The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

THE ROYAL LOVER’S VICTIM 81 innocent maiden struck by a first suspicion of her lover’s treachery. Now her gaze is riveted upon the royal symbols again; and then bewilderment, terror, and awe gradually arise and mingle in her regard, like the look which we can fancy Eve to have sent forth from the gates of her Eden into the dimness of that unknown world upon whose face she was doomed to enter. ‘“‘ Oh, is this the crown which I once hoped to wear, and is this the sceptre which | believed myself destined to wield? ”’ exclaimed poor Octavia Clarendon, her lips at length ex- pressing the cruel doubts which had sprung up in her soul. “No, no; it was to be a crown covered with jewels and glistening with gems, and a sceptre of gold that would not break so easily as this. But my beloved one will soon appear and bring me the crown and the sceptre which he promised. Oh, why does he not come immediately, for I have already waited long and patiently for my prince. Sometimes [ think that I am a strange, wild, and fanciful girl, and all my ideas, though plain enough, nevertheless glitter in confusion like the spangles upon a robe that is shaken, or like the gleaming meteors in the north when the polar night puts forth its pomps and splendours. But, oh, this confusion is bril- liantly beautiful, and amidst it all I behold my prince clad in royal garments and extending his arms toward me. Nevertheless,’’ she continued, with a reflective air and in a tone of deeper pathos, “‘ they will not let me hasten forward to meet him. Oh, why is this? Wherefore are we separated? Let me fly to his arms, or my soul will become a fountain evermore to gush with bitter tears. I will make the very air burn with my passionate sighs, if they keep me any longer from my prince.” Suddenly her entire manner changed: the melting beauty of her eyes gave place to a wild and terrible lustre, which shot forth like lightning-shafts; her countenance became colourless, ghastly, and distorted with anguish; and her bosom rose and fell with a violence and a rapidity evincing that a profound agitation raged within. ‘“‘ Away, ye vile and despicable baubles! ’’ she exclaimed, starting from her seat on the table, and dashing the paper ~ crown and sceptre upon the floor. ‘“‘ Ye are the emblems of that deceit and cruelty and treachery which made me what I am. Oh, thou demon-hearted prince, hast thou no mercy, a (G0) AG 6)(0)©)