Ada, the Betrayed; Or, The Murder at the Old Smithy. A Romance of PassionRymer, James Malcolm
General
Ada, the Betrayed; Or, The Murder at the Old Smithy. A Romance of Passion
Rymer, James Malcolm
English fiction -- 19th century; Penny dreadfuls
house, he created a scarcely less sensation than as if he had been some
petty monarch.
No one liked the dark penetrating eye that scowled around, as if
suspicious of everything and everybody, but there was no absolute stain
upon his character; moreover he was immensely rich, and reported, of
course, to be a great deal richer than he really was, so that when it
became known that he intended to give a series of entertainments,
unequalled in effect and magnificence by any commoner, numbers of old
friends of the family sprung up from all quarters, and had his spacious
halls been ten times as spacious he would have found no difficulty in
filling them with glittering throngs whenever he chose.
Certainly Learmont seemed to be at the height of his ambition. The
possessor of a princely revenue which had been allowed to accumulate,
first by his elder brother, who was a man of frugal habits, for several
years, and then by himself, for a number of years more, until he found
himself possessed of a sum of money in actual cash, which had the
worthy associates, Britton and Gray, but fancied to be a third of its
real amount, would materially have assisted them in putting a high
price upon their services whatever they were.
On the evening of his arrival, Learmont sat alone and silent for a
considerable time in the magnificent library of his mansion; then, when
he could no longer look upon the gorgeous hangings and superb
decorations of the apartment, in consequence of the rapidly darkening
sky, he rung a small silver hand-bell which was immediately answered by
a page, attired in crimson and gold livery, who waited respectfully for
orders.
“Bid my steward,” said Learmont, “with my chamberlain and the officers
of the several departments of my household, attend me with lights. I
will walk through the house.”
The page-bowed and retired.
“Yes,” muttered Learmont, when he was again alone, “I will sate my eyes
with gazing upon the glorious magnificence I have wanted for so long; I
will see the glitter and the beauty of what I have so dearly purchased.
Attended by those who are taught to watch the slightest indication of
my pleasure, I will traverse the stately and gorgeous mansion, which
years since I used to wildly dream might once be mine, and smile when I
awoke to think of the extreme improbability of the vision.”
The door was now thrown open and the same page who had before attended
upon Learmont, respectfully announced that his commands had been
obeyed, and that his servants were in waiting to escort him over his
mansion.
He rose from his seat and strode with a haughty air to the door, “Lead
the way,” he cried, “I’ll follow.”
The servants bowed, and while some preceded him, conveying large wax
lights, others again followed, so that a full glare of light was thrown
upon the path of the proud man, who had purged his very soul for the
purpose of procuring such purchased and empty homage.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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