The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 282: what you’re looking at

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

THE AUDIENCE AND THE LETTER 265 mind, so that they might look the present danger boldly in the face if they meant to grapple with it at all. The old woman and the three young ladies now sat in solemn conclave to deliberate upon the course that was to be pursued, but the more they weighed the perils of their position, the darker seemed the storm-clouds that were gathering around them. “Now, girls,’’ said Mrs. Ranger, suddenly adopting an air of such stern decision that this nervous, frivolous, affected old woman seemed in a moment to rise high above all her assumed weaknesses and trumpery vanities when the gravity of the occasion demanded the development of her best ener- gies, “now, girls, there is no use in mincing matters, and we must see exactly how we stand. Loftus is our evil genius; heis at Geneva, and the devil has thrown him in the way of Maravelli. They are together, and it is pretty certain that Maravelli has sold our secret to him.. Depend upon it, he will ferret out everything, — your accouchement, Agatha, the disposal of the child, and all. Then, even if he should be inclined to show mercy and spare us, that woman whom you have made your mortal enemy — this Lady Prescott, I mean — will expose us pitilessly. This is natural; it will be tit for tat, a woman’s vengeance. Well, then, what follows? Concealment of birth is a crime of magnitude in the Genevese republic, — at least two years’ imprisonment for the principal, that is yourself, Agatha, and eighteen months for your two sisters and me, besides utter ruin and eternal disgrace for us all. This is the position we are in, and those are the perils which now stare us in the face.”’ “Good heavens!’ murmured the three sisters, clasping their hands, “ what is to be done? What is to be done? ”’ The reader beheld them in the morning, gay, bright, and beautiful, as they stood in the balcony, calling themselves graces and goddesses, and now he may behold them within the walls of that chamber, pale, trembling, convulsed, indeed, trom head to foot with the crucifixion of anguish, and suffer- ing mental agonies so acute that even to endure them for a few minutes would appear almost sufficient to turn those dark brown masses of hair silver-white, dim all the lustre of those fine hazel eyes, and render those damask cheeks wrinkled, haggard, and ghastly. ‘What is to be done? What is to be done?” they re- COMMICLOO cS (C(O) mM