The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

THE SHADY AVENUE 89 thought that this was the last time they would ever be alone together, — the last time perhaps that he would ever have an opportunity of so gazing, without restraint, on the object of his heart’s adoration. And she too was profoundly moved. He had said at the interview by the fountain that when they parted it would be for ever, and these words he had not since recalled; they remained therefore deeply imprinted upon her heart. ‘To-morrow, Eliza,’ said Bertram, at length breaking a long silence, and speaking in the low, deep voice of inde- scribable mournfulness, ‘‘ to-morrow we shall separate, and prudence tells me that it must be for ever. Would to God,” he exclaimed, in a sudden paroxysm of that wild excitement which he had displayed at the fountain, but to which until now he had not again given way, — “ would to God that I had not lingered hereso long. I feel like one whose next step will be to plunge into the vortex of despair.”’ ‘Bertram, Bertram,’ murmured the afflicted lady, ‘‘ we must exert that fortitude which by tacit consent has hitherto sustained us since we met yonder,’ — and her eyes glanced toward the fountain. ‘Oh, that expression of tacit consent, Eliza,” ejaculated Vivian; “‘ does it not show that there is a blending of our spirits, a secret intelligence existing between our hearts, a transfusion of feeling from soul to soul — ”’ ‘“ Hush, Bertram,’ said the duchess; ‘‘ we must not, we dare not give way again to our recollections of the past.” ‘““Oh, but that past is all our own, Eliza,”’ cried Vivian, with growing excitement; ‘‘ though the present is taken from us, and the future— Ah, that future, dating from to- morrow. It will be a hideous blank on which I shudder to fix my gaze. No, not a hideous blank; it will be a world of rending, torturing feelings. By Heaven, Eliza, I shall go mad! I cannot endure it — I shall lay violent hands upon myself,.”’ ‘“ Bertram,’’ almost shrieked forth the wretched duchess, in a voice of piercing agony, “‘ you horrify me — you fill me with despair.”’ ‘“ Heaven forgive me, Eliza, for thus torturing you,” said Bertram, quickly, ‘‘ but I am not able to control my feelings. Oh, wherefore was I born to endure so much misery? Where- fore did I ever know you? Angel that you were to me at the EORNICOOKS (E(0)