The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 355: what you’re looking at

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

$42 THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT, fore stated, she experienced a gleam of hope—thus was it also that she had been led to dream of heaven. It was not because she experienced bitter, burning moments ef agony, excraciating ‘ztervals of horror, and fits of the blaokest despair, —it was not because she thus felt al] the weak- nesses of human nature generaHy and of her own scx in particular, that the reader must suppose she did not pray or that she did not maintain her fhith in heaven. She Aad prayed—and she prayed now: in her soul did she pray deeply and fervently while the hideous noise of tne coffin-screws grated upon her ears as they secured that lid which now seemed the barrier between herself and all earthly hope! Her mind still retained a vivid clearness. She could think calmy, collectedly upon the past—upon the xwful present—and upon that fature in which she put her faith. She hoped that her epirit would soon leave its morta! habitation and fly to tnose eternal realms whereof she nad a glimpse in her dreams. But as yet, although the coffiu-lid was screwed down, she experienced no sense of suffo- cation—doubtless because the faculty ot breathing was suspended in that state of asphyxia wnerein she was wrapped. But it was from the coming scenes of the tremendous drama that her sou! now recoiled so shudderingly,—the lowermg into the grave—the shovelling in of the earth—and then the remaining in tne clayey depth, perhaps to linger for days and days——QOh! this was the horror, the agony, the anguish | But while these thoughts were fastening their gnawing vulture-talons upon her bra, the door of the chamber opened, and she almost imme- diately heard the voiccs of the Marquis of Leveson and Sir Douglas Huntingdon. Yes—through the | coffin - through the sheli—through the cerements, penetrated those voices; and one sank down— deep duwn—into her heart! “Who will accompany us?” inguired Hunting- don, his voice made tremulous with a profound sorrow. “I know of no one besides yourself and me who can attend as mourners,” retarned the Marquis. “For appearanoe’ sake, the undertaker and sume of his men will follow in a secona coach——" * Appearance’ sake {* said the Barovet, bitterly. “But no matter—it must be so. And now, if every thing be in readiness——" Here Ariadne’s senses vegan to fail her—the stupor returned—and she heard no more, But scarcely had obliviun thus poured its opiate- balm into her soul, when tne door of the apart- ment was opened hurriedly, and a servant made his appearance, saying to the Marquis, “My lord, @ young man desires to see either yourself or Sir Douglas Huntingdon immediately. He wanted to come up—but I would not let him——” “Ah! it is no doubt Theodore,” interrupted the Baronet. “What! the brother,” murmured the Marquis: then seizing the Baronet forcibly by the arm, he said in a low bat rapid and earnest tone, “ You will not compromise me—you have promised not to compromise me——" “No, no,” interrupted the Baronet, impatiently : | then turning to the domestic, he said, “Let the young Man come up.” The servant withdrew: and in lese than half a minute the door opened again, and a genteel, geed- looking, but careworn and emaciated young men made his appearance. But the momentall the dread emblems of death—the coffin on the tressels—the undertaker and hie men creeping about like bleek snakes, as they prepared the eloaks, put on the hat- bands, and looked out the gloves,—in fine, as all the sombre features of the scene were embraced by thet young man at a glance, he staggered againet the door-post, and a deep conyulsing sob denoted the fulness ot his mental agony. “ Mr. Varian, [ presume?” said the Baronet, ad- Vancing and takiog the young man’s hand. “And you are Sir Douglas Huntingdon?” was the tremulous and indeed broken response: but al- though Theoaore could eay no more at the instant, ret he pressed the Baronet’s hand in token of in- efiable gratitude. “It is a melancholy scene for you, Mr. Varian,” contenued Sir Douglas; “but you muat bear up with becoming fortitude against this affliction.” “Oh! thet I had been here in time to fing one last look upon ber sweet face—to imprint one last kiss upon her forehead !* marmured Theodore, clasp- ing his bands and sobbing convulaively. “lt would not bring her back to life—it would not restore te me my dearly beloved sister: but nevertheless, it would be a satisfaction —a melancholy, mournfal satinfaction——”* “Do you really wish it, Mr. Varian?” asked Sir Douglas, deeply moved by the youag man’s almost heartbroken , “1 do, I do,” he answered eagerly. “ You know not, sir, how fondly—how devotedly I have loved that dear sister of mine. Ah! sir, it was for her sake that I fell into the ways of error——Bat let that pass!" he exclaimed, suddenly checking himself as he was reminded by the Baeronet’s look tha: there were many strangers in the room; and although they of course knew who he was, since his uname had been mentioned on his entrance, yet its was by no means necessary to enlighten them as to all the details of the past. ‘“‘ Your wish shall be attended to, Mr. Varian,” said the Baronet. “It is bat reasonable—it is but. just; and moreover, it will not detain the funeral procession many minautes :”—then, turning to the undertaker, he said, “ Remove that coffin-lid once more—this gentleman is the brother of the de- ceased.” Mr. Stimson and his men immediately set te work to obey the command they had just received; and in a few minutes the lid of the coffin was lifted away. Theodore Varian then approached, with that species of hesitation and reluctance which characterizes the first glance which a loving one bestows ‘upon the beloved dead: but on reach- ing the head uf the coffin, he stood gazing down fixedly and mournfally upon the beautiful counte- nace of his sister. Sir Douglas Hantingdoa also approached and contemplated the pale wax-like face of Ariadne; and at this moment, doubtless uader the infivence of the fresh air, the stupor abandoned her again and consciousness returned, “ Behuld your sister, Mr. Varian,” murmared Sir Douglas Huutingdon, in a trembling voice: “how little is she changed, although in death !” “ She looks as if she only slept,” returned Thee- dore, hia own voice mure tremulous atili. “Alea, alas, poor sister! beautifel wast thou in life—beau, wp an Gee ae COMME lOO© Ss