Angelina: Or, The Mystery of St. Mark's Abbey — page 183: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

| 179 ANGELINA; OB, the chance you have gat. <A poor pessant’s piece, indeed, presuming to resist the offers of s nobleman [— Well, to a certainty, the world hag ¢ome to avery pretty pass indeed.” ‘sOld woman,” exclaimed Angelina, solemnly, and unable any jonger to restrain the expression of her disgust and indignation—“ old woman, tottering as you are on the verge of the grave, your hair sjlvered hy age, are you net ashamed to talk thus, end ta become the panderer to the vices of a villain, whom it would be wrong to call a man? Js your mind callous to all sense of feeling, to all sense of virtue, and integrity ?”’ } ‘Virtue! integrity!” reiterated the old woman, fiercely, and jooking spitefully upon our heroine, ‘*hoity, toity, and bave I lived to all these years to be taken to task by a mere girl? Virtae, indeqqd! J] tell yqu what it is; I have lived three score years and ten in the world, and I never suffered a man eo much as to press my lips.” If ald Deborah had said that she had lived the numberof years in the world, which she had mentioned, and that not a man had ever deigaed to look at her with any other feelings than those of disgust and detestation, she would have been nearer the truth. Fer she had never heen remarkable for her beauty, or the sweetness of her disposition, unless a small pug nose, little pigish eyes, red blowsy cheeks, and a very large mouth, might be considered fascinating, and a sour, crabbed, envious, spiteful, and waspish temper, might be thoughtamiable traits in a person's character. - Angelina, however, made no farther ebservation to her, but walked inte the adjoining room, leaving the old woman muttering and grumbling to herself, at the same time that she was plying at ber needle. Our heroine soon became abstracted from everything else, in ruminating upon her present situation, and the words and importunities of the baroa, which he seemed determined to follow up in the most indefatigable and resolute manner, and how to escape the dreadful fate impending over her, she knew not. There was no one near to relieve her mind, or to impart to her bosom any hope or consolation, Then the idea of her lover, Hugh Clifford, being confined in the gloomy precincts of a dungeon, and left to the merey of one who had every reason to hate him, recurred to her memory, and caused a sensation in her bosom which was almost insupportable; and then to know that his restoration to liberty was nearly hopeless, and the ancertainty of whether or not the baron had told the truth when he said that he was accused ‘ef crimes which rendered his life forfeited to the offended laws of his country, — caused more horror and agony in her breast than anything else. She was confident that Hugh Clifford’s disposition rendered him incapable of being guilty of any crime for which he might merit such a punishment, but then she was aware that the nature of the life he led, must make him numerous enemies, and that there were many who would not hesitate to trump up avy charges against him, which might be the means of putting an end to his eareer. Hugh Clifford bad long been an eye-sore to the Government, and the suceess which had invariably attended him, made them anxious to get him and his comrades in their power, but hitherto all their endeavours to effect that object had signally failed, and it was, therefore, not at all untikely that they would COMIC OOOKS. EO