The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

110 REYNOLDS’ WORKS said the sexton, “ nothing but the date of the deceased’s death — October, 1830.”’ ‘‘ And why is there no name? ”’ asked the Burker. ‘‘ Because the name which the poor deceased lady possessed was never known,” replied Jonathan Carnabie. ‘‘ She was a stranger, and she died mad — yes, it was a deep, silent, brooding madness. But it is a sad tale, and I cannot tell it you now.” ~“ Who died mad? Who died in the midst of a deep, brood- ing madness? ”’ exclaimed a wild voice suddenly breaking in upon the momentary silence which followed the old sexton’s remark, and at the same time a female, having the appear- ance of a crazed gipsy, appeared upon the spot as if she had arisen out of the earth or sprung up from behind one of the adjacent tombstones. ‘‘ Who died mad, I ask you?” she repeated, vehemently. ‘‘ There are indeed sorrows in this world sufficient to turn the strongest brain, and I have seen those who have felt them — yes, and I have experienced them, too.”’ ‘““My good woman,” said the old sexton, ‘‘ what are you doing here at this time of night? Where do you come from, and who are you? ”’ ‘IT know no more whence I come,” exclaimed the woman, in a species of wild frenzy, ‘“‘ than the wind itself does. Who I am, matters not to you. But who are you?’”’ and her bright eyes were fixed upon the old sexton, for she did not appear to notice the Burker, who had shrunk back a few paces at her sudden appearance. ‘““My name is Jonathan Carnabie,”’ was the old man’s sen- tentious reply. ‘‘ I am clerk, bell-ringer, and sexton to this church, and yonder is my habitation.” ‘“ And you have spoken of a poor lady who died mad? ”’ said the crazed creature — for such indeed she was. “ I would fain ask you a few questions, but they go out of my brain. Something has agitated and excited me — I cannot collect my thoughts now,” and she pressed her hand to her forehead. ‘‘ Another time — another time!” she abruptly exclaimed, and, darting away, passed through the gate and was speedily out of sight. “ The poor creature is demented,” said Jonathan Carnabie, “‘ and she catches up anything she may hear fall from the lips of a stranger. Poor woman, she has doubtless some heavy ECORMICLIOOKS (E(0)