Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire by William Harrison Ainsworth (recommended books to read .TXT) 📕

"I cannot—I cannot," rejoined Amabel. "He is perfidy itself. But is Mistress Mallet very beautiful, doctor?"

"Very beautiful, and very rich," he replied, "and the earl is desperately in love with her. I heard him declare laughingly to the king, that if she would not consent to marry him, he would carry her off."

"Just what he said to me," exclaimed Amabel—"perjured and faithless that he is!"

"Harp on that string, doctor," whispered Mrs. Bloundel. "You understand her feelings exactly."

"Strangely enough," pursued the doctor, who, having carefully examined the miniature, had opened the back of the case, and could not repress a smile at what he beheld—"strangely enough, this very picture will convince you of the earl's inconstancy. It was evidently designed for Mistress Mallet, and, as she would not accept it, transferred to you."

"How do you know this, sir?" inquired Amabel, in a mortified tone.

"Hear what is written within it," answered Hodges, laying the open case before her, and reading as follows: "'To the sole possessor of his heart, the fair Mistress Mallet, this portrait is offered by her devoted slave—ROCHESTER.' 'The sole possessor of his heart!' So you have no share in it, you perceive, Amabel. 'Her devoted slave!' Is he your slave likewise? Ha! ha!"

"It is his writing," cried Amabel. "This note," she added, producing a billet, "is in the same hand. My eyes are indeed open to his treachery."

"I am glad to hear it," replied Hodges, "and if I can preserve you from the snares of this noble libertine, I shall rejoice as much as in curing your brother of the plague. But can you rely upon yourself, in case the earl should make another attempt to see you?"

"I can," she averred confidently.

"In that case there is nothing to apprehend," rejoined Hodges; "and I think it better on many accounts not to mention the subject to your father. It would only distract his mind, and prevent him from duly discharging the painful task he has undertaken. Were I in your place, Amabel, I would not only forget my present perfidious lover, but would instantly bestow my affections on some worthy person."

"It would gladden me if she would do so," said Mrs. Bloundel.

"There is your father's apprentice, Leonard Holt, a good-looking, well-grown lad," pursued the doctor; "and I much mistake if he is insensible to your attractions."

"I am sure he loves her dearly, doctor," replied Mrs. Bloundel. "He is as well-principled as well-looking. I have never had a fault to find with him since he came to live with us. It will rejoice me, and I am sure would not displease my husband, to see our child united to Leonard Holt."

"Well, what say you, Amabel?" asked Hodges. "Can you give him a hope?"

"Alas, no!" replied Amabel; "I have been deceived once, but I will not be deceived a second time. I will never wed."

"So every woman says after her first disappointment," observed Hodges; "but not one in ten adheres to the resolution. When you become calmer, I would recommend you to think seriously of Leonard Holt."

At this moment, a tap was heard at the door, and opening it, the doctor beheld the person in question.

"What is the matter?" cried Hodges. "I hope nothing is amiss."

"Nothing whatever," replied Leonard, "but my master wishes to see you before you leave the house."

"I will go to him at once," replied the doctor. "Good day, Mrs. Bloundel. Take care of your daughter, and I hope she will take care of herself. We have been talking about you, young man," he added in a low tone to the apprentice, "and I have recommended you as a husband to Amabel."

"There was a time, sir," rejoined Leonard, in a tone of deep emotion, "when I hoped it might be so, but that time is past."

"No such thing," replied the doctor. "Now is the time to make an impression. Her heart is on the rebound. She is satisfied of her lover's treachery. Her mother is on your side. Do not neglect the present opportunity, for another may not arrive." With this he pushed Leonard into the room, and, shutting the door upon him, hurried downstairs.

"You have arrived at a seasonable juncture, Leonard," observed Mrs. Bloundel, noticing the apprentice's perplexity, and anxious to relieve it. "We have just discovered that the person calling himself Maurice Wyvil is no other than the Earl of Rochester."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Leonard.

"Yes, indeed," returned Mrs. Bloundel. "But this is not all. Amabel has promised to forget him, and I have urged her to think of you."

"Amabel," said Leonard, advancing towards her, and taking her hand, "I can scarcely credit what I hear. Will you confirm your mother's words?"

"Leonard," returned Amabel, "I am not insensible to your good qualities, and no one can more truly esteem you than I do. Nay, till I unfortunately saw the Earl of Rochester, whom I knew not as such, I might have loved you. But now I cannot call my heart my own. I have not the affection you deserve to bestow upon you. If I can obliterate this treacherous man's image from my memory—and Heaven, I trust, will give me strength to do so—I will strive to replace it with your own."

"That is all I ask," cried Leonard, dropping on his knee before her, and pressing his lips to her hand.

"Nothing would make me happier than to see you united, my children," said Mrs. Bloundel, bending affectionately over them.

"And I would do anything to make you happy, dear mother," replied Amabel, gently withdrawing her hand, from that of the apprentice.

"Before I leave you," said Leonard, rising, "I must give you this note. I found it lying before your chamber door as I passed this morning. How it came there I know not, but I can give a shrewd guess as to the writer. I ought to tell you, that but for what has just occurred, I should not have delivered it to you."

"It is from Wyvil—I mean Rochester," said Amabel, taking the note with a trembling hand.

"Let me see it, child," cried Mrs. Bloundel, snatching it from her, and breaking the seal. "Insolent!" she exclaimed, as she cast her eyes over it. "I can scarcely contain my indignation. But let him cross my path again, and he shall find whether I cannot resent such shameful usage."

"What does he say, dear mother?" asked Amabel.

"You shall hear," replied Mrs. Bloundel, "though I blush to repeat his words: 'Amabel, you are mine. No one shall keep you from me. Love like mine will triumph over all obstacles!'—Love like his, forsooth!" she remarked; "let him keep such stuff as that for Mistress Mallet, or his other mistresses. But I will go on: 'I may be foiled ninety-nine times, but the hundredth will succeed. We shall soon meet again. 'MAURICE WYVIL.'"

"Never!" cried Amabel. "We will never meet again. If he holds me thus