The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 359: what you’re looking at

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

A NIGHT AT OAKLANDS 337 “JT hardly know,’ responded Marchmont, wildly, “whether I fainted, whether I lay petrified and bathed in a cold perspiration, whether the object vanished suddenly, or whether I saw that dark shape issue from the chamber, opening and closing the door just as the living man would do, —I cannot tell. All my thoughts are in confusion when I endeavour to concentrate them on that point. In a word, I cannot rightly remember anything more until the instant that I found myself here, in your room.” “ All this is most extraordinary,” said Purvis, who was wrapped in a kind of solemnly superstitious bewilderment. “If your Grace’s brother be no more, wherefore should his spirit come to haunt your Grace’s slumbers? But if he be alive — ”’ “No, no, Purvis; it was all a dream. Tell me you were sure it was nought but a dream? ”’ and it was in a paroxysm of indescribable anguish and horror, with a countenance ghastly pale, that the duke, hastily approaching the bed, clutched the old steward forcibly by the wrist. “Yes, it must have been a dream, my lord,” responded Purvis. ‘“‘T shall go up to London at once,” said Marchmont, with strange abruptness. ‘What, my lord? Leave in the middle of the night? ”’ ‘Yes, to be sure. And why not?” cried the duke, almost fiercely. ‘‘ Do I not pay hosts of servants to do my bidding? Let some of the lazy dogs rise and get the carriage - in readiness.” “But, my lord,” Purvis ventured to suggest, ‘* possibly strange things may be said, if your Grace does this. I should be questioned, and what could I say? ”’ “ True,” ejaculated Marchmont, who was evidently be- wildered how to act. “I know, my lord,” continued the well-meaning old man, “ that it must be a very painful thing for your Grace to have the recollection of long-past occurrences so cruelly revived, for I have not forgotten how dear your brother was to your lordship, and how you loved your poor uncle also — ”’ “Enough, Purvis,” interrupted the duke, quickly. “I will not leave to-night. But I charge you, my faithful friend —I charge you, Purvis, not to breathe a single syllable — ” CORNICLOO cS (EC) mM