The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 18: what you’re looking at

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THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. 3 vuviwwns Wuieh she had displayed, and that sudden singularity of manner, were uppermost in his mind; and he caw that there was eomething which had thus profoundly agitated her—but which he could not fathors. ) “You must leave me now,” she said, recovering her wonted composure—or at least a sufficient com- mand over her feelings to appear outwardly com- posed. “Our interview has already been too long. We mast mect again——once again—but only to part for ever," she added tremulously. “I will then endeavour to reason with you against this wild and insensate passion which you have cherished for moe——" “No, no-~-epeak not thus, Elizabeth!” ejaculated Don Christoval. “You have promised me another interview—and in that promise there is hope. I will not insist upon your answer now——I will leave you--——- Yes I will leave you, in the joyous convic- tion that I have made some little impression upon your heart-———” “My lord, go not away with that idea!” said Elisabeth, more hurriedly than earnestly: “be- cause—because-—” “ Address me not with that ould formality of my lord,” he excleimed. “To you I would be Diego— only Diego; and that I shall be so, I now entertain the enthusastic hope. Oh! it was impossible that euch a love as mine could he doomed to disappoint- ment and despair! We will part now, Elizabeth. Tell me when and where we are to meet again. And ‘Jet it be soon—lI conjure you to let it be econ !—-for I shall count the hours and the minutes that must elapse until we meet.” “ Give me your address, and I will write to you,” she replied, after a few moments’ consideration, and still there was a tremulousness in her fluid voice. Count Christoval named an hotel at the West- End of the town ; and repeated his fervidly-expressed prayer that the interval ere they met again should not be a long one. . “TI will write to you,” she said, “as scon as—— as soon as———” and still she hesitated—“as soon as I have reflected on all you have told me, Diego ——my lord, I mean.” “Then farewell fur the present,” he exclaimed : and ecizing her hand, he once more carried it to his She did not withdraw it—how could she remain altogether insensible to the manifold proofs of love which his narrative had afforded, and his conduct during this interview corroborated ? No: and thus she suffered him onee more to retain possession of that hand for nearly a minute. “ Farewell, dearest Elisabeth — farewell for the present!’ he repeated: and then hurrying away was soon out of sight. CHAPTER LEXXVIIL RLISABETH’S REFLECTIONS. It was seven o'clock m the morning— and Elizabeth Paton wae half-reclining m a large arm-chair, in her elegantly furnished chamber at Stamford Manor.: She had not as yct commenced her toilet. The luxuriant masses of her long dark bairchung negligently down upon her bare shoulders - those IEE -EE -o— ae w ears —GEEEw eee 8 ww oo ew shoulders which were of such polished whiteness, and so symmetrically modelled. She was absorbed in the deepest thought. A book, which she had taken from the table near, was beld untegarded in the fair hand on which Count Christoval’s lips had been so fervidly pressed.pn the preceding evening. Her whole attitude—ber look—and the complete abandonment of her form to the influence of that reverie, showed a profound and serious communing with her own heart. Elisabeth Paton was at that moment a splendid model for the study of a painter or asculptor. That form, if transferred to the canvass in its semi- nudity and with its superb contours, would have seemed to breathe with a real life, notwithstanding the profound pensiveness which the entire figure de- noted. If copied in marble, it would have appeared to glow with vital warmth, notwithstanding that the statue would be as motionless as ite living ori- ginal at that moment. Ah! and the poet, too, might have imbibed inspirations from the contem- plation of that superb creature, in the bloom of her womanhood, but every lineament of whose counte- nance and every contour of whose shape retainod the virginal freshness of youth. There was a soft- ness now in the eyes that had lately been wont to look penetratingly, almost with a bold hardihood: there was a softness, too, in the expressiun of that countenance which had previously borrowed some- what of a masouline aspect from the daring pur- suits in which ite possessor had engaged. But even had she worn her male apparel at this moment, it were without effect: it would have been lost sizht of in that melting softness of the looks—in that deep pensiveness which the whole form betrayed. . Yes: her face, inclined downward, and with the cyes fixed upon vacancy—that attitude of complete self- sbondonment—her mien and bearing—all were purely feminine now. Her lips were alightly apart: the polished ivory teeth were visible between their coral lines; and that mouth in its ripe redness, with a dewy moisture upon it, appeared not coarse, but borrowed a delicacy from the general expression of the countenance. Could she regard with indifference the deep and impassioned idolatry of that handsome Spaniard of whom she was now thinking? Could she fail to be moved by the earnest entreaties and the tender prayers which appeared to be atill murmuring in her ears, in a voice naturally melodious, but rene dered doubly so when breathing the language of love? And as she reviewed her past insensibility to that passion—and in this retrospection associated the image of Count Christoval with her thoughts— could she not arrive at the comprehension of a by- gone apathy and a present change? When she was his prisoner,—elthough experiencing towards him a grateful sense of certain kindnesses, there was nevertheless the true spirit of a woman toshield her against the influence of love-—that spirit which, smarting under a sense of wrong, blended with her natural pride, and made her foel that it was not as @ prisoner she was to be wooed and won, Sv much for the indifference of the past. But what of the present? In the natural generosity of her soul she had put from her thoughts all sense of by-gons wrong, when she found Don Diego standing jn her presence on the preceding evening. By so dving, she had removed, of her own accord—and yué at — _ —— eee eee oe ee a (COL (C DOO CS (COL