CHAPTER CXXX.

PERDITA.

A week had elapsed since the arrival of Mrs. and Miss Fitzhardinge in

the great metropolis; and as yet they appeared to be no nearer to an

acquaintanceship with Charles Hatfield than they were on the day when

they first beheld him issue from Lord Ellingham’s mansion;--for that it

was he whom they had seen on the occasion alluded to, the mother had

satisfactorily ascertained.

Indeed, the old woman had not been idle. Every evening, for a couple of

hours, did she watch in the immediate vicinity of the Earl’s dwelling

to obtain an interview with the young man: but he did not appear to go

out after dusk.

Mrs. Fitzhardinge accordingly began to think of changing her tactics,

and endeavouring to catch him in the day-time, when fortune at last

favoured her views;--for on the eighth night of her loiterings in Pall

Mall, she had the satisfaction of seeing him sally forth shortly after

nine o’clock.

Unhesitatingly accosting him, she said, “Mr. Hatfield, will you accord

me your attention for a few moments?”

The young man turned towards her, and beheld a very ugly,

plainly-attired, old lady: he nevertheless answered her respectfully,

because she had addressed him in a manner denoting genteel breeding.

We should observe, too, that she had purposely assumed a humble

apparel on the occasion of these evening watchings, in order to avoid

the chance of attracting the attention of passers-by or policemen, who

would naturally have wondered to see a handsomely apparelled person

thus loitering about.

“Certainly, madam,” replied Charles: “I will listen to any thing you

may have to say to me. Will you walk into the house which I have just

left: ’tis the mansion of the Earl of Ellingham.”

“I know well who lives there, Mr. Hatfield,” answered the old woman;

“and it is precisely because I wish to speak to you alone, that I have

accosted you in the street. Can you pardon such boldness?”

“If your business with me be of importance, madam,” said Charles, “no

apology can be necessary on your part.”

“Yes--my business is indeed of importance,” returned Mrs. Fitzhardinge,

with mysterious emphasis. “But I cannot speak to you here----”

“I have already requested you to accompany me to the house where I am

residing with my relatives and friends,” said Charles, with the least

indication of impatience in his manner.

“And I have already assured you that I am anxious to converse with you

alone,” responded the old woman, nothing daunted. “Do not mistrust

me, sir--do not suppose that I have accosted you for the purpose of

soliciting any assistance of a pecuniary kind----”

“Then, madam, what _do_ you require of me?” asked Charles, hastily.

“Ten minutes’ private conversation--on matters of importance--of deep

importance to yourself!” replied Mrs. Fitzhardinge, as rapidly and as

firmly as the other had spoken: then, before he had time to make any

rejoinder, she added, “For your own sake, Mr. Hatfield--if for no other

consideration--you will accompany me to my own dwelling, which is close

at hand. What! you hesitate? Then continue to cherish the secret grief

which weighs upon your mind----”

“Ah! what did you say?” ejaculated the young man, starting as if a

chord had been touched so as to vibrate to his very heart’s core.

“I mean that if you refuse to accompany me, you will repent the loss of

an opportunity to receive revelations nearly concerning yourself, and

which opportunity may not speedily occur again.”

As Mrs. Fitzhardinge uttered these words, she fixed a strange,

mysterious, and almost ominous look upon Charles Hatfield, who was

bewildered and amazed by her language. The old woman had dealt her

random shots with good effect; and she experienced an inward triumph at

her skill, and a sure conviction of its success.

“Who are you? and what do you know of me?” demanded Charles, breaking

silence abruptly after more than a minute’s pause, and speaking in a

tone of earnestness denoting mingled suspense, wonder, and curiosity.

“My name is Fitzhardinge,” replied the old woman; “and I know

all--every thing concerning you,--aye, much more than you can possibly

suspect. But not another word of explanation will I utter here; and you

may now decide whether you will at once accompany me----”

“I _will_ accompany you, madam,” interrupted Charles Hatfield, in a

decided manner. “In which direction does your abode lie?”

“Five minutes will take us thither,” was the answer.

The old woman and the young gentleman now proceeded in silence towards

Suffolk Street, Pall Mall--the latter wondering who his companion might

be, what she could possibly have to communicate to him, and how she

had acquired the information which she alleged to be so important and

was about to impart. He naturally associated the promised revelations

with the mysterious circumstances which he had so recently fathomed

by means of the letters and manuscripts found in the secret recess of

the library at Lord Ellingham’s mansion;--and yet he was at a loss to

conceive how a Mrs. Fitzhardinge, whose name was entirely strange to

him, could possibly have any connexion with his own family affairs.

At one moment he fancied that the proceeding on her part was nothing

more nor less than a plot to inveigle him to some den for predatory

purposes: for he had heard that London abounded in such horrible

places, and also in persons who adopted every kind of stratagem to

lure the unwary into those fatal snares. But when he considered the

quarter of the great metropolis in which his companion evidently

resided, as she had assured him that her abode was only a few minutes’

walk from the spot where she had first accosted him,--when he again

noticed the respectability of her appearance, and reflected that there

was something superior in her manners, language, and address,--and

lastly, when he remembered that amidst circumstances so complicated

and mysterious as those which regarded his own family, it was highly

possible for that aged female to be interested in them in some way or

another,--he blamed himself for his misgivings, and resolved to see the

end of the adventure.

Scarcely was his mind thus made up, when Mrs. Fitzhardinge turned

into Suffolk Street; and in less than another minute, she knocked in

an authoritative manner at the door of a handsome house. The summons

was instantaneously responded to by a respectable female-servant; and

Charles Hatfield followed the old lady up a wide stair-case lighted

by a lamp which a statue in a niche held in its hand. On reaching the

first landing, Mrs. Fitzhardinge threw open a door, saying, “Walk into

this room, Mr. Hatfield: I will join you in a few moments.”

Charles entered--and the door immediately closed behind him.

The young man found himself in a well-furnished apartment, in which

the light of the wax candles placed upon the mantel was reflected in a

handsome mirror. The atmosphere was rendered perfumed and refreshing by

vases of fresh flowers tastefully disposed around: and on a side-table

stood a large globe filled with the clearest water, in which gold and

silver fish were disporting. The curtains were closed over the windows;

but still the room was cool and the air grateful in that sultry summer

season.

These observations were made at a rapid glance;--and then Charles

Hatfield’s looks were concentrated in the cynosure which instantly

absorbed all interest--all attention. For, half sitting, half reclining

upon the sofa, was a being of such transcendant beauty that never in

the wildest of his dreams had he conceived the like. When reading a

novel or a poem, his imagination had often depicted to itself the

semblance of the heroine--and this mental portraiture was invariably

drawn with the utmost perfection of form and feature which impassioned

and enthusiastic youth could devise. But no flight--no soaring of that

fervid imagination had ever yet idealised such dazzling, brilliant

charms as those which now met his astonished gaze,--charms that

intoxicated while they delighted, and that ravished while they infused

a warm voluptuousness into the soul of the beholder.

And, in sooth, well might Charles Hatfield experience ineffable

feelings and tender emotions as he contemplated the fiend in an angel’s

shape that was half reclining on the sofa; for Perdita was surpassingly

lovely on this occasion! She was attired in a light pink muslin dress,

made very low in the body, so that her neck and shoulders were set

off in all their dazzling whiteness against the deep purple velvet

of the sofa--and her full, swelling, firm bosom was more than half

revealed. Her hair was arranged in long ringlets, glittering like

hyperions, luxuriant, and sweeping those glowing globes that appeared

to heave to their caresses. Her large grey eyes beamed with voluptuous

languor, although a brilliant light shone in the depths of the dark

pupils;--and her vermilion lips, parted with a smile, displayed the

white and even rows of pearls, so faultless in their beauty. The

slightly sun-burnt tinge of her face appeared to be the rich hue of

an Italian complexion--the carnation glow of health, and youth, and

warm blood animating her cheeks. Then her arms were naked,--those arms

which were dazzlingly white, robust, and yet admirably modelled, and

which seemed ready to stretch out and clasp a favoured lover to the

panting breast. One foot was raised on the sofa--the other rested on

an ottoman;--and thus, as Charles Hatfield’s eyes swept the rich and

fine proportions--the undulating contours of that splendid form, it

seemed to him as if a halo of voluptuousness surrounded this enchanting

being--a very perfume of beauty enveloped her in its intoxicating

influence.

She had heard him ascending the stairs--and she had purposely placed

herself in an attitude which should seem as if he had disturbed

her unexpectedly, and thus serve as an apology for the negligent

abandonment of limb which gave to her position an air alike wanton

and lascivious. While she, therefore, affected to gaze on him in

soft surprise, he was intently devouring her with looks of unfeigned

amazement;--and while she still retained that voluptuous attitude as

if unwittingly, he was rivetted to the spot near the door where he had

stopped short on first catching sight of her. This dumb-show on the

part of both,--artificial with her, and real with him,--lasted for

nearly a minute;--and during that time Perdita had an opportunity of

surveying the young man’s handsome appearance with even more searching

scrutiny than when she had seen him in Pall Mall the very day of her

arrival in London,--while, on his side, Charles Hatfield had leisure

to scan a combination of charms such as transcended all his ideal

creations, and which, had he beheld them in a picture, he would have

declared to be impossible of realization.

Again must we observe how different was this elegantly-attired,

captivating creature as she now appeared, from the ragged, way-worn

wanderer that she was when first we introduced her to our readers! But

oh! dangerous--trebly dangerous Perdita,--a snake with the loveliest

skin--a demon with the most heavenly form--utter profligacy in the most

witching guise!

And now the young man, who has been brought within the sphere of this

perilous influence, recovers his self-possession so far as to be able

to stammer forth an apology for what he conceives to be an intrusion

occasioned by some strange mistake.

“No excuse is necessary, sir,” replies Perdita; “The lady whom you

state to have conducted you hither, is my mother; and she has doubtless

sought her chamber for a few minutes to change her attire. Pray be

seated.”

But Charles Hatfield once more stood still--rivetted to the spot,

after having advanced a few paces towards Perdita;--for the sound of

her voice, so sweetly musical--so enchantingly harmonious, appeared to

inspire him with ecstatic emotions and infuse an ineffable delight into

his very soul.

Then Perdita arose from the sofa, and indicating a chair close by,

again invited the young man to be seated,--accomplishing this courtesy

with so ravishing a grace and such a charming smile, that he felt

himself intoxicated--bewildered--enchanted by the magic of her beauty,

the melody of her silver tones, and the soft persuasion of her manner.

For the consciousness of almost superhuman beauty had rendered Perdita

emulative of every art and taught her to study every movement which

might invest her with a winning way and a witching power;--and thus

this singular young woman had acquired a politeness so complete that it

seemed intuitive, and a polish so refined that it appeared to have been

gained by long and unvaried association with the highest classes.

Sinking into the chair thus gracefully offered him, Charles Hatfield

could not take his eyes off the magnificent creature who remained

standing for a few seconds after he was seated; for, affecting to alter

the position of one of the wax candles on the mantel, as if it were too

near the mirror, she placed herself in such an attitude that the young

man might obtain a perfect view of the flowing outlines of her glorious

form,--the splendid arching of the swan-like neck--the luxurious

fulness of the bust--the tapering slenderness of the waist--the

plump and rounded arms--the large, projecting hips--and the finely

proportioned feet and ankles.

The effect thus produced by the artful, designing creature, whose

voluptuous position seemed all natural and all unstudied, was precisely

that which she had intended;--for Charles Hatfield experienced a

delirium of emotions till then unknown--and he felt that he could

almost spring from his seat, catch that bewitching form in his

arms, and, covering her with kisses, exclaim, “Pardon me--but I am

mad--intoxicated--raving with passion!”

“My mother will not be many minutes, sir,” said Perdita, now returning

to her seat upon the sofa; “and in the meantime I must solicit you to

exercise your patience--for I am afraid you will find me but a dull

companion.”

“Impossible!” cried Charles, enthusiastically; then fearing that he had

spoken in too decided and earnest a manner to one who was a perfect

stranger, he added in a more subdued and reserved tone, “But perhaps

I am intruding on your privacy, as I am afraid that when I entered--I

mean, I fear that I--I disturbed you----”

“I certainly was not aware that my mother expected a visitor this

evening,” answered Perdita; “and it is I who should apologise, inasmuch

as you caught me in such a lounging, lazy attitude. But since I have

been in London I have experienced a heaviness in the atmosphere that

engenders indolence--for I have hitherto been accustomed to the

country.”

“Then you have not long resided in London, Miss Fitzhardinge?” said

Charles, hazarding this mode of address with the determination of

ascertaining whether the beautiful young woman were married or single.

“We have only been in this city for one week,” she replied in an

acquiescent way which convinced him that she had not changed the

parental name by means of wedlock--a discovery that infused a secret

glow of pleasure into his very soul, though at the same instant his

heart smote him as if he were already playing a treacherous part in

respect to Lady Frances Ellingham. “No,” continued Perdita, “we have

not long resided in London. Urgent affairs have compelled my mother

to visit the capital; and as our stay is likely to be of considerable

duration, we are about to take a house. For my part, I am not sorry

that we are thus to settle in London: for, in spite of its oppressive

atmosphere, its smoke, and its noise, it has many attractions.”

“You have already seen enough, then, to induce you to prefer London to

the country, Miss Fitzhardinge?” said Charles, now admiring the fine

aquiline profile of which he was suffered to obtain a perfect view, as

Perdita half averted her looks on purpose, though quite in a natural

manner.

“I have seen enough to render me an enthusiastic admirer of your great

city,” she replied, now turning her full countenance upon him, and

smiling so as to display her brilliant teeth: “but I am anxious to

behold more, and my wish cannot very readily be gratified. For, save

our attorney, we have no acquaintances--no friends in London: we are

perfect strangers here--and we cannot very well ask our solicitor to

escort us to the theatre and to those places of amusement which ladies

would hardly choose to visit unless accompanied and protected by a

gentleman.”

“Is it possible that _you_, Miss Fitzhardinge, should have to

experience the want of such a _chaperon_?” demanded Charles Hatfield,

again hurried by his enthusiasm into language too little reserved and

distant for a perfect stranger to address to a young lady:--at least,

so he thought and feared immediately after he had made the observation.

“It is very possible,” replied Perdita, in a mild and almost plaintive

tone. “In the country we had numerous friends; but here----”

And the artful creature, stopping short, stooped down to pick up her

handkerchief as if to apply it to her eyes:--at the same instant

Charles, obeying the impulse of polite attention, bent down also to

save the lady the trouble and perform the little act of courtesy, when

their hair--their very cheeks came in contact,--accidentally as the

confused and bewildered Charles imagined, but intentionally on the part

of the wanton and astute Perdita.

And that contact--Oh! it was thrilling in the extreme; and Charles

Hatfield felt as if his veins ran with liquid fire;--for the perfume

exhaled from the lady’s hair--the velvety feeling of the luxuriant

curls--the softness and the warmth of her carnation cheek--and then the

view which he could not possibly avoid for a moment obtaining of the

glowing breast which her stooping posture completely revealed,--all

this was sufficient to madden him with passion and excite him to a

degree when all self-command becomes nearly impossible. But he still

possessed a sufficiency of mental energy to controul himself; and,

stammering forth an awkward apology, he hurriedly observed, “Would you

not think me too bold, Miss Fitzhardinge, I should be proud to offer my

services as a _chaperon_ to yourself--and your mother,” he added for

decency’s sake.

The instant this offer was made,--made without the least forethought

and in the confusion of the young man’s mind arising from the incidents

just related,--he repented of his rashness: he would have given worlds

to be able to recall the proposal. For, in a moment to his mind flashed

the image of the lovely Lady Frances Ellingham--the reflection that

he was offering his attentions to a young person totally unknown to

him--the remembrance that he had many matters of importance to occupy

his leisure--and the general impression that he had committed himself

in a most singularly foolish and inconsiderate manner.

Perdita saw what was passing in his mind: at least, she perceived that

he repented of the proposal which he had so precipitately made, and

which it had rejoiced her so much to receive;--and she resolved to

conquer his scruples--overcome his repugnance--and confirm him in the

act of vassalage to which her transcendent charms and her wanton arts

had already prompted him.

Laying her soft warm hand upon his, and approaching her countenance so

near to his own that her fragrant breath fanned his cheek, she said,

in a tone apparently of deep emotion, “Mr. Hatfield, this proposal is

so generous--so kind--so unexpected, that I know not how to answer you

otherwise than by expressing my sincere gratitude. And yet--so frankly

have you made the offer, that it would be a miserable affectation on

my part to hesitate or to appear leas candid and open in accepting

it. I _do_ therefore accept it, my dear sir--and with renewed thanks.

And think not that in constituting yourself the friend--for in such a

light must I henceforth consider you--of Miss Fitzhardinge, you are

doing aught derogatory to yourself. No: for my mother is descended from

an old and illustrious family,--a family which has enumerated amongst

its members personages of rank, eminence, and renown;--and should

the Chancery suit which she has come to London to prosecute, result

favourably to her, she will recover an enormous fortune that has been

accumulating for years through remaining in a dormant state.”

While Perdita was delivering this tissue of falsehoods with an air of

the most profound sincerity, she still kept her hand upon that of the

young man--still retained her countenance near his own--and likewise

fixed upon him looks at once languishing, tender, and voluptuous.

Again did he lose all power of sober reflection and, completely

yielding to the influence which the syren had in so short a time

gained over him, he said, “I shall be proud and delighted to act as

your escort, Miss Fitzhardinge. But you just now addressed me by my

name--and yet I thought you were unprepared for my presence here this

evening.”

“I was well aware that my mother wished to see you on particular

business,” said Perdita, having a ready reply for every question that

might be put to her; “and therefore when I saw you enter the room, I

concluded that you must be Mr. Charles Hatfield.”

“And are you acquainted with the nature of the business concerning

which Mrs. Fitzhardinge desired to speak with me?” inquired the young

man, wondering why the old lady did not make her appearance.

“Yes--I am well informed on that subject,” returned Perdita; “but

pray do not ask me to talk to you on business! I detest the very

name! And now perhaps you will consider me a silly--flighty--volatile

creature----”

“I consider you to be an angel of beauty!” exclaimed Charles, unable

to restrain the raptures which hurried him on to this impassioned

ejaculation.

“I was told before I came to London that the gentlemen of the great

metropolis were very fond of paying silly young ladies vain and empty

compliments,” said Perdita, looking with good-humoured archness at her

companion, while her eyes beamed with wickedness and her bosom heaved

visibly.

“Is it the first time that you have been assured of your beauty?” asked

Charles, still carried away by an uncontroullable influence.

“No--not precisely the first,” responded Perdita, with a _naiveté_

so admirably assumed that her companion believed it to be completely

genuine. “There was a young gentleman--or rather a nobleman, but I must

not mention his name--in the country, who offered me his hand;--and he

paid me many very fine compliments.”

“And you accepted the proposal? you are engaged to him?” exclaimed

Charles, with a strange fluttering of the heart.

“Neither the one nor the other,” answered Perdita. “I could not love

him--and therefore I declined the honour. My mother was angry with me,

and talked a great deal about the excellence of the match and so forth:

but I was obstinate--yes, very obstinate, Mr. Hatfield,” she said

archly; “for never--never,” she continued, her tone suddenly becoming

earnest and her manner serious,--“never could I bestow my hand where I

cannot likewise give my heart!”

“And you have resolved wisely, Miss Fitzhardinge!” exclaimed Charles.

“Matrimony without sincere affection can afford no promise of

happiness. But one so beautiful as yourself--impressed too with such

sterling sentiments and harbouring such pure principles--oh, you will

prove indeed a treasure to the man who is fortunate enough to secure

your heart and hand!”

“Again you compliment me, Mr. Hatfield,” said Perdita, looking

down and blushing,--for even her very blushes she could command at

pleasure. “In reference, however, to the observation you have just

made, I should remark that I have never yet met with one of your sex

whom I could comprehend fully and who could understand me. I admire

openness, candour and sincerity,--that generous frankness, too, which

at once establishes friendship and dissipates cold formality. For I

believe that the trammels of ceremonial politeness positively spoil the

heart,--tutoring it to curb its enthusiasm where enthusiasm would be so

natural! I know not how to express myself clearly; but what I mean to

imply is this--that I am a believer in the possibility of friendship at

first sight----”

“And of love at first sight also?” exclaimed Charles Hatfleld, in an

impassioned tone.

“Yes--and of love at first sight also,” repeated Perdita, again hanging

down her head--again commanding a deep blush--and likewise speaking in

a low, melting tone of deep emotion, as she drew a long sigh.

“Was it that possibility of experiencing the feeling of friendship at

first sight, which led you to accept my proposed services as an escort

to the places of public amusement?” enquired Charles.

“Wherefore do you seek thus to probe the secret feelings of my soul?”

asked Perdita, turning upon him a look indicative of mingled pleasure

and amazement.

“Have I offended you by the question, charming lady?” exclaimed Charles.

“Oh! I do not so readily take offence, Mr. Hatfield,” cried Perdita.

“But--frank, candid, and ingenuous though I believe myself to be--I

still have my little feelings of pride, and I could not think of making

an avowal to a gentleman otherwise than as a reciprocity.”

“Then were I to declare sincerely and solemnly--and on my honour as a

man--that it was a sentiment of friendship, experienced at first sight

and according to your own doctrine, which prompted me to offer my

services as a _chaperon_,” said Charles, hastily and enthusiastically,

“would you deign to answer my question?”

“Such a declaration on your part, sir, would necessarily elicit--nay,

demand some kind of a response on mine,” returned the artful beauty,

looking down, and tapping the carpet with her foot in such a manner

that her ankle peeped from beneath her dress, and the young man’s eyes

could catch a glimpse of the exquisitely white skin through the net

work of the dainty silk stocking.

Charles hesitated: an avowal of friendship trembled on his tongue--but

he thought how dangerous such a confession would be--he thought, too,

of Lady Frances Ellingham!

And Perdita again perceived that he hesitated; and instantly had

recourse to a new artifice to display her charms to their utmost

advantage. Stooping down, she affected to arrange the ottoman in the

most convenient manner for her feet;--but, in this attitude which

seemed so natural, ingenuous, and artless, she revealed so much of

the treasures of her bosom that no room was left for imaginings--and

Charles Hatfield felt himself seized with a delirium in which he would

have made over his soul to Satan had such been the price demanded for

the possession of Perdita.

“Miss Fitzhardinge,” he said, his voice almost subdued and his tongue

parched through the maddening fierceness of passion, “on my honour as

a gentleman, I swear that the offer I ere now made you was dictated

by a feeling of friendship! Yes--of a friendship that sprang up in my

soul in a single instant--that took birth in a moment--a friendship

that prompted me to declare how proud and delighted I should be to act

as your escort! For I am candid, frank, and ingenuous as I perceive

_you_ to be,--and I will give you another proof of the existence of

these qualities in respect to myself--even at the risk of offending

you. From the first moment that I set foot in this room until now, I

have experienced emotions such as I never felt before. In my delirium

I apostrophised you as an angel of beauty;--and an angel of beauty

must you indeed be to exercise such prompt--such speedy--such witching

influence as that which has enthralled me. For it appears as if there

were a spell upon me--an enchantment, from which there is no escape.

Sweet lady, pardon me for having spoken thus frankly----”

“I again assure you that I do not very readily take offence,” answered

Perdita: then, laying her hand upon his--for the designing woman sought

to excite him almost to madness--and again approaching her countenance

so near his own that he could look into the depth of her large, wanton

eyes,--she said, “You have made a certain avowal, and you have a

right to expect a candid and unreserved reply from me. Then learn,

Mr. Hatfield, that never should I have accepted your services as a

_chaperon_--never should we have talked thus familiarly--never would

you have been suffered to read so much of my disposition as within the

last hour you have learnt--had not I likewise experienced a feeling of

friendship at first sight for you!”

“Oh! my God--this is happiness so unhoped--so unlooked for--so

unexpected, that I am bewildered-dazzled--amazed!” murmured the young

man, a mist obscuring his brain--and yet a glorious, lustrous, golden

mist through which he seemed to catch glimpses of paradise. “Friendship

did you say, charming lady? Yet is not friendship a dangerous word for

lips like ours to breathe--and a dangerous sentiment for hearts like

ours to feel?”

“You speak as if you were under an apprehension that you are doing

wrong?” said Perdita, in a tone of soft reproach. “Oh! is this

candour and frankness? If you regret that you have pledged me your

friendship--for such I augur of your words--I release you, Mr.

Hatfield, from the bond: nay--I should be too proud to ask you to

adhere to it!”

And now the young man beheld the fascinating woman in a new phasis

of her charms;--for, with that ready versatility of aspect and

demeanour which she had so completely at her command, she suddenly

invested herself with all the majesty of sublime haughtiness;--no

longer melting, tender, wanton, and voluptuous as Venus--but terrible,

domineering, superb, and imperious as Juno,--no longer wearing the

cestus of the Goddess of Love--but grasping, as the Queen of Heaven,

the thunders of Olympian Jove.

Her eyes flashed fire--her cheeks flushed--her nostrils dilated--her

lip curled--her neck arched proudly rather than gracefully--her bosom

heaved as if it would burst the low corsage which only half restrained

it--and her very form seemed to draw itself up into a height, which,

even as she sate and of middling stature as she was, appeared colossal

at that moment to the astounded gaze of the young man.

Never was artifice more successful--never was triumph more complete,

on one side;--never was defeat more signal--never was humiliation more

contrite, on the other. For, overwhelmed as it were by the sovereign

majesty of that anger which he believed himself to have provoked,

Charles Hatfield fell upon his knees before the haughty beauty, and

seizing both her hands in his, he extravagantly devoured them with

kisses, exclaiming, “Pardon--pardon!”

“Yes--yes: it is as frankly accorded as sincerely demanded!” exclaimed

Perdita, not offering to withdraw her hands from the lips which were

now glued to them: and in an instant her whole manner and appearance

changed again--and when Charles Hatfield ventured to look up into the

syren’s face, he saw her bending over him with cheeks flushed it is

true, but not by anger--and with eyes that seemed to swim in wanton,

liquid languor.

Rising from his suppliant posture, and now taking a seat by the side

of Perdita on the sofa,--relinquishing her hands at the same time,

for fear of giving offence by retaining them,--the infatuated young

man, drunk with passion, said in a low murmuring tone, “We have not

been acquainted more than one hour, and we have exchanged vows of

friendship--is it not so?”

“Yes--if you do not repent now, and never will repent of that pledge on

your part,” answered the dangerous young woman, who thus conducted her

designing machinations with such consummate skill.

“No--never, never!” cried Hatfield. “And now we know each other as well

as if we had been intimate since our infancy! To you, then, henceforth

I am _Charles_; and you are to me----”

“_Perdita_,” said she.

“Oh! beautiful--singular--and yet ominous name!” exclaimed the young

gentleman. “Yes--you are my friend--my dear friend Perdita! And now,

Perdita, I will avail myself of this romantic yet not the less sincere

friendship that is established between us, to ask you what caprice or

fancy gave you so remarkable a Christian name?”

“Because in my infancy--shortly after my birth, and before I was

baptised--I was lost,--or rather stolen by gipsies,” answered Perdita,

investing herself and her history with as much of the charm of

mysticism as possible: “and when I was recovered from the kidnappers by

my parents, they christened me Perdita--or THE LOST ONE.”

“Every thing connected with you seems to be imbued with deep and

enthralling interest, my dear friend,” said Charles: “a supernatural

halo appears to surround you! Your beauty is of a nature so superior

to aught of female loveliness that I ever before beheld--your voice

has something so indescribably melting and musical that it awakens

echoes in the inmost recesses of the soul--your history is strange,

wild, and impressive in its very commencement--your disposition

is characterised by a frankness and candour so generous that it

inspires and reciprocates profound friendship the instant it meets a

kindred spirit--and then there is about you a something so witching,

so captivating, so enchanting, that the best and most virtuous of

men would lose all sense of duty, did you--sweet syren that you

are--undertake to lead them astray.”

“If I have indeed found a kindred spirit in you, Charles,” said

Perdita, taking his hand and pressing it as if in grateful and innocent

rapture to her heaving bosom--an act which only tended to inflame the

young man almost to madness,--“I shall have gained that which I have

long sought, and never yet found. For my heart has hitherto been as

complete a stranger to a sincere friendship as to love! When I spoke

ere now of our friends in the country, I meant those acquaintances whom

custom denominates by the other title.”

“Perdita--my friend Perdita, the amity that we have pledged each other

shall be eternal!” exclaimed Charles, in an impassioned tone.

“And you will return to visit me to-morrow?” said the young woman, her

fine grey eyes beaming with an unsettled lustre, as if the mingled

voluptuousness of day and night met in those splendid, eloquent orbs.

“Yes--oh! yes!” cried Charles, as if it were unnecessary to have asked

the question. “And now I shall leave you, Perdita: I shall depart to

feast my imagination on the pleasures of this interview.”

Thus speaking, the young man pressed Perdita’s hand to his lips, and

hurried from the room, intoxicated with a delirium of bliss, and

scarcely conscious of where he was or whither he was going.