The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. 108 was one I had purchased on the previous day in the village. It was Lamartine’s Jocelyn—a beau- tiful poem, characterised by the most touching jpathos as well as interspersed with descriptions of mountain scenery that at times enchant and at others over-awe the soul. I became eo deeply in- terested in the volume as I walked along, that I reeived not the frightful peril towards which I was advancing. All of a sudden—while my eyes were riveted upon the book, and I had no thought for anything hesides its absorbing, riveting in- terest—I was atartled by a loud ory warning me of danger. But it was too late—or rather perhaps the cry itself accelerated the mischief which it strove to prevent: for bounding forwards with the sudden impression that some peril threatened me from behind, I fell over that precipice.” “Good heavens, Clarine!” ejaculated Lady Octavian, horrified at the bare idea. “Yes—it is all too true!” continued Made- moiselle Volney. “I had advanced towards a spot where the railing was broken away: it has since been repaired. I fell over: but the outstretching trunk of a tree growing forth from the side of the chasm, caught me about a dozen feet below the edge. You may conceive the wild terror that filled my brain as hanging over the trunk of that tree, I looked down into the fearful gulf, along the depth of which a stream was eddying and foaming. But succour was nigh. He whose well-meant warning had pealed upon my ear, lowered himself down by means of the roots growing out of the side of the precipice. I remember that as I looked up and saw him hanging above me, sustained only by those frail and uncertain means of support, the dizziness which had before prevailed in my brain amounted to a torturing frenzy. I did not immediately faint—but I have lost the recollection of the precise means that werp adopted by my de- liverer to save me, and himself too, from our perilous position. I however recollect that when at length safe on the firm land above, I fell into a gewoon. On slowly coming back to consciousness, I found my deliverer hanging over me. When I tell you, Zoe, that he is the handsomest of men— at least in my eyes—that he is gifted with a rare intelligence—that his manners are fascinating— that his conversation hag charms such as I never experienced before———” “J understand you, my aweet friend,” mur- mured Zoe mournfully: for as it now proved to be tale of Jove to which she was thus listening, she was most painfully reminded of that love of her’s which had at first been her joy but had since proved the source of so much misery. “Yes, I loye him—love him passionately |” re- gumed Clarine, with a violent burst of feeling. “But I forgot—I am wandering from the con- tinuous routine of my narrative! My deliverer know who I was: he had been in this neighbour- hood a day or two previous to the adventure which thus threw us together; and I gathered from what he said that I had been pointed out to him. I gould not find words to express my gratitude for the service he had rendered me at the peril of his own life; and I invited him to the Chateau that he might receive my father’s thanks likewise. But be declined; and in the gentlest manner he coun- selled me not to inform my father of what had happened,—arguing that it was useless to distress him on account of a danger that was passed. I considered that one who had rescued me from destruction had a right to proffer his advice; and I promised to follow it. Besides, my thoughts were all in such confusion that I had not the power to deliberate calmly with myself. We parted—and on returning to the Chateau, I did my best to compose my troubled feelings. My father did no’ return home till the dinner-hour: he was wearied and ill—he had evidently been rambling far—and thus if I had experienced any inclination to act contrary tothe advice of my unknown deliverer, my father’s state of mind and body would have rendered me obedient to that well-meant advice. I therefore said nothing on — the subject. For the next two or three days my father was confined to his bed; and to distress him under such circumstances with the revelation of my adventure, was now totally out of the ques- tion. I continued in attendance upon him; and when he was restored to health again, it was tgo late to mention the incident.” ‘‘ Confess the truth, my dear Clarine,”’ said with a sweet melancholy smile: “that handsome stranger had on the very first occasion obtained more or leas influence over your heart as well as over your mind ?” “It is true—I believe that it is true,” responded Clarine: “for his image was constantly in my thoughts—so that even when by myeelf, I would blush at the idea of so incessantly thinking of the handsome countenance which I had seen bending over me when recovering from my state of uncon- sciousness after my rescue from that frightful peril. Nevertheless, solemnly do I assure you that when next J walked out again, after my father’s recovery, I had not the slightest expectation of meeting my handsome unknown deliverer. And yet we met. It was in quitea different direction from where we firs¢ encountered each other—two miles away from this spot which is so close by the scene of my peril and my deliverance. He ap- proached me in a manner in which kindness and courtesy were blended, as if he felt that circum. stances had placed us on q friendly footing. Almost his very first question was whether I had followed his advice in respect to my father ?—and I answered that I had. Wo walked together for about half an hour,—the time flying so quickly that it appeared to me as if we had only been a fow brief minutes together. When we were abou$ to separate, he delicately hinted that I ought not now to mention our acquaintance to my father; for that if I did, I must necessarily explain how i¢ commenced, and then he would chide me f having kept the matter secret at all. I have sai that my deliverer spoke with the utmost delicacy of language ; and it was also with a mingled en- treaty and diffidence in his tone: but nevertheles a pang shot through my heart—I felt hurt— should even have been indignant, were it not t I remembered that I owed my life to him, and that he had as magnanimouasly perilled his own to save it. He saw what was passing in my mind: ho even looked pleased—he seized my hand—he said that he comprehended the natural delicacy of my thoughts and my sense of propriety—he im- plored me not to be incensed against him, for that he would explain his meaning and his object in beseeching me to keep the seal of silence upon my COMIC DOG (CO