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

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

DOCTOR DUPONT’S ESTABLISHMENT — 369 “ Methought I beheld angels flying through the air,” said Agatha, slowly turning her head and raising her eyes toward the physician’s countenance. “ They were all beautiful beings, with white wings shining as if made of silver, and they were dressed in azure garments which streamed out in a long train in the track of their feet.” “ And I also beheld beautiful spirits passing through the air,” said Julia, turning around with the same slowness of manner and gazing up with similar vacancy into the doctor’s countenance. ‘I fancied also that they had beautiful silver wings, and azure robes spreading out into a cloud behind them — oh, it was wonderful! ”’ Mrs. Owen and Mary were now able to behold the counte- nances of Agatha and Julia, and hear their voices. Those countenances were so pale as to be devoid of all vital colour- ing, and those voices were so low, plaintive, and melancholy that it rent the hearts of the mother and sister to hear them. But still they subdued their feelings with a strength of mind that even astonished themselves; and now, at a signal from the physician, they slowly approached the window. ‘“‘ Here are friends come to see you,’’ said the doctor, his voice more gentle and more soothing than even at first; and yet both Mrs. Owen and Mary could perceive in his accents, as well as in his manner, that this was the crisis which he feared, —that is to say, the moment was now come when the effect of the visit would be immediately shown by his two unfortunate patients. Agatha and Julia, at the same instant, in precisely the same manner, and as if in obedience to a feeling common to them both, slowly averted their looks from the doctor’s countenance, and bent them upon Mrs. Owen and Mary. Then they both started, as if suddenly galvanized by the same electric wire, and also at the very selfsame moment; and still as if inspired by this singular identity of feeling or instinct, they sprang from their seats, shrieking forth, “ It is Mary, our sister! ”’ Bounding toward the young damsel, they both wound their arms about her neck, covered her with fervid, even frenzied caresses, addressed to her the most passion- ately endearing epithets, and shed floods of tears. Then Agatha embraced Mary all to herself, and then Julia took her turn in the same demonstration of enthusiastic love. (C(O) nn) GDoOo <Si nin