Lady Evelyn — page 168: what you’re looking at

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

“ ve f' : Wy be, J wa ‘ : ey . f : . - : Ahi, | F a 4 af SA eee cy a Ra i ls oat —_ a Mignonnette’s Secret. 161 “It was an odd marriage. It should have been a happy one, since she had the desire of her heart, and he was too much of an aristocrat ever to be anything but kind and courteous. He did not care for her—no; not one straw—and tossing in his dreams at night, he called upon another’s name—a woman’s name—not hers. And over his heart, sleeping and waking, he carried a woman's picture—a face far more lovely than her own. For this jealous wife looked at it while he slept, and her love turned to bitterness and hate. He was colder to her than ice. Even when their child was born, he just glanced at it with those weary, indifferent eyes, then away and out into that unknown world he had left behind him. The insensate picture in his breast was dearer to him than wife and child. “She grew reckless after that—hitter, desperate. I ~ told you there was wild blood in her. Before he had ever met her she had run away from home and joined a troupe of strolling players, who took her for her beauty and her voice, for she sang—oh, heavenly! Her father went after her and brought her back, and her husband never knew. “When her recklessness reached its height—when his coldness, his insulting indifference could no longer be borne—when he had driven her mad with jealousy—she took her child one day and fled far from him—far from home—a desperate wanderer, resolved rather to die than ever to look upon his stony face again. She did not die. She went on the stage once more. She was not much of an actress, but she was so handsome, and she sang so sweetly, that managers accepted her, and paid her a pit- tancé, upon which they lived—she and her child. And when years went by, and the little one grew up, she went on the stage also, and mother and datighter wandered over the world together. — “Many years after, when the daughter was nearly stx- teen, they came back to Toronto. The unloved wife came back to die; her heart had broken. She was a worn-out, _aged woman, with white hair, at thirty-three. “She was dying of a terrible pulmonary disease—and dying, the old love came back, and she longed, with un- utterable longing, to see her husband once more, to hear his voice, to feel his kiss upon her dying lips. She had comicbooks