Cruikshank, George, 1792-1878; Illustration of books -- Great Britain -- 19th century; Watercolor painting, British
‘You put yourself beyond its pale,’ said the gentleman. ‘The past
has been a dreary waste with you, of youthful energies mis-spent,
and such priceless treasures lavished, as the Creator bestows but
once and never grants again, but, for the future, you may hope. I
do not say that it is in our power to offer you peace of heart and
mind, for that must come as you seek it; but a quiet asylum, either
in England, or, if you fear to remain here, in some foreign country,
it is not only within the compass of our ability but our most
anxious wish to secure you. Before the dawn of morning, before this
river wakes to the first glimpse of day-light, you shall be placed
as entirely beyond the reach of your former associates, and leave
as utter an absence of all trace behind you, as if you were to
disappear from the earth this moment. Come! I would not have you go
back to exchange one word with any old companion, or take one look
at any old haunt, or breathe the very air which is pestilence and
death to you. Quit them all, while there is time and opportunity!’
‘She will be persuaded now,’ cried the young lady. ‘She hesitates, I
am sure.’
‘I fear not, my dear,’ said the gentleman.
‘No sir, I do not,’ replied the girl, after a short struggle. ‘I am
chained to my old life. I loathe and hate it now, but I cannot leave
it. I must have gone too far to turn back,--and yet I don’t know,
for if you had spoken to me so, some time ago, I should have laughed
it off. But,’ she said, looking hastily round, ‘this fear comes over
me again. I must go home.’
‘Home!’ repeated the young lady, with great stress upon the word.
‘Home, lady,’ rejoined the girl. ‘To such a home as I have raised
for myself with the work of my whole life. Let us part. I shall be
watched or seen. Go! Go! If I have done you any service all I ask
is, that you leave me, and let me go my way alone.’
‘It is useless,’ said the gentleman, with a sigh. ‘We compromise her
safety, perhaps, by staying here. We may have detained her longer
than she expected already.’
‘Yes, yes,’ urged the girl. ‘You have.’
‘What,’ cried the young lady, ‘can be the end of this poor
creature’s life!’
‘What!’ repeated the girl. ‘Look before you, lady. Look at that dark
water. How many times do you read of such as I who spring into the
tide, and leave no living thing, to care for, or bewail them. It may
be years hence, or it may be only months, but I shall come to that
at last.’
‘Do not speak thus, pray,’ returned the young lady, sobbing.
‘It will never reach your ears, dear lady, and God forbid such
horrors should!’ replied the girl. ‘Good-night, good-night!’
The gentleman turned away.
‘This purse,’ cried the young lady. ‘Take it for my sake, that you
may have some resource in an hour of need and trouble.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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