The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 275: what you’re looking at

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

v ee 262 e Sg EE EE ay any Gases STEP ad Bag ae Eee oe ere +e —_ —- -_ hes = THE MYSTERIES. Prince and myself both examined the portrait; and it corresponded in every respect with the de- scription which Mr. Page had previously given of Philip Ramsey. ‘ What a handsome young man he must have been /? thought I to myself at the time; and J remember remarking that the noblest instead of the guiltiest feelings appeared to be stamped upon his brow. But how profoundly you sighed at that moment, Kleanor?—and now the colour is coming and going upon your cheeks a dozen times in 2 moment ?” ‘Do not heed my looks—nor regard my man- ner,” said the Countess. “You shall know all pre- sently—and then you will understand everything which now appears mysterious and unaccountable in my conduct. Proceed, dearest Georgiana— proceed, I implore you.” “J am now approaching the grand climax in my narrative,” resumed the Dachess of Devonshire, after gazing for a few moments upon her friend with an expression of earnest curiosity and deep interest. “Having duly examined the miniature portrait and passed our observations upon it, his Royal Highness and myself retired to the chamber which had been prepared for our reception. It was the second room on the left-hand side of the long corridor——” “The very chamber in which, as I have been told, Lady Stamford breathed her last,” interjected the Countess of Desborough. “It has a dressing- room opening from one extremity, and a bath-room from the other.” “The same,” rejoined the Duchess. “ Well, to that apartment were we escorted by Mrs. Page, whose proffered services I rejected: for there was something bold, forward, and coarse in the woman’s manner which I did not at all admire. I accord- ingly dismissed her at once; and the Prince re- tired to the dressing-room while I performed my own unaided night-toilette in the bed-chamber. Presently his Royal Highness re-appeared in a dressing-gown which Mr. Page's attention had doubtless provided; and he began to pay me some of those honied compliments which he knows so well how to lavish upon his favourites, when a strange noise startled us abruptly. We listened— the door of the bath-room opened—and a man appeared upon the “fireshold. Great heavens! what did I see? One glange was sufficient—a scream burst from my ifps—and I threw myself into the arms of the Prince ;—for the countenance which had just met my affrighted looks was that which the miniature had already so faithfully im- preased upon my memory! In aword, the criminal Philip Ramsey was there—in that chamber—before the eyes of myself and his Royal Highness.” “ The criminal Philip Ramsey !” murmured Elea- nor, mechanically repeating the words which the Duchess had already used so frequently in the course of her narrative, and the mention of which pierced each time like a dagger into the heart and passed like a searing-iron over the brain of the wretched Lady Desborough. “ What is it that distresses you thus profoundly, my dearest friend?” inquired Georgiana. “Is it “possible that Mr. Ramsey was known to you—that you experienced any interest in his behalf———” “Proceed, proceed,” exclaimed Eleanor, almost wildly. “I again implore you not to question ine until your narrative is concluded. It is crucl—oh! en owe oy Sy 9 wena euusetibe Sey en « ® vm Oe te ene ew ow it Aa cruel to force me to renew the same prayer so often.” “T would not wilfally afflict you, Eleanor,” said the Duchess, in a tone of gentle remonstrance ;— “and therefore your reproof is undeserved. But so long as I remain ignorant of the cause of your sorrow, I am unable to regulate the terms of my narrative in such a manner as to avoid touching that tensely drawn chord which evidently vibrates to your very heart's core.” “Pardon me, dear Georgiana, for any hasty or unkind expression on my part,” said the Countess, pressing her friend’s hand to her lips,—“and con- tinue your history without reference to the emo- tions which it excites in my bosom. You wero telling me how Ae—Philip Ramsey,”—and the beauteous Eleanor pronounced the name with a shudder,—“appeared to yourself and the Prince upon the threshold of the bath-room. What fol. lowed next ?” ‘His Royal Highness,” resumed Georgiana, “ was as profoundly and as fully struck as I was by the marvellous resemblance which the individual bore to the miniature we had previously seen : but, almost instantaneously recovering his presence of mind, the Prince demanded of the intruder who he was. Then the wretched man fell at our feet and made to us the astounding revelation that he was indeed none other than the self-same Philip Ram- sey whom all the world believed to have suffered death for his crimes. In deep, low, but earnest whispers—as if he were afraid that even the very - = setae te (ate, echoes would thunder forth his name and the cir- — cumstances of his resuscitation—did he explain enough to convince us that he was no impostor in a drama where imposture would have been so wondrous. No—he was not deceiving us: he was the real, identical Philip Ramsey who had been the subject of Page's fears and of our discourse that very evening. Sharply, angrily, and suspiciously did the Prince question him,—but also speaking in a low and subdued tone ;—while I, bewildered and amazed, and feeling asif I were walking ina dream, had scarcely presence of mind sufficient to wrap around me the shawl which his Royal Highness threw over my half-naked form. At length I also began to question the iniserable being who had fallen upon his knees before us ;—but my queries were swayed by a profound terror which I could not control. There was something dreadful in finding onesclf face to face with a man who had risen as it were from the grave—who had passed through the hands of the public executiuner— whose body had been folded in the embrace of Death—and who was nevertheless there, a living, breathing, moving, senticnt being still !” “Horror! horror!” groaned Eleanor, clasping her hands together, while her countenance became aE = = Ww a 2 26S ae at =a cies a more ghastly in its unearthly pallor than even | when the first mention of Ramsey’s name on this occasion had chased all the vital colouring from beneath the pure bistre shade of her transparent skin. “But go on—go on, Georgiana®™ she ex- claimed suddenly, and with a tremendous effort to subdue the agonising emotions that were raging in her breast. “I see that I must make as speedy an end of my narrative as possible,” said the Duchess of Devon- shire, whose curiosity and surprise were enhanced to an almost iutulerabie degree. “The conversa- = a ee - 9 GET 8®@&EB ee SS o ah q a> la = e ElOOO®