She looked at me for a moment, then, putting
one spread hand before her eyes, she stretched out the other towards the
door, and waving it in silence, as if to admonish me to depart. This motion, however emphatical, I could not obey. I wished to obtain
her attention, but knew not in what words to claim it. I was silent. In
a moment she removed her hand from her eyes, and looked at me with new
eagerness. Her features bespoke emotions which, perhaps, flowed from my
likeness to her brother, joined with the memory of my connection with
Welbeck. My situation was full of embarrassment. I was by no means certain that
my language would be understood. I knew not in what light the policy and
dissimulation of Welbeck might have taught her to regard me. What
proposal, conducive to her comfort and her safety, could I make to her? Once more she covered her eyes, and exclaimed, in a feeble voice, "Go
away! begone!" As if satisfied with this effort, she resumed her attention to her
child. She stooped and lifted it in her arms, gazing, meanwhile, on its
almost lifeless features with intense anxiety. She crushed it to her
bosom, and, again looking at me, repeated, "Go away! go away! begone!" There was somewhat in the lines of her face, in her tones and gestures,
that pierced to my heart. Added to this, was my knowledge of her
condition; her friendlessness; her poverty; the pangs of unrequited
love; and her expiring infant. I felt my utterance choked, and my tears
struggling for passage. I turned to the window, and endeavoured to
regain my tranquillity. "What was it," said I, "that brought me hither? The perfidy of Welbeck
must surely have long since been discovered. What can I tell her of the
Villars which she does not already know, or of which the knowledge will
be useful? If their treatment has been just, why should I detract from
their merit? If it has been otherwise, their own conduct will have
disclosed their genuine character. Though voluptuous themselves, it does
not follow that they have laboured to debase this creature. Though
wanton, they may not be inhuman. "I can propose no change in her condition for the better. Should she be
willing to leave this house, whither is it in my power to conduct her? Oh that I were rich enough to provide food for the hungry, shelter for
the houseless, and raiment for the naked!" I was roused from these fruitless reflections by the lady, whom some
sudden thought induced to place the child in its bed, and, rising, to
come towards me. The utter dejection which her features lately betrayed
was now changed for an air of anxious curiosity. "Where," said she, in
her broken English,--"where is Signor Welbeck?" "Alas!" returned I, "I know not. That question might, I thought, with
more propriety be put to you than me." "I know where he be; I fear where he be." So saying, the deepest sighs burst from her heart. She turned from me,
and, going to the child, took it again into her lap. Its pale and sunken
cheek was quickly wet with the mother's tears, which, as she silently
hung over it, dropped fast from her eyes. This demeanour could not but awaken curiosity, while it gave a new turn
to my thoughts. I began to suspect that in the tokens which I saw there
was not only distress for her child, but concern for the fate of
Welbeck. "Know you," said I, "where Mr. Welbeck is? Is he alive? Is he
near? Is he in calamity?" "I do not know if he be alive. He be sick. He be in prison. They will
not let me go to him. And"--here her attention and mine was attracted by
the infant, whose frame, till now motionless, began to be tremulous. Its
features sunk into a more ghastly expression. Its breathings were
difficult, and every effort to respire produced a convulsion harder than
the last. The mother easily interpreted these tokens. The same mortal struggle
seemed to take place in her features as in those of her child. At length
her agony found way in a piercing shriek. The struggle in the infant was
past. Hope looked in vain for a new motion in its heart or its eyelids. The lips were closed, and its breath was gone forever! The grief which overwhelmed the unhappy parent was of that outrageous
and desperate kind which is wholly incompatible with thinking. A few
incoherent motions and screams, that rent the soul, were followed by a
deep swoon. She sunk upon the floor, pale and lifeless as her babe. I need not describe the pangs which such a scene was adapted to produce
in me. These were rendered more acute by the helpless and ambiguous
situation in which I was placed. I was eager to bestow consolation and
succour, but was destitute of all means. I was plunged into
uncertainties and doubts. I gazed alternately at the infant and its
mother. I sighed. I wept. I even sobbed. I stooped down and took the
lifeless hand of the sufferer. I bathed it with my tears, and exclaimed,
"Ill-fated woman! unhappy mother! what shall I do for thy relief? How
shall I blunt the edge of this calamity, and rescue thee from new
evils?" At this moment the door of the apartment was opened, and the younger of
the women whom I had seen below entered. Her looks betrayed the deepest
consternation and anxiety. Her eyes in a moment were fixed by the
decayed form and the sad features of Clemenza. She shuddered at this
spectacle, but was silent. She stood in the midst of the floor,
fluctuating and bewildered. I dropped the hand that I was holding, and
approached her. "You have come," said I, "in good season. I know you not, but will
believe you to be good. You have a heart, it may be, not free from
corruption, but it is still capable of pity for the miseries of others. You have a hand that refuses not its aid to the unhappy. See; there is
an infant dead. There is a mother whom grief has, for a time, deprived
of life. She has been oppressed and betrayed; been robbed of property
and reputation--but not of innocence. She is worthy of relief. Have you
arms to receive her? Have you sympathy, protection, and a home to bestow
upon a forlorn, betrayed, and unhappy stranger? I know not what this
house is; I suspect it to be no better than a brothel. I know not what
treatment this woman has received. When her situation and wants are
ascertained, will you supply her wants? Will you rescue her from evils
that may attend her continuance here?" She was disconcerted and bewildered by this address. At length she
said, "All that has happened, all that I have heard and seen, is so
unexpected, so strange, that I am amazed and distracted. Your behaviour
I cannot comprehend, nor your motive for making this address to me. I
cannot answer you, except in one respect. If this woman has suffered
injury, I have had no part in it. I knew not of her existence nor her
situation till this moment; and whatever protection or assistance she
may justly claim, I am both able and willing to bestow. I do not live
here, but in the city. I am only an occasional visitant in this house." "What, then!"