CHAPTER CLIX.

MRS. MORTIMER’S ADVENTURES CONTINUED.

The individual alluded to was a man of middle height, of rather spare

form, and slightly bowed--so that although his years in reality had

scarcely numbered sixty, a casual beholder might have pronounced

him to be above seventy. A closer observation would, however, have

dispelled this first impression; for his features were handsome and

well-preserved, his teeth remarkably fine, and his hands entirely free

from those wrinkles which usually appear upon the fingers of persons

in the winter of their existence. His hair was of that iron grey which

showed that it still retained a faint shade of its former blackness;

and baldness had not even begun to rob him of any part of that natural

covering. He wore no whiskers; and his countenance was smooth, but

pale. In a word, his frame still preserved much of its pristine vigour;

though its spareness and the slightly curved back were calculated, as

above mentioned, to impress a casual observer with the idea that the

individual whom we are describing was older than in reality he was.

We have said that his features were handsome; and we should now

state that their general expression was pleasing, conciliating, and

agreeable. Amiability of disposition, generosity of heart, and an

acquaintance with affliction, were easily read upon that calm, pensive

countenance; but, commingled therewith, was an air of serene dignity

which bespoke a consciousness of some kind of superiority--whether of

rank, wealth, or intellect, could not, however, be immediately decided

by the observer. At all events, the person whom we have now introduced

to our readers was not one to be passed by with indifference, nor

confounded with the ordinary mass of mankind. We must, however, explain

that he was rather characterised by a distinguished air of good

breeding and consummate politeness than by aristocratic hauteur; at the

same time there was so much dignity and loftiness about him as to debar

even the most obtrusive and unceremonious from taking advantage of that

blandness of disposition which was expressed by the countenance. We

have only to add that he was dressed with taste, if not elegance; and

the reader has before him as perfect a picture as we can draw of the

personal appearance of the individual who now entered the parlour of

the cottage.

The moment he had crossed the threshold of the room, Agnes sprang

towards him, saying, “My dearest father, I am delighted to see you! But

let me hope that nothing unpleasant has caused this late visit.”

And, as she spoke, she embraced with almost infantine tenderness the

parent who affectionately returned her caresses.

“Nothing unpleasant, my dear child,” was the reply; and then the young

maiden’s father cast an enquiring glance towards Mrs. Mortimer.

“This lady,” said Agnes, “is the widow of a General who recently died

in India; and, having herself occupied the cottage many years ago, she

felt anxious, on her return to England, to visit the place which had so

many pleasing and some melancholy associations for her.”

“The lady is most welcome,” observed the gentleman; “and her name----”

“Is Mrs. Mortimer,” added Agnes: then, with ingenuous affability, she

said, turning to the old woman, “Madam, permit me to introduce my

beloved father, Mr. Vernon.”

But Mr. Vernon bowed coldly, and even eyed the visitor suspiciously, as

he observed, “I was not aware that any General-officer bearing the name

of Mortimer had recently died in India.”

“My deceased husband,” said the old woman, with admirable presence of

mind, “was not in the English service. He was in that of the Honourable

East India Company.”

“I was not aware,” repeated Mr. Vernon, still in the same chilling

tone, “that there were General-officers in the service of the East

India Company. Madam,” he continued, now fixing his gaze sternly upon

her, “wherefore have you come hither?--on what pretence have you

intruded yourself upon the sacred privacy of my daughter?”

“The motive was the one which Miss Vernon has explained to you, sir,”

replied Mrs. Mortimer, whose self-possession had been for a few moments

considerably disturbed by the confident manner in which the young

lady’s father had exposed her second falsehood.

“Then, if that motive were really the true one, madam,” he said, his

sternness again changing to freezing politeness, “your object is

probably gained by this time; and, as it is now ten o’clock, you will

perhaps have the kindness to leave me with my daughter.”

“Oh! assuredly, sir,” exclaimed Mrs. Mortimer, glad of an opportunity

to escape from the house; and Mr. Vernon, with constrained courtesy,

hastened to open the door to afford her egress.

The old woman breathed more freely when she was once more outside the

walls of the cottage; for the sudden advent of the young maiden’s

father had not a little embarrassed, even if it had not altogether

discomfited her.

But no sooner was she in the open air, when she began to ask herself a

thousand questions as she retraced her way up the lane.

What meant the mystery which evidently hung around the present occupant

of the cottage?--wherefore did that charming creature dwell there

alone?--why was her father only a visitor, instead of being a resident

at his daughter’s abode?--and for what aim, or through what motive, was

so fair a flower buried in such seclusion?

That Agnes was indeed the pure, innocent, artless creature which she

appeared to be, the old crone was sure. Too well acquainted with the

world was Mrs. Mortimer not to perceive that the ingenuous _naïveté_ of

the young girl was real and natural, and not artificial and assumed.

For an instant the impure imagination of the wretch had suggested

that Miss Vernon might only be the pensioned mistress of some wealthy

individual; but in another moment that hypothesis was altogether

discarded. No: Agnes was not tainted with even the slightest--faintest

shade of immorality: her mind was innocence itself--and her chastity as

unblemished as the driven snow. Even the old woman, whose life had been

so tremendously dissolute, was compelled to embrace this conviction;

but the very experience which she herself had gained in the sphere

of licentiousness, dissimulation, and guile, helped Mrs. Mortimer to

arrive at that unquestionable conclusion.

Who and what, then, was Agnes Vernon;--who and what was her father?

Mrs. Mortimer was a person having an eye to her own individual

advantage in every circumstance which, coming under her cognisance,

seemed to present a chance of affording scope for her selfish,

interested, sinister interference. Wherever a mystery appeared, there

she beheld an opportunity for her officious meddling: this officious

meddling led to the discovery of secrets and to the eliciting of

revelations:--and the information thus gleaned became a sort of

marketable commodity with Mrs. Mortimer. In a word, she would seek

to gain the confidence of those who had matters of importance to

communicate, so that she might subsequently render herself so useful

as to deserve payment, or at all events acquire the position of one

who could exact a good price for her secresy respecting the things so

imprudently entrusted to her.

Calculations in accordance with this disposition on her part, and

having reference to the cottage which she had just left, were passing

in her mind as she sped along the lane,--when, midway in that narrow

thoroughfare, she was overtaken by some one who had hurried after her,

but whose footsteps she had not heard, in the pre-occupation of her

thoughts, until they were close behind her.

She stepped--turned round--and beheld, by the bright starlight, a tall

young gentleman, apparently handsome so far as she could distinguish

his features, and dressed in an elegant style.

“Pardon me, my good woman,” said he, “for addressing you; but observing

that you came from the cottage yonder----”

“Yes, sir--I did,” interrupted Mrs. Mortimer, who, in her eagerness

to learn the motive of the young gentleman’s accosting her, gave him

encouragement to proceed.

“Tell me,” said he, speaking with an equal impatience,--“tell me--do

you know the beautiful creature who dwells in that seclusion? But

of course you must know her--you have been there--perhaps in her

company----”

“I have only just left her presence,” observed Mrs. Mortimer.

“And you are well acquainted with her, then?” cried the young

gentleman, eagerly.

“Perfectly well,” was the answer. “But wherefore these questions?”

“Oh! if I could trust you!” ejaculated the stranger, in a tone that

alike proffered and invited confidence.

“You can--you may,” said the old woman, impressively.

“If I were assured of that, I would reward you well,” was his next

remark.

“How can I prove that I am trustworthy?” demanded Mrs. Mortimer.

“By telling me all you know concerning the beauteous creature who

resides in that strange seclusion,” responded the young gentleman.

“Then you yourself know nothing of her or of her affairs?” said the old

woman, interrogatively.

“Nothing--absolutely nothing--save and except that she is the most

lovely being that mortal eyes ever beheld!”

“You are not even aware that she has resided there for these three

years past?” observed Mrs. Mortimer, assuming a mysterious tone as if

about to become more communicative.

“Yes--that fact I have learnt,” replied the young gentleman; “and

also that her name is Agnes Vernon. I have moreover ascertained that

an elderly gentleman visits her occasionally;--and I have sometimes

harboured the worst fears----But, no--no,” he exclaimed, suddenly

interrupting himself and speaking in an impassioned tone: “such

suspicions are no doubt foully injurious to that charming creature! I

have contemplated her, myself being unseen, for hours together when she

has been walking in her garden,--and purity, innocence, artlessness

are written upon her spotless brow--traced in every lineament of her

bewitching countenance. Oh! If I could only obtain the assurance that

the old man who thus visits her were a relation--a guardian--or a

valued friend,--that he is nothing more to her than----”

“I can relieve you of this suspense, sir,” said Mrs. Mortimer, “and

thereby give you a proof of my readiness to assist you. The elderly

gentleman whom you have seen visiting at that cottage, and who indeed

is there at this moment----”

“Yes--yes--I saw him enter,” exclaimed the young man, impatiently. “But

who is he?”

“Her father!” answered Mrs. Mortimer.

“Her father!” repeated the stranger. “Oh! that is scarcely probable!

You are deceiving me:--you are pretending to give me explanations

relative to mysteries which are likewise enigmas to you,--or you are

purposely deluding me! Her father!--impossible! What--would a parent

leave his daughter--and that daughter so transcendently lovely--to

dwell in such utter seclusion----”

“Such is indeed the case, sir,” interrupted Mrs. Mortimer; “and I have

little cause to thank you for thus boldly and even insolently accusing

me of wilfully deceiving you.”

And, as she thus spoke, the old woman moved rapidly away, well knowing

that the young gentleman would not part with her in this manner.

“Stop one minute--stay--I beseech you--and pardon me!” he exclaimed,

hastening after her. “I was wrong to address you in such a style:

I insulted you grossly--and I crave your forgiveness. But I was

bewildered with the intelligence you gave me: mingled joy and surprise

deprived me, as it were, of my reason. I imagined the information to be

too welcome and too extraordinary to be true!”

“And yet you ere now sought to persuade yourself that Agnes Vernon

was chaste and pure, though you were then ignorant of the connexion

subsisting between herself and the elderly gentleman who visits her--a

connexion which, previously to the explanation I have given you, must

at least have appeared suspicious, and calculated to raise the most

serious misgivings in your breast.”

“I admit that my conduct is most inconsistent,” exclaimed the young

gentleman, in answer to these reproachful words: “but I love Agnes

Vernon--I adore her--I worship the very ground upon which she

treads----”

“And you have never yet spoken to her?” asked the old woman.

“I have never dared to intrude myself so far upon her notice,” was the

reply: “and yet she has seen me frequently in the neighbourhood----”

“But she never gave you the least encouragement, sir,” interrupted Mrs.

Mortimer, as if making an assertion, instead of throwing out a remark

for the sake of gleaning information.

“Never--never!” exclaimed the young man; “and therefore did I think

so well of her character, in spite of the suspicious circumstances

attending her seclusion.”

“You have, then, the vanity to suppose that if the beautiful Agnes

could have smiled upon any man, you were destined to be that happy

one;”--and, as Mrs. Mortimer made this remark, her voice assumed a

somewhat caustic tone.

“Oh! you have misunderstood my words,” cried the stranger. “I intended

to have you infer that I had never seen any thing in the demeanour and

deportment of Agnes Vernon save what is becoming to a young lady of

good birth, genteel breeding, and taintless soul. At the same time,” he

added, proudly, “I flatter myself that there is nothing particularly

disagreeable in my personal appearance, as there is assuredly

everything favourable in my social position. But of _this_ Agnes is

ignorant; and I am desirous to obtain an interview with her--or to

write to her in a respectful manner----”

“And what has hitherto prevented you from doing either?” asked Mrs.

Mortimer.

“I have already told you that I dared not accost her. Often and often

have I longed to burst through the green hedge which has concealed me

from her view, and throw myself at her feet: but an invisible hand

has restrained me--and I have experienced a species of awe for which

I could not account, and which has made me feel as if I were in the

vicinity of a goddess. Then, as to writing to her,” continued the

impassioned young man, “I was once bold enough to commit a few words to

paper--and I endeavoured to persuade the young servant-girl to give the

note to her mistress.”

“And she treated you with contempt,” said Mrs. Mortimer, anticipating

the fate of the _billet_ from the fact that Jane, the pretty domestic,

had so indignantly rejected her own proffer of five shillings.

“You have guessed rightly--and now I am more than ever convinced

that you are well acquainted with the honest, upright, disinterested

character of the dwellers in that cottage,” said the young gentleman.

Mrs. Mortimer remained silent for a few minutes. She was absorbed in

thought. Should she enter into this new affair which seemed almost to

force itself upon her? or had she not enough already upon her hands?

She had promised to rejoin her daughter Laura by a particular day in

Paris; and there was not much time to lose. Nevertheless, she had

a good week, or even more, at her disposal--providing that she was

speedily successful in tracing out Torrens; and, all things duly

considered, she fancied that she might as well undertake a business

which promised remuneration, and which would probably place her in a

condition to learn secrets and dive into mysteries, a knowledge of

which might prove serviceable in the hands of such an intriguing,

mercenary disposition as her own. Moreover, the larger were her own

special resources, the greater was her independence in respect to her

rebellious daughter; and therefore, after a short interval passed in

deep reflection, she said, “Sir, I am both ready and able to serve you.

But my time is precious now, and will be so for a short time to come.

Five days hence I will attend to any appointment that you may name.”

[Illustration]

“I will give you my card,” said the young gentleman: “and I shall

expect you to call upon me in the evening of the fifth day from this

date.”

“Agreed!” ejaculated the old woman, as she received the card. “My

name is Mortimer; and, although you do not address me as becomes my

position, I can assure you that I am a lady by birth, education,

and----”

She was about to say “conduct;” but the young gentleman, interrupted

her timeously enough, though unwittingly on his part, to prevent her

giving utterance to the atrocious lie;--for he observed, as he thrust

his purse into her hand, “Pardon me, madam, if I have not behaved

courteously towards you: but I presume that your circumstances are not

as flourishing as they ought to be, and gold is no object to me. Five

days hence we meet: till then, farewell.”

And, without waiting for any reply, he hurried away.

Mrs. Mortimer followed along the lane not with any purpose of watching

him, but simply because her own route lay in the same direction. The

echoes of his retreating steps, however, soon died in the distance; and

the old woman sped along until she reached that public-house where,

as the reader may remember, Tom Rain and Clarence Villiers met on the

night of the elopement nearly twenty years before.

Approaching the window, whence a bright glare streamed forth, Mrs.

Mortimer examined the card that had been placed in her hands, and, to

her astonishment, found that the hero of her most recent adventure was

Lord William Trevelyan, and that his residence was in Park Square.

She knew enough of the English peerage to be well aware that the

nobleman whom chance had thus thrown in her way was the second son of

the Marquis of Curzon, a peer of immense wealth, and who permitted

his three male children--all fine young men--to enjoy each a separate

establishment for himself, for which purpose he allowed them handsome

incomes.

Mrs. Mortimer was therefore well pleased at the encounter which she had

that evening made; and in more ways than one was she rejoiced at having

visited the cottage in the neighbourhood of Streatham,--especially as

the purse which Lord William had given her contained thirty guineas.

An omnibus passing at this moment, the old woman entered the vehicle,

and alighted in the Borough. She was speeding homeward--that is to say,

to the coffee-house where she had fixed her temporary abode--when,

as she was threading a narrow street that offered her a short cut to

the place of destination, she was suddenly struck by the certainty

that a man who was walking slowly in advance, and whom she had nearly

overtaken, was neither more nor less than the object of her search!

For, as he had turned to cast a rapid, stealthy glance around, the

light of a lamp had beamed fully upon his countenance;--and that

countenance, altered though it were, was too well known to the old

woman not to be immediately recognised.

Yes: there indeed was Torrens,--there--in her power--within a few

paces of her;--and thus had accident once more materially served his

malignant, evil-intentioned pursuer.

Mrs. Mortimer was so excited by this sudden discovery, that she was

compelled to pause for a moment and lean against a wall for support.

But, almost immediately afterwards recovering her energy and presence

of mind, she hastened on, and came near enough up with Torrens to

behold him enter a house of mean and miserable appearance.

“Now you are in my power!” muttered the old woman to herself, but in

reality apostrophising the individual who was still her husband: and,

without another moment’s hesitation, she knocked at the door of the

dwelling.

Some minutes elapsed before it was opened; and at length a dirty,

slipshod drab of a girl made her appearance.

“I wish to speak to the man who has just entered here,” said Mrs.

Mortimer, unceremoniously pushing her way into the narrow, dark, and

unpleasantly smelling passage.

“Oh! you means old Mr. Smith what lives down stairs, I des say,”

observed the girl.

“I have no doubt of it,” returned Mrs. Mortimer, officiously closing

the street-door. “Come, my dear, show me the way--and I will give you

sixpence for yourself.”

This promise acted like magic upon the girl, who forthwith fetched a

lighted candle from a room opening from the passage, and conducted the

old woman to a precipitate flight of steps, down which she pointed,

saying, “There--right at the bottom: the door faces you.”

Mrs. Mortimer placed the promised gratuity in her hand, and the girl

held the candle high up to light her as she descended.

“That will do, my dear,” said the old woman when she had reached the

last step of the dangerous flight; and the girl disappeared, leaving

the place in utter darkness.

Before the candle had been thus removed, however, Mrs. Mortimer had

hastily reconnoitred the locality; and, applying her hand to a latch,

she opened a door, and in another moment found herself in the presence

of her husband!