The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

g with your own, dear Henry,” continued mma; “my exertions will, at least, secure some addition to our income, and provide for the in- struction of our little Frederick; but, upon my word, | Henry, you have positively grown so handsome and accomplished since we last met, that I expect one of our fine London ladies will soon lose her heart, and be anxious to have you for a husband. You must guard yourself from their fascination as you best ¢an.” | © Trust me, I have little fear of that,” rejoined her brother, smiling; “for, to make you the confidant of @ profound secret, I have lost my heart already, and am therefore proof against the most dangerous wiles city damsel: but it is growing late, and my journey has made rest somewhat needful; so I ‘0 we should reserve any further debate upon r projects for our breakfast-table of to-morrow.” “ Agreed; one has long since set us the example of retiring, by going into a sound doze,—and it is already past midnight; so, leaving you to transform, by a little of our metropolitan magic, that sofa into a bed- F: E 1 Heary ton imprinted a fraternal kiss upon the smooth, marble forehead of his sister, and, bidding her good night in return, watched her retire with her bering protegé into an adjoining apartment, and then closing the door, began te make those prepara- tions for his night’s repose which the necessity of a bedroom being made a parlour by day rendered a necessary preliminary. It was long, however, before he could compose himself tosleep. The effects of over fatigue is often such as to produce a provoking wake- fulness; and so Henry found it on the present occa- sion, Varied thoughts were passing through his brain; his mind was busy in framing a hundred pro- jects for the future; and the feverish excitement which this created was increased by the novelty of his situation and the extreme sultriness of the weather. to banish from his eyes the gentle weight of sleep, Finding every attempt to relapse into forgetfulness completely ineffectual, he rose from his couch, and, again resuming his habiliments, threw open the win- dow, and determined to watch for the first appearance _ of daybreak, which he knew would not be long ere _ it made its approach. _ There were, however, no stars to spangle the firma- ment with their twinkling lustre. A dense cloudiness covered the sky, and a heavy oppressive sense of heat | Was felt, that depressed the spirits as with a foreboding of coming evil. Not a breath of air revived the senses of the watcher, nor cooled the moisture on his brow. The atmosphere seemed hot and stifling, and the murky gloom that enshrouded the sleeping city like a | funereal pall appeared almost palpable to the touch. | Suddenly the silence was broken by the distant tones | a clock at St. Paul’s Cathedral striking the hour | two. As Thornton heard for the first time the successive _ Strokes booming upon his ear, a consciousness stole } upon him of the thousands who were, like him, within _ the sound of that great monitor, and the knell which it had rung to many of their brightest dreams and Most ardent anticipations. Would that vast machine _ of metal, sentinelled in that dark belfry, abandoned to er = , ST LC ttt ett LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF. LONDON LIFE, 5 its own stealthy movements, and yet tracking with inexorable finger the lapse of every second, and roar- ing forth with a sonorous tongue the progress of indo- mitable time—would this solemn chronicler of the hopes that hourly perish, in like manner respond to the destruction of his own? There was a thrill ot sadness that passed through his mind as he thus con- templated the untrodden path of his future existence, which might have been almost tahen as a presenti- ment, The density of the clouds now appeared to increase, and frem the dark lurid masses of vapour startling flashes of what is called “ sheet-lightning” shot forth, breaking up the gloomy expanse with sudden streaks of intermittent light, and faintly illuminating the apartment in which he stood. For some time Thornton had continued to observe the electric display with the interest of one who loves to mark the varied scenes of nature under every aspect; and he had become ab- sorbed in meditation when he heard—so close behind him that the sound fell distinctly upon his ear—the tread of receding footsteps. His first impulse was to turn round and address the untimely visitor, in the belief that it was his sister; but though he spoke twice—first subduing his voice, and then repeating his inquiry in a louder tone—no answer was returned, and the impenetrable darkuess that prevailed rendered nugatory any attempt to dis- tinguish another figure in the room besides his own, He listened again ; his sense of hearing strained to the utmost, that the slightest sound might be detected, but he heard no more; and, concluding that it was either a mere creation of fancy or the movement of one of the other lodgers in a room above, he sought no further. But a most extraordinary circumstance now oc- curred. By the side of the window at which he stood was a long plate of looking-glass, fixed in an antique gilt frame against the wall; and as he was carelessly regarding the dim outline of this piece of furniture, a flash brighter than the preceding ones lit up with a momentary gleam the whole of the apartment behind him, and he caught for an instant in the mirror— peering over his own shoulder—the reflection of a man’s face. Though the features were but there por- trayed for an instant, the impression that they left was most vivid and enduring; and what added to his perplexity was a conviction that he had a faint re- membrance of having seen those features before, The deep, sanken eyes—the firm, compressed mouth—the unshorn chin, and the mass of wiry, jet-black hair that clustered round the brow—were all familiar to his gaze; but to whom they had belonged, or where he had seen them last, was a mystery that he failed to unravel. The expression of the countenance, transi- tory as was its revelation, spoke of a long career of wretchedness and crime, and yet intimately blended with it was something that evoked both interest and pity. It was as if the spectre of one long entombed had risen in the depth of night to startle a former acquaintance with its momentary presence. Appalled as he was by this unexpected sight, and almost paralysed by its suddenness, thoughts like these passed rapidly through his mind ere he had sufliciently recovered from his astonishment to seek the cause of an apparition so extraordinary. When, however, he had done so, and, having kindled a light, had scruti- nised closely every part of the room, all trace of an intruder was gone; and had any person really entered the apartment, the disappearance must have been ee EE Goo } ' | | ' “wv SS (E(0) m COLMA