The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

46 REYNOLDS’ WORKS miseration, than those which had already placed a petrifying spell upon the heart of the unhappy Duchess of Marchmont. She locked up all the papers in the desk again, and the desk itself she secured in a bureau of which she kept the key. For the remainder of that day she stayed in her boudoir, sending a message by one of her maids to her husband, to the effect that she begged his kind consideration and wished to be alone. The duke naturally fancied — as indeed was but too ter- ribly the case — that his wife had found in the contents of the desk something to make her thus court solitude, and he obtruded not his presence upon her. But on the following morning, when she descended to the breakfast-parlour, she expressed her gratitude for all his goodness toward her; and when he saw how pale she was, he thought to himself that the documents she had found in the desk must have revived all her bitterest affliction at her father’s loss. He, however, delicately and carefully abstained from breathing a word in allusion to the subject, much less to inquire what the contents of those papers might have been. From that day forth the sadness deepened upon Eliza’s countenance, but also blended with a sweeter and holier resignation; her tones acquired that soft plaintiveness of harmony which char- acterizes the voice that is accustomed to keep down an ebulli- tion of feeling; her cheeks remained pale, but not with a sickly whiteness: it was the perfect transparency of the complexion which loses not its animation when the tint of the rose dies away. We should observe that Lord Clandon had left Oaklands almost immediately after Captain Lacey’s funeral, as did also Mrs. Bailey; the other guests who had been invited to stay there had, for delicacy’s sake, taken their leave on the very morning after the demise of the duchess’s father. The Duke of Marchmont, thinking that change of scene would contribute to the restoration of his wife’s spirits, and that a southern clime during the approaching winter would benefit her health, proposed a visit to Italy. Eliza, ever amiably ready to yield to her husband’s wishes in all things, gave her assent in that calmly serene manner, tinged with sadness, which had now become habitual to her, and to Italy they accordingly went. The winter passed; spring revisited the earth, clothing the trees with a tender verdure, and covering the boughs with Gomichbooks (E(0)