The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 379: what you’re looking at

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

THR MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. As he thus spoke, the Baronet spread open the Dover newspaper before Mr. Gunthorpe; and the old gentleman began to read the column pointed out to him. Gradually did a strange excitement come over him: he grew pale as death—subdued q@acu- lations escaped his ipe—his agitation was extreme. Sir John Marston threw a significant look at Lord Petersfield —a look in which a sardonic triumph was blended with a conviction of their own safety. Mr. Gunthorpe finished reading the report—drew his hand across his brow, as if with a pang of in- effable mental agony—and then looked at the paper again. He longed to start up in a fury and de- nounce the whole affair as a frand or a delusion: he longed to proclaim his conviction that the Mrs. Chandos of Dover was not the Elisabeth in whom he was interested, and a different being from Mrs. Chandos the highwaywoman. But when he re- flected that fram Henriette’s lips he had heard how scription too, which Marlow had given before the Dovor magistrate ofthe fondle Meuwayman tallied eo completely with the portrait which the news- paper report drew of the Mrs. Chandos who ap- peared as a prisoner on the cecasion, thet it was impossible to doubt! Even the nature of the evidence given at that investigation before the Mayor of Dover, though to all appearance | listen. establishing an alibi, could not possibly prove satis- factory to a man of Mr. Gunthorpe’s shrewdness and in Alas, yes! he could come to no other conclusion than the one fatal to the character of Elizabeth Paton. And this idea was sadly and terribly confirmed, when he recalled to mind her own words, uttered to him ere now—that although as 6 woman she was pure and chaste, yet that her life had not been free from faults. The poor old gentleman was overwhelmed—almost annihilated ; and after remaining in utter consternation and of another kind will overtake both yourself and your accomplice, Lord Petersfield. Your conscience, Sir John your’s likewise, my lord, will not er you to remain for ever indifferent to this signal iniquity which you have perpetrated. I leave you therefore to the enjoyment of your ill- gotten gaine—to the pangs of remorse which sooner or later will inevitably overtake you! I leave you to all the consequences of a guilt which heaven cannot suffer to go un Having thus spoken in accents of a withering bitternen, Mr. Guntborpe rose from his seat and. quitted the room. “There! you sce how splendidly I have managed it!” exclaimed Sir John Marston, the moment the door closed behind the old gentleman. “ We are eafe—we are eafe. I feel more at ease than I have done fur a long, long time past.” Lord Petersfield, now beginning to breathe freely, remarked, “ Yes—the affair has indeed taken a turn which I had little anticipated.” “The idea struck me all in a moment,” observed Sir John, “asl listened ut that door. I can’t tell how % was—but it ocourred to me, somehow oF connected with the business we had been talking on. I suppose it was because that business was uppermost in my thoughts at the time. However, such was my impression: and it induced me to Thus you seo, Petersfield, that while you, with all your diplomatic astuteness, would have suf- fered to be crushed down to the dust by that old bully, I got rid of him by riding the high hosse and taking the matter with an air of hardi- hood and effrontery.” “I$ is indeed * observed Potersfield, “that we have got rid of. this unpleasant affair so easily. Bat think you we shall hear no more of it Pp” “I am confident we shall not,” replied Marston. “I will stake my existence upon it. This Gun- Gamay for s fow minutes he gave vent to his grief | thorpe is evidently deop in a certain nobleman’s in. tears “That will be a shocking account,” observed Sir John Marston, with an ill-eubdued malignity, “ for you to forward to that nobleman whose friend and confidant you are.” “Villain!” ejaculated Mr. Gunthorpe, suddenly dashing away the tears from his eyes and turning his indignant looks upon the Baronet: “all this must be your work—and your's also, my lord! Had you both performed your duty towards that young secrets. Did you see how he was affected? That was at the idea of having to shock his friend—this certain nobleman,” added Marston malignantly— “with an aceount of Elisabeth's ways of life. And then too, there is the necessity of enving Lady Everton’s name from exposure and di which is another for us. Had the matter rested got out of it eo comfortably. But as it is, we are eafe, and need trouble ourselves no more the woman, she never could have been forced into such ways as these. But there shall be vengeance and | for the future he need not pay the quarterly allow Punishment for yous iniquitics ” ance to Elisabeth. Is will be four hundred e-year Thus speaking, Mr. Gupthorpe sprang up from | i his seat, and was hurriedly quitting the room—when Sir John Marston called out, “Stop! you had better | i do nothing rash! Remember, the honour of Lady Everton may be at stake !” Mr. Gunthorpe was struck by the circumstance| “No matter who he is,” rejoined Marston: “he thus announced, and which for the moment he had | hae eesased to become an object of terror for os.” forgotten. He did therefore stop short; and re-: With these words the Baronet took his leave of turning to the cheir he had so abruptly left, sat the nobleman, and quitted in hi down and reflected for of a minute. | and joyous triumph at the “I find,” he said at length, “that I have to deal ' ventare. matter. I shall even go to Hokecn ant tel him eat terrupted Marston. “ Here: take and read this | with villains of no ordinary stamp. Yes—you are document !” right, Sir John Marston: there can be no exposure —no vengeance. But rest assurcd that punishment ene