had risen. "My dear Mostyndale, have pity upon me! You see before you a heart-broken man " "But I cannot forget that your Grace seeks to make your amiable and innocent daughter a mar- ketable commodity," interrupted the Earl, with a coldness alike of tone and manner; — "and that mercenary feeling on your part has destroyed all the sympathy which I should otherwise have expe- rienced for your Grace. I wish your Grace good morning." And with a reserved and frigid salutation, the Earl of Mostyndale hurried from the library. Not many minutes elapsed ere Lady Mary Mel- combe heard that her lover had quitted the house immediately after the interview with her father; — and a presentiment of evil struck like a chill to her heart. Lady Clarissa could scarcely conceal her joy at a circumstance which was so full of sombre omen in respect to Lady Mary's happiness ; and she volunteered to go to the library and sound her ducal father relative to the particulars of his interview with the Earl. But though racked by the most torturing suspense, her unhappy sister at once revolted against the indelicacy and impro- priety of such a step ; — and thus did a couple of hours pass away without affording any clue to a mystery that was harrowing the amiable and tender- hearted Lady Mary to the very quick. At length a note was delivered to Lady Mary. She instantaneously tore it open — and her eyes ran with an almost electric rapidity over its contents. These were brief, but full of affection and of sorrow. The Earl informed her that he had duly communi- cated with her father, to whom he must refer her for an explanation of those circumstances which had suddenly and unexpectedly risen up as barriei's to their union and enemies to their happiness. But Lord Mostyndale added that in order to afford Lady Mary a proof of his ardent love and de- voted admiration, he would never solicit the hand of another so long as she herself should continue unmarried. The young lady's cup of sorrow was not, there- fore, of unmixed bitterness. There was a taste of honey combining with the gall ; — and at the bottom of Pandora's box of many evils, hope still remained. The patrician damsel knew that she was beloved by Mostyndale; and this conviction was at least a partial anodyne for the wound inflicted by a cruel disappointment. Besides, her's was not the age at which the loving heart abandons itself altogether to despair; — and when the first effect of the shock had passed, she found solace and comfort in those portions of the Earl's letter which conveyed the proof of his unalterable love. In the course of the afternoon Lady Mary re- ceived a message from her father, desiring her to join him in the library. The servant who delivered this message, intimated that she was to repair thither alone; — and Clarissa was sorely vexed at being excluded from the conference. On finding horsclf in the Duke's presence, the THE SEAMSTRESS. fiO gentle Mary was unable to restrain her feelings ; — and bursting into tears, she threw herself into her father's arms. The Duke wept also : but he said the kindest and most reassuring things to console his afflicted daughter; — and when they were both somewhat tranquillised, he asked her whether she had not received a letter from the Earl of Mostyndale. The young lady unhesitatingly drew forth the billet from her bosom, and presented it to the Duke, who opened it with trembling fingers and pro- ceeded to scan its contents with looks full of trouble and apprehension. But no sooner had he reached that passage which recorded the solemn pledge whereby Lord Mostyndale bound himself to his engagement with Lady Mary Melcombe so long as it should be her wish for it to remain unbroken, the Duke of Belmont's countenance suddenly lighted up with an expression ofjoy;— and snatching his daughter to his breast, he cried in a tone of fervid gratitude, " Despair not, my beloved Mary— despair not : for you shall yet be Countess of Mostyndale — despite the wretch CoUinson!" But the young lady heard not the concluding words of her father's ejaculation : for, overpowered by the delight with which the first portion of it so suddenly inspired her, she had fainted in his arms. CHAPTER XXL THE NOBLEMAN AND THE FEMME-DE-CHAMBEE. It was between nine and ten o'clock in the evening of the same day on which the last mentioned occur- rences took place; and again do we find the Duke of Belmont alone in the library. His eyes were fixed upon a book which lay open before him; — but his thoughts were far apart from the contents of the volume that he seemed to be perusing. Presently a low knock at the door caught his ear; — and, in obedience to his summons to enter, Mademoiselle Clementine glided into the room. The Duke started with a nervous trepidation: for it immediately struck him that this visit must have some connexion with the Duchess — inasmuch as it was quite unusual for her Grace's female dependants to become the bearers of any messages to him, this duty devolving upon the pages of the household. Therefore, when the Frenchwoman made her appearance, he naturally conceived that her object was of a private and confidential cha- racter. " Your Grace will pardon me for the liberty I am taking," said Clementine, whose air and manner were full of mystery : " but it is absolutely necessary I should be favoured with your lordship's attention for a few minutes." " Proceed, Clementine," exclaimed the Duke. " Is it concerning her Grace " " No, my lord," was the prompt interjection. " But my purpose closely regards your Grace's son, the Marquis of Arden." "What of him?" demanded the Duke, impatiently. " Speak !" "There is nothing that will Buffer any additional harm by contemplating the matter coolly and tran- i quilly," continued the femme-de-chambre : "nor is | there anything that may not be remedied or coun- teracted. I therefore b-'seech your Grace to subdue all unnecessary excitement and hear me patiently." "I will do so, Clementine," said the Duke of Belmont. " And now proceed." " Some time ago, my lord," resumed the abigail, — "it was about the middle of January, — indeed, now that I recollect, on the forenoon of the very day on which that sad occurrence took place in the conservatory " "Well, well — you need not allude to thatP' ex- claimed the Duke, sitting uneasily in his chair. " No further allusion is necessary, my lord," observed Clementine : " but having once fixed the special date, I may at once inform your Grace that on the particular forenoon just mentioned, a young dressmaker called at the mansion. To do her justice, she is sweetly beautiful and looks innocent and modest enough. Well, my lord, I tliis day saw the Marquis of Arden and that same girl in com- pany together." " Is this all you have to tell me, Clementine ?" exclaimed the Duke, his countenance suddenly lowering with displeasure. " I am well aware that young men toill be young men — that is to say, they cannot be expected to prove immaculate ; — and I do not pretend to interfere with my son's pursuits, so long as they reflect no disgrace upon the ancient family to which he belongs and the illustrious name which he bears." " But your Grace has not heard me to the end," said Clementine, undismayed by the species of rebuff" which she had just experienced. " If this were a mere passing affair of gallantry, I should not have attempted to constitute myself a spy upon the Mar- quis of Arden's actions — much less undertake to perform the part of tale-bearer. But as I am firmly convinced that there is far more in the affair than a transitory passion " "What on earth do you mean. Mademoiselle?" cried the Duke, his naturally pale cheeks now flush- ing with indignation. "Do you intend me to un- derstand that the son and heir of the Duke of Bel- mont has any idea of marrying a dressmaker ?" " I think so, my lord," was Clementine's un- abashed and cool reply. " No : it is impossible !" exclaimed the nobleman, striking his clenched fist upon the volume that was spread open upon the table. " Then, if your Grace be so well satisfied on that head," observed Clementine, with the same unvary- ing placidity of tone and manner, "I can have nothing more to say : — and she turned to leave the room. " Stop !" cried the Duke. " It may be as well to look a little deeper into the matter." "Such, at least, is my humble and deferential opinion," remarked Clementine as she turned again towards her ducal master. " Be pleased, then, to explain yourself more fully. Mademoiselle," he said. "I was about to inform your Grace," she accord- ingly, resumed, "that as I was proceeding along Eegent Street this morning, to execute a few com- missions for her ladyship, I observed the Marquis of Arden arm-in-arm with a young woman whom I instantaneously recognised to be the seamstress I had once seen in this house." "Arm-in-arm with a dressmaker in Regent 70 THE SEAMSTEESS. - Street — and in the broad daylight !" exclaimed the Duke, now becoming interested in the matter. " Such was the fact, my lord," continued the femme-de-cliamhre. " The young woman was dressed with the utmost neatness — a neatness that indeed was not without a certain air of elegance. In plain terms, she looked quite lady-like — and no one, who did not know her, would have suspected that she was a mere needle-woman." " But at all events it is most indiscreet for my son to parade his mistress thus publicly!" ejaculated the Duke, in a tone of vexation. ' " I do not for a moment believe that she is his lordship's mistress at all," said Clementine. " Now your Grace is aware that the penetration of wo- man is far more keen in certain respects than that of man; — and your Grace does not require to be informed that this faculty of penetration is particu- larly acute amongst females of my nation and of my class," added Clementine, with a smile that displayed her beautiful teeth. " Well, my lord, thanks to that faculty, I came to the conclusion, after watching them for some time, that the young dressmaker is not the mistress of the Marquis of Arden. I observed them narrowly, although from a ilistauce; — and the more intently I gazed, the more acute seemed to become my powers of pene- tration. Ah ! my lord, there are a thousand little signs by which the pensioned mistress may be detected, — a myriad indications by which her posi- tion is revealed to the keen observer ! A husband's demeanour towards his wife and a lover's conduct towards her whom he iateads to make his wife, are as distinct as possible from the mutual bearing of a young man and his paramour." " But if tlie paramour be naturally modest and reserved — and if she be sincerely attached to her lover?" said the Duke, inquiringly — although he was much troubled by all that had now fallen from the Hps of Clementine. " Still is it easy to perceive that she is a para- mour," responded the Frenchwoman emphatically. " My lord, I watched that young couple narrowly'. I saw them approach the window of a jeweller's shop : and the Marquis was evidently persuading his fair companion to enter it with him. Now, when a nobleman or gentleman proposes to a female to accompany him into a shop of that description, it can only be for one purpose — namely, to make her a present of whatever she may choosa to select : and, under those circumstances, no mistress or paramour ever refuses the offer, I don't care how sincere her love may be. But this dressmaker did refuse — and persisted in her refusal, moreover — and gained the point likewise ; and, even from a distance, I was enabled to notice that this refusal was urged with a delicacy aad yet with a firmness such as no pensioned mistress ever did display or will display in this wicked world of our's." " You really seem to attach an undue import- ance to the veriest trifles, Clementine," said the Duke, who was unwilling to admit even unto himself the full force of the abij^ail's reasoning. "No, my lord: — I am a woman, and I observe with the eyes of a woman and judge with the expe- rience of a woman also," answered the fcmme-de- cJiambre. " Besides, docs your Grace imagine that I tuok no notice of the thousand-and-oue signs by means of which an acute observer forms impressions and arrives at conclusions in such a case ? The very way in which the young woman leant upon his lord- ship's arms — the delicate tenderness and respectful admiration with which he regarded her— the manner in which she received all the little attentions that a lover lavishes upon the cherished being who is to become his wife — the total absence of aay looks of sinister meaning, — in fine, their mutual bearing, conduct, and demeanour, all convinced me that their connexion is neither illicit nor immoral. And more than this — I followed them as far as the Eegent's Park : — and they separated at the gate leading towards Camden Town— the Marquis not even ac- companying her to the door of her own abode, al- though she lives at no great distance &om the spot where they thus parted." [ ".\h! you followed her home; then.!"' said the Duke, interrogatively. "Yes, my lord," replied the femme-de-ehamhre ; — " and she dwells in a small, humble, but respectable-looking house. Now, then, does your Grace think that she is the Marquis of Arden's mistress? Would she not have a fine lodging, if she were?— and would he not have escorted her at least to her very door ? But, no — all their pro- ceedings were characterised by the strictest pro- priety and by an unmistakable delicacy. I stopped in the neighbourhood for a few minutes to make inquiries at one of the shops; — and I learnt that the people of the house where the dressmaker dwells, are of the highest respectability, although poor — and I also ascertained that the young woman herself bears an irreproachable character." i "What is her name?" asked the Duke of Bel- I mont. I "Virginia Mordaunt," replied Clementine. i " Ah ! a sweet pretty name," observed his Grace, in a musing tone. " Bat do you really and truly believe that my son contemplates such an insane proceeding as marriage with this obscure girl ?" "I am confident that such is his lordship's in- tention," answered the abigaii. " He is evidently infatuated with her beauty; — and when your Grace recollects that so many noblemen have married actresses and such-like women, there's nothing astonishing if the Marquis of Arden should se- riously propose to unite himself with a dress- maker." "The idiot I" ejaculated his Grace of Belmont. I "And now that 1 bethink me of my son's manner of late, I remember that it has undergone a great change. But this I attributed to certain grave and important considerations which family affairs have forced upon his mind," continued the Duke, in a musing tone. "Yes — his manner is changed — and ' he has evidently grown far more steady. For ' weeks past, he has returned home at regular hours — he has been much alone in his apartment — he j has taken to reading— and he has refused all in- vitations to dinner-parties, balls, and soirdes. Un- happy boy ! does ho mean to disgrace the proud j name of Belmont ?" " I do not know, my lord," said Clementine, in a tone of remonstrance, " whether it be a disgrace for a young nobleman to wed a female without a title : I but I certainly should advise your lordship to sutler j me to adopt the necessary measures to put an end to the connexion which the Marquis of Arden has ' now formed." THE SEAMSTBES3. 71 " It is for me to adopt those measures, Madomoi- selle," exclaimed the Duke, haughtily, " I will at once summou tlie Marquis hither and reasoa with him upon the folly of his conduct." "In which case," remarked the abigail, curtly, " TOur lordship will only render the Marquis more obstinate and more resolute in carrying out his aims. Pardon me for reminding your Grace that the Mar- quis haa attained his majority and may act as he thinks fit." " True !" exclaimed the nobleman : then, after a brief pause, he said, " What course would you sug- gest, Clementine ?" " Will your Grace leave the matter in my hands ?" demanded the abigail. " Assuredly," was the immediate response. " You have already given such ample proofs of your keenness of penetration, your skilful tactics, and your extraordinary knowledge of human character, that I cannot possibly hesitate to entrust the whole and sole management of this very serious affair into your hands. You wish me, I presume, to appear to know nothing at all of the matter P" " Precisely so," answered Clementine. " Nor is it necessary that her Grace should become ac- quainted with these proceedings." " By no means," observed the Duke. " Her health is delicate — and it would be unwise to cause her the least vexation or annoyance. Have you anything more to say ?" " Yes, my lord— one word," replied the abigail. " My plan is already shadowed forth in my mind : but there is a means by which your Grace can aid it." " Speak," said the Duke. " I shall only be too happy to further the design, whatever it may be." "Will your Grace undertake to induce the Marquis of Arden and Lady Clarissa to accompany your lordship to-morrow in an open carriage for a ride round the Regent's Park, between four and five o'clock — and will your lordship also so contrive that the Marquis shall sit nest to Lady Clarissa, and that the conversation shall take a lively turn so that they may appear in high spirits and laugh gaily?" " I will guarantee to accomplish all this, Clemen- tine," responded the Duke. " Then your lordship need not doubt the success of my project," observed the fetmne-de-chambre, — " at least if Virginia Mordaunt be the pure-minded, simple, and artless girl I take her to be. But should my present tactics experience a failure — which is by no means probable — I shall not be at a loss for another device." " 1 leave the matter altogether in your hands, Mademoiselle," said his Grace. The Frenchwoman then quitted the library ; and the Duke was left alone to meditate upon all he had just heard. CHAPTEE XXIL TEEACHEET. On the following morning the Marquia of Arden and Virginia Mordaunt met as usual in the Regent's Park ; and as the day was gloriously fine they ram- bled about for a couple of hours, the minutes flying as if on the pinions of the swiftest bird. Ah! those were happy, happy days for the younc seamstress, — when she was enabled to breathe the fresh air of heaven, in the companionship of one whom she had learnt to love with all her heart and all her soul, and who loved her so tenderly in re- turn. And the colour had come back to her cheeks : — yes— the roseate hue of health was upon that sweet countenance; — and serene was the lustre that shone in her large eyes of deep and molting blue. The red of her lips had ripened into a more vivid richness; — and the pearly teeth were now full oft revealed in sunny smiles. O God ! that treachery should have been at work to mar the happiness of this fair creature of such nymph-like beauty ! Yet so it was: — and as she was retracing her way homeward, at about one o'clock in the after- noon, — having just separated from her lover, with an understanding that they were to meet as usual on the morrow, — she encountered Mademoiselle Clementine. Virginia immediately recognized the Duchess of Belmont's lady's-maid: but the latter affected not to have au equally good memory with regard to the young seamstress. Virginia gave a passing salutation and was con- tinuing her way, — when Clementine stopped her, exclaiming, " Surely I have met you before, Miss ? — and yet I cannot recollect where." "I believe you belong to the household of the Duchess of Belmont?" said the maiden: then, having received an affirmative reply, she added, "You may perchance remember that I one day conveyed to her Grace a velvet di-ess from Madame Duplessy's ?" " To be sure !" ejaculated Clementine. " And now I recollect that you told her Grace your name was Mordaunt. Well, Miss Mordaunt— and how is the world using you ? I am really glad to en- counter you again — for on the occasion to which you allude, I fdt considerably interested in you. But, upon my word, you are looking uncommonly well — and so sweetly pretty !" "I am very well, I thank you," said Virginia, on whose cheeks the Frenchwoman's compliment deepened the roseate hues of health. " Has her Grace quite recovered from the dreadful wound which she received in so shocking a manner ?" " Entirely recovered, so far as the wound is con- cerned," responded Clementine : " but her ladyship's spirits Ah ! they seem to have fled altogether," added the Frenchwoman, shaking her head in a manner that was intended to create an interest in Virginia's mind an I thus afford a pretext for con- tinuing the discourse. But Miss Mordaunt was no gossip: and more- over she was in a huri-y to return to her lodgings and employ herself in that labour of love — the wedding-dress. "I presume that you live somewhere in this direction?" said Clementine, perceiving that the maiden was anxious to depart and that she hold out no encouragement to proceed in the commen- tary upon the matters concerning the Duchess of Belmont. "Yes — my lodging is close at hand," replied Virginia. " Would you condescend to accompany me thither and rest yourself awhile — or partake of ■ some refreshment ?" 72 THE SEAMSTEES3. " I shall cheerfully avail myself of the opportunity of sitting down a little, and becoming better ac- quainted with you at the same time," said the treacherous Frenchwoman. Virginia accordingly led the way to her abode; and Clementine was introduced into a small but neatly furnished chamber— for although the gener- ous considerations of the Marquis of Arden had placed her at hor ease in a pecuniary sense, she had not chosen to quit the house of the good people who bad been kind to her, nor seek a better apartment elsewhere. She had therefore contented herself with making her lodging as comfortable as possible ;— and that was the condition in which Clementine found it. Upon the bed lay the half-finished bridal-dress, which was one where the good taste of Virginia had sought to unite elegance with simplicity; — and the moment the searching eyes of the French- woman caught a glimpse of it, she beheld therein the confirmation of her suspicion that the Marquis of Arden really intended to make the humble seam- stress his wife. But scarcely had her previously-conceived opinion on the point experienced this ratification, when the thought flashed to her mind that ic was singular the Marquis should have allowed Virginia to inhabit a lodging so incompatible with the position and rank to which he purposed to raise her; — and this reflec- tion instantaneously gave birth to another — namely, that it was probable the young seamstress was still in ignorance of who her noble suitor really was. | This latter thought appeared likewise to receive confirmation from a previous circumstance — which was, that when speaking ere now of the Belmont family, Virginia had manifested not the slightest confusion nor uneasiness. "If," said Clementine to herself, "this young woman really knew that her lover was the son and heir of the Duke of Belmont, she would naturally conclude that the marriage was about to take place without the consent of her future husband's relatives and friends : and she would therefore have been troubled at encountering any one who belongs to the ducal household." All these reflections flashed in a moment through the active mind of Clementine;— and still keeping her eyes fixed on the bridal-garb, she said, " You have a pretty piece of work there, Miss Mordaunt." "Do you think so ?" faultered the maiden, a deep blush mantling upon hor cheeks, although her l.)ok3 lighted up with a species of modest pride and j oy at the thought that the wedding-dress was her oion. "Pray allow me to look at it," continued Cle- mentine. " One is always interested, you know, in such raiment as this : and for my part, I never see a bridal-dress without sighing and wondering when ray turn will come," added Mademoiselle, laughing. " Ah I it is indeed sweetly pretty!" she exclaimed, as the still blushing Virginia took her work from the bed and displayed it before the abigail's eyes. " But how charming you yourself would look in it, my dear Miss Mordaunt !" Covered with a modest confusion — blushing more deeply, and now trembling visibly — but not with grief, nor oven with the sli.^htest proscntimont of ovil — Virginia threw back the dress upon the couch and proceeded to place some refreshments upon the table — an occupation to which she thus suddenly turned in order to veil her embarrassment. "Do not give yourself any trouble on my account, my dear Miss Mordaunt," said Clementine: "for I assure you that I can eat nothing. Alas ! it was not a very pleasurable circumstance which brought me up into this neighbourhood to-day, I can assure you, " she added, suddenly assuming a melancholy look and heaving a profound sigh. " I hope that nothing has occurred to give you pain, Mademoiselle ? " observed the seamstress, whose kind heart was already touched by the little piece of successful acting with which the wily Frenchwoman had commenced her part. " You shall judge whether I have not enough to make me unhappy when I give way to thought," continued Clementine, still adopting the dismals. " I have a sister a year younger than myself, and who was once beautiful as an angel. She became acquainted with a gentleman — a mere youth — but handsome as Apollo and subtle as Satan. He made honourable proposals to her — the day was even fixed for their marriage— and all the preli- minary arrangements were completed. In a mo- ment of weakness and fondness he triumphed over her virtue : and then, a recreant to all his solemnly- recorded vows, the seducer abandoned his victim and married another. My poor sister became a mother a few months ago : and he has never even testified the least concern for his innocent child. Heart-broken — ruined in health and shattered in spirits — with all her beauty faded and even her mind unhinged, my unhappy sister is sinking rapidly into the tomb, uncared for and cruelly neglected by the villain who has thus made a wreck of all that once was so angel-like and so lovely !" "Ah! this is indeed shocking!" exclaimed Vir- ginia, the tears chasing each other down her cheeks. "If you can weep at the bare idea of sorrows which you have not seen, my dear Miss Mordaunt," continued the perfidious Clementine, with a voice and looks expressive of the profoundest woe, — " how deep must be the affliction of one who is daily con- demned to witness those sorrows and gaze upon the wreck they have made. Yet such is my fate ; — and now you can judge whether I have cause for un- " You have — you have, indeed," cried Virginia, in a tone of the sweetest sympathy and with looks of the most angelic compassion. "Months and months had elapsed," continued ihefemme-de-chambre, " since I last saw the seducer of my sister — until I beheld him proceeding along Portland Place this morning. He was walking rapidly towards the Regent's Park ; — and I resolved to follow and upbraid him with all the miseries ho had caused and the wrongs he had heaped upon his victim. But I could not succeed in overtaking him. Nevertheless I sped onward : ho entered the park — and then I lost sight of him. I continued to ramble about, in the hope of still encountering hiui — for I know not whore he dwells." "Did you meet him after all?" inquired Vir- ginia. " No— and I had already given up the pursuit, after two or three weary hours' rambling about this neighbourhood, when I happened to encounter you. No. 10.— The SiJAMixis' £S. 74 THE SEAMSTEESS. Miss Mordaunt. You may therefore suppose," added Clemcutinc, " how cheerfully I accepted your kind proposal to enter your dweUing and rest myself awhile." "Your narrative has touched me profoundly," said Virginia, upon whoso long lashes the tears were still glistening. " How cruelly your sister must feel the pei-fidy of that man who has wronged her !" " And, oh ! if you could only see him. Miss Mor- daunt," exclaimed Clocnontino, assuming an ex- cited and impassioned tone, "you would not be- lieve him capable of such an atrocity. He is still quite a youth — not two-and-twcnty — and with one of those god-like countenances the masculine se- verity of which is subdued by a look of even feminine softness. Beautiful as an angel, he pos- sesses the heart of a fiend; — and under a capti- vating suavity of manner, he is able to conceal the most perfidious intentions. His looks are full of love : but they carry venom into the heart which they penetrate 1" "How dreadful that one so faultless externally should be so wicked and deceitful!" exclaimed Virginia. "Ah! my dear girl," said Clementine, "let mc beseech you never to judge by appearances. You are young, and beautiful, and confiding; and it is impossible that you should altogether escape the notice of those villains who are ever on the alert to entrap the lovely and the artless. Excuse me, Virgiuia, for giving you this counsel : it emanates from a sincere wish to place you upou youi- guard against the thousand disguises which treachery knows so well how to assume. There is too often guile upon the most honied lip — too often perfidy concealed beneath an appearance of the most j generous frankness. At all events, wherever mys- tery is observed, be cautious how you put your trust or place your confidence " " Oh ! I thank you sincerely for this well-meant advice, Mademoiselle," said Virginia: "but to be candid with you, I am in no danger of becoming even the object of treacherous aims, much less their victim. I hope," she exclaimed proudly, "that my own good conduct would preserve me from the latter : and as for the former 1 shall shortly become the wife of an excellent and amiable young gentleman," added the seamstress, a flush once more mantling upon her cheeks. " What ! is that your own bridal-dress you are making?" asked Clementine, as if the thought that such might be the case had only just this moment struck her. "Ah! I see that I guessed the truth !" she exclaimed, with an arch look : " that tell-tale glow upon your countenance, my dear friend, con- firms my suspicion. But I congratulate you. Miss Jlordaunt— sincerely congratulate you. You will I'cndur your husband happy — and it is to be hoped that he will appreciate the treasure which heaven will have consigned to his care." In this manner did the two young women con- tinue to discourse: and as Clementine made herself very agreeable, and insisted upon giving Virginia some advice relative to the fashion of the wedding- dress, our charming heroine experienced no small degree of pleasure in her new friend's company. At loagth Mademoiselle Clementine appeared suddenly to remember that it must be growinif late and that tlie Duchess would be angry at her long absence; — and on consulting her elegant gold watch, which she wore concealed in her bosom, she affected to be quite dismayed at finding that it was past four o'clock. " And I who am such a stranger in this neigh- bourhood that I scarcely know my way !" exclaimed the wily Frenchwoman as she started from her seat. " I shall have much pleasure in acting as yout guide until you reach that part of the town with which you are familiar," said the good-natured seamstress, hastening to put on her bonnet and shawl. "I must call at a friend's in Portland Place before I return to Grosvenor Square," observed Clementine. " Then our nearest way will be through Regent's Park," returned Miss Mordaunt. This was precisely the answer which the treacher- ous Frenchwoman desired to elicit from her unsus- pecting Companion; — and they accordingly set off together. Clementine drew down her veil in order to avoid being recognized by the Marquis of Arden and Lady Clarissa, whom she expected to see in the park; — and the moment she entered the spacious enclosure, with Virginia by her side, she threw a searching look along the road-way to ascertain if the Duke's carriage were visible. Three cr four private vehicles were approaching at different dis- tances ; and in a few minutes Clementine recognized the Belmont livery. She now made some casual observations to her fair companion, watching all the time until the Duke's carriage was close at hand: and then, just as it was passing, she clutched Virginia violently by the arm, exclaiming in a hollow voice, " There ! there!" The maiden, startled and affrighted, threw her looks upon the open barouche which was dashing past. On one seat was an elderly gentleman — and facing him was her lover, Mr. Osmond, with an elegant and beauteous lady by his side. They were all thi-ee laughing gaily at the moment; — and Charles beheld not his Virginia as he was borne along by the spirited horses. A terrible presentiment of evil now struck with the sudden virulence of a blight upon the heart of Virginia; — and turning abruptly towards Clemen- tine, who seemed to have staggered against the railings of the enclosure for support, she said, "'In heaven's name, what is the matter ?" " Oh ! did you not see him — that young gentleman — in the carriage which has just gone by ?" gasped the feinmc-de-chambrc, apparently labouring under the most dreadful agitation. " Yes — my God ! — yes — what of him ?" cried Virginia, already rent with a thousand agonies from head to foot. " The villain — tho seducer of my sisti. r — in com- pany with his bride !" exclaimed Clenientinc, speak- ing as if with tho madness of passion. "Just heaven!" moaned tho wretched Virgiuia; and she sank senseless at the feet of tho Freuch- THE SEAMSTBESS. 75 CHAPTEE XXIII. TIIE CLVIMING OF THE REWARD. Three months had elapsed from the date of the incidents just recorded; — and it was now the end of July. la those three months what sadness seemed to have worked its insidious way into the hearts of some of the principal inmates of Belmont LTouso ! The young and beauteous Lady Mary Melcombe was pininjT beneath the influence of withered hope and cruel disappointment — for the Earl of Mostya- dale was a visitor no longer at the duenl mansion. Secondly, the Marquis of Arden seemed to be de- voured by a profound sorrow which was under- mining his health, robbing his youthfulness of its vigour, and turning his very existence into a bur- then and a curse. Thirdly, the Duke of Belmont was weighed down by the deepest afllietiou at the spectacle of those two beloved beings — his only son and his favourite daughter — thus bending beneath the weight of a woe the secret of which in either case was only too well known to him. And lastly, the Duchess herself had become so wedded to the soli- tude of her own chamber, that she seldom crossed the threshold of that suite of apartments which now constituted her own little world which she peopled with her mournful thoughts, and beyond Avhich she cared not to stir. Lady Clarissa was the only one of the Belmont family on whom the spell of affliction had not fallen; — and so thoroughly heartless was she — so perfect a type was she of the females of the patri- cian class, generally speaking — that the only reason why she deplored the altered mood of her relatives, was because there were now no more festivals, balls, and entertainments at Belmont House. Mr. CoUiuson had continued to visit the mansion as usual during the interval of three months to which we have alluded; — and he troubled himself but little with the secret sorrows that appeared to Iiave overtaken so mauj' of its inmates, llis atten- tions were pretty well divided between the sisters; and it would really have seemed to an observer of his conduct in this respect, that he was resolved to become a suitor to one of them, but could not yet make up his mind which to choose. Sometimes ho chatted gaily with Lady Clarissa — someiimes ho endeavoured to cheer the spirits of Lady Mai-y. The former had grown into the habit of welcoming his visits, because she frequently felt dull for waut of company and was glad to have even the sen- tentious lawyer to converse with: but the younger pister viewed him with a repugnance that in- trcascd as her own mclanclwly became the more desponding. But to resume the thread of our narrative. It was, as we have already stated, the end of July ; and on a certain evening we shall once more find the Duke of Belmont alouo in his library. But this time he was not seated at the table with a volume before him : he was pacing to and fro in an agitated manner — and every now and then ejaculations of despair burst from his lips. The lamp-light gave a ghastly look to his countenance, which had become tliinner and paler within the last three months; — and deep lines were traced by the unmistakable finger of care upon his brow. Preseiilly some one knocked at tho door : but he heard not tho sound. Tlie knock was repeated a littlo louder; and this time ho bade the person enter. The door opened slowly — and Clomcatiuo outcrcd the library. "What do you want with mo?" demanded the, Duke, in a tone tho sternness of which showed how little pleased ho was at being thu3 intruded upon. "I wish to have some conversation with your Grace," was the calm reply. " I am in no humour to talk to anybody," ex- claimed the nobleman, violently. " My son is pinin'' away — my younger daughter is perishing beuirc my eyes — I myself am devoured with cares of all kinds — and my wife ■" But he stopped short, as if suddenly remember- ing that either prudence or propriety — or somo other i[£960n, perhaps more cogent still — should hold him upon his guard how he alluded to Iter. " With the sorrows of Lady Mary and her Grace," said Clementine, " I have no concern, beyond com- miserating them. With respect to the afflictions cf the Marquis of Arden, I acknowledge that 1 stand on a difi'erent footing : but your Grace surely does not feel inclined to blame mc for my conduct oa that head?" " I blame everybody and loathe and detest every- thing," cried the Wretched Duke. " The whole world wears a jaundiced aspect to my contempla- tion — and I care not how soon I am out of it. Misfortunes and sorrows have entered my house like an army — and their ravages have been mer- ciless." " Your lordship would have been still more inclined to curse your fate, had the Marquis of Arden married the obscure seamstress," said Cle- mentine. "Well — perhaps you speak truly in that respect," exclaimed tho nobleman. "At all events I did my duty by allowing you to adopt the necessary mea- sures to prevent so ignominious an alliance. Do you know what has become of the girl ?" "No, ray lord," was the response. "But I be- lieve the Marquis of Arden is searching everywhere for her " " And we must hope that his endeavours will prove unsuccessful," added the Duke. "But where- fore have you sought mo now ? and what do you require at my hands r" "Your Grace suspects, then," said Cloinontine, "that I am come to demand my reward for the service that I reuderod in the alfairof which wo have just been speakiug r' "I presume tliat such is the case," replied tho Duke. "You told mo at tho time that you would not receive any immediate recompense, inasmucli as you should perhaj)s have a boon to crave at some future period. I therefore judge that tlie moaieut 13 now arrived when you seek your reward. Kamo it, then, and be quick." " Your Grace will bo startled — nay, more- amazed, astoumled, and indigaaut," said Clemen- tine, "when i declare tho boon which I crave at your lordship's hands." "Do you intend to be so very unreasonable in your demiiuds P" exclaimed tho Duke, not liking tlie fummc-de-chambrcs preparatory warning. "But delay is useless — and I am anxious to be alouo. What do you require f " THE SEAMSTRESS. " To become the Mai-chioncss of Arden !" was the response. The proud Duke of Belmont started as if stung by a serpent — and then staggered back as if reeling beneath the eifect of a violent blow : but almost (immediately recovering himself, he said, "Young woman, I am in no humour to bandy jests with you — and this familiarity ou your part is very in- consistent with your usual good taste." " I can assure your lordship that I am in earnest," replied Clementine, with a resolute de- cision in her manner; "and unpalatable as my de- mand may be, nothing shall deter mo from persist- ing in it." " But you are mad, Clementine !" cried the Duke, angrily. " Your Grace will be mad to refuse the boon I ask," was the tranquil rejoinder. " Ah ! if you be really serious, young woman," exclaimed Belmont, with an ironical laugh, " you must doubtless fancy that you have the power of coercing me by the threat of revealing the whole proceedings relative to Virginia Mordauut. Well — go to my son — confess it all — tell him that liis father employed you to stand between him and his foolish love fur that young creature— and if-hp comes to demand explanations of me, I shall know how to answer him. Begone — or my lacqueys shall eject you ignominiously from the house I" But Clementine moved not;— and, instead of quailing beneath the stern and indignant looks which the Duke of Belmont fixed upon her, she only smiled with a self-complacency that seemed to argue a consciousness of some secret power of a far more formidable character than that to which his Grace had just alluded. The nobleman marked that smile of supreme satisfaction which wavered upon her lips— and a feeling of uneasiness crept gradually over him : for his conscience was not so pure as to enable him to hurl a farther defiance at the woman who now assumed so determined an attitude in his presence. " Once more I ask you," he said, in a tremulous tone, " whether you be really serious in the extra- ordinary' demand that you have made ?" " And once more I assure your Grace," replied the femme-de-cJiambrc, " that I am not only serious, but that I intend to gain my purpose." " But you cannot for an instant suppose that my sou will assent to so monstrous a proposition?" exclaimed tlie Duke. "It ii too absurd!" " I was prepared for all kinds of harsh terms and tili'ong objections, my lord," said Clementine : " but 1 care nothing for the former, and feel confident of triumpliing over the latter." While she was yet speaking, a terrible thought flashed to tlie mind of the Duko; and his wliole form was shnken as if with a strong spasm. Ho remembered the possibihty — nay, even the proba- bility of tlie Frenchwoman having become possessed of a certain secret the knowledge of which would indeed throw him entirely mto her power. Circum- stances had placed her at a particular time in a position to learn that secret; — and although he bad hitherto felt assured that the fatal truth had not transpired at the period when accident might have revealed it to her, he now recoilel in horror and nlorm from the dreadful thought that he had been buoj Ing iiimsclf up with false hopes in that respect ! " I perceive what is passing in your Grace's mind," said the Frenchwoman, on whom this sudden change in the looks and manner of the Duke of Belmont was not lost : " and 1 need only observe that I know all!" "All!" echoed the miserable nobleman, stag- gering towards an arm-chair and sinking into it. "All!" he repeated in a tone of concentrated anguish, whUe his eyes were fixed with an expres- sion of vacant terror upon the calm, unrulHed, but resolute countenance of the lady's-maid. "Yes — all!" she said, in a low deep voice; and the look which she flung upon the unhappy Belmont appeared to traverse his brain like a fiery arrow and fall upon his heart with the effect of red-hot iron. " My God ! my God !" he moaned in the bitter- ness of his profound mental agony : " what new calamities has my wretched, wretched fate in store forme? But, no — it is impossible !" he suddenly exclaimed; and starting from the chair, he seized the hand of the Frenchwoman with such violence that for an instant she feared he was about to do her a mischief. " Speak ! speak !" he cried with frenzied vehemence: "deal no more in dark me- naces and mysterious threats which any one can blurt forth, even against the most immaculate. Tell me, young woman — what do you know that should place me in your power ?" and he ^fixed his eyes upon her with a maniac wildness and a ferocious keenness that alarmed her. But instantly recovering her self-possession, and not even attempting to withdraw the hand which he retained in his iron grasp, she looked significantly into the depths of his savage glaring eyes, and said in a low clear voice, " The secret which your wife unconsciously revealed in her slumbers !" "Ah! then my worst fears are confirmed!" ex- claimed the Duke, a horrible expression, ghastly as death, seizing upon his countenance; and, as if suddenly struck with the palsy, he fell back all quivering and shaking into the arm-chair whence he had sprung with so fearful an excitement. At the same moment the features of Clementine grew radiant with triumph: for she saw that the victory was her own. " My lord," she said, in that voice which, though measured and low, sounded rapid and loud as tiio peal of a deafening bell clanging tlirough the brain of the miserable Duke, — " I have dared to love your son — yes — to love, to worship, and to adore him— and now I dare also to aspire to the honour and happiness of becoming his wife. Think you, my lord, it was through any feeling of sympatliy or regard for the house of Belmont that I troubled myself with his affection for the young seamstress ? No, my lord: the motives which influenced mo in casting a blight upon his hopes Andher's, were tlioso of selfishness and egotism. I loved him — and 1 resolved that ho should not espouse another. I have waited patiently until now, in the fond ex- pectation that the impression which Virginia had made upon his mind would wear away. But I was mistaken in that hope. He still loves her as adoringly as ever— and day after day does he wan- der through the streets of London in searcli of his Virginia. This folly must be put an end to— and my love as well as my ambition must now bo grati- fied. Your Grace has heard my demand — and its speedy fulfilment rests with you. 'Tis not for me THE SEAMSTRESS. 77 to suggest the course which your lordship will have to adopt in making known my wishes to the Mar- quis of Arden and in persuading him to yield to them. I know that the scene will bo a painful one for your Grace : it is oven probable — nay, almost certain — that your lordship will be forced to confess everything to your son and throw yourself upon his mercy. But such considerations as these, much as I may deplore thcin for your lordship's sake, cannot deter me from my purpose, which is fixed and settled. I therefore beg that your Grace will lose no time in breaking this matter to the Marquis of Arden." "While Clementine was delivering her long address, the Duke of Belmont sate motionless in the arm- cliair, gazing up into her countenance with a look of vacant terror and wild astonishment. He ap- peared like one who, with his eyes open, labours under tho influence of an appalling dream. The reality seemed too dreadful to be possible ; — and yet the wretched man could not persuade himself that it was all a Tision. But when Clementine ceased from speaking, the Duke of Belmont's harrowed feelings found for themselves a vent in a moan of such unspeakable anguish that the mental tortures which gave it birth must have been an ample punishment for any guilt, even the blackest, that could possibly weigh upon his conscience. And Clementine, unmoved by the spectacle of such escruciating woe, flung upon the wretched nobleman a last look of terrible significancy, and then quitted the apartment. CHAPTER XXrV. THE EUINED GAMESTEE. For. some minutes the wretched Duke of Belmont remained in the attitude of horror and consternation in which the Frenchwoman had left him. But suddenly starting from his chair, he dashed his hand twice against his forehead, muvmuring in ac- cents of utter desperation, " Holy God ! what is to become of me? — what must I do?" A feeling of profound oppression now came over him : there was a weight upon the brain and a sink- ing at the heart which made him fancy he was about to fall down in a swoon. The atmosphere seemed to grow intolerably hot and heavy — but it was only a sensation on his part. The effect was however the same: the air appeared of a stifling sultriness — he felt as if he were in his coffin. Snatching up his hat he rushed from the house, and hastened into Hyde Park. The cool breeze of the evening fanned his fevered cheeks refreshingly ; and approaching the water, he sate down upon one of the benches which dot the margin of the Ser- pentine and are shaded by little clumps of trees. There he gave way to his reflections ; but the cruel difficulties which formed the topic of his thoughts, appeared like a tangled skein that it was impossible to unravel. To sacrifice his son to the ambitious Frenchwoman, was a deed which the Duke dared not resolve upon; and to treat her with defiance was an alternative that he found himself in no con- Aition to adopt with safety. The Duke was vainly racking his brains for a solution of the perplexity, when he heard footsteps approaching: and by the reflection of the starlight in the water, he beheld tho figure of a man slowly advancing along the bank. In a few moments the individual stopped short and gave vent to an ejacu- lation of despair, as he stretched out his arms to- wards the Serpentine. The Duke was now seized with such a sudden horror, that the remembrance of his own sorrows was absorbed for the instant in the dread lest a fellow-creature was on the point of committing self-destruction. But at tho moment when he was about to spring forward and clutch the stranger by the arm, this individual exclaimed passionately, " Xo — no, I cannot do it !" and ad- vanced straight up to the bench where the Duke was seated. " Unhappy man ! who are you — and what rash deed were you about to commit ?" cried his Grace, whose nervous state of feeling was painfully excited by an incident that for a moment had threatened so tragical a catastrophe. "Ah! is any one here?" exclaimed the other, starting back as he heard a voice and beheld a form in the shade thrown by the trees : then, instanta- neously recovering himself, he said in a somewhat dogged if not absolutely brutal tone, " Well, if you have any real sympathy for me — as I suppose you guessed what my intention was — you can show your good nature by relieving my necessities." The Duke had risen from the bench at the mo- ment the stranger advanced so hurriedly up to it ; and while exchanging the observations just re- corded, they took a rapid survey of each other. So far as the dimness of the place could possibly favour this mutual scrutiny, the Duke saw before him a tall, well-built young man, decently dressed, and with a countenance that was naturally good- looking, but which was pale with the traces of dis- sipation. On the other hand, the stranger's eyes, which had a certain flashing wildness in their ex- pression, swept over the form of the nobleman and then settled upon the diamond pin that gleamed like a star on the bosom of his Grace's shirt. "You ask me to relieve your necessities," said the Duke, in reply to the latter portion of the young man's observations : " but first tell me who and what you are ?" " My whole history may be summed up in five words," was the response. " I was brought up as a gentleman — which means, that my parents gave mo no profession, which they ought to have done, and allowed me to live in idleness and pleasure, which they ought not to have done. But they were well off— and I was their only child: this, I suppose, was the reason of their conduct. They died when I was about twenty; and a year afterwards, on at- taining my majority, I came into a fortune of thirty thousand pounds. I am now twenty-seven ; and as every fartbing has gone to the gaming-table, I of course am going to the dogs. Confession, they say, is good for the soul— and if this is true, I ought to be benefitted by making a clean breast of my follies." "You are utterly ruined, then, young man?" said the Duke of Belmont, irresistibly prompted by some unknown impulse thus to penetrate into tho stranger's history. " So completely, kind sir— whoever you may be," was the blimt answer, "that I am both house- 78 THE SEAMSTB 89. less and suppcrlcss— and 1 came into the park with the desperate resolution of either robbing the first gentleman I should meet, or else making a hole in the water. I did not happen to en- counter any one worth plundering — and so I was about to adopt the other course, when nature revolted against the idea of suicide just at the critical moment. I am glad of it, because I have fallen in with you." "And would you rob me, then?" demanded the Duke, his voice trembling — but not altogether through fear: no— it was because a secret whis- pering in the profundities of his soul appeared to tell him that Satan had now thrown in his way precisely such an instrument as his circumstances required. " Would I rob you !" ejaculated the young man, in a tone of irony mingled with a brutal reckless- ness. "And why not? You have a diamond brooch in your shirt frill — a ring gleaming upon j'our finger — and a gold chain to your watch. All these little matters argue a well-filled purse. In addition thereto, you are stricken in years and not over powerfully built — whereas I am young, and strong as Hercules. Lastly, you are evidently rich as Dives — while I am poor as Lazarus; — and therefore if you present me with your purse, you won't miss it — whereas it will be of wonderful service to the recipient. You seem to be a gen- tleman of sympathies as ample as your means ; and consequently you will at once comply with my little request." During this long harangue, the Duke had leisure to form a very tolerable estimate of his new ac- quaintance's character. The mingled flippancy, dogged resolution, and savage recklessness which marked his tone and manner, indicated the ruined gamester, reduced to the most desperate expe- dients. In fine, he was evidently one of those individuals whom the atmosphere of the gambling house and the society of blacklegs had polluted, body and soul ; and who, smarting under a sense of villanous treatment on the part of the associates that had plundered him, was now ready to perpe- trate any viUany in his turn. The deeper grew the insight which his Grace of Belmont was thus enabled to obtain into the young man's character, the stronger became the impulse urging him to make use of one whom Satan appeared to have thrown so opportunely in his way. Until the circumstance of this meeting, the Duke had not for an instant contemplated a crime : such an idea, while pondering upon the perplexities into which Clementine's outrageous demand was so well calcu- lated to plunge him, had never entered his head. But tlie Evil One had doubtless found the occasion favourable for enmeshing the Duke still more com- pletely than over in his toils ; — and thus was the temptation thrown in his way. The first spark fires in a moment a complete train of ideas in the mind that is diseased; — and no sooner does the thought of a crime take its inception in the soul of man, than its chances of success, contingent danger, and probable security are all calculated in an instant. The imagination travels through the vista of the whole prospect of turpitude and all its associated circumstances, as rapidly as the iutolligcnce of a murder just committed runs along the wiro of the electric telegraph. "And thus is it," said the Duke, in a musing tone, as he fixed his eyes upon the stranger's coun- tenance, " that you would rob me if I were to refuse your demand for assistance ?" " Swindlers and scoundrels have robbed me of thu'ty thousand pounds," was the answer : " and I am not therefore very likely to be particular hoiv or whence I get back a portion of my money." " Y'our case is, then, so very desperate ?" said the Duke, trembling all over with the nervous excite- ment of the thoughts that were gaining the ascen- dancy in his mind. " Desperate !" ejaculated the young man, with an ironical laugh. " When I tell you that I have not eaten a morsel since yesterday — that I have been turned out of my lodging — that I am friend- less—and that I carry all my wardrobe upon my back, you can judge whether all this be not enough to make a man desperate. But I begin to see your object, sir," he exclaimed more hastily and menac- ingly : "you are endeavouring to gain time, in the hope that some one will pass this way and help you to resist me — perhaps to take me into custody. Now then, sir— as I would sooner drown myself than go to prison — and as my circumstances are so desperate, please to tell me your decision at once. Will you give me your purse? — or shall I take it?" " I will give it to you — cheerfully," answered the Duke, without a moment's hesitation. " It is heavy — there may be a matter of fifty or sixty pounds there, in gold and notes." " Upon my honour, the gift is well worth thank- ing you for, most charitable and munificent sir !" exclaimed the young man, as he clutched the purse greedily. " But surely you have not bestowed this upon me without a motive ? Such a sum of money was worth a struggle on your part, to save it from the robber's grasp. You ai-e either a man of the most incomprehensible benevolence — or else you have some ulterior object in view. Which opinion am I to adopt ?" "The latter, if you will," said the Duke. "In plain terms, I want the assistance of a man whoso circumstances will prompt him to do anything for gold. Mark you, anj/thing— no matter how des- perate or how criminal." "As a matter of course," interjected the ruined gamester, " the price will be in proportion to the nature of the service required ?" " Beyond all doubt," exclaimed the Duke. " Have I not just convinced you that lam inclined to be liberal ?" " The earnest is a fair one," said the young man ; " and taking it as a sample, I like your mode of doing business." " Then you arc prepared to servo mo — to any extent?" demanded the Duke. "Yes— to any extent," returned the gambler. " Of course I can see by all this prefatory matter on your part, that it's no milk-and-water concern in which my assistance is needed. Perhaps if I may venture a guess, the aCTair is more the colour of blood than of sky-blue?" " Blood!" ejaculated the Duke, with a start, as tho ominous woril fell upon his ears: then, instantly recovering himself, ho sai.l, "And if your surmise were correct, should you hesitate ?" " Wot a whit !" crietl the young man. " Let mo digest my capabilities into a succinct tarill'— a sort THE SEAM3T££S3. 79 of graduated scale of tUo prices for which I am | " I cannot do otherwise," was the response, prepared to sell myself, body and soul. Well, then, ; " You Lave given me the most satisfactory proof a highway robbery, one hundred pounds — a bur- I that can possibly be afforded under such circuin- glary, where the house is liable to be watched by j stances. J3ut at the same time, I think it right the police, two hundred and fifty — an incendiary | to inform you that when wo meet on the next fire, four hundred ; because the deed is a cowardly j occasion I shall come provided ■with two pistols one, save and except for a political motive— a child charged to the muzzle — and that if there be any murder, six hundred — the murder of an adult male, symptom or sign of treachery on your part, I shall eight hundred — and of a female, a thousand. [ take the liberty of blowing out your brains. This Tlioso are my terms: cash payment beforehand — | will furnish occupation for one pistol— and the other OS I must respectfully decline to do business upon credit," " But is this all in jest, or in earnest ?" de- manded the Duke, shuddering with a cold tremor at the horrible deliberation with which his "new acquaintance unbosomed all those sanguinary de- tails. "Ought I not rather to ask whether 2/o« are in earnest ?" exclaimed the thorough-paced villain. " You have a guarantee and a proof that I am, in the contents of the purse which I have given you," was the Duke of Belmont's reply. " I accept the boon as such," observed the young man. " And now, are we not growing towards a point ? — or do you mean to continue beating about the bush for another half-hour ?" " We can come to no further understanding to- night," said the Duke. " This day week we will encounter each other again — at the same place and hour." " When you will come with a dozen policemen at your back," remarked the gamester, bluntly. "I am not to be caught so easily." " What good v/ould your arrest do me, fool ?" exclaimed the Duke, contemptuously. "What good does-s^he arrest of a man ever do his fellow-creature ? " asked the young villain. " And yet arrests are constantly taking place." " True," said the nobleman. " But while we have been exchanging these last few observations, you have not noticed that the sounds of horses' feet were approaching. Hark ! these are doubtless a couple of mounted police advancing — and now if I raised an alarm, your capture would be inevitable. But shall perform a similarly agreeable office for my own self, should I incur a chance of being captured. The truth is, my circumstances ^vill not allow me to be particular : hence this readiness on my part to sell myself body and soul unto you. At the same time I have an awful dread of the polluting touch of a policeman and of the insalubrious atmosphere of Newgate. But you will admit that these little weaknesses are pardonable enough." "Y''ou can bring your pistols if you will," said the Duke, scarcely able to conceal his disgust at the rakish flippancy which characterised the young man's words, tone, and demeanour. •' This day week, at ten o'clock in the evening, we shall meet here again," " Agreed, most benevolent sir," was the response; The Duke and the gamester then separated — the former returning to his palatial mansion in Grosve- nor Square, and the latter hurrying off to one of the "hells" in which the fashionable quarter of St. James's abounds. CHAPTEK XXV THE duke's MACHINATIOIfS. The appointment between his Grace of Belmont and the ruined gambler was duly kept: but the former did not completely unbosom his intentions and aims. He merely sounded his new acquaint- ance more fully than he had been enabled to do on the first occasion of their meeting ; and the result was as satisfactory as he could wish. Putting an- I shall remain silent — and then you will believe j other purse, containing fifty guineas, into the young that I harbour no sinister intentions toward you." man's hand, the Duke made another appointment The eyes of the ruined gamester seemed to shine for a week later ; and again did they separate. with a vivid lustre as he fixed them penetratingly This second appointment was kept as punctually and searchingly upon the countenance of the Duke, as the former one; and the nobleman obtained a while the latter gave utterance to the concluding still farther insight into the gamester's character, portion of his remarks. The nobleman saw that i Indeed, he felt convinced that either accident or his new acquaintance was endeavouring to read the i Satan's agency had thrown in his way as thorou'-'h- thoughts that were passing in the inmost recesses i paced and complete a villain as ever was prepared of his soul: and, stepping farther forth from the ' to commit a crime and only wanted the opportunity. shade, he said, " I do not shun your scrutiny — because I meditate nothing which you might cafl treachery after the discourse that has taken placo between us." " I am satisfied — and shall trust you," returned Another gift of fifty guineas was the ruined rake's reward for keeping this second appointment ; and a third was arranged to take place at the expu-ation of another fortnight. On this last occasion the Duko of Belmont the gamester : but it was not without a certain feel- ; opened his mind without reserve to the young man ; ing of uneasiness that he remained in the Duke's and, as he had expected, he found him ready and company while the horsemen were passing. I willing to imdcrtako the business thus proposed. As his Grace had surmised, they were two of the j The amount of reward was agreed upon and a por- mounted police who were riding leisurely through tion of it paid in advance: arrangements were made the park towards Kensington Gardens ; and not for the settlement of the remainder — and full in- until they were at a considerable distance again, i structions were given by the ducdl employer to his did the Duke of Belmont break the silence which | agent in the contemplated iniquity. Having thus he observed as they were going by. arrived at a complete understanding, they separated " Now do you believe me ?" he demanded. | once more. 80 THE SEAMSTRESS. A month bad now elapsed since Clomentiae first made known to the Duke of Belmont the presump- tuous hopes which she entertained relative to the Marquis of Arden. During this interval his Grace had frequently tried all possible means to induce the aspiring Fronchwoman to abandon the project which she had formed of compelling the young lord to become her husband. But all was in vain. The Duke offered the largest sum of money of which he was enabled to dispose: the abigail was resolute in refusing the bribe and insisting upon the fulfil- ment of the other condition. At length his Grace saw that neither entreaties nor gold would work any change in her determination; — and he there- fore made up his mind to adopt the extreme measure on which he had during the month relied as a last resource. Hence the settlement of the plans to which allusion has so recently been made iu respect to his last meeting with the gamester. Ou the very morning after that interview, the Duke of Belmont took an opportunity of beckoning Clementine to follow him to the library ; — and when they were alone together, be said, " For the last time I have to beseech and implore that you will renounce the project which will stamp my son's unhappiness and send me broken-hearted to the grave." "My lord, this is mere child's play on your part," returned the Frenchwoman, angrily. " I have assured your Grace over and over again, during the last month, that my mind is made up." "But you perceive, Clementine," urged the Duke, " that my unfortunate son loves another. From morning to night is be in search of the young seamstress. This you know well." "I cannot help it, my lord," said Clementine. " We dare not expect to obtain all we covet in this world: it is sufficient if a portion of our fondest hopes be realized. Fain would I see both my love and ray ambition gratified at the same moment and by the same means: but if I cannot win your son's affection, 1 shall at least share his title and position." " Your marriage will be a wretched one, ClemTii- tine," returned the Duke, "for the Marquis will loathe and detest you as the destroyer of his happi- ness — the merciless executioner who has dealt a death-blow to all bis hopes." " I am sorry for it," observed the Frenchwoman. " But it is better to be a Marchioness hated by her husband, thaa a mere lady's-maid who may be scolded and buflcted about by a capricious master and mistress." " Such a master and mistress you have not got to tyrannize over you, Mademoiselle," urged the Duke. " But I may have, if I continue in my present humble sphere," rejoined the young woman, with an imperturbable resoluteness of tone and manner. "My son has never injured you, Clementine," continued his Grace, in a voice of melancholy re- proach: " and you will seal his eternal misery." " He will remain his own master as much as he chooses," was the cool response ; " and if he can fiud out bis Virginia, he may make her his mistress. That will solace him." " But there is something dreadfully heartless in this mode of reasoning and calculating," said the Duke. " Besides you will fiud — perhaps to your cost— that real happiuess does not consist in a titlo and fortune. I am not happy, Clementine — as you must well know," be added, with a mournful significancy, as he fixed bis eyes upon the pretty but determiaed countenance of the Frenchwoman. " All this regards me, my lord," she exclaimed, her tone and manner now ruffled with the petulance of impatience. "Let us argue the point no longer. AYe are only travelling over beaten ground. On foi-mer occasions your Grace has reasoned precisely in the same style — and I have given exactly the same answers. All the sophistry — all the entreaties — all the remonstrances in the world, will not shake my determination. I am resolute — and that must suffice. But I am not prepared to tolerate auy farther delay. A month has now flown since I first explained my wishes to your lordship; and the Marquis of Arden is still entirely igaorant of every- thing. When does your Grace propose to commu- nicate with him upon the subject." "Listen to me, Clementine," said the Duke, p o- foundly agitated. " I am as wearied of this delay as you are — but for a very different reason. You are anxious to enter upon what you believe to be a course of happiness : whereas I am sick of procras- tinating the evil hour which now looms like a dread- ful phantom iu the distance. If the worst must take place, then let me look all" the extent of my misery in the face. In plain terms, I cannot endure this torturing suspense : and it was to hear your final resolve that I beckoned you to follow me hither ere now." " And that final resolve is known to your Grace," said Clementine. " Indeed, it has been known all along — and the suspense spoken of, is of your lord- ship's own creating. As for the delay which is tor- turing you, let it cease as soon as possible — within four-and-twenty hours, if your lordship chooses." "Be it so, Mademoiselle," returned the Duke. " Y'ou are mercUess and cruel : I must be pliant and yielding. Y''ou are resolute in exacting this tre- mendous sacrifice which the house of Belmont is about to make to your ambition: I must be courage- ous in permitting the consummation of that sacri- fice." " I am glad to hear your Grace speak thus ratiou- ally," said the Frenchwoman, in a tone of ill-concealed triumph. "At length we seem to be approaching a proper understanding. When will your lordship break the intelligence to the Marquis of Arden ?" "This very morning," replied the Duke. " And the marriage ? " said Clementine, in- quiringly. " Shall take place withiu four-and-twenty hours," was the rejoinder. "Now leave me — and return hither again as soon as you learn that the interview between me and my son is over. Tell one of (he domestics to inform the Marquis of Arden that I wish to speak to him immediately." " I will do so, my lord," said the Frenchwoman : and she issued forth from the library radiant with smiles. In a few minutes the Marquis of Arden made bis appeai'auce; and the Duke, bidding him bo seated, addressed him in the following manner : — " My dear sou, it grieves mo to the very soul to mark the change which has taken place in you dur- ing the last few months. Hitherto I have forcborne from spcakiug to jou on the subject : but now I can retain my sorrow no longer. Have you any No. 11.— TiiE Seamstress. 82 THE SEAMSTRESS. secret sources of afflictiou ? — wherefore do you wliat the world must bo led to look upon as a place so little confideriCe in your parent " preconcerted scheme between himself and yon." '•' My dear father," exclaimed Charles, starting " I understand, my lord," said Clementine, from his seat — seizing the Duke's hand — and con- "Proceed." veying it to his lips. " I beseech you not to re- "At ten o'clock precisely my son will slip away proach me if I have kept one secret from you But I know that the revelation thereof would only offend " " Then, if I may be permitted to hazard a con- jecture, Charles," said the Duke, " you have formed some attachment— perhaps some connexion — of which yoii are ashamed ? " An attachment — yes — but no connexion," cried the young nobleman : then, in a warmer and more enthusiastic tone, he added, " But I do not know wherefore 1 shoidd be ashamed of loving an amiable, excellent, and virtuous young lady — simply because she is poor and moves not in the brilliant circles of fashion " " Who is she, my dear son ?" asked the Duke, of com-se affecting the most complete ignorance of that love-affair the progress of which he him- self, or rather his female agent, had so cruelly in- terrupted. " It matters hot, father, to give you any infor- mation Concerning her whoni I love ?" returned Charles, in a tone of profoimd melancholy. '•' She is lost to mo, I fear — vainly have I endeavoured to obtain a trace to her residence — and for months past have I been in complete ignorance whether she be even stiU a denizen of this world :" — and as the young man thus spoke, the tears trickled do\vn his cheeks. " You must endeavoiu' to conquer this passion which you have conceived for one whom you admit to be possessed of neither birth nor wealth," said the haughty Duke of Belmont : and he proceeded to lecture his son upon the subject, in the approved fashion invariably adopted by fathers under such circumstances. But Charles heard him not. The yoimg noble- man was lost in painful thought ; — and after an interview of about an horn*, he was on the point of retiring from his father's presence, when the latter caught him. by the hand, exclaiming, " My dear son, I cannot bear to witness this sombre melancholy into which you are plunged." " Listen attentively for a few minutes," said the Duke, in a cold and mom-nful tone, as if he were speaking upon a topic which he endeavoui'ed to treat with stern hauteur, but wliich neverthe- less touched him deeply. " It must not be suj)- poscd that I, the head of the great house of Bel- mont, in any way winked at — much less assented to — this connexion. The blame must be wholly and solely attached to my son; — and therefore must it be what is called a runaway match. For some months I shall refuse to receive cither you or him : but in the end I shall forgive you both." " This is politic and prudent on your side, as the world goes," said Clementine, to whom the arrangement appeared perfectly natural on the score of expediency. " Tiie Marquis of Arden and myself are invited to dine this evening at Lord Morton's," continued the Duke. " My son would not have accepted tlio engagement — indeed, as you arc aware, lie has lately avoided all society but he will go The evening was very dark; and although it was to Lord Merton's this evenmg, in order tjiat he no later in the year than the begiiming of Sep- may have a better opportunity of carrying out tenibcr, yet the sky was as overcast with 8ombre from the company," continued the Duke. " You know, perhaps, that Lord Merton's mansion is in Park Lane, near Grosvenor Gate ? At that spot must you be within a few minutes after the hour which I have mentioned : and as the night may be dark — for the moon does not rise now until late — he will mention the name of Charles to the ferflale who accosts you. You will answer Clemen- tine ; and then he will hurry you away to where a post-chaise wiU be in readiness to whirl you both off to some cathedi-al town, at which a special license can be obtained to-morrow morning. Ai-e you satisfied with these arrangements ?" " Perfectly, my lord," responded the French- woman : then, after an instant's pause, dm-ing which her natui-al coquetry suggested an idea, she observed, " And yet I should have been better jsleased to have avoided so much mystery : for with this arrangement I shall have no bridal-cU-ess — no diamonds — whereas his Lordshij:^ the Marquis will be in the full costume which he must wear at Lord Merton's party." " Can you not help yourself to a . ball-dress be- longing to one of my daughters ?" asked the Duke : " and as for diamonds — if you really must have such ornaments for the occasion, can you not borrow those of her Grace ? You have access to her wardrobe and casket, I should imagine " " Yes, my lord," said Clementine, hesitatingly : " but would not these proceedings on my part appear very like petty thefts ?" " We shoidd not think of prosecuting her whom my son chooses to make his -v^afe," retm'ned the Duke : " neither should we publish to the world anything calculated to dishonoui" her, much as we may deplore the ill-assorted alliance. Besides, after all, Clementine — am I not still in your power F*' "Yes — and you must screen me in every way," rejoined the Frenchwoman. "Well, my lord— I will adopt all your suggestions ; and I swear by heaven that, since yom- Grace is evidently dis- posed to act with sincerity towards me, your secret shall remain eternally locked up in my bosom." " You could have no possible interest in ever disgracing the father of him who will shortly be your husband," observed the Duke. " And now we thoroughly understand each other — all our arrangements are settk'd^and you will be in the vicinage of Grosvenor Gate within a few minutes after ten o'clock to-night." " I shall be there punctually, my lord," replied Clementine : — and the Frenchwoman once more quitted the Duke's presence with a radiant coun- tenance and a triumphant beating of the heart. CHAPTER XXVL HYDE PARK. THE SEAMSIBES3. 83 clouds and the wind blew as inclemently as if the fine autumn season had already yielded to the sterner sway of -n-inter. The moon had not yet risen — and the stars were obscured, by those dense masses that appeared like huge black crags forming the underneath crust of heaven's tremendous arch. The trees rustled — the lamps Hickered as if they were every moment on the point of being extin- guished — and altogether it was a boisterous and most ungenial night. The clocks of the West End were striking ten as Mademoiselle Clementine, emerging from the nearest street, halted in the immediate vicinage of the Grosvenor Gate entrance to Hvde Park. She was apparelled in a manner that ill became the inclemency of the evening : but her vanity had triumphed over the fears of colds and rheu- matisms, and her coquetry rose superior to the dread of rain and wet feet. In pursuance of the Duke of Belmont's advice, she had purloined one of Lady Mary ilelcombe's evening-dresses; and she had likewise found an opportunity to self- appropriate the Duchess of Belmont's jewel casket. Tins she carried under her shawl ; and having managed to issue unobserved from the mansion, she reached Grosvenor Gate precisely at the ap- pointed hour. Nor was she kept long in suspense : for five minutes had not elapsed when she beheld the figure of a man, muffled in a cloak, emerge from the surrounding obscurity. This iudividual ap- peared to hesitate the moment he caught sight Of a female form slowly pacing to and fro on that spot : but the Frenchwoman instantaneously con- vinced by his statiu-e and gait that he was none other than tLo Marquis of Arden, walked straight up to where he had halted. " Charles !" said the one. "Clementine !" replied the other. And the next moment the muffled gallant, hav- ing drawn the Frenchwoman's arm beneath his own, was huri'ying her across the road wliich con- ' stitutes " the drive" of the park, into the meadow of the enclosure. On they sped for several minutes, during which not a word was spoken. Clementine fancied that the Marquis was too haughty and indignant iu his displeasure to deign any remark that might savour of friendly or familiar discourse ; and her own pride, on the other hand, prevented her from taking the initiative in this respect. But at length a silence so profound and protracted amidst the dense darkness of the night and in so deserted a place, grew something more than vexatious and annoying : it became positively alanning — and a presentiment of evil gradually crept into the young woman's soul, stealing with a chilliness more searching than the night-wind to the very marrow of her bones. Where was the carriage ! — and whither were they going ? These were the questions which she now longed to ask: but this chill — this solemn — this profound silence on the part of her companion overawed her. It was now no longer her wounded pridi; that sealed her lips— but it was a positive con- sternation which was growing more and more in- tolerable every instant. At length she raised her eyes slowly — furtively — and stealthily towards his countenance, hoping that even through the obscu- rity of the night she should be able to read upon his features what was passing in the depths of his soul. But the collar of his cloak reached so high up and his hat was slouched so low down, that she could not even trace the outline of his countenance — much less decypher the expression of its lineaments at that moment. Only, from be- neath the brims of the hat, his eyes appeared to shine with an ominous lustre upon her, — as if it were a reptile looking from the deep shade of a bush, or a tiger from the dark entrance of a cavern. And now a terror less vague and more definite seized upon her; — and strong-minded, bold, ad- venturous, and resolute though she were, yet she could not help shuddering vnth a sense of the loneliness, the friendlessness, and the peril of her position. There she was — in the midst of the park and in the deep obscurity of night — along with a young man on whom (as she thought) she was en- deavouring to force herself as a wife, and who had every possible motive to avenge himself upon her, and every conceivable reason to get rid of her. Eobed in a purloined dress and with a casket of stolen jewels in her hand, her conscience was not likely to be at ease imder the influence of such re- flections ; and, her terror amomitiug almost to a superstitious expansion of imaginative delusions, she thought that this ominous silence which her companion maintained could be indicative of no- thing more nor less than the foulest, blackest, and most treacherous intention towards her. Still she had not the courage to turn back — nor the power to stop short — nor the faculty to give utterance to a syllable of question, remonstrance, or entreaty. She was walking hke one in a dream ! . Ten minutes had thus elapsed from the moment that they met at Grosvenor Gate, — ten minutes, during which they had walked rapidly across the park, whilst those varied feelings and sensations had been gaining with proportionate speed upon the young Frenchwoman. Sui'ely, she thought, a married life which commenced under such gloomy auspices, would continue disastrous and end terribly ! But, ah ! what if the marriage were never to take place at ail ? — what if he on i whose arm she now leant, harboured the dia- bolical intention of murdering her there and then ? Oh ! how cold — how deadly cold was the ; tremor that passed through her entke being as I this reflection forced itself for the tenth time in a minute upon her disordered fancy ! I Again did she look fm-lively up towards the countenance of her companion : but stiU was it ! wrapped in the deepest gloom, the eyes shining forth like stars of c^dl augiu'y from the midst of a sky laden witli the thunder-clouds. A glance to the right sliowed her the far-off lights belong- ing to the mansions in the road skirting the northern side of tlie park : another look, thrown to the left, gave her the feeblest glimpses of the lamps of Knightsbridge ;-t-and before her at a little distance, some tall trees were beginning to stand darkly and gloomily out of the obsciu-ity, like spectral forms of colossal dimensions. Not a sound met her ears, save the moaning of the wind through those trees and the rustling of their leaves, — yes, and the tread of her companion's steps on the beaten pathway which they were pursuing. Her o^\-n feet moved noiselessly and with airy lightness over the ground. Ten minutes, we say, had thus elapsed: and not a word was spikcu the w'nole time, — not a 8-4 THE SEAilSTEtSS. syllable since the exchange of those names — "Charles" — "Clementine." How much longer was this silence to eudui-e ? The Frenchwoman could hear it not another instant ! "2i1y lord," she said, forcing herself to address the man who was treating her with such marked scorn and sovereign contempt, "whither are we going ? and where is the carriage waiting for us ? I am already wearied : and moreover, I do not perceive the necessity of traversing this lonely place. Surely your lordship might have com- manded the chaise to be in attendance at some nearer point i" But her companion made no reply, and con- tinued to hurry her along. " Ah ! I presume yoiu- lordship is resolved to punish me to the utmost of your power for daring to love you — and, what is stLU more culpable no doubt, for daring to aspire to become your wife," continued Clementine, her indignation now getting there he stood before her — in the very position in which he had suddenly halted when she stopped short and withdrew her arm so abruptly from his own. Dra%vn uf), as it seemed, to his full height — motionless as a statue — that indi-\-idual looked Uke a muffled corjise, which mischief, mirth, or philosophical ingenuity had made thus to stand upright, either as an object of terror or scientific experiment. And all in a moment to the mind— the abeady weakened, attenuated, and bewildered mind — of the young Frenchwoman, rushed a thou- sand terrific reminiscences of legends and romances which she had read, and wherein the grave had been represented as giving up its dead for the pm-- pose of scaring unprotected maidens and defence- less women in peculiar circumstances. An insm'- moimtable terror thus gained upon the wretched Clementine ; and she felt as if her senses were abandoning her. " Once more — once more — for the last time," the better of her fears. " But why should you i she faltered forth in broken tones and with gasp- commence thus early to goad my spii-it to despe- ing breath, — " I conjm-e youi- lordship— I implore ration.^ I love you now — adore you — worship , you — earnestly beseech you — to break this dreadful you : and yet mine is a natm-e which can be taught to hate as fervently and as bitterly. Well aware am I that your love can never be bestowed upon me : but I do not choose to submit tamely to the wreakings of your vengeance. Observe a passive indifference towards me, if you wiU : but do not proclaim an overt warfare. If you do, I shall have recourse to similar means in order to practise a retributive revenge. Do you hear me ? — will you not speak ? — am I to remain in igno- rance of the terms which we are to observe towards each other ? What ! silent still ? My lord — my lord — speak— speak — I conjui-e you : or I shall be forced to believe that some phantom has deluded me with his companionship this night !" And Clementine's voice, which was at first grave, solemn, and impressive, now grew hysterical and thrilling as this continued silence stu-red up again in her bosom aU the wild vague fears which in- dignation and a sense of wounded pride had for a moment subdued. But still that silence was persevered in : stiU, also, did her muffled companion persist in leading her onward. " Then, by heaven !" she suddenly exclaimed, stopping short, and snatching away her arm from beneath that of the cloaked indi%idual, — " I vnH not advance another step in this cruel uncertainty. Whatever coercion I may have used — whatever means I may have adopted — to force you into an alliance with me, you shall not treat me with this crushing contempt — this iiagrant inditfex'ence. No — no ! " proceeded Clementine, her excitement growing to a pitch of frenzy. "You shall not break my spirit nor my heart in a few short hours. Besides, my lord — I implore you to remember that it is cowardly in the extreme thus to behave to- wards a woman, let her faults be what they may ! Now, will you speak ? My lord — Charles — Mar- ijuis — speak — speak Good God ! what means this dreadful silence r" And the young woman, agitated and tortured by a tliousand conflicting feelings, clasped her hands in bitter anguish as she thus gave vent to the mingled prayers and menaces that denoted the conl'iised and chaotic condition of lior wildering thoughts and her distracting sensations. But still tlie cloaked iigure responded not : and silence. Say but a word — a single word O God ! no one is nigh to help me!" she shrieked hysteri- cally forth, as she cast her eyes mildly aroimd in the vain hope of discovering some moving form amidst the obscurity of the evening. But no human being met her view, save the one that stood statue-Uke before her : and now her terrors amounted to an anguish that racked her brain and made her imagination conceive in a moment all kinds of horrible ideas relative to that silent figure. " Ah. ! you are endeavoiu-ing to drive me mad— you wish to steal my senses away !" she exclaimed, in a voice that was now broken and sepulchral. " What phantom art thou ? — and why dost thou haunt me ? My lord — Charles — Ah ! speak teU me who you are relieve me from suspense ! What hideous delusion is this ? Methinks I am walking in a dream Oh ! spectre that thou art, I will see thy face — even though it should be the coimtenance of the dead !" And goaded to the frenzy of desperation, Clemen- tine sprang like a tiger-cat at the muffled figure — dashed oS" his hat ^\ith one hand and tore open his cloak with the other : then, as there was just suf- ficient light to enable her piercing eyes to mark the features of her companion, she saw that it was not Lord Arden — but a stranger ! The jewel-casket fell from her arm — a shriek burst from her lips — and she turned to fly : but the next moment she was felled to the ground by a bludgeon which the assassin had aU the time grasped beneath his cloak — and a second blow silenced her for ever ! * * * * « * * * * It was shortly after daylight tliat two police- constables were wending their way across Hyde Park and discoursLng in the follo^ving manner : — • " \Vliat time was it, then, that the informatiou was given at the station-house ?" inquired one. "At about half-an-hour after midnight," re- sponded the other. " It seems that the Duke of Belmont and his son " "That's the Marquis of Arden— eh?" "Just so. AVell, their lordships had been out to a party ; and on returning home shortly after twelve o'clock, they were told that the French THE SEAMSTRESS. Iad3''s-maid had disappeared. Tlie Duko very naturally ordered a search to be instituted to see whether anything was missing " " Was it suspected, then, that the young woman had bolted ■with property ?" " Not a bit of it. It appears that such a thought had never entered the head of any one in the house till the Duke and his son returned home from the pai-ty. The Duchess, the young ladies, and the servants generally, had no sus- picion of Clementine's dishonesty : they were afraid she had gone out and met with some acci- dent. But when the Duke and the Marquis came in and heard that the young woman was missing, they precious soon ordered a search to bo made ; and sure enough, a robbery had been committed." " The Duchess's jewel-casket, eh P" "Yes — and one of the young ladies' ball- dresses, I believe. But no doubt other things have been taken likewise : — only, in the first hurry and confusion caused by the event, it was impossible to ascertain what was lost and what was safe." " I suppose you've got a description of the Frenchwoman's person ?" "Yes — here it is," replied the constable who was thus enacting the part of informant towards his comrade. " The Duke sent the Marquis of Arden and the butler down to the station to give notice of the flight and the robbery ; and that description," added the officer, as he passed a paper to his brother-policeman, "is said to be accurate enough." " She must be a pretty girl," remarked the other, as he scanned the document. " So she is. The inspector who took Lovenham into charge — you remember that affair at the Duke's some months ago ?" " To be sure I do. But what about our in- spector ?" " Why, he saw the Frenchwoman on that occa- sion; and he told me just now that she is a very tidy body and answers the description in that paper to a nicety. But, holloa I what have we here ?" " A drunken lady " " No — a mui'der, by heavens !" And the two constables hastened up to the spot where lay tlie object which, suddenly meeting their eyes, had elicited those ejaculations. On the ground was the corpse of a female, ele- gantly dressed. Her bonnet was all broken — and the marks upon her forehead indicated but too plainly the manner in which she had come by her death. At a short distance was a bludgeon, mas- j sive and heavy enough to inflict murderous blows ; ! — and a little further off still, lay a casket with the lid open and emptied of its contents. The | pocket of the unfortunate woniiin's dress had also been rifled — for it was turned inside out : and certain traces of violence about the cars showed vmmistakably that the ear-rings had been torn away, and not deliberately taken off. The corpse was quite cold — and from its appearance, some | hours must have elapsed since the perjjetration of i the terrible deed. I Provided as they were with the written descrip- j tion of Mademoiselle Clementine, the ofhcers were not long in identifying the murdered female. The | dress which she had on — the casket— her personal j appearance, — everythinir corroborated the su'siiicion ' that this was none other than the fugitive /ewoie- de-cJiambre of Grosveuor Square. Assistance was speedily procured from the near- est park-keeper's lodge ; and the corpse was borne to a public-house at Bayswatcr. Information of the occm-rence was then conveyed to Belmont House; and the Duke appeared to bo as much shocked as any of his family or servants at the dreadful event. Indeed, his Grace, on recover ng from the mingled horror and consternation into which the tidings seemed to throw him, at once declared his intention of offering a reward of five hundred pounds for the apprehension of the mur* derer, and a similar sum for the recovery of tho diamonds. An inquest was held on the body in the course of the day : but nothing transpired to afford the faint- est clue to the elucidation of the mystery. The only inference to be drawn from the circumstances, such as they were presented to the jury, was that the young woman had been murdered whUe de- campmg with her mistress's jewels : but whether she was the victim of a stranger whom she en- countered accidentally, or whether some improper acquaintance had led to the robbery and the catas» trophe, it was impossible for the inquest to deter- mine. The usual open verdict of " Wilful Mui-der against some person or persons unknown," was accordingly returned. On the following day the remains of the unfor- tunate Frenchwoman were consigned to the grave ; and the tragic occurrence shed a deeper gloom upon the Belmont family. Sixteen months now passed away, without being characterised by any incident of special import- ance : — but during that period what had become of Virginia Mordaunt ? CHAPTER XXVII. THE WHITE SLAVE OF ENGLAND. We now come to a painful — a very painful episode in our tale ; and even as wo glance forward upon the woes, the sufferings, and the distresses which we are about to record, oui* soul sickens at the task that we have undertaken. At the same time, too, our blood boils with indignation when we view the details of that picture which is stretching before us, — a picture so made up with the vivid- coloiu-- ings of poor woman's wrongs, the sombre hues of man's cold-bloodedness and cruelty, and the dark outlines of a vitiated society and a heartless world, that we wonder God's vengeance sleeps when Ho looks down from heaven and beholds the enactment of such scenes on earth. But to enter properly upon this harrowing portion of our narrative, we must bring back our reader's attention to that day on which Virginia was made the victim of the atrocious treachery planned and executed by Clementine the French- woman. It will bo recollected that on beholding her lover ride past in the carriage, and on hearing him denounced as the hero of the talo of seduction and cruelly previously nurrated, Virginia had fallen senseless at the feet of her false friend. Three or four persons speedily gathered to the spot : and while Clementine, with every appearance of woe THE SEAMSTRESS. and dismay, lifted the young girl in ter arms, an elderly lady produced a smelling-bottle, which speedily operated as a restorative. Clementine then conducted the wretched Virginia home to lier lodging, where she consigned the poor maiden to the care of the landlady, while she herself hastened back to Grosvenor Square. No words have the power to convey an idea of the sorrow to which the seamstress was now a prey. Her first — her earliest — her fondest affec- tions were suddenly blighted at a moment when they were expanding joyously and confidently in the simshine of hope : her heart received the blow at the instant it was cherishing all those fervid aspirations and warming with all those holy fires which belong to a virgin's first and purest love. She was struck with the consternation of an awful calamity : a blank despair for a short time sealed the fountains of her eyes and closed the portals of her lips ; — and then, as she gradually emerged from this ominous stupor, the full tide of her poignant anguish swelled forth in torrents of tCars and piteous lamentations. AU the castle-building in which her fancy had been indulgin^for weeks past, had suddenly fallen in and overwhelmed her with its ruins. She had accepted the guidance of a fairy hand, and was led for a short time through delicious meads, and pleasing gardens, and along the banks of silver streams, — but only to be plunged ^^•ith a cruel abruptness into a black and hideous gulf that yawned beyond the elysian scene. And now, therefore, she blamed herself for having yielded to a delusion which left so appalling a reality behind. She bitterly, bitterly re2:)ented the blind confi- dence which she had reposed in her lover, whose treachery she could not doubt for a moment : she reproached herself for being the wilful authoress of evils which she never could have foreseen ; — and in fine, her soul was tortured not only with the excruciating reality of grief, but likewise with the ordeal of self- vituperation through which she made it pass. Vainly did the good people with whom she lodged endeavour to console her. They cer- tainly succeeded so far as to induce her to mode- rate the outward violence of her gi'ief : but her heart only swelled with an anguish that waa all the more excruciating because thus restrained and pent up. Nevertheless, the circumstance of exercising that amount of volition which was ne- cessary to subdue the outpourings of her sorrow, brought the poor girl's mind into a condition for looking her calamity with steadfast earnestness in the face : and gently dismissing the worthy couj)le who endeavoured to solace lu^r, she sate down in her chamber to meditate alone upon the course which she woidd now pursue. The reader who understands the lofty princii)lcs, exceeding dcUcacy, and genuine pride which formed the character and guarded the innocence of the yoimg maiden, will be fully prepared to behold her enacting an independent part and adopting a con- sistent line of behaviour. So soon, therefore, as Bhe had succeeded in reasoning herself into a stale of comparative tranquillity, she rose from her seat and began to arrange all her little i)roperty in a peculiar manner. Carefully separating everything which she had at any time purchased witli her owai money, from those articles which she liad procured with the money presented to her by her lover, she made a packet of the former to take away with her. And while thus employed, how frequently did she find the scalding tears rainino- do\vn her cheeks and her bosom palpitating vio- lently with the sobs that half suffocated her ! But it was when she removed the wedding-dress from the bed and placed it in a trmik along with every other article of raiment, even to the veriest trifle, such as a collar, a riband, or a pair of gloves, that had been purchased by her lover's money, — it was tlien that her anguish burst forth again, \vith a renewed poignancy : for as she closed the lid of that trunk which contained the bridal vesture, it seemed to the poor girl as if she had just buried all her hopes of happiness in a marble sepulchre. Sinking upon a seat, the poor orphan remained for some minutes a prey to the most excruciating affliction. And there was nothing selfish_ in her grief : it was as genuine, as sincere, and as pure as her love was chaste, artless, and etherial. Not for a moment did she deplore the loss of that social position, that independence, and that pecuniary comfort which the late prospect of marriage had seemed to assure her : no — one idea was dominant in her mind — one thought was the source of her grief, — and this was the treachery (or rather, the supposed treachery) of him whom she had loved so fervently and so well ! It was about nine o'clock in the evening of that memorable day, when Virginia Mordaunt com- pleted all her preparation for departure. She had laid aside the very garb which she had worn in the morning,— laid it aside, because it was pm-chased with AiS money; and she had resumed a faded frock, a well-worn shawl, and a shabby straw- bonnet — all of which articles she had fancied, a few hours back, that she should never require again ! And now, too, all her little necessaries were contained in a small bundle : and the com- forts which she had latterly gathered around her — the neat furnitiu'e — the changes of raiment — the few books upon the shelf — the trilhng ornaments on the mantel, — all, all of these did she purpose to leave behind her, because she felt that they were no longer her own ! She even sate down for a few moments to recall to mind, if possible, how much money she had of her own on that day when her lover presented her ■n-ith the bank-note ; and having succeeded in re- collecting that her piu'se contained but two or three shillings at the time, she resolved to take no more away with her now. She accordingly depo- sited in the trunk some four or five sovereigns wliich remained in her possession : then, locking the box, and taking out the key, she prepared to depart from the lodging where her heart liad known such joyous hope and such deep despair. But she had somewhat over-rated Ixer own moral powers when she fancied that she had com- posed herself sufficiently to enable her to take this step without any farther outburst of grief. The farewell glance whicli she thi-ew aroimd lier as she hurried to the door of that chamber, was all in a moment darkened by a liliu (hat came over her eyes ; — and with a sickening sensation at the heart, she tottered towards a chair on which she Hung herself helplessly. Across lier brow did she slowly draw lier hand, to steady her brain Mhieh appeared to be reeling, and to ai'rest her senses which seemed to be abandoning her : then the film gradually ilissolved — but her visioH^yas I'UE SEAMSTEESS. 87 again obscured by a torrent of blinding tears. Oil ! how bitterly — how bitterly she wept ! — how profoundly her bosom was convulsed with sobs ! Poor gu-l — poor girl ! 'No more should she rise in the morning, happy as the bird whose cai-ols met her car, and in an- ticipation of meeting her lover in that park whence the song of the feathered chorister came so melodiously ! — no more must she hope to feel the warm pressure of the hand whose touch was wont to send an ecstatic thrill to her very heart — no more to experience the bliss attendant upon the soft transfusion of adoring looks — no more to hear her OT^Ti name breathed with the accents of love and coupled ■with all endearing epithets ! O God ! had all this charming vision fled for ever ? — was it to return no more ? Alas ! alas ! blank and cheer- less indeed had now become the maiden's destiny : darkly spread now the pathway of the world before her eyes. And she — so young, so innocent, so lovely — to suffer thus ! — Oh ! it was cruel — too cruel ! Beauteous but unhappy girl — as ill-fated as thou wast virtuous, as unfortunate as thou wast pure and chaste what benefit will our sympathy achieve for thee now ? Behold her — that sweet, interesting being, — with her sylph-like form so full of modest elegance and winning grace — her lovely countenance so pale and so full of care — her fine blue eyes so dimmed with tears — her steps so light and yet so painfully slow, — behold her as she now exerts a powerful effort to abandon the only place that she can call a home ! With her bundle in her hand, Virginia Mor- daunt prepares to take her departure. She flings one last look aroxmd : she staggers against the door-post for support — and she compresses her lips violently to keep down the feelings that threaten to unnerve her again. The thought that she is performing a duty which she owes to herself, sud- ; dcnly inspu'es her with courage and strength ; — j and turning hastily away, she crosses the threshold and descends the stairs with a rapid step. The good people of the house meet her in the passage below ; and they are ovei'\vhelmed with grief and t surprise when they hear that she is about to leave them. They are already acquainted with '. the fact that her marriage cannot now take place : but they are at a loss to understand where- | fore she should flee away thus precipitately on that account. " My good friends," said Virginia, in a voice that was tremulous and low, and -with looks so j mournful — oh ! so profoundly mournful, that they already seemed to be telling the tale of a breaking heart, — "my dear friends, I thank you — most cordially thank you for your kind sympathy : but J I must not — dare not remain in this neighbour- hood — nor in this house I In the first place, it is necessary to my mental tranquillity, — for I dare not speak of happiness any more in this world, — | but it is essential to the recovery of my soul's \ composure, I say, that I should remove at once [ from a scene every feature of which would only , keep alive the most painful reminiscences. Be- sides — I owe it to myself— I owe it to the shade of my dear departed mother," continued Vir- ginia, her blue eyes filling with tears, and her voice becoming scarcely audible — " to fly from a neighbom'hood where I may chance to meet with him again ! It is true that he knows not precisely where I have been living : but he is I well aware that my abode was at no great distance from the park — and if he should re- solve upon pursuing me still, his perseverance will lead him to this house. Ah ! I dare not — I oh ! no — I must not meet him again, my friends : and you youi-selves cannot counsel me to do so ! , But I have left behind me all that I have derived from his bounty — everything that has been pur- chased ^\ith his money ; — and should he come hither a tall young gentleman yes, and very handsome, too giving the name of Os- ; mond Charles Osmond you will tell him " But here Virgiaia's voice, which for some mo- ments had been bi-oken and convulsed, was now [ lost in sobs ; and the worthy couple were deeply aflPeeted by the young girl's acute and rending ' anguish. I "You will teU him," she said, after a long ! pause, and still speaking with difficulty, — " you win tell liim that I have left behind me everything which does not properly belong to me. You may ' tell him also that I wish him no harm that I even forgive him ^but that he must never hope to see me again !" Then wringing her friends' hands with all the cordiality and fervour of that gratefid feeling which she experienced towards them, Virginia Mordaimt hastened away from the house, the tears streaming down her cheeks and her heart beating as if it must burst. Let us supj)ose three months to have elapsed ' since that fatal day ; and we shall then find the young maiden seated in a wretched attic in the purlieus of the Minories. The house, which swarms with lodgers, is situate in a court where the atmosphere is tainted, the drainage is deficient, and the water is scanty in supply and imwhole- some in quahty. A miserable flock mattrass stretched upon the bare boards — an old trunk for a table — a stool to sit upon— and a few articles of crockeryware, — these constitute all the furniture of Virginia's attic. And the yoimg maiden her- „ self holy God ! how changed is she ! Gone are the roses which the fresh air of theEegent's-park had bi-ought back to her cheeks dm-ing the day-dream of her love ; — and the lilies have taken their place. Pale— yes, pale as alabaster is she — as if all vital colouring had fled from the presence of a withering illness : and yet ill, in the strict sense of the term, she has not been. Only the Ulness of the mind — the cankering disease of the heart — has she expe- rienced, — accompanied by that gradual waste of the frame which is produced by sorrow, by poverty, by famine, and by crushing toil ! Pale — oh ! yes — pale as a statue is Virginia Mordaimt ! — not vrith the dull, dead, insipid white- ness of the corpse — but with that pallor which derives a life-like appearance from the presence of vital heat and from the delicate tracery of blue veins beneath her transparent skLa. Her naturally slender shape had become thin and wasted — with- out however losing the sylphid outline and gi-aceful symmetry which not even the well-worn frock could mar, but which the very scantiness of the poor girl's clothing defined all the more perceptibly. And as she sate upon that stool which had no support for her acliing back, and plied her needle with a celerity that must have resulted more from a sort of mechanical skill than from physical energy, her hand as she raised it was so thm that it seemed THE SEAMSTKESS. transparent. Yet was it not shrunken in the ugly meaning of the term: it was delicate — very dehcate — even as her form had become too slender and too delicate to bear any association with the idea of health. Sweetly — deeply — touchingly interesting the maiden still was, — invested with a spirit-like beauty that appeared unable to resist the cold atmosphere of this world, — a charming flower whose loveliness Lucreased proportionately with the languor that made it droop in death's slow and gradual decline. We have said that her apparel was scanty : but it was neat as the most scrupidous tidiness coidd make it. The poor girl's hair, too — that superb luxuriant covering which might have made the envy of a queen, and the glorious gloss upon which ten thousand times outvied the lustre of aU the gems that ever sparkled in a royal crown, — her hair, we say, was arranged with evident attention : but this arose from no sentiment of coquetry just heaven! she had neither inclination nor leisiu'c for idle vanities ! — but it was in accordance with the habit of personal neatness and propriety which no distress nor suffering could ever subdue on her part. And the expression of her coimtenance ? — Oh ! this is sad, vnth a settled melancholy — but not a cynic gloom : it is a profound mournfuLness attempered by holy resignation — the martyrised look of a saint who amidst the tortures of earth obtains glimpses of heaven ! Her lips are thin and have lost their roseate freshness : but the teeth which they reveal, as they remain slightly parted in deep pensiveness, are still beauteous as strings of pearls — and the breath that passes between them is fragrant as when she was wont to inhale the breezes of the park in com- pany with her lover. Oh ! to recall the roses to those pale cheeks and bring back the elasticity of youtliful vigour to that drooping form ! — but no — it may not be — at least not yet — even if it shall ever be done again ! Poverty allows but little choice in respect to the lodging of one in Virginia's friendless, sorrowful condition. To dwell in a respectable neighbour- hood a respectable rent must be paid ; and that was a price which the poor seamstress could not afford. She was therefore compelled to occupy the attic wherein we find her now, and for which she paid eighteen-pence a week. But then she enjoyed the use of the furniture — that furniture which we have already described in a few words, and for the whole of which the most liberal-minded broker in London would not have given half-a-crown ! Yes — poverty had driven the unhappy maiden into a house situate in a low neighbom-hood and in a pestilential atmosphere, — a house filled from cellar to roof with beings as poor and wretched as herself, but whose wretchedness often drove them into dissipation and debauchery — whereas, the wider became our heroine's experience of the world and its woes, the stronger were the defences that her innate rectitude was enabled to throw up around her virtue. Dwelling as it were in the midst of contamination, she remained pure and chaste : exposed to constant temptation, she never even lost the presence of mind that strengthened her in resisting it. When the din of drunken orgies reached the ears from below, she shuddered and prayed: and when the young women into whose companionship she was necessarily thro\\ii at times, ventured to hint how easily she might procure a new gown or ensure a Sunday's dinner, she silenced them with one of those looks to which indignant virtue imparts such power. Or if she were jeered and taunted on accoimt of her steadi- ness and chastity — as was sometimes the case— she would turn aside and heed not the scoflfers. Thus, although poverty was di-agging the poor girl through a vista of dead and sickening experi- ences, and exposing her to many temptations, it succeeded not in plunging her into error. Amidst aU her misery she could walk with head erect ; — and although want and famine made her cheeks marble white, they were never tinged with the blush of shame. Such was Virgjinia Mordaunt ! \ / But how did she earn her scanty subsistence ? •In that same district where she dwelt — the crowded quarter of Aldgate and the Minories — stands the splendid establishment of Messis«Aaron and Sons. This palatial emporium is a colossal proof of the grinding tyranny which capital wields over labour, and the influence which it exercises over wages. Upon ancient 'Egypt did God in his . wrath send the plagues of darkness, locusts, and murrain : but over modern Eui'ope has Satan dif- fused the far more awful pestilence of competition. . And it is this accursed system which makes the emporium of Messrs. Aaron and Sons flourish for the benefit of its proprietors ; while the vapours of demoraUzation, despair, famiae, sickness, and death, emanate from its portals and infect the atmosphere that is breathed by a large portion of the com- mimity. The towering edifice, so grand without and so superb within, — showing in the vastness of its extent and in the minutest details of its deco- rations, the lavish profusion that marked its erec- tion, — with its magnificent windows, its plate glass, and its brilliant illuminations, — this costly struc- ture, we say, is a mighty monument which capital has raised in honour of the Genius of Competition. But to view it morally, its aspect is hideous in the extreme. Its foimdations are built with the bones of the white slaves of England, male and female : the skeletons of journeymen tailors and poor seam- stresses, all starved to death, constitute the door- posts and the window-frames ; — the walls are made of skulls — the architectural devices are cross-boues — and the whole is cemented firmly and solidly by the blood, pith, and marrow of the miserable wretches who are forced to sell themselves in the Slave-Market of British Labour. And it was for this emporium that Virginia Mordaunt worked — that is to say, worked indi- rectly. For she was not employed directly by the house itself, but by the middle-women who farmed the work which the cstablislunent required to be done. In fact, it was the old system of Mrs. Jackson, Mrs. Pembroke, and Madame Duplessy, all over again, — with the substitution of other names and lower wages. In fact, poor Vii-ginia was now engaged in making slop-shirts at ttoo' pence fartJtinq a.-'picccl Yes, shirts at two-pence farthing each ; and by dint of toiling from six in the morning ^pi twelve at night, she was enabled to make thrc^E a day. Ah ! but rt day of eighteen hours — leavi^ the poor girl only six hours which she could call her night ! And during those eighteen hours she earned precisely si J'/>f»ce three- farthings —out oi which she had to purcliase the tlu'cad! Every ijiirt had seven button-holes — tliree to the bosom, tw'cx to the collar, and one to each wristband; and thff'.sewing must be neatly done, or .«■ ,y^ • -<4 ■jJq 12.— TnH SEAMSTRKaS. y 90 THE SEAMSTEMSS. the poor seamstress would have to pay for the sjpoilt work ! Thus the fullest extent of wages which Virginia could earn by toiling eighteen hours a-day, the Sabbath excepted, was three shillings a-week for herself, the tliread costing her at least the farthing over the two-pence on every shirt. Three shillings a-week to pay rent, coal, and candle — to procure the necessaries of life — and to purchase clothing ! How could it be done ? Only by subjecting the poor girl to the process of a lingering death by starvation. No wonder, then, that her cheeks were pale — that her form was attenuated — that her health was declining — and that her spirit was already broken ! Virginia's food consisted of coilee, tea, bread, and oatmeal. The Duke of Norfolk who so gene- rously and humanely recommended the poor to use a pinch of currie powder in a gallon of hot water " to make an excellent soup," would doubtless teU us that " coffee, tea, bread, and oatmeal," consti- tute a perfect summary of luxuries ! Malediction upon all aristocratic heartlessness ! For, oh ! how small — how infinitely small — how tiny were the quantities of tea and coffee which the poor girl was enabled to purchase at a time — and how frequently was the tea warmed up and the coffee boiled over and over again ! Sugar she had completely broken herself of. And then, as for bread — judge, ye tyrant aristocrats ! how much of this could poor Virginia afford to buy out of her three shillings a-week, after paying eighteen-pence for rent and sixpence for coal and candles ! She could not even enjoy a penny roll a-day. Her principal food was therefore oatmeal; — and the fair, innocent, inte- resting girl, endowed with every virtue and every personal grace, was not a hundredth part so well fed as the Queen of England's lap-dog or the Duke of Norfolk's pigs ! As sure as there is a God in heaven, must a cm'se fall upon the land where such a system exists. The Almighty cannot — oh ! no — he can- not, he cannot suffer such horrors to endure much longer. Neither will he permit them to go un- punished. What right has any set of men to make this country an earthly hell for aU the rest ? Bishops who preach patience to starving millions, are the vilest hypocrites that desecrate the human species : statesmen who bestow the name of " sedition" upon discontent, will have much ta answer for when they stand before the throne of a just Grod, however successfully they may have ground down the masses in this world. Yes — truly, there must be a hell hereafter : or else where is the justice of the Eternal? We have seen that Virginia was compelled to live upon tlu-ee shillings a week. But tliis was a sum which she was not always sure of obtaining. Sometimes work was slack ; at others she felt too ill to toil for eighteen hours a-day. Then, indeed, did she endure misery the most pinching — penury the most poignant : then, indeed, did she feel, and know, and experience all the horrors wliich must attend upon the lingering death of starvation. Her weekly struggle was to pay her rent : every sacrifice must be made to accomplish this object ; — or else would she be turned adi'ift into the open streets — homeless, as she was already friendless ! Poor girl — poor girl ! she was perishing by inches — d>nng by slow famine — as so many tliousands of British females are ever pining and fading away into early graves, while titled demireps and noble courtezans at the West End are revelling in all the luxuries and elegancies of life. Oh ! if the thirty thousand pale, spectral, wasted needle-women of London were aU to assemble and go down in a body to Buckingham Palace, and demand — yes, demand an interview with the Queen, — what would be the effect ? Doubtless Victoria would be appalled by the aspect of that multitude of shadowy forms and wan faces : but she would refer them to her Minis- ters — and her Ministers would teU them to go quietly home, for fear their shocking appearance should excite the indignation of the peoi^le and thereby endanger the security of property ! " Ah ! by all means protect ■ the property of such establishments as that of Messrs. Aaron and Sons — no matter how many jom-neymen tailors may fashion their own funeral palls and how many seamstresses may work their own winding- sheets in the service of the wealthy slop-sellers ! Besides, only consider — the City every now and then requires a Sheriff from that class of capi- talists, competitors, and monopolists. What are a few thousands of starving tailors or famishing needlewomen, so long as the Government receives , the duty upon the twenty thousand pounds sterling annually spent by Aaron and Sons in newspaper- advertisements P Why, there are pensioners, placemen, and sinecurists to be paid : and there- fore the Government must have money — somehow or another ! Eaise that money, then, by taxing the tea and the coffee which the poor seamstress drinks : for again we ask, of what matter is it to the Government, the Aristocracy, the Bishops, or the Legislature, how many inoffensive, hard- working, miserable women are starved to death in the course of a year ? CHAPTER XXVIII. COHTIKUATIOK OF THE W0E8 OF THE WHITE SLAVE. Akothee three months have elapsed — and bleak November has now set in, with its chill breath that pierces like an ice-shaft to the marrow of the bones and transfixes the very brain. Vii-ginia is stiU in the same neighbourhood — yes, and in the very self-same room where we found her in the preceding chapter. She is employed on work that is more remunerative though much harder than that of shirt-making. For the middle- woman, or' " sweater," by whom Virginia was engaged, found that the young creature would prove a more serviceable and valuable slave at trousers-making than at shirt-sewing. Our heroine accordingly became a worker on moleskin and corduroy trousers. But why could not Virginia, who was so pro- ficient with her needle, obtain the best and most delicate work from the mantua-makers and milli- ners, instead of the coarse slop-work of the delecta- ble Messrs. Aaron and Sons ? — or why, at all events, could she not procure the work direct from the establishment itself, instead of through the hands of a middle-woman ? All these points have been discussed and explained in a previous chapter; and the same system which in the first instance ren- dered Vii-ginia the slave of Mrs. Jackson, now THE SEAMSTRESS. 91 enchains her to the service of one of the numerous "sweaters" who farm the work of Messrs. Aaron and Sons. It is true that there are some slop- establishments which give out the work direct to the journeymen and the seamstresses, instead of through the agency of middle-men or sweater?: but in those cases security must be found by the persons to whom materials arc entrusted for work- ing up and where was our poor friendless orphan to find such guarantee ? She could not : and therefore she remained the prey of the middle- woman. By working from six in the morning till eleven at night, Virginia could make two pairs of trousers n-day. For each pair she received seven-pence. When in full work — therefore— and not impeded by illness — she now earned fourteen-pence a day (the Sabbath excepted), or seven shillings a-week. Out of this sum, her thread, twist, candles, and coals cost her two shillings at the lowest : then her rent was eighteeu-pence ; — and thus she had three shillings and sixpence left to live upon and procure raiment. Such a position would have been one of prosperity compared with what it was when she toiled at shirt -making : but even this improved state of her affairs had its drawbacks. She was sometimes slack of work when in good health, and frequently overwhelmed with work when too weak and ill to perform it. Indeed, the poor gii4 could not conceal from herself the alarming fact that her health wixs declining — that she did not feel so strong as she even was three months back — and that she was at times troubled with a short diy cough. And then dreadful ideas would come into her mind and almost drive her mad, — ideas of a long lingering illness, without a friend to succour her — and perhaps the workhouse in the perspec- tive! Ah ! that terrible word — the WorTchouse ! What ^miseries — what degradations — what sufferings are summed up in that api^alling dissyllable ! A sever- ance from all the ties of human fellowship — a state of vile prisonage, characterised by the same gray garb that felons wear in gaols and hulks — an awful monotony in the routine of existence — the utter abasement of the mind beneath a sense of con- summate humiliation, — all these ideas arc condensed in the one word that expresses the lowest and most abject condition of human misery. And Vir- ginia, during her residence in the purlieus of the Minories, had often heard of people going to the workhouse— aye, and had seen them go. In the place where she dwelt, the landlady exacted the weekly rent with the most scrupulous punctuality from every lodger : and those who could not pay were turned out mercilessly. Under such circum- stances as these was it that Virginia had fre- quently — oh ! too frequently beheld poor women forced to apply for admission to the workhouse : she had seen mothers press their famished children to their bosoms, and weep over them as bitterly — O God! as bitterly as any Duchess could weep over her own — at the thought of being separated from them ! She had seen, too, strong men — hale, hearty, and willing to work, but having no work to do, — she had seen them tremble like aspens and shake like reeds — aye, and melt into tears, at the presence of that dread moment when necessity forced them to think of the workhouse I No wonder, then, that the young girl — patient, resigned, and enduring though aho were — should feel her brain turning and her thoughts become maddening at tlic prospect of an immurement in that living tomb which the heartless rich have formed for their worn-out serfs and superannuated slaves ! We have already stated the amount which Vir- ginia could earn at trousers-making, when in full work and good health ; we have likewise observed that weakness and indisposition often marred her progress and thus abridged her wages. We may now add that the nature of the work itself was so fatiguing, in consequence of the stubbornness and hardness of the material, that it accelerated the decline of the poor maiden's health. With a daily increasing terror, therefore, did she contemplate the future, — that future whence she woidd so gladly avert her eyes if she could, but upon which they remained all the more steadfastly fixed in propor- tion to the agonizing anguish and despair of such contemplation. Besides, with all her patience and meekness — ^^'ith all her truly Christian resignation and pious fortitude — she could not feel otherwise than wearied and disgusted with a state of depend- ence upon the caprice, petty tyranny, and insolence of a middle-woman. Virginia Mordaunt accordingly resolved upon making a desperate effort to procure work direct from some establishment that gave it out. The only difticulty was to obtain the requisite security ; and now she bethought herself of the worthy couple at whose house she had dwelt in Camden Town. Six months had elapsed since she bade them fare- well, — six months since that memorable day on which she was so terribly deceived by the treachery of Clementine. During that interval she had often — Oh I yes, often — longed to pay those good people a visit ; — and perhai)s, with the natm-al feelings of her sex, she had experienced a secret inclination to learn whether Mr. Osmond (for she knew him by no other name) had found out that house, and if so, what he had said. But she had hitherto re- strained herself from a feeling of maidenly pride and a sense of duty. She did not wish the old couple to imagine for a moment that she felt any curiosity, much less any latent tenderness, ^vith regard to her lover : and her ideas of propriety had moreover all along suggested that she should ab- stain from visiting a neighbourhood where it was possible she might encoimter him, should he be on the search after her. But now she had a real, positive, and substantial motive for calling upon her old friends : and ac- cordingly, one Sunday afternoon, Virginia set out to walk to Camden Town. She reached the house just as the worthy couple were silting down to tea; — and wo need hardly observe that the poor girl was welcomed with the sincercst cordiality. The old man placed a seat for her — the old woman kissed her and cried over her as if the maiden were her own child. Then they both looked at her long and attentively ; — and when they saw how pale she was — how thin she had become — and how languid all her movements ajipearcd to bo, they inquired in a tone of compassioiuite interest whether she had not bccm very ill. Virginia's heart swelled at the kind sympathy thus manifested towards her, — a sympathy to which she had been such a perfect stranger during the last six months : and, with tears tracing their pearly patli adown her cheeks, she told the wortliy couple how hard she had toiled — how her health and strength had declined— and 92 THE SEAMSTEESS. how she stood in need of their friendly assistance, so far as a guarantee for her honesty was concerned. To this request the old man cheerfully acceded ; — and then with a flush appearing for a few moments upon her cheek, and with downcast eyes, she in- quired whether IVir. Osmond had ever been to take possession of the things which she had left behind her; " Ah ! my dear girl !" exclaimed the old woman, " We had a truly touching scene here one day, I can assure you ; and if his grief was affected, then never did the world produce a greater hypocrite. You had not left us a week, when a tall, thin, handsome young gentleman — Ah ! so handsome, I don't wonder you loved him — knocked at the door and inquired in a tone of agitation and ex- citement, if Miss Virginia Mordaunt lived here. He evidently was dying for the answer — I mean, he was almost mad with impatience : and when I told him that you had Uved here, but that you had gone away about a week previous, he burst forth into the wildest exclamations. Then he put a thousand questions to me, aU in a moment : whether I knew why. you had gone — with whom you had departed — under what circumstances — and all manner of queries showing, or at least seeming to show, that he could not for the life of him understand your conduct towards him. I then told him as much as I know, — that you had come home one evening, a week back, in a dread- ful state of mind, having had positive reason to beUeve that he was playing you false — that you had resolved to depart for the purpose of never seeing him again — and that you had left behind Jyou, in case he should discover the house and call, everything which had been purchased by the money you had received from him. Ah ! how the yoimg gentleman '^•■y yes — wept bitter, burning, scalding tears, as he listened to all I told him. I never saw a woman weep in a profounder agony. He leant against the wall in the passage — he covered his face with his hands — he groaned in spirit. I pitied him — Oh ! I pitied livm : for I saw that he loved you well and truly, whether treacherous or not. At last, when I told him about the things you had left behind, he implored me to allow him to ascend to the chamber'which you had occupied : and when I conducted him up- stairs and gave him the key jpf the trunk, he opened it — he stooped down — kfised the wedding- dress which lay at the top — &d then fell once more into a fit of such anguished weeping that the tears ran like rain down my, own cheeks. His lamentations were most piteous — his ejaculations most impassioned. He declared that some trea- chery, or else some fatal misunderstanding had worked all this mischief: and he vowed never to rest imtil he had found you out again. Then, when his grief had somewhat subsided, he gently — and with an evident dehcacy — removed the things from the trunk, one by one — no doubt in the hope of finding a letter from you. But there was none : and when he discovered the money which you had placed in the trunk, ho exclaimed, ' My God ! even to this has she left behind her everything for which she could in any way have considered herself indebted to mo ! Ah ! what a fine spirit — what a noble nature ! And shall I renounce such a being as this ? shall I abandon all hope of meeting her again P No, no : if I were compelled to walk barefoot all over the world to find her out, I would not shrink from the task.' — Then he replaced all the things in the trunk ; and demanding of me the rent of the room, he said, ' You vnll not remove that box : you will consider this apartment to be still Virginia's. I win pay you six months, or a year, or for any period you like in advance : for it would be dese- cration to remove anything that has belonged to her.' — Vainly did I remonstrate : Mr. Osmond worked himself into a pitch of passion that alarmed me ; and I therefore took the five guineas which he tossed down upon the table. He then went away ; and at the expiration of a week he returned to ascertain if I had received any tidings of you. I told him that I had not : and he charged me to write to him without an instant's delay, should I obtain the slightest clue to your abode. He desired that the letter should be ad- dressed to him, under cover to some fashionable tailor at the West End, whose card he gave me, telling me at the same time that he should call there every day in the hope of finding a communi- cation from me. Of course this hope has expe- rienced incessant disappointment : but he called here frequently — at least every two or three weeks — to assure himseK that I remembered my promise to write to him. Ah ! Miss, he is greatly altered — sadly altered indeed, — almost as much as you are yourself !" Wliile the good old woman was narrating her tale, — not, however, in precisely the words which we have put into her mouth, but fully to the same effect, — Virginia struggled hard to keep down her emotions. But they rose — they rose, defying all resistance : higher and higher they surged, like gathering biUows in the storm — imtil at length the tears flowed in torrents down her cheeks — her bosom was convulsed with sobs — and she was melted into a tenderness so complete that had her lover entered at the moment, she would have rushed into his arms. And for some time after the dame had concluded her narrative, Virginia continued to weep and sob, while her hands were clasped firmly togethei-, and her bosom palpitated violently. But reUeved by this outburst of feeUng, and recalled to a stern sense of duty and propriety — or rather, what she believed to be such, under the impression that still remained immoveably upon her mind, — she said in a low deep tone, full of touching pathos, " Be not surprised at this weakness, my friends : I cannot conquer the natm-al emotions of the heart ! Would to God that I could believe Charles Osmond to be as honourable as he is affectionate. That he loves me, I have no doubt : but I have received such immistakable proofs of his perfidy towards another and of his want of principle towards myself, that I dare not think of him — save as one whom I must never meet again. Besides, my dear friends— he is married — yes, married to another and I saw him with his bride ! The sister of a lovely and con- fiding girl whom he betrayed and abandoned, pointed him out to me on that never-to-be-forgotten day when I quitted your dwelling six months back. Let us, then, mention him no more. Yet another word," she added, after a pause, " ere I abandon the subject. Should he return, my friends, I charge you not to give him any tidings of ine. The ex- planations which I have glanced at, will convince you that he is not in a position to bestow an houom'able love upon me !" THK SEiiMSTBESS. 93 The worthy couple had nothing to iirge against have recourse to the earnings of shame. Many — the resolution of the young seamstress — a resolu- oh ! how many — of these unfortunate beings tion, indeed, which they could not do otherwise loathed and abhorred the base idea of walking in than applaud. They promised to observe the most the paths of error : but their choice lay between religious secrecy concerning her visit and every- starvation — suicide — and infamy ! They dared not thing that regarded her ; — and the old man having beg — the police-laws hung Ln terror over them : made an appointment to attend in the City on the they shrank from the thought of self-destruction ; following morning and give the required security — and yet they could not starve ! What were they at the clothing-mart, Virginia took an affectionate to do ? Ecader, spui-u not away the unfortunate' leave of her kind friends. CHAPTEE XXIX. THE TEMPTATI0>"3 OF THE SEAMSIEES3. Beisg now enabled to give security for the ma- terials entrusted to her, our heroine obtained work from a large army-clothier's establishment, the foreman of which was a good-looking, dash- ing, conceited individual, who treated Virginia with a mingled urbanity and patronising famili- arity, by no means calculated to win the confidence fering, and crushing toil, — she must be regarded or ensure the esteem of the pure-minded girl, only as an exception to the rule, and not as a But she dared not testify any disgust at the type of her class in this respect. With paia and fulsome manners of so important a personage; indignation do we record the fact that virtue in and she accordingly received both his attentions the poor seamstress is almost an impossibility : girl who accosts you in the streets : but pity her — • I and give her ahns. Peradventure she belongs to- [ the class of needlewomen, who would be virtuous j if they could, but who arc made the victims of all the tremendous tyranny of capital, monopoly, and competition. Yes — let there be pity and compas- sion for those who err, not from any impulsive love of profligacy and vice, but in obedience to that stern necessity which breaks down the strongest defences that woman may set up around her virtue ! And if our humble heroine remained pure and spotless in the midst of contamination — in the midst of temptation — in the midst of sorrow, suf- and instructions with a respectful reserve, gave her some soldiers' trousers to make He and yet we intend no reproach to herself or her up, order. God forbid ! We are profoundly afflicted at the contemplation of her immerited wrongs — wrongs so deep and cruel, so flagrant and terrible. telling her that she would be paid sixpence half- penny a pair, finding her own thread. Back to her humble lodging did Virginia hie, reckoning that they call upon heaven for vengeance : — and as she went along that she would be able to make our blood boUs at the reflection that aU those two pairs a-day, thereby earning eleven-pence wrongs spring from a social vitiation which a for herself when the cost of the thread was de- humane government and an honest legislature ducted. And for three or four weeks she toiled could so speedily amend. with comparative cheerfulness at a kind of work Of the thirty thousa^^pmales living in Lon- which was much easier than that whereon she don ostensibly by the neOTe and slop-work, not had been previously engaged : but it neverthe- less than twelve thousand are wider twenty years less took her sixteen hours every day to complete of age ; — and nine-tenths of those poor girls are the two pairs of trousers which she had calcu- plunged by stern necessity into the vortex of vice lated en finishing. Every morning when she before they scarcely know what vice means I rose from her humble pallet, she felt so wearied Eighty thousand daughters of crime walk the that it seemed impossible she could arouse within streets of London : and whence is this vast ania- herself the energy suflicient to meet the coming zonian army of infamy chiefly recruited ? The toil of sixteen long, long hours : and every night answer may Be read ia the details which we are when, exhausted and worn out, she threw aside now chronicling relative to the class of needle- her work and lay down to rest, she felt as if she women. Oh ! it is - a mockery — a hideous, im- never should rise up again. Thus six weeks or pious, frightful mockery to preach from the pulpifc two months passed away ; and the poor girl could the beauty of fem'Sle virtue, while thousands not conceal from herself that she was becoming and thousands of poor girls are driven by a de- weaker and weaker — wearing out all her vital moniac system into the ways of vice : and it is a powers — over-taxing all the energies of her youth- diabolical, a scandalous, and an atrocious insult fulness — and day by day becoming more sensitive to denounce the immorality of the " lower orders," to the want of pure air and mental and physical while they have neither the power nor the in- relaxation. j ducement to be virtuous. Instead of Magdalen ^ / Sad, too, were the experiences which her con- [ Institutions — and Societies for the Protection of tact with the young women who worked for the j Young Females — and long sermons proclaiming same establishment brought to her knowledge : eternal damnation to those who go astray, — let sad and mournful were the social phases which philanthropists and parsons, if they be honest she was too often forced to contemplate ! She saw and sincere, address themselves to the task of that virtue amongst the females of her class was the rarest of gems, — that wives were compelled to go astray with the cognizance of husbands, and that daughters became criminal to the knowledge of their parents, in order to eke out a miserable subsistence by the addition of the wages of infamy. Yes — the earnings of honest labour were so poor, so -wretchedly small, that the oppressed needle- women were goaded by famine and desperation to procuring an adequate remuneration for the daughters of toil. Let the eloquence of the pulpit be employed less in running down unwill- ing sinners, and more in showing up vile mono- polists. Let not the immorality, but the wages, of needlewomen first absorb attention ; and with the adjustment of the latter, the former will soon disappear. Let the mask be torn away from the countenances of those wretches and miscreants who 94 THE SEAMSTRESS. build and maintain palatial establishments with the bones, blood, and sinews of famished seamstresses and starving joiu-neymen-tailors; — and let Christian charity throw its veil over the errors and frailties of the white slaves of England. The parsons need not always look beyond the boundaries of this world to discover demons and point out devils : there are both upon the face of this earth — both desecrating this land of vaunted civilization — both busily em- ployed in making a terrestrial hell of this world of oui's. Yes^body-crushing and soul-destroying devils and demons have dared to fix their habita- tion amongst us : vampyre-like, they are drinking the blood of men, women, and little childi-en: hideous cannibals, they are preying upon human flesh ; — and their accursed system is spreading an awful demoralization throughout the country — filling the streets with unfortunate women, peopling the gaols with victims, and crowding the work- houses with a mass of human wretchedness. Such are the tremendous iniquities of those who I grind down the needlewomen and slop-workers. But to return to Virginia — we said that about two months had passed away since she procured em- ployment from the army-clothier's;^ — andduring that period the foreman in the establishment gradually became more pointed in his attentions — more sig- nificant in his flatteries. The poor girl, though anticipating the result, received the former with coldness and tiu-ned a deaf ear to the latter. At length, as she had feared and expected, the fellow became more explicit in his observations, and from general hints proceeded to direct overtures. He was married and had several children : but the duties of a husband and a father did not restrain him from carrying on his intrigues wherever his fancy was suited and his favour valued. Indeed, of aU the fem.ales who worked for the establishment over which he presided, there was scarcely one who, if at all good-looking, had not been compelled to en- dure his persecution and submit to his wishes. When, therefore, he was met mth an indignant rebuff on the part of Yirginia, he was so astonished at such unusual conduct, that he was some minutes before he could recover himself : then, bursting out into an insolent laugh, he taunted her with the afiectation of a virtue which she was too poor to practise. This crowning insult brought all the blood into the hitherto pale cheeks of the pining. Buffering girl ; — and, throwing down the work which she had just received from the foreman, she repaired straight to the master of the warehouse. To him she briefly and modestly explained the treatment she had experienced; and, with the big tears running down her blushing cheeks, she be- sought his protection against insult for the futui'e. But the clothier was incredidous as to the purity and sincerity of the young creature's motives : he did not behove that she was truly and veritably inspired by the resentment of outraged virtue ; — but he fancied that some jealous pique was prompt- ing her to seek tlie means of revenge against the foreman. In plain terms, he did not for a moment imagine that our licroLno was actually virtuous : he did not believe that she could be ! Well aware of the appalling fact that nine-tenths of the females who worked for him were morally ruined by tlio system that inado him rich and prosperous and them wretched and miserable, he looked upon virtue in a seamstress as a phenomenon amounting almost to an impossibility. He accordingly surveyed Vii-- ginia with the air of one who feels very much in- clined to unmask a hypocrite : but not considering it worth while to waste many words upon the matter — especially as he was busy at the time — he sharply bade her go about her business and settle her quarrels ■nith the foreman elsewhere. Vir- ginia's heart swelled abnost to bursting : she en- deavoured to speak — but her feelings choked her ; — and her brutal employer pushed her out of his private ofiice. She hastened back to her humble lodging — ■ flung herself on her knees — covered her counte- nance with her hands — and implored the sainted spirit of her mother to look down from heaven and have compassion upon her. Deep, deep was the poor girl's anguish as she thus wept and prayed in the bitterness of her spirit and -ndth the keenest sense of her orphaned condition. What had she done to deserve so much persecu- tion ? Surely, surely she worked and toiled hard enough for her bread, without being subjected to the cruelty of insult ? Was Man a base and re- morseless tyrant, who not only made poor^Woman his slave, but likewise the object of his persecu- tion ? Ah ! it would abnost seem as if she had no right to be virtuous : — and assm-edly she received no credit for her virtue ! On the contrary, the rectitude of her behaviour and the purity of her morals were likely to become barriers instead of auxiliaries in her painful path through this life ! Scarcely had she risen from her knees, wiped away the traces of her tears, and sate down to ponder upon the course which she ought to pur- sue, when a knock was heard at the door. She hastened to open it — and the foreman of the esta- bUshment entered the room. A flush of indig- nation appeared upon the maiden's countenance : but, on a second thought, she subdued her feelings as well as she was able, in the hope that he had come to apologise for his behaviour toward her. Apologise indeed ! he was as unlikely to experience any remorse for persecuting "a mere seamstress " with his attentions as his master was incapable of sending him to pay a proper tribute to offended virtue. Besides, the man was too much inflated by the easy conquests he had invariably met vnih. in all former instances not to make sure of obtain- ing a triumph in this. He accordingly shut the door — leant his back against it — and addressed our heroine in the following terms : — " It is all very pretty of you, Miss Mordaunt, to play the prude -with me, in the hope of attracting the notice of my master and making a market of your charms with him. But he's too steady and at the same time too knowing an old file to be caught in that maimer. The plant was good — only it : wouldn't Ao. So you will have to fall back upon me, after all. And now hear wliat I have got to say, young Miss. If you continue to look as black as thimder upon me, you may just go and get work where you ciui : for I'll bo hanged if you'll have any more from oui- shop. But, on the other hand, only bo kind and good — and there's nothing I won't do for you. You shall have the best and easiest work— and if you do happen to make a mistake now and then and charge for two dozen pairs, instead of one dozen, I shan't be over nice in comparing the bill with the number of garments brought in. Do you understand me ?" j Virginia did indeed understand him ;— and, in- spired with a spirit which had not animated hei THE SEAMSTRESS. 95 for a long timp past, she demanded how he dared insult her by sus|)cctlng her honesty as well as tempting her virtue? The man laujjhed at her indignation — swore that she looked quite beautiful when in a passion — and vcjwcd that he would have one kiss of her charming lips. But Virginia's screams alarmed the house ; and the other lodgers burst into the room. The foreman afleeted to treat the whole proceeding with the utmost levity; and the result was that Virginia only brought di5wn jeers and ridiciile upon herself. To rouse the neighbourhood on account of snch a trifle, was something too preposterous in the estimation of those who could not understand the principles of delicacy, purity, and virtue which inspired our heroine. The lodgers therefore retired, recom- mending the poor defenceless girl " to make it all right with the foreman;" — and the orphan, thus abandoned to the mercy of the ruffian, seized a knife and threatened to stab him without remorse if he dared approach her. The man, astounded at her conduct, but unable to persuade himself that it was prompted by a real regard for her honour, endeavoured to overcome her scruples by coaxing and flattery : but, receiving naught save the most indignant remonstrances -in retm-n, he avenged himself by leveUing cowardly and scandalous taunts at the heroic girl. Basely hinting that she no doubt had some lover v.-hose jealousy she was afraid of exciting, and teUing her that he should j-et see her walking the streets as a common girl, the scoundrel took himself off — leaving the maiden without the slightest means of redi-ess against his brutal conduct. Need we say how bitterly, how acutely her mind, so sensitive and so delicate in all its feelings and emotions, was wrung by the ordeal through which she had just passed ? The com- passionate reader can doubtless picture to himself the orphan girl, weighed down by the cruel out- rage — smarting xmder the insult which even her forgiving and generous nature longed to avenge — and calling upon heaven to change the current of a destiny all the sorrows of which were so little deserved by her. CnAPTER XXX. The poor seamstress lost her work at the army- elothier's, because she was virtuous — and not because she was criminal. She was persecuted because she would not deviate from the paths of rectitude and propriety. And this occurred in a christian country — a land of Bibles — a realm go- verned by a female sovereign ! At the particular moment when Virginia was thus thrown out of employment, she was penni- less. It was on a Monday morning ; and all that she received on the previous Saturday evening, had been paid away. She was now compelled to ask for credit at the chandler's shop wlicre she was accustomed to deal ; and the favour was not refused her. But it was necessary that she should ai>ply to her good friends in Camden To^vn and solicit the old man to give his security for her to another clothing establishment. Slie was too weak and ill, after the painful excitement of the morn- ing, to walk such a distance — and she had no money to pay for an omnibus. She accordingly wrote a letter and borrowed from a neighbour a I>enny to frank the postage. Then she lay down upon her humble pallet ; — and for once in her life she was almost glad that she had no work for tlie moment, inasmuch as the absence thereof afforded her a legitimate excuse for taking tliat rest which she so much required. Sleep came upon her — and when she awoke again, it was pitch dark. She had slumbered there for many hours — and as she endeavoured to raise herself from the mattrass in order to procure a light, she felt that she was very ill. A sensation of coldness was upon her — she shivered all over — her limbs refused to perform their office heavens ! if she were about to die ! The idea appalled her for a moment — and she sank back on the pallet. But a second thought filled her with indescribable pleasure : for she re- flected that it was better to die when young and virtuous, than linger on in wretchedness and ex- posed to temptation. Besides, she felt that death would be the passport to heaven, where she should join her sainted mother who had gone thither before her. The young girl accordingly expe- rienced a glow of happiness at the prospect of death ; — and clasping her hands together, she prayed long, silently but with fervour, in the pro- found darkness of that chamber. Then a sensation came over her — a sensation of numbness and faint- ness, as if all her energies were gradually extin- guishing ; — and murmuring to herself, " This is death !" she became insensible. But it was merely a swoon into which the poor girl had fallen through weakness and exhaustion ; — and when she slowly came to herself again, she sorrowed at the thought of waking once more to breathe the air of this world. Darkness still en- veloped her — and the sounds of drunken rcveh'y from below enabled her to judge that it was yet early in the night. Presently the din of de- bauchery ceased; and a dead sUencc prevailed thi'oughout the dweUing. Sleep once more re- visited the maiden's eyes ; and when she awoke in the morning, with the first ideas that entered her mind came the conviction that she was very HI. Painfully did the poor gu-1 drag herself from the miserable pallet to procure some water to slake the burning thirst that she experienced : and as she was creeping back to the mattrass, she caught sight of a letter which lay upon the table. Some one had placed it there, on the previous evening, while the maiden slept. It was an answer to the one which she had posted in the forenoon to Camden Town; and its contents were dispiriting indeed. The old man had died a few days previously — and his widow, who was in the utmost tribulation, had deputed a niece to pen a few hasty lines to Miss Mordaunt and acquaint her with the circumstance. The note concluded with a kind invitation to the young seamstress to visit the widow at an early day when the good woman promised to do all she could for her in the matter of the security that was required. "Mi-ginia shed tears as she read of the demise of the worthy man who befriended her : and as for the invitation alas ! poor girl, she was com- pelled to return to her humble pallel, and lie down again— perhaps to die. Ilours passed — no one came near her— and she was too weak to make her Voice heard in tlie next room. Slie was ill — and she required attentions, necessaries, and comforts: S6 THE SEAMSTBESS. but there was no friendly hand to minister unto Jxer no voice to speak of solace and hope in her ears. Around were the four cold, cheerless walls of the chamber, seeming to frown upon the help- less invalid as darkly as her own fate. Poor suf- j faring girl ! how keenly then didst thou feel thy mother's loss — how bitter were the tears which moistened the rude bolster whereon thine aching head was laid — ^how suffocating were the sobs which convulsed that gentle breast of thine ! Heavens ! was there none to aid the young seamstress, now that she was prostrated by sick- ness ? Hours passed, we say — darkness once more enveloped her, concealing alike her sufferings and her tears: — and at length she heard a step ap- proaching her room. The door opened — the light of a candle gleamed into the chamber — and Vir- ginia, painfully raising her aching head, recog- nised a poor Irish needlewoman who dwelt on the storey below. The visitress, wondei-ing at not having seen nor heard om* youthful heroine aU that day, had charitably come to ascertain whether aught unpleasant had occurred ; and on observing the poor girl's condition, she at once bustled about to get her some warm tea. The beverage was most welcome to the invalid ; and the Irishwoman insisted upon remaining with her a considerable portion of the night. Next day every lodger in the house, when informed of Virginia's illness, did somewhat towards her succour and assistance : one sent a little tea and sugar — another a loaf — a third some gruel — and the poor Irishwoman went out and secretly pledged her shawl to purchase a , scrag of mutton to make the sick girl some broth. | Thus it is that the poor assist each other in the hour of need ; — and those very persons who had [ laughed and jeered at Virginia when she had j alarmed them by her screams in the adventure of the foreman, were now eager and anxious to testify ; their good feeling towards her. For though po- , verty and the extremes to which it drove them, had destroyed their delicate notions of morality, yet their feelings were not blunted by the same influences: on the contrary, they who were so cruelly oppressed, scourged, persecuted, tortured, and trampled upon by their task-masters, were full of the milk of human kindness towards a suffering fellow-creature ! Oh ! how sublime is the disposition of the working-classes, not only in this country but in every other; — and it is because they are thus generous, thus noble-hearted, thus magnanimous, and thus humane, that the writer of this tale loves them so well — devotes himself so fervidly to their interests— and swears by all that is sacred never to desert their cause so long as he has the power to wield a pen or raise a voice to proclaim their wrongs and assert their rights ! For nearly a month was poor Virginia stretched upon lior pallet ; — and all this time did she subsist upon the benevolence of her neighbours. And how deep was the gratitude which the gentle suf- ferer experienced towards them : and how changed was the estimation in which she had been wont to hold them. She had now learnt that the men who often made night hideous with their drimkeu orgies, were in reality good-hearted creatures, who were amongst the very first to club together their pittances and procure for her use better food than they ever dreamt of purchasing for themselves; and she found likewise that the females wlio were so ready with their gibes and jests respecting her virtue and her prudence, were far from being the last to bring comforts to her sick bed. And then she thought within herself, " O God ! if there were but a just government, an honest legislatm-e, and a good social system in this country, what wonders might not be wrought with a people in whose minds are already existing the germs of every gene- rous feeling and every moral excellence! — and Oh! that there shall yet come an HouE and arise a M.4.K to give freedom to those enslaved masses and evoke all the grand and noble quaUties which now lie concealed beneath the weight of tyranny and oppression !" At the expii'ation of about four weeks Virginia was enabled to sit up for a few hours : but, great heaven ! how altered was she ! Pale, weak, and thin as she was before her illness — 'twas a condi- tion of buxom health in comparison with the poor girl's appearance now ! There stiU was the melting beauty of the soft blue eyes — stiU the pure white- ness of the pearly teeth — and stiU the glory of the rich brown hair. But the forehead — how marble pale, with its tracery of blue veins so perceptible through the transparent skin ! — and the cheeks — how colourless in the white garb of the lily, with- out the lily's life-Uke bloom ! The sylphid form had become wasted into that shadowy lightness of figure which painters and poets give to the spirits of beauteous maidens prematurely dead ; — and the air of languor which invested her every attitude, and look, and gesture, was full of the deepest, holiest, and most touching interest for the compas- sionate soul. She still suffered deeply — but she did not teU those who aided her in her sickness how much she suffered I They told her not to think of touching the needle again until she was fully restored to health : but she was anxious to escape as soon as possible from a dependence on eleemosynary charity. This feeling arose not only from a proper spirit of pride and self-reliance on her part, but also and even more from the conviction that she was taking from those who could so ill afford to spare. She therefore pretended to feel better than she really did ; and she sought to rally her spirits, while despair was stiU in her heart. For when her kind neighbours talked to her of restoration to health, the poor girl knew that they were prophe- sying something which could never be fulfilled. She felt that the springs of her life were poisoned — that the germ of a rapid decay was in her whole system. The short hollow cough which she endea- voured as much as possible to subdue, — the heart's quick and irregular beatings which were painfully audible in the silence of the night or during any still hours in the day, — the dewy di-ops which she often wiped away from her brow, — and the occa- sional appearance of a hectic tint upon her cheeks, remaining longer and growing more vivid each time it came, — all these were signs and warnings which the suffering girl was too sensitive to mis- take and too intelligout to endeavour to conceal from herself! One day — the fourth or fifth after she had risen from her sick bed — slie was seated alone in her cheerless chamber, longing to be able to get abroad again into the open air, and panting for the fresh breeze of the country, — when the door opened and the widowed landlady of Camden Town entered the room. The worthy old creature was shocked at tlie change which had taken place in the young maiden; No. 13 .—The Seam^tut. -s 98 THE SEAMSTBE83. aud clasping her in her arms, she wept over her as if she vicre her own child. And Tirginia was profoundly affected by the good woman's kindness; and altogether the meeting was pathetic and touch- ing in the extreme. '•' Good heavens !" exclaimed the widow : " you have been iU — very, very ill — and you did not send for me. Ah ! and you have wanted for everything — positively everything," she cried, sobbing deeply, as she glanced around the cheer- less, naked chamber. " Oh ! my dear girl, you are too young and too good to softer in this man- ner : it ahnost makes one doubt the existence of Providence ! You should have sent to me, Vir- ginia — and although having troubles enough of my own, on account of my poor husband's death, I could have found sympathy to bestow upon you. And more than sympathy — for I cohld have given you a home, and attended to you in your illness — and my niece who has now come to Uve with me, would have been kind and good to you — for you are bo kind and good yourself! Poor dear girl, how you must have suffered ! But it is not too late to make you comfortable yet — and I wiU take you away tttth me now — to-day — at once — this minute :^-and you shall go back to the room that you once lived in at my house. It has never be^ let since you quitted it : indeed, you remember I told you that Mr. Osmond had insisted upon paying me to keep it for you against your return — and all the things you left behind you ai-e there still." '•' But I must not — catmot — dare not return thither," said Virginia, in a low faint voice, while tears ran down her cheeks of waxen transparency and whiteness. " Ah ! do you mean to persist in that resolve P" exclaimed the old widow. "Well — I dare not counsel you against it, after all you told me about Mr. Osmond the last time I saw you. But he has continued to call regularly every two or three weeks, to inquire if I have obtained any tidings concerning you : and every time I say ' JVb '—for you bade me give him that answer, you remember — he tm-ns away, sighs profoundly, and departs without uttering another word. And he, too, be- comes more and more changed every time I see him : — and I must confess tliat J. have longed to ask him whether he is really married, and how he could have treated you with such perfidy. But I have kept a seal upon my lips " " And you must do so imtil the last, my good friend," interrupted Virginia, in that same low and plaintive voice which was harmonious and soft as an angel's whisper. " That he loves me, I have never doubted and God knows how deeply, how devotedly I have loved and still love him," she aflded, the tears trickling faster and in larger drops down those cheeks to which the excitement of her feelings now brought the faint hectic tinge that imparted to her spirit-like beauty the holiest interest. " But never — oh ! never more must we meet," she continued, in a voice of ineffable sad- ness : "for there is dishonour in his love and I must remain pure and sinless, full soon to join my poor mother who has gone before me to heaven !" " Oh ! do not talk in this manner, Virginia," cried the good -widow, weeping bitterly : "you will break my heart. Conic — we will say nothing more of Mr. Osmond — ^^"e will not mention him ao-ain. We will think only of yourself. And if you will not return to my house, you must at all events go and lodge for a few weeks with a sister of mine the mother of the niece who is staying with me now. She has a nice little cottage higher up in Camden To\>ti ; and there you can remain quite private and be as comfortable as possible. Now, do not say another word upon the subject — 'tis all settled and decided as completely as if we had dis- cussed it for the last six hours. So I shall be off now to teU my sister you are coming ; — and to- morrow morning I shall be here at about eleven to fetch you in a hackney-coach. Do you attend to what I am sajing, Virginia P" " Yes, my kind — my generous friend," mur- mured the young maiden, weeping with the pro- foundest gratitude. " But I cannot consent to become a burthen upon any one " " My dear child," said the good-hearted old widow, as she kissed the suffering girl affection- ately, " you wiU receive the kindest welcome from my sister — and when you are well again, you will be a help and a comfort to her instead of a burthen. So let us argue the point no more — and to-morrow I shall come and fetch you as I have promised." Thus speaking, the excellent old woman hurried from the room to escape any farther remonstrance on the part of Virginia ; and if the maiden con- tinued to weep after she was gone, it was not altogether in bitterness. The sjonpathy of which she had become the object, sank soothingly like an anodyne iuto the wounds which bhghted love, crushing toil, the insolence of petty tvi-anny, sick- ness, and so many other adverse circumstances had within the last ten months inflicted upon her heart ; — and she was already cheered somewhat by the prospect of escaping from a foetid atmosphere and a vile neighbourhood into a pui-er air and a respectable dwelling. On the following morning the good-hearted widow made her appearance at tjje hoiu* specified ; ■ — aud Virginia, having taken an affectionate leave of the kind friends whom she had found in her iUness, was assisted do^^'n the stairs to the haokney- Coaeh that was waiting to convey her to her new home. CSAPTER XXXI. THE SIGN UPON THE CHEBKS. Several months passed away; during which Virginia Mordaunt remained an inmate of the cottage where she had so fortunately found a home. Her mind was now comparatiyoly tranq\iil and easy: but her healtli was gradually aud ahnost perceptibly failing. She knew — she felt tliat the insidious destroyer was at work, sapping her constitutional vigom- and undcrmmiug her physical energies : but she complained not when she suffered — nor did she repine in secret at the inevitable certainty of soon meeting Death face to face. On the contrary, she regarded the ap- proach of dissolution not only with the resigned meekness of a saint, but also with a species of bland and subdued exultation at the hope of join- ing tlie hierarchy of angels. Seldom is it that tliose who are a prey to con- THE S£AMSTH£S3. 9'J Bumption, receive any intuitive warning of the fact : but if the suspicion be forced upon their minds that the remorseless and invisible worm is infecting with its venom the blossom of their youth, they seek to close their eyes against the sad and solemn truth. But it was not so with Virginia. She had received the warning — and acknowledged it. Instead of attempting to laugh away her fears, or to reason herseli" out of them, she bowed her head resignedly, saying, "■ (rod's wilL.be done!" bhe wa« not afraid of death: tecause she had never injured a worm — much less a Iiuiuaa being. Pure and sinless had been her life : nor La word, nor in thought, nor iu deed had she ever broken a single law of either God or ilan. She had suffered much— suffered pro- foimdly : but never — never were her steps tempted "aside from the paths of chastity and honour. Nor were her's mere negative virtues, such as those which are ascribed to a female sovereign and yet are so fulsomcly lauded : but they were positive and real, inasmuch as they had been sorely tried and severely tested, and had passed triumphantly tlirough the ordeal. There is no merit iu virtue when it has never been tempted. All persons commence life in that negative condition which may be termed virtuous : and if their circumstances be so happy that they ai'e never subjected to temptations of any kind, they deserve no praise for remaining guiltless. It would be preposterous to applaud a man -n-ith ten thousand a-year, for never having comuiitted rob- bery or forgery : and it is an insult to cry up the vii'tue of a woman who is married at an early age to the object of her love, and whom no libertine or seducer would dare to approach with his in- sidious addresses. The starving working-man who abstains from robbery, and the famishing daughter of toQ who keeps her purity intact, — these are the characters that really and truly deserve praise. High, then, above the merits of all Queens, Duchesses, Marchionesses, and ladies of rank and wealth must be exalted the praise of Virginia Mordaunt. Were these Queens, Duchesses, Mar- chionesses, and titled ladies, subjected to the same miseries and the same temptations through which our heroine had passed unscathed, they perhaps would have succumbed. Indeed, it is almost cer- tain that they would — because so very, very few of them continue to remain virtuous even in the midst of their prosperity, their wealth, and their luxui'y. If, then, they err so readily through sheer depravity, how easily would they succumb in the presence of stern necessity? Possessed of everything that makes life pleasant, the wealthy classes ought to be the most perfect patterns of virtue : they have no excuse for immorality of any kind. And yet the British Ai-istocracy, male and female, is the most loathsomely corrupt, demo- ralized, and profligate class of persons that ever Bcandalized a country. The men belonging to that class are all intent on seduction, debauchery, and dissipation: the females abandon themselves to licentiousness and intrigue. Thousands of titled persons are notoriously the vilest cheats at cards and the most systematic sharpers in cxisi i-nce : numbers of them live handsomely without the slightest ostensible resources; — and few of them care how deeply they get into debt, or how many tradesmen tjiey ruin by theii* wanton extravagance. Seduction is with them a boast : and all the most sacred obligation'^ of fricnd-ihip and liospitality are scattered to the winds in the pursuance of an object or the gratification of a desire. Then again, with regard to the females of the British Aris- tocracy, how constantly is the public shocked and scandalized by the exposures of titled ladies' pro- fligac}', — exi)osure3 which show how the heartless demireps can desert their innocent babes without a pang, and fly from their husbands ^vithout a remorse, to fling themselves into the arms of theii' paramours. In fact, morality is at the lowest pos- sible ebb with the higliest classes in the land ; — and v'et these are the shameless hypocrites and vile slanderers that are constantly affecting to deplore " the ■^'ices of the lower orders." We say again, then, that our humble heroine, Vu'ginia Mordaunt, displayed in the individual instance of her own rectitude of conduct, an amount of moral worth ten thoiisand times greater than all the aggregate virtue that could possibly be found amidst the aristocratic classes of society. Alas ! poor girl — woidd to God that her life had been as happy as it was sinless ! But her's was a stern destmy and a sombre fate ; and yet she bore all with such meekness — such resignation — such uucofUplaiuiug fortitude ! '....^'The good woman at whose cottage Virginia had found a home, was not very well off True bene- volence and riches are seldom associated in this world : and the former was not accompanied by the latter in the present mstauce. Our heroine soon saw that she was likely to become a biu-then to her benefactress ; and against such a position her rightly constituted mind natui-ally revolted. She determined to earn her o\vn bread so long as she was able ; and to the worthy woman did she impart this resolution. The result was that Vir- ginia obtained recommendations as a proficient seamstress to several respectable families residing in the neighboiu'hood ; and she was engaged oc- casionally to go to their houses and do a day's work. When her services were thus hired, she was expected to go at eight o'clock in the morn- ing, and work until nine at night, the necessary intervals for meals being excepted. She received eighteen-pence a day and her food; and thus, if she only went out two days every week, she could earn enough to keep herself better than when she was making shii-ts at two-pence farthing each. But she speedily found that the new phase in her career as a seamstress had its drawbacks as well as all the former vicissitudes which she had experienced. Sometimes she was engaged to do a day's work at a house where she was made the victim of ill-temper, whtui, or caprice ; or where she was compelled to endui-e the rudeness of uncouth or spoilt children. At another time she would be watched throughout the day as rigorously and as suspiciously as if she were a known bad character whose presence in the house compelled the mistress to keep a sharp eye upon the silver plate. Sometimes her purity was shocked by the overtiu-ea which the master of the house would appear to deem himself quite justified in making to the poor seamstress, when his wife's back was turned for a moment : or else, perhaps, a grown-up son would fancy himself privileged to tap her familiarly on the shoulder or endeavour to snatch a kiss. Seldom — very seldom, was she treated with due consideration, kindness, and 100 THE SEA11STEES3. respect. The full amount of work was on all occasions scrupulously exacted. : and if weakness or downriglit illness sometimes compelled her to pause in the midst of her occupation for a few moments, the mistress of the house would be sure to exclaim petulantly, " Now, yoimg woman, no laziness, if you please ;" — or something to the same effect. It never appeared to strike any of those laches and gentlemen at whose houses Virginia was thus engaged, that she had her feelings as well as they themselves : on the contrary, the poor seamstress was looked upon as a being whom the ladies might make the butt of their ill-humom-, petty spite, whims, and caprices — and whom the gentlemen were at perfect liberty to regard as a fitting object for their insolent overtures and dis- gustuig impertinences. But, still, with all these drawbacks to her hap- piness, Virginia did not complain. On the con- trary, she yielded herself up resignedly to her destiny, such as it was : and on the whole, there- fore, we were justified in stating at the outset of this chapter, that her mind had become compara- tively tranquU, She endm-ed meekly the caprices of the ladies at whose houses she worked: and her indignant glance taught the libertine that he had no hope of making a conquest in respect to her. Thus several months passed away : but though she bore up as well as she was able against the inroads of the disease which was secretly and insidiously undermining her constitution, — and though she concealed as much as possible the failing condition of her health and the progressive decay of her vital energies, — yet the day was fast approaching when she must renounce all farther toil and abandon her needle entirely. Then what was to become of her ? — where should she linger out the brief remnant of her existence ? Was she to remain beneath that hospitable roof, in utter dependence upon the worthy woman who had not too much for her own requirements ? — or should she drag herself to that last refuge of the poor and friendless the workhouse ? Poor Vii'ginia! no longer was thy soul tranquil when the fatal day, came on which thou wast compelled to put these alternatives vmto thyself! One mornmg, Virginia said to the good woman at whose house she had found a home, " I am afraid, my kind friend, that I must leave you soon, very soon." "Leave me, my dear child!" exclaimed the other : " and why should you think of leaving me?" " Because," answered the maiden, in a tre- mulous voice, while her eyes filled -with tears, " I can no longer hope to earn any money to- wards meeting the expenses which my presence entails upon you : and I would sooner beg my bread in the street than become a burthen to j'ou. In plain terms, I have borne up against the advance of illness as long as I was able — much longer, no doubt, than I ought : but I am now sinking at length — I am declining fast — I am dying !" " Good heavens ! talk not thus despairingly, Virginia !" exclaimed the kind-hearted woman, weeping. " I will send for my sister and my daughter to pass the day w ith us ; their presence ■nill enliven you, and you will get rid of these gloomy ideas. That you arc very thin, my child, and very pale — except just upon your cheeks, where there is a gentle bloom — I do not deny ; but you have over-fatigued yourself by going out to do needle-work, contrary to my wishes. Rest and repose will soon restore you to health ; and when the Spring comes again " "Alas!" interrupted Virginia, softly, "I feel a presentiment which teUs me that the flowers of Spring will grow upon my grave !" " My dear child, this is isTong on your part," said her friend, in a tone of gentle remonstrance. I know that you are very far from well ; I have been telling you so for months past, and imploring you not to think of fatiguing yourself by going out to jjeople's houses. You were not strong enough to imdertake a whole day's work at a time. But you were obstinate — no, not exactly obstmate — you were too good, too kind, and too considerate — you could not bear the thought of lying imder obligations to your friends. And now, my dear child, you are suffering in con- sequence of that over-deUcacy on your part : you are fatigued, worn, weak, and iU. But aU you require is rest and repose ; and that shall you have. You have had your own way too long ah'eady, my love ; and now I shall have mine. I therefore declare that you shall not even look at a needle until you are entirely and altogether re- stored to health." "This is very kind of you, my dear friend," said Virginia, taking the good woman's hand and pressing it to her Ups — aye, and moistening it with her tears ; " but it is my duty to tell you the worst at once. If you persist in keeping me beneath your roof," continued the poor maiden, in a tone that was touch ingly plaintive, and with a look of the martyrized sweetness and resignation of a saint, " you wiU entail upon yourself troubles and inconveniences which you are not prepared to encounter. You will be forced to attend upon an invaUd fading, wasting, and dying before your eyes ; you will have anxious days and sleepless nights : then you will have the awful gloom and solemn silence of death in your house ; — and, lastly, the visit of the undertakers and the funeral ! Now, my dear friend, you know the worst; and you will not oppose my wishes when I declare that I must leave you while yet I have the strength and resolution to go elsewhere." " And whither would' st thou go, poor girl ?" demanded the good woman, overpowered with grief. " Whither would I go ? " echoed Virginia. " Alas ! to that supreme refuge of the worn-out sons and daughters of toil to that asylum which is dreaded more than a prison " "The workhouse !" ejacidated the good woman, with a sudden start and a cold shudder. "No — no — a hundred thousand times no ! What — you, poor girl — you, so beautiful, so innocent, and so good — you, so deUcately nurtured and so tenderly brought up, to go to the workhouse ! My God I what an idea ! May maledictions alight upon the heads of those who established such hidcou places ! No, Virginia dear — you shall remain with me — to live long and happUy, if heaven will i permit — or to breathe your last in my arms, if j God will not allow you to linger upon the earth. ■ Ah ! my sweet girl, I love you as much as if you i were my own daughter — and the Almighty would I shower down ciu-ses upon me, if I were to nbnndon THE 5EAM8TJ}3§^. 101 you in your illness. But tell me, my dear Vir- giiiia — teU me wliat you feel." '• I feel, my excellent friend," was the response, half choked with the sobs and sighs that indicated emotions profoundly stirred, — " I feel that the whole frame-work of my being is giving way — that all my efforts to exert myself are balUed by a weakness and a sense of exhaustion against which it is impossible to combat — and that an invisible hand lies heavily upon me, the weight of its pressure becoming greater and greater every day. And, then, my good friend, look at me atten- tively ! The colour which you ere now observed upon my cheeks, is not the glow of health. Alas ! no — it is the sure, certain, and immistakable sign " " Ah ! I comprehend you, poor girl !" mur- mured her friend, now evidently struck by the real truth relative to Virginia. " Oh ! but we ivill save you yet — you are young, and your constitu- tion is good ! We will have the best medical advice for you— and my sister and I will scrape together all the money we can, to get you down to the sea-side when the Spring comes. This is the last day of December — Lu three or four months more the weather will be getting warmer — and then " •'And then I shall go down into the quiet grave," said the young maiden, in a tone so full of pathos that the good woman felt as if it were an angel's voice which stole murmuringly upon her ears — and sinking on her knees by Virginia's side, she sobbed aloud. CHAPTER XXXII. 6CENE AT THE THEATBE. OuE history opened in the middle of January, ISiA : the events we have since chronicled have ranged over a space of two years ; — and it is now therefore the middle of January, 1846. We have seen that in the interval the Marquis of Arden has been unremitting and unwearied in his exertions to find out the beauteous seamstress — the only joy of his heart and idol of his soul, the charming and well-beloved Virginia. We have likewise seen that through disappointment, sick- ness at heart, and declining hope, he has become grievously altered in personal appearance: and we can add that his character and disposition have undergone a change not less remarkable. When we first introduced him to our readers, he was on the high road to become a rake, a debauchee, and a gamester : he was already plunging into the vortex of dissipation — he kept a mistress — and he was la'inching out into all those fashionable extra- vagances which doubtless pass as the refined foibles and delightful peccadilloes of the upper classes. But a pure and virtuous love soon wrought a ' change in the mind and behaviour of that young man who naturally possessed so good a disposition ! and BO generous a heart. His amour with Miss { Barnct was broken off the moment he discovered j that she either could not or would not afford I him any clue to Virginia's residence ; and, aban- doning all his dissipated associates, he had devoted himself to the search after his lost loved one. Shunning all society as much as possible, he wan- ' dered about from morning to night in the hope of encountermg the object of an affection which grew all the stronger and all the more devoted in pro- portion as it seemed to become more and more hopeless every day. And how the young man tortured his soul with conjectures and speculations as to what had become of the seamstress ! Sometimes he fancied that she was dead ; and, in the bitter, harrowing, excruci- ating agony of his mind, he would exclaim, " Oh ! if I could even obtain a clue to the spot where she is buried, I would hasten thither — I would throw myself upon her grave — I would moisten the cold sod with my tears — I would invoke her spirit to mark the sincerity of my grief and judge thereby how deeply, deeply I have loved her — and I would strew flowers upon the turf that covers her remains !" At another time he would picture to himself the poor maiden struggling against all the horrors of penury, — enduring all the maddening afflictions of friendlessness and orphanage — exposed to temptations, insults, tyrannies, and treacheries of every kind — and perhaps calling upon God in her despair to take her away from a scene of so much sorrow ! And then, as his fevered imagina- tion was wont, despite of itself, to work up this picture to the most frightful vividness of detail, the young nobleman would shrink aghast from the creation of his fancy ; and, tearing his hair in the bitterness of his anguished spirit, he would ex- claim, " O God ! save her — save her from the realities of such miseries as these ! — protect and shield the poor orphan girl from those maddening afflictions — those goading, excruciating, racking agonies of mind and body ! O God ! save her — save her — defend her, my God ! I beseech thee to spare that helpless, innocent, unoftending girl those galling trials and that career of horrors!"' And thus did the young man, who for a long time past had prayed not for himself — thus did he implore and supplicate heaven, with aU the fervour of his impassioned spirit, to have mercy upon poor Vir- ginia Mordaunt. But the Marquis of Arden was not the only in- mate of Belmont House who was supremely un- happy. The beautiful Lady Mary Melcombe, his younger sister, was pining away with disappointed hopes and blighted affection. For 'the Earl of Mostj-ndale had never once re-visited the mansion since that daj' on which he had left it in indigna- tion at the terms proposed by the Duke in answer to his demand for the hand of the young patrician lady. But, faithful to his promise, he still re- mained unmarried; and, like the Marquis of Arden, he shunned society, and had become tliin, pale, and cai-e-worn. The Duchess of Belmont kept entirely to her own suite of apartments, withdrawing her- self altogether from the world, and courting soli- tude as the state of existence that was most con- genial to her wounded soul. Lady Clarissa had not precisely caught the infection of the melan- choly, sorrow, and gloom which reigned around her : but finding this sombre mode of life, with its mournful associations, almost intolerable, she be- came more irritable, haughty, and overbearing than ever ; so tliat she lost all the few friends who had continued to visit at the mansion, while she likewise found herself omitted from the list of in- vitations to the rc-u)iions of wealtli, rank, and fashion, in which she had been wont to shine as a star. Devoured with e»>i"i — fipdine the days so 102 '; jrai! ^'?JgAMSTBESS. long that she often \\-ished the hom-s were only minutes, complaining that her sister was no com- panion for her, and yet exhibiting no sympathy towards her whom she thus upbraided — Lady Clarissa was only pleased and contented when Mr. Colliason, the lawyer, called : and she at last be- came so accustomed to look forward with satisfac- tion to his visits, that she positively moiled and pined when he remained away. Mr. CoUinson was, however, pretty regular iu his attentions at Belmont House, — pursuing the same line of conduct which we have already de- scribed : that is to say, sometimes pestering Lady Mary with all his assiduities — at another time de- voting himself wholly and solely to her elder sister. But as time wore on, and as the period of two j the beholder, to dazzle, bewilder, and confoimd. years was drawing towards a close, Mr. CoUiiison ! Her eyes were large and dark, and lustrous with evidently displayed a preference for Lady Mary ; i the reflection of an impassioned soul : her features and either not observing how unwelcome his atten- [ were masculine, but faultless in their bold profile ; tions were to the afflicted maiden — or else not I — her lips were full without being coarse, and choosino' to notice a fact so little gratifying to his ' moistly red as a luscious frviit of the tropics ; — her own personal pride — he j)ersevered in paying her , teeth, too large to be likened unto pearls, rcsem- a homage which she received at first with a marked ' bled pieces of the whitest ivory arranged with the coldness, and latterly with a positive disgust and i most accm-ate evenness ; — and her complexion indignation. But there were times when she was 1 might have been envied by Mie most delicately alarmed by the smile of self-satisfaction and placid mu-tured lady in the land. Then her bust was complacency which would waver for a moment on j superbly developed — her figure well proportioned, CoUinson's lips ; — and then, as she reflected that - thou^ upon a large scale ; — and indeed, she was thelawyer evidently wielded some potent though se- one of those splendid women whose charms in magnificence of apparel. It sits uneasily upon her — and there is a certain visible constraint in aU her movements, her looks, and lier manners. She feels as if she were not altogether comfortable, — as if she would rather have that fine black hair hanging in its own natural and unadorned beauty over her shoulders, than decorated with gems and evincing the fashionable coiffeur's art, — as if, also, she would have been more at her ease in a simple merino dress than in the gorgeous satin robe, the very rustling of wliieh was painfid to her nerves. But handsome she was — grandly handsome, — not with the beauty that steals, soft as the dawn of a May morning, upon the sense — but with the charms that bm-st like a sudden blaze of light upon cret influence over her father, — an influence which a thousand little circumstances had proved to exist. toxicate the sense, but touch not the heart. Her companion was a tall, good-looking man. -she often found herself giving way to suspicions ' but with a dissipated, rakish appearance. He wore 'and fears which were all the more painful on ac- , moustaches and liad somewhat of a foreign aspect, coimt of their vague and indefinite character. j although in rcaUty an Englishman. His age As for the Duke of Belmont — he had become might have been at least uine-and-twenty or as altered in appearance as any other member of ; thirty : but the use of cosmetics, the hau'-di'esser's his family. Although at the period to which we have now brought the incidents of owe tale, his Grace was only sixty-two years of age, he seemed to be eighty. A couple of years had worked a marvellous change in his aspect : but this altera- tion had been chiefly effected during the last sixteen months — or to be more particular stiU, from the date of the murder of Clementine the Frenchwoman. His cheeks had fallen in — his eyes were sunken and hollow — his look was a mingling of blank despair, profound grief, and a stern endeavour to struggle against the saddest thoughts. He passed nearly all his time in his library when at home ; but he had recently made frequent visits to his estates, to watch the pro- gress of the various improvements he had devised with regard to their management, culture, and tillage ; — and as these plans proved far less satis- factory than he had hoped, the gloom upon his brow became all the more sombre, and his looks all the more care-worn. .Such was the condition of the various members of tlie Belmont family in the middle of January, skill, and the art of an elaborate toilette assisted by an experienced valet-de-vliamhre, made him seem five or six years younger. The lady and gentleman whom we have de- scribed, were " the observed of all observers," at the theatre where we naw find them occupying a private box. On the male portion of the audience the entertainments of the evening were well nigh lost altogether, notwithstanding the assemblage of talent that appeared upon the stage : but all eyes and eye-glasses were turned upon the box in ^\ hich the magnificent creature sate with her moustachcd companion. " Who is she ?" was the oft-repeated question that was whispered on aU sides : but no one seemed able to answer it. "Who is he, thenP" was the next query which began to suggest itself amongst various groups and knots of individuals : and now in thi-ee or four insf imces the answer was, "His face is familiar to me, but I can't think where I have seen him before." " What ! don't you know who that is P" at length said some gentleman who had overheai-d the query, and who appeared to be better informed 18'i6. But we must now direct the attention of ; than the rest : then, addressing himself in a con- the reader into another channel, and beg him to i fidcntial tone to the particular inquirer in this accompany us for a short space to the interior of case, he procecdt-d to observe, " You surely must one of the most fashionable theatres of the metro- bavo heard of Tom Lovel— one of the gayest fel- amidst tlio \ lows about tvithin the last few weeks, he has turned j ther as man and wilt', and as happy as the day is up again, better off than ever he was — at least, to ^ long. Is it not so r" all appeai'ances." " And'is that splendid creature his wife.""' "I don't know: but I should think not. See — the attentions which he pays her arc not those " To be sure," responded the lady ; "and it is no compliment to tell you, Tom, that I love you better than anybody I ever knew before." ■ Ah ! my dear," said the Captain, ^\-ith a slight of a husband : nor does she receive Ihem ■witli the accent of pique in his voice, " you have already manner of a wife. She is evidently his mistress f " confessed to me, when under the influence of '• But if you know Mr. Lovel, why do you not champagne — of which, by the bye, you are par- hasten to his box. renew your acquaintance with ticularly fond — that you have had a tolerable long him, and procure an introduction to the lady, who- list of lovers in your life ; and therefore I must be ever she may be ?" ! a very captivating fellow to eclipse them all." '• Because Captain Lovel and myself had a : " But so you do, my dear Tom," ret\irned Julia, serious quarrel about a couple of years ago — and | " Besides, you are so good and kind to me, and since that period we have never spoken." " Captain Lovel ! I thought he was simple Mr. Lovel — and still better known as plain Tom Lovel r" have made me such splendid presents. You must be very rich, Tom ?" '•Eich!" he ejaculated, with an uijeasy start: " to be sure I am — as rich as Croesus," he imme- "Ah! but I imderstand that since he has turned ' diately added, with a laugh that sounded very up again within the last few weeks, he has adopted much as if it were strained and forced. '•' But the distinction of Captain — doubtless on the at all events, I behave more liberally to you than strength of that fine pair of moustaches. He keeps a carriage and pair — a tiger and a valet — and has taken a beautiful little villa at Brompton, where he lives with that lady."' " You appear to know all about him." '•' I accidentally learnt these particulars yester- day : but my informant could not tell me whether Captain Lovel was married to that lady or not. She however passes as his wife But the cur- tain is falling on the first piece, and I shall step into the saloon to prociu-e some refreshment." From the preceding dialogue our readers will have obtained some little insight into the character of the moustached gentleman, whose name ap- peared to be Lovel, and who had recently prefixed thereto the distinction of Captain. But if we now introduce our readers into the private bos where the Captain is seated with his lady, we shall perhaps glean from their discourse a little farther knowledge concerning them both. " You are looking splendid to-night, my dear Julia," said Lovel, in a flattering tone, as he bent towards her. " There is not a lady in this tier of boxes who is not dying of envy and jealousy at the sensation your appearance has made. AU the gen- tlemen are gazing upon you — and they doubtless think me a lucky dog." " But do you consider yourself at all enviable, my dear Tom i" inquired the lady, with a smile which had as much sensuousness as archness in its expression. " To be sure I do, my love," answered the Cap- tain, in a whisper, as he fastened his eyes gloat- ingly upon the superb coimtenance of his com- panion. "I often think what a lucky fellow I was to fall in with you at the hotel at Bou- logne " " And I am sure I shall never forget how gene- rously you came forward to relieve me from the cruel embarrassment in which I was placed," added Julia. " No generosity at all, my darling," replied the Captain. "The whole proceeding was quite natural and proper. I happened to learn, from the dis- course of the waiters, that there was an English lady in the house who could neither pay h ?r bill nor talk Frencli ; and as I coxdd do both, I sent your last lover, who took you over to France with him and then left you at Boulogne to pay the hotel bUl and shift for yourself." " Ah ! that was scandalous indeed," said the lady — " and if it had not been for you, I am sure I do not know what I should have done. How- ever I shall love you as long as " " As what f " inquii-ed Captain Lovel : "' as long as I live— or as long as I can keep you in Ixixury, splendour, and case ?" " Oh ! don't talk in that silly manner, Tom," said Julia, affecting to frown upon him: then, laughing gaily the next moment, she exclaimed, " You are always making those kinds of remarks, just to see what I shall say and put my love to the test. But I do love you, Tom — and that is true as gospel." " Well, I think you do, Julia " " You only think ! Oh ! you must be sure that I do. And to convince you that I am not alto- gether a frivolous creature intent only on pleasure, I must tell you fi-ankly that I am often vexed and grieved to observe how mournful you become at times " " I — mournful !" ejaculated Lovel, survejring his handsome mistress ■with a strange and almost frightened expression of countenance. "Yes — sometimes you tiu'n suddenly pensive," answered Jidia : " and at others you are so ner- vous that every knock at the front door startles you. Then, in your sleep, you often moan and toss about " " Oh ! it is nothing — nothing at aU," said Lovel, with an iU-concealed petulance. "Come, my dear," he immediately added, in a kinder tone, " let us be off — the entertainment is just over." "I shall not be sorry to get away, Tom,'' an- swered Julia ; " for this place is dreadfully hot :" — then, rising from her seat, she drew around her the folds of the superb shawl wliich her companion threw over her shoulders — and, taking his arm, she issued from the box. As the handsome couple proceeded along the corridor and descended the stairs, they were the objects of exclusive attention with those whom they either passed by or encountered on their egress from tlie theatre ; and Julia was e^■idently up my card. You granted me an interview — we j fur from displeased at the admiration which her were pleased with each other — an understanding I cliarms excited. 101 'lUi; t.KA-\isXitl..-S. The moment they gained the portals, the cry of " Captain Level's carriage !" was shouted up the street; and in a few moments the elegant barouche and pair dashed up to the entrance of the theatre. Down leapt the tiger — the door was opened — the steps were lowered with the usual fracas — and Captain Lovel was about to assist his beauteous companion into the vehicle, when a rough hand was laid violently upon his shoulder. An ejaculation of surprise and curiosity burst fi-om the lips of those who were assembled on the spot : and Julia, turning her head at the sound, was horror-stricken on beholding her lover the Captain in the grasp of a couple of police-officers. "There is some mistake in this," she cried, instantaneously recovering her presence of mind and flinging lightning-looks of indignation upon the constables. " Why don't you tell them who you are, Tom ? Unhand him, fellows — it is Cap- tain Lovel " " We know it, ma'am," interrupted one of the officers : " just the very gentleman we want ! Sorry for your sake, ma'am — but the game's all up, you see — the forgeries have come out at last ." But poor Julia heard no more : a terrible con- viction of the real truth had suddenly flashed in unto her mind — and she fell senseless upon the pavement. CHAPTEK XXXIII. MTSTEET AND CXTEIOSIiy. Ii was on the day following the arrest of Captain Lovel, and about three o'clock in the afternoon, that as the Marquis of Ai-den was returning home from one of his long rambles on foot, he saw a hackney-cab drive up to Belmont House, and Miss Barnot alight. He stopped short at a distance of twenty or thirty yards, under the impression that he must be mistaken : but the more attentive sur- vey which he now took of the handsome profile and the fine figure as the young woman ascended the steps of the ducal mansion, convinced him that it was indeed his late mistress. She was superbly dressed in a winter costume : but it struck Charles that her coxmtenance wore an expression of grief which slie vainly endeavoured to subdue — that her pace was agitated and uneven — and, in fine, that there was a general air of nervous excitement about her, as she rushed rather than walked from the cab up to the front door of Belmont House. She did not look either to the right or to the left as slie thus hurriedly ascended the steps — and therefore she did not observe that the Marquis was standing at a little distance. Upwards of eighteen or nineteen months had elapsed since Charles had broken oft" his comiexion with Miss Barnet; — and from that time until the present moment he had neither seen nor heard of her. In fact he knew not what had become of her : and his mind had been too deeply absorbed in his hapless, unfortunate love for Vu'ginia, to allow him to bestow frequent thoughts upon his late mistress. Her sudden appearance, therefore, — especiaUy in the character of a visitress at Belmont House, — both startled and annoyed the young nobleman ; for it naturally struck him that she had discovered the identity of " Mr. Osmond " with the Marquis of Arden, and that she had either called to demand money or in the hope of renewing her former inti- macy with him. Now, as Charles knew that Miss Barnet was quite capable of " getting up a scene" with him. if she took it into her head, he congratulated himself upon the circumstance of not being at home when she called ; — and retreating to a greater distance along that side of Grosvenor Square, he watched for the young lady to issue forth again. But as five minutes elapsed without her re-appearance, he was forced to come to the conclusion that she had resolved to await his return home : and being no stranger to the fact that the disposition of the fair one was sufficiently pertinacious to induce her to remain until ten at night, he began to think that it would be better to face the danger at once, whatever it might be. The Marquis accordingly hastened on to Belmont House ; and the moment the porter opened the front door, he proceeded to the waiting-room in th0 full expectation of finding Miss Barnet there. But instead of be- holding any female in that apartment, he only saw two men whose coimtenaneea were not altogether unfamiliar to him, but of which he had not more than a vague and indefinite recollection. They rose on his entrance, and bowed in a manner which showed that they knew him better than he remem- bered them : but anxious only to get rid of Miss Barnet as soon as possible, and abeady trembling lest she should have forced her way into the pre- sence of his father and his sisters, he rushed from the waiting-room back again into the hall. " Where is the yoimg pei-son who came just now in a hackney -vehicle ?" he demanded of the hall- porter. " With his Grace, my lord," was the reply. " With my father !" ejaculated Charles, in a tone of deep annoyance. " Fool that I was to loiter at the end of the Square and thus afford her time But did she not ask for me in the first instance r" he demanded abruptly. " No, my lord," returned the porter. " She inquired for the Duke of Belmont ; and when her name was taken in, his Grace immediately ordered her to be admitted to his presence." " Indeed ! Then what name did she give r" asked Charles. '•' Mrs. Lovel," was the reply. " Lovel — Lovel," said the Marquis, in a musing tone. " Surely I have heard that name be- fore " "A certain Captain Lovel was arrested last night, my lord, on a charge of forgery," remarked the hall-porter. " To be sure ! I read the account this morniBg at breakfast time," exclaimed the young nobleman. " I thought the name was not altogether unfami- liar to me. And now that I recollect, the newspaper- paragraph said that Captain Lovel, when arrested, was coming out of a theatre with an elegant lady of extraordinary beauty hanging upon his arm." "Still I should scarcely think, my lord," ob- served the porter, dcforeutially, " that the Mrs. Lovel of whom youi- lordship is speaking can be the same who is now witli his Grace. A forger's wife or mistress could scarcely obtain such ready access to the Duke of Belmont." "It is strange — very strange," said Charles, in a low musing tone. '' That Miss Barnet should U''§m0§mmm;i/am:, No. 11.— Tin; Seamsttjess. 106 THE SEAMSTEESS. liave become Level's mistress, is probable enough ■ — — But -what on earth, can she -(vant with my father ?" demanded the young nobleman of him- self, his jierplexity becoming all the deeper the more he thought upon the occurrence. " Where is the interview ttdting place ?" he suddenly de- manded aloud. " Your lordship's father happened to be in the saloon opening on the conservatory, at the moment when Mrs. Lovel called," said the porter ; " and leave being given for her admission, the lady has accordingly been shown into that apartment, my lord." The Marquis of Arden reflected for a few mo- ments what course he should pursue. It was na- tural that his curiosity should be piqued in no ordinary manner by the present proceding on the part of Miss Barnet — or rather Mrs. Lovel, as she now styled herself. What could she jDossibly want Math his father ? — ^wherefore had the mention of her name cnsiu'ed her immediate access to his pre- sence ? — and was she really connected with the forger who had been taken into custody on the previous evening ? Charles remembered that her face wore an ex- pression of grief and her manner was troubled as she flitted from the cab into the house ; — and this cii'cumstance tended to ratify the suspicion that she was indeed " the elegant lady of extraordinary beauty," mentioned in the newspaper-account of Level's arrest. In fact, there could no longer be any doubt upon the subject in the mind of the young nobleman ; and the conclusion to which he thus came, only rendered him the more anxious to learn the purport of her visit to his father. At first he thought of repairing straight to the saloon where the interview was taking place. Then he recollected that Mrs. Lovel had not sought the father because tlie son was absent^but that she had not inquired for the son at all. The interview was consequently a private one between that young woman and the Duke of Belmont : and it was even probable — at least appearances warranted the siur- mise — that she was not previously unknown to his Grace, inasmuch as the moment the name of " Mrs. Lovel" was coroniunicatcd to him, it proved a ready passport to his presence. From all these reflections, which Charles made much more rapidly than we can describe them in words, he drew the inference that the meeting between his sire and the young female was a private one, and that it would be indiscreet to obtrude himself upon their presence : and yet, on the other hand, tho very conclusions to which ho thus came relative to the privacy of that interview, only rendered him the more anxious to penetrate the mysterj'. It was not a mere idle curiosity which animated him : it was a di'cad — -almost amounting to a presentiment — that some calamity or disgrace threatened the family ; — and this feeling rose paramount above nil couipiuiclion or delicacy as to the means wliich ho shoidd adopt to put an end to so painful a state of Buspcnse. Hastening into the little garden at the back of the house, Charles passed into the conservatory by the ascent of steps and tlio glass-door already nuidc memorable in the earlier portion of our narrative. The (Ifxir between the conser^'iltory and the saloon stood open ; — and by concealing IdinscU' belund the orange-trees and tlie rows of hot-house plants placed on an auiphitheatrical stand, the Marquis ' could command a view of the interior of the room. ; Crouching down, therefore, as noiselessly as he had stolen into the conservatory, Charles beheld his father pacing backward and forward in a state of evident agitation, — while Julia was seated near i the open door of the hot-house, but with her back towards it. The Marquis was consequently imable to obtain a view of her countenance : but that of the Duke was distorted and convulsed T\-ith feelings of the most painful character. Horror, alarm, perplexity, and despau- had literally chiselled theu" traces and dug their lines upon the pale and ghastly features of the old nobleman ; — and Charles was stricken -nith a perfect consternation and an awful dismay as he thus read upon a htiman coun- tenance feelings so harrowed and thoughts so ex- cruciating — and that countenance his own father's ! " Upon what do you decide, my lord ?" asked J\Jia, in a low hoUow voice, which was however perfectly audible to the eaves-dropping Marquis — not only because she was seated near the spot where he was hidden, but also because every faculty which he possessed was sharpened by curiosity to a keenness never experienced before. "You came to dictate terms, young woman," said the Duke, in a voice so altered — so sepulclu-al — so cavern-like in its intonation that if Charles had heard it in a crowd he would not have re- cognized it as that of his father ; — " and yet you ask me upon what I have decided? TJather de- mand iohe7i and Jiow I am to obey the orders which Lovel has sent me through you," he added, the deep tomb-hko hoUowness of his voice becoming momentarily. marked with an inflection of poignant bitt'Crness. " My lord, do not speak thus — do not attemjit either to reproach or banter me," exclaimed Mrs. Lovel, starting from her seat : and now, as she turned towards the Duke, who had halted in his troubled walk near the door-way of the conser- vatory, Charles could observe that there was a hectic flush of immense excitement upon her cheeks and a wildly fitful fii-e in her large dark eyes. " Ah ! would you do me a violence ? would you murder me ?" exclaimed the Duke, stepping back in evident alarm. " Murder j-ou 1" echoed Juha, in a tone so strange — so full of meaning — so awfully significant, that the words sank do\^•n \nih. a chiUing weight into the soul of the listening Charles, — while the blanched features of the Duke became distorted Avilli mingled anguish and horror. " Who dares talk of murder ? Thank God, my hands are not stained with gore " " Nor mine — ^nor mine !" shrieked forth the Duke hysterically: and ho literally MTiuig his han- another ho gave vent to passionate upbraidings against his father ; — and then he im- plored heaven's mercy to save the family from ruin, dishonour, and destruction. Thus did three quarters of an hour pass away ; — and at the expi- ration of this period — it being now close upon eight o'clock — the Marquis stole down from his chamber and once more concealed himself in the conservator}'. Lights were in the saloon adjoining : but a heavy velvet cm-tain now fiUed the door-way between the hot-house and that apartment. For- tunately for Charles's purpose the door itself stood open — and thus he was in a position to overhear everything that miglit take place in the saloon, although he could sec nothing. No voices were as yet speaking in the apart* 110 THE SEAMSTIlESg. raent : but tlie agitated tread of some one pacing to and fro met tlie young nobleman's ears. Yes — and now he cauglit the sound of a stifled sob : then he heard a noise as of a hand dashed against a forehead with that violence which is prompted by despair ; and then he heard a low voice mur- mur in a tone of indescribable anguish, "My God! my God ! have pity upon me ! " The utter misery which marked those words — • the deep, deep desjiair which characterized the manner of their utterance — the excruciating agony that was evinced by the accents themselves, smote with a kind of blasting effect upon the listener's heart. It was his father — his ovm father who was thus enduring the tortures of tlie damned : and they were sepaa-ated only by that purple velvet curtain which hung between the conservatory and the saloon ! Oh ! it was more than the generous- hearted young man could brook ; — and he was about to rush from his hiding-place — dash aside the drapery — and catch his imhappy parent in his arms, when tlie opening of a uoor and the loud announcement which a servant made of the name of CoUinson, nailed the Marquis to the spot where he was concealed. "Ah! he has come!" said Charles to himself : " and now for the unravelling of all the mys- teries which exist between my father and that man !" With this musing observation to himself, the Marquis of Arden prepared to listen to a dis- course which ho felt convinced would be charac- terized by no ordinary degree of interest. " Good evening, my lord," said the well-known voice of Collinson, after the door by which ho had entered was closed beliind him. '• This is the 16th of January, 184C5 — the clock has just struck eight — and I am therefore punctual to a minute." " Before we enter upon the business of the even- ing, Mr. Collinson," said the Duke, in a low deep voice which indicated alike a broken spirit and a breaking heart, — " will you permit me to ask wherefore you have sent the sheriff's officers into Dry house to make a seizm'e for the sum of one hundred and tiventy t7tonsand pounds ?" " AU in the way of business, my lord," replied Collinson, with his characteristic coldness of tone and manner. " The deed your Grace signed two years ago, and which was duly witnessed by ray clerk, gave me certain powers of which I have availed myself. But your lordship ivill understand that it is a mere precaution on my part— and that if the conditions be fulfilled the bailiffs will of course be withdrawn." ■' " Then the bailiffs are in the house, Mr. Col- linson," said the Duke, his voice displaying in- creased emotion, " in order to act as an engine of terror and coercion witli regard to myself. vSurely ■ — surely, you might have saved mo tliis indignity — an incUgnity which has once again exposed mo in the face of nil my domestics?" " I know n(jtliing but law in the case, my lord," returned Collinson, his tone evincing' an implacable determination, — " nothing but law and my rights." " Do you suppose that I wovld take any ad- vantage of you ?" demanded Ibo Duke, petu- lantly. " I was bound to protect myself against tlio possibility tbereof, my lord," was the chilling, l^itiless response. "But shall we go to busi- ness ?" "Yes — at once," replied the Duke, with the desjjerate impatience of a man who is surrounded by frightful calamities and who longs to know the worst. "' It is necessary, my lord," continued the attorney, " that I should recapitulate all the in- cidents of the past, in order that the whole affair may be prof)erly imderstood by your Grace. I have brought with me the various documents and papers connected therewith; and if your lordship v.411 only gi-ant me your patient atten- tion we shall soon reach the end of a proceeding which is not perhaps altogether agreeable to (-your Grace." " Agreeable !" ejaculated the Duke, bitterly. " But pray go on, Mr. Collinson," he immediately added, in a calmer tone. "Two years and a half ago," resumed the lawyer, in the cold and measured tone of the perfect man of business, " your Grace, being already deeply indebted to me in various sums, consulted me on the position of your affairs and requested a large loan to pay off your pressing liabilities. On that occasion I proposed to make your lordship a present of one hundred thousand pounds on condition that I should become j-our Grace's son-in-law. In plain terms, I offered your lordship that sum as a premium for the hand of yoiu' Grace's elder daughter, the charming Lady Clarissa: and your Grace, flying into a passion, denounced my immense presumption and my startling imj)ortinence. Finally, yom* Grace refused the proposal ; and vfith regard to my pe- cuniary claims, I was assm-ed that they should be settled the moment yom* son came of age. Vainly did I represent to your Grace that if tlie Marquis of Arden, on attaining his majority, were to join your lordship in cutting off the entail, the inevitable result must be to bring all the ducal domains and property, of whatsoever kind, to the auctioneer's hanuuer — and that sufficient would not bo realized to satisfy all your lordship's credi- tors. Vainly, I say, did I make these representa- tions : your lordship persisted in holding a dif- ferent opinion — and we accordingly separated without coming to any amicable understaudmg upon the subject. Some months afterwards — in fact, to be particular with regard to dates, on the 16th of January, 1814 — I caused a distress to be levied in tliis mansion for the amount of nearly fourteen thousand pounds. On that evening the sheriff's officers entered your Grace's mansion, while the saloons were thronged with a brilliant company. Your Grace could a fiord to give an en- tertainment which cost some hunch-eds of pounds, at a time when the very interest upon your lord- ship's debts remained unpaid." " You know, ]Mr. Collinson," said the Duke, in a low and tremulous voice, " that the entertain- ment was a sort of desperate means of retrieving ray embarrassments." " By hooking Ijord Mostyndalo for one of your Grace's daughters," returned tlie lawj'er, in a tone of cold sarcasm, — " and by affording the other daughter an opportunity of captivating the heart of s c)f his mind, ho could not help associating it with the multiform and terrible affairs that now absorbed all his tlioughts. Ascending the stairs, therefore, at a rapid pace, the Marquis of Arden Imrricd into the presence of the Duchess of Belmont. CHAPTEE XXXVI. THE MOTHEE-IN-LAW AND THE MAEQUIS. The Duchess of Belmont was greatly changed since the period when we first introduced her to our readers. During the two years which had thus elapsed, the corroding influences of care had manifested themselves on her fine countenance and her splendid figure : the former had grown pale and simken — the latter had become wasted and had lost all the healthy plumpness of its embon- point. She was now thirty -nine years of age ; and although no streak of silver mingled with the dark glory of her hair, and although the perfec- tion of the pearly teeth still remained, yet did she seem older than she really was. And on her fea- tm-es there was an expression of soft and settled melancholy, proclaiming with all the unstudied eloquence of mirrored feeling that Augusta had bade farewell to this world's dream of bliss, and that hers was the secret woe of blighted affections and ruined hopes. In describing the Duchess of Belmont's own suite of apartments in one of the earliest chapters of our tale, we spoke of a small but elegantly- furnished saloon, abounding in aU the proofs of a fashionable woman's taste : and it is in this room that wo now find her, half reposing upon a sofa drawn near the fire. Although it was evening, she still wore the negligent apparel of the morn- ing's toilette : an elegant wrapper enveloped her form — and her hair fell in partial disorder over her shoulders. When the Marquis of Arden entered the room, the Duchess extended her hand towards him, s.^.y- ing, " I thank you, Charles, for this prompt atten- tion to my wishes. Sit down — and let us have a few minutes' conversation together — for I am cer- tain that it is necessary we should imbosom our- selves frankly to each other. But, just heavens !" exclaimed the noble lady, as she sm-veyed her son-in-law with a more earnest attention than at first ; " how strangely wild yoiu- looks appear ! Has anything hapisened " " I cannot answer you in a breath," interrupted the young nobleman : " nor will a few words sulBce to explain all I know and all I feel." " Then sit do\^'n, Charles," said the Duchess, her cui'iosity and her alarm being both excited. " I have been thinking for some months past that I would invite you to a conference with me upon certain matters : but I have hesitated at inter- fering therein — fearful that my motives should be misinterpreted. Now, however, I can no longer restrain the desire which thus prompts me to considt you, Charles, upon subjects wherein you are most especially interested, and which seems also to affect the happiness of your amiable sister Mary." " My dear mother-in-law," observed the Mar- quis of Arden, " you have always treated my sisters and myself with so much kindness, that nothing which you may say or do in respect to our welfare, can possibly be misinterpreted. I cannot speak so emphatically of Clarissa's feelings, because slie has e\er been more rescn-ved towards me tlian my yminger sister ; but for Mary and myself I caii safely say that we have observed wit h sorrow, and still behold with p.ainful curiosity and THE 9EAMSTKESS. 115 sincere griof, all tlioso evidences of a profouudly seated alfliction which duriuj the last two years your own retired and pofuli:ir mode of life has so unmistakably furnished. We should have proflered oiir consolations long ere this: but your sorrow seemed too sacred for such intrusion." "I thank you, Charles — sincerely thank you, for these expressions of sympathy," said the Duchess, in a tone of plaintive sorrow and melt- ing softness. " But have yoti not also your cares ? — and has not poor Mary her woes likewise ? Alas ! alas ! a spell appears to have fallen upon this house — an evil genius seems to have obtained the power of blighting every bud of happiness that ventures to expand beneath this roof!" " First, then, my dear mother-in-law," said the Marquis of Arden, " let me learn the secret of your unhappiness." " No, Charles — we will speak of your younger sister and yourself in the first instance," replied the Duchess. " And to begin with Mary — she is perishing visibly before our eyes, and no one appears to have the courage, the inclination, or the power to extend a hand to save her I What is the meaning of aU this ? She loves the Earl of Mos- tyndale — and she is beloved in return. What barrier exists to their union ? wherefore does Mos- tyndale absent himself, when it is notorious that he is enamoured of Mary beyond all possibility of change ? But while he is either excluded from the house, or else constrained by some unseen in- fluence to keep away, a purse-proud man is suf- fered to have the run of the mansion precisel;)' as if it were his own. You cannot fail to compre- hend, Charles, that I allude to Mr. CoUinson " " The villain !" muttered the young Marquis between his quivering lips, as the scene in the saloon flamed up with fearful vividness in his memory. '■' Ah ! you call him a harsh name," said the Duchess, whose ear had caught the expression; " and you are therefore acquainted -nith his evil designs ? For that he doen meditate evil towards your father, or some one beneath this roof, Weel confident. Without being superstitious, I do not altogether mistrust presentiments " " And if you have experienced a presentiment of evil with regard to Collinson," exclaimed Charles, bitterly, " you have assuredly not erred in yielding to it. Know, then, that the bailiffs are once more in possession of Belmont House " "Ah!" ejaculated the Duchess, with a start: " then I was not misinformed ! One of my maids casually mentioned to me just now that she had Been in the waiting-room a couple of ill-looking individuals who were here — on the night of the ball — just two years ago," continued Augusta, gasping with the emotions that were suddenly aroused in her bosom : " and on hearing that intelligence, aU the presentiments which have haunted me for weeks and months past, seemed to concentrate their forebodings and fill my heart almost to bursting with the auguries of evil thus conjured up. Then was it that I resolved to post- pone no more my long wished for and too long deferred conference with you. Tell me, Charles — tell me — what do you know of your father's affairs ? — are they irretrievable ? — is Collinson at the bottom of this second invasion on the part of the officers of the law ? — and if so, how is it all to end ?" "Ah! that is the question which I keep asking myself a hundred tim-.'s in a minute," exclaiiiiod Charles, with the sudden excitement of an almost frenzied wiltlness; — "and no possible conjec- ture or foresight can furnish a solution to the query I" " Tell me all you know, Charles — tell me every- thing, I entreat you!" said the Duchess, in a tone of the most earnest and solemn appeal. "Amidst my own deep sorrows I have not been immind- ful of the change which has come over yourself within the last eighteen months or two years : but I have not ventured until this evening to ques- tion you upon the subject. I thought that if it were consistent with your feelings to seek solace at my hands and make me your conficUmt, you would do so unasked and uninvited by me : and as you are no longer a child, I did not consider myself justified in intruding upon the privacy of your soul's sentiments. The cause of your poor sister's sorrow, I have of course heard, seen, and xmderstood : that, alas ! is no secret in the house- hold — no secret amongst all her friends and ac- quaintances. But you, Charles, are cherishing some deeply-seated woe, the nature of which my conjectures cannot fathom : and if you deem me worthy of your confidence, I am at length dis- posed to be daring enough to invite it. Remem- ber, my dear bo}', I am not seeking to exercise over you the authority of a mother-in-law : I am adch-essing you as a friend — treating you as such " '■ And as such will I regard you — as such will I treat you in return !" exclaimed Charles. " More- over, I feel that I need your advice — ^your counsel in many, many things, and t'nat it will be a relief to my soul to pour forth all its pent-up anguish and shape it in words that your ears may drink it in and your heart appreciate its magnitude. But first of all, my dear mother-in-law," said Charles, drawing his chair closer towards her and fixino' his looks v,-ith an earnest commiseration upon her countenance, as if he already pitied in advance the tremendous agonies which his reveaUngs were about to excite in her breast, — "first of all," ho said, in a low deep tone, " I must warn you that you are on the threshold of astounding discoveries — that you are on the point of hearing terrible and startling things !" " Tell me everything, Charles — suppress nothing," said the noble lady, with a feverish impatience. " I am nerved — I am prepared " "No, no— you cannot be !" ejaculated the Mar- quis. " Widely as your conjectures may range, they cannot possibly embrace the horrors wliich are in store for you !" " Horrors ! — in store for me .'" echoed the Duchess, aghast at the fearful nature of the warning just given. "Yes — horrors of the blackest, blackest dye I" responded Charles, Ids eyes dilating with omi- nous fire and his lips turning white as those of a corpse. " Just heavens ! what mean you ?" demanded the Duchess, her blanched visage convulsed with all the agonies of a torturing suspense, while her bosom palpitated violently. " You speak of hor- rors — you must doubtless mean crimes." " I do — I do," mui'mured Charles between his set teeth. "Crimes most damnable " "O God! who has perpetrated them?" asked lU THE SEAMSTRESS. the Duclicss, in a dying tone — for in lior licart tie if you can i*ecollect tlie fact of a young milliner query was already ans^.vered. calling upon the particular day of which. I am '■ Who has ijerpetrated them ?" echoed the young speaking- nobleman, suddenly starting with fierce excite- ment : " my father — your husband !" "God protect me!" murmured the Duchess, falling back upon ihe sofa — not in a state of insen- sibility — but in a condition of mingled despair and stupor, as if her spirit were utterly appalled and broken. Then there was a long pause in that room, during which tlie Marquis of Arden sate gazing in moui'nful earnestness upon his unhappy mother- in-law; — and the dreadful nature of the thoughts that were preying like vultures upon his brain, was evinced in the nervous quivering of his white lijis, the contracting lines of his forehead, and the sinister light that burned in his eyes. '• Charles," said the Duchess, at length raising herself slowly, to a sitting posture upon the sofa, and speaking in a voice that was profoundly marked with an illimitable woe, — "Charles, tell me everything ! The first paroxysm of agony is passed— the first access of excruciation has gone by. I am now prepared to listen, Charles : but I beseech you to reveal all you know — without re- serve " " I -niU do so," said the young Marquis, in a tone strongly accentuated. " Yes — it is meet and proper that you should know everything : and therefore I will commence my narrative with cer- tain particulars which wiU explain the cause of that change which has come over me diu'ing the last two years. Mother-in-law, be pleased to carry your recollections back to the 16th of January, 184i— " " Heavens ! the incidents of that day are seared upon my brain," ejaculated the Duchess, in the rending voice of an agony produced by the most poignant reminiscences suddenly awakened. " Is it possible that your afilictions date likewise from that terrible evening ?" " No^not from the evening of the entertain- ment," answered the young nobleman : " but from the morning of that day. Nor can I precisely aver that my sorrows began on the occasion referred to — because with the early portion of the narrative which I am about to reveal to your ears, there were many pleasing hopes, many delicious feeUugs, and many elysian dreams intermingled." " Ah ! then, i/ou also have loved — and have loved imfortunately ?" said the Duchess, in that low, measui-ed, and profoundly mournful tone which showed that she was involuntarily expressing the secret of her own life in the quei'y which she thus put to her son-in-law." " Yes — I loved — and heaven alone can tell how fervently I have loved !" continued the Marquis. " But in desiring you, my dear mother-in-law, to carry back your recollections to the morning of that memorable day which well nigh terminated so fatally for you, — and in fixing your attention upon that particular date, I wish to ascertain if yott recollect an incident whicli was trivial enough with regard to you, but which was important enough in respect to me to give stamp and im- press to the current of my destiny." "To what incident do you allude?" asked the Duchess, completely at a loss to penetrate the meaning of her son-in-law. " Tax your memory," said Charles, "and see ■' Heavens ! what mean you .''" cried the Duchess, nov,' once again becoming dreadfully excited, as a suspicion of the truth Hashed to her imagina- tion. "Yes — I remember the incident to which you aUude " " And you therefore remember the young seamstress herself?" exclaimed Charles, eagerly. " WeU " "Yes — yes — I remember her," gasped the Duchess: "what then?" " She was a beautiful girl— genteel and well bred as any lady in the land," said Charles : " did you notice aU this ?" " I did — I did," murmured Augusta. " And you saw her, then ?" " I saw her," rej>lied the young Marquis, solemnly : '•' and she became the object of my love." " Her name — her name ? " faltered the Duchess, who was nearly overpowered with, ex- citement. " Virginia Mordaunt," was the answer. The noble lady threw herself back upon the sofa — pressed both her hands to her forehead as if to stay the violent throbbings of her brows — and then remained sUent and immoveable for upwards of a minute. " Charles," she at length said, slowly withdraw- ing her hands from her head, and gazing with a solemn earnestness into the young nobleman's face as she bent forward and inclined her head towards him, — " Charles, answer me as you would reply to yoiu- Grod ! Has Virginia's honour been made a sacrifice to your passion ? or has she passed pure and spotless through the ordeal ? Tell me, Charles — teU me truly — as you may value my blessing or dread my curse !" - • "Virginia is an angel of chastity and inno- cence !" cried the young Marquis, gazing upon his mother-in-law in astonishment, at her manner, her wosSs, and her looks. " You swear that you are speaking the truth, Charles ?" she exclaimed, grasping his wrist with convulsive violence and fixing her eyes upon him with a scrutiny that seemed intended to pierce him through and through. "I swear," ho repeated, with a thrilling em- phasis, his amazement increasing to a positive wildness. "Then may G-od in heaven bless you, Charles !" cried his mother-in-law, in a tone of fervid en- thusiasm, while tke tears ran down her cheeks : and falling upon her knees at the young man's feet, she took his hand and pressed it to her lips, exclaiming, " Oh ! yes — I thank you, Charles — God knows how sincerely, how unfeignedly I thank you for sparing the honour of that poor girl whoso virtue doubtless is her only dowry." And having covered the hand of the Marquis with her kisses and her tears, the Duchess rose from her suppliant posture — resumed her seat upon the sofa — and, burying her countenance in one of the pillows, gave vent to a tide of emotions the spring of which was beyond all possibility of con- jecture on the part of her son-in-law. THE SEAMSTEBSa. 117 CIL\PTER XXXVII. EETEOSPECr OVER lUK SCENE IN THE CONSEKVATOKY. TuAT oidpouring of the vai-ied and conflicting feelings wliiek had concentrated themselves in the bosom of the Duchess of Belmont, proved a signal relief ; — and rising her head, she wiped the traces of tears from her cheeks, composed her looks, and bent her eyes upon the Marquis with an expression which seemed to inquire how far she should be justified in trusting him. Kc imdcrstood the meaning of the gaze ; — and in a low soft tone ho said, " I pf^rccive that you have a secret which you are more than half inclined to reveal to me ? Eest assured, my dear mother-in-law, that I am fully deserving of your confidence — especially as I in- tend, ere we separate this night, to unbosom my- self fully and imrescrvedly to you." " Listen to me, Charles— and give me your at- tention," said the Duchess of Belmont, after a few moments' deep meditation. " I am about to tell you a tale which may not at first appear to have any connexion with, the topic of our discourse, but which nevertheless will prove in the end to be inti- mately associated with it." " Proceed, my dear mother-in-law," said the Marquis : " I am prepared to Usten with attention and with interest." " Some years ago, Charles," resumed the Duchess of Belmont, '■' there was a young lady belonging to one of the noblest families in the realm, and v.'ho was worshipped as the ^ star of the fashionable world. She was said to be beautiiul and accom- plished : and if the homage ot a host of admirers and the address of a train of suitors were to be re- garded as a criterion, then assuredly did the tongue of fame exaggerate nothing in respect to the young lady's personal charms and mental at- tractions. But she was neither vain nor ambitious : though courted by Dukes, Marquises, Earls, and Viscounts, — though gallant officers knelt at her feet and great statesmen wooed her smiles, — she cared for none of these, but bestowed her love upon a poor, obscure, and almost friendless young gen- tleman who acted as her father's private secretary. They loved — that high-born lady and that obscure young man, — they loved with a sincerity, a fond- ness, and an ardour such as only romancists are sup- posed to depict or poets to feel. And in the im- passioned mingling of the spirit that warmed them both and flashed from their eyes in dcUcioua transfusion, — in those melting looks of sunny ten- derness which they we^e w(jnt to fix upon each other, — in those sighs of love and passion which they heaved, and those caresses which they ex- changed ^ith so fond an ardour, — in all this con- centration of fervid feelings and elysian emotions was their sense of prudence lost ! They loved in secret — the world suspected not the tender mys- tery ; — and they knew that it was useless — vain — insensate to dream or hope that the young lady's parents would ever assent to her union with one : who possessed neither fortune nor high-birth. Therefore th^ word 'marriage' was never breathed between that tender pair : and reckless of the con- sequences—or rather, absorbed wholly and entirely in the delicious day-dream of their lovo— they abandoned themselves to the raptures, the joys, and the delights of their passion. Nor did they awake from this intoxication of the feelings and the senses until a frightful peril stared them in the face : for the young lafly was in a way to be- come a mother ! In her despair she threw herself at the feet of her parents and confessed everything. You may conjecture their dismay — their rage — their consternation : but nothing could exceed the wildness of their daughter's grief when she found that so far from gaining the hoped-for end by her avowal, she had produced a result utterly fatal to her happiness. The expectation was that her parents, in order to rescue her from disgrace and shame, would at once assent to her union with her lover : but, instead of adopting this course, they immediately took counsel together how they couJa best hush up the matter. Swayed by mingled en- treaties, threats, and misrepresentations, — these last being to the effect that the young lady herself had fallen into her parents' views, — the disconso- late lover was persuaded to quit London and pro- ceed to Ireland, where a government situation was procured for him. Arrangements were made with the utmost caution and secrecy for the young lady's confinement. The widow of the land-steward upon her father's estate was taken into confidence ; and this female, who was of the highest respectability, was placed in possession of a neat little house in the suburbs of London. There the yoimg lady be- came the mother of a female infant, which was adopted by the widow- woman as her own. The young lady's parents made some arrangement with a la^\ yer, whose name I never learnt, to pay the woman a certain quarterly stipend : but the man of business was not of course acquainted with the nij-stery attending the affair. Four years after the birth of her child, the young lady was forced into a marriage with one of the proudest Dukes in England's catalogue of nobles " " Mother-in-law," said Charles, seizing the hand of the Duchess as ho thus interrupted her, and gazing steadfastly upon her countenance, — " par- don me if I wound the feelings of your soul or bring a blush to your cheek — but I am at no loss to penetrate the meaning of your narrative 1" " Nor did I intend that you should be, Charles," murmured the Duchess, vafh downcast looks : " but I thought that I would break to you the his- tory of my shame gradually, rather than avow it all in a moment — and likewise " " And likewise unfold to me by degi-ees the fact which nevertheless is so startling — so amazing — so bewildering," exclaimed Charles, — " that Virginia M(jrdaunt " '■ Is my own child !" added the Duchess, clasping her hands together and bowing her head forward : then, as she remained for more than a minute in that attitude, motionless and silent, she resembled a sculptured efligy of woful shame. " Your own child !" murmured Charles, likewise clasping his hands — but in mingled anguish and despair. " O ! where art thou, Virginia ?" he cried aloud : " where art thou, my luigel and my beauty ?" " You know not, then, where she is, Charles ?" said the Duchess, raising her head at length and gazing earnestly upon her son-in-law. " Would to God tiiat I could discover her abode !" ejaculated the young man. " But I am ignorant of everything that concerns her now — 1 know not lis THE SEAMSTEESS, wliether she be even in the land of the living or in the realm of departed saints " And overpowered by his feelings, he melted into tears : for illimitable as heaven itself, and profound as the imfathomed depths of the ocean, was his love for thee, Virginia Mordaimt ! " We will find her out, Charles," exclaimed the Duchess, suddenly speaking forth in a tone of fer- vid feeling : " we will discover her abode, if the poor girl be still a denizen of this world. Oh ! my God ! who can describe the emotions which filled my heart when two years ago a young maiden, beautiful as an angel, stood in my presence — there, in the adjoining room — and on being asked her name, she replied ' Virginia Mordaunt !' — That was the first time I had ever seen or heard of my daughter since I beheld her an infant in the arms oi Mrs. Mordaunt, the wdow of the land- steward, on the day when I bade her farewell at her o-rni humble dwelling. But, Oh ! that 16th of January, 1844, was indeed a memorable day ! In the morning I encountered my own child whom I had not seen for eighteen years and of whose ex- istence I was not even certain : and in the even- ing, I was destined to behold the object of my af- fections — the father of that unacknowledged girl — branded as an assassin " " Mr. Lavenham !" exclaimed Charles. " Good heavens ! is it possible ? Mr. Lavenham Virginia's lather!" " It is so," responded the Duchess. " On being induced to leave England, ho repaired to Ireland where some petty government situation was pro- cured for him. But embarking ia business as a merchant, he speedily accumulated a princely for- tune — so large a portion of which has been devoted by liim at various times to prop up the faUing grandeiu" of the house of Belmont !" "Poor Mr. Lavenham !" said Charles, in a tone of the sincerest sympathy. " How deeply I com- passionate his lot !" " Eather. raise yoiu- voice, my dear son-in-law, to glorify and extol to the seventh heaven," ex- claimed the Duchess, " the admirable man, who, with generosity unparalleled in this world, has sacrificed himself to save me from shame ! Yes — Jvdius Laveuliam," continued Augusta, her checks Hushing with the enthusiasm inspired by the sub- ject, " is one of those chivalrous and exalted cha- racters that only appear upon earth at long intervals, and whose devotion to the object of their love is proved by a cheerful self-martjTdom !" " Do you mean me to understand that he is innocent P" demanded Charles, anxiously. "As innocent of the attack upon me as you yom-self are !" returned the Duchess solemnly. " Strange ! most strange !" said the young Mar- (|uis in a musing tone as a particular incident ilashcd to his memory. " Virgiiua is slightly ac- quainted with Mr. Lavenham — she visited hun in Newgate — and she expressed to him her conviction of his innocence !" " And it was of her own father that she was til us speaking!" murmured the Duchess, the tears streaming down her cheeks : then, after a long pause, she observed, " But you are doubtless anxious to learn the true version relative to the trngic occurrence in the cojiservatory — and if you grant me your patience 1 will soon satisfy you on that head. You must know then, my denr Charles, that on the memorable eroning of the grand en- tertainment, Julius Lavenham was conversing wth me, when the discourse took a somewhat serious tm"n, upon the Duke's embarrassments and Lord Mostyndale's attentions to your sister Mary. The business-like nature of the topic induced us to leave the saloons and enter the conservatory, where we might continue our remarks without retraint. But the discourse soon took a turn of deeper and more tender interest, — assuming a complexion such as Lavenham and myself had not permitted it to take for years before. For I solemnly declare, Charles, that never — oh ! never did I prove im- faithful to the marriage vows which I pledged your \ father at the altar " "Do not insult yom-self, my dear mother-in- law," exclaimed Charles, " by volxmteering an as- surance so unnecessary — so uncalled for. You were telling me that the conversation between yom'self and Mr. Lavenham in the hot -house tm-ned upon a tender topic which you had both previously avoided for some time past ?" " Yes — and I know not how the discourse came thus to touch upon the forbidden ground," said the Duchess : " but so it was. Julius Lavenham addressed me in that tone of fervid eloquence to which no woman who fondly loves can listen with impunity. And I did love Lavenham then — I love him now — I shall never cease to love him while the breath remains in my body ! WeU, Charles, you who have loved so tenderly and who still love so devotedly, — you, I say, can pity and pardon me — or at all events you can maderstand me when I teU you that overpowered by the various feelings which thronged in upon my soul, I threw myself into his arms — I proclaimed my unalterable love — I vowed never to separate from him again — and I implored him to take me thence and let me be all and everytliing to him in future. But Julius Lavenham would not thus devote my name to intamy and sacrifice my reputation to scorn and scandal : his was no selfish passion — it was the holiest, pm-est love — and he idoUzed me with an affection too profound and a worship too ethereal, to permit him to become the means or the cause of dragging me tln-ough the mire of public reprobation. In his generous enthusiasm on my behalf, he caught up one of the fruit knives in the conservatory and threatened to plunge it into my bosom raiher than become the destroyer of my peace and let me live ! I recollect that I threw out taunts and reproaches against him — that I upbraided him with a want of affection— and that I almost goaded hiui to madness by my insane words and excited actions. But I was not the mistress of myselt — I was a perfect maniac at the moment. Wildly I bade him plunge the knife into my breast : he flung it from bun — he caught me in his arms— ho implored me to tranquillize myself— he covered me withliis caresses ! At this juncture the glass door communicating witli the garden was opened suddenly — and the Duko of Bchnont, trembling with rage, stood in our presence. Tassion sealed bis lips— but lent furious , energy to his hand,- and snatching up the fruit- j knife "which Lavenham had ihuig upon the tabl' j a moment before, your father plunged it into >» bosom !" " My father— always my father!" exclaimed Charles. "Just heaven! how niisfortimos and crimes have multiplied upon his head williin the last two years ! But pray proceed, my dear THE SEAMSTKKSS. 119 mother-in-la-.v : tout narrative possesses a wild and terrible interest !" " If I proceed wth the details of my history in consecutive order," said the Duchess, " I must now narrate them as they were subsequently ex- plained to me : because, as you arc well aware, I slirieked and fainted on receiving the di-cadfid wound." " Give me all the details, no matter how you learnt them," said Charles, eagerly. " It appears then," resumed the Duchess, '' that wliile I was engaged with Mr. Lavenham in the conservatory, your father had been summoned to the library to find the baililTs in possession. Fearful that the rimiour miglit reach my cars indu'ectly and in an exaggerated form, he re- solved to break the afflicting intelligence to me at once. Having left me a short time previously in the saloon opening on the conservatory, he supposed that he should still find me there in company with Mr. Lavenham, to whom he also intended to communicate the disagreeable occur- rence. To avoid traversing the other saloons — especially as the dancing was in full progress — your father passed round by the garden, propos- ing to enter by way of the conservatory. But the instant that he reached the top of the stone steps leading from the garden, through the glass door did he behold Mr. Lavenham supporting me in his arms and covering me with his caresses ! In a paroxysm of rage, he rushed in — seized the knife — and plunged it into my bosom ! Then, all in a moment recovering his presence of mind, Lavenham clutched the Duke by the arm, saying in a lov.', hasty, but imjiressive voice, ' IToni' wife is innocent, I pledge 771 1/ soul to God! Depa7't — a7id save her even from suspicio7i ! I iciU take the deed upon myself! ' — and he pushed the Duke out of the conservatory with one hand as he drew the knife from my breast with the other. All this was the work of a moment : the words were uttered quickly as thought itself can fly — and as the Duke precipitated himself down the stone steps into the garden, the guests burst from the .saloon Into the conservatory." " Oh ! now I imderstand all that was great, and noble, and generous in Mr. Lavenhara's conduct," exclaimed Charles. '" Had the trutii been suf- ifercd to appear, my father must have declared in justification of the murderous deed, that he had ,'boheld his wife in the arms of Julius Lavenliani ; — and j-Qur good name would have been sullied •beyond redemption. But by adopting the course • which he took, Mr. Lavenham effectually screened 'you altogether." "Every detail connected with that memorable occurrence is known to me," continued the Duchess; "because the fidlost explanations were subsequently given to me by the Duke — and I will now make you acquainted with them all. It seems that he had fully comprehended and ap- preciated the meaning of the hurried but impres- sive words wliich Mr. Lavenham had breathed in his ear when urging him from the hot-house ; and on hurrying back to the library, he had just lei- sure to collect himself somewhat ere the guests burst into his presence to proclaim the occurrence with which he was already too well acquainted. Then he saw by the accounts which were given liim that Mr. Lavenham had not repudiated the charge of attempted assassination ; — and many re.isoiis combined to prompt your father to lend himself to the cheat which the generous Julius was thus willing to practise in order to colour the event and save my honour. For your father loved me devotedly and well — ho was proud of me — and he likewise shrank from the thought of being talked of as an old man who was jealous of his young wife. Therefore, believing the assur- ance so solemnly given by Lavenham that I was i7i7ioce7it, he was well pleased to accept the self- martyrdom of that individual as the means of preventing an exposure of the real details as they actually occurred. So soon as all the guests had departed, your father despatched you to fetch Mr. Collinson : but no sooner had you quitted the house, when the Duke muffled himself up in his cloak and sallied forth likewise. To the station- house he repaired : and the mention of his name procured him a prompt and private interview with Mr. Lavenham, of whom he demanded an explanation of the scene which he had witnessed in the conservatory. Julius at once took all the blame upon himself, — declaring that he had ven- tured to persecute me with his addresses — that I had repulsed him indignantly — that he had seized me in his arms — and that it was at the moment when I was overpowered by the stupor of amaze- ment resulting from the suddenness of his daring conduct that the Duke had burst into the con- servatory." '•' And my father was ignorant of the fact that Mr. Lavenham was once the object of your youthful affections ? " said Charles, inquiringly. "Your father remains ignorant of that fact until now — and must continue so till the end," responded the Duchess. " Between you and me, Charles, there shall exist no secrets : for circimi- stances have suddenly appeared to inspire us with mutual confidence " " And even to render that confidence neces- sary," added the young Marquis, " in the present deplorable state of the aflairs of the house of Belmont. But pray proceed. I presume that my father was satisfied with the representa- tions made by Mr. Lavenham at the police- station ? " " Not altogether," answered the Duchess. "Tour father had seen me in the arms of Julius Lavenham — had seen me surrendering myself to the fervid caresses which he was lavishing upon me : — and he therefore could not close his eyes to the fact that I must have behaved with im- prudence, even if I were not culpable. Despite of the colouring which Lavenham's chivalrous self-devotion gave to the incident, — a colourings which was intended to clear my reputation not only in the opinion of the world but likewise in that of my husband — despite, I say, of that generosity which prompted Julius to proclaim himself a cowardly aggressor against a lady who had given him no encouragement, — despite of all this, your father could not surmount the suspi- cion that I must at least have acted ^vith a tem- porary weakness and a passing imprudence in the matter. He however beUeved that I was not guilty — but simply because he supposed Laven- ham's avowal of love to have been made then and there for the first time." " And how terminated their interview at the police-station? " inquired Charles. " Your father said to Mr. Lavenham, * You 1, rf 4^1llB> I W ll» «• »to «tf IIW '^-^* V v^m4 mm M 1 i*- .«.^^ ■».«.• M •■ tK»f .».1>. _ I. ■«l.l*t Ma>X rk«l »,..U....^i «» ■ Ui» : It r UuU, BtT dmr IhrcNkffc tKo rTT*(*l W«r* i ^T 7H W Immjt la I' ....j c«i«U rmm kia f tSra^ vWdi W 1mm pftM^i k mi wlwlf iWt W [n ri • • ir UmI * M ^ W r W T«< •' la • too* at tn-wrT\^f «-^" W^ ^iM-irana--' .4 irvK IhM UmI hn r' joatUWI l*v* «M r»T««M U» tmj pawau^" i^> ImImhL AfWv I Mat, wt wm«* t-i tnf.vnu 1 •^••t, Wwt w^ .U.s. ,Y 1... . 1 ^a^atiia u \ i^i^uuA la a. It «•• j M " II «1 IW fer« iWl «W cklM T» Imw rni^n^i u|>«» iW ilttiib of aaHk ■• I a »— al waM tmi* hmm to tf«a4 at cmim am Um ' awii iamgntvmm ft — I ;— aa4 — li» wa« na bally ii>olti4 apoa aftiaf an li maardbli paH l owwh m0 at tW a\l» •/ aaotWv, a> «■ aiy m4» waa I A tiWMaiit to r>awia CailklWI U tW «ow« «Wli 1 im4 plidfa i to tW Dak* o^ Briavai. TVaa vm I M lW« frwa lk# tlaj cat aktaii k« aui. ' /W rk« lapir 1/ l0mi prrUA i#««Ma m ' ° «»ttl tW aaiU- taaali *»>a u n uf ik« (faai aatavtaiaaMvt. b» ai«a, aur word, aor kvk > iiaail Ikat •# ftiiaiAi(i ka4 pMMrf kata wa aa. Nov, CkvlN), wmj yvn ■aiairtM* kowit w Ikal Mr. laaiakaia k»<«* ■at of Ika riui. -.>• .1^ kia Auifklav : md tM I P » w n iW a a »i i>^ «' uat 0/ it* UMenH^Ur I pvpnan ord . ,ej ahnU botC. aa faa I ka^ .iuOBMl tH*." I Aaackcr wt^i «ka fclhflr ■>• •• ■Uancrr* t.> vack o'. •kailpa. ** Bal oa* q awt WM BMtw, fi« I « IW vanad Had t«mbl* vxptaaatMbi w u» a u aa* keraaM mj taim to (ttra jwi.'* " Aad tkal ^aM«ia« ^ " Ma4 tkr Dariif " K.~Ut4>« v> tkr Warrr wkoB j'omr pmrrrmiM •■»• ^? i i t<) p«j Mr*. MurAaaat a prMaua fcr IW ■iiBMaaac* nl Virgaux," rrpbrd tk<> Marqaia ol Af^Mk ** Arv TO* avwv UmI tkia atUwarj waa y\ a Mua . ojauaaaard kia aarrati«». II |a]ulo the ghastly and horror-stricken expression of his countenance subsided into a look of mingled won- derment and incredulity. "It is true, my lord — perfectly true," replied the Duchess. " But if you consider that you owe me any gratitude for taking this step and supply- ing the funds for the purpose, you will at once and unreservedly explain to me the jjarticulars of the device which was practised to separate Vir- ginia from your son." And as she thus spoke, the Duchess of Belmont resumed her seat with an air which was meant to imply that there was no need to precii^itate the interview towards an end. "Augusta," said the Duke, placing liimself near her, but in such a manner that his countenance was averted as ho spoke, — "your French laly's- maid was a very demoness of intrigue, cunning, and artifice. 'Twas she who discovered the secret of my son's love for Virginia : 'twas she who pro- posed to adopt some moasm'O to break off every- thing between them. And I assented with avidity to the offer that she made to acl in my behalf. Thus authorized by me, the wily Frenchwoman insinuated herself into Virginia's confidence, and told her some tale of villauous seduction of which a supposed sister was rcprosented as the heroine. By previous arrangement, Charles, Clari--sa, and myself rode through the Eogent's Park in the carriage while Clementine was walking there wita Virginia. You may guess, then, how easy it w&i for the Frenchwoman to find a dcu'nior.vnt for THE SEAM3THESS, 125 her tale. With a woll-fcigncd excitement she pointed out Charles as the seducer of whom she had been speaking to Virginia ; — and Cbvissa she represented to be Charles's wife." "Aud the poor girl was thus made to believe that her suitor was already married ?" exclaimed the Duchess, her blood boiling at the diabolical artifice which had thus been practised against her o^-n daughter — that daughter whom she never- theless dared not acknowledge ! '• The residt of the stratagem was the flight of Virginia Mordaunt from her lodgings," said the Duke : " and thus was my son saved from a dero- gatory alliance. But the Frenchwoman claimed a reward so monstrous — so exorbitant, that I was made bitterly to repent of my rashness in accept- ing her succour." " And the natui-e of that recompense which she demanded?" said the Duchess, in an impatient tone of inquiry. '•' The hand of my son in marriage 1" responded the Duke. " You are jesting !" estlaimod the Duchess, with the most unfeigned surprise. "I am serious, -I can assm'c you, Augusta," was the rejoinder. " She declared that she would become ilarchioness of Arden — or that she woidd betray the whole plot which had been carried into effect against my son and the object of his regard. You may imagine how cruelly I was perplexed — how dreadfully bewildered ! And it was under these circumstances that accident or Satan threw in my way one of those desperadoes who, having exhavisted all their means and worn out the gene- rosity of all their friends, fly to self-destruction as the natural issue from their misery. I rescued bim from the fatal resolve which he had taken ; and he became my slave — my ready and willing instrument of evil ! Still I hesitated to adopt extreme measures towards Clementine : but she herself goaded me to desperation with her impor- tunity. !My plans were then taken. Under the most specious and plausible pretences I induced Clementine to self-appropriate one of my daugh- ter's dresses and to take possession of your jewel- casket. She fell into the snare Avliich I thus devised to give a coloiur to her flight from the mansion. But to place myself and Charles in all possible security relative to what was to follow, and to avert from ourselves even the faintest shadow of a suspicion, I made him accompany mc to Lord Merton's entertainroent. The tragedy took place while wo were tJiere — and Lovclwasthe author of the deed ! You now know all, Augusta ■ — and my honour, my safety, my very life arc in your hands," added the Duke, whose voice was marked with the accents of despair. •■ You have done a fearful deed," said the Ducliess of Belmont, a cold tremor passing tlu-ough her form and convulsing her visibly from head to foot : " but for that you will have to answer unto your God ! It is not for me, a poor erring mortal, to dare to judge you. But I may help to save you from the fearful consequences of your crime — and to that end is your son already labouring, with the I'lmds which I have ploced at his disposal." "Ah! my son — my sun!" munnured the wretched Duke, as he paced to and fro with rapid and un- even steps. " lie doubtless abhors his father as a murderer — and next he will hate him as the de- stroyer of his happiness in respect to Virginia." " But j-ou can make atonement for at least some of the ills which you have accomplished," ex- claimed the Duchess fervently. '• Oh ! surely, surely you will allow that the day is at length come wlien all the reparation which you can pos. sibly oiler for the past— all the expiation which it is in yom- power to carry out — must be cheerfully, readily, and promptly conceded!" " What atonement can I make ? what reparation can I offer P" cried the unhappj^ Didce of Belmont, stopping short in the midst of his troubled walk and standing with clasped hands and appealing looks before his mfe. » " Will you be guided by my counsel ?" she de- manded eagerly : " wiU you follow my advice P " '■' I will — I will," returned the miserable man. " Oh ! now you speak and look as if you were my guardian angel — my saving genius " " Then act as if you reaUy considered me in this light," exclaimed the Duchess ; " and 1 will point out to you the expiation which must be made " " Name it, Augusta," said the Duke, with all the impatience of suspense. '• The expiation of which I am thinking is two- fold," contmued the Duchess of Belmont. " In the first place, you must give your consent to the marriage of your son with Virginia Mordaunt, if indeed the poor girl be stiU alive and if we shall succeed in discovering her abode " " I vd\[ consent to tliat marriage, Augusta !" exclaimed the Duke, whjse nerves were utterly mistriLEg and whose mind had become ahnost as attenuated as that of an idiot. " What more do you require ?" he demanded, quivering all over. The Duchess hesitated for an instant, and then replied boldly and firmly, " That you should make a full and complete statement of the whole truth relative to the scene in the conservatory, and thus procm-e the immediate emancipation of an inno- cent individual." " But this will be to cover ^ow -with the most iujiu'ious susi^icions," exclaimed the Didie, in a tone of mingled surprise and vexation : " it will be to avow j-our imprudence — nay, your weakness in abandoning yourself to the caresses of that man " " Enough ! " said the Duchess, In a resolute manner. '' This is the day of expiation — of atone- ment—of justice; and I have a duty to perform as well as yourself. Whatever be the consequences to ray reputation, that duty must be accomplished; and the opprobrium as well as the punishment of guilt must cease in respect to the iimoceut ! " " Be it as you say, Augusta, since thus you will it," observed the Duke. At thi;: moment a door opened and a domestic made his appearance to announce that Mrs. Lovcl had called pui'suant to his Grace's ap- pointment. " I will sec her in a few minutes," said thti Duke : then, the moment the servant had with- drawn, he turned towards the Duchess, inquiring, "What shall I tell tliis woman?" '• That a solicitor lias already received in- structions to settle the matters of which she has ^oken to you," replied the Duchess ; " and more- over that a sum between three and four thousand pounds will be paid to Captain Lovel when ho stands upon the deck of an emigrant-ship." " And when I have dismissed her with these as- 3 26 THE SEAMSTRESS. surances," said the Duke, " shall I return hither to you ? or is oiir interview at an end for the pre- sent ?" The Duchess was on the point of desii-Lng her husband to come back to her in order that they might discourse upon ColTinson's claims, alike pecuniary and matrimonial : but remembering that Charles had especially undertaken to manage the lawyer, her Grace held her peace iipon that head and intimated that there was no necessity for the Duke and herself to meet again that fore- noon. The Duke accordingly quitted the library, where the Duchess now remained alone, to ruminate upon all that had just taken place between her husband and herself. CHAPTEE XL. A HUEBIED SEEIE3 OF INCIDENTS. But the reverie of the Duchess of Bebnont did not on this occasion last many minutes without interruption. It was broken by the entrance of the Marquis of Arden, her son-in-law, to whom her Grace immediately communicated the whole particulars of her interview with the Duke. A considerable weight was lifted from the mind of the young nobleman when he thus learnt that his father had manifested so much contrition and do- cility; and, in his turn, he informed the Duchess that he had secm-ed the services of an active man of business who had gone at once to redeem Lovel's forged biUs from the hands of CoUinson and the other party holding them. " I had a particular object in view," said Charles, with a sombre air of decision, '"'when I bade the solicitor settle with CoUinson _j^rs^." "What mean you, Charles?" demanded the Duchess. " Oh ! your looks frighten me !" she ex- claimed, with agitated manner and thrilling voice. " Once more I ask what you mean with respect to CoUinson ?" " I mean," returned the Marquis of Arden, de- cisively, " that it is better CoUinson should give up Lovel's forged biUs before he and I happen to meet : or else the lawyer may not live to give them up at all — and his heirs might choose to prosecute the forger instead of agreemg to the compromise. Now do you understand me, mother-in-law ?" But before she could give any verbal answer, — which was scarcely necessary, inasmuch as her looks denoted the trouble with which the young man's words had fiUed her mind, — the door was opened with hurried violence, and the Duke of Belmont entered the library. His countenance wore an expression of savage and profoundly con- centrated rage : his eyes glowered from beneath the corrugated, overhanging brows— the wliite lips quivered nervously — and the harsh lir':>;, nito which bis visage had contracted, seemed ,'itH>'illy dug into the flesh. It was evident that a pent-up vol- cano was raging in his soul : and the Duchess trembled, while even the young Marq-iis shrank back in dismay from the awful menace of the old man's aspect. "Madam," he said, in a thick hoarse voice which gasped for articulation, while ho fixed his eyes with hyena-like ferocity upon the Duchess, — "' you led me to believe that Mrs. Lovel had be- trayed everything to my son — whereas she has be- trayed nothing. She has not even seen him for a long time past. What, then, am I to conclude ? That one of you has been playing the part of a vile eaves-dropper — actmg the spy upon either a father or a husband — or perhaps both of you have been performing the delectable game of lis- teners ?" " Father, I at once take aU yom* upbraidiugs to myself," exclaimed Charles, standing forward with arms folded on his breast, but \^dth an au* of j)rofound mournfulness rather than of defiance, "You must therefore acquit my mother-in-law," he added, "of any sinister proceeding towards yourself." "' Be it so, sir," cried the Duke, whose glances were positively ferocious as his eyes glared upon his son. "' And I presume that you have heard aU my secrets — you have listened to everytlung — you know aU " " I know too much — too much — at any rate, father !" exclaimed Charles, his own eholer now rising. " I know, for instance, that you have stood between me and my happiness — that you have been the means of separating me from her whom I love O God! how can I retain my patience when I think of aU this ? " — and the young nobleman's voice thriUed wildly through the room, as he pressed his hands to his throbbing brow. " Charles — my dear Charles^do not upbraid me — do not curse your father ! " exclaimed the Duke, a sudden terror seizing upon him and all his fury subsiding in a moment. " Charles — my dear boy Augusta, speak to him — speak to him in my behalf!" cried the imhappy man, as he turned in agonizing entreaty towards the Duchess. " Father, you know not how great a mischief you have done me !" said Charles, in a deep, hol- low voice, as he drew his hands abruptly away from his brow and bent upon his sire a coimte- nance that was impressed with blank, indescri- bable woe. " Look at me — behold my pale cheeks —my sunken eyes — my wasted form I At three-and-twenty I am as old, as worn, and as near the grave as other men ordinarUy are at fifty ! The vigour of my youthfulness is gone — the blood abeady runs languidly in my veins — my energies are crushed — my mind is shattered ! Hope is to me a withered flower — and despair spreads its vampyre-Uke wings over my heart ! But who hath done aU this ? — who hath seized me ui the giant grasp of cruelty and dashed me do^vn from the pinnacle of my liappiness to the abyss of irremediable woe ? You, my father — you have done it all. Yes — look upon yom* work — behold yoiu- son hastening to the tomb — and then say what profit thou hast gained by persecuting him thus !" The voice of the young man was laden with the accents of wildest grief, and his looks denoted an excitement bordering upon frenzy. His father cowered before tlie outraged, indignant youth, as if his eyes Hashed avenging lightnings and his tongue fulminated crushing thunders ; — and the Duchess, paralyzed with mingled horror and dis- may, gazed with frightened looks upon the awful scene, but spoke no word. TUK SEAMbTRrSS. 127 " My sou — my dear sou — forgive inc — I implore you to forgive me 1" at length exclaimed the Duke, flinging himself at the young noble's feet and clasping his knees. '• O God ! that my parent should be doomed to Buch humiliation !" cried Charles, his cheeks sud- denly gloA\-ing -n-ith the generous feelings that gushed in a burning Hood to his heart : and raising his father from that suppUant posture, he fell upon his ncek and wept bitterly. And the old man wept likewise — and the Duchess, clasping her hands, sobbed aloud. It ■was a scene of such deep and touching pathos that to be understood it must have been witnessed: no words can describe it ! And when he had thus obtained the pardon of his son, the Duke retired from the library and repaired to his o\\ti chamber in order to commune with himself; — and once more were the Duchess and the JIarquis of Arden alone together. The noble lady now proceeded to explain to Charles all the details of the treachery which had been prac- tised by the Frenchwoman Clemcntiue with respect to Vh'ginia, — those details which the Duke had so recently confessed, and which now fell like a scathing blast upon the ears of his son. But scarcely had the Duchess finished her hurried recital, when a footman made his appearance -with a letter which he handed to the yoimg Marquis. " Who brought this ?" demanded Charles in a tone of angry impatience, as he observed that the missive was clumsily folded, secured %\ith a ^afer, and addressed in a scrawling hand. '•' Your lordship's tailor received it," answered the domestic : " and although it is addressed to Mr. Osmond, yet he says that he knows it is for your lordship. Moreover, being marked ' Imme- diate,' he thought he would bring it round him- seU'." But long ere the servant finished his .observa- tions, Charles had torn open the letter and de- voured its contents. Joy — suspense — anguish — and despair swept in rapid succession over liis coimtenance ; — and thro\ving the letter to the Duchess, he exclaimed in a rending tone, " She is found — my Virginia is found — but she is dying — my God ! my God !" And though maddened \Ath. the desire to hasten to his adored one, he was so overpov.-ered by his feelings that he fell back upon the scat whence he had sprung up wildly, and burst into tears. The Duchess, with palpitating heart and throb- bing brain, ran her eyes over the letter. It was from the widow-woman at whose liouse Virginia had first lodged in Camden To\^ n ; and its conteuls were brief but painfully explicit. The young maiden, who was living with the wdow's sister, lay at the point of death ; — and feeling her end approaching, she had assented to grant a last in- terview to liim who was still only known as Mr. O.imond alike to herself and the kind friends by whom she was surrounded. The reader will re- member that Charles had desired the landlady of the house in Camden Town to forward any com- munication which slie might have for him through one of his West Eud tradesmen ; — and thus was it that he at length received tidings of liis Vir- ginia ! But, good God ! what tidings were they — and how painful, how heart-rending not only for him- self but likewise for the unhappy Duclioss — Vir- ginia's mother ! Forlunately for them both, the domestic who brought in the letter had quitted the room the moment he had delivered the ex- planation wliich we have recorded above : but had curiosity induced him to linger a few in- stants upon the threshold, he would have heard ejaculations and broken sentences which must have engendered the strangest suspicions in his mind. " Virginia at the point of death !" cried Charles, in a fit of uacontrolable anguish : " O God ! have mercy upon her !" "My poor girl — my neglected, abandoned, dis- carded daughter !" moaned the Duchess, with the bitterest lamentations. "Let us hasten to her " " Yes — let us hasten to her— we must not delay a moment !" exclaimed the Marquis, now reeover- ing somewhat of his lost energy and springing to his feet. '•' Come, my dear mother-in-law — let us fly to our beloved one : and God grant that she may live to bless us and be happj- the angel and the darling !" At this moment the door of the library was again ojiened ; and both the Duchess and Charles, who were on the point of hurrying forth, cast im- patient and almost angry looks upon the entering domestic, Viho appeared in the light of an intruder upon their proceedings. "Another letter, my lord," said the man: and having delivered the missive, he instantly with- drew. Charles tore it open ; and his eyes glanced over the contents, which ran as follow : — " January 17th, 1816. " Last evening, Charles, I vras set at liberty. It is my intention to leave England without delay : but I am anxious to bid you farewell. You are aware of the lively interest which I have ever taken in your welfare — and you will not refuse me this favour. I am the more confident that you will grant it, inasmuch as I learnt during my imprisonment that you had called on several occasions to make personal inquiries of the governor concerning my healtli. Jlay God bless you, Charles, for these manifestations of sjTnpathy ! " I am stajdng with a friend, whose address I enclose ; and I hope to see you in the course of the dav. " May I venture to offer my respectful regards to aU the members of your family ? " Your affectionate fi-iend, ^ "JULIUS LAVENHAM." " The hand of Providence is in all this !" ex- claimed the Marquis of Arden, as he handed the letter to the Duchess who had watched his coiuite- nanco with fervid impatience while he was perus- ing the missive : for she saw by his looks that it was of no mean interest. " God be thanked !" cried the noble lady, in a tone of fervid extiltation : " the father has been released in time to embrace his daughter per- haps to receive her last breath !" she added, her voice and manner suddenly subsiding into a pro- foimd and despairing mournfulness. " Oh ! do not destroy the hope that lives in my heart I" exclaimed Charles, with impassioned ar- dour. '■ She must recover — God will i-estore licr to us— the darling and the beautv !" 12S THE SEAMSTEESS. CHAPTER XLI. THE ClOSE OF IHE WHITE SLAVE'S CAKEEE. Let us suppose that two hom-s have elapsed since the strange and romantic gvLsh of incidents which occurred at the close of the preceding chapter. The scene is changed from the ducal mansion to the humhle cottage — from the fashionable regions of Grosveuor Square to the quiet district of Camden TowQ. In a plainly-furnished but neat room, Virginia -\Iordaunt was stretched upon a couch by the side of which three persons vv-erc assembled. That natural loveliness which nothing could altogether destroy, still Imng like a charm around her: but it was mingled wiih a deep and paiuful interest that in itself was eloquent with a touching pathos. Her form was wasted into a more than sylphid light- ness — attenxiatcd to a more than fairy-like sym- metry : her complexion, always dazzling fair even in the days of her vigorous hetdth, was now of that delicate transparency which displayed every minute vein that traced its azure path over her brow ; — but upon each smooth cheek there was the tinge of tlic sea-shell pink glowing softly through the diaphanous skin. AJ.as ! that charming hue was but the deccxitive beauty that decked the victim for tlie tomb ! We said that three persons were by the side of her couch. Those were the Duchess of Belmont — Mr, Lavcnham — and the Marqvus of Arden. All liad been revealed that was desirable or fitting to be known. In the first instance the Duchess and her son-in-law, on leaving the mansion in Gros- veuor Square, had proceeded straightway to the temporary residence of Mr. Lavcnham. There a meeting that was painful in many respects took place : rapid explanations were given— and Jidius Lavcnham learnt that Virginia Mordaimt, the poor seamstress, was his daughter ! Oh ! he needed not to be asked to accompany the Duchess and the ]Marquis to tlie humble dwelling where the poor girl lay upon her death-bed : he yearned to em- brace her — to fold her in his arms — to weep over her — and to pray with her ! Koi' were they long in reaching t!ie cottage : but they alighted at a little distance — and the Duchess entered 'first, to break to her dauglitcr that intelligence which was only too well calculated to startle her dangerously, even though unfolded ^^ith the most delicate pre- caution. And then Virguiia Mordauut learnt that she was the daughter of the grand and magnificent Duchess of Beliuont and of Mr. Lavcnham — the offspring of their youthful and illicit love : and she now understood the meaning of those emotions which the Duchess had displayed on that occasion when, t« (J years before, the velvet dress was taken liome to Belmont House ; — and she likewise com- prehended the instinctive yearnings and the natural sympathies which had attracted licr towards Mr. Lavcnham, when the dark clouds of misfortune gathered over his Jiead. But, although the revelation of hcv parentage was broken to her with the most delicate caution and with the most careful tenderness, — and although the instaiit that the last word of the avowal was uttered, she was caught in tlie warm and impassioned embrace of that mother who thus rcvcakxl herself, — neverthe- less, the shock, witli all its mingled wonderment and joy, was a rude one for the shattered mind and broken health of tlie poor dying gu-1 ! Nor did that avowal comprise the whole eluci- dation of mysteries — or rather, the fuU develop- ment of startling truths which were in store for the maiden. For she had next to learn — and likewise from her mother's lips — that her Jifi: Osmond was in reality the Marquis of Arden, the only son of the Duke of Belmont ! And more also — for Virginia, while reclining upon her mother's bosom, which she bathed with tears of elysian bliss, heard Ukewise that the young Mar- quis was not married — that the tale of seduction and abandonment told by Clementine, was a do- testable fabrication — and that he had not only proved faithful to his love, but was pining and dying with tliat love so profound — to unalter- able ! Oh ! v.ho can imagine— for assuredly none can describe— the emotions of joy, and gratitude, and amazement which flowed up, wave upon wave, from the deei^ fountains of Virginia's heart ? And it is because earth knows no language and the tongue has no words capable of doing justice to the intensity — the melting tenderness and the thrilling fervour — of those fceUngs, that we do but glance over that scene which excited them. For the same reason must we leave to the conception of our readers the meeting which took place be- tween Virginia on the one hand, and her lover and her father on the other, — a meeting for which the Duchess of Belmont had prepared her way to the utmost of her power ! Ah ! yes — tlie first elTusIon of feelings was chiefly composed of transports : because all other ideas and considerations were absorbed in the one thi-iUiug, exciting, raptiu'ous thought of being restored to each other. But even while the kisses so fondly exchanged, were stiU warm upon the cheeks of all, — and while the tears of joy so plen- teously poured forth were yet glistening upon the lashes of every eye, — each heart sank suddenly beneath the weight of a crushing despair ! It was the conviction which pierced through all those agitating emotions, — the dread, the harrowing, the agonizing conviction that death was about to intrude upon the scene ! To the minds of Charles, the Duchess, end Mr. Lavcnham, the thought that tlicy must lose the darling girl who was so dear to them, pene- trated viith. the anguish of ten thousand barbed and red-hot arrows jnercing to each heart's core : while to the soul of Virginia gushed a flood of emotions that made lier feel how hard — how very hard it was to die when there was so much happi- ness for which she longed to live ! The Duchess of Belmont was aflcetod not only with a profound sorrow, but likewise wiili a poig- nant remorse. She remembered that day when Virginia stood before her in the elegant boudoir at the ducal mansion, — when she, the mother, found herself face to face with licr long-neglected and ahuost forgotten daughter ; — and she now said to herself, " Oh ! if I had done my duty ihoi, my child would have been spared to me now ! I should have acknowledged her — or at least, I should liave befriended Iier : but I did neither! Inspired with the selfish fear of endangering my reputation, -shrinking from the thouglit of in- curring the sliglitest risk of exposure \nth re- THB SEAHSTBESS. 129 I'erence to the past, and concentrating all my ego- tistical regards in what was then the grand and brilliant />reseu/, — I acted a base, cowardly, un- natural part, and thereby prepared the way for a WTCtehed future ! And this wretchedness is now at hand — it has come — it is here '.'' And as these thoughts swept like vultures tlu-ough the brain of the Duchess of Bebnont, she tlirew her ai-ms around her daughter's neck and pressed that dying girl to her bosom with all the frenzied force of imutterable despair ! On his side, Mr. Lavenham was almost dis- tracted at the thought of having thus discovered the existence of his child in time only to lose her for ever I He knew that she was amiable — well principled — virtuous: he had himself received proofs of her generous nature and her lofty feel- ings ; — and his eyes informed him that, even in her wasting, desolating iUness, she was beautiful beyond all power of painting to delineate or of poesy to pourtray. Then, too, as his mental vision swept rapidly over the dark volume of the past, — that volume whose mysteries had in many respects only been revealed to him \vithin the last two hours. — he could not help teeling that Virginia had been neglected — cruelly neglected by her mother, and that the results ot such utter aban- donment were the crushing toils, acute privations, and varied sufferings which had produced the malady that was bearing her onward to the tomb ! Then, as ilr. Lavenham embraced the dvnng girl in his turn, ho wept over her— Oil ! he wept like an iniaat ; — and he strained her to his breast — and the immensity of his affliction made him childish for the moment, so that he besought her, in a vending tone of indescribable augui,«h, nut to die ! But the Marquis of Arden — the fond, the faith- ful, the adoring Charles, — what were his feelings now ? Eternal God ! why should there be so much bitter woe upon earth ? wherefore should such illi- mitable affliction enter into the current of mortal destiny F Language hath no words strong enough to describe tlie grief of the imhappy young man. He was at length remiited to his Virginia : but how ; and under what eii-cimistances ? Oh ! his worst fears were confirmed — the many hideous dreams wliich he liad experienced concerning her, were terribly realized. Want — privation — tyranny — cruelty — anguish — sickness — }ust heavens ! all these had she known, that poor girl whose hand would not have even despoiled a flower in thought- less mood, and whose foot had never trodden upon n worm with heedless step ! Was she, then, doomed to die thus early! — was Death already liovering over the couch of the imioceut, the beautiful, and the well-beloved ? Oh ! would she not be per- mitted to live for a few years^or at least for a few months — to tast« some small amount of happiness as an indemnity tor all the woes, the sufferings, the sorrows which had poisoned the very springs of her existence ? A'irginia, Virginia ! wast thou in- deed about to die 'f And as all these agonizing thoughts flowed through the mind of the Marquis of Arden, lie fell upon his knees by the side of the couch — he took the small delicate hand of the dying gu-1— he pressed it to his lips— and he covered it with the tenderest kisses and the bitterest tears. That morning — until tlie arrival of those who were now so dear to her -the poor seamstress had I way to gloomy apprehension No. 17. — The Se-vmstkess. displayed the holiest, serencst, most Christian re- signation to her fate. She had even looked for- ward without excitement to the possibility — or indeed, the probability of receiving a visit from Mr. Osmond, on whom she had intended to bestow her forgiveness, so that she might depart in jieace with all the world ! But she had not then foreseen all that was to take place within a few short hours : she had not then anticipated the surprising reve- lations which were about to meet her ears ! She did not know, when breathing her morning prayer and assuring her Maker that she was prepared to burrender up her breath at His bidding, that ere the sun should have passed the meridian on this eventful day, a mother would come to claim her — a father would arrive to acknowledge her — and the object of her virgin love would be restored to her ! No — nor did she feel the slightest presentiment of the grateful truths that were in store for her rela- tive to her lover's faith and honour, — and how the unknowTi, obscure Mr. Osmond was in reality the bearer o. a proud title and a lofty name ! In all these particulars had a marvellous change been wTOught within the compass of a few short hours I Was the maiden, then, resigned to meet dissolution now ? was she prepared to leave the parents wliom she had foimd, and the loved one who was restored to her ? Oh ! have we not already said that poor Virgiuia felt how hiu-d it was to die at the moment when the dark clouds of her destiny were breaking and flying as if upon the wings of a whirlwind, and revealing the sunnv glory of an azure heaven beyond ! But when she cast her dewy eyes around, and met the looks that were tixed in imutterable sad- ness and blank desp.air upon her, she experienced a sudden revival of tlie Christian spirit of resig- nation which had animated her soul ere the de- velopment of the varied and exciting scenes of the last horn". In the deeji despondency which had seized upon her father and her mother, and in the frantic wildness of the affliction to which Charles had become a prey, the poor girl beheld a motive for exercising all her own moral courage and arm- ing herself with all the fortitude which she could possibly siunmon to her aid. In silence her soul spoke for a few moments, — lervently she prayed, ■ although her lips moved not ; — and it seemed as if a responsive voice came whisperingly from the celestial spheres — a voice full of heaven's own blessed melody and wliich she alone could hear, — breathing hope of eternal bliss in the angel state that was approaching I And thus was it that with a smile of ineflable ■■sweetness upon her lips, — a smile which was never- theless mournfully compatible with the deep and toucliing pathos of the scene, — she said, " Weep not for me, dear parents — weep not on my account, beloved Charles : I am going to another and hap- pier world !" " Oh ! do not talk thus, my darling child !" ex- claimed the Duchess ot Belmont, with rending voice and dist ractcd manner. " You must live — live to bless us all with your sweet smiles " ■ '■ And become the joy uf your father's heart," murmured Mr. Lavenham : " for I love you, Vir- ginia — T love you as tenderly, as profoundly as if you had been with me from your infancy !" " Dearest, dearest girl," cried Charles, as he pressed her hand to his Ups, — " you must not give God wi'd not take 130 XHG SUAMSTBESS. you from us yet : let us put our hope and con- lidence in Him !'' " I do, Charles," responded the dying maiden, in a voice of heavenly softness and with a look of angelic sweetness : " and I pray that he will com- fort you all when I am taken from you '." "You shall live, Virginia — you shall live !" ex- claimed Charles, in the wild frenzy of his anguish. " We have sent for the most eminent physicians — they will be here shortly— and we will take you to the south of France, my angel — to a genial clime where you wUl recover. And by tho time the warm breath of AprU fans the trees as they put forth theii" verdui-e '' " Ah ! then the flowers of Spring wiU be grow- ing upon my grave !" said Virginia, in a low soft tone and with a tear glistening in her deep blue eye. The grief of the Duchess became so agonizing and that of Charles so frantic as this melancholy response fell upon their ears, that Mr. Lavenham, whose mental anguish was equally acute, although less violent, was compelled to implore them to moderate their feelings for the sake of the dying girl. "Yes — again I implore you, dear mother," said Virginia, with the mingled meekness of an angel and resignation of a martyr-saint, " not to weep for me ! Again I beseech you, Charles, not to give way to this unavailing woe on my account ! You wiU but embitter my last hour — my last mo- ments for I feel that they are numbered I Let me thank God that I have known so mxicli hap- piness and become the object of so much tender love at the close of existence ! Mother, dear mo- ther — may heaven bless you ! Father, beloved father God will reward you for all that you have suffered ! I knew that you were innocent a secret voice whispered within my soul that you were guiltless ! And you, Charles— my well- beloved, my worshipped one may heaven's choicest blessings be showered upon you " "Never, Virginia — never!" exclaimed the young man, passionately. " I cannot live without you : — my heart will break O God ! it is breaking now ! You must not die, Virginia —you cannot leave me thus! I have sought you everywhere — I have wandered in every direction to find you — and now at last we meet- Oh ! do not leave me. uiy angel — my adored one !" ■•'Calm yourself — moderate your aliliction. Charles, I implore you !" s^aid Virginia, the tears 1. streaming from her eyes. "I am going to another world where we shall meet again — hereafter But in the meantime, you will hv hnppy in this ' "No — that is impossible!" cried Charles vehe- mently, as he pressed t-o his heart the thin white hand of the dying girl. " I swear, my angel, never to prove faithless to thy memory 1 will cherish thine image, my beauty — my well-bcli)ved : — and soon — Oh ! soon, ■will I sleep by thy side in the grave !" "Charles — you promise, then, that you will not forget me P" murmured Virginia, in a voice that was broken by emotion and so low as to be scarcely audible : and at the same lime a gleam ot joy appeared upon her couiitenan<'e. "All ! it is sweet to die thus in the assurance of thy love and with my parent.'^ by my side " "Dying! — Oh! heavens — she is indeed dying !"' moaned the Duchess in bitter agony. " The physicians ! — why do they not come ?" exclaimed Lavenham, now rushing distractedly towards the door. " .Stay !" said the feeble but still sweetly har- monious voice of Virginia : "' do not leave me, dear father the arrival of the physicians will not arrest the advance of death ! The moment is approaching di-aw nearer still, beloved parents moderate yoiu" affliction, dearest, dearest Charles " She ceased : the dews of death were plastering the hair upon her forehead — the delusive glow had lied from her cheeks, leaving them marble pale — and her lips remained slightly parted when the last words which she had power to articulate fell faintly from them. The Duchess fell upon her knees and pressed one of Vu-ginia's hands to her agonizing bosom — while Julius Lavenham held the other to his lips and covered it with the tears that rained down in blinding torrents from his eyes. The Marquis of Ardeu had quitted his kneel- ing postiu'e, and, was now supporting in his arms the drooping form which he had raised from the pillow. Virginia's head reposed iipon his breast — and ^^•ith her dying eyes she was gazing up fondly ii-to his coimtenance. Oh ! the ineffable tenderness — the holy adoration of that last look, which infused some of its own resignation into the heart of the afflicted young man ! At all events it subdued the wild fi-enzy of his grief; — and with an earnest, deep, soul-stirring gaze of boundless love were his eyes fixed upon the maiden's chang- ing features ! Nearly a minute thus passed in a silence that was ah-eady partaking of the solemnity of death, when an ejaculation of ineffable anguish burst from the lips of the Marquis of Arden, and thrUled like an electric shock through every vein of the Duchess and Julius Lavenham. For it carried to their souls the rendiag conviction that all was over and that Virginia was no more I C H A P T E It X L I T. THR CATASTTJOVnK. ]t wa< nine o'l-loi'k in the evening when the Duchess of Behuont and the young Marquis of Arden reliu-ued to the Jucal mansion in Grosvenor Square. Mr. Lavenham had j^taye.i at the cottage, witli the resolution of not abandoning the remains of his daughter until the grave shoidd close over them. The Duchess had only been induced to tear herself away from the mom-nful scene by the earnest representations of Mr. Lavenliam and her son-in-law, both of whom reuunded her that the strangest suspicions would arise were she to re- main absent from Belmont House, and that those susj)icions might lead to the exposure of her secret with regard to the parentage of the deceased Vir- ginia. It was however in a condition of the deepest, most woe-begonc despondency that her Grace consenti'd to follow the counsels of lier old friend and (lie young ^Marquis; and as she accom- panied the latter home to Grosvenor Square, she said more than once, in a low and ominww tone, " Charles, this ts a blow wliich I clinll not long survive !" THTJ SEAMSTRESS. 131 And Low did the Marquis himself support tlic fearful loss wliich ho had just sustained ? — how did he bear up against the tremendous bereave- ment which ho had that day experienced ? At first — and for some hours after Virginia had breathed her last in his arms with her head pil- lowed upon his bosom — he was like one whose reason w^as abandoning him: he wept — tore his hair — beat his breast — and burst forth into the most piteous lamentations. But upon Mr. Laven- ham taking him aside and imploring him to mode- rate his affliction in order that he might escort his mother-in-law home and save her from the risk of any suspicions or inquiries that might lead to the most disagreeable discoveries, Charles suddenly seemed to recollect that he had not only to perform the duty now suggested to him, but also another ; — and a wouderfid cabnness succeeded that tur- *'moil of agitated feelings. His coanteuiuice re- mained ghastly pale : but his looks, instead of wandering with a terrific excitement, grew fixed and settled — as if in a rigid detennLaation mingled with despair. There was something awful — some- thing dajrkly sinister in the aspect of the young man now : but its full effect was unobserved by cither Lavenham or the Duchess in the absorbing depth of their indescribable woe. It was nine o'clock in the evening, we said, when the Duchess and her son-in-law arrived at Belmont House — the former a prey to the pro- foimdest despondency, and the latter an image of inflexible resolution. But scarcely had they crossed the threshold of the ducal mansion, when they were met by a crowd of domestics on whose faces they read the horror impressed by some new calamity which had evidently occurred. In fact, such was the state of feeling which prevailed amongst those dependants, male and female, that they did not even notice the altered and peculiar looks of the Duchess and the Marquis as they entered the house, the former supporting herself upon the arm of the latter. But crowding around the noble lady and her son-in-law, they revealed, in broken sentences and with every demonstration of the most unfeigned grief, the tragedy which had taken place. In a word, the Duke of Belmont liad committed suicide ! Overcome with dread horror at this announce- ment, the Duchess fell down as if struck by a thunder-bolt ; — and while her female attendants bore her away to her own suite of apartments, diaries put a few hm-ried questions to the ser- vants who remained behind in the hall. From them he learnt that since the houi' when the Duke had parted from his molher-in-law and himself in the library, between fen and eleven in the forenoon, he hatl remained in his own room. At twelve o'clock pimctuaUy Mi-. Collinson had called; and a servant went up to the Duke's chamber to inform him that a lawyer had ai-rivcd and had joined the young ladies in the drawing- room. His Grace had stated in reply, that he was very much indisposed and that Mr. Collinson must excuse him, at least until the evening. The Duke had moreover forbidden any one to disturb him, coupling the command with the intimation that if ho required anything he would ringhisbeU. Hours therefore passed without a t^oid venturing to apjjroach his Grace's chamber. Mr. Collinson, after remaining a shoi t timo with the yoimg ladi( s-, took his departure, but returned again about seven o'clock, when dinner wss served up. I^ady Mary Melcombe, the Duke's younger daughter, had now become uneasy relative to the tenacity with whicii her father kept his chamber ; and moreover shi; was desirous to speak to him. She accordingly i-epaired to his room and knocked : but no answer was returned. Her uneasiness now rose to the most poignant alarm ; — and the domestics were summoned. The door was forced open — and the wretched nobleman was discovered stretched life- less upon the carpet. At first it was supposed that he had fallen down in a fit ; and medical assist- ance was immediately sent for : but even before the physicians had time to obey the summons, a suspicion of tlie real truth arose, in consequence of the powcrfid odour of almonds which prevailed in the room. The discovery of a small phial closely clenched in the nobleman's hand, as the lingers had convidsively stiffened over it in death, con- firmed that suspicion ; — and the medical attend- ants, on their arrival, pronounced life to have been extinct for some hours under the fatal effects of prussic acid. Such were the particulars which Charles gleaned from the domestics. He likewise heard that his two sisters were in a state bordering upon dis- traction : but his own springs of grief were now so completely frozen up by the icy influence of that stern and implacable resolve which was uppermost in his mind, that he could shed no more tears — give vent to no more lamentations, on account of this new calamity. Besides, kno^ving what he did relative to the fearful crimes which weighed upon his father's conscience and the bewildoiing per- plexities which envii'oned him, he coidd scarcely regard as a calamity the escape of even a parent from the presence of damning dishonour and utter degradation. "TVliere is Mr. Collinson r" demanded CJiarles, with a strange abruptness, of the servants whom he had been questioning. '•■ He is waiting in the library, my lord," was the response : '• for he said that, as a friend of the family, it was his duty to remain until the return of your lordship and her Grace." "A friend!" echoed Charles, lus classically chiselled lip cui-ling with exquisite contempt : then turning back for a moment as he w;us hurri|-iug towai'ds the staircase, he said, '' Go and tell Mr. Collinson that I do wish to see him most particu- larly, aud that I will join him in the library in a few minutes." Having given this commniid, Charles hastened up to his own chamber, where he locked himself in. Opening a beautiful rose-wood case, he (bew forth a pair of pistols, wliich he proceeded to charge with methodical precision. He then secured them about his person, together with a powder- flask and a small bag containing bullets, so that the pistols might be re-loaded if need shoidd arise. These preparations being made, the young no- bleman unlocked his ohambor-door again and slowly issued I'orth. As he descended the stairs, the lnn)ps shone upon Jiis pale countenamo which was impressed villi the energy of a stern and inflexible decision. He walked ^ith moasm-ed tread, and his feet s((>pped firndy upon every stair — as if any precipitation or undue haste would lead to an excitement of feeling which was incom- patible with the solemnity of the business that he hod in hand. 132 THE SEAMSTEESi?. In this mood, so ominouely calm and so fearfully sombre, the young Duke of Belmont (for such he had now become by the death of his father) de- scended to the library, which he entered slowly, shutting the door carefully behind him. Mr. Col- liason, who was seated near the fire, instantane- ously rose ; — and advancing towards Charles, he said in a voice which his habitual hypocrisy prompted him to render as mournful as possible, " My lord, I deeply sympathize with you on the dreadful loss yourself and family have sustained." " And who lent his accursed aid towards driving my father to desperation ?" demanded the young Duke, liis eyes settling with a sinister expression upon the lawyer's featui-es. " I hope your Grace does not mean anythiag personal," said CoUinson, experiencing a vague trouble at the look which he thus encountered. '• I mean, Mr. CoUinson," replied Charles, in a voice that was implacable and with a demeanour that bespoke a remorseless hate, — " I mean that jou are a villain, — and I will prove you so !" " Beware, my lord, how you provoke me," ex- claimed the attorney, flushing with indignation. " Sorry should I be at such a moment to use menaces : but in my own defence I must observe that the fortunes of the ducal house of Behnont are entirely in my power " "I know it," interrupted Charles, making an imperious sign for the lawyer to hold his peace. " There is not a single detail of your extensively ramified viUany that is a secret to me : and I pre- sume that you called to-day at noon to inform my sister Mary that you had selected her as your victim ?" " I certainly made her ladyship acquainted with the fact that she was to receive me as a suitor," replied the attorney, now recovering his wonted self-possession, as bis mental vision swept over all the circumstances of the case and showed him how completely indeed the Belmont family and fortimes were at his mercy. " But as a matter of course I shall not be indelicate enough to press my suit until after the due interval allowed a daughter to mourn her father's death " " Enough on this subject ! " ejaculated Charles, with wrathful impatience : then, instantly resum- ing his cold implacability of voice and manner, he said, " Two deaths, Mr. CoUinson, may this day be attributed to your black iniquity — two murders which you have perpetrated !" "What mean youP" demanded the lawyer, his countenance now flushing with a deeper crimson than before. " In the first instance, sir," continued Charles, stiU stern and pitiless, " there is my father's sui- cide, caused by a black despair to the aggregate horrors of which your iniquity has been no secon- dary contribution. And in the next place, sir, a young girl — a lovely, innocent, kind-hearted crea- ture," — and the nobleman's voice faltered; but compressing his lips violently for an instant to keep down the emotions that suddenly arose within him and threatened to burst forth, he said, " Yes — a young, artless, inoff'ensive girl has perished this day, a victim to the privations, the wretchedness, and the dire penury into which her fate impelled her, but from which she would have been saved had not a viUain robbed her of nil she possessed ! ,\h! now you start, M.r. CoUinscn — and guilt is depleted in your frightened looks : for i/ou arc that vUlaLn — and your victim is poor Virginia Mordaunt !" '• Ah ! that document !" ejaculated CoUinson, who had missed the paper from his pocket-book, which had been restored to him when he called in the morning : and, as his countenance became livid and ghastly with terror, he said, " Then your Grace has found and perused a certain private communication ' ' " Which unmasks you completely, dastard, robber, and plunderer that you are !" exclaimed Charles : then, as his eyes shot tire and a deep hectic spot appeared upon each cheek, he said in a thick tone of concentrated bitterness, '• But the moment of vengeance is at hiind !" '■ Vengeance I" echoed CoUinson, his temporary alarm having succumbed once more to his wonted self-possession : " remember, my lord, two can plav^ at that game " " I mean it to be so !" cried the yoimg Didco of Belmont, as he produced his pistols and laid them upon the table. CoUinson sprang towards the bell : but Charles dirted upon him with the sudden fling of a boa- constrictor, and dashed him back with the power of a giant. Then retui-ning the pistols to his pockets, he hastened to cut the bell-ropes and to lock the door, securing the key about his person. " Now, sir, choose one of these," he said, once more depositing the pistols upon the table. '•What! — a duel, my lord?" cried CoUinson, plucking vip his spirit — for he was not altogether a coward. ■ " Yes — a duel to the death !" responded Charles. "Remonstrances, threats, or entreaties will aU prove alike unavailing " " I scorn to use entreaties !" interrupted the attorney, perceiving that the case -was despei-ate. '■' But if we fight, my lord, and if only one should fall, the survivor wUl be accused of murder " " IVue !" ejaculated the young nobleman : then seating himself at the table, he penned a declara- tion to the effect that the duel about to be fought was by mutual consent and so arranged as to be on fair and equal terms, although without the presence of witnesses, " There, sir : you can place your signature beneath mine," observed Charles, as he rose from the chair and tossed down the pen. Mr. CoUinson cast his eyes over the declaration, and immediately signed it : then, taking up one of the pistols, he said, " At what distance ? and how shall we arrange a signal ?" "The length of the room," returned Charles, in answer to the first question : then, glancing at the time-piece, he said, " It is close upcm ten — and that clock chimes the hours. At the first note of the slirill boll, we fire !" "Be it so," said CoUinson, stepping back against the waU at one end of the Ubrai'j', while the young Duke of Belmont took his post at the opposite extremity, there being thus an interval of about a dozen paces between tlioni. They now both fixed their eyes upon the dial which was to give the fatal signal. CoUinson's look was fuU of an eager, nervous intentncss, as if ho resolved to bo the first to fire : but the gaze of Charles was as steady and dcliboi-ate as liis mood was unrutHcd in its stern inflexibility. The hand moved— moments appeared hours I THE SEAMSTBESS. 133 The silence was solemn in the extreme : the beat- ing of CoUinson's heart was as audible as the tick- ing of the clock — whereas in his youthful opponent every pulsation seemed to be suspended. Suddenly there was a sharp click as of some- thing giving way in the works of the time- piece ; — and this sound — always a warning, but now one of such stupendous omen"^^ — was imme- diately followed by the first note of the silver bell. And the shrill metallic chime was still ringing through the room, when the louder and harsher sounds of the exploding fire-arms burst forth. A fearful cry of mortal agony escaped from the lips of Collinson as he sprang straight up to an incredible height and then feU dead upon the carpet : while, at the same instant, the young Duke of Belmont di-opped heavily and expired without a moan. The domestics, whose ears the report of the pistols reached, burst into the library and were struck with horror and consternation on dis- covering th< fearful tragedy which had taken place. The physicians, who were in attendance upon the Duchess, were hastily summoned to the scene : but their presence was unavailing — Col- linson was shot through the heart, while his bullet had penetrated the young Duke of Belmont's brain. CONCLUSION. The remainder of our history, which for the most part has been so sad and mournful, may be summed up in a few words. The Duchess of Belmont, who had fainted in the hall on hearing of her husband's siiicide, was re- stored to consciousness soon afterwards ; and the report of the fire-arms, which had alarmed the domestics, reached her ears also. But as if this were not enough to overwhelm the unhappy lady with terror, the hurried and unguarded manner in which her physicians were abruptly summoned elsewhere, convinced her that some new and fearful calamity had occurred. It was impossible to con- ceal the truth from her — no, nor even to break it gradually and cautiously ; for the moment her son- in-law's name was mentioned in connexion with that of Collinson, all the dark threats which the young noble had so recently uttered in respect to the lawyer, recurred vividly to her memory. She therefore divined the fidl horror of what had hap- pened, even before the whole truth was actually explained to her in words ; — and dashing her hands with frantic violence against her temples, she burst into the mingled shrieks and lamentations of wild delirium. A brain fever supervened — and three days afterwards the once brilliant, beautiful, J and magnificent Duchess of Belmont was a corpse ! The remains of Virginia Mordaunt repose in the most picturesque spot in one of the suburban ccTneteries ; — and three or four times a week, for upwards of two years after her death, Julius Lavenham was accustomed to repair thither and scatter fresh flowers upon the green sward that covers the grave. Yes — and when no loiterers were near, he would fall upon his knees and pray aloud in his anguish that the spirit of tlie departed Virginia would look down from the mansions of the blest and pity her unhappy sire who yearned so deeply to join her there. Though Mr. Laven.* ham was still in the middle-age of life, yet his hair was as wliitc as snow and his form bowed as if with the weight of centuries. Nor did he long survive the tremendous misfortunes and excruciat- ing woes which had changed him thus ,* — but at the expiration of the above-named period of two years, heaven was merciful and released hjm fronl a longer sojourn in this sphere of sorrow. He died after a short illness ; and, in pursuance of his last request, his remains were interred in the same grave where his daughter slept. The Duke and Duchess of Belmont and the unfortunate Charles were all buried in the family vault : — but little pomp, ostentation, or empty ^how were observed at their funerals. The ducal title now becahie extinct ; and the estates them- selves were shortly afterwards brought to the auctioneer's hammer. The creditors were paid about ten shillings in the pound ; and the aristo- cracy of the "West End seemed to think it highly to the late Duke's credit that he had not run far more deeply into debt. Lady Clarissa and Lady Mary retired to the coimtry-mansion of a dowager aunt, with whom they took up their abode. The loss of position was as keenly felt by the elder sister as the shocking calamities which had robbed her of her nearest relatives : but, on the other hand. Lady Mary's grief was utterly devoid of selfishness, and therefore the more poignant as well as the mora lasting. Two years after the fearful catastrophe which had occurred. Lady Clarissa had so far recovered her spirits as to be enabled to encourage the addresses of an old fox-hunting country 'squii-e — three times her age, but enormously rich ; — and in the course of a few months she became his wife. But it was not until very lately, — indeed, upwards of four years from the date of the calamities which had swept like a desolating torrent through the ranks of the Belmont family, hm-rying away some to destruction and leaving the others behind to mourn their loss, — it was not until the lapse of four years, we say, from tliafc , memorable date, that Lady Mary Melcombe could ' be induced to accompany the Earl of Mostyndale to the altar. Not that she loved him less than formerly : — Oh ! no — his tender and unremitting attentions, since the fatal events above alluded to, had endeared him more than ever, if possible, to the afi'ectionate young lady. But her mind — her spirits — her very being, had received so dread a shock that it required a long iiiterval of perfect repose and tranquillity to enable her to look with even the faintest smile or the least liope upon the circmnstanccs of life again. Youth is not however the period for utter despair — and the tender assi- duities of a faithful lover may succeed in pouring a balm into the spirit that is most deeply wounded : and thus was it with the amiable and kind-hearted Mary Melcombe. A few months only have elapsed since she became the Countess of Mostyndale ; — and little as we like the British Aristocracy generally, we nevertheless record our fervid hope that all possible happiness will await that excellent lady and her generous-minded hus- band. Captain Lovel was set at libertj', the prosecutor who had originally caused his arrest having been paid in full and therefore declining to appear against him. The villain, who was both forger 134 THE SEAMSTEESS. and mirderer, therefore regained his freedom: and he found little ditficulty in persuading Julia Barnet to accompany him on a continental toui'. But being detected in some mal-practices at Vienna, he was thrown into gaol, and on being brought before the criminal tribunal, was sen- tenced to work for tec years in the quicksilver mines of Idria. There he still remains : while the unfortlln^te Julia Barnet, having found her way back to England, has added another to the fright- ful catalogue of lost females who ply their loath- some trade in the streets of London. The worthy widow-woman of Camden Town, and her sister at whose cottage poor Virginia died, were enriched by the bounty of Sir. Lavenham, who retook possession of his property on the death of the Duchess of Belmont and Charles, and who bestowed a considerable portion tJiereof upon the good creatures at whose hands his daughter had received so much disinterested kindness. The remnant of his fortune was devoted, at his death, to chaxitable and philanthropic purposes. Mrs. Jackson, the veritable type of the inferior class of middle-women, is pursuing hor old avoca- tions and living comfortably upon the ill-paid toila of others ; — and Mrs. Pembroke, the personifica- tion of the superior order of middle-women, has amassed a large fortune, rides in her carriage, goes to church regularly every Sunday, and contributes largely to all the religious Societies that hold annual meetings at Exeter Hall. With regard to the establishment of Messrs. Aaron and Sons, would to heaven we could an- nounce that the earth had opened and swallowed it up, or that the red right arm of Jehovah had hurled the avenging thunder-bolt upon its roof! But it is not so. That establishment still exists, and the system whereon it is based flourishes more than ever ; — and while poor Virginia, one of the countless victims of that diabolical system, ; sleeps in the silent grave, the toils of the Whitb ' Slaves whom she has left behind her are still contributing to the colossal wealth accumidated within the walls of that Palace of Infamy. 0gl2 3l % ^' ^id£^ 5^^3^ Pid£&s^ RETURN TO >: CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT 198 Main Stacks LOAN PERIOD 1 HOME USE 2 3 4 5 6 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. **<] Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW OCT 2 5 2000 NOV 2 1 2001 FORM NO. DD6 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY BERKELEY CA 94720-6000 <2^ ^^ X y ) i; ^ <; % ^/^ ; #