At a Girl's Mercy, or, The Fortunes of War — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

126 , AT A GIRL’S MERCY. how sorry I am for the news. I knew he was a friend of yours, and he was really a fine fellow. It is not much of an caiteaaeal but tells the saddest part of all.” He was watching ae closely, and saw the color fade and return in swift tides to her face. He was watching to note to the least degree the power of this news spoken of. She had not seen it, he knew, ere he spoke of it, for she would not have been sitting there so quietly. He knew full well she was more than a friend to the man. She lifted her eyes with a great terror dawning in them, the color leaving lips and cheeks, the trem- ble of the sweet mouth almost more than even he could bear. Her hand crushed unheeded the bit of paper in her lap. Then she arose and confronted him, the flowers—and the paper with them—falling unheeded to the ground. “Of what news do you speak, Mr. Blake?”’ There was a strained sound to her voice that she did not recognize. She heard herself speaking as though she were miles away. Somehow she felt dead. She was listening to some other girl—some other, whose heart was failing because there was news for her. Involuntarily he reached out and touched her hand, but she did not seem to notice it. He could al- most have had it in his heart to wish the words un- spoken. ‘‘Have you not seen it? I thought you knew. Poor little Nan!’’? he said. Still she stood there like a stone, her face immovable, as though it were in truth the image of a woman, and not the tender girl who had so sweetly and unselfishly comforted her father through the trying time they had passed together, EOomiIcbooks.co