Angelina: Or, The Mystery of St. Mark's Abbey — page 138: what you’re looking at

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

THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK’S ABBEY. | » 195 ‘ °° Then you will certainly break her heart, and have her death to aaswer for,” said the dame; ‘for I am confident, by what Laura has told me, what l have myself observed of her condact, and the excessive violence of her grief jast night, that her heart is immoveably fixed upon him. As for poor Hugh, although our acquaintance bas been short, I have watched him narrowly—I have noticed the admiration with which he viewed our niece, and I am, there- fore, certain, that witheut her his life will be for ever miserable. Indeed, it is too bad thus tu blight the happiness of one 60 young.” ‘¢ fam sorry to be the cause of grief to him,” replied Mr. Woodfield, “‘ but I cannot change my mind. Did you but know all, you would not blame me.” ‘‘ And what is the reason I am not considered worthy of your confidence, Arthur ?”’ inquired his wife—* this is not well. What secret of such impor. tance can there be attached to ——”’ | ‘¢ Ask no more questions,” interrupted her husband; ‘‘ you know that such inquiries always vex me. Some day or other I may think proper to tell you something which will convince you 1 have acted right in what I have done; lill then be satisfied in knowing that it is my will, and that I have powerful reasons for the incongruity of my conduct.” Angelina, during the time this dialogue was going on between her uncle and aunt, had seated herself at the breakfast-table, unobserved by all but Laura, who, at a significant nod from her cousin, did not offer to speak, although she had paid so little attention that she did not understand the tenor of the conversation. At this part of the discourse, Mr. Woodfield turned round, and beheld that Angelina was present. ‘sAh! Angelina,” he exclaimed, with more kindness in his tone than she had expected, “are you bere? How long have you been in the room ?’’ Angelina, whose mind revolted at the bare idea of a falsehood, in a tremulous voice informed him. ‘‘Then you, probably, overheard the conversation between me and your aunt ?” observed Mr. Woodfield. Angelina, in a low voice, answered in the affirmative, and her cheeks suffused with blushes, she turned away her head, and sighed. Her uncle watched her stedfastly for a short time, but said nothing ; he could see from the sunken eyes and pallid cheeks of his niece, the deep emotion she had suffered, and from his heart he sincerely pitied her. He approached her at length, and taking her hand, pressed it affectionately as he said— ‘Ss Angeliaa, after what took place yesterday, it would be folly in me to deny that I know the fatal passion which has unfortunately gained possession of your heart. Nay, my love, do not weep—I am not going to reproach you for having imbibed that sentiment which is inherent in all our natures, bat I wish to warn you—to adjure you to exert all your woman’s fortitade, and stifle it in its infancy, to suffer not the ardour and impetuosity of youth to lead you to encourage an affection for that object which can never be yours.” Our heroine gently raised her head; the tears were streaming from her eyes; she tried to speak, but could not, and once more covering her face . with ber handkerchief, she sobbed convulsively. ‘‘Come, my dear girl,” said her uncle, in the tenderest accents, “do not give way to this violent grief; it distracts me to see its would that it was es com @ OO SS (CO)