The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

BERTRAM AND ELIZA 77 would have led me on to fame and fortune? She on whose brow it would have been the proudest moment of my life to place the laurels won by intellect, or the coronet to be gained in the service of my country, has become another’s. Ah, Eliza,” he ejaculated abruptly, as a fresh suspicion flashed to his mind, “‘ you said just now that you had some knowledge of those letters which I wrote to your father — ”’ ‘I found them in his desk after his decease,’’ interrupted the duchess. ‘‘ Then — and not till then — did I learn that you were alive. Then, too, — and not till then, — did I learn that I might have been yours. No mortal eyes, Bertram, beheld my rending anguish on that occasion. But God saw it, and believe me, that never did the heart of woman throb with such throes, never did human eyes shed such tears, never did living creature kneel for awhile in such profound dark, unutterable despair. And yet there was one thing, Bertram, for which I thanked God, and only one thing. It was that you had not perished in the deep waters, that your young life had not been snatched away.”’ ‘Would to Heaven that I had so died, Eliza! ’’ ejaculated Bertram, bitterly. ‘‘ But those letters of mine, those two letters, did your father leave them that you might become acquainted with his guilt? ”’ ‘““ No,”’ she responded. ‘* Perhaps you have been told that he died suddenly, that he was stricken down all in an in- stant — ‘* Ay, as if by the blasting lightning,” interjected Bertrar: with a fierce, sardonic bitterness. ‘‘ Perhaps there was Heaven’s retribution in that.’’ “Spare me, spare me,’”’ moaned the wretched Eliza, clasping her hands in agony. ‘‘ Remember that it is to the daughter of that departed father you are now speaking.” “God help me, Eliza!’”’ exclaimed Bertram, once more pressing his hand to his brow, and staggering back a few paces; “I tell you that Iam going mad. But those letters, wherefore had he not destroyed them? ” “It is a mystery which I cannot explain,” replied the duchess, in a low, murmuring voice. ‘‘ Perhaps an unknown, an unaccountable influence led him to preserve them; or perhaps it was an oversight —”’ — “No, no, Eliza,’”’ ejaculated Vivian, anys feverish Cail. ness. c It was no oversight, it was the all-powerful, unseen, I) EONMICLIOO KS (E(@)