"The Marquis came no more to my house;—I saw by the newspapers that he had returned to London, a few weeks after the sad incidents just described;—again I sought an interview with him, but he would neither see nor correspond with me. My other patrons deserted me: they had been introduced by the Marquis; and, finding that he had some private reason to shun me, they fell off rapidly. I was compelled to break up my establishment: it ruined me in pocket, as it had ruined many, many young females in virtue. But for none of my victims did I reck—no, not one, save Harriet Markham.
"I fell gradually lower and lower in the scale of my avocations; but still I contrived to gain a living in various ways which have no connexion with the object of this narrative. It was about a year after the sad events above recorded, that I one day met Harriet Wilmot face to face in the neighbourhood of Bloomsbury. She was poorly clad and sickly in appearance; and her countenance was expressive of profound mental dejection. She held a letter in her hand; but she had not her child with her; and she was hurrying rapidly along—most probably to the post-office. 'Harriet!' I exclaimed, catching her by the hand.—She started at being thus accosted; but the moment her eyes fell on my countenance, she shuddered visibly, and cried out, 'You!'—then she darted away as if in affright, dropping the letter upon the pavement. For some moments I was so stupefied by her abrupt flight, that I stood as it were paralyzed. But seeing the letter upon the pavement, I recovered the use of my limbs, and hastened to pick it up. It was addressed 'To the Marquis of Holmesford, Holmesford House.' I hurried away with it, saying to myself, 'Now I shall discover how far the connexion between Harriet and the Marquis went.'—But I was disappointed: the letter merely contained, as far as I can remember, these words:—'I ought not to address your lordship, under the peculiar—the distressing circumstances which made us acquainted; but necessity compels me to appeal to your lordship's bounty. It is not for myself, however, that I implore your aid; but for the sake of my child, who is starving! Oh! my lord, if you only knew what the feelings of a mother are when she beholds her infant shrieking for food, and turning its eyes towards her countenance in so piteous a manner that they speak the language of famine far more eloquently than its tongue could possibly do, were it able to express its wants in words,—if you could understand these feelings, you would not think ill of me because I thus appeal to your bounty!'—An address was given in an obscure street in Bloomsbury; and the letter was signed 'Harriet Wilmot.'
"Again I felt for that poor creature, who was now reduced, with her poor infant of fifteen months old, to such a state of penury; and I do not say it to render myself less despicable than I must appear in the eyes of those who may peruse this narrative,—but I merely state it as a fact, that I hastened home, gathered together the few shillings which I possessed, and hurried off to the address mentioned in Harriet's letter. But when I reached the house indicated, I learnt from the landlady that Mrs. Wilmot had suddenly departed half an hour before. 'She was very poor,' observed the woman; 'but she was honest. She strove hard to maintain herself with her needle, and starved herself to feed her infant. She thought herself quite happy when she earned five shillings in a week. Night after night did the poor creature sit up till she was nearly blind, toiling constantly at her work. And when she went away so suddenly just now, she offered me her shawl in payment of the little arrears of rent due. My God! I would sooner have given her all I had than have taken a rag from her! Ah!' added the woman, wiping her eyes, 'there's something very wrong somewhere in the country when such good mothers are allowed to die by inches through sheer famine!'
"I went away, very miserable. I felt convinced that Harriet, when she perceived she had lost her letter, suspected that it might fall into my hands, and that I should thereby learn her place of abode. And it was clear that she had departed so abruptly to avoid me! I have kept that letter—as well as all the others to which I refer in my history.
"As nearly as I can recollect, two years and three quarters passed away; and I again saw Harriet. It was in the month of January, about noon on a bitter cold day; and I was walking through Long Acre, when I suddenly perceived her enter a house, which was evidently let in lodgings to poor families. She did not observe me; but I felt a violent longing to make my peace, if possible, with that unfortunate victim of my treachery. The door stood open for the accommodation of the various inmates; and I hurried up the staircase. I heard footsteps before me—and I followed them to the very top of the house: then I caught a glimpse of Harriet entering a back garret. I advanced to the door, and knocked gently. Harriet immediately opened it; but when she beheld me, she recoiled with such an expression of horror and alarm upon her death-like countenance, that I was dreadfully embarrassed. 'My dear friend,' I said, at length: 'pray—in the name of heaven! hear me!'—'You!' she cried, in that shrieking kind of tone which had marked her utterance of the word when we met before, and which showed her utter abhorrence of me—a sentiment I well deserved: 'hear you! Oh! no—no!'—and she closed the door violently. I knew not how to act. I felt convinced that she had never communicated with Mr. Markham since the period when he made that mysterious but 'terrible discovery' to which he alluded in his letter that fell into my hands. I thought I would acquaint her with the existence of that letter and the nature of its contents; because it promised an income which would have placed her above want. So I sate down upon the stairs to reflect how I should proceed to induce her to hear me. In a few minutes the door opened quickly, and Harriet, with her child (who was then four years old) in her arms and a small bundle in her hand, appeared on the landing. She shrank back when she saw me—she evidently thought I was gone. Then, recovering herself, she exclaimed, 'Wretch! why do you haunt me? Have you not injured me enough already? Will you not even let me die in peace?'—I started up, saying, 'Do hear me! You know not how important——.'—But ere I could utter another word, she rushed wildly past me, and ran down the stairs with a precipitation which manifested her profound horror at my presence.
"Thus had I involuntarily driven her a second time from her humble home! I was sorely afflicted, for many reasons—but chiefly because my motives were not on either occasion wrong. I was about to take my departure, when I thought I would cast a look at the interior of the chamber which she had inhabited. By its appearance I hoped to judge of her circumstances, which I sincerely wished might be improved. I entered the room: it was evidently a ready-furnished garret. I am able to recognise such facts at a glance. Though not absolutely wretched, it was mean—very mean—too mean to permit the idea that she, poor creature! was comfortable in her resources. Several papers were burning in the grate: she had evidently set fire to them the moment ere she left the room in the precipitate manner described. I hastened to extinguish the smouldering flames, but redeemed the fragment of only one important paper. It contained the commencement of a letter evidently written that morning, as I discovered by the date. Strange to say, it was another epistle addressed 'To the Marquis of Holmesford, Holmesford House.' Its contents were to this effect:—'Your lordship will pardon me for again intruding myself upon your notice; but a deep sense of the duty I owe to my child, and the dread of leaving the poor innocent girl to the mercy of strangers—for the hand of Death seems to be already upon me—must serve as my excuse for thus troubling you. And when your lordship reflects that it is to you that I owe all the hideous misery which has been my lot for nearly four years,—through you that I lost the love and confidence of my husband,—your lordship's heart will not allow this appeal to be made in vain. Hitherto your lordship has remained unacquainted with the name of that husband of whom I speak; but now it is my duty to reveal it to you, that your lordship may see him and ex——'
"The remainder had been so scorched that it was illegible. Conjecture relative to the termination of the sentence was vain. Was the unfinished word explain? Or was it express? Often—often have I sate and wondered what the end of the passage originally was, ere the flames singed that sad letter. She felt the hand of Death already upon her; and I had driven her from the place where she wished to die in peace! Wretch—wretch that I was!
"From that time forth I never saw her more!
"All that I know of Harriet Markham is now told. The only link that is missing in the chain of my narrative is the detailed account of the mode in which Mr. Markham discovered that his wife had become the victim of the Marquis of Holmesford. That mystery the Marquis himself may be enabled to explain.
"My task is terminated: nor would I for worlds be compelled to accomplish it over again. It has given additional poignancy to thoughts that frequently oppress me, and has aroused others equally painful, but which had slumbered for years and years until now. And where I write—I dare not name the place, nor even those at whose command I write—there is a fearful gloom that is congenial, too congenial with those appalling reminiscences. Perhaps I should have felt and expressed less remorse for the past, had I written under more pleasant circumstances; perhaps, in that case, many of those dread images which here haunt my mind and are reflected in the bewailings and self-reproaches which appear in these pages, would not have visited me: still, had I performed this task in a cheerful chamber and in the gladdening sun-light,—even then I must have felt some remorse—for of all the bad deeds of my life, the treachery which I perpetrated towards Harriet is the blackest!