A cold shudder crept over the old wretch, hardened and heartless as she was: for she remembered all the acuteness—all the intensity of the anguish she had experienced, when she had awakened to consciousness on that dread occasion, and found herself in the custody of the servitors of justice.
Exercising, however, a powerful control over her feelings, she stepped up to the front-door, and knocked boldly,—not in a sneaking, timid, uncertain manner, but with firmness and decision.
The summons was almost immediately answered by a pretty-looking, neatly-dressed, and very respectable servant-maid of about eighteen or nineteen; and Mrs. Mortimer’s eyes now commanded a view of the hall where the constables had made her their prisoner,—that fatal incident which became as it were an ominous and most conspicuous finger-post in the road of her chequered existence!
“Can I be permitted, without causing inconvenience, to speak a few words to your master or mistress?” inquired Mrs. Mortimer, subduing the feelings aroused by the reminiscences of the past, and addressing herself to the business of the present.
“Surely you must have made some mistake,” said the servant-girl, speaking, however, in a mild and respectful tone. “No gentleman resides here.”
“Then allow me to see your mistress, young woman,” persisted Mrs. Mortimer, slipping two half-crowns into the maid’s hand.
“I will carry your message to my mistress,” said the domestic coldly, and at the same time indignantly repulsing the proffered bribe. “Walk in, if you please.”
Mrs. Mortimer entered the hall; and as the light of the lamp suspended to the ceiling now fell fully upon her, the servant-maid saw that she was somewhat meanly dressed, and that her countenance was none of the most pleasant to look upon. The impression thus made upon the domestic was not particularly favourable towards the old woman; but the girl was artless and unsuspicious naturally, and therefore strove to smother a feeling which she fancied to be uncharitable towards a complete stranger. She was therefore about to enter the parlour to deliver the message of the visitor, when the door of that room suddenly opened, and a beautiful young creature, of about nineteen, made her appearance.
We must pause for a for minutes to describe the being that burst, like a seraphic vision, upon the amazed and dazzled sight of Mrs. Mortimer.
Picture to yourself, reader, a tall, sylph-like figure of exquisite symmetry, reminding the observer of the Grecian models of classic female beauty,—with the deeply-hollowed back—the swelling chest and bosom, well matured but not voluptuously large—and the high, swan-like neck on which the oval head was gracefully fixed,—then fancy a countenance of the most agreeable expression and rare loveliness, with eyes not very large, but of the deepest black and most melting softness, and with brows finely arched and somewhat thickly pencilled,—a forehead lofty and smooth, and over which the raven hair was parted in two massive, shining bands,—a nose with the slightest trace of the Roman curve, and with the nostrils pink as delicate rose-leaves,—a small mouth, the least thing plump and pouting, and revealing teeth small, even, and white as pearls,—and a complexion of a clear, living white, with the carnation flush of health upon either cheek;—picture to yourself all this assemblage of charms, gentle reader, and you will then have a complete idea of the enchanting creature of nineteen, who suddenly appeared on the threshold of the parlour-door.