The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 395: what you’re looking at

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<0 ont . ©) somposed their countenances and their feelings as well as they were able,—and oh! how different were chose feelings that animated them !—and they then began to settle their plans for an early flight from the British capital and from the Englisn shores. But in the midst of this conversation the Earl of Desborough entered the room; and, actually tor- turing his inward being with the efforts that he made to assume a calm and even smiling exterior, the deeply-to-be-pitied nobleman said, “That young artist, Eleanor, in whom, as you are aware, I have taken some interest, has brought a portrait which he wishes tu exhibit tous. He assures me it is one of rather a startling character, though merely a portrait: but more he will not tell me until he re- moves the cloth which covers it. Will you not gratify his very pardonable vanity by consenting to inspect this work of art? And perhaps Mr. Wake- field will likewise honour him?’ added the Earl, turning towards Ramsey. “ I should have much pleasure, my lord,” replied this individual, who invariably found some handy excuse for avoiding a meeting with any strangers who visited the mansion,—“ but I have a letter to write— of some importance, too—and I perceive,” he ex- claimed, glancing towards the time-piece on the mantel, “that I shall scarcely be enabled to save the post.” Thus speaking, he bowed and quitted the room. “You will accompany me, Eleanor, to the parlour where Mr. Woodfall is waiting my return and your presence ?” said the Earl, taking his wife’s hand. “Oh! certainly — if it will give you pleasure, Francis,” she replied ; a sudden emotion of pity—and even of remorse—epringing up in her bosom at the idea that in a few hours she was to desert and abandon for ever the husband whose conduct had been characterised by unvarying kindness, generosity, aud indulgence towards her. The Earl grasped her hand somewhat tightly, as if with the impulse of one who feels that the hand so held in his own is trembling, and would therefore give it a reassuring pressure: then, leading her away from the room, the nobleman conducted his beau- teous wife to the apartment where George Woodfall was seated. The artist rose and bowed respectfully to the Countess of Desborough. “ Your ladyship will deem me very presumptuous,” ne said, “in venturing to solicit you to inspect that portrait,”—and he pointed towards the picture as it stood against a chair, wrapped up in the cloth in which he had brought it: “but as I believe that T have been more successful in this achievement than in any former effort of my pencil, I was vain enough to hope that your ladyship—and you also, my lord—would not be angry with me for sub- mitting it to your opinion. It is a portrait—nothing more than a portrait ;—but the portrait of a great criminal whose name recently produced no inoon- siderable sensation throughout the country.” “And who may the hero of your picture be, Mr. Woodfall?” inquired the nobleman. “Your lordship remembers the romantic trial in which the Aylesbury bankers figured as the culprits and Sir Richard Stamford as the prosecutor?” said the artist, interrogatively. | son perfectly well,” was the Earl’s prompt replye “And J, who cannot bear to read the accounts THE MYSTERIES. of criminal proceedings,” observed Eleanor, “ was deeply—or rather fearfully interested in that ex- traordinary trial! <A lady of my acquaintance was present in the chapel on the morning when the coa- demned sermon was preached: and she assured me that one of the prisoners—Mr. Ramsey, I think~ was @ young man whose external appearance aroused feelings of the profoundest sympathy.” “I also was present on the sad occasion to which your ladyship alludes,” said George Woodfall ; “ and it is Mr. Ramsey’s portrait which I have painted from the recollection of his features. So vividly did they become impressed upon my memory, that I can at least take credit to myself for the fidelity of the delineation, whatever may be thought of the general workmanship.” Thus speaking, the young artist loosened the knots where the corners of the cloth were tied, and in a few moments withdrew the covering altogether, The portrait was now revealed! But—O horror!—Oh! the agonies—the appalling agonies of that moment, alike for the unhappy Earl and the maddened Countess of Desborough ! An ejaculation of despair burst from the former: but a wild cry, whose thrilling intonations betrayed all the excruciating, anguish which tore her bresst, broke from the lips of Eleanor—and, reeling half round, she fell senseless on the carpet. “ Cover up your picture—bear it away—this mo- ment!’’ said the Earl, in a thick hoarse tone, and with a look of indescribable horror as he grasped Wood- fall’s arm convulsively. “We have recognised in that portrait some one whom we knew — under another name—and in earlier years —— But no matter,” he exclaimed, suddenly checking himeelf, lest in the excuses which he was attempting he might let drop something calculated to engender strange suspicions in the mind of the artist “Pray leave us, Mr. Woodfall—pardon this scene—do not mention it elsewhere—it is very painful—and come and see me again in a day or two——” While the nobleman was thus speaking in hurried and disjointed sentences and with a dreadful excite- ment of manner, Woodfall had replaced the covering over his picture; and he quitted the apartment just as the domestics, whose ears the thrilling scream of the Countess had reached, rushed thither to see what had occurred. CHAPTER CIX. THE OUTRAGED NOBLEMAN AND THE RESUSCI- TATED CRIMINAL. Puitip RANSEY, unconscious of the terrible scene which had just occurred and of the appalling dis- covery that had been made respecting his identity, was pacing his own chamber—not with the agitation of alarm or of annoyance—but with the excitemeat of triumph and the restlessness that invariably at- tends even upon the flush of a proud success, — He had so admirably played the hypocrite that the treason he contemplated was now approaching its consummation: the noble woman, 80 basely de- ceived—so treacherously beguiled, had promised te fly with him ;—the arrangements were settled—the plan was determined upon—and in a few hours would the appointed moment arrive at which she was to abandon her husband and her home for ever { Geoglee.coh