The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 368: what you’re looking at

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

THE LADY’S-MAID dol tell you over again how deeply I love you. That I was wrong, cruelly situated as I am, to whisper the tale of love in your ears, there can be no doubt, but this love which I entertain for you became indispensable to my happiness, it gave me a new existence, and it seemed to promise felicity for the future. Could I resign it? Could I abandon this dream of bliss? Besides, during the interval which had then elapsed since my marriage, that fatal, that cursed marriage, I had never seen my wiie, never heard of her, could not even learn what had become of her, and had never even caught the faintest whisper to the effect that there was a being in the world bearing the name of the Marchioness of Villebelle. “Secretly did I prosecute inquiries in London to ascertain if such a lady were known in the circles of fashion, but to my joy I could hear of nothing of the sort. I inquired also after that Englishman, whose name I dare not mention, for I resolved if I could hear of him to seek him out and ascertain if my wife were still alive. All I could however learn was that the individual alluded to was on the Continent, but that his whereabouts was not known. I therefore naturally con- cluded that some fresh circumstances had transpired to in- duce the lady to discard the name and title she had obtained by her marriage with me, and it was under this belief, sweet Constance, that I ventured to breathe my tale of love and whisper my hopes in your ears. Am I so deeply to blame? Oh, if you had been less beautiful, less fascinating, less fond, less affectionate, I might have yielded to the calmness of reflection, I might have bowed to a sense of duty, I might have smothered this passion of mine when it was as yeu a nascent flame. But I adored you, I adore you still, I shall adore you ever, even though at the expiration of this inter- view we part to meet no more.” — “ But the meaning of those words, Etienne? ’? murmured Constance, profoundly moved, and her heart fluttering with hope and suspense. ‘ Tell me, tell me, what did they sisnify? For I see that there is yet something left untold, something that warranted you to declare that you would not be altogether unjustified in representing yourself as a single man.”’ “To that explanation I now come,” responded the mar- quis, whose arm had once more engirdled Miss Farefield’s waist, and from which she did not withdraw. ‘* Within the COnNIECOOOKS (F(©)