The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 186: what you’re looking at

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

=e eS Se ee ~ = owe SS a a ee ey THE MYSTER' CS OY LONDON. death by slolent means, it was not by the hands o! trro weak women that he fell.” “ Thank heaven! ¢thzs crime at least cannot, then, be attributed to you,” said Charles. ‘ There must be enough upon your conscience without that /” “ And have you nothing wherewith to reproach courself{?” demanded Perdita, still maintaining shat majesty of demeanour which, with her now marble-like features, her motionless attitude, and aor fine form enveloped in drapery that fell in clas- tic plaits and graceful folds around her, gave her the air of a statue of Diana the Huntress or of Juno Queen of Heaven. “ Have you inflicted no injury upon me?” she asked. ‘“ Yes—yes: and I will convince you that your conduct has been far from “Ylameless in that respect. You loved me—loved me almost trom the first instant that you beheld me. Your’s was nota tranquil—serene—and sickly sen- sation: it was a fury—a wild passion—a delirium —a specics of hurricane of the strongest, most fer- yent emotions. I was all—every thing to you: parents—family—friends,—Oh! you cared for none of these incomparison with me, The holiest ties you would have broken—the most sacred bonds you would have snapped—the most solemn obligations gou would have violated, sooner than have resigned sour hope of possessing me/ All this is true—and you know it. Your love amounted to & mad- ness—a frenzy, capablo of the most unheard-of pacrifices, and as likely to hurry you into the m:ost desperate extromes. For had £ provoked your jealousy, you would have murdered me: had I flei and abandoned you, you wonld have pined to ceath—or committed suicide. In fine, your’s was no sommon love—no ordinary affection. Poocts never dreamt and novelists never depicted a love s0 voundless—so absorbing——so immense as your’s. And what could result from such a love as this? The consequence was inecyitable;—and that conse- quouce was that I, who had never loved before, re- ceived into my soul a transfusion of the spirit that animated you. You were so happy in your love, _that my imagination doubtless longed to rovel in the gamo paradise which you had eroated for yourself; —and I was taught by you to love as profoundly and as woll. In aword, you ensnared my heart—you obtained a hold upon my affections; and, as there is o living God above us! I swear that when you led me to the altar, you loved me not better than I loved you. And this love which I experienced for you, would havo made me a good wife—a sincere friend —a conscientious adviser, I should havo entered upon a new existence; and my soul would have bee come purified, Trué itis that I gavo to the marriages bed a body that was polluted and unchaste: but I gave also a heart that was wholly and solely thine; —and from the instant that our hands were united by the minister of God, it would have proved as im- possible for me to have played the wanton with an- otherastbat the infant childshould harbourthoughts of villainy and murder. Now you have learnt the autecedents of my life—and your love is suddenly changed into hatred. But did you not take mo for better or worse ?—did you not wed me, because you ‘oved me?—did you not espouse me for mysolf alone? Oh! you should pity me for tho past—and cherish meat present and for tho futnre: and your con- selence tells you thus much even now !” Charles Hatfield, who had listened with deep and 179 ebained by this strange display of natural eloquence, —now shook his head impatiently. “No! Then mark how fatal your love will have proved to me,’’ exclaimed Perdita. “ You cast me off—you put me away from you ;—and yet you can- not give me back the heart which you have ensnared. Wherefore—wherefore did you bring to bear upon me the influence of your ardent love, unless you were prepared to make every sacrifice unto the end} I am young—I am beautiful—and I might gain a high and a proud position by means of marriage: but, no—I am chained to you—and you are intent upon discarding me! Now reflect well on the pro- bable consequences of this proceeding on your part,” continued Perdita, her melodious voice gathering energy, and a tinge of rose-bud huo appearing on her cheeks and gradually deepening into a flush,— while her eyes shone with a lustre that gayvo an al- most unearthly radiance to her entire countenance* “reflect well, I say,” she repeated, ‘on the probable consequences of the resolution which you have taken. As your wife, and dwelling with youassuch ghould have clung to you—loved yo with unceasing devo- tion—exerted all my powers to retain your esteem. Nay, more—in time I should have won your good opinion by my actions—as I had already secured it by my words. Amongst the entire community of women, there would have been none more exemplary than 1;—and thus your love would have proved a saving influonce—valuable to society at large, and blessed by the Almighty Ruler whom you worship, But how changed are these prospects! You are prepared to discard me—to thrust mo away from your presence—to push me out into the great world, where I must battle for myself. There I shall find my circumstances terribly-—fearfally altered from what they were before your lips whispered the deli- cious but fatal tale of love in mine ears. For if I retain your name, I thereby proclaim myself a di- vorced wife: if I pass myself off as an nnomarried young lady, I shall not dare to accept proposals for an alliance, be it never s0 advantageous—because the fear of a prosecution for bigamy would hang over my head. Will you, then, forgive me for the past, and receive me as an affectionate wife and reformed woman to your arms!—or will you send me forth, an outcast—with ruined hopes, blighted prospects, anda damaged character ?” Gradually, as she approached the end of this speech, Perdita had suffered her voice to lose its energy and its firmness, and grow tender, pathetic, and mournfrl—until at the close of her appeal, it becamo tremulously plaintive and profoundly touch- ing,—while her form simultancously relaxed from its statue-like rigidity—the head slightly inclining, the body bending in the least degree forward, and the hands joining as the last words fell from her lips, For an instant Charles was about to yield to the appeal commenced with a dignity so well assumed, and terminated with a tenderness so well affected; but, at the critical moment, Mr. Hatfield, who had hitherto remained a muto spectator of this extraore dinary scene, stepped forward, exclaiming, “No— no; a cumpromise of such a naturo is impossible ! Charles, tho sophistry is indecd most specious—but the peril is likewise tremendous!” “ Yes—vwes,” cried the young man, instantly re covoring his presence of mind: ‘‘I told you, father, that she was a Circe—a Syren,—and now you have solemn interest,—for his soul was absolutely ene ample proofs of the assertion.” eww we (C(O) (C DOO SS (SO)