The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

NS LA tT Ge ce LL LD LC eit aa tattaetlt aa —— i tic Si ttn ERE -—— -—- - over the fire, with his chair tilted to a comfortable angle, and his feet resting on the fender, “I om to be beaten at last, after all my careful schemes to preserve, @ fair face to the world, and a character that none could blacken with aword! Not if it costs me all that I have purchased by my smooth tongue and dissem- bling looks. I have got too stronga hold upon the earl to be easily shaken off, and this man, this Mor- daunt—or one who by nature’s jugglery has been born with an accursed resemblance to him—cannot hur! me from the secure position I have gained. It is strange, too,” he reflected, as he raked the embers to- ether, and caused a flickering flame once more to jin ntastic shadows on the walls, “it is strange step of my fortune, the very man whom, of others, I had hoped never to see again should cross my path, and threaten me with ruin. Ruin! psha! If he be Mordaunt, the secrets of the bank forgeries he dare not divulge; and if he be not, the information that has been given him concerning them can be of no avail, since proofs are wanting, Either way I am safe, and let him do his worst.” an inner door that communicated with an adjoining apartment, fitted up for the occasion as a bed-chamber and there, alone, in that vast and uninhabited dwell- ing, he prepared himself to taste the blessings ef re- pose. The room was a small antique chamber, with only just sufficient furniture to adapt it to the purpose for which it was required. There was a gloomy look about it, which gave it no very prepossessing appear- ance as a sleeping-room, and the couch that had been to evade the expenses of a tavern, which his parsimo- nious disposition led him to avoid as much as possible ; and as the old mansion was, of course, at his disposal on these emergencies, he had invariably, on his bien- nial tour, resigned himself, without scruple, to its scanty accommodation, preferring contentedly to en- dure any want ef comfort, rather than incur any cor- responding increase of expenditure. The aspect it now presented was, however, more cheerless and repulsive than it had cver seemed to him before. The consciousness that he was the sole inhabitant of that mansion, the idea of isolation that itself him, and the lonely look of the old + him wish that he had slept, for at the villageinn. He opened i looked at the apartment he had e fire had died completely out, and even a spark to suggest a cheerful he withdrew the curtain that had across the window, but the moonlight, as in through the casement, only made such spectral shadows on the wall that he involuntarily turned from the contemplation of these images fall- ch grim and ghastly combinations, and landscape itself. Somehow—he had never noticed it till then—there was a certain cottage that came into view, more distinct and window than he had ever it from any other, and the trees that bent and swayed before it in the fitful gusts of the night breeze appeared to have assumed more d : ae : : 3 Be. $ ad i : g F f Fe i 4 | i fhe semblance of funeral plumes than he had | — -—~. LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE. = ee LONDON L 83 ever thought before, It was a strange fancy, too, that the white gable ends and angles of the buildings round seemed to fashion themselves into vague out- lines, as in mockery of human faces, and that in one he could trace the profile of a countenance he well knew, and which, to his heated imagination, seemed to be turned reproachfully towards him. And then he thought of Mordaunt, and that possibly, if he bad been really his visitor, he might return, knowing his unprotected state, and avenge himself for the many injuries of the past, and for which that night he had refused atonement. The fastening on his door was not strong, and he knew that he would be himself no match for the muscular form of his antagonist. His life might be sacrificed in the first struggle before he could call for help from the lodge, and he was sure that no entreaties would induce the incensed opponent to have mercy on his condition; for he with whom he would have to contend was never known to spare the desperate blow which his venge- ance prompted him to take. He gazed around in terror—he cou'd hear almost the tread of footsteps on the stair—his breathing grew thick and hard, and overcome with nervous excitement, he threw himself on to the couch, and fell dreamily to sleep. It is a stern monitor that said darkness! How it makes the guilty quake and shudder with the unreal pictures their feverish imagination has conjured up, and trem- ble at the whisperings of their own foul consciences! Like the rotten wood that by day shines enly asa heap of mouldering dust, and that at night flashes with phosphoric brilliancy, so the soul of the man stained with crime becomes in the dark self-illu- minated, and revealed by its own decaying lustre; there are those hidden cells of rottenness lighted up which by day are alike unheeded and unseen. The next morning, Jarvis inquired at the village inn for Sir John Barrington; but, to his amazement, he learned that the barouche and its owner had departed for London on the preceding night, CHAPTER XVILIL THE RED ROSE. Te eventful Thursday evening had arrived: it was one of the most brilliant nights of the season, and the Opera House was densely filled with a more numerous and fashionable assemblage than had been for some time seen within its walls. The aristocracy, ever eager to arrive at new sources of excitement, had crowded to see the new danseuse whose first appearance had been hailed with such universal acclamations, and whose extraordinary grace and beauty had been the general topic of conversation among those who had witnessed her debut, To be present at a repetition of her performance, parties had been postponed, projected visits to the sea-side put off to a future day, arrangements for routs countermanded, and invitations to conversaziones de- clined. The élite of rank and fashion filled the boxes and the stalls, and there was a general buzz of expecta- tion when the curtain had fallen on the last act of the opera. Behind the scenes was presented a display of equal life and animation. The fayoured noblemen, who had the envied privilege of obtaining access to the in- terior, had gathered about the cou/isses, and were con- versing with each other, or flirting with the prettiest coryphées that were engaged on the establishment; -_——— ——_- —- ~—- —_— a ee EIR a —— eee = A — eet ttt gg yess > tll steele eet. \ ‘ ’ ’ \ ‘ Ps ad : © aia ‘ ray « ‘Ss boo ECOMMICE (EO)