The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 282: what you’re looking at

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

“Suffice it for you to know that I repent bit- terly, bitterly of the past,” returned Eleanor, in a profound tone,—* and that if you have any regard for my happiness you will bring this interview to as speedy a termination as possible.” “Your words, haughty and cruel lady, afford the fullest and completest explanation which it is pos- sible for you to give with regard to the present state of your feclings towards me. How changed, then,” continued Ramsey, in a tone which rather partook of spiteful upbraiding than of gentile re- monstrance,—“how changed, then, has become the once loving and yielding Countess of Des- borough——” “Hush! breathe not my name, I implore you !” interrupted the lady, in a voice full of terror and anguish. “We may be overheard—listeners may approach stealthily through the deep obscurity of this avenue——” “ There is no danger of that,” said Ramsey. “Let us continue to speak ina low tone and with as little excitement as possible; and the sounds of any approaching footsteps will convey their own warning to our ears. I was observing, then, that the once adoring and tender lady who was ready to abandon home, husband, rank, station, and everything, for the man to whom she had pledged her love, is now so changed that she even grudges him an interview of a few minutes,—she who was wont to think that even hours passed away too rapidly when spent with me !” “ Alas! you know it is not my fault,” said the Countess, in a trembling tone, “if fearful circum- stances occurred to cast a blight upon that love which I do not deny having devoted to you.” “ And had you never learnt that the false Gus- tavus Wakefield was the resuscitated criminal Philip Ramsey,” observed the man, with a horrible bitterness in his accents, whisperingly low though they were, “ you would have continued to love on to the end ?” “Your words fill me with a dread which is almost overwhelming,” said the Countess, her voice broken by half-strangling gasps and convulsions of terror. “My God! if we were overheard? What would become of you? —what would the world think of me “I care but little what may happen to myself,” returned Ramsey, affecting a deep despondency of tone,—“ now that you have annihilated all the fond hopes which I had ventured to build up during my ‘absence.” “ Hopes !” ejaculated the Countess, in accents fall of alarm. “* What hopes could you have con- ceived ?—and wherefore have you returned to England? Do you not dread my husband's wrath, should he discover that you have thus acted in contravention of his commands?” “Your husband will not dare to give publicity to a narrative that must expose his wife’s shame while inflicting ruin upon me,” answered Ramsey; “and I was an idiot at the time to suffer my fears so far to prevail over my reason and common sense, as to drive me into that banishment which the Earl of Desborough enjoined as the sole con- dition of his forbearance.” “But should my husband happen to encounter you,” said the lady, “he might adopt in a sudden paroxysm of rage that extreme course which in his calmer momenta he would doubtless deplore,” “J thank you for your advice,” observed Ram- sey, in a cold tone: “but you will permit me to be the best judge of my own actions. Nevertheless,” he immediately added, with the sudden assumption of a kinder tone, “I do not wish to speak harshly to you. Just now you appeared astonished and incredulous that I should have cherished any hope with regard to you: but I had a firmer faith and a stronger reliance in woman’s love than the result has justified. I flattered myself that if your heart were really mine, no possible circumstances could have altered the state of your affections—no human influence could have converted that love into hatred. I thought that you would have become my guardian genius and my good angel—pitying me for the past, and aiding me in my endeavour to make all possible atonement by my conduct in fature. I had buoyed myself up with the idea that your love would rise superior to all earthly influ- ences, no matter how terrible they might have proved. But I have been mistaken;—and the very tone in which you addressed me when we met ere now, and the recoil which youlmade from my outstretched arms, convinced mein a moment that I had nothing to expect or anticipate of all the bright visions which imagination had’ conjured up while away.” “You speak as if you at least still entertained generous feelings towards me,” murmured the Countess. “ Be truly generous, then—and let this interview cease at once. For I will not hesitate to declare that it is painful—very painfal to me! Be- sides, the forgiveness of a noble-hearted husband imposes upon me certain duties which I would not violate.” **T perceive by your tone that I have indeed be- come an object of dread aversion to the woman who once loved me so enthusiastically, and whom I still love so devotedly,” said Ramsey, throwing into his accents a tremulous pathos so well simu- lated that the Countess oould not for a single moment suspect its sincerity. “You ask me to be generous—and I will prove so to the extent of my power. Grant me, then, one favour—one last boon—and I will afterwards bid you farewell for ever f° “ And that boon—that favour?” said the Countess, catching eagerly at the hope of disem herself eternally of a man for whom she did indeed entertain a horrible aversion and an intense loath- ing, although her fears induced her to conceal those sentiments as much as she was able. “The boon which I crave,” retarned Ramsey, ‘is that you will afford me the opportunity of gazing once more—and only for a few brief minutes —upon that wondrous beauty which has become 20 impressed upon my mind as to form as it were a portion of my very memory itself. Let me see your countenance in all the splendour of its loveli- ness—iet me gaze upon your form, apparelled in the garb best caloulated to display the glory of its on.” “You are mad!— you are raving !” murmured the Countess, the hope which had so recently sprung up in her mind, now changing to a poignant alarm. “How can I grant you such an opportu- nity as you demand?. To be enabled to come forth alone this evening, enveloped in a plain cloak and with this simple straw bonnet upon my head, Lhave been compelled to inyent excuses the re- ElOOO® SS (COLUM