The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

i8 THE MYSTERIBS OF TEE COURT. should be renewed. She had never seen this letter since the day it arrived—she had never read it but once; yet she now recognised it in a moment—and every line of its contents wae imprinted on her memory as if seared there with red hot iron. Her first impulse was to open and read it again—but she checked herself: the very thought struck her as being an infidelity to her husband. She could not prevent herself from thinking of Bertram—she could not prevent her mind from clinging with a soft, sad, sereno affection to his image: she had no power over her own vo- lition. But on the other hand, she felt that she had no right to do a positive deed which might re- suscitate all the frenzy of her regrets for his loss: she had no right to voluntarily seek for the evi- dences of that love which heaven had refused to crown with happiness. Therefore, under the in- fluence of this most scrupulous delicacy, Eliza the letter aside; and again cast her looke into the But, Ah! wherefore does she start? What writing is this which next meete her eye? what letter is that which, addressed to her father, she eagerly, greedily, almost frantically snatches up ? She examines the direction—she looks at the post- marks—a faintness comes over her : the letter drops from her hand. She matches it up again: and again ashe ecrutinises the post-marks. Thoughts of strange and wild contexture sweep through her mind, — fancies so poignant, so bewildering, #0 fraught with a solemn wonderment and at the same time a fearful suspense, that they are almost over- poweri A single glance at the interior of that letter would clear up all doubt—relieve her of all sus : and she knows—she feele—she has the conviction that it will do so: but there ww within her a shuddering awful horror to arrive at that certainty. Thoughte so wild—apparently so im- possible—are agitating in her brain ; and yet what she thinks of, se possible—for the proof is there: she holds it in her hand! There is within her the certainty that it is so; and yet she flutters, and trembles, and quivers with all the doubt of agonis- ing suspense. This state is intolerable. She opens the letter—she reads—but only a few words, and for a few moments; and she sinks down upon her knees with a low, deep, long-drawn, gasping moan, the full meaning of which it would be almost un- possible to describe. Her head is bowed upon the chair which she has sunk down: h ied 3 She weeps not—her bosom is not convulsed: there is not a tremor thrilling through her form—not even the slightest creeping agitation to give sign of life. Yet ehe lives: but her’s are unutterable, ineffable feelings. Minutes elapse while she thys remains kneeling by the chair, ber face buried in ber hands. At length slowly—Oh! so slowly, she rises up bke a ean 0 enews é ghost ascending from the tomb; and as a ghost sho is marble pale. If she caught the reflection of her own image in the mirror opposite, she would start in dismay: she would not believe, in the first ahock, that it was herself she beheld imaged there. But she has no outward vision for anything : her eyes behold nothing in the room. All her thoughte—all her senses—all her faculties, are absorbed in one idea which lies at the bottom of her soul. Again several minutes elapse; and then with a slow mechanical movement, as if unconscious of the very impulse which she is obeying, Eliza stoops down and picks up the letter which has fallen from her hand—that letter which has pro- duced all which we have just been describing. And now she sits down, and reads it calmly and deliberately. Oh, with what a calmness! It is the calmness which the ocean of hyperborean regions displays when frozen into solid ice,—the calmness of that glacial spell which can alone tranquillise the mighty waters that if the talis- mame power were removed, would boil and rage im all the wild ebullition of the tempest. It is the calaness of the volcano that sleeps under a power superior to ite own, when its lava is hard- ened mto petrifaction—but which, if the spell should be removed, and a spark should be set to the inflammable concrete, would pour forth the —from the first word to the last. It was finished; and then only did she display any outward emo- tion: then only was it that a strange expression ——a sad expression indeed to be seen upon the countenance of one so young and beaatiful—paseed slowly over her features, while simultaneously a glacial tremor trailed itecif as slowly through her entire form. “I thank thee, O God, for one thing,” she said, in a voice which sesmed as if borne upon a breath of ice,—“ and only for one thing. The rest is all dark—horrible—frightfal—incredible |” It did not seem to strike her that she had given utterance to something savouring of impious blas- phemy, in accepting only one of the many dispen- sations of Providence on which her thoughts were evidently fixed. But she was in that state when the human soul is so chilled by despair, that the form to which it belongs is but a breathing, ani- mated marble statue. She looked over the papers in the deek : there was another letter, in the same hand- writing—of a recent date—a very recent date— and this also Elisa read. Again were her feelings excited poignantly—horribly—agonisingly; and for sonte minutes she was vonvuleed with the tortures of anguish, while the tears rained down her cheeks. She wrang her hands them bit- terly, bitterly ;—and it was long ere she recovered even the calmness of despair. Then ahe again looked into the deak : but there was nothing more to intere est her. Impossible indeed would it have been for any other paper to produce a state of being more de- plorable—more deserving the whole world’s com- miseration—than those which had already placed a petrifying spell upon the heart of the unhappy Duchess of Marchmont. She locked up all the papers in the desk again; and the desk iteelf she secured in a buseau of which she kept the kev. For ° eggpemamere eee (COIMUC DOO CS (COL