The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 123: what you’re looking at

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112 self so good, so kind, so affectionate towards my daughter—you possess too so much sterling sense —that I readily leave myself in your hands. But in order that you may be enabled to assist me with your judgment and direct my proceedings, I must tell you everything.” M. Volney paused: Zoe had no reply to make— at least not for the present: but she waited with intensest curiosity, and also with a eolemn feeling of interest, for the explanations that were to come. ‘First of all,” resumed M. Volney, “ let me inform you of the nature of that letter which Alfred Delorme placed in my hand last night. It was a lettor written by my wretched wife to Alfred’s father: it was after the birth of my daughter—and by ite tenour it fully proved that although they had for some time loved each other with that illicit, fatal affection of their's, yet that it was only a few days prior to the writing of that letter that their love had become downright crimi- nal. Yes—the evidence that such is the fact is incontrovertible; and therefore was I enabled last night to embrace Clarine for the first time with the conviction that in her I was veritably embrac- ing a daughter! And thus, too, the barrier which my hideous suspicion bad raised up against the possibility of an alliance between herself and Alfred Delorme, bas ceased to exist: but there is another —another,” added M. Volney, with difficulty sup- pressing a burst of anguisb,—“ unless indeed by your judgment and under your guidance, Lady Octavian, it can be surmounted.” ; “And this other barrier?” said Zoe, still in a state of deep and solemn suspense. “Listen to me,” said M. Volney; “and I will tell you a tale which you can little expect to hear. You aro already sufficiently acquainted with past events to enable me to take up my narrative from a particular point without any prefatory details. I therefore wish to direct your attention to that period—that fatal period—when I suddenly dis- covered my wife’s infidelity. She died of a broken heart, —overwhelmed with shame and di as you have heard. The Viscount Delorme—that false friend who became the author of s0 much misery—fied to avoid my vengeance: for I sent a friend to provoke him to a mortal duel—a duel in which I had resolved that one if not bath should perish. But my mind was made up: I was deter- mined to have vengeance: nothing but the blood of that man could appease my furiously excited passions! Heaven knows that up to that instant my character had never displayed iteelf in a fero- cious light—my disposition had never developed savage instincts. But I bad experienced a wrong so stupendous that only an adequate vengeance could give rest to my perturbed and excited spirit. At least such was my idea. By some means, which I need not now pause to describe, I got upon the Viscount’s track—and I at once pre- texted an inclination for a change of residence to an Italian clime. I took my infant daughter and Marguerite with me. Oh, often and often did I wonder within myself wherefore I entertained the least love for that child, and wherefore I did not cast her forth from me as the possible offspring of that illicit love which had dishonoured me. But when I looked upon Clarine’s innocent counte- nance, there was a yearning tenderness in my bo THE MYSTERIZS OF THE COURT. heart which at least forbade me from being unkind to the babe even if my soul did not absolutely cleave to it. It was the voice of nature whisper- ing, though faintly, within me: for last night has proven that she is indeed my daughter! Good God, if I had discarded the child—if I had repa- diated her !—Oh, what guilt! what sorrow! But, thank heaven, of that crime I am innocent !” A look of grateful fervour, as these last words were uttered, succeeded the strong shudder with which the immediate previous ones were spoken ; and Zoe herself shuddered—for she had a presenti- ment that her ears were about to drink in some terrible revelation. “Yes--I undertook that journey,” continued M. Volney, after a pause; “and at every halting- place I secretly but diligently instituted those in- quiries which enabled me to follow up the clue that I bad originally obtained. Marguerite fancied that it was my unsettled mind which caused me thus to wander forth for long bours together: but it was in reality for the purpose of making the in- quiries to whioh I have just alluded. At length the intelligence I received led me to Mount Si. Bernard—that portion of the Alpine range which overlooks sunny Italy. We reached the Hospice: but now all clue to the Viscount Delorme seemed suddenly lost. He had not visited the Hospice ; and yet I had the positive certainty that he bad commenced the ascent of the mountain. I wan- dered about for hours and hours together in that dangerous region of snows and glaciers; and the faithful Marguerite was more than ever frightened on my account. Yes—I dared a thousand perils while hunting a man on thoee Alpine heights with as much tenacity of purpose as ever the harly mountaineer displayed in chasing the chamois. Thus several days paseed; and at length one fore- noon, amidst an almost blinding sleet, I beheld a single horseman toiling up a steep slope. It was he—my mortal enemy—the object of my search — the man whom I was hunting—the Viscount Delorme !” . “M. Volney,” said Zoe, shuddering, and with a countenance pale as death, “tell me no more—[ beseech you to tell me no more! I dare not anti- cipate what the rest of your narrative might be: but it seems as if I had already heard too much !” “Lady Octavian,” eaid the French gentleman, — in a voice that was ecarcely audible, “I beseech you to hear the rest! ‘You must know every- thing—-or else you will be unable to assist me with your judgment. Nothing must be concealed from you—nothing withheld. If you were left to con- jecture, i¢ might fall short of the terrible, the as- tounding truth! Besides,” added M. Volney, “a few words—a very few words will explain the rest—and these words shall be quickly said.” “ No, no!” gesped Zoe: but her accents were even less audible than those in which the French- man had just been speaking. “It was amidet that cloud of beating sleet, mingled with snow-fiakes,” continued M. Volney, heedless of Lady Octaviah’s weak and feeble inter- ruption, “ that the horseman advanced. I stood with my back towards him until be was on a level with me: then in consequence of the suddenness with which I turned towards him, his horse started, shied, and flung the Viscount from bia back. The scene was terrible. The animal reared COMM CEOOO® | | (CO