The young nobleman was astounded; and his manner denoted incredulity.
“I perceive that your lordship puts no faith in my narrative,” said Mrs. Mortimer, who conjectured what was passing in his mind: “but the tale which Agnes can tell you, will corroborate it. She herself will inform you how she fell into the power of the ruffian from whom it was subsequently my good fortune to deliver her; and if you place confidence in her words, you will perforce be led to accord the same favour to mine?”
“And her tale—what is it?” demanded the nobleman, impatiently.
“Yesterday she discovered the mother whom she had lost since her infancy,” answered Mrs. Mortimer.
“Her mother!” exclaimed Trevelyan. “And where is that mother? who is she? Tell me, that I may hasten to her at as early an hour as possible, and implore of her to accord me the hand of her daughter.”
“Be not so hasty, my lord. I am totally unacquainted with Agnes Vernon’s mother; and she herself—poor artless girl! knows, I believe, but little more. It is however certain that the young lady was induced to accompany her newly-found parent from the cottage—that she was consigned to the care of two ladies named Theobald, and dwelling in Stamford Street—that in the night she became the prey to vague and unfounded terrors, which induced her to attempt an escape from the house—and that she fell into the hands of the man from whom I rescued her.”
“And wherefore have you brought her hither?” asked Lord William. “Why not have conducted her back to the ladies to whose care her mother had consigned her—or to the cottage where she has dwelt so long?”
“I have put you in the position of one who may perform a chivalrous action, and thereby win the permanent esteem, gratitude, and love of this beautiful creature whom you adore,” said Mrs. Mortimer; “and now you appear inclined to load me with reproaches. Yes—I perceive that reproaches are trembling upon your lordship’s tongue;—and I who have done all I could to serve you, shall experience nought save ingratitude. Oh! short-sighted lover that you are! Here is a young girl whom I pick up as it were houseless and homeless—and I am already half-way with her to your mansion, before I even learn from her lips how she came in Stamford Street at all, or that she has friends there. But when I do glean those facts, I find that she has escaped from the guardianship of those friends: and could I suppose that they would be willing to receive her again? Now, my lord, it is for you to grant her an asylum—to treat her with all imaginable delicacy and attention—and to leave me to find out her mother, that you may restore the lost daughter to the distracted parent. Doubtless the Miss Theobalds will give me the desired information: and then calculate the amount of gratitude that will be due to you! In spite of her father—whoever he may really be, and whatever opposition he might raise—Agnes is yours; and you gain the object of your heart’s dearest wishes.”
“And think you, woman,” exclaimed Lord William Trevelyan, unable any longer to subdue his resentment,—“think you that I will blast the fair fame of this young lady by retaining her for even a single hour beneath my roof?—think you that I will obtain for her the inevitable reputation of having been my mistress, previously to becoming my wife? No—a thousand times no! And do you imagine that I read not your heart aright? do you suppose that I am your dupe? I tell you, vile woman, that in bringing the innocent and artless Agnes hither, you fancied you would be throwing in my way a temptation which I could not resist,—a temptation which would thaw all my virtuous principles and honourable notions, and lead me to sacrifice the purity of the confiding girl to my passion. Yes—such was your base calculation: or you would at once and unhesitatingly have conducted her either to the abode of her friends in Stamford Street, or home to her own cottage! Ah! madam, because I belong to the aristocracy, you imagine that I must necessarily be as vile, depraved, and unprincipled as ninety-nine out of every hundred individuals who bear lordly titles. But you have deceived yourself—grossly deceived yourself: and you shall at once have the proof that you are so deceived! Follow me.”
Thus speaking, Lord William advanced rapidly towards the door, imperiously beckoning the vile woman to accompany him.