The Mysteries of London; or, Revelations of the British Metropolis — page 332: what you’re looking at

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

330 MYSTERIES have been dictated by a chance dream; but Frank had uttered more than one word, To have described the scar he spoke of, he must have seen it. Stephen glanced impatientlyat the sleeping Percival. Could he but have interrogated him—have made him speak—have known But how could he think of depriving his poor wounded friend of his few skort moments of re- pose ? He reasoned thus with himself, but his eonvic- tion still remained the same, and a voice within him cried unceasingly ; it is he. He rose up, shook his head, as if to dissipate all traces of his ridiculous fears, and walked up and down the room several times. When I shall knock at my mother’s door to- morrow morning, said he, as if wishing to change the subject of the conversation with himself, I will © lay a wager that it wili be the sweet voice of poor Anna that will bid me welcome. The first face I shall see will be the pretty face of Anna. Clara has other things to think of than to come to meet me. Why isit not Anna that I love? These last words were pronounced with a heavy sigh. The day was breaking behind the frosted panes of the windows. Despairing to find a vein of thoughts which should remove his gloominess, — Stephen, dissatisfied with himself, returned to Percival’s bedside and threw himself into a chair, He impatiently awaited his awakening, to ask an explanation of the strange words which had es=- — caped him while sleeping. _ The explanation, as may be easily conceived, deeply interested him, and the time seemed long a ee