The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 150: what you’re looking at

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THE MYSTERIES OF THE OOURT. 189 | drawing-room where this discourse took place,— Mr. Redcliffe slowly pacing to and fro, and with various feelings successively depicting themselves upon his countenance, dictated the following lines :— “The aassasain-blow which waa intended for myself has smitten another. You will start at these words: horror will seize upon you: your wretched conscience will tell you that heaven itself is shielding me and warring against gou. And you will feel, too, how useless it is for you to contemplate freeh iniquities in the hope of protecting yourself from the consequences of past ones. The web which you yourself have woven, is closing ia around you. I do not bid such an one as you to confess everything and thereby make as much stonement as you can for the past: beceuse J kuow that you cling with a freusied and desperate tenacity until the very last to that position which you hold. Bat I warn you, my lord, against a renewed attempt at a crime for which I am pre- pared. At the very first indication of such a preceeding on your pert, will I remorselessly reveal whatscever I know; and the hand whieh grasped that portentous dagger within the walls of Oaklenda on an occssion to which I need not more particularly refer,—that same hand, I repest, shall pen a narrative of all which oon- cerns yourself, and tothe Queen of England shall this marrative be sent. Tremble therefore at the precipice on whose verge you stand; and remember that if you again dare me to precipitete you into the abyse, nothing sbali deter me from thus hastening a consummation which the progress of circamstances will otherwise scaner or later work out “INDORA.” The hand of the Queen trembled as it guided the pen which traced these lines; and as we have already said, varied were the feelings which suc- cessively found expression on the features of Mr. Redcliffe. It was in a low deep solemn tone that he dictated the note; and twice or thrice he pressed his hand as if in anguish to his brow. I¢ was evident that a train of horrible memories—a troup of portentious antecedents, were conjured up | by the words of that letter to the mental vision alike of Clement Redcliffe and of Queen Indora. Tuc billet was finished : it was directed and sealed ; and the Queen said, “ Are you determined, Clement, to despatch this missive P"’ “Yes, Indora—I am resolved,” was the auswer : “it is absolutely necessary. We will send it by the faithful Mark; and he shall be instructed to deliver it in Belgrave Square this very night,— without saying from whom it comes, and without tarrying for any reply.” This was accordingly done; and soon afterwards Mr. Redcliffe took his departure with Christian Ashton. CHAPTER CXIII. A WOMAN'S LOVE. Timm reader has seen the effect which Indora’s letter produced upon the wretched Marchmont. Jé the writing ot it had conjured up troops of hideous memories to sweep through the brains of the Queen and of Mr. Redcliffe, the reading of the document had sssuredly done no less in reference to the Duke. Fur nearly half-an-hour did he re- main like one stupefied with horror and appalled with dismay, in the apartment to which he had retired: it appeared to him as if he were in the roidst of a frightful waking dream. Suddenly he | started up from his ohair, and dashed his hand ! with frantic violence against bis forehead, as if he sought to beat in his own skull, or crush his own tortured, harrowed brain. Ob, the misery, the anguish, the crucifixion of feeling whieh this wretohed man endured at that moment! Take all the horrora which have characterised the most frightful scenes ever enacted on the theatre of the world—the horrors of condemued cella, death-beds, or battle-fields—sum them all up—aggregate, com- pound them—extract their most refined essence— and it were nothing, nothing in comparison with the hideous tortures experienced by the Duke of Marchmont sow. Oh! the deadly strife at Arbela, at Pharsalia, at Waterloo, or at Inkerman,—even these were as nothing in comparison with the stupendous concurrence of horrors which now found ea focus in the soul of the Duke of March. mont! But he must endeavuur to reflect upon his posi- tion : he must deliberate with himself. Reflection and deliberation |—were these possible with one in his agonized state of mind? We have said that he started up from his seat: he struck his hand with violence against his brow. He paced to and fro: he felt that he was staggering and reeling like a drunken man : be sank down into his seat again, groaning beavily—and, Oh! bow mournfully, how lugubriously, how despairingly! His eye fell upon the note, which had dropped from his hand and lay upon the carpet. He snatched it up, and read it again. Yees-—it was all as his horrified memory retained ite contents. Again starting up from his seat, he applied the note to a wax-taper; and when the flame seized it, ho threw it into the grate. It then for a moment appeared as if he breathed more freely; and he said to himself, “Let me think on all these things.” In order to concentrate his ideas, he rested his elbows upon a table ; and covering his countenance with his hands, pressed the fingere upon his cye- lids to keep them closed—so that by shutting out externs! objects, he might be the better able to turn all bis attention inwards. He felt that he was in the position of a general besieged in a town towards which the enemy were gradually ad-. vancing: the trenches were being pushed nearer and nearer—mines were being formed—batteries were being raised—and he could not anticipate when the final attack should be made. Nor could he altogether understand with what weapons the enemy were fighting; and therefore he was at a loss to devise the means for strengthening his own position. The longer he reflected, the more be- wildering grew his reflections: the longer he de- liberated, the more perplexing became his delibee ration. ‘“‘Indora knows much—and if not everything, at least too much!” he thought within himself, “Bat if so, why does she linger and tarry ere striking the final blow? Or is it that she only suspects, and is now engaged in accumulating proofs? Who is sheP and what are my affairs to her? Can it be possible that fc really lives? Yes, yes! Fool that 1 am to endeavour to blind myself to the tremendvus truth! Hute I not seen him ?P But does he know Indura? is there aught in con- COMIC DOG (CO