The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 262: what you’re looking at

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\ a THE MYSTERIES OF THE COUR’. S51 tremity of the room; and taking up a book, she af. | fected to read it: but her manner and her looks alike . denoted that, true to her threat, she was in reality | keeping watch upon her daughter. The unhappy young lady knew not how to act. The Marquis of Villebelle would be anxinusly await- ing her response: how could she possibly convey him one? In four days he was to leave Engiand: indeed he was bound to do so, or else forfeit his diplomatic situation,—the only chance he had of re- twieving his ruined fortunce—but a chance which if properly pursued, would doubtless lead him on to wealth and the fullest ity. Four days! there was evidently no time to lose. But if Lady Saxondale continued to watch her like a cat—if she had made darn Sentient partons 1 there until the moment when she should be compelled, by the same strong will and tyran- nical power, to enter the travelling-carriage that would bear her into Lineolnshire. What would the Marquis think of her alence? what would he sup- pose when he should come to hear of her abrupt de- perture into the country? Would he not imagine that she had been over-persuaded to renounce all fature correspondence with him — that she had proved faithless to her pledges and her vows of love? would he not quit the country in despaiy? and what then was to become of her ? Such were the thoughts which swept through the brain of the unhappy young lady; and averting her countenance from the view of her mother, she in silence, with difBoulty suppressing the sobe that eonvulsed her within. Little thought the afflicted young lady that her- outside the door to the whole scene which had thus taken place since the mother’s return into the room : and little thought Lady Saxondale herself that there was an ¢& whose ear caught every syl- lable of threat and ecercion that had been uttered. Buch however was the case. There was Mary-Anne, —her fine figure bent forward towards the open part of the door—her red lips apart in listening eager- said. When the colloquy between the mother and daughter was ended, Mary-Anne still remained there to listen if anything farther took place: but she stole away uring to herself with a merry inward chuckle, “ Love laughs at mothers as well as at loeksmithe.” CHAPTER LIIL JULIANA. Lapy Saxomrpaix retained her station upon one sofa, while Constance remained upon the other until dinner was announced. “ Now,” said her ladyship advancing towards her daughter and speaking in a low hurried voice as the servant held the door open for them to pase out, “you may or you may not, just as you choose, tell Juliana what has taken place. It will nvt alter my resolves one atom. But for your own sake I should advise you to maintain a composed demeanour in the presence of the domestics.” Constance said not a word, but rising from. her tne Basompaniod her mother from the apartment. They descended the mugnificent staircase to the dining-room, where covers were laid fer four. Edmund was not however there: but Juliana almost immediately made her appearance—and the three sat down to table. The elder sister,—who had kept her own room the whole day until this hour, for the purpose of as much as possible avoiding the mother whom she now hated,—immodiately saw that there was something wrong with Constance: but she of course waited for a suitable opportunity to inquire the reason. The dinner passed over—-dessert was ce Will you come and practise a ithe?” But Constance only shook her head at hor sister, and threw a depresating look at her mother. Ju- liana was now completely mystified; and after another long interval of silence, she said, “Is any- thing the matter, Constance? You certainly are not youreelf this evening.” “Ask our mother for an explanation,” was the young lady’s reply, delivered in a sudden paroxytm of bitterness. But Juliane, who now considered herself footang: for, as above stated, the few remarks she had made while the footmen were present, were only for the sake of appearances. She lingered however to see whether her mother would say. anything of her own accord: but Lady Saxondale shut hereelf up in a cold reserve and a freesing silence. Juliana, thinking that if she retired Constance would follow her, rose from the table and quitted the room. This conduct on her elder daughter’s part was precisely what Lady Saxondale reckoned upon. She knew that Julians would not condescend to ask ex- planations of her relative to the melancholy appeaz- ance of Constance; end she felt equally well assured that Oonstance herself would not open the whole controversy in her (Lady Saxondale’s) presence. Thus her ladyship calculated that she should be enabled to prevent her elder from learning the cause of the younger one’s sorrow, and that thus “We will remain bere, or retire to the drawing- rogm, whichever you please,” said her ledyehip to Constance, so soon as Juliana had left the apart- ment. Change of scene—change of place—enything for a distraction in the present state of mind in which the young ledy found herself! She therefore rose from her seat, and accompanied her mother up to the drawing-room. Juliana was not there: she had again retired to her own chamber in the hope thas Constance would come to her. When coffee was served up, &® message was eent to Miss Farefield to GON GoOO <“S —_ in