The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 261: what you’re looking at

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

230 REYNOLDS’ WORKS ‘Yes, I pity you,” responded Redcliffe, ‘‘ if neither as a woman nor a princess you consider the avowal to be an insult. But I was about to declare that had you, Indora, behaved more generously toward me, had you frankly, and with that nobleness of heart for which I once gave you credit, con- sented to my freedom when your royal father had agreed thereto, it might have been — yes, it might have been — different now. I should have retained such a deep impres- sion of gratitude toward you that whatsoever sacrifice of my own feelings it might have cost to ensure your happiness, the word — the affirmative syllable — might possibly have gone forth from my lips. Ah, Indora, think you that I can forget how I flung myself at your feet on the same day that I read in the English journal — it was two years ago — that which so nearly concerned myself? Think you that I can forget how I besought and entreated and wept, and all so vainly? And in the wildness of the language to which I gave vent, I even said enough to give you at least some faint insight into those reasons so urgent, so vitally important to myself, which had suddenly transpired to render me more than ever anxious to retain my liberty. And yet you re- fused.” ‘“‘ Clement,’’ responded Indora, the tears now gushing forth from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks, and trickling upon the bosom which palpitated as if it would burst, ‘‘ you yourself were a witness of the almost mortal anguish which it cost me to pronounce that refusal. I bade you abandon all thoughts of returning to a land which, from the few words you let drop, I saw but too well you had no reason to love. I offered you my hand. I, a great princess, humbled myself far more to you than you, with all your pride of an English- man, could possibly humble yourself to me. I gave you the assurance that my father would consent to our union, that you yourself might become a prince, that at his death the diadem of Inderabad should descend upon your brows, and that you should sit upon a throne. But more than all this I offered you. I offered you the fondest, most devoted love which woman’s heart could entertain for man, and think you therefore, Clement Redcliffe, that when you refused all these proffers, I had no woman’s pride that was wounded, and that perhaps for a moment there was some transient shade of vindictiveness strangely commingling with the very Eomichbooks (E(0)