University of Virginia Library

35. CHAP. XXXV.
DISAPPOINTMENT.

The next morning Rebecca, so dear to both their
hearts, recurred to their imaginations; George
beheld her in want, plunged in infamy, the horrors of
which her susceptible heart severely felt, and from which
she could by no means extricate herself.

“She may be in want,” said his father; “but I'll
be d—d if she is infamous. I know the dear girl,
George, and I'd stake my life upon her innocence. He
then gave his son an account of the manner in which he
found her in America, of the respect and esteem she created
wherever she was known, and how much she was beloved
by Colonel Abthorpe's family. But let us go to
the house where the coach stopped,” continued he; “she
will most likely call there to get her trunk.”

They went out together, and entered the house just ten
minutes after Rebecca had left it. Disappointed and
grieved, unable by any means to trace which way she had
gone, and fearing she would be distressed by the loss of
her trunk, which might contain all her wordly possessions,
they returned heavily home, and resolved to advertise it.
This they immediately did in several papers, in such a
manner as it was impossible for Rebecca not to know it
was herself that was meant, though only the initials of
the name were used; but Rebecca never saw the papers,
and the repeated advertisements were fruitless.

George had introduced his father to Lord and Lady
Chatterton; but, thought Rebecca had been once or twice
mentioned before that Lady, he had always avoided entering
into explanations, and Lady Chatterton did not
know that she was the woman George had so long loved;
for though, in the earlier part of their intimacy, he
had frequently declared that his heart was engaged, he
had never said to whom, or whether she was above or
beneath him in rank; but simply said, he had no hope of
being united to her.

On the day Lady Chatterton had met Rebecca at the
jeweller's, she mentioned the circumstance at dinner
time. George and his father that day dined with them.
“I wanted to buy it of her,” said she, “for one of the
pictures was so like George Littleton, and the other was
a Lady, but I do not recollect who, though I think, I
have seen the features before.”

“Good heavens!” said George, “I am certain it
could only be Rebecca herself.”

“I wish it may,” said the Lady;—“but I did not
think of it at the time I saw her: however, I have appointed
her to come here to-morrow.”

“How did the poor girl look?” said old Mr. Littleton.

“Very pale,” replied the Lady, “and, I fear, is
much distressed by the agitation she discovered in her
countenance, and her visible reluctance to part with the
picture.”

“Oh! my poor lost Rebecca,” said George, and, rising
hastily from table, left the room, to give vent to
those emotions he could no longer suppress.

Rebecca, in distress, offering, with evident reluctance
the gold that enveloped his portrait to sale, convinced
him he still retained a tender place in her remembrance;
once to have been beloved by Rebecca would have been
his highest wish—now she was contaminated—lost to virtue!
And, though still inexpressibly dear to his heart,
she could never be his wife; yet she might be innocent.
Lord Ossiter was not a man of the strictest veracity. He
would have given worlds for an interview with her, and
unable to wait the issue of the morning, when she was expected
in St. Alban's-street, he obtained from Lady Chatterton
a direction to the jeweller, and hastened to haſtened">hastened to ,
in hopes to be able through him to trace out
her place of abode; but the jeweller had never seen her
before, and had hardly thought of her since. He could
give him no information.

Those only who have felt the pangs of suspence can
imagine the anxiety of Mr. Littleton and George during
the night. The next morning they repaired early to St.

Alban's-street, but the day passed and no Rebecca appeared.
Another and another morning came, and still
brought with them disappointment.

“She will never come,”—said George.—“The poor
girl is conscious of her unhappy situation, and shame prevents
her taking advantage of Lady Chatterton's offers
of service. Mr. Littleton began to be of the same opinion;
but the benevolent Lady Chatterton never went
out without leaving orders with her porter, that, should
Rebecca call, she might be desired to wait till her return.
“I will myself,” said she, “have the pleasure
of presenting her to her uncle. She shall not be hastily
informed that he is in England, left it should overpower
her spirits, and if I find her worthy, I will give her to
her amiable cousin, and make her a fortune worth his acceptance.”

But unfortunately Miss Ossiter's joy, the effusions of
which was mingled with incoherent intelligence concerning
her uncle's, marriage, prevented poor Rebecca from
reaping any benefit from her Ladyship's kind intentions
in her behalf.

George Littleton had accompanied Lord and Lady
Chatterton in their morning ride. They returned together.
Miss Ossiter came running to them as they entered
the parlour.

“Oh! dear aunt, who do you think has been here—
the greatest stranger! I do not think you know her; but
I told her I was sure you would be glad to see her.”

“Why, who was it, my love?” said her Ladyship,
seating herself.

“Why, it was my own Rebecca Littleton; I knew
her in a minute, though she is so pale and thin.”

“And where is she?” said George, almost choaked
with rising emotions!

“She could not wait any longer,” replied the child;
“but said she would call again to-morrow”

“Was ever any thing so unfortunate!” said Lady
Chatterton.

George bit his lips, took hasty strides backward and

forward in the room, frequently struck his forehead with
his hand, but said not a word.

In the afternoon the following letter was brought to
Lady Chatterton:

“Agreeable to your Ladyship's benevolent desire, I
this morning waited on you in St. Alban's-street, an honor
which the extreme illness of my mother had prevented
my enjoying so early as I could have wished. While
I was, in compliance with your commands, waiting your
Ladyship's return from airing, I discovered that Lord
Chatterton and Sir George Worthy are one and the same
person; it therefore struck me that your Ladyship, having
seen his portrait in my possession, might entertain but
an indifferent opinion of my character: It might also occasion
uneasiness between my Lord and you, and interrupt
that felicity which I servently wish may be as permanent
and lasting as your lives. I thought it my
duty, therefore, to explain to your Ladyship the means
by which this portrait came into my possession.

“I once, Madam, lived in the family of the late Lady
Mary Worthy, more as an highly favoured companion
than a servant. Indeed she was to me a generous
friend, a dear and respected benefactress, whom living I
loved with the affection of a daughter, and whom dead
I can never cease to lament.

“Some months after her death, I received her portrait
as a present from Sir George, by the hands of Mrs.
Harley, her Ladyship's house-keeper, but did not know
it contained the resemblance of Sir George himself till
some time after it had been in my possession; nor have
I seen him since, till about two months ago, when I
accidentally met him in the street, and even then we
scarcely spoke to each other.

“Permit me, Madam, to return my thanks for the
unexpected bounty you so delicately bestowed upon me;
to thank you also for that benevolence of heart which
led you so far to interest yourself in my behalf, as to with
again to see me; to have enjoyed your friendly protection
would have been a cordial to my depressed soul; to deserve

it, the study of my life: but, alas, Madam, an insurmountable
obstacle is placed between me and so enviable
a distinction. Since I was so happy as to meet you,
a circumstance has occurred, which will prevent my again
having the pleasure of waiting on you: But permit me
to offer up the most ardent prayers for the continued happiness
of yourself and Lord. May peace and love ever
dwell in your bosoms, and prosperity crown your days.
Permit me also to add, that however inconsistent my conduct
may appear, my heart will everflow with the most
grateful affection towards your Ladyship, while it beats
in the breast of,

“I can't comprehend all this,” said Lady Chatterton,
giving the letter into George Littleton's hand. He ran
his eye hastily over the contents.

“But I can,” said he: “I conceive it all; the dear
girl has never heard of the discovery of the real Sir George
Worthy. She imagines me to be your husband, and the
generosity of her soul will not suffer her to throw herself
in the way of a man who once prosessed to love her, and
whom, from the whole tenor of her conduct, I have reason
to think she loves.”

“I would lay my life she is a good girl,” said Lady
Chatterton; “indeed her countenance appeared the index
of a mind replete with innocence and purity. I will
instantly order the carriage, and go to her; nor will I return
without her.”

“Dear, generous Lady Chatterton,” said George,
ringing the bell.

“Where is the person who brought this letter?” said
the Lady.

“It was brought by a porter, Madam, and he did not
stop a moment.”

The joy that had for a moment animated the features
of George instantly vanished. He again caught up the
letter, but there was no address annexed to it.

Just then his father entered, and they lamented together,
that now they were more than ever convinced of the
worth of Rebecca she had effectually secluded herself
from them.

“Overwhelmed with poverty too,” said George,
and attendant on a sick mother, who may, perhaps, be
perishing for want, not only of medical assistance, but of
the comforts and necessaries on which existence depends.”

“We will use every endeavour though to discover
her retreat,” said Lady Chatterton, wiping away the tears
that stole from her expressive eyes, “and when we have
found her we will chase sorrow from her heart, and unite
our endeavours to make her forget she had ever been unhappy.”