The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 222: what you’re looking at

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

THE MYSTERIFS. 207 well aware that since you were eight years old and I was eighteen, our attachment to each other has never been for 2a moment marred by a harsh word or a cold look.” This is truae—most true,” murmured the Countess of Desborough; “and were I to make any one a confidant of the secret sorrow which, I admit, weighs upon my heart, that friend would be your- self.” “Ts it possible that you ean love another ?—that you hate your husband for that other’s sake 2” ejacu- lated the Duchess, a sudden idea striking her. “ No —no,” responded the Countess of Desbo- rough: then, in an altered and far more solemn tone, she added, “* Never yet have I felt what love is!” “You did not love the Earl when you married him 2” exclaimed Georgiana, profoundly surprised. “This, then, was at least a secret which you kept from me. But surely his conduct must have been such as to win your affections ?-—surely he cannot seem tender, loving, and attentive in public, and ill- treat you in private ?” “ Not for worlds would I have you think so ill of Francis!’ cried the Countess, emphatically. No —he has surrounded me with all the elements of that happiness which gold can procure ; and his constant study is to render my life as agreeable as it may be.” “This mystery is incomprehensible!” said the Duchess. I am pained—grieved to the inmost re- cesses of my heart—to think that my best friend should be unhappy, and that she should fear to en- trust me with the cause of her sorrow.” “You know not how I lopg—how ardently I crave to unbosom myself to you, dearest Geor- giana,” returned the Countess, bending upon her companion thase eyes which were usually so bril- liant and lustrous, but which were now so mournful and melting. “ Your words have already penetrated like a balm into my soul—the tender sympathy which you have manifested towards me, has doneme good. Yes—the love of a dear friend must be an incalculable relief; but it would kill me to think that this friend should ever have cause to blush for her in whose behalf she has shown such generous feel- ings.” “YT blush for you, Eleanor!’ exclaimed the Duchess, more and more astonished at this species of self-accusation on the part of the Countess: “Oh! that were impossible! I know you to be virtue itself.” “But is there not the sin of the thoughts as well as of the actions?” inquired Eleanor, in a subdued and mournful tone. “ Alas! since the confession must be made—and I see that I cannot resist the in- fluence which prompts me now to unbosom my soul to you——”’ “ Speak freely—fearlessly,”’ said the Duchess, ob- serving that her friend still hesitated. “It will prove one of the most delicious moments of my life if I can in any way sooth the secret sorrow which you cherish.” “Ere now, my beloved Georgiana,’ resumed the Countess, “ you complimented me by saying that I was virtue itself. But you know not how unworthy I am of the good opinion which you haye thus formed of me! Itis true thatif the chastity of the body be all that is required to constitute virtue, I am. indeed virtuous. But may not a polluted sonl dwell in a chaste body, even as a pure soul may in- habit a body that is polluted? The woman whose honour is violently wrested from her by the mis- cereant ravisher, is still chaste in mind though tainted in person: and, on the other hand, the woman who iseven a virgin in bodily innocence may be a very Messalina in passions, cravings, and desires. Do you understand me, my dear friend?” asked the Countess, without raising her head, but with a burn- ing blush suffusing her entire countenance and pour- ing its crimson glow over her neck, her shoulders, and her bosom. “}T understand that you have involved yourself in a net of sophistry and metaphysical argument which cannot regard yourseif,’ responded the Duchess. “It is true that virtue may bea nega- tive quality only, in some instances: but as you have already assured me that you love no man, you have no possible inducement to prove faithless to your husband. Were you enamoured of some handsome youth, and were you on that account wrestling against temptation, it would not be difi- cult to comprehend your position.” “And then, perhaps, the crime were more yee nial than when the soul has to combat with pas- sions and cravings which have no particular object to excite them,” murmured Eleanor, covering her countenance with her hands. | “I understand you at length!” whispered the Duchess of Devonshire, leaning towards her friend on whose shoulder she placed her hand: “you are upon those unhappy terms with your husband which deprive you of the enjoyment of conjugal rites— and you are not of a temperament to allow so saint-like an existence to be even tolerable. If this be the case, Eleanor, you need nat blush to avow it—for IT candidly admit that the result of such privation would be the same with me.” “And yet we are so differently situated,” ex- claimed the Countess, raising her blushing face timidly towards that of the brilliant and voluptuous Georgiana: “for as yet you have only obtained an insight into a portion of my secret—you haye only learnt the least and most insignificant part of my weakness. Alas! you alluded to the unhappy terms on which [ exist with my husband: but you have yet to hear and be amazed at the cause of that severance which is scarcely veiled by the mockery of our liying beneath the same roof.” * And this cause—what can it be 2” asked Geor- ciana, taking her friend’s hand and pressing it be- tween both her own. The Countess of Desborough hesitated upwards of a minute: she was evidently afraid of giving a reply to the question—and she was unable to find language wherewith to frame that answer. But suddenly calling all her courage to aid her in achiey- ing a confession which had gone thus far, she placed her lips to the ears of the Duchess, and hastily whispered a few words. The magnificent Georgiana started as if a ser- pent had stung her—so amazed was she by the ex- traordinary and unexpected revelation which she had thus heard: but Eleanor, deyoured with shame, and unable to endure the look of mingled inecredu- lity, surprise, and compassion which the Duchess fixed ypon her, threw herself on the bosom of her friend, and, concealing her burning countenance there, gaye vent to her feelings in a flood of tears. “My poor Eleanor, be comforted,” at length said the Duchess of Devonshire: “it is not grief JOO =) COMNNIC SS n(CO)