“If so,” said I, “adieu, indeed!—for on this earth we shall never meet again!”
We returned to—Street. As I was descending from the coach, a female, wrapped from head to foot in a cloak, came eagerly up to me, and seized me by the arm. “For God’s sake,” said she, in a low, hurried voice, “come aside, and speak to me for a single moment.” Consigning Dawson to the sole charge of the officer, I did as I was desired. When we had got some paces down the street, the female stopped. Though she held her veil closely drawn over her face, her voice and air were not to be mistaken: I knew her at once. “Glanville,” said she, with great agitation, “Sir Reginald Glanville! tell me, is he in real danger?” She stopped short—she could say no more.
“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.