Penny Blood Serial Fiction — page 152: what you’re looking at

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

LADY BESS’S HISTORY 138 ‘“T must now pass over a period of about eight months and bring my narrative down to the month of June, 1840. During these eight months I remained at the tower. Every month was I[ permitted to write to Frank, the letter being posted at Perpignan, and as regularly was his answer brought thence for me. I continued to receive the utmost attention, kindness, and delicate treatment from Christoval, his men, and the women; my liberty was alone refused me. It is scarcely possible to comprehend the strange romantic passion of that man. He never forgot himself in my presence, never uttered a word to give me offence, never bent upon me a look which threatened me with insult. He never so much as took my hand, much less offered to carry it to his lips. He studied to the utmost of his power, apart from keeping me prisoner, to testify the devotedness of his passion. Often and often did I remonstrate, entreat, threaten, display indignation, and have recourse to prayers, all in their turn, but in vain. I have seen that man weep the bitterest tears when I have thus addressed him; I have seen him sob like a child as I have thrown myself at his feet and besought him to let me depart, but yet he had the courage and firm- ness to conquer his emotions sufficiently to make him refuse my; prayer. And he too has thrown himself at my feet, but without so much as laying a finger upon my garments; he has besought and implored that I would lend a favourable ear to his tale of love, and consent to let a priest join our hands in marriage. When I renewed my representation that I was already married, he showed by his look that he could scarcely believe me, and yet he never said so in words. His appearance changed, he grew careworn, and though he relaxed not from those pursuits which belonged to his lawless life, yet in other respects he lost all energy, and roved about the personification of despondency and despair. I could not help pitying him, but I could not love him. Never, perhaps, in this world did man testify so wild, so romantic, so devoted, and enthusiastic a love, without in- spiring a reciprocal feeling. But he did not. I repeat that I pitied him, even when most angry at this outrageous prisonage which I endured, but, no, I could not love him. “ And during that interval of eight months, I had not the - slightest opportunity of making even an attempt at escape. It is true that when out walking with Isabella, and followed Gomicdoo <S (EO)