Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"Of course - whenever you choose - as early as
possible," said Mr. Greenwood.
Sir Thomas Muzzlehem again wrung the hand of the new
member, and then took his leave.
The moment he had departed, Lafleur repaired to the
study, and said, "A lady, sir, is waiting to see you in the
drawing-room."
"A lady!" ejaculated Mr. Greenwood: "who
is she?"
"I do not know, sir. She refused to give me hat
name; and I have never seen her before."
"How did she come?"
"On foot, sir. She is neatly, but plainly dressed; and
yet her manners seem to indicate that she is a lady."
"Strange! who can she be?" murmured Greenwood, as
he hastened to the drawing-room.
THE IMAGE, THE PICTURE, AND THE STATUE
UPON the sofa in Mr. Greenwood's elegantly-furnished drawing-room
was seated the young lady who so anxiously sought an interview with the owner
of that princely mansion.
Her face was very pale: a profound melancholy reigned upon
her countenance, and was even discernible in her drooping attitude; her eyes
expressed a sorrow bordering upon anguish; and yet, through that veil of dark
foreboding, the acute observer might have seen a ray - a feeble ray of hope
gleaming faintly, so faintly, that it appeared a flickering lamp burning at the
end of a long and gloomy cavern.
Her elbow rested upon one end of the sofa, and her forehead
was supported upon her band, when Greenwood entered the room.
The doors of that luxurious dwelling moved so noiselessly
upon their hinges, and the carpets spread upon the floors were so thick, that
not a sound, either of door or footstep, announced to that pale and mournful
girl the approach of the man whom she so deeply longed to see.
He was close by her ere she was aware of his presence.
With a start, she raised her head, and gazed steadfastly up
into his countenance; but her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth, and
refused utterance to the name which she would have spoken.
"Ellen!" ejaculated Greenwood, as his eyes met
hers.- "What has brought you hither?"
"Can you not imagine it possible that I should wish to
see you again?" answered Miss Monroe - for she was Mr. Greenwood's visitor
upon the present occasion.
"But why so much mystery, Ellen? why refuse to give the
servant your name? why adopt a course which cannot fail to render your visit a
matter of suspicion to my household?" said Greenwood, somewhat
impatiently.
"Forgive me - forgive me, if I have done wrong,"
exclaimed Ellen, the tears gushing to her eyes. "Alas! misfortunes have
rendered me so suspicious of human nature, that I feared - I feared lest you
should refuse to see me - that you would consider me importunate —"
"Well - well, Ellen : do not cry - that is foolish! I
am not angry now; so cheer up, and tell me in what I can serve thee?"
As Greenwood uttered these words, he seated himself upon the
sofa by the side of the young lady, and took her hand. We cannot say that her
tears had moved him - for his was a heart that was moved by nothing regarding
another : but she had looked pretty as she wept, and as her eyes glanced
through their tears towards him; and the apparent kindness of his manner was
the mechanical impulse of the libertine.
"Oh! if you would only smile thus upon me - now and
then -" murmured Ellen, gazing tenderly upon him,- "how much of the
sorrow of this life would disappear from before my eyes."
"How can one gifted with such charms as you be
unhappy?" exclaimed Greenwood.
"What! do you imagine that beauty constitutes
felicity?" cried Ellen, in an impassioned tone. "Are not the
loveliest flowers exposed to the nipping frosts, as well as the rank and
poisonous weed? Do not clouds obscure the brightest stars, as well as those of
a pale and sickly lustre ? You ask me if I can be unhappy? Alas! it is now long
- long since I knew what perfect happiness was! I need not tell you -
you
- how my father's fortune was swept away ;- but I may detail to
you the miseries which the loss of it raised up around him and me- and
chiefly
me
!"
"But why dwell upon so sad a theme, Ellen? Did you come
hither to divert me with a narrative of sorrows which must now be past, since -
according to what I have heard - your father and yourself have found an asylum
—"
"At Markham Place!" added Miss Monroe,
emphatically. "Yes - we have found an asylum there - there, in the house
of the individual whom my father's speculations and your agency —"
"Speak not of that - speak not of that, I conjure you!
" lustily exclaimed Greenwood. "Tell me, Ellen - tell me, you have
not breathed a word to your father, nor to that young man —"
"No - not for worlds!" cried Ellen, with a
shudder: then, after a pause, during which she appeared to reflect deeply, she
said, "But you ask me why I wish to narrate to you the history of all the
miseries I have endured for two long years, and upwards: you demand of me why I
would dwell upon so sad a theme. I will tell you presently. You shall hear me
first. But pray, be not impatient: I shall not detain you long ;- and, surely -
surely, you can spare an hour to one who is so very - very miserable."
"Speak, Ellen - speak!"
"The loss of our fortune plunged us into the most
frightful poverty. We were not let down gradually from affluence to penury;-
but we fell - as one falls from a height - abruptly, suddenly, and
precipitately into the depths of want and starvation. The tree of our happiness
lost not its foliage leaf by leaf: it was blighted in an hour. This made the
sting so much more sharp - the heavy weight of misfortune so much less
tolerable. Nevertheless, I worked, and worked with my needle until my energies
were wasted, my eyes grew dim, and my health was sinking fast. Oh! my God, I
only asked for work;- and yet, at length, I lost even that resource! Then
commenced a strange kind of life for me.
"A strange kind of life, Ellen - what mean you?"
exclaimed Greenwood, now interested in the recital.
"I sold myself in detail," answered Ellen, in a
tone of the deepest and most touching melancholy.
"I cannot understand you," cried Greenwood.
"Surely - surely your mind is not wandering!"
"No: all I tell you is unhappily too true,"
returned the poor girl, shaking her head; then, as if suddenly recollecting
herself, she started from her thoughtful mood, and said, " You have a
plaster of Paris image as large as life, in the window of you: staircase?"
"Yes - it is a Diana, and holds a lamp which is lighted
at night, observed Greenwood. "But what means that strange question - so
irrelevant to the subject of our discourse?"
"More - more than you can imagine," answered
Ellen, bitterly "That statue explains one phase in my chequered life ;
"- then, sinking her tone almost to a whisper, grasping Greenwood's hand
convulsively, and regarding him fixedly in the countenance, while her own eyes
were suddenly lighted up with a strange wildness of expression, she added
"The face of your beautiful Diana is my own!"
Greenwood
gazed upon her in speechless astonishment: he fancied that her reason was
unhinged; and - he knew not why - he was afraid!
Ellen glanced around, and her eyes rested upon a magnificent
picture that hung against the wall. The subject of this painting, which had no
doubt struck her upon first entering that room, was a mythological scene.
Taking Greenwood by the hand, Ellen led him towards the
picture.
"Do you see any thing that strikes you strangely
there?" she said, pointing towards the work of art.
"The scene is Venus rising from the ocean, surrounded
by nereids and nymphs," answered Greenwood.
"And you admire that picture much?"
"Yes - much; or else I should not have purchased
it."
"Then have you unwittingly admired me," exclaimed
Ellen; "for the face of your Venus is my own!"
Greenwood gazed earnestly upon the picture for a few
moments; then, turning towards Ellen, he cried, "True - it is true! There
are your eyes - your mouth - your smile - your forehead - your very hair! How
strange that I never noticed this before. But - no - it is a dream: it is a
mere coincidence. Tell me - how could this have taken place;- speak - is it not
a mere delusion - an accidental resemblance which you noticed on entering this
room?"
"Come with me," said Ellen in a soft and
melancholy tone.
Still retaining him by the hand, she led him into the
landing place communicating with the drawing-room and leading to the stairs.
A magnificent marble statue of a female, as large as life,
stood in one corner. The model was naked down to the waist, one hand gracefully
sustaining the drapery which enveloped the lower part of the form.
"Whence did you obtain that statue!" demanded
Ellen, pointing towards the object of her inquiry.
"The ruin of a family long reputed rich, caused the
sale of all their effects," answered Greenwood; "and I purchased that
statue, amongst other objects of value which were sold, for a mere
trifle."
"The lady has paid dearly for her vanity!" cried
Ellen: "her fate - or rather the fate of her statue is a just reward for
the contempt, the scorn - the withering scorn with which she treated me, when I
implored her to take me into her service."
"What do you mean,
Ellen?"
"I mean that the bust of your marble statue is my
own," answered the young lady, casting down her eyes, and blushing deeply.
"Another enigma! " cried Greenwood.
They returned to the drawing-room, and resumed their seats
upon the sofa.
A long pause ensued.
"Will you tell me, Ellen," at length exclaimed
Greenwood, deeply struck by all he had heard and seen within the last half
hour, - "will you tell me, Ellen, whether you have lost your reason, or I
am dreaming?"
"Lost my reason!" repeated Ellen, with fearful
bitterness of tone; "no - that were perhaps a blessing; and naught save
misery awaits me!"
"But the image - the picture - and the statue?"
exclaimed Greenwood impatiently.
"They are emblems of phases in my life," answered
Ellen. "I told you were now that my father and myself were reduced to the
very lowest depths of poverty. And yet we could not die;- at least I could not
see that poor, white-haired, tottering old man perish by inches - die the death
of starvation. Oh! no -that was too horrible. I cried for bread - bread -
bread! And there was one - an old hag you know her —"
"Go on - go on."
"Who offered me bread - bread for myself, bread for my
father - upon strange and wild conditions. In a word I sold myself in
detail."
"Again that strange phrase!" ejaculated Greenwood.
"What mean you, Ellen?"
"I mean that I sold my face to the statuary - my
likeness to the artist - my bust to the sculptor - my whole form to the
photographer - and —"
"And —" repeated Greenwood, strangely excited.
"And my virtue to you!" added the young woman,
whose tone, as she enumerated these sacrifices, had gradually risen from a low
whisper to the wildness of despair.
"Ah! now I understand," said Greenwood, whose iron
heart was for a moment touched: "how horrible!"
"Horrible indeed!" ejaculated Ellen. "But
what other women sell first, I sold last: what others give in a moment of
delirium, and in an excess of burning, ardent passion, I coolly and
deliberately exchanged for the price of bread! But you know this sad - this
saddest episode in my strange history! Maddened by the sight of my father's
sufferings, I flew to the accursed old hag: I said, '
Give me bread, and do
with me as thou wilt!
' She took me with her. I accompanied her,
reckless of the way we went, to a house where I was shown into a chamber that
was darkened; there I remained an hour alone, a prey to all the horrible ideas
that ever yet combined to drive poor mortal mad, and still failed to accomplish
their dread aim;- the hour passed - a man came - you know the rest!"
"Say no more, Ellen, on that head: but tell me, to what
does all this tend?"
"One word more. Hours passed away, as you are well
aware: you would not let me go. At length I returned home. My God! my poor
father was happy! He had met an angel, while I had encountered a devil —"
"Ellen! Ellen!"
"He had gold - he was happy, I say! He had purchased a
succulent repast - he had spread it with his own hand - he had heaped up his
luxuries, his humble way, to greet the return of his dear - his darling child.
Heavens! how did I survive that moment? how dared I stand in the presence of
that old man - that good, that kind old man - whose hair was so white with many
winters, and whose brow was so wrinkled with many sorrows? I cannot say how
passed the few hours that followed my return! Flower after flower had dropped
from the garland of my purity - that purity in which he - the kind old man -
had nurtured me! And then there was the dread - the crushing-the overwhelming
conviction that had I retained my faith in God for a few hours more - had I
only exercised my patience until the evening of that fatal day, I had been spared
that final guilt - that crowning infamy!"
Ellen covered her face with her hands, and burst into an
agony of tears. Deep sobs convulsed her bosom; she groaned in spirit; and never
had the libertine by her side beheld female anguish so fearfully exemplified
before.
Oh! when fair woman loses the star from her brow, and yet
retains the sense of shame, where shall she seek for comfort? whither shall she
fly to find consolation?
Greenwood was really alarmed at the violence of the poor
girl's grief.
"Ellen, what can I do for you? what would you have with
me?" he said, passing his arm around her waist.
She drew hastily away from his embrace, and turning upon him
her tearful eyes, exclaimed, "If you touch me under the influence of the
sentiment that made you purchase my only jewel, lay not a finger on me - defile
me not - let my sorrows make my person sacred! But if you entertain one spark
of feeling - one single idea of honour, do me justice - resign me not to
despair!"
"Do you justice, Ellen?"
"Yes - do me justice; for I was pure and spotless till
want and misery threw me into your arms," continued Ellen, in an
impassioned tone; "and if I sinned - if I surrendered myself up to him who
offered me a price - it was only that I might obtain bread - bread for my poor
father!"
"Ellen, what would you have me do?"
"What would I have you do!" she repeated bitterly:
"oh! cannot you comprehend what I would have you do to save my honour? It
is in your power to restore me to happiness ;- it is you who this day - this
hour - must decide my doom. You ask me what I would have you do? Here, upon my
knees I answer you - here, at your feet I implore you, by all your hopes of.
prosperity in the world and salvation in the next - by all you hole dear;
solemn, and sacred - I implore you to bestow a father's honourable name upon
the child which I hear in my womb!"
She had thrown herself before him - she grasped his hands -
she bedewed them with her tears - she pressed them against her bosom that was
convulsed with anguish.
"Rise, Ellen - rise," exclaimed Greenwood:
"some one may come - some one may —"
"Never will I rise from this position until your tongue
pronounces my fate!"
"You do not - you cannot mean —"
"That you should marry me!" exclaimed Ellen.
"Yes - that is the prayer which I now offer to you! Oh I if you will but
restore me to the path of honour, I will be your slave. If my presence be an
annoyance to you, I will never see you more from the moment when we quit the
altar: but if you will admit me to your confidence - if you will make me the
partner of your hopes and fears, your joy