Her Faithful Knight — page 225: what you’re looking at

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

A Widower’s Letter. 221 sum of her reckoning against him—a score which he could hardly pay with his life. “Oh, heaven, punish him for me!’ burst from her lips as she fell on her knees by her dead sister’s feet. ‘Punish him, I pray, for all the evil that he did against my poor, dead darling! Make him suffer as she suffered, make him despised, hated and known for the thing he is! And, above all, take him from my sight—let me not see him, lest I should be tempted to kill him!” Passionate tears burst from her eyes, the first tears she had shed since that terrible home-coming of the previous evening. ‘he memory of her sister’s ruined life and the swift tragedy of her death worked like. madness in her brain. If heaven were just, that man should be made to suffer for his sins, and yet how could heaven be just and Phyllis be dead? . She was still crouched at the foot of the bed, her frame shaken by sobs, when Cresswell entered the room. “There’s a gentleman ringing at the gate, Miss Doro- thy,” she said timidly. “A tall, fair young gentleman. Am I to answer it?” “Yes!” cried Dorothy, springing up with a fierce light in her eyes. “Go to the gate, and if he questions you, tell him that his wife is dead, Mrs. Darcy Derrick.” “Do you know what you are saying, Miss?” Cresswell asked, frightened by Dorothy’s wild looks. “Poor Miss Phyllis” “Was Mrs. Darcy Derrick—that man’s wife! Go and tell him that she is dead!” Puzzled, troubled, and very ill at ease, Cresswell made her way to the gate. Her late mistress had, so she knew, been cruelly deceived and deserted by some desperately wicked man. But Cresswell had understood his name to be Trevelyan, and now that this other name was sud- denly announced to her for the first time, and she was Eomicboo cS (Eo)