The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

ROSE FOSTER AGAIN 51 ‘‘If your Royal Highness be truly sincere,” said Rose, raising herself up, “‘ you will at once lead the way to another apartment.” And, as she uttered these words, she moved toward the door. ‘Stay, Miss Foster, and hear me,” cried the prince, interposing himself in such a manner that he effectually barred her passage from the room. “ I must and will tell you all that I have to say.”’ ‘“ Not here, not here,’ ejaculated the maiden, her alarm rapidly heightening; and, as she spoke, she endeavoured to glide past the prince and gain the door. | But he seized her around the waist, and then a piercing shriek burst from her lips. A panic terror for an instant paralyzed the royal voluptuary, and the orphan escaped from his arms before his lips had polluted her virgin cheeks with their hot and lustful kisses. Again she sprang toward the door; but the prince, suddenly placing his back against it, exclaimed, ‘‘ Miss Foster, I have said that you must and shall hear me, and, by Heaven! I will keep my word.” The unhappy girl, shrinking back in unspeakable terror, clasped her hands and fixed upon the heir apparent a look so full of earnest entreaty and pathetic appealing that had not his heart been made of the hardest granite those im- ploring eyes would have melted his callosity. “Oh, will not your Royal Highness have pity upon me? ”’ she exclaimed, once more falling upon her knees and ad- dressing the unprincipled voluptuary in a rending tone. “My God! what have I done that your Royal Highness should become my bitterest enemy, my most relentless persecutor? All I ask is to be permitted to eat the bread of mine own honest industry; but you, yes, you, the heir to the throne of these realms, are resolved upon reducing me to misery, ruin, and despair. And, oh, blame me not if your own conduct now wrings bitter and reproachful words from my lips, but rather blame yourself for acting in a manner which compels me to remind your Royal Highness how cruelly, cruelly I have already suffered through you. Am I not an orphan, at the age of sixteen, deprived of those parents who loved me so well and whom I loved so tenderly in return, and does not their death lie at your door? O ) God! when I think of all this, my brain reels, my blood boils, (ECO) Anyi OO XO)