The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 87: what you’re looking at

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80 experienced a fecling of friendship at first sight for youl” “Oh! my God—this is happiness so unhoped—so unlooked for—so unexpected, that. I am bewildered— dazzled—amazed!” murmured the young man, a mist obscuring his brain—and vet a glorious, lustrous, golden mist through which he seemed to catch glimpses of paradise. ‘Friendship did you say, charming lady? Yet is not friendship a dangerous word for lips like ours to breathe—-and a dangerous sentiment for hearts like ours to feel?” “ You speak as if you were under an apprehension that you are doing wrong?” said Perdita, in a tone cf soft reproach. “ Oh! is this candour and frankness? If you regret that you have pledged me your friend- ship—for such I augur of your words—I release you, Mr. Hatfield, from the bond: nay—I should be too proud to ask you to adhere to it!” And now the young man beheld the fascinating woman in a new phasis of her charms;—for, with that ready versatility of aspect and demeanour which she had so completely at her command, she suddenly invested herself with all the majesty of sublime haughtiness:—no longer melting, tender, wanton, and voluptuous as Venus—but terrible, domineering, su- perb, and imperious as Juno,—no longer wearing the cestus of the Goddess of Love—but grasping, as the Queen of Heaven, the thunders of Olympian Jove. Her eycs flashed fire—her checks flushed—her nostrils dilated—her lip curled—her neck arched proudly rather than gracefully—her bosom heaved as if it would burst the low corsage which only half restrained it—and her very form seemed to draw itself up into a height, which, even as she sate and of middling stature as she was, appenred colossal at that moment to the astounded yaze of the young man. Never was artifice more successtul—never was criumph more complete, on one side 3;—never was de- feat more signal—never was humiliation more con- trite, on the other. Tor, overwhelmed as it were by the sovercign majesty of that anger which he believed himself to have provoked, Charles Hatficld fell upon his knees before the haughty beauty, and seizing both her hands in his, he extravagantly devoured them with kisses, exclaiming, ‘“ Pardon—pardon !” “ Yos—yes: it is as fran’ly accorded as sincerely demanded!” exclaimed Perdita, not offering to with- draw her hands from the lips which were now glued to them: and in an instant ber whole manner and ap- pearance changed again—and when Charles Iatfield ventured to look up into the syren's face, he saw her bending over him with cheeks flushed it is true, but not by anger—and with eyes that seemed to swim in wanton, liquid jangour. Rising from his suppliant posture, and now taking a seat by the side of Perdita on the sofa,—relinquishing her hands at the same time, for fear of giving offence by retaining them,—the infatuated young man, drunk with passion, said in a low murmuring tone, “ We have not been acquainted more than one hour, and we have exchanged vows of friendship—is it not so?” “ Yea—if you do not repent now, and never will re- pent of that pledge on your part,” answered the dan- gerous young woman, who thus conducted her design- ing machinations with such consummate skill. No—never, never!” cried Hatfield. “And now we know each other as well as if we had been intimate since onr infancy! ‘To you, then, henceforth I am Charles; and you are to me——” “ Perdita,’ said she. THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON St ——w “Oh! beautiful—sinyular—and vet oniinous mame!” exclaimed the young gentleman. ‘“ Yes—you are my friend—my dear friend Perdita! And now, Perdita, I will avail myself of this romantic yet not the less sincere friendship that is established between us, to ask you what caprice or fancy gave you so remarkable a Christian name?” “ Because in my infancy—-shortly after my birth, and before I was baptised—I was lost,—or rather stolen by gipsies,” answered Perdita, investing herself and her history with as much of the charm of mysti cism as possible: “and when I was recovered from the kidnappers by my parents, they christened me Perdita —or Tne Lost ONE.” “ Jivery thing connected with you seems to be im- bued with deep and enthralling interest, my dear friend,” said Charles: “ a supernatural halo appears to surround you! Your beauty is of a nature so superior to aught of female loveliness that J ever before beheld —your voice has something so indescribably melting and musical that it awakens echoes in the inmost recesses of the soul—your history is strange, wild, and impressive in its very commencement—your disposi- tion is characterised by a frankness and candour so gencrous that it inspires and reciprocates profound friendship the instant it meets a kindred spirit—and then there is about you a something so witching, so captivating, so enchanting, that the best and most virtuous of men world lose all sense of duty, did you —sweet syren that you are—undertake to lead them astray.” “Jf I have indeed found a kindred spirit in you, Charles,” said Perdita, taking his hand and pressing it as if in grateful and innocent rapture to her heaving bosom—an act which only tended to inflame the young man almost to madness,-—“ [ shall have gained that which I have long sought, and never vet found, For my heart has hitherto been as complete a stranger to a sineere friendship as to love! When I spoke ere now of our friends in the country, I meant those ac- quaintances whom custom denominates by the other title.” ‘Perdita—my friend Perdita, the amity that we have pledged each other shall be eternal!” exclaimed Charles, in an impassioned tone. “ And you will return to visit me to-morrow?” said the young woman, her fine grey eyes beaming with an unsettled lustre, as if the mingled voluptuousness of day and mht met in those splendid, eloquent orbs. “Yes—oh! ves!” cried Charles, as if it were un- neeessary to have asked the question. “ And now I shall leave vou, Perdita: I shail depart to feast my imagination on the pleasures of this interview.” Thus speaking, the young man pressed Perdita’s hand to his lips, and hurried from the room, intoxi- cated with a delirium of bliss, and scarcely conscious of where he was or whither he was going. CHAPTER CXCXXI. THL SYRMN’S ARTS AND CIIARMS. Ox gaining the street, Charles Hatfield hurried along like one demented,—positively reeling with the in- fluence which Perdita’s charms. allurements, and 9; 4 had shed upon him,—and feeling within his soul a glow of such ineffable happiness that he appeared te have been snatched from the werld and wafted to (SO) GIOOKS (SO)