The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

ee) 98 THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. has not the same fortitude as myself in yielding to that which she eo piteously described as a sad, sad destiny !” ; On quitting Zoe, Clarine proceeded as usual to M. Volney’s study, to imprint the wonted kiss upon his brow and receive that nightly benediction which he never failed to give. Ob! how tumultu- ously did poor Clarine’s heart beat as she ap- proached that atudy-door |—with what a sense of anguish did she stop to press her hands against her heaving bosom, as if she could thereby silence the palpitations of that heart of her’s|—and how painfully for a few instants did she find herself compelled to lean against the wall for support. But it sometimes happens that at the very crisis of the most torturing ordeal a preternaturg! forti- tude suddenly seizes upon those who are to go through it,—nerving them with the requisite amount of courage. And thus was it now with Clarine. She regained a degree of outward com- posure which astonished herself; gnd the next instant she stood in her father’s presenge. “Sit down, Clarine,” asid M. Yolney. “J would speak to you a few words." Fortunate for her wag 3§ that his countenance was half averted, ond thet he completely shaded his eyes with his hand ag he thus spoke: for if he had only happened to glance towards her at the instant, he would have scen that all her composure suddenly vanished, end that she sank upon the seat ag if overcame by @ mortal terror. “ Olarine,” continued M. Volney, “I have long wished to speak to you on a particular subject; and the few words which passed between us yester- day, more than ever impressed me with the neces- sity of so doing. You gap that I am awakening to a sense of your lonely position, shut out as you are from that gociety q, which at your age it is natural yoy should depire to mix—and indeed in which you ought to mix. Yes, my poor child! I will henceforth endeavour to consider you more and myself icgs then I have hitherto done. You will not always have Lady Octavian Meredith with you: I dare say that she will sap benome wearied of this monotonous mode of jj ? “On the contrary, my dear father,” Clarine ventured softly to observe: “ Lady Octavian loveg this seclusion where she has found a home. As for myself——” “YT know that you are a good and obedient girl,” interrupted M. Volney somewhat hastily: “ and it is that which——” But he suddenly stopped short, —his counte- mance atill averted, his eyes still shaded by his hand. A deep but inaudible sigh slowly convulsed Clarine’s bosom: for she comprehended only too well how her father would have finished his sen- tence if he had not caught back the words which had involuntarily risen to his lips. He would have said, “It is this that makes me show you whataoever love and kindness you have ever known on my part!” “‘Yes—you are a good and dutiful girl,” con- tinued M. Volney after a pause: and still he seemed as if ho dared not,turn his cyes towards Clarine. “And now listen to me attentively : listen also with that complying and obedient spirit which you have ever manifested towards me. I said yesterday that we are all mortal—that I am ad- yanced in years, and that in the ordinary course of nature my time must soon come. And then too there are accidents and casualties—and it may likewise be, Clarine,” he continued, speaking in disjointed sentences, as if he were really much moved inwardly, though his voice was cold,—“ and then too, Clarine, it may enter into my plans to send you where you may mingle in that society where you oughé to move ” “But my deat father-——” “Do not interrupt me,” be said, waving his hand somewhat impatiently, and then replacing that same hand before his eyes to shade them egain: “but listen in silence. The injunction I am about to give you is one vitally necessary———and yet I cannot explain the reaeong—nor must you ever seek to know them. It is true that accident may aome day waft them to your gar; and if so —But no matter! Listen’to my injunction | You capnot always remain risorjer in this old Chateau, Olarine; sooner or fatter you will go into the great world—and there you will mingle amidst ne “ tron - Let me “hope, we that your and will be 0 in mgrt me eligible suitor: for Lo told ad, Blarine, that you will be Fich a§ spy death. Weep Dat wWeep king, M. J yOu § m his chair and se hie' ips to Glarine’s fore. head, he smootied down ey hair for @ for moments with his hand. He thep resymed his seat,—shading his countangnes ag before. “Let me hasten,” he said, “ta conclude this goene, and to specify the injunctiop toward which T am eo long incoming. It is this, Claring ;—that there is one person in the world whom you must never suffer to approach you—one pefaon with whom no friendly words must aver ke exchanged by your lips: and if you felt that your heart could possibly love this one to whom § allude, pluck that eart out of you—kill yourself gooner ” A cry.thrilled from Clarine’s lips: M. Volney started up from his seat; and the afflicted young lady exclaimed, “O father! father!” “Pasdon me Clarine! J have been too abrupt ——tag vehement likewise! I have made use of language which is indeed but too well calculated to startle and horrify you, incomprehensible as it must be !” Again M. Volney passed his hand caressingly over her hair; and in a tremulous voice he said, “Courage, Clarine—ocourage for only a few mo- ments! Bear with me—have patience! This is a scene which is necessary now—but which need never be renewed |” Again did he return to his seat: and again did he shade his countenance with his hand. “It is possible, Clarine,” he continued, “that sooner or later in the great world you may meet an individual bearing the name of the Viscount Delorme.” Clarine gasped with anguish: but no audible sound came from her lips—yet her face was of a death-like pallor. “Tt is this man,” continued M. Volney, per- fectly unconscious that Clarine had exhibited any freeh paroxysm of emotion,—“ it is this man whom you must avoid as if he were a mortal enemy. If I be living when you should thus happen to meet him,—supposing you ever do meet—recollect that it would fill my cup with misery to overflowing if (CO GOnMIGOOOKS