The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 257: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER XVIII THE DECISION It would be impossible to describe the feelings with which Indora became aware that this man who was the arbiter of her destiny was now once more in her presence. She rose to a sitting posture on the velvet-covered sofa, but she dared not throw a single glance toward him. Hope and despair were strangely agitating in her heart, — blending, too, although in confliction, paradoxical as the expression may seem. It was natural that she should seek to prolong this hope as much as possible, and that, on the other hand, she should not rush forward as it were to find herself face to face with despair, until imperiously compelled to envisage it. The colour went and came in rapid transitions upon her cheeks, blushing and disappearing through the transparency of her delicately dusky skin, while her bosom rose and sank with quick heavings. ‘My promise is kept,’’ said Clement Redcliffe, speaking in his wonted accents of mournfulness, but in all the harmony of his rich, manly voice, “‘ and your Highness will now probably explain wherefore you demanded this interval of eight days’ delay? ”’ Indora motioned Redcliffe to take a seat by her side, and now her eyes were turned slowly upon him. Hope and fear trembled in that glance; love and apprehension vibrated in that look. She dreaded what his decision might be, and yet she sought to put away from her own mind the contem- plation of the very worst. The Englishman placed himself on the ottoman at a distance which was properly respectful toward a lady of her princely rank, but which was little cal- culated to encourage the hope that her loving heart sustained in conflict with the strength of despair. 226 Gomicbooks (Elo)