Guy Earlscourt's Wife — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

6u Told in the Twilight. I tell you nothing of what sleepless nights awd wretched dayv« We « her silence-and my suspense caused me. For she never wrote | no letter coine from her to the address in London to be for. 7% =i warded to me. IT wrote again and again to that address-- 4 AM the !cetters lay unealled for. It was worse than useless te write to her to the Court; L knew her uncle well enough to 7 jon, be sure they would never reach her. Then I resolved io throw 7 “\ up everything, the tide in my affairs that was leading me | he slowly along to fortune, and rush back to England, and 9 y brave all, and elaim her. iv “And you found her?” Duke breathlessly cried. ac... Robert Hawksley made no reply. His last cigar had been 4 ee smoked out; he sat like a statue of black marb!e amid the P = flowers, or “You found her,” Duke repeated, unable to contain him Bhs, self, “a bride! You found her at the altar, another man’s ™% . mea wife!” —-/ ITawksley, the least excited of the two, turned and looked: iy at him. ° 3 7 “Tlow do you know that?” he asked. Wg an “Tl know more than you think,” said Duke, still excited. 7 iy “You found her married to Sir Vane Charteris. I have & ‘ab heard that you had a singular vision. It needs no inter- 4% 7 pretation. The lady you saw in your vision was Miss "jn, Olivia Lyndith; and on that very night—the twenty-fifth 4% of last month—I saw, and heard In reality what you saw and heard in that singular vision,’ Robert Hawksley was fully aroused now. Tie had told his story dreamily, as much to himself as to Duke. [lis tanned face flushed deep red as he rose. “What are you saying?” he said, hoarsely. “You would not dare to trifle with me——” “Sit down—sit down!” Duke interrupted. “Tl tell you the whole affair. It’s the strangest, the most wonderful thing that ever was heard of. (ood gracious what would Ro- sanna say ?” Then Duke Mason, with bieathless volubility, quite unlike himself, poured into ‘the listener’s ear the story of the night of the twenty-fifth of March, every word he had heard, all he had seen, up to the moment of Geoffrey Lyndith’s ay pearance at the waiting-roam of the Speckhaven station. “And now!” he concluded, out of breath, and glowing with triumph, “what do you think of that? Are vou satisfied now that she always loved you—always was true to you?’ The darkness hid the marble pallor that had fallen once more on Tlawksley’s face. Only the tremor in his voice be- cokened what he felt, when he answered: 1 re*( a ‘Comicbooks.com