The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

TRE MYSTERIES. This second scrap of writing he examined; and found it to be another receipt, on the top of which appeared these words—“ Tue ANTIDOTE TO THE cik’s Frienp.” “ Antidote!’ he murmured to himself, while a cold shudder passed over his thin and wasted frame, as if a hyperborean wind had suddenly swept round him fresh from the icy coast of far-off Labrador: “ that terrible word is ever associated, in a negative sense, with poison! = This, then, must be the bane,” he thought within himself, as he glanced at the first piper which he had seen: “ and this is its antidote,” he added, bending his eyes upon the second. “Oh! is ft possible that the old hag whose very appearance froze the biood in my veins and filled me with vague and indescribable sensations of horror—is it possible that she can practise other and darker acts than those of midwifery 2?” Then, obeying an irresistible feeling of curiosity, he seated himself at the table, and, by the aid of silver pencil-case which: he had about him, proceeded tocopy on the back of a letter the two receipts that seemed to be invested with so sinister and mysterious an interest. All this was the work of a few minutes; —anl having yielded to the sudden impulse that thus prompted him to adopt the means of instituting future inquiries into the nature of the receipts, he replaced them in the volume, which he restored to the shelf. Having closed the book-case, he returned to his seat: but scarcely had he regained his chair, when the midwife came back to the room. As she entered, her eye caught sight of the key in the lock of the book-case; and Arthur Eaton ob- served that she started as with a slight tremor. At the same instant she darted a rapid and searching glance upon him—for her avocations, both ostensible and secret, naturally made her suspicious: and knowing that she had committed an oversight in leaving the key in the lock, her guilty conscience momentarily made her shudder lest her visitor should have pryed into the secrets of that book-case. But the calmness which he had assumed sate with eo natural an air upon his pale countenance, that she | was instantly reassured ;—and, taking out the key, ahe returned to her seat. The change in her manner however struck Mr. Eaton ;—and he felt more convinced than ever that something awfully mysterious was associated with the receipts which he had just found in the old volume. Soon after the return of Mrs. Lindley to the par- lour, the Countess of Desborough made her appear- ance, The midwife then withdrew again, in order to allow the noble lady an opportunity of conversing | Unrestrainedly with the Hon. Mr. Eaton. * Fernanda will see you,” said Eleanor, the mo- ment the door had closed behind Mrs. Lindley. “ But , I warn you that it will prove a difficult task to per- suade her to accept the reparation which you have proposed to make her. My interview with her has lasted an hour,” added the Countess, referring to her Watch :—“and you may therefore judge that much argument has already been used, and many objections | encountered on my side.” “Am I to see heralone?” asked Mr. Eaton, ina subdued and tremulous tone—for he dreaded the meeting, although he himself had courted it in the first instance. “Yes—alone,” returned the Countess. “ Follow me; { i 1 147 i conduct you to the door of Fernanda’s cham- r.”? They accordingly ascended the stairs—and in less than a minute Arthur Eaton found himself in the presence of the wronged Fernanda, She was seated up in the bed, supported by pillows, and with a large shawl thrown loosely over her shoulders. An unnatural fire shone in her eyes, and the scarlet of her lips was perfectly brilliant—these indications of strong inward emotions contrasting strangely with the pallor of her countenance. One white hand | beneath her head, the fingers clutching the dar brown tresses, as if by that action she beld back the feelings which struggled in her bosom for a vent; while the other hand, cast upon the outside of the coverlid, trembled nervously—or rather convulsively. The undulated swelling and sinking of the throat and the rapid heaving of the bosom were additional signs of the tempest that was warring in her heart. Eaton, who knew her well, saw that she was far from tranquil, but that she was labouring to assume a composure the efforts to force which did her harm. Enfeebled and attenuated as he was, the spectacle made him tremble throughout his entire being: and uninvited he sank upon a chair placed near the couch. “ At length we meet again, Fernanda,” he mur- mured, in a suffocating voice. “ Yes—at length we meet again,” she repeated, in a low and even hoarse tone, so different from those melodious accents which had ouce filled his ears with delight and infused joy and happiness into his very soul. “But how and where de we meet, Arthur?” she demanded, fixing her eyes upon him. “Oh! cast your looks around this room and tell me whether it be such an one as that to which I pave been accustomed! Think of the situation of this house—in an obscure street belonging to a vile neigh- hood,—a street and a district unknown to me until [ came hither! Think, too, of the nature of this house —an asylum for the victims of man’s deceit or of their own depravity! And have you seen the woman who keeps this house ?—is she not a fitting genius to preside over so abominable a den? Who, then, is the cause of my consignment to such a place and to the care of such a hag ?” | Eaton could not reply: he was alarmed by the gathering vehemence with which she spoke, and by the increasing brilliancy of those eyes which ap- peared to shed flames upon him. “What! you cannot answer me?” resumed Fer- nanda, bitterly. “Oh! wherefore have you come hither? Is it to gloat over me in my misfortune ?— is it to feast your eyes upon my unhappiness ?—is it to avenge yourself for any harsh word may ever have escaped my lips in those days when you taught me to believe that you loved me ?—ia it to punish me for any whim or caprice of which { might have thoughtlessly made you the victim, but for which I was always wont to demand your pardon with tears streaming down my cheeks? If these be the objects for which you have sought me in my wretched re- treat, they are fully gained : for it is indeed the once lovely, courted, and brilliant Fernanda Aylmer whom you find beneath this detestable roof :” “My God! you will drive me mad!” exclaimed Eaton. “Have you no compassion upon me—no mercy ?”” he demanded, his soul cruelly rent by her unjust observations, which were nevertheless so keen COMGROO Ss COMM