The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

a ee SHE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. the time —the main barrier which had rendered her heart inaccessible to the influence of his adoring affection. Thus they had met in Eng- land on far different terms and under very different circumstances from those in which they stood when so many months together in Spain. Had those months been p to years, and had those cir- cumstances continued the same—ehe a captive, and he the —her heart never would have become accessible to the slightest impression which Christo- val’a assiduities sought to make upon it. But now that they had met on other terms,—eske in freedom, keno longer appearing in the invidious light of a captor—she independent to become the arbitress of his fate, he confessing that this destiny of his was in her hands,—that im hour which whole months under other circumstances had failed to accomplish. The beauteous bird, im- prisoned in a cage, may often be vainly wooed, and coaxed, and encouraged to sing; and thus many weeks and months, and long, long periods pase in the utter silence of its melody: but when freed from its captivity, it will in a moment pour forth the blithe oarol of its gushing musio—nor in anger for the past, refuse to warble it in the ears uf him who had been its gaoler. Like the bird of our me- taphor, is often the heart of woman. And eo it was with Elisabeth Paton. On the preceding evening she had persevered in the assur- ance that she i towards Count Christoval naught but friendship, and could feel no love: and she truly thought so when she thus spoke. But each time the assurance was repeated, it was in a less firm voice, and with a gradually growing tre- mulonsness of the accents. The hand, too, which she abandoned to kim more than once, was snatched away because she recoiled from the bare idea of manifesting an undue weakness: and yet the fervour of the kisses imprinted thereon, had not failed to touch an electric chord vibrating to the centre of her heart. Moreover, the strong mind of Elisabeth Paton had been destined to enter upon a phase of wild romance: it was not merely enter- ing upon that phase now—it was in the midst of it. Had not Christoval reminded her that he had been a bandit? and did not his words suddenly excite the painful—aye, the poignant reminiscence, that she had pursued a similar career? What therefore was it now that was engaging her thoughts ? what was the strange and fanciful phase of weird-like romance through which ber mind was passing? The similarity between that episode in Aée life and that episode in her life, appeared to indicate that they were destined for each fe other —inasmneh as this parity of conditions had seemed to exist for the pur - pose of abrogating the possibility of reproach from one to the other. Pursuing the train of her re- flections, Elizabeth Paton thought to herself that if from the first moment she met Count Christoval in Spain, it was written in the book of destiny that ahe should become his wife, certain circumstances were requisite to work out that decree. Amongst those circumstances was the imperious necessity which had driven her to adopt in England a bandit career, simi- | lar to that which ke had pursued in Spain. By these | means was it brought about that they stood apon the same level. He had been a bandit, and yet had preserved unimpeired many of the finest, the most ehivalrous, and the most maznanimous attribates of had been made in an | worship man: she also had been a bandit, and had pre- served the most estimable jewel with which woman is endowed. All these considerations appeared to assimilate their conditions to an extraordinary degree—to fit them for each other—to establish ing like a aptitade in their union in short, to point Aéss out as the only man to whom ' ehe could dare reveal the secret of her career and then acoumpany him to the altar—-and to point ser out to him as the only woman whom he might take as a wife without the fear of always blushing as he met her From all that we have been saying, the reader may perceive that Elisabeth Paton was rapidly and ineffable idolatry of which she was the object: ahe was yielding to that love so impetuous yet so tender—eo farvid and yet so delicate, which the Spaniard for her. No wonder that thare was this softness in her looks: no wonder that all her traits should once more become unexception- ably feminine. The influence of love was melting whatscever of masculine hardihood or artificial boldness wherewith her former pursuits and habits bad temporarily endowed her. She was becoming a woman—all a woman—once again! Bat had she endeavoured to escape from such thoughte as these, that on leaving her couch ahe had taken up a book and thrown herself in that arm- chair to read it while waiting the entrance of her maid? Yes: she had attempted to divert her mind from dwelling on theee new ideas which were rising up within her—etealing into her brain, and gradually On retiring to rest after her interview with Don Diego Ohristoval, she had been unable to eleep—at least for some hours: she had remained awake, pondering on all that had passed-—-endeavouring to persuade herself that her heart was not touched— that che was still inaccessible to love. When sleep had at length visited her eyes, the of the handsome Spaniard appeared to her in hee dreams; and these were of a roseate hue. When she awoke again, the bright sun of a cloudless August morning was shining in at the window: ehe had risen from the couch to avoid the inflnence of the thoughts of the over-night, and whieh had been continued in her dreams: she had thrown herself into that arm- chair—she had taken the book--ahe had endea- voured to fix her attention upon its pages—but all in vain! Her eyes—those superb dark eyes—were soon gasing upon vacancy: ali the powers of her vision were concentrating themselves inward, to dwell with a more earnest look upon Count Christoval: hee right arm drooped gradually and languidly—and thoagh her hand still retained the volume, yet it was but mechanically—herself being unconscious that she still held it. And then had ensued that long train of reflections which we have described. Yes: the reverie was a long one; and at ite con- clusion, Elisabeth had reached the conviction that Diego and herself were destined for each other, and ' that ehe must learn to love him as be already loved her. Ah! when onee the meditations of a woman ' have reached such a point as this, it ceases to be an endeavour to love: it becomes a facility—a neces- sity—an easy and natural gliding into the experience of the fullness of the heart's passion, | (COIMUC DOO CS (COL