The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

70 THE COURT OF LONDON high position of the lady who was wont to visit him, but who always came so closely veiled as to defy the most piercing observation to catch a glimpse of her countenance, the old woman nevertheless felt assured that her lodger and his fair companion did not wish to be disturbed, even by the visit of royalty. — But she held her peace through awe and dread of that king whom she had been taught to look upon as a being second only to the Godhead; and even with that debased and servile feeling of mingled terror and veneration was united one of gratification at the thought that her humble abode should be thus honoured by the presence of royalty. Hon- oured, indeed, a precious honour to have that scrofulous, sanctimonious, bloodthirsty old tyrant crossing her threshold. However, there she stood, at the foot of the stairs, holding the candle in her hand, while the king ascended with a some- what hasty step. On reaching the landing he opened the door that immediately faced him; but he was suddenly struck with an appalling consternation at the spectacle which met his eyes. Yet what baleful scene, what terrible aspect had paralyzed and transfixed him thus? Behold! Sir Richard Stamford was seated upon a sofa, and half-reclining in his arms was her Royal Highness the Princess Amelia. So deeply absorbed were the tender pair in the vows and pledges of love which they were breathing in murmured tones to each other, and in the fervid caresses which they intermingled with their discourse, that they heard not the opening of the door; but all on a sudden it was closed with violence, and an ejaculation of horror blended with a poign- ant anguish smote simultaneously upon their ears. They started up, and a stifled shriek burst from the lips of the Princess Amelia as her eyes encountered the ghastly looks of her royal father. Then, throwing herself at his feet, she extended her clasped hands toward him, exclaiming, ‘‘ Pardon me, pardon me, beloved parent, have mercy upon me! ”’ “ Unhappy girl!’ cried the king, fearfully agitated and unable to control his words; ‘‘ you know not what you have done nor whom you love, for that man is your brother.”’ “No, no, dear father,’’ exclaimed the princess. “ It is only a wondrous likeness which deceives you — this is Sir Richard Stamford.” GOomicdooks (E(0)