The Mysteries of the Court of London by Pauline Clarendon — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

130 THE COURT OF LONDON “What more can I do for you, my good man?” asked the commercial traveller, in a mild and encouraging tone. ‘“ You seem to be very, very ill — and alone — ”’ ‘* Yes — yes — all alone —alone!’’ murmured the in- valid, knitting his brows in a manner indicative of mingled rage and despair. ‘‘ The ungrateful girl — Julia — to desert her own father — leave me for hours — yes, hours — ”’ ‘ Then you are hungry? — you require food, and you are unable to rise from your bed to take it?’ enclaimed Page. “Ah! I understand, poor man, but I will get you food.” “ Stay, sir —stay!’’ said the invalid, as the commercial traveller was turning toward the cupboard to fetch a morsel of bread to place between the famished being’s lips. “ Stay, sir,’ he repeated, his voice acquiring strength, now that his throat was no longer parched with a torturing thirst; ‘I do not require food — I could not eat — I —I am dying!” “T will run and fetch hither a doctor!’ exclaimed the bustling and agile Page, now springing toward the door. “No — no — stay, I implore you!” said the invalid, in an appealing tone. ‘“‘ 1 am past all hope — beyond the in- fluence of human aid — I feel that I am dying! And when I am gone — but I must not waste words — my voice is failing me —a dimness is coming over my eyes — where are you, sir? — why have you put out the hght? ” And the workings of the invalid’s ghastly countenance were horrible — horrible to behold. ‘““T am here, my good man, and I have not extinguished the light,’”’? returned Page, bending over the bed. “ But speak — tell me what you have to say — give me your in- junctions — ‘“ Stoop down — place your ear close to my lips,’ resumed the dying man, now speaking with extreme difficulty. ‘Are you close?” “Yes — yes — proceed!’’ exclaimed the commercial .- traveller, breathless with suspense. “Place your hand beneath my pillow — just under my head,” gasped the old man. ‘“‘ There — take that pocket- book — tell Julia — Oh! I am dying! My God! my God! pardon — mercy — Hannah — Julia — Julia— Oh! mercy — pardon — pardon — ” And with a deep groan he expired. At the same instant, as if with an ominous emblematic ECORNIE OOOKS (Elo) m