The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 364: what you’re looking at

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

THE SISTERS o47 his lordship; I felt that I was indebted to him for being rescued from the snares and influences of an adventurer. But, oh, while thus I thought in a strain so depreciatory of poor Jocelyn, the scalding tears tlowed down my cheeks and I felt as if my heart would burst. It was a relief for me to quit Paris, that place which appeared to be the scene of the fatal rock on which all my iondest hopes were ship- wrecked. The marquis, with a delicacy which entirely confirmed the good opinion I had recently been forming of him, arranged that the landlady’s eldest daughter should accompany us as tar as Dover, so that I might not be left without female society during the journey. On arriving at Dover, this young F'renchwoman left us to return to Paris, liberally rewarded by the marquis. Up to this moment, Clara, the idea of proceeding to London had never entered my mind. But as I was journeying with the marquis from Dover to Canterbury, he represented to me the propriety and even the necessity of consulting my sister, — yourself, beloved Clara, — and pouring my sorrows into her bosom after all that had occurred. Ah! need I tell you, need I assure you that it required but little argument to persuade me in the adoption of this course?’ I nevertheless insisted upon halting at Canterbury to assure myself that our afflicted aunt was properly cared for. “ Mary Owen,’ then said the marquis, ‘1s deeply prejudiced against me, and fancies that I am engaged in a conspiracy which has no other existence than in her own imagination. She will therefore believe, if you tell her you are travelling with me, that I shall snatch her away from her present retreat and bear her back to her mother. But as I do not wish to inter- fere with the poor girl, it will be needless for you to create any alarm in her mind. Would it not, then, be prudent to forbear from mentioning my name to her at all?’ I yielded to these representations, which appeared to me so natural at the moment; and, besides, my mind was so attenuated that I really had neither the courage nor the power to think for myself, and was therefore easily led to follow any advice that was given to me at the moment by one whom I deemed a friend. I went to the cottage; I learned privately from the faithful servant-girl that Mary Owen had filled my place with the utmost tenderness toward my afflicted aunt, and Mary Owen herself gave me the CONNIE DOOKS (S(O)