The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 260: what you’re looking at

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

246 THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. | “ Did we not agree,’ asked Lord Sackville, “on that memorable night—or rather morning—when | fully denominated my fall !” you returned to Acacia Cottage from Carlton “Yes—Oh! yes—let us embrace thus,” cried House——” Horace, suddenly inspired with all the enthusiasm ' senses ere the date of what you just now so truth- | ' ' : “Oh! allude not thus particularly to that night !” said Venetia, with a strong shudder which swept visibly over her entire form, as a rapid breeze ap- pears to bear a sudden rufile along the surface of the lake. “Pardon me, my love, for being too explicit,” exclaimed Horace, noticing that cold tremor: “but I was merely desirous ot reminding you of a special occasion on which we agreed that we would make ourselves happy in spite of all circumstances.” ‘ Yes—I remember full well,” returned Venetia: “and heaven knows that I have endeavoured to make myself, and also to make you, as happy as possible! But——” * But what?” ejaculated Horace, starting from the sofa, and speaking with the nervous abruptness of a man who is irresistibly impelled to court ex. planations which he nevertheless dreads to hear. “Sit down, Horace—sit down,” said Venetia: ‘and I will tell you what I mean.” But instead of resuming his place by her side on the sofa, he seated himself upon a footstool— pillowed his head upon her lap—and said, “ Now speak frankly, Venetia—and tell me all that you have to impart.” “Ah! this position which you have taken—this attitude which you have assumed—here—sitting at my feet,” exclaimed Venetia, powerfully moved and profoundly touched, “ reminds me of the days of our honeymoon—that honeymoon which was so short—yes, short but beatific like a glimpse of Paradise! ‘Then we were all love—all confidence —all childish playfulness: we could look each other in the face, only to smile—and not to blush ! But now—now, how altered is it all—what a change has come overus! By rising to an elevation which makes us envied, flattered, fawned upon, we have been made to loath, detest, and abhor ourselves— Oh! may God grant that we shall not end by loathing, detesting, and abhorring each other !” “ Heavens, Venetia! to hear thee talk thus,” exclaimed Lord Sackville, “drives me mad. Why —even within a few hours after what may be termed your full—yes, even the very next morning —we could look each other in the face without blushing! But now it seems as if the pangs of remorse and the poignancy of shame have sprung into keen vitality again—as if memory, instead of being blunted with the lapse of days and weeks, is actually becoming sharpened—as if pleasure could not drown that memory in its roseate floods—as if luxury could not lull our recollections into repose —and as if honours, riches, adulation, and rank could not appease us for what we have done!” “Oh! look up at me, Horace—look up,” ex- claimed Venetia, in the melting harmony of that delicious voice which penetrated like a strain of celestial music into the soul: “look up to mea moment, my beloved husband! Let us forget what we are—let us forget what has passed—let us forget also what is to come—and think only of this present moment! For we are here alone together: and Oh! let us concentrate our thoughts into a dream, if it may not be a reality of bliss!—let us indulge in an embrace as warm, as tender, and as affection- ate as those in which we were wont to steep our of adoration and devotion for his young and beau- teous wife : then, as he knelt at her feet, he gazed up passionately into her glowing countenance— while she looked down with equal tenderness upon him ;—and then their lips met in a kiss more deli- cious than any in which those lips had joined since the memorable date of Venetia’s fall. But now as Horace, resuming his place upon the footstool, gazed up at his wife—now that he sur- veyed her with a fondness as fervid and as impas- sioned as ever he was wont to display previous te that night of her degradation and her shame,—he could not heip feeling rejoiced at possessing a woman of such transcending beauty, even though he was compelled to abandon her at times to the arms of another! But as his eyes slowly travelled over her entire person,—commencing with that superb auburn hair which lay upon her brow like dark goid on alabaster,—then lingering on that countenance every feature of which was so fault- less in its chiselling and so classic in its style of beauty—-those eyes of such tender melting blue that not even the hyacinth on India’s fields could | compare therewith—those lips of such delicious © redness and dewy moisture, ever remaining the least thing apart so as not only to give a softly sensuous expression to the countenance, but also to aiford a glimpse of teeth whiter than the pearls of the East,—then, continuing this survey, to trace | the swan-like curvature of that snowy neck—the voluptuous fulness of those sloping and softly- rounded shoulders—the grandeur of that bust which swelled into a luxuriance more ample than sculptural richness ever set forth, rising like hemi- spheres of polished alabaster in their well-divided contours, yet with that hue of life wherein the marble can never rival the living form, and appear- ing to the look full of glowing ardour, warmth, and passion,—then, still proceeding with the sur- vey, to mark the wasp-like symmetry of the waist, | and the robust proportions of the naked arms, so | admirably rounded, so polished, and so white,— then, with descending look, to gather from the folds of the drapery an outline or shadowing forth of the splendid symmetry of all the lower limbs, and to finish the survey with a view of the well- rounded but slender ankle, and of the long shapely foot resting on the very ottoman where he sate— Oh thus to wander over the beauties of that woman and linger on all her charms in detail from head to foot,—was it not indeed sufficient to crown the happiness of any man, to know that this tran- scendent being was his own? * Now I feel happy once more—as happy as I was wont to be,” said Horace, taking his wife’s hands in both his own and playing with the long tapering fingers so beautifully crowned with the arching nails of pellucid rosiness, “Thou art in- deed wondrously beautiful, my Venetia: and I am rejoiced that, amidst the whirl of pleasure and dis- sipation, we have at length found an hour’s leisure to be alone with each other thus.” “ Yes—I love thee, my Horace--O God! I love thee,” exclaimed Venetia, suddenly throwing her arms round his neck as if with the impulse of frenzied violence: then as a strong shudder again ——— —— + CORNICLOOOKS (C