Penny Dreadfuls, 1889 · page 164 of 298
A Heart's Bitterness — page 164: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Penny Dreadfuls, 1889. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ws i Wee 3 ee a = rye ol.” D4] bw 4 | a . bn aeae, eh he Ss th ° & a? ve. if AY S X's o? ">e Fae’ 7) Pea eS > AD pat £ Pe 3 jp! eet PS tele ts OF = Ken Ye One eh . piel s Nyro a . pete — e aie 7, Pont Gr of) 4" Toy a . . M4 ' ave | > : -* - /- 4 é oo - t - t oa “ 4 re be ek -¥ i + « 7 > *% all ; ¢ , . 156 'A HEART'S BITTERNESS, from the little group about her, went to a window, and sat down to try and collect herself. Her suspicions were aroused. | Had Helen basely lied to her? Had she played with her miseries, and deceived her with that story about Edna Am- brose, a plot of all against her? Perhaps Helen herself had -schemed to drive her to this miserable escape so as to make fresh trouble for her, or open a way for herself to Leigh. She thought she had better go back home. And yet how should she explain her flight, and those two wretched days and that dismal night passed in absence from her husband’s roof? How mad, how wicked she had,been, after all her resolutions to be good. She lost all control of herself for the moment, and burst into tears, and sobs shook her frame. The waiting-woman came hastily to her. ‘‘ Miss, what’s wrong? Are you in any trouble? Shall we send for any one?” | And, as Violet could not answer, the woman held some salts near her face, and bathed her forehead from a glass of _. water. But that weeping, for which she hated herself, and of which she was heartily ashamed, saved her for the time. She recovered her composure. She thanked the waiting-woman, and said, quietly: “¢ No, I want nothing; you need send for noone. I am over tired from the long trip, and riding in the train always | makes me a little ill. Iam better now. I felt disappointed at not seeing a friend, but I can go on alone very well. I know just what to do.” So she slipped a shilling in the woman’s hand, which sil- ver being more potent than words, she was allowed to ar- range her hair and bathe her face in the little dressing-room, and so slip out of the side door of the station, and go her Way. Oh, to get away from the town, from the burning pave,’ ‘the curious eyes, the bold faces, the strident voices! Oh, to get into the blessed country, to be shaded by trees, to hear birds sing, to tread on soft grass! She threaded one street after another, and after a time _ passed the intervening rows of shops and dwellings, and came by open fields. ‘ | | A stile led into a field, and across the field the fringe of Gomicbooks.com -