The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 279: what you’re looking at

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262 TRE MYSTERIES. ail the indications of a mind ill at ease. Neverthe- lees, in the presence of his daughters he assumed a certain appearance of gaiety—or rather of com- posure and tranquillity—which led them to believe that he had naught to yex or annoy him ;—and it was only when alone that his features fell, as it w into an aspect mournfully harmonising with the state of his thoughts. ; Thus was it on the morning of which we are writing; and which was the one following the grand tat Cariton House :—for, having chatted at the breakfast-table with his daughters in a manner that might be termed almost cheerful, he retired to his library to give way to the most melancholy reflec- tions. Indeed, Mrs. Brace, the wily milliner of Pall Mall, had not been misled by her worldly experience when she conjectured—without ever having seen ‘Mr. Clarendon in her life—that he felt his present posi- tion to be altogether a false one. And such it indeed was: for he had only been acknowledged as a reldtive and well treated by Lord Marchmont at a time when circumstances seemed to proclaim him as the heir to the old peerage and the fine estates which were the appanage of that rank; —-bat now that the Hon. Arthur Eaton was com- ple(ely recovered from his perilous and mysterious malady, it had already struck Mr. Clarendon that Lord Marchmont was growing colder and colder towards him each time they met. True it was that Arthur’s manner became more friendly and cordial, if possible, every day—and he was almost a diurnal visitor at the house in Cavendish Square: but still the young gentleman's amiability recompensed not Mr. Clatendoa far the old lord’s increasing indif- ference. What, then, was to be done? To return to his cottage and his comparative penury, was an idea too galling for Mr. Clarendon to entertain for many Minutes at a time—although there were occasions when he did contemplate it seriously, conbidering it to be preferable to the psinful alternative of living as it were upon a species of eleemosynary charity—or at all events, in an utter dependence on his haughty velative. But, no—he could not calmly and delibe- rately consent to abandow the improved position in which circumstances had placed him after so long that it was a position not only false and embar-. rassing, but even creel. For the allowance of a thousand a-year might be withdrawn by Lord Marchmont in any moment of caprice; and even if it were continued until this old nobleman‘s death, there might be no stipulation in his will to ensare its subsequent payment. True it was that Arthur Eaton appeared to have conceived a great attachment towards the Clarendon family- but he was young—he_might marry, and thas be. stow his sympathies elsewhere—er a thousand other circumstances might tend to induce him te stop the pecaniary allowance now made. All. these considerations were perplexing saad vexatious enough: bat even that did not consti- tate the sum of Mr. Clarendon’s painfal reflections. For was it a small thing that a peerage shonl2 have been snatched, as it were, from his very grasp ?—was it a trifling matter that a coronet should have descended to within an inch of his brow and then have been suddenly withdrawn ? Yet such was the fact:—a few weeks back—ané Arthur Eaton appeared to hover on the very verge of the grave. Death seemed to hold him in his grasp—and thus the frailest, weakest barrier in the world alone stood between Mr. Clarendon and the heirshipeapparent to the Marchmont tithe and estates, But how speedily was the aspect of circaum- stances changed! Death released its hold apon ¢he victim who seemed past all human redemption ; and Arthar Eaton rapidly returning to a new and vigorous state of éxistence. Mr. Clarendon's hopes, at one time so brilliant, were thus doomed to experience a terrible annihilation ;—and it was not without the bitterest pangs ead the most in- tense secret anguish that this man, natarally am- bitious and of an aristocratic mind, beheld the downfall of that glorious fabric which ocircum- stances had justified his imagination tn building up. Upon retiring to his library on the morning whereof we are now writing, Mr. Clarendon fell into the train of thoughts which we have just sketched :—and in this painful reverie had he been wrapt for nearly half-an-hour, when a domestic en- tered to announce thata lady, who refused to give her name, desired an immediate interview with and savere a struggle with the world. Besides, was | him not Pauline engaged to marry a young peer of im- mense wealth !—and might not Octavia hope to form ao equally brilliant match f So at least Mr. Clarendon thought: and, looking apon the world and all its denizens with that dis- trust which a long series of misfortunes invariably engenders in ghe human mind, he feared lest his daughters’ prospects should be ruined were his own position in society to undergo any alteration for the woret. He knew not that Florimoel, for instance, had loved Pauline when she was an obscure, humble, and unknown maiden, or that he now loved her for her own eske alone: on the contrary, he fancied that if Pauline were to return to the villa in the Edgeware Road and lay aside her silk dreas to resume a cotton one, she would not then appear sufficiently beautiful (n the young nobleman’s eyes to compensate for her own want of fortune and the penary of her sire These considerations, therefore, induced Me. Clarend n to cling to the position ia which Lord Marchmont had so suddenly, and under sach pe- euliar placed him: bat still he felt He ordered the servant to ahow the visitress into the library; and when she made her appear- ance, he was immediately strack by the mingled elegance, dignity, and graee which characterised her form: but her countenance Mr. Clarendon could not see—for it was carefully concealed by a thick black veil so folded as to render it impossi- bie to catch a glimpse of the featares through the transparency of the lace. That she was young, he had not the slightest doubt—for her figure poesensed all the symmetry of youthfulness: the waist was very slender—the shoulders had a fine width and an admirable slope —the bust was well-formed without exube- raot—and she walked with that lightness yet Grm- ness of step which finely proportioned limbs ca alone command. Besides, her feet and ankles, peeping beneath her dark silk dress, were small even to & fault—and the hands, though impri- soned in black kid gloves, were evidently modelled with a. corresponding delicacy and perfection. — Mr. Clarendon placed a chair for her acoumaac CORNICE OOO ©) CO