The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

THE LAWYER’S OFFICE 45 which form a portion of that debt should be taken up before they are due.” ‘But, my God, Travers,’’ asked the duke, with the most feverish and frightful suspense, ‘“‘ what has this Coleman been saying to you? What does he know, what does he suspect? There must have been some clue — ”’ ‘““My lord,” replied Armytage, ‘‘ I swear that I know nothing as to the origin of all that has ere now taken place. I myself was astounded. Think you that I would have wil- fully dropped a word? ”’ ‘No, no, Travers,’ exclaimed Marchmont. ‘“‘ Pray cease from calling me by that name. It sounds ominous, my lord — I tell you that it sounds ominous. The raven does not croak forth its own doom — ”’ ‘Enough, Armytage,”’ interrupted Marchmont, “‘ our very language is taking a tone which is indescribably horrible. But tell me, tell me, I adjure you, tell me — nay, I command you,” continued the duke, almost maddened with the hideous thoughts that were agitating in his brain, so that he scarcely knew what he said, “ is not all this some device on your part, some understanding with that lawyer for the purpose of draw- ing me into the settlement of your debts? Oh, if it be, I will forgive you, I will forgive you, I will come forward to assist you. Only relieve my mind, tell me that nothing really is known, that nothing is suspected, — tell me this, I entreat you, Armytage, give me that assurance, my dear friend, and I will pardon the little device, I will attribute it to the des- peration of your circumstances — oh, set my mind at ease, I entreat and implore! ” ‘““My lord,’ responded Armytage, ‘‘I am not deceiv- ing you. It is utter folly on your part to blind your- self to the perils which environ you, and to seek to take refuge in an idea which your own good sense tells you is un- founded.” The duke was, however, catching at any straw which floated past, and like all men in desperate circumstances he was endeavouring to reason against his own convictions. No pen can describe the degree of wretchedness which he experienced, the forlorn, desolate state of abject misery to which his mind was reduced. Ghastly as his countenance was, it was still a tablet as imperfect to reflect all that was blighting, searing, scathing, and scorching his heart within COnniclooOokKs (S©)