The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 290: what you’re looking at

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

THE PRECEPTOR AND HIS PUPIL 273 entirely to your service that every other engagement should be cheerfully put aside.” Florina, having again bent her eyes down upon the ivory, was endeavouring to commence laying in some colour, but her hand trembled, and she at once made a serious fault. “Oh, vou have spoilt your picture!’ exclaimed Deveril. “Give me the brush, the colour must be removed directly.”’ But in his eagerness to take the brush from her their hands came completely in contact, so that Florina’s fingers let it fall altogether, and rolling over the ivory it made a number of marks, altogether spoiling the design. ‘‘ A thousand apologies for my precipitation!’ said Deveril, again overwhelmed with confusion, and taking all the blame unto himself. “It was not your fault,” murmured Florina, in a soft, melting voice, and unconsciously, mechanically, impulsively, she extended her hand as an assurance that she was not offended. Deveri!l took that hand, pressed it, found it linger in his own, and retained it in his clasp. Oh, the ineffable bliss of that moment! ‘Then indeed was there the soft trans- fusion of spirits warmly. blending, then was there an in- describable sense of rapture mutually felt. Deveril was no longer master of himself, and yet it was not with a gross passion that he was intoxicated, but with the purest and holiest love that he was elevated to the realms of Elysian bliss. He raised to his lips the hand that still lingered in his own, he kissed 1t gently and yet fervently, and then, as if astounded and amazed by his audacity, he sank on his knees at Florina’s feet, exclaiming, ‘“‘ Pardon, pardon me! ”’ He had suddenly relinquished her hand, but she gave it to him again in a hurried and bewildered manner, mur- muring, in a broken voice, ‘‘ Rise, Mr. Deveril, for Heaven’s sake, rise. If any one should come in, what would he thought, — I who am betrothed to another? ” and, suddenly overpowered by this idea, she burst into tears. ‘“Oh, you weep, you weep!” exclaimed Deveril, starting up from his kneeling posture and resuming his chair by her side. ‘‘ But those words which you have uttered — they prove — they confirm the wildest hopes— Oh, that this may not be a dream!” ‘““Mr. Deveril, 1 am unhappy, very, very unhappy,”’ mur- GOmiilGoaooks (S(O)