The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

REYNOLDS’ WORKS more tears, but remained plunged in deep and gloomy meditation until her father woke up and renewed his re- | proaches. Finette listened to them in silence; she no Jonger entreated his forgivenness, — there was even some- thing dull and apathetic in the appearance of the young girl. Her father deemed her indifferent to the calamities which had overtaken him, and he redoubled his upbraidings. Still Finette. said nothing, and again did the ex-turnkey talk till he was tired, so that relapsing into slumber, he slept for the last three or four hours of the journey. _ The night was setting in when the diligence entered the town which was the destination of Finette and her father. It was too late for them to call on their relation until the morrow, and they therefore took up their quarters at a small inn, or, rather, public house, in the neighbourhood of the office where the coach stopped. In the morning the ex-turnkey set out to proceed alone, in the first instance, to his brother’s; but on arriving at the house he found that its master had gone on the preceding day to Paris, where he was likely to be detained for a week. The draper was an unmarried man, and had left his little establishment in the charge of a clerk, so that the ex-turnkey could not even obtain an asylum at the house until his brother’s return. As the reader may suppose, he retraced his way to the tavern in no very enviable humour, and fully pre- pared to vent all his vexation upon the head of poor Finette. The young girl still bore her sire’s treatment in uncom- plaining silence, and .with an air of dull and listless apathy. He resolved to remain at the public-house until his brother | should return, and thus a week went by. During this interval Finette was most attentive to her father in all the ministrations which as a daughter she could display, but she never once answered him when he reproached her, nor did she again beseech his forgiveness. He began to think that he had mistaken her disposition, that she was not really indifferent nor apathetic, but that her spirit was broken. He therefore thought that he had said enough to her— probably too much; and he suddenly desisted from his upbraidings, though he was of too dogged and morose a nature to volunteer the pardon which was now no longer asked. | The brother returned from Paris, having experienced CORNIELOOLKS (E(©)