The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 236: what you’re looking at

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THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. 221 “Then you very soon shall,” rejoined Edmund: while. The best thing is for us to settle the matter “and not to mince matters any longer, you must quietly. You get Petersfield to have the appoint. know that I ferretted out the beautiful Spanish ment cancelled: tell Marlow and Malton you are dress from the great plate chest in your ward-_ highly delighted with me—that I have promised to robe room——” g reform—and that you believe me—or anything else “Infamous boy! reptile that I have cherished to you like to invent: only let me be left alone, with sting me!” cried Lady Saxondale. “If you have plenty of money, my debts paid, and no more bother perpetrated this atrocity, I will be avenged—I will or nonsense such as we have been having lately. have a terrible vengeance a vengeance of which On these conditions I keep your secret.” you little dream But tell me, tell me quick,’ | “ Andif I refuse?” said Lady Saxondale. she said, now speaking with hysterical impetuosity,; “Then I must declare open war. First I shall “have you told Lord Harold——” tell Juliana and Constance what a charming example “Told him? to be sure I have!” answered Ed- | of a mother they have got ” mund flippantly. ‘ Why, it was at his instigation| ‘“ Knough, enough!” ejaculated the unhappy that I searched for it, while you were busied yes- | woman: “it is indeed too much! Edmund, you terday with old Petersfield and the lawyer.” have placed me in the humiliating condition of “Then, Edmund, do you know what you have ; being compelled to accede to your terms. Go then done?” asked Lady Saxondale, in a deep voice and | —everything you wish shall be done. But beware with an ineffable look : “ you have placed your | how you drag me down still farther into the depths mother’s virtue in the power of an unprincipled of disgrace! Stop—one word more ere you depart. young man—you have abandoned me to the will If to the ears of your sisters you breathe a syllable and pleasure of Harold Staunton.” | of all this, I swear that——But no matter: things “Then why did you put yourself into such a. must take their course.”’ position P” cried Saxondale, utterly unmoved by the | With these words Lady Saxondale hurried from sudden discomfiture which he had thus produced on the room; and soon afterwards Edmund allied the part of her ladyship. ‘‘ Don’t you see, mother, | forth to make some purchases (upon credit) for it’s all very easy to take me to task for being wild, ! Emily Archer, ere he kept his appointment to pass and gay, and thoughtless, and extravagant: but you , the evening with Lord Harold Staunton. do not appear to be over-circumspect yourself. You want to get me sent from the country to keep me out of mischief: but I think that you ought to take yourself out of the reach of mischief at the same time. However, I tell you very candidly I do not want to have any words: let us come to an under- standing. You must do what I want, and I will keep your secret. You have nothing to fear from Harold. He says that he is sufficiently avenged for any slight you have put upon him, by betraying you to your own son; so the thing can be hushed up quiet enough—and all I want is for you to fulfil the conditions I laid down just now.” CHAPTER XLVII. A STARTLING DISCOVERY.—THE PORTRAIT, LaDy SAXONDALE retired to her own private apart- ments in a state of mind all the tortures and goad- ing anguish of which ean be more easily imagined than described: and going straight to the plate- chest, she indeed discovered that the Spanish dress, which she had hidden with so much care, had dis- appeared. She sat down in the middle of the Lady Saxondale stood gazing speechlessly upon, wardrobe-room ; and the scalding tears trickled the young man as he thus addressed her; and by ; down her cheeks. It must have been a terrible the varying expression of her countenance it was condition of feelings which could make that proud evident that a flight of strange, conflicting, and | woman weep: for even to herself, or in the soli- painful thoughts swept through her brain. She tude of her own chamber, was she ever loath to give longed to say something and do cies See way to what she considered the weakness of her which she dared not either say or do. She looked sex. Not long however did she remain thus over- as if she had it in her power to strike a terrible powered by the strength of her emotions; but blow—but that she felt she herself would be crushed Wiping away the tears, she passed into her boudoir by the rebound. Therefore her ideas of loftiest @d there penned the following letter to her son's vengeance sank down into a feeling of bitterest hate, | Sailor guardian :— which was reflected in her looks as she still kept “My dear Lord Petersfield, them fixed upon her son. a Kite **I have just had an ioterview with Edmund of so “You have done all this,”’ she said,in the same highly @ satisfactory n-ture, that it is with feelings of the low deep voice as before; “and you did not take sincerest joy I am enabled to communicste the ciroum- into account all that you owe mer You had no gra- stance to you. I explained to him the inteutions which titude—no love—no respect: you havedragged your Yo™ and Mr. Marlow had formed concerning him; where- . . upon he threw himself at my feet, acknowledged that he mother through the mire of disgrace, and shame, had been wild, undutiful, and oxtravagant—but besought and dishonour: you have exposed her to an upntin- nq implored not only my forgiveness bat that of his cipled JOung.. Man, for whose keeping the secret guardians, The ides of being sepsrated from me and his there is no possible guarantee. All this have you sisters for a lengthened period, by being compelled to done; and even now your heart is not touched— accept this post at berlin, afflicted him profoundly, He your soul is not smitten. Edmund, if I told you declared that when travelling on the Contivent for only a that I hate you, you would deserve it—and I do not | few months, some time ago, his thoughts were incesssntly know that I should be telling an untruth.” ne Upon Rome; ‘and Be says that Rowever gras be . ; : RY aults may have been, this exile into which it is proposed You aro uncommon candid, at all events,” he to eend him will be far to severe a chastisoment. In replied, with the utmost indifference. “TI could re- \ghort, he faithfully promires a thorough and complete tort @ great deal; but perhaps it is not worth Ldhanaatiients if his guardians and myself will accord him a aE ET tl sett st a CONnRICLOOKS.EGO