The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

, ad THE MYSTERIRS OF THE COURT. . 85 A I ts ane tnpreptenetnumemnerenrsesereeeer we ener ener = through the dense foliage hig eyes had been able ness. Nothing sets off a finely rounded form to to observe the countenance of the two lovers, he | greater advantage than dark apparel; and nothing would have seen that their looks were mousnfully | can throw out the transparent purity of the skin significant enough*though the words which had, more brilliantly. The superb contours of Eliza's reached his ears were without the slightest import. | shape, now in all fhe glory of rich womanhood— Yet even in them there wae a significancy, though | and the spotless beauty of her complexion, were the Duke comprehended it not. They had been | thus advantageously displayed by her half-mourning conversing seriously on the approaching separation: | garb. Her raven hair, with a rich velvet gloss they had exerted all their fortitude to the attune- | upon it, flowed in heavy masses upon those dazzling ment of their minds to the point necessary to make | shoulders, and formed a dark cloud against wich them recognise and acknowledge that it was better | her swan-like neck seemed an alabaster pillar. they should thus separate. There was consequently | Never in the eyes of Bertram Vivian had she in their hearts a thankfulness of deeper meaning | seemed so wondrously beautiful before; and as he towards the Duke, than that which their words | walked by her side, gazing upon her with an irre- seemed to express,—a thankfulness that through : sistible fascination,—his heart, first melting into his interest the opportunity and period had been , tenderness, was soon rent with agony at the brought about for a separation which they both | thought that this was the last time they woud laboured to recognise as so necessary. But the ' ever be alone together—the last time perhaps that Duke of Marchmont, who neither saw their looks ' he would ever have an opportunity of so gazing, nor had overheard the previous portions of their | without restraint, on the object of his heart's discourse, was for a moment shocked that he should | adoration! And she too was profoundly moved. have given way to jealous suspicions on the faith | He had said at the interview by the fountain that of an anonymous letter. He was seisei. with a | when they parted it would be for ever; and those sense of profound humiliation: the natural pride | Words he had not since recalled :—they remained of his soul revolted against his own conduct ; and hurrying away from his hiding place, he regaiped the mansion by a circuitous path. Nevertheless the fiend of suspicion had obtained an entry into his sou): the demon of jealousy could not be so readily expelled as he wished, hoped, and thought. He endeavoured to compose himself to write—but he could not. He was rest- leas and uneasy ; and twenty times during the next hour, did he draw forth the anonymous letter and scan its contents again. When luncheon was served up, he carefully watched the conduct of Bertram and Elisa towards each other, though without having the slightest appearance of doing so. His perception was now sharpened; and he caught a rapid exchange of glances between them, which under other circumstances he would not have no- ticed, but which were now fraught with a tre- mendous significancy to his imagination. After luncheon, Lord Clandon proposed a boating-party, which was readily assented to by every one present. Again did-the Duke, during this recreation, continue to watch his wife and Bertram: but nothing occurred to strengthen his suspicions—and once more did he endeavour to reason himself into the belief that they were utterly unfounded. At about four o'clock the company, leaving the boats, retraced their way to the man- sion; and the ladies esparated to their own cham- bers to make some change in their toilets. The Duke retired to the library, which commanded a view of the grounds; and from the window did he keep watch. Presently he beheld Eliza and Ber- tram straying forth alone together, and alowly bending their steps towards the shady avenues. Again too did he descend by the private staircase and issue forth by the side door. It was a delicious autumnal afternoon; and a genial warmth filled the atmosphere. Elisa had already dressed herself for dinner, when putting off ‘her boating raiment, so as to avoid the trouble of performing another toilet. She wore a dark half- mourning drese—with alow body, according to the fashion of the times. Her arms were bare—those arms 60 exquisitely rounded: her bosom, neck, and shoulders shone daszalingly in their polished white- therefore deeply imprinted upon her heart. “To-morrow, Eliza,” said Bertram, at length breaking a long silence, and speaking in the low deep voice of indescribable mournfulness,—“ to- morrow we shall separate—and prudence tells me that it must be for ever! Would to God,” he exclaimed, in a sudden paroxysm of that wild excitement which he had displayed .at the foun- tain, but to which until now he had not again given way,—‘“ would to God that I had not lin- gered here so long! I feel like one whose next step will be to plunge into the vortex of de- i ) | Bertram, Bertram,” murmured the afflicted lady, “we must exert that fortitude which by tacit consent has hitherto sustained us since we met yonder :”—and her eyes glanced towards the fountain. 6 “Oh! that expression of tacit consent, Eliza,” ejaculated Vivian,—“ does it not show that there is a blending of our spirite—a secret intelligence existing between our hearts—a transfusion of feel- ing from soul to soul-——” “Hush, Bertram!” said the Duchess: ‘“ we must not—we dare not give way again to our recollections of the past !” “Oh! but that past is all our own, Eliza,” cried Vivian, with growing excitement ; “thong the present is taken from us—and the future-— Ah! that future, dating from to-morrow—it wil! be a hideous blank on which I shudder to fix my gaze! No—not a hideous blank: it will bo a world of rending, torturing feelings———-By heaven, Eliza, I shall go mad! I cannot endure it—I shall lay violent hands upon myself!” Bertram |” almost shrieked forth the wretched Duchess, in a voice of piercing agony, “ you horrify me—you fill me with despair !”’ “ Heaven forgive me, Eliza, for thus tortyring you,” said Bertram quickly; “but I am not able to control my feelings. Oh! wherefore was I born to endure 80 much misery? whorefore did I ever know you? Agel that you were to me at the time when we first loved, it is anguish—it is torture—it is crucifixion, to look upon you with the knowledge that you are lost to me—that you (GO) an (C DOO Col