The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 276: what you’re looking at

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

TWY IYSTERIES a ee eee ee ome OE we It was a little after eleven when the Misses Theo- bald conducted the young lady to the bedchamber which had been prepared for her reception; and, having embraced her affectionately, the good sisters eft her, as they hoped, to the enjoyment of that repose of which they knew she must stand much in need. | The moment sho found herself alone, the maiden felt unpleasant thoughts returning to her mind; aud, in order to escapo from them, if possible, she began to lay aside her apparel with unwonted haste. Everything necessary for her toilette had been pro- vided; and the chamber, which was at the back of the house and on the sceond floor, was elegantly furnished—having an airof comfort that would havo been duly appreciated by one ina more settled state of mind than was tho amiablo girl at the time. In u few minutes she retired to rest; and, contrary to her expectation, sleep soon fell upon her eyo-lids— fof she was worn out and exhausted by tho exciting incidents of the day. ° Her dreams were not, however, of a tranquillising description, In the first placo, sho fancied that she was roving in her garden, and that she beheld Lord William Trevelyan approaching down the Jane. In a few moments he stood by her side; though how he passed the verdant boundary was not quite clear to her. She did not rotreat,—yet sho felt that she ought to retiro: but her feet were rivetted to the ground ;—and when he took her hand, the same unknown and invisible influence which nailed her to the spot, forbade her to withdraw that hand which trombled in his own. Then she imagined that the young nobleman began to address her in a style similar to the contents of his letter: she cast down her cyes—slic felt herself blushing—and, though she knew that she ought to retreat, she ‘nevertheless listened with emotions of pleasure never experienced before. We pressod her to be allowed to visit her again; and she was raising her eyes bashfully towards his countenanco, to read his sincority in his looks, ere she murmured tho affirma- tive reply that already trembled upon her tongue, when she was suddenly shocked to perceive a mar- vellous and signal change taking place in him. His face grew wrinkled—the handsome features became distorted and frightful—his clothes took anofher appearance—and, as she gazed npon him in speech- Jess wonder aud alarm, she saw standing in his placo a hideous old woman, whom she at lengtl. recognised as Mrs. Mortimer. Agnes strove to cry out—bnt could not: a spell was upon her lips ;— and the harridan’s eyes glared upon her with savage malignity. The maiden felt herself sinking in ter- ror to the ground—when the whole scene expe- rienced a sudden variation; and she was now in the parlour of the cottage, with her father seated by her side. Neither was this second dream of a tranquillising description. Agnes fancied that her sire was angry with her— that he uttered reproaches for a disobedienco of which she had been guilty. At first she could not vomprehend the nature of the offence that had en- tailed upon her this vituperation, and rendered her father’s mannor so unusually sovere towards her-— but at last it flashed to her mind that she had been incautious in receiving at tho cottage evil-inten- tioned visitors ;—-and then she suddenly found her fother cngaged in a violent dispute with Mrs, Mor- OF LONDON. 27) timer, whose countenance seemed more than ever hidecons and revolting. How this dispute origi- nated, or how Mrs. Mortimer had got into the room, Agnes know not: there she however was— and the quarrel waxed warmer and warmer. At length the old woman took her departure: but ere the door closed behind her, she turned on Agnes a look of such fiend-liko malignity, that a shriek would havo expressed the young maiden’s affright, had not her lips been mysteriously sealed. When the harridan had disappeared, Mr. Vernon renewed his reproaches; and Agnes fancied that, on falling on her knees in the presence of her sire to demand pardon, he spurned her from him—upbraided her with her disobedience and ingratitude—and warned her, in a tone of solemnly prophetic meaning, that her readiness to repese confidence in strangers would bring down some terrible calamity on her head. She was about to promise never more to provo guilty of the disobedience which had clicited all these reproaches and produced all that un- wonted harshness on her father’s part, when a third person appeared on the scene;—and this third person was her mother! But this new dream which now visited the sleop- ing maiden, was not of a tranquillising descrip- tion, She fancied that an earnest appeal was now mado to her on cither side, placing her in the difficult and most distressing condition of a child who had to decide as to which of her parents she would cling to, and which abandon. Here was hor father, reminding her of all ho had done for her: there was her mother, proclaiming herself to be unhappy and to need the society and solace of her daughter. On her right hand stood the sire whom she had always known: on her left was the ma- ternal parent whom slie had never known before. The countenance of the former expressed mispiy- ings amounting almost to despair: that of the latter was bathed in tears, and indicative of all the agonies of acrucl suspense. Agnes felt that her ‘heart was rent by this scene; and yot it appeared to her that she was bound to decide, and that promptly, in one way or the other. She looked towards her father; and ho held out his arms to receive her—his countenance assuming an expres- sion so profoundly wretclcd that it seemed to say, “Jf I loso you, I loso all I lovo or care for on carth.” She turned towards her mother, in order to breathe a last farewell, for that she must accompany her father,—when she beheld her maternal parent on her knees, and extending her clasped hands im- ploringly, while the pale but beauteous face indi- cated that life or death was in the decision which vag about to be pronounced. Agnes could not resist this carnest—silently eloquent appeal on the part of a mother who had proclaimed herself to bo unhappy; and the maiden fancied that she threw herself into that mothor’s arms. <A cry of misery burst froin her father’s lips ; and Agnes awoke with a wild start,—awoke, to feel ler entire frame quak- ing convulsively, and her heart palpitating with alarming violence. For a few moments—nay, for nearly a minute, she lay stretched upon her back, endeavouring to compel her thoughts to settle themselves in their proper places, so that she might attain tho assur- ance wlhicther she had just beheld realities, or had only beon the victim of distressing dreams ;—and when she was cnabled to arrive at the latter cone CON (C DOO (SO)