Under this veil, perhaps, lurk a tainted heart and
depraved appetites. Is it so?" She made me no answer, but somewhat in her looks seemed to evince that
my favourable prepossessions were just. I noticed likewise that the
alarm of the elder was greatly increased by this address to her
companion. The thought suddenly occurred that this girl might be in
circumstances not unlike those of Clemenza Lodi; that she was not
apprized of the character of her associates, and might by this meeting
be rescued from similar evils. This suspicion filled me with tumultuous feelings. Clemenza was for a
time forgotten. I paid no attention to the looks or demeanour of the
elder, but was wholly occupied in gazing on the younger. My anxiety to
know the truth gave pathos and energy to my tones while I spoke:--

"Who, where, what are you? Do you reside in this house? Are you a sister
or daughter in this family, or merely a visitant? Do you know the
character, profession, and views of your companions? Do you deem them
virtuous, or know them to be profligate? Speak! tell me, I beseech you!" The maiden confusion which had just appeared in the countenance of this
person now somewhat abated. She lifted her eyes, and glanced by turns at
me and at her who sat by her side. An air of serious astonishment
overspread her features, and she seemed anxious for me to proceed. The
elder, meanwhile, betrayed the utmost alarm, again upbraided my
audacity, commanded me to withdraw, and admonished me of the danger I
incurred by lingering. I noticed not her interference, but again entreated to know of the
younger her true state. She had no time to answer me, supposing her not
to want the inclination, for every pause was filled by the clamorous
importunities and menaces of the other. I began to perceive that my
attempts were useless to this end, but the chief and most estimable
purpose was attainable. It was in my power to state the knowledge I
possessed, through your means, of Mrs. Villars and her daughters. This
information might be superfluous, since she to whom it was given might
be one of this licentious family. The contrary, however, was not
improbable, and my tidings, therefore, might be of the utmost moment to
her safety. A resolute and even impetuous manner reduced my incessant interrupter to
silence. What I had to say, I compressed in a few words, and adhered to
perspicuity and candour with the utmost care. I still held the hand that
I had taken, and fixed my eyes upon her countenance with a steadfastness
that hindered her from lifting her eyes. "I know you not; whether you be dissolute or chaste, I cannot tell. In
either case, however, what I am going to say will be useful. Let me
faithfully repeat what I have heard. It is mere rumour, and I vouch not
for its truth. Rumour as it is, I submit it to your judgment, and hope
that it may guide you into paths of innocence and honour. "Mrs. Villars and her three daughters are Englishwomen, who supported
for a time an unblemished reputation, but who, at length, were suspected
of carrying on the trade of prostitution. This secret could not be
concealed forever. The profligates who frequented their house betrayed
them. One of them, who died under their roof, after they had withdrawn
from it into the country, disclosed to his kinsman, who attended his
death-bed, their genuine character. "The dying man likewise related incidents in which I am deeply
concerned. I have been connected with one by name Welbeck. In his house
I met an unfortunate girl, who was afterwards removed to Mrs. Villars's. Her name was Clemenza Lodi. Residence in this house, under the control
of a woman like Mrs. Villars and her daughters, must be injurious to her
innocence, and from this control I now come to rescue her." I turned to the elder, and continued,--"By all that is sacred, I adjure
you to tell me whether Clemenza Lodi be under this roof! If she be not,
whither has she gone? To know this I came hither, and any difficulty or
reluctance in answering will be useless; till an answer be obtained, I
will not go hence." During this speech, anger had been kindling in the bosom of this woman. It now burst upon me in a torrent of opprobrious epithets. I was a
villain, a calumniator, a thief. I had lurked about the house, till
those whose sex and strength enabled them to cope with me had gone. I
had entered these doors by fraud. I was a wretch, guilty of the last
excesses of insolence and insult. To repel these reproaches, or endure them, was equally useless. The
satisfaction that I sought was only to be gained by searching the house. I left the room without speaking. Did I act illegally in passing from
one story and one room to another? Did I really deserve the imputations
of rashness and insolence? My behaviour, I well know, was ambiguous and
hazardous, and perhaps wanting in discretion, but my motives were
unquestionably pure. I aimed at nothing but the rescue of a human
creature from distress and dishonour. I pretend not to the wisdom of experience and age; to the praise of
forethought or subtlety. I choose the obvious path, and pursue it with
headlong expedition. Good intentions, unaided by knowledge, will,
perhaps, produce more injury than benefit, and therefore knowledge must
be gained, but the acquisition is not momentary; is not bestowed unasked
and untoiled for. Meanwhile, we must not be inactive because we are
ignorant. Our good purposes must hurry to performance, whether our
knowledge be greater or less. CHAPTER XXXV. To explore the house in this manner was so contrary to ordinary rules,
that the design was probably wholly unsuspected by the women whom I had
just left. My silence, at parting, might have been ascribed by them to
the intimidating influence of invectives and threats. Hence I proceeded
in my search without interruption. Presently I reached a front chamber in the third story. The door was
ajar. I entered it on tiptoe. Sitting on a low chair by the fire, I
beheld a female figure, dressed in a negligent but not indecent manner. Her face, in the posture in which she sat, was only half seen. Its hues
were sickly and pale, and in mournful unison with a feeble and emaciated
form. Her eyes were fixed upon a babe that lay stretched upon a pillow
at her feet. The child, like its mother, for such she was readily
imagined to be, was meagre and cadaverous. Either it was dead, or could
not be very distant from death. The features of Clemenza were easily recognised, though no contrast
could be greater, in habit and shape and complexion, than that which her
present bore to her former appearance. All her roses had faded, and her
brilliancies vanished. Still, however, there was somewhat fitted to
awaken the tenderest emotions. There were tokens of inconsolable
distress. Her attention was wholly absorbed by the child. She lifted not her eyes
till I came close to her and stood before her. When she discovered me, a
faint start was perceived.