The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 149: what you’re looking at

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

i SS tt ‘already stated, about three-and-twenty years of age. He was tall, and naturally slender—but now so thin that there was something spectral in his appearance. His hair was dark and cugjy: his eyes, of a corre- sponding hue, were large and ing—fkevinating the beholder with their extraordinary brilllancy. But it was the light of fever that shone thus super humanly in them ;—and when olwerved in contrast with the emaciated and colourless cheeke—the thin lips, the natural richness. of whows red had been sub- dued into a faint rose-tint—and the gemeral appear- ance of sickness, attenuation, aud decay which marked the unfortunate young mani,—-the effect pro- duced was shocking in the extreme, Retaining the air of youthfulmess, be ssemed to have entered suddenly on the term of cadusity with- put having passed his prime, and likewise without falling into decrepitude. Wo still walked uprigit: there was not a wrinkle upon his brow—uet a streak of anow on his dark and silky hair ;—ner was there s speck to mar the brilliancy of his even and perfect teeth. And yet he was wasting awa ing on- ward to the tomb with a rapidity that might almest rose and be seen ! The Earl and Countem of received the visitor with a reserve the coldness of which was less intense than they meant it to be: for grievous as was the wrong which he had inflicted apon Fernanda Aylmer, they could not help being touched by the change—the awful change—whioh dad taken place in Arthur Eaton sinoe last they saw him! A few months ago, and he was a fine, handsome young man — vigorous in the enjoyment of that spring-time of his existence when the sanguine ima- gination, elate with hope, decks out the world in all its brightest hues, and fancies that Time, in its on- ward flight, will never fail te scatter flowers from his brow aud -diamends from hie wing. But now—Oh! now—what a spectral being that to bask in the sunshine of aristocratic —tp breathe the arnbroslal air of a lordly mansion— or to sit down at the banquet. where the roseate floods of luxury were poured forth. Already did he seem as if abeut to take the one short step witich se- parated hie feet from the verge of the grave: already did he appearas if on the point of seeking a refuge in the tomb—that silent shore on which the last wave of human life flows, never to ebb again! Mr. Eaton sank upon a chair even before he was invited to be seated—fer. the mere exertion of as- cending from his carriage in the street to that apart- ment on the first-floes, had been followed by a geniezal lassitude and weakness. throughout the entire frame, eo that he felt as if his back were abeut: to break and his limbs to snap asunder beneatit him. “I know not how te find words to express my Gratitude for the goodness which has prompted your lordship to gramt me this interview,” began the young invalid, speaking in a low end faint, bat not disagres- able voice ;—“ and the presence of her ladyskip at the same time is an additional: etoeurngement——. . But.tell. me of. my poor wronged. Festmada,” he ex- claimed, suddenly intesrupting himeelf; and speaking 7 er eat vig of encitedaent. “E . wae sudjest is-a.most painful om, Mr. BR 7 anid the Barlj—4 and yet, cunsideting the object of Saban Visit, it igpecessary.to-enter intb full particnlers, ee aanda has been residing for some weekg: past in stuotest. retirement. Whibil tbe tas three days she gave birth to a still-born child. The evidences of her shame is not therefore in existence f°’ ‘It would be a wretched affectation on my part,” observed Mr. Eaton, “ were I to express any sorrow at this result. But, tell me, my lord—or you, my lady—tell me whether Fernanda will accept the tardy reparation which I propese to make hez.” “T fear that it will be no easy task to persuade her to acvept your hand,” replied the Countess ;—“ and, since you have appealed to me, it would be alike wrong atid‘ foolish not to enumerate all the difficulties which axe to be encountered in cmeying cut your design. Profound and sincere as was Fernanda’s love for you,—deep and fervent as it must have been to enable you to triumph over her virtue,—it never- theless survives no longer.” “And she hates me—she hates maf” exclaimed Arthur, a hectic- appearing, faint and evaa- escent, upon his chess. “Oh! yeo—your ladyship need not attempt to censeal the full truth from me —for I am well acquainted with Fernanda’s dispesi- tion—I can imagine every phase of her character ! Ardantly as ahe has leved—with equal bitterness can she. hate :—in the sante wep that abe would surrender her lif% to prove her afbetion--eo would ehe make any eacrifice to wreak her revenge. You see that I understand her well;—«eid I know that I have wronged her—cruelly weomged her. Bat, as God is my judge, I loved her is the beginning as fervently as she loved me—and-.she besame the victim te no settled scheme of seduction. My ezime was not premeditated: in the ardemr of an ifttpaesioned mo- ment I became too bold, and she toe wealk—and her dishonour was the result. And it was net. altogether because I had thus experienced the righteof a hus- band without having bestowed on her the title of a wife,—it was not on this account alone that-[ began to repent of my vows and pledges; but it wen also because her imperious disposition would broek no control—becanse, in her changing husmvarym she sought to render me the victim of ber cagelece—and because her jealousy and suspicion knew no beunds.” The Honourable Mr. Eaton to gather Weewth: for the animation with which he spoke had exhausted him. “J will frankly and honestly confess,” he resumed at length, “that were I still in the full vigour of youthful health, I should not perhaps have sought to make amends to Fernanda for the injury I have in- flicted upon her. I do not believe that we were formed for each other: the more our respective thonghts,. feelings, habits, aad passions were dis- Played aud develope’ to each other, tive oer peated thre dissimilitade between our more marked grew the unfitness of our union. But now,” he continued, in a tenes of deep pathos, —“now that the tide of my existetee ie 00 rusidly cbbitg away, beasing on its bosem all ie relies of 2 youth- fulness so carly wreched—the shattered renmant? of my affections, my hopes, and my aspirations,;~—now, in a word, that my footsteps are carrying me'with each frightful speed to an carly there is qoarcely merit. on my part in malting ary enerifice for Fernanda’s eake,~—wheress, on hor aide, ‘woald be imsane-were she to refusy the honourable title of a wife. Alas! she weld seen Heveme a widow—and then, without shame, could she in due time bestow ber hand on.somnc huppler ‘object of her affectionn” “ Ie certainly is net eur wish to reproach you &r ‘the past, Arthas,” saidthe East of Desberough, auch CONNIE OOO @ co | iin