The Mysteries of the Court of London, Vol. 7 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

are ter taieeeae eta rme cnr mere eames ! ié incessant visits, and with the letter which in a few months’ time you wii) write and which you will take care that X shall intercept ? May I not play the part of a dishonoured and outraged kusband ? will not you stand the bront of an action for crim. copy when ypu know perfectly well that I snal] never call tipon you to pay such damages as may be ed F and may Doct, upon auch foundation as the jury's verdict affords, sue for a divorce against & wotyan whom I hate and detest? May not, I gak, all these things take place P—and if you get es good as twenty-four thousand pounds for rendering me this service, will not you be a gainer as wellas I? Besides, only think of the honour and credit of having the reputation of intriguing with a Duchess! Why, my gocd fellow, it will make your fortune in more ways than one—it will be to you better then all that fortune which you have Most at the gambling-table. The whole fashionable world will at once vote you their lion their star—their pheenix—their cynosure. The men will burst with envy and with jealoysy, when with ahalf-smile upon your coun you stro}] jeuntily into the brilliant saloopp ef patrician { the mansions :ithe ladies will tap you with their fens and call you the naughty creature-——” “A truce to this bantering !” patorrapied ptan- hope sharply-—almost sternly. % J¢ f tue that J am in your Grace’s power ; but [ gy not for that reagon to be rendered your laughingtetock. It ie impossible that you can mean what peu gey |" “T never was more eeriows in wy ie,” ane ewered the Duke of Marchmopgé, SO | “By Heaven, my lord! it js a metter wherein I catinot give you credit for the seriousness you apeak of, unless you prove it. How know I but that it is eome enare, though incomprehenmble— eome pitfall, though unaccountable— whercin you ecek toentrpp me? And this dark room too——~” " Perdition take your congtapt recurrence to the darkness of the room !” interrupted the Duke im- patiently. *You demand proof P—it ie diflicult to give. And yet jn many circumstances muy you recognise such proof. bor upwards of fifteen years have I been married to Lavinia—and she has given me¢ no heir. Think you that I, bearin one of the dest titles in al Christendom— en that title, tan, éd with ittnmense wealth,— think you, I gek, that I do not yearn to possess an heir to my distinctions and to my riches? The estates are striptly entailed ; think you thereture that it ia a pleasurable thing for mo to reflect that at my death some fer-removed relative, some remote connexion whose very existence Is gt pre- sent unknown to mo--may spring up— possibly from amidet the dregs of society—for the highest families may be found to havo connexions, though very distant opes, in the lowest aphere——think you, Taek, that it is agreeable for me go reflect that some such dirty claimant may arise when I am gone and prove hia right to the coronet which I wear, the estates over which I now lord it, and the mansions which my taste has embellished ? Now, Stanhope, have I given proofs of my ein- ctrity in seeking a divorce from her who presents me with no helt 2” There was s profound silence in the library for apwards of a minuiteat the expiration of which Mr. Stanhope slowly said, “¥ea—I now believe your Grace to be sincere.” 4- my project, and carry have suggested—or with such variations as circum- atances may render advisable, always keeping the one grand aim in view.” observed the Duke. —we will repair to the dining-room—I cannot promise you a fire——” » * . “Oh, it is well that I have succeeded i cote you at last,” observed the Duke. _, “T believe you sincere in wishing for an heir, continued Stanhope: “ but in the extreme mes- sure which your Grace proposss——”" “ That regards me,” interrupted the Duke. “ It ie for you to consider whether you will enter into it out in the way that I “T will!” answered Stanhope, * Yee—my ne- cessities compel me—-—I will do it.” “ Then there ie no more to be said at present,” “There is a light in the hall “My blood,” interrupted Stanhope, “has not yet covled down from the terrific fever-heat pro- duced by the excitement of the gaming-table. Let us have the bottle of wine—the fire may be dis- pensed with.” “Come,” answered the Duke: “we will have wine,” . "Christian then heard the doyble doors of tho fbyary open: the light from the hall glegmed in @ Moment, and showed bim the two fortos as the threshold. Then the doors were aod tgsin and again was the youth entomberc in wel darkness. ut jet us explain how jt wae that be had con- tinued go silont and eo etil} througpoxt this dines eourse which be had overheard. ‘When first he became aware that vojees were epeaking in the library, he was ecized, ea we have stated, with a certuin degree of alarm; and this he could not all in a moment shake off. Called ont of bis sleep in such a manner—finding himeclf in the dark— not immediately recollecting where he was—and hearing those voices— he thought he must be in a dream ; and the terror which he felt, as well as the numbing cold, cowpletely paralyzed him. When his consciousness became complete, he learnt from the Duke's words that it was long past midnight, and that the household had retired to rest. The thought jpatantaneously struck hun that if he were found there, sitting gt such an hour, he should be chided—perbaps dvatiesed from the situation which he Rad only entered in the morning. This idea appalled him; be was bewil- dered how to ect; gud'while in thie terrible state of upeertainty—not daritig to move—scarcely tq breathe—the conversation progressed rapidly be. |, (ween the Puke end Mr. Stanhope. As the reader has seen, it eoon became of a uature which the Duke would not for the world have hed any- body overhear; and thus Christian saw that his position was becoming every instand more and more dificult. When the discourse had got to a certain extent, he dared not suddenly rgise his ° voice and proclaim that there was a listener present :—the natural question would be, where- fore he had rensained to listen at allP So he con. tinued mationless and silent, in the hope that the Duke and -his companion would speedily pass away from the library. But as the discourse proe gressed, it assumed a complexion so astounding— sv startling indeed, if Christian had dared to {| ° start at all,—it grew so engyossing in ite terrible ! interest, that forgetting every other circumstance HI * ay! q Aa we Ce engi ‘eRe ree “thy oa Say CEE? meal siete 2 2 - L r t at r} ny a ‘ ‘4 S ‘ \ NOG CONMUC SS CO