The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 357: what you’re looking at

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

340 REYNOLDS’ WORKS “ Yes, I am he,” answered the steward, shudderingly. ‘ But in the name of Heaven, who are you? ”’ ‘Your master who has been hither has doubtless told you,” was the slowly given and solemn response. “Good God, is it possible?’’ exclaimed the steward, starting up in his couch. ‘ Mr. Bertram Vivian, or, rather, Lord Clandon, I should say ? ” “Yes, I am that unhappy being,” was the rejoinder. ‘“ But compose yourself —”’ “ Oh, what am I to do? What am I to do?”’ murmured the bewildered steward, for he knew not whether to bid the long lost one avaunt as a blood-stained murderer, or whether to speak to him kindly as one who had perhaps bitterly expiated the past, for that he was innocent the old man dared not think, or else wherefore should he come thus stealthily like a robber in the dead of the night? ‘“ Purvis,” said Lord Clandon, for such was the denomina- tion to which Bertram Vivian was entitled, “I can judge what is passing in your mind. But if I were guilty, it would be useless to declare that long years of penitence have gone far to atone for my crime, because this much you would doubtless comprehend. On the other hand, if I be in- nocent, the time is not yet come when I can stand in that light before the world. Is it possible, Purvis, that you can so far forget the past—or else suspend your judgment altogether — as to bear with me a few minutes for the pres- ent? ”’ “Yes, yes, my lord,’ answered the old steward, both bewildered and affected. ‘ What would you with me? Why come so stealthily hither? Why terrify your brother as you have done? Oh, my lord, speak, speak! ”’ “ You must not question me, Purvis,’ answered Bertram, still speaking in that same low, deep tone as before; while in respect to his form, it was scarcely perceptible amidst the obscurity that prevailed, and as for his countenance, no glimpse of it could the old man catch. “Yes, my lord, there is one question that I must put,” cried Fees, sehicemen tly: and he quivered with suspense. ‘* That anh ewe lady — the Duchess Eliza — ”’ “ Purvis, not a syllable in respect to the past,” interrupted Lord Clandon, almost sternly. ‘‘ Suffer me to question you, and answer me as if you were testifying your compassion Gomichbooks m