The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 302: what you’re looking at

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

A STRANGE SCENE 285 a love as this? No, you cannot, you will not. But you do not believe that I am serious? Come, let me convince you that I am, let me press you to my bosom.”’ The infatuated lady, hurried along by the maddening fury of her passions, extended her superb arms to enfold the young artist in their embrace, but he started suddenly back, and with a strong recoil that savoured even of horror and aversion, cried out, ‘‘ No, no!”’ ‘What, you scorn, you spurn my love?” exclaimed Lady Saxondale, whose pride and vanity would not at the first instant enable her to think that it was really so, although she expressed it in words. “It is impossible. You still think, perhaps, that I am trifling with you, that I am trying you, in order to see that you are a fit preceptor for my daughters? But I take Heaven to witness that I am sincere. What, still you stand gazing upon me thus in consternation and alarm? It is impossible, I repeat, that you can refuse my love. Love? It is a burning, devouring passion, a passion that maddens me, a passion that scorches me with consuming flames, else never, never had I suffered its wild torrent thus to hurry me away. Love, did I say? William Deveril, it is a mad idolatry, in which I could sacrifice almost everything, yes, even the hope of heaven itself, for your sake. Ah, would you have, then, a proof of this fervid love of mine? Behold it in the present scene. You know my pride, you know my haughtiness, and you may conceive, then, how powerful is that love which can thus bend that pride and subdue that haughtiness to the degree that now makes me sue a humble supplant for your love in return.”’ ‘Lady Saxondale,’”’ answered William Deveril, again retreating suddenly as she once more flew forward to clasp him in her arms, “is it possible that you can have thus far forgotten yourself, or is the excuse to be found in a passing madness? ”’ ‘““ Yes, yes, it 1s madness,” she exclaimed, with vehement accents, ‘‘ the madness of this love which I feel for you. And I have asked you to love me in return, and you hesitate. Oh, but you shall love me, you must love me, and love, too, as I do, as passionately, as ardently.” “Peace, madam! ”’ exclaimed Deveril, indignantly. “ This scene must not be prolonged another minute.”’ COnnicooolKs (SO)