The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 325: what you’re looking at

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

294 THE COURT OF LONDON milliner had wreaked her deadly vengeance upon Caroline Walters. Nearly twelve hours had now elapsed since the encounter in the passage, and the furious rage and vindictive wrath of the miserable woman had subsided into profound regrets and a terrible remorse. ‘Thrice since the murderous deed was done had the turnkey visited her cell, and on each occasion had she demanded eagerly how it fared with Caroline Walters. The answers were but little assuring for the milliner. She learned that the medical attendant had pronounced the wound mortal, and that it was impossible for Caroline to survive many days, even if she were to linger on beyond a few hours. Mrs. Brace therefore knew that the blow which she had dealt must sooner or later prove fatal, and thus was she again and again a murderess. Oh! how appalling sounded that word even when breathed by the still small voice of conscience in the depths of the soul. The lips dared not breathe it; but the mind could not help thinking it, and the thought was purgatory itself. A murderess, — some- thing from which human nature recoils with a cold shudder and with an icy trembling, as from the contemplation of a monstrous snake; a being whose gaze even the strongest and most callous men are afraid to meet, and whose touch sends a thrill of horror to the very heart’s core. A murderess, — something at which nature herself revolts, as if the deed made the very moon look red, the sun appear to set in blood, and the stars to grow dull and lurid as if their light had to penetrate through drops of gore. The clock of St. Sepulchre’s, we say, had just proclaimed the hour of midnight. Deep-toned and solemn was the bell as its oscillating metallic sound boomed through the heavy air, penetrating those huge walls of stone. The murderess counted each stroke, until she had numbered twelve; and then the excitement that reigned nervously throughout her form while the clock was striking suddenly yielded to the awful consternation produced by returning silence. Her heart seemed to sink within her beneath the tremendous conviction that she was alone, — alone in the utter darkness, alone in the tomblike stillness, alone with her harrowing thoughts. But slowly, slowly did her imagination begin to people the dungeon with frightful shapes; ghastly forms such as the GOmicsdooks (E()