The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 391: what you’re looking at

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

374 REYNOLDS’ WORKS a bitter look. ‘ It is not likely to improve as I proceed with the observations I have to make. But sit down, I say, and listen to me.’ Anastatia sank upon a silat and the tears began to trickle down her cheeks. Lord Rushbrook, overwhelmed with terror and confusion, drew forth his kerchief and fidg- eted nervously with it, but his countenance the while was of corpselike ghastliness. “The reflection of your guilty consciences is visible in your looks,” proceeded Sir Frederick Latham, slowly turn- ing his eyes from one to the other. Anastatia gave a sudden start, echoed the word “ Guilty! ” and then sinking back in her seat, appeared as if about to faint, for all vital colouring quitted her cheeks. But still she did not completely lose her consciousness, though a seal had suddenly been placed upon her lips by the feelings which were overpowering her. “ You will admit,’’ continued Sir Frederick, in a tone of withering sarcasm, ‘‘ that it 1s a splendid family into which I have married, and that I ought to be supremely proud of so brilliant an aristocratic connection. No, instead of being proud of it, I have learned to loathe and hate it, and to curse the day on which I was guilty of such besotted folly. But I will tell you where my pride does exist. It is in a regard for the opinion of the world; for I would not have that world know how egregiously, how miserably I have been duped. Therefore must the step I am about to take be in a measure elossed over. An excuse, a plea, a reason in such cases need never be wanting. Your temper and mine do not suit each other, Lady Anastatia,’’ continued Sir Frederick, with a sort of sardonic mockery that was little consistent with his usual demeanour and accents, ‘‘ and therefore we have agreed to separate.” ‘“ Separate? ’”’ cried Anastatia, with another start, and it was now with a sort of wild bewugennans that she gazed upon her husband. “Yes, separate,’ rejoined Sir Frederick, who all in an instant had recovered his habitual coldness. ‘ You know how you have deceived me. I might use far severer and harsher expressions, but it is not worth while; you cannot fail to comprehend my meaning.”’ ‘My God! ”’ moaned the wretched Anastatia, clasping her Eomichbooks (Ele)