The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 286: what you’re looking at

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

256 THE COURT OF LONDON lent me also its cunning; and, mounting upon the tomb- stones, I used them as a bridge to convey me safely over the perils that lay concealed below. Nevertheless, every sound alarmed me, filling my soul with terrors the most excruciating, as if the voice of Death were whispering upon every breeze and his footfall were heard in the waving of the grass. Did a dog bark in the distance, I instantaneously fancied that it was the bay of a bloodhound scenting me in my unholy work; and the tread of a passer-by in the ad- joining lane was taken to be that of a pursuer. Thus was my course frequently interrupted by my fears and imagin- ings; but all those apprehensions proved groundless on that occasion. ‘“ At last, through the faint glimmering of the moonlight, I beheld a new-made grave; and then, as the instinct of the tiger warms for blood when its prey approaches, did my soul experience its horrible longing to desecrate the earthy solitude of the dead. By the exercise of a little caution I discovered in which direction the wire of the spring- gun ran, and with the scissors I cut a piece clean out of the middle. For you must understand that the spring-gun revolves upon a swivel, and turning in the direction of the wire which is trodden upon, explodes pointblank at the trespasser; therefore, by delicately feeling for the wire and cutting a portion of it away, it became perfectly safe to tread on this particular spot whence the wire was thus removed. And now I am touching upon a sad, a mournful, a horrible episode in a narrative where all is sad, or mournful, or horrible; but you will understand how previous horrors could be outvied, — so far as the magnitude of the desecra- tion and the anguish of my soul were concerned, — when I tell you that, having hollowed the grave, dragged up the coffin, and torn off the lid, I beheld the marble countenance — of my own wife! ”’ “ Your own wife! ’’ echoed Meagles, starting with a spas- modic shock. ‘‘ This is horrible, horrible! ”’ ‘Most horrible, most horrible! ’’ groaned Melmoth, now covering his countenance with his hands; and for upwards of a minute he remained in this position, silent and motion- less. ‘‘ I saw that it was a pauper coffin in which she lay,” he continued, at length revealing his features again, — those features which were now so hideous in their pallor, Gomichboo “S (E(@) ne