The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

THE GALLERY IN THE CHATEAU 75 was cleared up, and that he could now indeed embrace her with the confidence that it was his own lawtully-begotten child whom he was thus folding in his arms. Some words murmuringly uttered came from Clarine’s lips, and as they struck her father’s ear, they were to him a revelation. ‘“ What! Clarine,”’ he exclaimed, ‘‘ you comprehend the meaning of all this? You know what suspicion — ” “Yes, I know it, dear father,’’ murmured his daughter; “T know more than you fancy, and I know everything.” “ Everything? ”’ ejaculated Monsieur Volney with a sud- den start, and also with a frightened look sweeping over his countenance. ‘‘ No, no! it is impossible. Heaven forbid! ”’ and he shuddered visibly. ‘“‘ Forgive me, dearest father,” said Clarine, and once more she sank upon her knees at his feet. “ What — what is it that you know? ” he demanded, and there was something almost fierce in his accents, his looks, and his manner; ‘‘ what is it that you know? But I am mad —it is impossible,’ and pressing his hand, with a renewal of wild anguish, to his brow, he seemed as if he sought to steady his confused and bewildered ideas. “ T know, dearest father,’’ responded Clarine, frightened by the vehemence of his manner, “ the source of all your dis- tresses — And, oh, bitterly, bitterly have I wept on ac- count of the fall of her whose memory I had tutored myself to love and revere! ”’ “And who told you all this? ’’ demanded Monsieur Volney, abruptly. ‘It was the viscount who told me part, and Marguerite who told me the rest. Oh, blame me not, dearest father,’’ continued Clarine, entreatinglv; ‘‘ I feel that I have done wrong in some respects, but if you had not left me so much to myself — ”’ “ Rise, child, rise,’’ said Monsieur Volney, whose heart was evidently lacerated with a world of conflicting and tumultu- ous emotions. ‘‘ It is I who am to blame! Itis I, and not you, my poor child.”’ Clarine rose from her suppliant posture; Alfred Delorme stepped forward, and said, ‘‘ Monsieur Volney, will you not now speak that one word of assent which will make us both happy? I have always heard you spoken of as a just, a good, and an upright man — ”’ Eomicboo cS (e(@)