The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 260: what you’re looking at

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

—_— " gwept through her fdrm, she cried, almost with | accents of despair, “Ah! would to God that I | never more should be clasped im any arms ‘but | thime own?” —s« *ow tell me phat you mean, Venetia,” said | Horace: “come, let there be confidence between ' we see that something is dwelling in your mind | —and: f will case thee to disburden thyself to the ' ears of thy hasband.” | Listen then, my beloved Horace—and I will | telf thee,” said Venetia, in a low and stifling tone, | as &f her very thoughts were choking her ere she | utterance to them. “But there — pillow | gave | thy lead upon my bosom, with thy face dowmward | | —#0 that I may not meet thy looks while I proceed to unveil the secret cause that maires me shadder. |: had we daged, when our hands were joined in ma- i to rise up boldly agninat the anthority ' It is.” she eontinaed in a low, deep, almost hollow harmony—“it f that I loath, hete, and abhor | that Prince to whem I have been soki—or rather towhom I have sold If:—it fs thas I detest | tone, as if her- voice had suddenly lost ts wonted } trimony, | derest caresses in return! Bat worse, worse than | al 24,3 added Venetia, bending down her head eo : that her lips touched her huebend's. car as tie own head reposed upon her besom: then in words that | hiss am if coming: from ‘the mont ofa ' snaire, she whispered, “It is, Horace, thas 2 would | sooner submit to the hileous pawings of an. inp, ' than to the loathsome embraces of that Githy sen- | | sualist f* - Werace started up, with a.vielent sod suddenly | bursting frear his breast: end beginning te pace the room in a manner fearfully excited, he ex- claimed, “@ horror! that my own wife should be | deemed te make sucka revelation as this te my ears!—Q@h ? that ene whom F have loved sa fondly, . ! maily, deveted!y—and whom I still love so well — should be consigned'to so hellish a fxte—so dam- nable a destiny! But & is all my faultb—my fault,” he repeated, hip Breast forcibly : “it is I | whe could have saved ber wiifie she was a yet far . Off from the preeipice=—-it was I who could have rescued her af the moment she was togpbitog | abeve it? But, ne—Buse vifigin that I was! I | suffered her to falf.” | ‘*Reproach not yourself, my dearest husband,” | marmared the well knewn voice which had now } regained all-its wented sweetness and characteristic | melody—and at the same instent a beauteous white hand was letd epen his shoulder. “It is not: your fault! I wes fore-deomed and predestined | even before you and I first met! You knew it— : you know it, Horace,” repeated Lady Sackville; | “and long before you agreed to marry me you i were aware how inextricably I was entangled—by What solemn vows I was engaged—by what pledies I wes bound—and under what influences I was controlled! You knew that all the appearances of ease, comfort, and wealth, which surrounded me at Acacia Cottage, could have been swept away in , & momeut he@ I dared deviate fram the path | which had been chalked out for me to pursue: | you were likewise avare that Mrs. Arbuthnot ber- | eelf was aapy uper my sections, reperting every | look, word, and deed of mine to the supreme au- thority in Stretton Street. Bach was my condition | before my marriage witli you: and since——” eee = r —_—-— 26 ee --=— - _—_ RE. Ey <A THE MYSTERIES OF THE -COURT. ariel “ Ah! since,” ejaculated Horace, with passionate vehamenses “ it is this that geads- ma to-desperation! For when ence you were. my wife, I could have ree- cued you fram thoas tranunels. which had pmevieusly enthralled you—I aséght have turned round epon those whe had thus enmeshed you in their teile—I canld have anid, ‘ This ledy ia my wifh, and shall not be the slave of your intrige¢es,’—all this could I have doms—asd you would have been saved—and we ‘ might still be enabled te look each othar@ the fase ‘without blushing at the thought ef that eromning. SS a ee ee et AD, degradation te which. you, oay anfortencte wife, have been doomed to submit!” “ Not so, not so, Harase,” eaid Venetia, new evi- demly taking upon herself the task of eansoling, and tmnguilising her husband: “fee whieli ] had previously ewem to ebay-—that very authority, too, whéah assented fo eur union only om ‘express and positive eanditiese—all the past would i have been pitilsesly and rearorasiesaly' made public in. order te etemp me with the reputation of an ad. venturess f “They eould-not have deus it-—they dared not exied Horace, stamping his foot with indigantion “There was ne grewnd fer isy you were no sd- venturese—if you were, ‘tas by others you ware: made 20.” “Ab! enki Venetia, with a peculiar look, “you foeget inte whose hands 3 fell, end who first imtre- * Beough, exougt of all this f ejecuisted Horace, suddenty, “5 see net hve acted you ere right: we cofid then we have dons! And after afi,” he added, abruptly, “we are fools to make ourselves miserable. I am Lord Sackville you ase Ledy Sackville: I am a Peer of the ou are = Poeeress: we pessess titles and peasions which our fortunes gre et be taken away from us— made for life; and it is now our bounden duty to endeavour to enjoy that life as well as we are able.” “Yes—we must make up our minds te adopt this cauree,” seid Venetia. *And indeed” she erted, with a sudden access of that callous, selfish, heartices festing which maxe® tire theroggh wopan of the world,-“we possess all the realities and substantinis—the essentials ani tne materials—te make existence thoroughly happy. Je will there-. fore be our own fankte ff we allow sentument and feeling to interfere with that happiness.” , “Yea,” observed Horace, readily arming himself with the buekler of that cold selfishness which * Venetia had just assumed: “ it will only be a false feeling and a maudiio sentimentalism that can be allowed to interfere with the realities of our happi- ness, Let us then agree, solemnly agree,” con- tinued Horace, “never more to talk softngss and tenderness to each ether—bat te look, speak, and act as the thorough man ané woman of the world.” “Yeu. cheerfally do I subscribe to that agree- ment,” responded Venetia. “Then henceforth our very love shall conse te be @ sentiment,” continued Morace, ~ and shall ‘merely be a sensustism. We will have na jealousios— piques—vexation—" “Wo boyish and girlish detlience sed ramanea,” added Venetia:;—“ no peetry of the fedlings-——” “Naught save passions, cravings, and impulses CO NOG) SS CO