The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 207: what you’re looking at

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

1$2 = s —_—_— oo —_— ——— - — no earthly conjecture could I form as to who Queen Isabella of Spain mizht be, until the morning after the masquerade But when I received this missive mentioning the name of the enemy with whom I was to seek a quarrel, provoke to a duel, and thus extirpate from your path, my suspicions instan- taneously fixed themselves upon you. Suspicions? —no! It was a certainty—a conviction, beyond the possibility of doubt. And could you yourself have been so insensate as to hope that I should not fathom your secret ? Why, all London was ringing with the affair between William Deveril and your- sclf. He had insulted you—at least such was your story—and at all events you had taken the trouble to make the round of your acquaintances and spread the intelligence. There was a malignity in this conduct on your part which showed a determination to ruin William Deveril. What cause subsequently impelled you to wish his destruction, Il know not: but that the Lady Saxondale to whom I am now speaking, was the Queen Isabella of Spain who gave me my mission at Harcourt House, I felt as- sured the moment I read the name of her enemy.” “T have listened to you in silence, if not with patience,” said her ladyship, “because I was de- sirous to ascertain the real nature of the delusion under which you are labouring. I now begin, to fathom it. You have mistaken some one else for me.” “ No—it is not so!” answered Lord Harold ve- hemently. “I repeat that not until I read the name of your enemy, did I suspect who Queen Isabella of Spain could possibly be. But the in- stant that name met my eyes, I knew that it was Lady Saxondale. Yes—not merely because you had notoriously some strong cause of dislike against Deveril, but also because she who personated the Spanish Queen was of your stature—of your form —with the same dark eyes flashing froin behind the mask—yes, and with the same accents of the voice, despite the consummate art with which that voice was disguised! Lady Saxondale, if it were the last words that I had to speak in tuls life, it wouid be to proclaim to your face that you were the woman who urged me to this deed of assassination !” “Did I not firmly entertain the belief that your reason is impared, I should not tolerate such con- duct. Even as it is, I know not whether I am justi- fied in permitting you to remain another instant in my presence :”—and as Lady Saxondale thus spoke, it was with a look so*well corresponding with her words that for an instant Lora Harold Staunton felt himself staygered. But only for an instant! The doubt vanished as quickly as it came, giving place to a conviction stronger than ever; and he said with a fiercer fook and in a hoarser voice than before, * Lady Saxondale, I have become a murderer for your sakc! The death of that young man sits heavy upon my heart: my cofiscience is a nest of scor- pions. Oh! what I have done and what I now suffer, demand an immense reward! That reward you promised me: that reward you shall give! It may be that your love-tale—which I was toolish enough to believe at the time, and have believed since until I stood in your presence ere now,—it may be, I say, that this tale of love was but the coinage of your brain-—an artful delusion adopted w order to model me to your purposes. Infatuated THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. fool that I was, to put faith in it! Yet who would not have done so? who could have believed that there was treachery so foul—so damnable—in the heart of woman? But no matter. I did believe it: else never should I have suffered myself to become the instrument of your designs—never should I have availed myself of the opportunity which an unlvoked-for accident furnished to pro- voke William Deveril to the duel of death. If you had really loved me, your love, Lady Saxondale, would have been some consolation for the crime I have committed and for the remorse which fastened its vulture-talons upon my soul the instant that deed was done! But if you do not love me—and if you sought to.make me alike the instrument of your vengeance and the sport of your trickery, only to repudiate me afterwards, and perhaps laugh at me in secret—I will still demand my recompense that I may be avenged on you! Madam, do vou understand me ?” “T understand,”’ was the patrician lady’s response, “that I have a madiman for my companion at this moment—and that if I thus bear patiently and kindly with hii, it is only trom compassion for his misfortune.” * Compassion? I scorn the word—I disdain to become the object of such a sentiment! Look you, Lady Saxondale—I am a desperate man. In a few short hours an immense change has been effected within me. Hitherto 1 have been the dis- sipated rake—the reckless row€—the inconsiderate spendtbrift; but now I have become the deep eri- minal—the man who bears about with him a re- morse as the convict carries with him his chain. Aye—and the iron of that remorse is eating into my soul more deeply and with a more corroding avony than the iron of the chain can eat into the convict’s flesh. What consolation, then, is there for me? A mad and a reckless career, composed of all the intoxicating influences that cau drown thoucht, or the wild ecstacies and thrilling delights that can absorb reflection! Wine and women— deep draughts of wine and the glowing embrace of superb and impassioned women—these are the only blandishments left for me! Into this cata- logue do you enter: it 1s you who must head it— thereby fulfilling the promise that you gave!” “ Poor young man!” said Lady Saxondale, shaking her head: “ what will become of you? As one whom I have known for a long time—as my son’s bosom friend—as the brother of his fu- ture wife—and as the nephew of the esteemed and respected Lady Macdonald, I am bound to enter- tain some degree of sympathy for you. Besides, you appear to feel so deeply the calamity of this morning ‘ “Oh, talk to me not thus!” ejaculated Harold, with rage upon his countenance. “If L am not mad already, you will drive me so. By heaven, you are grandly beautiful! I always considered you as eminently handsome; and since yesterday mora- ing, when L first knew that you were the lady of the masquerade, I have feasted my imagination upon your charms. Yet never did they seem so magnificent as at this moment! Even in this very conduct which you are pursuing towards me— treacherous, ungrateful, and abomiuable as it is— there is something so tantalizing that I could scarcely wishit to be othewe wwe. It as the acrid olive EO) 0)(0)(0) (C Ss 66)