Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

46 ALICE WILDE. father would have mentioned it, and that the act would have fixed suspicion upon him. She felt that he was hovering about, that he often beheld her, when she was unaware of the secret gaze; she could not endure to step to the door after dark, and she closed the curtains of the windows With ex- tremest care, especially in Philip’s room. The first Hght snow of November had fallen when the in- valid was able to sit up all day; but, although he Knew that his long absence would excite consternation among his friends at Center City, and that business at home required his atten- tion, he found each day of his convalescence so pleasant, that he had not strength of will sufficient to break the charm. To read to his young friend while she sewed; to watch her flitting about the room while he reclined upon a lounge; to talk with her; to study her changing countenance, grew every day more sweet to him. At first he thought it was gratitude —she had been so kind to him. But a thrilling warmth al- ways gathered about his heart when he remembered that pas- sionate voice, crying through the pine-woods with such a sobbing sound—* Philip! Philip !” Finding himself thus disposed to linger, he was the more chagrined to perceive that Alice was anxious to have him go; she gave him no invitation to prolong his visit, and said un- equivociiy that if he did not wish to be ice-bound for the winter, he would have to depart as soon as his strength would permit. Her father had promised him, when he came up, to take him down the river again when he was ready, as he should be obliged to go down again for his winter stores; and he now waited his visitor’s movements. : No words had passed between Alice and Pallas on the sub- ject of the attempted murder, yet the former half knew that the truth was guessed by the faithful servant who also hast- ened the departure of their guest. ‘I declare, Aunt Pallas, I believe I have worn out my wel- come. I've been a troublesome fellow, I know; but it hurts my vanity to see you getting so tired of me,” he said, laugh- ingly, one day, when they were alone together, he sitting on the kitchen-steps after the lazy manner of convalescents, try- ing to get warmth, both from the fire Within and the sun without. Comicbooks.€©