The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

lua THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURTS. exclaimed: “I know you are incapable of that /*—~ “But how did the innocent and artless Florina know that Deveril loved her? Had he ever de- and as she thus spoke, Florina raised her clear deep clared his passion? No: he had not dared to do blue eyes to her preceptor’s countenance. so; nor had she ever ventured to encourage him in such daring. But to those who love, the signs and “TI thaok your ladyship for that assurance,” he said, in the low tremulous tone which indicates evidences of love in others are as intelligible as a: feelings proudly moved, and which are almost lancuage which though unknown to some, is yet a facile means of interchanging thoughts with those too full to be restrained,—feelings which while thus , threatening to obtain the mastery, appear as if thoy who can speak it. For love has its own peculiar | must burst forth in a gush of passionate and tender language, which though often ineffable, is neverthe- less potent in its silent eloquence,—a language whose syllables, and words, and sentences are ex- pressed by a thousand little circumstances that pass unnoticed by the common observer, but which are full of meaning to those whose hearts afford the key to the reading of those mysteries. Thus a gesture ; —a suppressed sigh—a look hurriedly given and as hurriedly withdrawn—the flitting blush upon the oheecks—the thrill which is mutually experienced when the hands accidentally come in contact—the visible quivering of the entire furm at such contact —the subdued hushed tone in which words are spoken at one moment, and the suddenly excited warmth with which they are uttered at another, although the words themselves may be merely communplace,—all these are the signs, and emblems, and svul-waftings of love. But more !—when two beings of kindred dispositions and congenial spirits, and in whose union there appears to be a fitness marked by nature und designated by heaven,— when two such beings meet, although they may give no single one of all those signs uf mutual pas- sion, yet is there not such a thing as the soft and mystic transfusion of souls, taking place by somo unkuown and incffable agency—a blending of the spirits such as no gross passion can know and no cummon nature experience,—an interchange of silent whisperings from heart to heart,—the whole passing all human understanding ? If the reader can comprehend all this, he will not be surprised that a being so pure and chaste in thought, so stainfoss and immaculate in soul, so in- nocent and unsophisticated in all the artifices of the world—so ectherealized, in short, not merely above that patrician sphere to which she belonged, but also above humanity iteelf,—there is no need for wonder, we repeat, that such a being as Florina Staunton should havo fatbomed the secret of Wil- liam Deveril’s heart. But ict us continue the thread of our narrative. She had started and she had blushed as he spoke with such sudden warmth; and yet it was a warmth intelligible only to herself, and which would have had nothing significantly perceptible fur any com- mon observer had others been present in the room. And Deveril saw that she had started and that she had blushed—saw likewise that her suddenly ex- sited emotions had left a thrilling quive-ing behind, end that as she took up the camel’s-hair pencil in her fair fingors it trembled as if the hand that heid R wero an aspen-leaf. Then, in the confusion into which his own feelings were suddenly thrown by the incident, he endeavoured to stammer out some excuse, in which attempt his confusion only grew worse confounded. “I beg your ladyship’s pardon—I spoke vebe- mently ——hurried!y———but ——-but-——-your _lady- ship is aware I did not speak disrespectfully —~” “ Disrespectfully? Ob, no, Mr. Deveril’” she, avowals to the idol of adoration. “What I meant was that Iam at all times ready to devote myself so entirely to your service that every other engage- ment should be cheerfully put aside.” Florina having again bent her eyes down upon the ivory, was endeavouring to commence lsying in some coluur: but her hand trembled, and she at once made a serious fault. “Oh! you have spoilt your picture!” exclaimed Deveril. “Give me the brush—the colour must be removed directly.” But in his eagernese to take the brush from her, their hands came completely in contact, so that Florina’s fingers let it fall altogether; and rolling over the ivory it made a namber of marks altogether spoiling the design. “A thousand apologies for my precipitation !” enid Deveril, again overwhelmed with confusion, and taking all the blame unto himself. “Tt was not your fault,” murmured Fiorina, in a soft melting voice ; and unconsciousl y—mechani- cally—impulsively, she extended her hand as an assurance that she was not offended, Deveril took that hand—pressed it—found it linger in his own—and retained it in his clasp. Oh! the ineffable bliss of that moment! Then indeed was there the soft transfusion of spirits warmly blending: then was there an indescribable senso of rapture mutually felt! Deveril was no longer master of himself; and yet it was not with a gross passion that he was intoxicated, but with the purest and holiest love that he was elevated to the realms of elysian bliss. He raised to hie lips the hand that still lingered in his own—he kissed it pently, and yet fervently—and then, as if astounded and amazed by his audacity, he sank on his knees at Florina’s feet, exclaiming, “ Pardon-—pardon me !” He had suddenly relinquished her hand: bat she gave it to him again in a hurried and bewildered manner,—murmuring ine broken voice, “ Rise, Mr. Deveril—for heaven’s sake, rise! If any one should come in, what would be thought P——I who am bo- trothed to anothor!”—and euddenly overpowered by this idea she burst into tears. “Oh, you weep! you weep!” exclaimed Deveril, starting up from his kneeling posture and resuming his chair by herside. “ But those words which you have uttered——they prove——they confirm the wildest ——QOh, that this may not be a dream !”* “Mr. Devoeril, I am unhappy—very, very un- happy, murmured poor Florina, gasing upon him through her tears. ‘“ Loave me, forget thie moment of weakness on my part——” “You bid me leave you?” said Deveril, ia a mournful voice and with a reproachful look. “ What —leave you at a moment when it appeared as if heaven itself were opening above me?” “Oh, if L could tell you all I wish to say,” ex claimed Fiurtna, with more passiunate vehemouce than she had ever suvwn in her afe befura “ a ElOOO (CO