"Until this evening," said Rosamond, her head reclining upon her father's shoulder, "I had hoped that Sir Henry Courtenay would repair the wrong he had done me by means of marriage,—for, alas! my dear father, I loved him! But—two hours ago—I overheard a few words pass between him and Mrs. Slingsby,—a few words which rivetted me to the spot where I was at first only an involuntary listener. Then I became a willing and attentive eaves-dropper,—for, oh! the little which had already met my ears, intimately—too intimately regarded myself! And, dear father, you can conceive with what horror and dismay I learnt enough to convince me, that she whom I had loved and esteemed as a dear friend and a model of perfection, was a vile—an abandoned—an infamous woman,—the mistress of Sir Henry Courtenay, and in the way to become a mother also! I could not believe my ears—I fancied that I was dreaming. But, alas! it was indeed a frightful reality;—and then I heard that I had been sold,—yes, sold—I, your daughter, sold to Sir Henry Courtenay,—and, I suppose, by that dreadful woman! Yes—yes—father," she continued wildly, "I was sold to his arms,—and he never intended to marry me! I screamed not,—I uttered not a word: I was crushed too low—I had too great a load of misery upon my soul to be able to give vent to my feelings; but I dragged myself away from the spot where I had overheard that terrible discourse,—a veil had fallen from before my eyes, and I saw all the extent of my hopeless position in its true light. How I managed to reach my bed-room I know not: my brain began to whirl, and I thought that I should go mad! Of what followed I have but a dim recollection; but methinks that, having put on my bonnet and shawl, I was flying from the house, when Sir Henry Courtenay pursued me down the stairs—and how I escaped from him I cannot say! There was a chaos in my bewildered brain; and when I was enabled to collect my scattered thoughts—when consciousness, as I may term it, came back, I found myself hurrying along the streets. I looked round, fearful of being pursued; but there was no cause for alarm. Nevertheless, I hastened on,—and all that long distance have I accomplished on foot, dear father; for, oh! I felt that home was the place where my deep sorrows would receive sympathy, and where only I could hope to enjoy security. And now, my beloved parent," added Rosamond, throwing her arms around his neck, "you will not spurn your unhappy daughter,—you will not thrust her from you! My God! why did I ever reveal to you all this? Oh! it was because my heart was so full of woe, that if I had not unburthened it to you in the hope of receiving consolation, it would have broken—it would have broken!"
"Rosamond," said Mr. Torrens, "you did well to reveal all these dreadful things to me; because I alone am the proper person to counsel and console you. A fearful crime," he continued, shuddering at his own monstrous duplicity, "has been perpetrated; but, alas! the criminals must go unpunished. Yes,—Rosamond, you were right when you declared that vengeance would lead only to exposure; and that exposure would kill you. My poor child, not even your sister must be made acquainted with this awful calamity."
"No—no!" exclaimed Rosamond: "it is sufficient that you are aware of the ignominious treatment which I have received! Not for worlds would I have the bridal happiness of my dearest sister poisoned by the revelation of my wrongs! And Clarence, too—Clarence—oh! from him, of all men, must this secret be kept; or he would, perhaps, be urged to wreak on his aunt, and on that vile baronet, a vengeance which would lead to exposure, and render Adelais miserable for ever!"
"It charms me, Rosamond," said Mr. Torrens, "to perceive that the wrongs heaped upon you have not impaired your prudence. Between you and me shall this secret now remain,—for, depend upon it, the authors of this cruel outrage will not themselves be anxious to publish their own infamy. You are now beneath the paternal roof—and here you are certain to enjoy security; and from this night forth, Rosamond, let us place a seal on our lips so far as the one dread topic is concerned."
"And you, my father," asked the ruined girl,—"shall you not love me the less? Shall you not look with loathing and abhorrence upon your daughter? Oh! if there be a change in your sentiments towards me, I shall have no alternative save to die!"
The miserable and criminal father embraced his dishonoured child, and said every thing he could to console her.
Rosamond then retired to her chamber,—that chamber which she had left ten days previously a pure and spotless virgin, and to which she now returned a deflowered and ruined girl!
Mr. Torrens remained in the parlour.
Amidst all the horrible thoughts that forced themselves upon his mind, he saw one glimmering of consolation: and this was that Rosamond suspected not his complicity in the nefarious plot which had destroyed her. It was evident that in the conversation which she had overheard between Mrs. Slingsby and the baronet, his connivance had only been hinted at,—too darkly and mysteriously for Rosamond to comprehend the meaning of those words which alluded to the fact of her having been sold!
But what pen can describe the tortures which the guilty man experienced, as he pondered on the scene that had just occurred? In spite of that gleam of solace he was the prey to ineffable anguish,—for he could not help feeling as a father: nature asserted her empire,—and he was in despair as he contemplated the awful crime which had led to the dishonour of his own child!