The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

46 THE COURT OF LONDON its pledge to protect the fatherless, or how had she deserved the infliction of so much misery? Her life had been pure and spotless; neither in word nor deed had she ever offended against God or man; and in those happier days which were gone, apparently never to be recalled, she had dispensed her charities with no niggard hand. The poor mendicant had never been turned unaided away from the door of her parents’ dwelling; and there were many, many kind acts which Rose had performed in secret but which were recorded in heaven’s high chancery to her account. Alas! alas! she who had so frequently befriended the orphan was now the victim of a bitter persecution in her own orphan state. Cold and cheerless was the great world to her; unblessed seemed her lot, stern and rugged the path which her destiny traced out. A rose in beauty as well as in name, was she doomed to share the rose’s fate and be plucked by the ruthless hand of the spoiler, to be scattered and strewn after having ministered to his evanescent caprice with its richness of perfume and its beauty of hue. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon, and Rose was seated in her prison-chamber, with her head leaning upon her hand and her eyes fixed vacantly upon the floor. There were books on the table, there was a harp in one corner of the room, and there were materials for fancy-work at hand; but to none of her favourite recreations could the orphan turn her mind or direct her attention. Too deeply absorbed was she in her own sorrows to be able to follow in imagination the afflictions of the heroine of a romance, too harsh were the discordant notes that vibrated in her heart to permit her feelings to hope that music would soothe them, and the hands that were now so often wrung in despair could not be tutored to ply the needle. Miserable, very miserable was the orphan; and more than a hundred times in every hour did she wish that she was with her parents in that cold grave over which the roughest human foot may pass without injuring those who sleep beneath. Suddenly the noise of the key turning in the lock fell upon the maiden’s ear; and, starting from her reverie like a timid roe, she waited in breathless suspense and with affrighted looks for the presence of the visitor, this being an hour at which Harriet never was wont to make her appearance there. The door opened, and Mrs. Brace advanced into the room CORNICLOO© re) S (CO)