The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 375: what you’re looking at

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

344 THE COURT OF LONDON unknown siren, here is:the table whence she took the wine | that subsequently deprived me of consciousness, and there is the bed, with the armchair near it.” ‘“?Tis false, all false! ’’? murmured a hoarse voice; and as the earl and Fernanda, both of whom had advanced into the chamber, turned their heads hastily around, they beheld the marchioness tottering over the threshold. “*Tis true, — all true,’’ exclaimed the earl. ‘‘ And if your ladyship requires proofs — ”’ ‘‘ Proofs!’ echoed Laura, with a sudden start. ‘‘ What proofs — ”’ ‘These !’”’ replied Montgomery; and he flung down the pieces of drapery upon the table. ‘“Ah! then I am indeed betrayed,’’ moaned the Mar- chioness of Bellenden; and, staggering to the sofa, she threw herself upon it, covering her face with her hands at the same time. “Yes, there can be no longer any doubt,” said Lord Montgomery, as he compared the pieces of drapery with the hangings themselves. ‘‘ But if the last link in the chain of evidence be required, here it is,’’ he added, as he pointed to a spot in the window-curtain and another in that of the couch, whence the pieces had been cut away. At the same moment the clock on the roof of the priory proclaimed the hour of seven in the evening; and as the bell hung in a turret on the southern side of the building, it was plainly heard inside the boudoir. “Ah! there is still another link in the chain,” ejaculated Montgomery. ‘‘I could swear to that chime beyond all possibility of doubt.” ‘“ But after all,’’ said the Marchioness of Bellenden, sud- denly withdrawing her hands and revealing a countenance that was ghastly pale and bore the imprint of many deeply concentrated passions, ‘ after all, what matters this dis- covery which you have made? Ere now, my lord, you set a good example and discarded the use of any further duplicity. I will do the same and confess that I am the heroine of your night’s adventure here, — that I am the wanton, dissolute woman I then avowed myself to be. Yes, we all spring from a delectable race in that respect,’’ she added, with a laugh of bitter scorn which has poison in its mirth; “ the Mont- gomerys and the Aylmers never were celebrated for extreme Eomichbooks (E(o)