The Mysteries of London (Vol. 1-4). George W. M. Reynolds
accident which my friend has met with must have been a serious one," said Markham, "or his letter would be more explicit. I feel deeply anxious to know the whole truth; for it was he who gave me courage to face the world, and taught me how to raise my head again, after my release from imprisonment;—he also introduced me to one——"
Markham ceased: and for some moments his thought were bent wholly on Isabella.
At length the post-chaise arrived, and Richard departed on his journey, after bidding adieu to Mr. Monroe and Ellen, and having received a special request from the faithful Whittingham "to mind and not be conglomerated by any such fellers as Kidderminster and them wulgar chaps which called butlers tulips."
CHAPTER LXXVIII.
MARIAN.
IN the evening Ellen retired early to her apartment, for she felt very unwell; and certain sensations which she had experienced during the day had alarmed her.
A short time after she had withdrawn to the seclusion of her own chamber, the faithful and kind-hearted Marian made her appearance.
"This is very good of you, Marian," said Ellen. "I never felt the want of some one to talk to and console me, so much as I do to-night."
"You look very pale and ill, Miss," observed the servant: "had you not better retire to rest?"
"Yes," said Ellen. "I wish to struggle against a sense of weariness and oppression which comes over me; and I cannot."
"Heavens, Miss!—if any thing was to happen to you to-night—"
"It cannot be that, Marian; but I feel very, very ill."
Marian aided Miss Monroe to divest herself of her garments; and the young lady retired to her couch.
"How do you feel now, Miss?"
"Alas! I am not better, good Marian. I feel—I feel—"
"My God, Miss! you are about to become a mother this very night. Oh! what is to be done? what is to be done?"
"Save me, save me, Marian—do not suffer me to be exposed!" cried Ellen wildly.
"Why did I not speak to you before last night? We might have made some arrangement—invented some plan: but now—now, it is impossible!"
"Do not say it is impossible, Marian—do not take away every remaining hope—for I am wretched, very wretched."
"Poor young lady!" said Marian, advancing towards the bed, and taking Ellen's hand.
"It is not for myself that I care so much," continued the unhappy girl; "it is for my poor father. It would break his heart—oh! it would, break his heart!"
"And he is a good, kind old gentleman," observed Marian.
"And he has tasted already so deeply of the bitter cup of adversity," said Ellen, "that a blow like this would send him to his grave. I know him so well—he would never survive my dishonour. He has loved me so tenderly—he has taken such pride in me, it would kill him! Do you hear, Marian?—it would kill him. Ah! you weep—you weep for me, kind Marian!"
"Yes, Miss: I would do any thing I could to serve you. But now—it is too late—"
"Say not that it is too late!" ejaculated Ellen, distractedly: "say not that all chance of avoiding exposure has fled! take compassion on me, Marian; take compassion on my poor old father! Ah! these pains—"
"Tell me how I can serve you, Miss—"
"Alas! I cannot concentrate my ideas, Marian; I am bewildered—I am reduced to despair! Oh! if men only knew what bitter, bitter anguish they entail upon poor woman, when they sacrifice her to their desires—"
"Do not make yourself miserable, dear young lady," interrupted Marian, whose eyes were dimmed with tears. "Something must be done! How do you feel now?"
"I cannot explain my sensations. My mental pangs are so great that they almost absorb my bodily sufferings; and yet, it seems as if the latter were increasing every moment."
"There can be no doubt of it, Miss," said Marian. "Do you know that when I heard this morning of Mr. Markham's intended departure for France, it struck me at the moment that Providence interfered in your behalf. I do not know why such an idea should have come across me; for I could not foresee that you would be so soon overtaken with—"
"I feel that I am getting worse, Marian; can nothing be done? must my poor father know all? Oh! think of his grey hairs—his wrinkles! Think how he loves me—his only child! Alas! can nothing be done to save me from disgrace? How shall I ever be able to meet Mr. Markham again? Ah! Marian, you would not desert me in such a moment as this?"
"No, dear young lady—not for worlds!"
"Thank you, Marian! And yet forgive me if I say again, do not desert me—do not expose me! Oh! let me die rather than have my shame made known. Think, Marian—do you not know of any means of screening me?"
"I am bewildered," exclaimed the poor woman. "How do you feel now?"
"My fears augment, that—"
"Ah! it is premature, you see, Miss! What is to be done? what shall we do?"
"Marian, I beseech you—I implore you not to expose me!" said Ellen in a tone of such intense agony, that the good-hearted woman was touched to the very soul.
A sudden idea seemed to strike her.
"I know a young surgeon in the village—who is just married, and has only set up in business a few weeks—he is very poor—and he does not know where I am now in service."
"Do any thing you choose, Marian—follow the dictates of your own mind—but do not expose me! Oh! my God! what misery—what misery is this!"
"Yes," continued Marian, musing, "there is no other resource. But, Miss," she added, turning towards the suffering girl, "if I can save you from exposure, you must part with your child, should it be born alive!"
"I am in your hands: save me from exposure—for my poor old father's sake! That is all I ask."
"This, then," said Marian, "is the only alternative; there is nothing else to be done! And perhaps even he will not consent—"
"To whom do you allude?" demanded Ellen impatiently.
"To the young surgeon of whom I spoke. But I must try: at all events his assistance must be had. Miss, my plan is too long to tell you now: do you think it is safe to leave you alone for three quarters of an hour?"
"Oh! yes—if it be for my benefit, kind—good Marian," said Ellen. "But I must not be exposed—even to the surgeon!"
"The room must then be quite dark," observed Marian. "Do you mind that?"
Ellen shook her head.
"Then, take courage, Miss—and I think I can promise—but we shall see."
The servant then hastily extinguished the lights and left the room.
She hurried up to her own chamber, took from her box a purse containing forty sovereigns—all her little savings, put on her bonnet and shawl, concealed her face with a thick black veil, and then stole carefully down stairs.
All was quiet; and she left the house by the back door.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
In three quarters of an hour two persons advanced together up the garden at the back of the house.
One was a woman; and she led a man, whose eyes were blindfolded with a black handkerchief.
"Your