The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 352: what you’re looking at

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

THE BANDITTY’S TOWER 335 ‘Yes, madam, such is my fate for the present,’ responded Mr. Forester, perfectly dazzled by the beauty which, dimin- ishing not on a nearer view, characterized the lady. ‘ And you? ” ‘““ Alas, a prisoner likewise,”’ returned Juliana, with a pro- found sigh. ‘‘ But what 1s worse,” she went on hurriedly to observe, anxious to get over the requisite explanations, which were as painful as they were unavoidable, with all possible despatch, “I am the victim of the foulest treachery — But how can I confess it? And vet the tale must be told, —J am the captain’s wife.”’ Mr. Forester staggered with a wild amazement. Was it possible that this lady, whose manners had evidently been formed in the most polished circles, and whose splendid beauty was fit to embellish the gilded saloons of fashion, instead of being buried in the midst of Catalonia’s wastes, — was it possible that she was the consort of Ramon de Col- lantes? ‘“ Ah, sir,” cried Juliana, “ you may well be smitten with astonishment, but the tale I have told you is only too true. The particulars — humiliating enough for me—- can be concisely summed up. I was residing in [rance. I was thrown in the way of one who bore the name of the Count de Toledo, and whom I beheld living like a nobleman of wealth amongst the gayest circles of Paris. He offered me his hand, he was accepted, and we were married. This was eight or nine months ago — ”’ ‘“* And for nine months you have been in this man’s power?”’ ejaculated Forester, with an astonishment but little abating. “Tt was but yesterday that I knew everything,’ replied Juliana. ‘* Yesterday morning was I brought hither, under the impression that I was coming to take up my abode in a splendid mansion situated in the midst cf a vast domain, and you may conceive, sir, the horror and anguish of my feelings when my husband, suddenly throwing off the mask, — which indeed he could no longer wear, — proclaimed himself Ramon de Collantes.”’ ‘Good heavens, lady!’ cried Mr. Forester, his handsome countenance colouring with indignation, and all his heart’s sympathies at once enlisted in Juliana’s favour, ‘‘ what diabolic treachery! But pardon me—TI forgot at the moment I was speaking of your husband.”’ CONNIE DOOKS (FO)