The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

116 THE COURT OF LONDON “T would have you become mine — wholly mine,’ he answered, after a short pause. ‘‘ I would have you receive me as your husband now —this very evening —that I may be assured of having won you so completely that I need fear no rival. For I am jealous, Octavia — oh! if I have a fault, it is that I am jealous; and until your father has returned and given his assent to our union, ay, even until our hands are joined at the altar, I shall never know an instant’s peace. And it is because I love you so de- votedly, my Octavia, because I adore you with such a full measure of worship, that I am jealous of you; and if If beseech you to have compassion upon me, and give me every proof of love that woman can give, ’tis only that I may console myself when away from you by the conviction that I have secured a treasure which no rival can take from me! ” ‘““My God! what shall I do? ”’ murmured Octavia, weeping with mingled delight and pain. ‘Oh, why demand such a proof of my affection, George? Can you not put faith in me? — can you not believe that I love you? ”’ “Forgive me, dearest, if I reiterate the tale of my jealousy,” exclaimed Harley, straining the yielding maiden more closely to his breast; ‘“‘ but ’tis a weakness that I cannot conquer. Have pity upon me, then — have pity upon me. Torture me not with those racking anxieties — ”’ “Have pity upon me, George!” cried Octavia, gliding from his arms and sinking at his feet, her hair, which had escaped from its confinement, flowing all dishevelled down her back; “ have pity upon me, I say — have pity upon me! ”’ And she extended her clasped hands toward him. The voluptuary was for an instant chagrined with dis- appointment, and, supporting himself against the edge of a table, he bent upon her a look the momentary vexation of which changed into an expression of passionate admira- tion, so beautiful was she, thus kneeling at his feet, with her hair wantoning over her shoulders. “ Octavia, you love me not — you will drive me mad he suddenly exclaimed, playing with an infernal artifice upon the tender susceptibilities and yielding sensitiveness of the affectionate girl; and he turned abruptly away, as if about to leave the room. !?? CORnnICLOOOKKS