The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

a ee a a aaa aaa aaaasaaaaaa THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. ‘14 “Dr. Ferney,” was the lady’s response, “after all the generous words you have spoken to me, and after declaring that you would rather lay down your lifeto do me. service than breathe a word to do me an injury, it would be wrong—it would be ungrate- ful—were I to treat you with such mistrust as to retain my veil over my features. Besides-—you say ee ee 10 Mmprocon’ upon Jour me * Yea—indelibly ! exelaimed the physician. “ But it would be happiness which I had never dared | the to behold it once again.” The lady slowly raised her veil; and an expres- sion of mingled delight, admiration, and surprise eame upon the countenance of Dr. Ferney. So little had time changed the beauty of those splendid features that it appeared to him as if the lapse of nineteen years had not taken place—that it had been all a dream—end that he saw her now as he had been wont to seo her when at his mother’s residence. ¥or that lapse of time, while maturing the beauty of this ¢ woman, had only seemed to add , tothe glory and the splendour of her loveliness. There was perhaps lees of softness in her looke—but/the light of her eyes had not waned—the raven darkness of her hair had not paled nor lost its gloss—the richness of the red had not withered on the lips—nor the evenness of the flesh become indented with a single wrinkle. “Tis the seame—the very same!” murmured the physician, in accents that were only just audible: then passing his hand oyer his eyes, he ssid, “Is it a dream—e delicious dream? or is ita reality? It isareality! I cannot doubt it:”—and once more did he appear so overpowered by his emotions thas , he looked as if almost about to faint. | “And during this long interval,” said the lady, repeating her former question with an evident anxiety to receive the confirmation of the former response, “you have never once seen me?” “‘ No—never once,” returned the physician. “By the nature of the query I must of course suppose that you either dwell in London or visit it frequently: bat even if you are constantly riding or walking abroad it would not be surprising that we have never met: for I go out so little—never into society —only to visit the patients who cannot come to me; and in those professional rounds I am whirled rapidly along in my carriage, for my time is so pre- cious! Then, even when thus flying about in my carriage, my attention is ever fixed on some book which I take with mo; so that seldom is it I gaze forth from the window of the vehicle—and thus, if every day you pass me by, I should not see you. But let me again beseech and implore that you will experience no mistrust in me. Good heavens! I am incapable of injuring you; and even if I were capable, I know not that I have the power. For with reference to that incident to which I need not allude more pointedly, I scarcely understood its Fey ane, and parpose af the time, and assuredly I feel no inclination to fathom it now. Whatever mysterice be your's, keep them-—cling to them —and confident that so far as I am concerned they are onto, You have conferred upon me too much happiness by thus permitting me to gaze upon that countenance again, not to inspire me with the live- liest gratitude in addition to any other sentiment I may have experienced towards you.” nd a @e wes & - ms: - - =a nln aal ee Y a a= => “And are you not surprised to receive a vistt from me?” asked the lady. “Yee—~—and yet not altogether surprised; for without being able to explain it even unto myself,” continued the doctor, “I must inform you that there has often arisen in the depths of my soul a presentiment that we should one day meet again. But observe, this presentiment has not been accom- panied by Akope. I never was wildly enthusiastic ne ee ek, foolish enough to anticipate that feeling which my heart hes cherished would ever be crowned with happiness. Yet I felt, as I have said, that we should meet again; and I now rejoice that we have thus met. Such is the tone and temper of my mind that when you depart hence, no dreariness nor dismalneces will be lef be- hind you; but, on the contrary, the light of your transient presence will appear to linger within these walls and cheer me on my way. You see that I can speak rationally and calmly upon this subject, as becomes my years, and as becomes perhaps the po- sition of her whom I am now addressing. For that | you were not what you seemed when dwelling at my mother’s residence, I felt assured; and that your’s is no plebeian nor middle grade, I am equally confident now. But whd you might have been I never sought to know; and who you are I purpose not to inquire at present. Those are your secrets— and they are sacred in my estimation. Besides, I have no undue curiosity; mine is a disposition of another stamp. But pardon this long specch. All I have said is merely to inspire you with the neces- sary confidence to induce you to explain the purpose of your visit: for that you have an object in coming to me this evening, I must of course conclude.” “ Dr. Ferney, you are a man of too much sense,’ replied the lady, “for me to dream of flattering or complimenting you so emptily—eo transparently— as by a declaration to the effect that I came hither for the mere purpose of reviving the friendship of former days. No—it was a purely business-matter that me hither; and as I ere now said, lit- strangers but it has proved otherwise—and I have therefore the leas difficulty in explaining my purpose. Do you recollect that when you hed your little house in Islington—at a time when you could scarcely fore- see the eminence to which you were destined to rise, and which has enabled you to move to this fashion- able quarter of the town,—do you remembor, I ask, thet you had a little laboratory opening from your private sitting-room up-stairs P” “ When I removed from that house,” replied Dr. Ferney, “it cost me many a pang to do so, because gow had visited me there. Ah! can I forget that laboratory? do I not remember that one entire morning was passed with you there P and you seemed. to take so deep an interest in the various experi- ments I showed you--—Oh | it was that which em- boldened me at the time to throw myself at your feet and declare how much I loved you !”” “And you remember also,” continued the lady, “that there wore two or three of your experiments in which I was so much interested that I besought you to give me written deseriptions of the several processes—and you did so.” ‘“ And those receipte—have you preserved them f have you ever thought any more of them ?” asked . _——— ame Beem = -~ 2 | _) ai e COMM ElOOO (CO