The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 102: what you’re looking at

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THE MYSTERIES. 85 widower and had but one son, the Honourable Arthur Eaton, who was about three-and-twenty years of age. Until within a few months of the period of which we are writing, this youthful scion of a noble house had enjoyed such excellent health that he had never known a day’s illness: but all of a sudden his constitution appeared to give way,—not with a gradual approach of premature decay—but with an abruptness as if some vital chords in the heart had broken and existence was only held by the few feeble ligaments which remained. The colour forsook his cheeks—his frame, hitherto vigorous though never robust, grew debilitated—his appetite failed hnm—and he could not induce himself to take enough nourishment to repair the waste of his body : The most eminent physicians were consulted; and they pronounced the affliction to be an unusually in- veterate state of atrophy which had thus seized upon this young man, til] then so promising. His condi- tion was kept secret from the friends and acquaint- ances of the family for some months, in the hope that a restoration to health would be accomplished and thus render it unnecessary to excite alarm: but the disease made such rapid progress, that Lord Marchmont lost all hope—for death appeared to be approaching with giant strides that might be seen. / The nobleman was thus doomed—in his old age, for he had married very late in life—to behold his sm perishing before his eyes; and he now began to reflect that when the fatal moment should arrive and Arthur Eaton should be snatched away by the merci- less grasp of the Destroying Angel, the long-neglected —long-discarded — almost forgotten Mr. Clarendon wonld become heir presumptive to the proud title and vast estates of Marchmont! Therefore, when this gentleman suddenly made his appearance at the Castle, the old nobleman gave him the cordial though mournful welcome due to one who was in all proba- bility destined to be his successor ; and Mr. Clarendon then for the first time heard of the distressing state of his younger relative’s health. Lord Marchmont spoke not of the past as it regarded his treatment of Mr. Clarendon: but he was liberal in his offers and proposals for the future. The result was that the father of Octavia and Pauline returned home with the certainty of an income of a thousand w-year Yor for the future, and with every prospect of full coming the heir to a noble title and an i al Such was the intelligence which Mr. Clarendon now communicated to his daughters, and which they heard with mingled joy and sorrow: for if on the one hand they were delighted at the altered prospects of their well-beloved father, they could not help ex- periencing a profound sympathy on behalf of their youthfal cousin who was so sorely and painfully af- flicted. And this feeling was the more admirable on their part, inasmuch as they had not only never seen either Lord Marchmont or the Honourable Arthur Eaton—but they had no very excellent reasons for being interested in a haughty family at whose hands their sire had suffered so much chilling neglect. _Mr Clarendon now began to unfold to them the views which he had conceived relative to their future mode of life. He proposed forthwith to take a house io a fashionable neighbourhood, and court that so- ciety in which the improved state of his circumstances Would henceforth enable himself and his daughters to meva, Octavia and Pauline were both delighted at the prospects thus developed to their contemplation : for the same thought instantly struck them both-— namely, that their sudden elevation in the social sphere would render them more worthy of the suitors who had already appeared for their hands, A considerable portion of the morning was taken up in these explanations and discussions; and when there was at last a pause in the conversation, Octavia and Pauline began to inform their father of the ad- venture which had occurred in respect to Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Mordaunt. They told him how the carriage had broken down in the road,—how they offered the hospitality of the villa to the two ladies travelling in the vehicle.—how Mrs. Mordaunt became a mother during the night,—how the infant boy was entrusted in a mysterious manner to Mr. Thurston, the sur- geon,—and how Mrs. Smith had insisted upon pre- senting them (Octavia and Pauline) with valuable presents in return for their kindness. Mr. Clarendon listened with profound attention to the extraordinary narrative; and when it was con- cluded, he praised his daughters for having so promptly offered the ladies an asylum, but regretted that they should have accepted the jewellery. On this point he however touched lightly enough: for his own altered circumstances had put him into too good a humour and had elevated his spirits too highly to allow him to be very serious in his remonstrances, In respect to the adventure itself, he coincided with the opinion which Octavia and Pauline had already formed, to the effect that the ladies were most pro- bably of rank and that the names of Smith and Mor- daunt were assumed. But with regard to the terms on which Mr. Thurston had consented to take charge of the child, and the payment of the large sum of ten thousand pounds, Mr. Clarendon still remained ignorant — inasmuch as his daughters themselves were unacquainted with these arrangements. Relative to Mr. Harley not a word was said; and we need scarcely observe that an equal silence was observed in reference to the visit of Lord Florimel. For these were secrets which the young ladies had obvious reasons for cherishing. CHAPTER XXV. A NIGHT OF TERRORS, Ir was evening—half-past nine on the second even- ing of Caroline Walters’ residence in the house ot Mrs. Lindley, the midwife. The young girl was seated alone in her chamber, listening to the hurricane that raged without: for the gale blew in terrific blasts—now rushing over the turbid Thames as if with a violence and a power sufficient to hurl down the very bridges themselves, —then sweeping along the narrow street, and ap- parently enveloping that particular house with all its whirlwind might,—now lulling for a short interval into a dreary succession of moaning sounds,—and then, again collecting its appalling energies for a re- newal of its tempestuous fury. The chamber allotted to the young girl was on the second floor, and at the back of the house. Its win- dows therefore looked upon the Thames: but as the river, even at full tide, was much lower than the street, that casement was a considerable height above the water. And it was full tide now—and, as she sate in her room, Caroline could hear, during each occasional ee | COMGLOO So COUM ,.6OUN