Commodore Junk — page 341: what you’re looking at

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

334 COMMODORE JUNK. She started again and looked at him wildly, as if she fancied she had detected a chilliness in his manner; but his eyes unde- ceived her, and as he raised her hand to his lips, she let it rest there for a few moments, and then stole it round his neck. “Tell me,” he said gently, “ your wound ?” She shook her head softly. “No,” she whispered ; ‘let it rest. Talk of yourself. You will wait here two days, and then steal out at night and make your way down to the shore. You know the way :” “Tf I do not you will guide me,” he said. She looked at him keenly to see if he meant what he said, and then, reading the sincerity of his words in his frank eyes, she shook her head again. “No,” she whispered. ‘You asked me of my wound. It is home. Humphrey Armstrong, this is to be my tomb!” ‘“ What!” he cried. ‘Oh,no! no! no! You must live to bless me with your love!” “Live to disgrace you with my love!” “Mary !” There was such a depth of love, such intensity in the tone in which he uttered her name, that she moaned aloud. “Ah, you are in pain !” he cried. ‘In pain for you,” she whispered, “for you suffer for my sake. Hist! Do you hear?” She clung to him tightly. “No,” he said, “‘ there is nothing.” “Yes,” she said, softly. “ Steps. I can hear them—they are coming back.” He listened once more; but his ears were wanting in the preternatural keenness brought on by his companion’s exalted nerves. He heard nothing for a few moments ; and then with a start he seized the sword, for steps were faintly heard now to grow plainer and plainer till they were close overhead, | Gomilichbooksneo