The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

THE HEIR 27 _ Overjoyed at this announcement, Ralph Farefield lost not a moment in ordering a post-chaise and proceeding into Lincolnshire. What could be more legitimate than that he, the heir presumptive, if not, indeed, the heir apparent, should thus hurry off to his uncle’s death-bed on reading the news of his extreme danger in a public print? As he was whirled along in the post-chaise, he gave free rein to the diabolical joy of his reflections. Was he not now touching upon the goal of success? Was he not about to reap the rich fruit of his plans? What though this triumphant success were gained by crime, he cared not. Perish all contrition, all remorse, now that the acme of his hopes was about to be reached. Within a few hours, perhaps, he should hear him- self saluted by the swelling titles of “‘ my lord” and“ lord- ship.”’ Within a few hours, also, he would stand at a window whence the whole domain that stretched around would be his own. Peradventure his uncle was already no more, and he therefore Lord Saxondale and owner of the broad domain at that very moment? Such were his reflections. There was a maddening joy in them, an intoxication of bliss, a frenzy, a delirium. On sped the chaise, hours had passed, it was already entering the well-known territory of Lincoln- shire. Ralph bade the postilions speed as if for their lives. Now the horses were changed for the last time, only eight miles from Saxondale. In three-quarters of an hour he would be there. The blood seemed to gush like fire in his veins, but not with pain; it was with ecstasy, with the most fevered, throbbing, thrilling, burning delight. And now the towers and battlemented buildings of Saxon- | dale broke upon his view as the sun was descending to its western home, and Ralph literally bounded upon his seat inside the chaise. His impatience amounted to a wild fever- heat which water could not slake and wine would madden. On sped the chaise, and now he was suddenly struck with the necessity of assuming a calm demeanour. This he did, but it was an hypocrisy difficult to assume on the part of one who in his own base mind felt that he had so many reasons for enthusiastic joy. The post-chaise dashed up to the front entrance of the castle. Ralph immediately looked out of the window as one of the folding-doors slowly opened, and the instant his eye caught the countenance of the por- ter, he read the truth at once. Lord Saxondale was dead. CORNICE OOOKS (C(O)