_Soph._ Permit me, sir, to pass.
_Con._ Not till you hear of your good fortune, my dear. You have
attracted, in one moment, what hundreds of your sex have twinkled their
eyes for whole years in vain--my notice. I will bring you into the world
myself; your fortune’s made.
_Soph_. Sir, this kind of conversation is new to me. I insist upon
passing.
*****
_Con_. When we fellows of superior class show ourselves, the women throw
themselves at us; pick and choose is the way; and happy is she we deign
to catch in our arms.
[Attempts to lay hold of her.
_Soph_. (Bursts into tears.) Unheard of assurance! What do you seer in
me to encourage such insolence? or is it the very baseness of you nature
that insults a woman because she has no protection?
_Tru_. (Advances between them.) Protection is not so distant as you
imagined.
--C. Dibdin, Jun.
Lotte’s heart, out of its own sore struggles, had been schooled to
compassionate deeply and tenderly the afflictions and trials of others,
especially of her own sex. She had no thought, in taking to her
bosom this poor heart-crushed wanderer, of the responsibility she was
entailing upon herself. The cold suggestions of worldly prudence, and
the heartless promptings of mincing propriety had no trumpet-tongued
voice loud enough to reach her ear. She saw only that one, lonely,
helpless, pressed, as she had been, ruthlessly by a mad despair upon the
brink of an awful abyss, would spring into its unfathomable depths, if
she stretched not forth her hand to hold her back. She paused not in
her impulse to save this young, forlorn, desolate woman--to ask in what,
why, or how she had erred, or to reflect whether she was destitute,
even though elegantly dressed, and, if so, that her noble purpose of
restoring her, if possible, back to the sunny paths of ife, could only
be accomplished by many a personal sacrifice.
No; not one selfish thought mingled itself with her sympathy; her own
initiation into suffering had stimulated her, unbiassed by any personal
consideration, to rescue one placed in a like peril to that in which she
had stood, and she was prepared to conduct the young stranger to her own
abode without further inquiry--without stipulation or condition.
“Imprudent! rash! inconsiderate!” cries rigid Decorum--“Yet a blessed
sample of pure human compassion!” exclaims old single-hearted, but,
alas! too often abused Philanthropy.
The young stranger read human nature by instinct, rather than by
experience. She felt assured that the girl who had pleaded with her so
passionately against the commission of her meditated sin, was sincere,
truthful, and trustworthy, and she resolved to place confidence in
her. She had been struck by the words, “I live by myself quite, quite
alone--no one visits me, for I am humble.” Upon them had followed the
promise of the tender, affectionate, loving services of a sister, and
those words had conjured up before her eyes a young, loving, anxious
face--that of one whose gentle heart would break if she came to know
that the tenant of the sick couch she had so patiently watched had
perished by the terrible crime of self-murder. Then she found it
impossible to resist the earnest pleadings of her new found friend, and
she yielded her will up to her with some vague notion that she should be
conducted to a quiet retired place, where her friends--search for her as
they might--would never discover her.
They proceeded slowly along the path stretching across the park, Lotte
alone sustaining the conversation which she knew how to shape, so as
not to jar upon the feelings of her companion. She tried, also, so to
arrange her discourse as to give some knowledge of her occupation and
style of life, that the young lady might have a just notion of the new
home she was going to, and how it was supported.
Lotte spoke hopefully and cheerfully of the future, even though she
extracted not a sound, not even a monosyllable, in reply; but she was
not disconcerted at this, for she knew, by sad experience, the heart of
the young mourner upon her arm was too full for speech. The increasing
darkness spreading over the wide, treeless expanse, contrasted by
the distant lights, made the surrounding place seem drear, and caused
Lotte--who was not much more courageous, when in the midst of a wide
moor-like space, in the dark, than most of her sex--to increase her
speed. Her companion, who had drawn a thick veil down over her face,
completely shrouding her features, offered no objection to this change
in their pace, but, if anything, appeared desirous of accelerating it,
seemingly wishful, now she had decided on accepting a new condition
of life, to hurry to it, so as to escape the observation of the outer
world.
Their walk thus became rapid, and the lights drew nearer, and grew
brighter.
Suddenly, a footstep, quick and light, sounded immediately behind
them, and a hand touched Lotte lightly on the shoulder. She turned, and
perceived at her elbow a tall, moustached gentleman, a little in advance
of two others, arm in arm, who were following him up.
He addressed Lotte.
“What a hurry you are in, my dear,” he said; “I have had to increase
my pace to a gallop to catch you. Don’t walk so fast, I beg of you; you
fatigue me, and do you know that disturbs my serenity.”
Lotte gazed upon him with inexpressible astonishment.
“I don’t know you,” she said, with unequivocal surprise, “I am sure you
don’t know me. You have mistaken me, sir, for some other person.”
The man bent his head down, and looked closely and impertinently at her
face; he appeared rather agreeably surprised by its prettiness.
“How absurd,” he exclaimed, catching hold of her wrist, “mere
affectation, you little coy queen, you. We are good friends, you know,
of course.”
He tried to put her hand within his arm. Lotte wrenched her hand from
him, and stamped her foot indignantly.
“How dare you touch me?” she said, her face and neck becoming a
brilliant crimson. “You are aware that I am an entire stranger to you,
and that your speaking thus to me is an insult.”
“The little pearl!” exclaimed the man, with a slight laugh, as he placed
himself before her to impede her advance.
At this moment his companions arrived, and one of them said, with a
stupid grin--
“A brace only, Spoonly; Vane and I will have to go Newmarket for the
other.”
Lotte felt her companion shiver, shrink, cower, as though she would sink
into the earth. She clung tightly, desperately to Lotte, and in a low,
hissing whisper, she murmured--
“For mercy’s sake, let us fly!”
“Stand aside, sir!” cried Lotte, firmly, and with clear tones, to the
man who detained her; “let us pass on without further interruption.”
“I will do anything in the world, my little pet, to gratify you,”
responded the man whom she addressed, “but that--a--I cannot do that.”
Again Lotte stamped her little foot angrily.
“But you shall!” she exclaimed. “A ruffled dove, by Jupiter!” exclaimed
her tormentor laughing. “Now, if there is one thing I love to see beyond
aught else, it is a ruffled dove. It is such a pretty bird, and it
swells and extends its feathers, and struts so gloriously, I feel that I
could catch it in my arms and press it”----
“I say--though--by Jove--here, Spoonly, stop,” suddenly observed the
person who had before spoken, “I know this young lady; you must give way
to me here.”
“You know her, Grahame!” cried the man he addressed as Spoonly; “well,
that gives an interesting turn to the incident.”
“You know her, Grahame?” cried the third individual, advancing, “pray
introduce us; we shall make a blissful termination to a dull barrack
dinner.”
At the sound of his voice, Lotte’s companion seemed as though she would
crawl upon the earth from the spot. It was the Honorable Lester Vane
who spoke. Lotte was at a loss to divine why she betrayed so much
abject fear, but she felt that it called upon her for renewed spirit and
exertions.
She caught a firmer hold of her companion’s arm, and pushing her first
assailant out of her path, hurried on, but he instantly pursued and
caught her.
“You are a little vixenish fairy,” he said. “I like vixens. I have a
thorough-bred filly, which is the sweetest creature to look at in the
world of racers, but she has a temper, and I have named her Vixen. I
like vixens. My little yacht, a perfect duck upon the water, will run
in the teeth of a breeze like an arrow, as if out of spite; I have named
her Vixen. I have”----
Finding that remonstrance, as well as resistance, were utterly
unavailing, Lotte screamed for assistance loudly and vehemently.
Her cry was so sudden, so unexpected, so shrill and piercing, that it
startled even those men against whose insults it was directed.
Almost instantly, from a hollow, the shadowy forms of two men appeared
dark against the sky. Both gave a shout; and, in another moment, racing
like deer, they reached the side of Lotte and her companion.
“What is all this?” cried one of the new arrivals.
“Have these men insulted you?”
Lotte uttered an almost hysterical shriek.
“Charley, Charley!” she cried, and disengaging herself from her
companion, she threw herself upon the neck of her brother, for it was
he.
But her embrace, passionate and loving as it was, lasted but an instant;
in another moment she had again possessed herself of the arm of the
young lady.
“We are safe now! oh, we are safe now!” she cried, in joyous tones.
“I should think so,” muttered Charley, with a slight swelling of the
throat. Then he said--“These fellows have insulted you; have they not,
Lotte?”
“Fellows!” echoed Vane fiercely.
“Puppies is the truer and the better word!” exclaimed Charley’s
companion. “We will say puppies!”
“You walk on, Lotte, dear, with your friend,” said Charley to his
sister; “we will join you presently; you need no more be afraid. We will
deal with these vagabonds.”
Lord Spoonly--for he was a lord--placed himself directly in front of
Charley.
“You dirty clerk,” he cried, “how dare you apply such epithets to
gentlemen. You see that we are three to two, and therefore could take
advantage of your want of strength, by half-murdering the pair of you.
But I will prevent that, by taking upon myself to chastise you, Charley,
and by ducking your friend. Vane and Grahame hold that fellow, while I
give this one a lacing.”
As he spoke, he suddenly seized Charley by the collar, and raised his
light Malacca cane to inflict severe punishment upon him. But, as it
descended, it was caught by Charley’s companion, and twisted out of Lord
Spoonly’s hand; at the same time he caught his lordship by the neck,
jerked him from his grip of Charley, and lashed him with his own cane
until he absolutely roared from pain.
Charley, in the meanwhile, attacked Vane, but that honourable gentleman
parleyed; he objected to a fistic encounter, and submitted to say “he
was sorry for what had happened”--rather than do battle with his hands.
He would not have hesitated an instant--let him have justice--with the
small sword or the pistol--to have confronted his antagonist, but then
Charley was not a person, so he believed, whom he could meet on such
terms, and, therefore, to avoid the vulgar appearance of maltreatment
upon his handsome face, he said--
“Look here, my man--to stand up and fight like a couple of boxers, is
not to my taste, and is merely ridiculous, where our physical powers
appear so unequal, therefore I say that I am sorry the young ladies were
offended; they were only accosted in joke, and nothing occurred to make
that foolish young creature scream as she did--nothing.”
“Charley” surveyed him with a look of disdain; he waved his hand
contemptously. “Come, Mark,” he said, “we will overtake the girls. I do
not think these fellows will trouble us any more.”
Mark, as Charley styled his friend, put the cane to his knee, broke
it into two pieces, and, uttering a few indignant comments, flung
it towards his prostrate antagonist. He then took Charley’s arm, and
accompanied him in the same direction as Lotte and her companion had
pursued.
They were hardly gone, when a man came up to where Lester Vane was
bending over his friend, who had been most severely thrashed. He touched
his hat to Vane, saying--
“Goodness me, sir, what has happened?”
“You scoundrel!” cried Vane, passionately; “you ought to have been here
before this to have given a thrashing to a couple of ruffians who have
assaulted us. However, you may do some good yet. Hurry along yon path,
you will overtake two men; they will join two girls; see where they
go to, and bring back word to me; be particular in the address, and
ascertain that you are correct. Be off with you!”
The man touched his hat, and hurried after Charley and his companion.
In the meantime, Charley had overtaken Lotte. In a few brief words he
explained to her that he had been to New York; and, having succeeded
in aiding an officer to capture the person of whom he had been sent in
quest, he had immediately returned with the prisoner to England.
On board the vessel he had made the acquaintance of a young fellow, who,
he said, strangely enough, turned out to be the son of the person in
whose house Lotte had lodged when he left England, and he had broken to
him, as well as he could, the pecuniary distress into which the family
had been plunged; but he was not prepared to find that the house had
been destroyed by fire, and his relatives dispersed he knew not where.
“Then this gentleman,” said Lotte, “is Mr. Mark Wilton, I presume?
“Exactly,” said Charley, “and he is anxious to have his mind set at rest
about his father and sister.”
Lotte turned her eyes upon him. There was light enough to see that his
countenance much resembled Flora’s--save that it was, of course, manly
in all its points--and his skin was browned by exposure to the sun.
To say this, is to suggest that he was a very handsome, manly-looking
young fellow, and so Lotte thought the more she looked at him.
It was satisfactory to think that one so good-looking as he, had
lifted his strong right arm in her defence, and she resolved, when an
opportunity offered, to work some little article of use, and present him
with it, in testimony of her appreciation of his valour.
She felt a pleasure, too, in telling him that his father had become the
possessor of a large fortune; that he lived in a fine house; that Flora
was now a lady; and that he would become a grand gentleman.
Mark listened with evident surprise, but with no display of emotion, and
he took down the address of the house in the Regent’s Park tenanted
by his father, that he might proceed there that night, or rather
immediately on reaching Oxford Street.
Beyond this point, Lotte would not permit her brother to accompany her.
“Ask me not wherefore, Charley,” she said; “you know my address, and
when you come to see me tomorrow or next day, at furthest, then I will
explain much that may seem strange and inexplicable to you now.”
Charley Clinton had too much confidence in his sister to ask a question,
or to press his desire to accompany her to her lodging. He, therefore,
bade her good night, without putting a question respecting, or making
any allusion to, the young lady who was with her, and he promised to
call upon her, not on the following day, but the day succeeding.
Mark Wilton also took his farewell of her, but now that the light fell
full upon her face and he saw her bright eye, her cheek flushed with
excitement, and the pure ingenuous expression upon her pretty face, he
mentally promised himself that the parting now taking place should not
be for long.
“Love at first sight” is an open question. It certainly is subjected in
this country to a wholesale doubt, while in the warmer climes of
the sunny south it is an every hour occurrence. Here, where we take
impressions with a qualification, it is considered almost apocryphal
that a man or woman should fall in love with one of the opposite sex the
moment they cast eyes upon each other. Yet it is not deemed wonderful
that persons seeing an article which, at the first glance, strikes them
as being beautiful, should conceive instantly a desire to possess it,
and call it their own. Why should there be a difference between the
emotions raised by the inanimate and the animate? In nine cases out of
ten, love which is clothed with passion springs into existence at the
first sight of the object, although other causes may be afterwards
attributed, and proofs may be adduced that it was of slow growth,
fostered and increased by charms freshly and continuously developed, but
the fact of the first impression calling love into existence, we venture
to think, remains indisputable.
Mark was, perhaps, unconscious of the effect which Lotte’s expressive
and attractive face had really upon him. He saw that she was pretty
and that her manner was agreeable; he thought he should like to see her
again; he felt almost instantly after he had entertained that thought
that he must see her again; and, as he pressed her soft hand and gazed
into her clear mild eyes, he resolved that he would see her again; and
so they parted, Lotte silently sharing his impressions.
The groom despatched by Lester Vane to follow Charley and Mark, was
embarrassed by perceiving the two young men suddenly proceed in opposite
directions, while the young ladies took a wholly different course.
It was impossible that he should follow them all, so he decided upon
following the females. He shrewdly surmised that the females, being
alone, would proceed home, and that where the females lived, the young
men were likely to visit, and thus, at some future time, if needful,
might be tracked to their own abodes.
He followed, unobserved, Lotte and her young companion to the house in
which the former resided and watched them in. Then he carefully noted
down the name of the street, and the number of the house. But, although
he went to butcher, and baker, and publican, he failed to ascertain
Lotte’s name. He returned, therefore, to the hotel, where he knew he
should find his master, with all the information he could obtain.
And now Lotte was at home in her own little room, her candle lighted,
and the door locked.
She was alone with her new acquaintance. She gently forced her to a seat
upon the sofa.
“This,” she said, in soft tones, purposely made so that she might give
strength and encouragement to the young lady to speak--“this is my home,
all my home; for the limits of my property are bounded by these walls.
But here I sit the day long, employed at my needle, the song of my
little bird ringing joyously in my ears, the bright sky shining beyond
my windows, the fresh air coming in among my flowers; and, being so
fortunate as to have no lack of employment, I am as happy as the day is
long.”
She paused and looked at her companion. Her hand was to her face, her
bowed head yet partly concealed by her veil.
Lotte knelt suddenly, but softly, at her feet, and took both her hands
in hers.
“It is not so long,” she said, in yet lower tones, “since I was waked in
my sleep by the wild cry of fire. The house in which I dwelt was a mass
of living flame. The noble intrepidity of young Mr. Vivian--you do not
know him--ah! he is such a fine, hand-some-looking youth--saved my life.
Circumstances placed me where this dire calamity most deeply affected
me. What shall I say? I became a hopeless, homeless outcast. I sought
refuge from my despair in an attempt to die by my own hand--yet I am
here; I can wear a smile on my face, a song is ever on my lips, and I
have a contented heart. Nay, let your eyes rest on mine--there is hope
for all--hope for the most despairing, hope even for those whose crimes
seem most to repel it--will you believe that for you only there is no
hope?”
“Not on this earth--not on this earth,” murmured the young stranger,
plaintively.
“Upon this earth, and There, even Where you least expect it,” cried
Lotte, with energy, pointing heavenward. Then she raised her hands and
gently unfastened the superb brooch which confined the mantle worn by
her companion, letting her garment fall from her shoulders behind her
where she sat.
“Pardon me,” she said, “I would not offend you, nor would I seem
troublesomely attentive, but I have elevated myself to the post of
foster-sister, and I wish to perform the duties I have undertaken.”
As she said this, she, with the same gentle violence which forbade the
impulsive resistance offered slightly by the young lady, removed
her bonnet, and the two girls now looked into each other’s eyes with
unimpeded gaze.
Lotte saw the sharp traces of recent illness upon the pale features of
the young lady as strongly as the lines which developed hopeless woe,
and her heart was drawn yet closer to her new companion.
She saw that her features were beautiful; she detected in the thin,
finely-shaped aquiline nose, the small ear, the delicate lips, and the
exquisitely transparent skin, the well-defined evidences of aristocratic
birth. She detected also that the impression she had previously
entertained of having before somewhere seen the face on which now she
gazed, was confirmed, and she said quietly--
“I have seen you before.”
“You have,” said the young lady, laconically.
“I knew it--but where? I cannot remember where.”
“Yet I recollect your face well, and where I saw it.”
“You?”
“Yes. It was in the garden in the rear of Mr. Wilton’s mansion.”
Lotte clasped her hands together.
She remembered the _rencontre_ in the garden, the group, and, most of
all, that proud young beauty, who stood among all, as it then seemed,
the “Flower of the Flock.”
And was the prostrate, agonized being before her that same haughty girl!
She gazed on her intently.
Alas! yes it was she! But what a wreck in a period so brief. She could
scarcely credit the evidence of her senses, scarce believe that splendid
loveliness such as she had seen admired could become so bruised and
shattered as this which she now saw before her.
She remained silent for a minute, steadfastly gazing upon her, and then
she said--
“You then are--”
She hesitated.
The young lady compressed her hands together, as if with sudden agony,
and in broken accents murmured--
“Helen Grahame!”
There was again a silence, and then Lotte looked up wistfully in her
face, and said--
“You must have suffered deeply, dreadfully; but pray believe the worst
to be past. Look upon me as a trustful, loving, faithful attendant, in
whom you may confide safely so much as you may see fit to reveal. I ask
no more. I will preserve your secret faithfully, and do all, all that I
can to bring to you peace and comfort.”
Then Helen fell upon her neck, and wept a long, long passion of tears;
and, when the fount was exhausted, she, in broken tones and disjointed
words, and with sobs and groans, revealed all to Lotte--more, far more,
than ever she had breathed to mortal before.
Lotte listened with breathless attention, sometimes in astonishment, at
others in fright, but when, half fainting, the worst part of the history
was confessed by Helen, she pressed her to her bosom, and wept with her.
A woman’s error out of a woman’s love, oh! it was not unpardonable,
least of all in the eyes of a woman with a young and loving heart.
It was far into the night before Helen laid her wearied frame down upon
Lotte’s humble couch. The tender and compassionate girl made a pretence
of arranging her little domestic matters, so that she did not retire
with her, but busied herself about the room, until she perceived that,
utterly worn out and exhausted, Helen had fallen into a slumber.
Then she knelt down by the modest bedside, and, in humble intercession,
prayed long and earnestly for her.
Then, with calmer heart and quieter mind, she sate herself at the foot
of the bed, and watched in silence the sad face of the pale and haggard
sleeper.