The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

42 THE MYSTERIES. ness which seemed to be the blending of their spirit, indescribable sensations of joy, and plea- guve, and bliss came over her—and she suffered him gently to remove her bonnet and her thick winter-shawl. Then he smoothed down her shining aabury hair, and toyed with her long glossy ringlets that |. ‘framed her blushing cheeks and swept over her shoulders; and the maiden felt how delicious it was to love and be beloved ! “You told me that you had so much to say to me, George,” she murmured, her words appearing to borrow a more liquid intonation from the moist~ ness of the inviting red lips between which they passed. . “Yes, my angel,” he replied, his own voice becoming more tender and seductively low: ."' I wished to make you comprehend how sincerely - how devotedly I love you! But now that we are | together, my feelings are so intense tHat it seems ne ; Ep ESE culate its immensity—and how my soul when I cannot find words to ideas which I would fain convey to your cempre- On. Octavia hung with reptare and upon every syllable that fell, in such woft anf meline ; harmony, from the Hps of her lover; and so lest was she in the dream-like voluptuousness that ji oe ad | FE 4 Ss covering all her presence of mind, and casting off in a moment the voluptuous languor that had come over her, Octavia {wre herself from his embrace, exclaiming, “O George!. is this your love for me?—would you~ plunge *me into the depths of shame and degradation ?” “‘ Beautiful being!” cried Harley, seizing her handae and pressing them one after the other to his lips; “‘wherefore do you reproach me? Should not I rather ask you whero is that love which you have suffered me to believe that your soul cherishes for me? Qh! give me a love that knows nothing save its own inclinations—that can obey no dic- tates save those of the heart which contains it— cold repugnance of a miserable prudery !|—give me such a love as this, my Octavia,” exclaimed Harley, his countenance becoming abeolutely splendid as he made this impassioned appeal to the maiden’s —" give me such a love as this, my angel—and I[ will deserve it by a life And it ie because I love you so devotedly, Octsvia—becanse I adere you with such s measure of worship—that I am jealous of you ;—and if I beseech you to have compassion upon me, and give me every proof of love that Woman cas give—'tis only that I may console myself when away from you by the conviction that I have secured a treasure which no rival can take from me!” a¢ @ weakness that I canzot conquer. Have pity upon me, then—have pity upon me!—tortare me not with those racking anxities———” “ Have pity upon me, George!” cried Octavis, gliding from hia arms and sinking at hia feet— her hair, which had . from its con§ne- ment, flowing all down her beck; —“‘have pity upon sq I say—have pity upos en ne Setened Bex cteeged hands towan\e ECOMMIGCOSOOKS @ CO