University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.

At the appointed hour Clifton, with a heavy
heart, proceeded to the place appointed for his interview
with the incognita. On knocking at the door
and inquiring for Miss Williams, the same footman
who had given him the letter on the preceding day,
directed his steps into a small room, the furniture of
which, to his surprise, bordered on the shabby-genteel,
being evidently a part of the ill-matched stock-in-trade
of a pawnbroker, or second-hand dealer.

In truth, the house and its appurtenances conveyed
the idea of poverty striving at display, and
Clifton could not but wonder at the circumstance, if,
as the writer of the note alleged, she moved in the first
circles of New-York society. He had not long pondered
on thesubject before the door opened, and a tall
and splendidly attired lady entered, her face completely
enveloped in the folds of a heavy dark veil.
The agitation of our hero's feelings prevented his
rising, until the lady had passed before him, when he
awkwardly essayed to offer her a chair, although she
was already seated on the sofa.

“I trust, madam.” he said, as he remained still
standing, “that the exciting nature of this interview
will be my apology for my lack of courtesy. In
truth, lady, I am a most miserable and forlorn being,
the spring and elasticity of whose spirit are already
broken, and really incapable of making a due return
for the condescension and benevolence which have
dictated this unlooked for interview.

“You see before you, madam, one who has already
deeply, fondly, devotedly loved. The being on
whom my affections were lavished, although eminently
worthy of the admiration and regard of the
noblest in the land, is placed beyond the possibility
of ever being united to my destinies. Such being
the case, you can judge whether the wreck of what
was once a heart, susceptible of the warmest sympathies—all
of which are now frozen—is worth your
acceptance. If, notwithstanding this disclosure, you
should still desire to unite your fate with mine, my
best exertions will ever be placed in requisition to
ensure your happiness.”

“Might I inquire,” said the veiled lady, “whether
the person of whom you speak is an English,
or an American lady?”

“She is American,” was the reply.

“Her name is Julia Borrowdale!”

“Lady, in Heaven's name, speak! when and
where did you become acquainted with a secret that
I supposed locked in the recesses of my heart of
hearts?”

“My dear sir, you must recollect, that the eyes of
a rival are too piercing to permit communications
between lovers to pass unnoticed, when her own
heart is deeply interested in the issue. Although
at Mrs. Rainsford's soirée you supposed your têtè-u-tête
with Julia in the corner of the room unnoticed,
there was one pair of eyes that saw your every
movement.”

“Who and what are you,” said Clifton, “who have
thus laid bare my secret thoughts? Your voice has
in it something of a remembered tone, but I cannot
recall either your person or the time or place of a
former meeting. I beseech you, lady, unless you intend
to destroy my wits, at once to divulge your
name, or unveil your face.”

“Fair and softly, my good sir. You forget that I
summoned you hither for the purpose of divulging
other secrets than those appertaining to my poor
self. We will, with your permission, enter into the
detail of those matters which still so deeply affect
your character. As you have complied with my
conditions, I will keep my faith with you, although
your affections are more deeply engaged than I
imagined.

“You no doubt recollect Thomas Burchard, by
whose testimony your name became involved with
gamblers?”

“Too well, lady,” was the response to this question.

“From certain indications, unnecessary for me to

explain, I became persuaded that Edward De Lyle
was the foundation of all your miseries.”

“De Lyle!” exclaimed our hero, “impossible!”

“Yet a moment, my dear sir, and you will learn
your error. Having received full confirmation of
my suspicions from the manner of De Lyle himself,
I endeavoured to frighten him into a confession;
but, although half inclined to make it, he at length
mustered courage to avoid the avowal.

“I then, by means of anonymous letters, induced
Burchard to betray his patron; by which his villany,
in reference to yourself, has been disclosed—
but to me only—as the immediate cause of his public
disgrace had no connection with his malicious attempt
to destroy your character.”

Here the speaker described minutely the facts
with which the reader has been heretofore made acquainted;
with the addition of the gratifying information
that Ellingbourne had so far recovered from
his wound as to visit England for his health, and
was then in London.

“Ellingbourne alive!” exclaimed Clifton, “this
is indeed balm to my wounded spirit. The appearance
of his supposed ghost is now explained. Oh
lady, you have removed a weight from my soul that
almost crushed it.”

“And now,” said the incognita, “we will part for
the present, as this house is not a fitting place for me
to disclose myself to my intended husband. To-morrow
evening, at seven o'clock, I shall expect you in

Portland Place, and must insist on your not making
any attempt, in the mean time, to learn my name,
or recognize my person. At the appointed hour
you will know both. Till then, adieu!”

Here she held out her hand, and his devotion to
his former mistress did not prevent him from observing
that the hand was right beautiful and exquisite
in the symmetry of its minute proportions.