The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 344: what you’re looking at

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moments he hesitated to open it. What could he say in justification of his condact ?—what hope sould he give her? How were they to meet ?—end how were they to part? Would she use menaces with the view of coercing—or prayers for the pur- pose of melting his soul? It was impossible to say: conjecture was defied—the imagination was set at naught on all those points ;—and even while the Prince of Wales thus tarried a quarter ef a minute at the door, his suspense became aroused to an almost With a desperate effort over his apprehensions, he entered the room; and, closing the door care- fully behind him, he advanced towards the place where Octavia Clarendon was seated. Her face was not immediately turned towards him: it was averted—and her head was bent downward. His eyes swept her form, the attitade of which in- dicated a profound grief; and a sharp pang—the sudden paroxysm of remorse—shot through the heart of the Prince with the lancinating effect of a barbed arrow. He stood still at the distance of a dozen peces from his vietim—and he contemplated the exquisite beauty of her figure with looks, not of lust—bat of compassion. Slowly she turned her head: her eyes wet his—her countenance was | the revealed to him,—not in the radiant glory of those suony smiles which were wont to greet him,—but with an expression so full of sorrow—so woe-begone, that the adder of remorse inflicted a deeper and sharper sting upon his soul. “ Dearest Octavia,” he said, towards her and throwing himeeif upon his knees at her feet,—~ I know that you mean to upbraid me—I know that I merit your reproaches! Bat is there no chance of forgiveness—no hope of pardon ” he asked, in a voice that was deep and tremnlous, as if moved by the saddest music that ever hymned the dirge of passion in the human soul. “O God! what veply can I make? ejaculated Octavia, suddenly wringiog her hands in aparoxysm of ineffable anguish. “I came to say so many things to you—and now that I am here, all my thoughts have fallen into confusion [” “ Sweetest—-dearest girl, compose yourself and near me patiently,” said the Prince, seizing her hands and covering them with kisses as he still knelt at her feet. “I shall not seek to justify myself, Octavia,” he continued: “for I know that I have wronged you—cruelly wronged youl But I am not the villain you may bs inclined to deem me. Dazzied by your beanty--maddened by the con- templation of your image, I was not master of my- self: had Satan stood before me and demanded my soul as the price of his services in rendering ne the possessor of your charma, I should have yielded an assent. Yes—J, who shall one day be King of England, would have sold myself, Octavia, to the King of Hell for your sake f° “Great heaven! talk not thus, George,” ex- claimed the affrighted girl, her whole frame quiver- ing and shuddering at the awful emphasis which her seducer gave to his impiety. “It is true, then, that you did love me——” “Love you, Octaviaf ejaculated the Prince, again pressing to his burning lips those fair hands which were not withdrawn. “Oh! how can you ask me whether I did love you, when I love you mow-—yes, at present—more devotedly, more en- tnusiastically than ever! The love that I bear for you, Octavia, is imperishable? The cruel man- dates of an absolute sire and a tyrannical Ministry may compel me to bestow my hand upon another s bat my heart will ever be thine! The mystic fires of passion burn at this moment in my soul with as strong 8 fervour as when I received the first virgin kies from your lips: possession has not deadened that warmth nor mitigated that glow,—and the fiame will burn on unquenchably until the end. For now my cheek mantles and my heart throbs as heretofore, when I press your dear hands to my fips ; and your forgiveness for the past and promise of continued love for the fature would be the cro“n- ng Joy Of my tife—the consammation of all my earthly hope “ By everything sacred,” exclaimed Octavia, her countenance becoming even wild in its expres- sion—the result of emotions tensely wrung and of feelings painfully overwrought: “by every- thing sacred, I adjure you not to address me any more in the language of love! O God! my braim whirle—my temples burn as if through the torture of ble anguish—my heart suffers the cruci- fixion of despair! To know that you love me, yet be unable to enjoy your love—to hear you breathe fondest assurance in my ears, yet feel that it were a crime to give back the glowing pledges,—Oh! —_ 4 bed it is And, snatching—tearing her hands away from the clasp in which his Royal Highness sought to re- tain them, she covered her face therewith; and the pearly tears streamed in showers between the taper “Octavia—my beloved Octavia,” exclaimed the Prince, pressing her knees in an anguish which was. indeed unfeigned: “subdue this terrible grief—strive to recover some degree of tranquillity — yield not thus to the wildness of sorrow ——” “Alas! alas! with what hope can I console my- selff” cried the wretched girl, removing her hands from her countenance and bending upon her lover looks which bespoke almost a mental aberration—so terrible wae her despair. “If you bad told me that you loved me no longer—if you had confessed that my image dwelt no longer in your heart, I should have been less afflicted! Your neglect—your in- difference—your faithlessness would have inspired me with other sentiments—more flerce and wild than poignant. But to know—to see—to feel that you do love me, George—to think how happy we might have been, were you only a humble gentleman, or 2 a Princess—to reflect, in fine, that no earthly felicity could have compared with our’s bad circumstances permitted our hands to join at the altar of Gou,— Oh! it is this—it is thie that maddens me,—it is this that falls upon my brain like drops of molten lead— it is this that penetrates like red hot iron into my heart’s core! Yes—the dream of love is gone—the morning of stern and terrible reality has dawned on that deep night of passion which was so delicious in its mystery : the clouds are dispersed,—and the light which truth sheds at length is reflected from a broken. heart !”’ lean’ seain the wretched girl gave way to the vio- of a rending, tearing angui The Prince sprang from his knees— threw his arms around her—drew her towards him—strained her to his breast—and poared into her ears ali the of consolation which the eloquence of a real and unfeigned grief could suggest. For this CORNICE OOO ©) CO