The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 228: what you’re looking at

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

208 REYNOLDS’ WORKS Ah, that was the way my poor dear mistress used to speak. Oh, how I loved her! Alas, alas, that it should have all ended as it did, — shocking, shocking! I know not why I should always and always be thinking of it. And yet I can’t help it. Till that other thing came into my mind, I never could think of anything else. How piteously she wept! It really seems as if I saw her now standing before me. Yes, when the mist is deepest around me, I see that one image as plain as ever. She was not guilty; no, no, she was not. I am sure she was not. She was too good, — too kind for that. Oh, what became of you, my dear, dear mistress? ”’ Crazy Jane ceased, but her sobs were audible to Mr. Red- cliffe as he listened behind the hedge. “Who was more beautiful,” at length continued the mad woman in her audible musings, ‘‘ than the Duchess of March- mont? They should have married her to Bertram Vivian, and not to his uncle. Alas, alas! to have thrown that divine creature away upon that old man,— dit was shocking, shocking! Often and often have I thought of going to Oaklands to see the old place, and I have dragged myself for miles and miles—I wonder how many — along the roads and through the fields, until I had not the courage to go farther, and then I have come back to my hut. No, no, I could not look again upon that house where I last saw the good Duchess Eliza. I could not tread those gravel- walks where I once saw her move in all the glory of her beauty. Oh, it was a dreadful day. But those tears which she shed then seem to fall upon my heart even now like scalding drops. My poor dear mistress, I could have laid down my life for you.” Here there was another pause in the poor mad woman’s musings, and again did her convulsive sobs reach the ears of Clement Redcliffe. “What darkness and confusion have been in my brain ever since!’’ she once more mused audibly. ‘“ And yet there are times that I see it all before me, so plain — so plain — that I think it is taking place all over and over anew. But this other thing that is now in my mind. Let me reflect. When did it happen? Oh, poor creature that I am. I cannot remember anything about dates, and yet I am sure it was not near so far back as those dreadful scenes at Oaklands, — no, not near so far back. I was a young CORNICLOOOLK