The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 213: what you’re looking at

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energy. “For lam not the mistress of my own fectings—I cannot control my own actions. have conceived for you a passion that is in itself a @ “ Mies Owen, I dare hear no more ” said Jocelyn, resolutely and almost sternly. “Let it suffice for you to learn and for me to declare that I love an- other——” “Ah! wretch that I am!” she cried, with a faint thriek : “I cannot endure to live! By all that is sacred I swear-——” “Take no rash vow—calm yourself—tranquillise your feelings ” exclaimed Jocelyn, cruelly ember- rassed by this scene, and deeply, deeply regretting he had kept the appointment: but more than half suspecting that her frenzied manner was only feigned, he said, ‘‘Remember how indisoreet — —how unlady-like—how unmaidenly it is on your part, thus to address a young man who is almost a to you.” “A stranger!” eried Emma hysterically, as she clung with force to his arm. “No-—no: Jam ag well acquainted with you as if I had known you all my life. Your's are qualities so resplendent that they take one by surprise, and seize as it were upon the very heart. You must not blame me for what { have done—for what I am doing. Why did you throw yourself in my way ?—why did you seek our companionship in this journey? It was not I who sought you in the first instance. Had you been a stranger passing me in the street, and if I had ac- costed you, you would have been justified in spurn- ing me from your presence: but it was far different. You introduced yourself, as it were, to me—you shone upon me in all the glory of your beantiful person and your brilliant mind—and you snatched away my heart. It was not taken slowly and insi- diously—it was ravished ail in a moment. And can I help this love—this immeasurable love— with which you have inspired me ?—is it my fault that I have succumbed to the magic of that voice and those looks the influence of which has been shed upon me? And you—cruel that you are—you reproach me for telling you that state of mind into which you yourself have plunged me !” Then, apparently exhausted by this torrent of words which she had poured out with passionate vehemence, Emma Owen sank upon a bench and gave way to a flood of equally violent weeping. Jocelyn threw a rapid glance around; and it was some relief to his immense perplexity to be assured that no observer was nigh. Indeed, he was most cruelly bewildered. The ardour of the young lady's language—her impassioned manner —her wild looks—and then her apparently deep anguish, all staggered him. Himself too little versed in the treacheries and hypocrisies, the feiuts and the artifices, of which the human mind is capable, he could not believe that this scene was all duplicity—all a studied tragedy—from the be- ginning up to the present stage. And yet he could not bring himself to fancy it entirely genuine and real, Thus, tormented by uncertainty—fearful of proving harsh on the one hand, and recoiling from the idea of being made a dupe on the other—he dared not withhold commiseration, and he dared not proffer it. “ Miss Owen,” he said, in a voice that was serious without being severe, and in a manner that was reserved without being harsb, “I must beg and im- ——_—— ~~ a, oe ae ee plore that you permit me at once to escort you back I} to the hotel There is a duty which you owe to yourself—there is a daty which you owe to me as a fellow-creature. That is, to control your feelings, to whatever extent they may be excited ——.” “Oh! this is maddening— lr exclaimed Emma, clasping her hands as if in despair. “ How can you preach patience, calmness, and duty to one who is goaded to frensyf ‘You say that you love another. Well—I seek not to interfere with the happiness of that being whom you have hiessed with this enviable love. You have a whole life to devote to her: can you, then, refuse meone single day—one, single hour of love—since you have stolen away my heart? Ah! it is a dreadfal confession te make— and I feel the tingling of shame from the crown of my head to my very feet: bat this confession must be made all the same! And it is that I love you with a madness of passion—with a frenzy that will prove my death: and that madness—that frensy must be appeased. Surely no woman ever loved se wildly, so intensely, and so enthusiastically before! My doom, then, is in your hands: give me one day —one single day—of that blessed love of thine—and I shal] sustain myself on the memory thereof for the rest of my life! Nay—I shall even be happy—con- tented—rejoiced : and I shall treasure up the recol- lection of that one day’s consummated bliss, as the only gem that my soul covets. But refuse me, Joce- lyn—refuse me,” she said, the exaltation of her voice and manner suddenly sinking into lowness and gloom,—* refuse me, I say--and the waters of the Seine are deep——” “ Heavens! what madness is this!” cried Loftus, his perplexity now rising into the crueliest alarm. ‘TI have listened to you too long, Miss Owen—and you have said too much.” “ Farewell, then—farewell for ever!’ she suddenly exclaimed: and springing from the seat, she sped along the avenue with the fleetnesse of the hunted deer, towards the bank of the river Seine which flowed hard by. “Good God! she is serious—it is no artifice!" thought Jocelyn : and, wild with terror, he bounded after her, overtaking her near the end of the avenue She sank exhausted in his arms: and as he bore her to one of the numerous benches scattered about, he saw that ber eyes were closing as if she were going to faint, although the deep hues of overwrought ex- citement remained upon her cheeks. Placing himself upon the seat, which was a mere common bench without any back to lean against, he was compelled to support her in his arms: and.once more did he look up and down the avenue, in the fear of being observed. But no person was approaching, nor even visible from that spot: and, somewhat relieved by this circum- stance, he again bent his looks upon the coun. tenance of the young lady. “ Ah! it were sweet to die thus,” she murmured softly, as she opened her eyes and gazed up into his countenance with ineffable tenderness. “But wherefore did you pursue me—why did you hold me back, when in another minute there would have been an end to the woes, the anguish, and the despair which you have implanted in my bosom ?” “Let us not renew the conversation now, Miss Owen,” said Jocelyn, gently raising her recum- bent form. “You have afflicted me sadly— you QGiaeegeange® | | ! COMME MOO CO