The Mysteries of the Court of London by Pauline Clarendon — page 385: what you’re looking at

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

382 THE COURT OF LONDON bent over him in such a way that he could not see her blush- ing cheeks, although he felt the gentle pressure of her warm arm around his neck, “ lam humiliated, ashamed, confused, to an extent which you cannot possibly understand. What can I say, what can I do to convince you that I am thus profoundly touched? You have made me comprehend all the grossness of my mortal nature; you have forced me to regard and study my own imagination in all its impurity, my soul in all its sensuousness. And yet, though possessing an ardent temperament, and at times devoured by desires and rendered restless by fierce passions, I take the Almighty to witness that I am pure and chaste in body. I call Heaven to hear the solemn oath which I pledge to you that never, never have I proved faithless to the vows breathed by my lips at the altar.’’ “Hush! not a word more, Eleanor, dearest Eleanor! ”’ cried the earl, springing from his chair and straining her to his breast. “‘ It were a flagrant insult toward you, were I even to thank you for an assurance on a point regarding which I was already assured. Never, no, not for a single instant, have I suspected that the rich offering of your virgin affections has been surrendered to another; and it is the conviction of your chastity which enhances into a worship, an idolatry the love that I bear you. Oh, yes, it is for this that I have made you the goddess of my adoration; and when I am not in your presence, my thoughts are with you all the same. Your image is never absent from my memory; but when I think of that wilful, wicked selfishness on my part, or rather, those vain and fanciful imaginings, which prompted me to make you my victim, my very soul is wrung with the agony and crucifixion of remorse. Oh, my beloved, my adored Eleanor, grant me your compassion, your sympathy, your commiseration. Despise me not, suffer not your heart to loathe and abhor me; and when the sense of your own unhappiness steals irresistibly upon you, when, in gazing around, you behold wives who can be proud of their hus- bands and rejoice in a smiling progeny, then curse me not in the depths of your sickening spirit, but pause for a mo- ment to reflect that I also am unhappy.” The earl had spoken to this length without interruption, for the countess was almost suffocated by the feelings which his pathetic and touching language inspired. Her head commicoooks (EO) m