“Oh! yes—yes—I well remember that day!” exclaimed Captain Hatfield. “Indeed, how could I ever forget it?”
“You speak with excitement, my dear friend,” said Barthelma, surprised at his companion’s manner, but entertaining not the slightest suspicion of the real cause of his agitation.
“Ah! if you only knew all!” observed the young man. “But I will tell you enough to warn you against falling into the power of the vilest woman that ever wore an angel shape to conceal a demon heart: I will reveal to you sufficient to place you on your guard against that syren, should you ever happen to encounter her. For her disposition is such that, to gratify her wantonness, her caprice, or her avarice, she would as readily prey upon a married as on an unmarried man.”
“Indeed! you interest me,” said the Castelcicalan, still altogether unsuspicious of the real meaning of the allusion.
“Yes—but the interest will soon become of an appalling character,” resumed Charles, speaking in a tone of deep solemnity. “For there is in the world a woman whose loveliness is so superhuman and whose witchery is so irresistible that she would move the heart of an anchorite. This woman was born in Newgate, where her mother was incarcerated on a charge of forgery, and whence she was soon afterwards transported to Australia. The child was called Perdita, or ‘The Lost One;’ and the mother took the babe with her to her place of exile. Years passed away—and Perdita had grown up to a lovely girl. But the natural wantonness of her disposition manifested itself at a very early age; and her profligacy soon became notorious at Sydney. Well, in due time the mother returned to England, Perdita accompanying her; and in London did those women commence their grand scheme of preying upon the public. Alas! shall I confess how weak—how mad—how insensate I was? But the delirium has passed away—and I now look back upon it with a loathing which prevents me from contemplating it coolly. For I was ensnared by that vile Perdita—and I became her victim. I proceeded with her to Paris; and my father followed to rescue me from ruin. He discovered the place of our abode, and painted the character of that woman in such frightful—such appalling colours, without the least exaggeration, that I was reduced to despair on account of the conduct which I had pursued. I quitted Paris—returned to London—and was then received into the service of General Markham. But you ere now asked me if I remembered the day when yourself Di Ponta and I walked together in the Champs Elysées. You shall now judge whether I have reason to retain the incident in my memory. For you, Barthelma, cannot have forgotten that lady who so much attracted your notice, and who purposely let fall her parasol——But, heavens! what is the matter with you?” ejaculated Captain Hatfield, perceiving that his companion started as if a ghastly spectre had suddenly sprang up before him.
“My God! is it possible?—that woman—in the Champs Elysées—” gasped the young Italian, a deadly pallor overspreading his countenance, while he staggered backward and would have fallen had not Charles sustained him by the arm.
“That woman—for a lady I can scarcely call her—was Perdita Mortimer,” said Hatfield, emphatically.
“Oh! malediction upon the hateful syren!” exclaimed Barthelma, terribly excited.
“Compose yourself!—what is the matter?” cried Charles. “You will attract observation—the people will notice you——”
“I am composed—yes, I am cool and collected now,” murmured the unhappy young Italian, all his tremendous imprudence bursting upon his comprehension like a thunder-storm. “Here—let us pass up this street—it is comparatively deserted—and we can converse more at our ease,” he faltered painfully, as he dragged his companion up New Burlington Street.