The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 361: what you’re looking at

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

gt A OS EG TE. A te i TO Ae ean —— gia AO emma ae, A I AEE AA IO Tm” Swart = TIN eam sites Regence malig AE A NIGHT AT OAKLANDS 339 The same atmosphere which is breathed by the most wretched mendicant passes through the nostrils of a king; the same breeze which ruffles the rags of the crawling beggar pours its tide into the saloon of beauty and fashion, and the same air also which wafts the plaintive cry of poverty bears upon its wing the dulcet tones of melody in the drawing-rooms of the high-born and the opulent. But to continue our tale. When the old steward was once more alone, — his chamber being left in total darkness, — he pondered on all that he had heard with a kind of supersti- tious awe. He could scarcely think that it was all a dream on his ducal master’s part. He had said that such was his impression, because he would have said almost anything to allay Marchmont’s terrors, and to prevent himself from catching their infection. But he knew the duke well enough to be certain that he was not thus to be moved by ordinary and fanciful incidents. The conviction was strong within him that he had seen a tall, dark shape in the saloon whence the cabinet opened, and that this was no effect of the imagi- nation. Might it not be the same shape which the duke had likewise seen? But if so, was this shape a real living being? Or was it one from another world? If it were the broad daylight, Purvis would no doubt have concluded in favour of the first alternative, but as it was night, he was enveloped in darkness, and still under the influence of that spectacle of horror and dismay which his master had presented to his view, he was far more prone to decide on behalf of the lat- ter. An hour passed, and slumber was again coming gradually over the eyes of the steward, when he was startled by hearing the handle of the door turn. It opened, and some one entered. “Hush,” said the individual, in a low, deep voice. ‘Fear not; it is no enemy who seeks you.” The hair of Purvis had at first stood on end, and now, though his consternation was somewhat mitigated, he was nevertheless unable to give utterance to a word. Through the darkness of the room he beheld a form, darker than that darkness, move toward the side of his couch, and the perspi- ration stood cold upon his brow. “You are Purvis?” said that same low, deep voice, speaking in a tone of inquiry. CORNICLOO SS (EO) mM