Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century CostumeYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
English fiction -- 19th century
“So he may seem to you and to my poor infatuated boy, but you see those
crazed persons are full of strange devices and secrets, as indeed we
have already experienced. I see what you would say; he may appear sane
and plausible enough to a stranger, but to those who have known him
ever since his misfortunes, the truth is but too plain. He was harmless
enough as long as he was content to remain secluded in his dark chamber,
but now that I hear he has broken loose, Heaven knows what mischief he
may do. My dear cousin Delavie, you are the prop left to me in these
troubles, with my poor good man in the hands of those cruel pirates,
who may be making him work in chains for all I know,” and the tears came
into her beautiful eyes.
“They will not do that,” said Major Delavie, eager to reassure her; “I
have heard enough of their tricks to know that they keep such game as he
most carefully till they can get a ransom.”
“Your are sure of that!”
“Perfectly. I met an Italian fellow at Vienna who told me how it was all
managed by the Genoese bankers.”
“Ah! I was just thinking that you would be the only person who could be
of use--you who know foreign languages and all their ways. If you could
go abroad, and arrange it for me!”
“If my daughter were restored---” began the Major.
“I see what you would say, and I am convinced that the first step
towards the discovery would be to put Mr. Belamour under restraint, and
separate his black from him. Then one or other of them would speak, and
we might know how she has been played upon.”
“What does your Ladyship suppose then?” asked the Major.
“This is what I imagine. The poor silly maid repents herself and comes
back in search of me. Would that she had found me, her best friend! But
instead of that, she falls in with old Belamour, and he, having by this
time perceived the danger of the perilous masquerade in which he had
involved my unlucky boy, a minor, has mewed her up somewhere, till the
cry should be over.”
“That would be the part of a villain, but scarcely of a madman,” said
Betty dryly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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