The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. S until recently worn a ducal coronet upon his} sat in dismay—indeed almost in horror—under the brow. crushing influence of the thought that she had un- Such was the Duke of Marchmont—a nobleman | wittingly proved faithless to that image. The ring possessed of great wealth, with a splendid town- | with the initial B was in her bosom: it ever lay mansion, and three palatial residences, with their accompanying estates, in three distinct counties. Many a cap, to use a vulgar phrase, was therefore | set at this great peer: many a mancuvring mo- | ther made excruciating efforts to lead the ducal | attention to her marriageable daughters. Hitherto | all in vyain!—but on the night of Mrs. Bailey’s | grand entertainment, his Grace’s heart seemed to next to her heart. She drew it forth, kissing it in the resuscitated wildness of her grief; while the tears flowed in torrents from her eyes. She had grown comparatively calm again—the . ring was replaced i in her bosom—the traces of her _ Weeping were wiped away—and she was deliberately _reflecting how to disabuse the Duke of Marchmont of the error into which he had fallen in supposing be smitten—he was evidently fascinated with the | that his attentions were agreeable to her, when the bewitching beauty of one fair creature there—and | door opened and her father entered the room. this was Eliza Lacey. But the young lady herself. Though full of infirmities, the old man rushed was the only one present who did not observe any-_ towards her—caught her in his arms—strained thing pointed or marked in the Duke’s attentions. | _her to his breast—and ere she could give utterance Mingled with her resignation, there was a kind of to a word, poured forth a perfect deluge of dreamy, listless apathy which still clung to her, as language,—thanking her for having accepted her if the senses had not as yet completely recovered | ducal suitor—congratulating himself on living to the stunning influence of the blow they had re-| behold his daughter on the verge of so brilliant ceived several months back. Weeks passed on: at | an alliance—declaring that his mind was relieved every entertainment given by Mrs. Bailey, the | from a myriad anxieties—and ending by assuring Duke of Marchmont was sure to be present: at her that his gray hairs would now go down in whatsoever house Eliza visited in company with her contented resignation to the grave. [Eliza was relative, there was the Duke likewise sure to be. | shocked, astounded, and bewildered. She saw that _He was paying his addresses to her as visibly and her father’s mind was bent upon this match, and _as sedulously as a man could: everybody else saw | that it would literally break his heart if she rejected and knew it—the object of these attentions alone theducal overture. Yet her brain whirled: it was ‘remained unaware that they were proffered. She | almost maddened at the idea of becoming another's still continued to look forth upon the world as if —she who im her own soul had vowed a life of from the midst of a mental dreaminess within: | celibacy to the memory of her lost lover! Her there was something more mechanical than volun- : father renewed his thanks—remewed his own seli- tary i in her conversation, her looks, and her smiles —in her bearing too, and in all her movements. _But inasmuch as there was a consistent uniformity m her tone and demeanour, with an ineffable sweetness over all, it could not possibly have struck any but the very closest observer of human nature, the gay circles of fashionable life ; and the Duke of Marchmont himself, though shrewd and intelli- | gent, was not much versed in the reading of the. female heart. At length the Duke took an opportunity to. make an offer of his hand to Miss Lacey. She heard him with an astonishment perfectly bewil- maidenly confusion. She could not utter a word: a veil had suddenly fallen from her eyes—the haze through which she had looked upon things around hended for the first time that she had been the _monstrations of exuberant joy: that in the still waters of her soul a profound grief lay buried. Such observers are not often found in| tions — wept, laughed, danced, and behaved like the veriest child. Mrs. Bailey en- tered in the midst of this scene; and embracing Eliza, proffered her own congratulations. The poor young lady was overwhelmed with all these de- she strove to speak — her tongue refused utterance to what she would have said—her emotions choked her; and when she burst imto tears, she was again em- braced by her father and Mrs. Bailey in their turns. In the course of that day, however, she found an opportunity to speak with her sire alone; and she also spoke with calmness. She assured him that she did not love the Duke—that the love she _had borne for Bertram, was the first and the last dering, but which gave to her an air of modest of which her soul was susceptible—and that her heart was entombed in the watery depths which had engulfed the adored lost one. Captain Lacey was at first half frantic at the idea of his daughter her, abruptly yielded to clearness. She compre- rejecting this brilliant alliance; he wept—he knelt —he prayed—he beat his breast—he tore his hair “object of attentions bestowed for several months,|—he threw himself, grovelling in wretchedness, and that in the very dreaminess and listlessness of | upon the carpet. Oh! could the affectionate her mind, she might have seemed to regard them! daughter resist that spectacle?—she who had as welcome because she had accepted them. It |,eyer entertained so illimitable a sense of the was one afternoon when the Duke called at Mrs. | many, many sacrifices her father had made for her Bailey’s house, and when he found Eliza alone in | —she who had always held herself ready to make the drawing-room, that he made her the offer of any sacrifice for him! We will not dwell upon his hand. Taking her bewildered amazement and this distressing scene; suffice it to say that at the the subsequent emotions for bashful confusion, and | expiration of an hour—in which all the acutest this confusion for a tacit assent, he raised her | feelings through which the human soul can pass hand to his lips—kissed it with respectful tender-|} were essentialized and concentrated — Eliza ness—and intimating that he would seek her! Yielded. With the resignation of martyrdom— father, quitted the room. Then, more vividly per- | "with the calm pale statue-like despair of a victim haps than for some time past it had done, rose up | consenting to self-immolation for some purpose of before Eliza’s mental vision the image of the lost | stupendous import, she agreed to become the bride | Bertram ; and clasping her hands convulsively, she of the Duke oi Marchmont. No. 2.—¥FoOURTH SERIES. EO DOOLK (© S|