The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

30 REYNOLDS’ WORKS bonnet and shawl, and appeared in a simple morning wrap- per in which she had travelled; for she also had left London that rmorning in the utmost haste, the instant she read in the Lincolnshire paper, which had happened to reach her, the announcement respecting her husband’s danger. And now Lady Saxondale and Ralph met face to face. That same expression of malignity which a few minutes before had appeared upon his features rose up again; but instead of cowering or quailing beneath it, the dark eyes of Lady Saxondale flashed upon him a look of mingled defiance and contempt. The next moment she was upon her knees by the side of the couch of death, and her head was bowed down upon the cold hand of her departed husband. In this position she remained for several minutes, and a solemn silence prevailed in the room, a silence which not even Ralph dared interrupt. It was not any violent parox- ysm of grief in which the lady testified her sorrow for her loss; hers was a mind that retained its woe inwardly. But that she did feel, and deeply feel, the death of the old man who had been so kind and good and affectionate toward her, there can be no doubt. Besides, when she slowly rose again from her kneeling posture, there were tears upon the cold mar- ble hand of the deceased, tears which she had shed silently. She stood for several minutes more gazing down upon the lifeless features of the old lord, and her own countenance was fixed and rigid, but with that deep and even awful calm which indicated that there was a powerful agitation of feelings within. Then she stooped down and imprinted a kiss upon the forehead of the dead; and as she slowly turned away, her looks once more encountered those of Ralph, whose presence for the last few minutes she seemed altogether to have forgotten. “Madam,” he said, in a low, deep voice, *‘ it must be upwards of five years since last we met. Little then did plain Miss Clifton imagine that when next we met she would be Lady Saxondale, although it was probable enough that I should be what I now am, Lord Saxondale.”’ ‘No, sir,’’? she answered, with grave solemnity, “* you are still plain Mr. Ralph FT arefield.”’ ‘“ How, madam?” he cried, with mingled menace and alarm. : ‘‘ Because, sir,’ she responded, ‘‘ I have recovered my C6 CONNIE OO KS (E(0)