The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 381: what you’re looking at

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

364 REYNOLDS’ WORKS ‘“ Whichever you please, dear William,’ responded that soft and silvery female voice. ‘“‘ Oh, how your brows throb! There, let me push back your hair, dear William, from over your forehead. Ah! I am sure that you have experienced annoyances this day. Your hand is hot and feverish. Let me kiss your cheek. Ah, that is burning too! Come, dear William, we will walk in the garden a little, for the air in this room is hot and stifling.’’ All this while Florina was still transfixed to the spot, a prey to the most torturing sensations. Who could this female be? That she was young, the silver melody of her voice sufficiently proved; that she was beautiful, Florina’s jealousy naturally prompted. But, ah! a sudden hope flashed to the young lady’s mind. Might not this female be Deveril’s sister? And yet, no; for he had never spoken of a sister, and if he possessed one, surely he would have alluded to her in the long and familiar conversation which he and Florina had held on the previous day? No, no, she could not be his sister. Then who was she? Oh, for a jealous heart to ask itself that question, what possible answer could be returned? What response could the fevered imagination suggest? The hope which had sprung up an instant back was annihilated immediately, almost as soon as it was formed, and poor Florina felt as if she must scream out in frenzy or sink down in senselessness. But they were coming forth to walk in the garden, William Deveril and his female companion. Florina must retreat, she must vanish from the scene where she felt convinced that she had a rival in the young artist’s love. But ah! her feet are still nailed to the spot, she could not stir, it was a terrible crisis in her thoughts and sensations, and if her very life depended upon it, she could not at that instant have moved a limb. Suddenly the parlour door opened, and Deveril came forth with his female companion into the hall. His arm was thrown around her waist, and her fair hand lay lovingly upon his shoulder. But, heavens! who was the beauteous creature that thus, half-locked in William Deveril’s fond embrace, met the view of the dismayed and anguished Florina? It was Angela Vivaldi, the opera-dancer! A wild ery thrilled from Florina’s lips, the spell which had retained her transfixed statue-like to the spot was suddenly EORMIELOOOKS (EO)