“I trust not!” said I, appearing not to
recognize the speaker.
“I trust not!” she repeated, “is
that all!” And then the passionate feelings
of her sex overcoming every other consideration, she
seized me by the hand, and said—“Oh,
Mr. Pelham, for mercy’s sake, tell me is he
in the power of that villain Thornton? you need disguise
nothing from me, I know all the fatal history.”
“Compose yourself, dear, dear Lady Roseville,”
said I, soothingly; “for it is in vain any longer
to affect not to know you. Glanville is safe;
I have brought with me a witness whose testimony must
release him.”
“God bless you, God bless you!” said Lady
Roseville, and she burst into tears; but she dried
them directly, and recovering some portion of that
dignity which never long forsakes a woman of virtuous
and educated mind, she resumed, proudly, yet bitterly—“It
is no ordinary motive, no motive which you might reasonably
impute to me, that has brought me here. Sir Reginald
Glanville can never be any thing more to me than a
friend—but of all friends, the most known
and valued. I learned from his servant of his
disappearance; and my acquaintance with his secret
history enabled me to account for it in the most fearful
manner. In short I—I—but
explanations are idle now; you will never say that
you have seen me here, Mr. Pelham: you will endeavour
even to forget it—farewell.”
Lady Roseville, then drawing her cloak closely round
her, left me with a fleet and light step, and turning
the corner of the street, disappeared.
I returned to my charge, I demanded an immediate interview
with the magistrate. “I have come,”
said I, “to redeem my pledge, and acquit the
innocent.” I then briefly related my adventures,
only concealing (according to my promise) all description
of my help-mate, Job; and prepared the worthy magistrate
for the confession and testimony of Dawson. That
unhappy man had just concluded his narration, when
an officer entered, and whispered the magistrate that
Thornton was in waiting.
“Admit him,” said Mr. _____, aloud. Thornton entered with his usual easy and
swaggering air of effrontery; but no sooner did he set his eyes upon
Dawson, than a deadly and withering change passed over his countenance.
Dawson could not bridle the cowardly petulance of his spite—“They know
all, Thornton!” said he, with a look of triumph. The villain turned
slowly from him to us, muttering something we could not hear. He saw upon
my face, upon the magistrate’s, that his doom was sealed; his desperation
gave him presence of mind, and he made a sudden rush to the door; the
officers in waiting seized him. Why should I detail the rest of the
scene? He was that day fully committed for trial, and Sir Reginald
Glanville honourably released, and unhesitatingly acquitted.
