Lady Evelyn — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

gen. $i" rie Nh ig! ae BREN We at SO gt I ba as es Th the Queen’ S ae y Ve Negi sass cousin’s © fee when he first heard the te Then he turned away with a long, low, inaudible whistle. “The dead tell no tales. Some one is the better for her being out of the way; and yet—poor little Kathleen!” - The donna looked up with her great, dilated dark eyes. Rory turned hotly upon him. ‘What the deuce do you mean? Speak out, Gerald! You suspect some one.” “I do, my Roderigo! It is a lawyer’s forte—suspicion. Excuse my speaking out just at present; I’ll wait, I think, until after the inquest.” He sauntered away, and went straight to the cottage. But it was full, and wild, wailing cries, unutterably blood- curdling, rang out in the starry twilight. The London barrister shrugged his shoulders. “The wild Irish women keening over their dead. Where’s Attorney Morgan?” he asked O’Moore, the con- stable, keeping some sort of order among the riotous, ex- cited mob about the cottage. ‘“Sorra one o’ me knows, Misther Gerald. He helped to convey the poor sirleen—God be good to her !—home; and, arrah, ye. divils, will ye stan’ back! Don't ye see it’s full now as it can hould?’’. Gerald turned away. In the distance he spied Morgan standing gloomily alone. He went up and laid his hand on his arm. The man raised his sullen, Pog acs eyes to his face, with a questioning elare. “My good fellow,” Gerald Desmond said in ee lightest tone, “you have more courage than I gave you credit for. But it was a rash thing to do.” “D—n!’ Morgan cried, with a hoarse oath, shaking him off. ‘What do you mean ?” “Only this, you beetle-browed dog!” answered the law- yer, transfixing him with a vivid look: “‘that I was on the river bank this morning at ten o'clock. You did not see me. No; I was lying among the alders and willows— you did not see me, you black-hearted cut-throat; but— _ I—saw—you!” The face of the attorney turned in the gloaming to the awtul, leaden, livid hue of a corpse. A terrible black- thorn cudgel lay at his feet; he picked it up and turned — upon the speaker with the elare of a mad tiger. “Ah, pant Oe dag Desmond said in a voice of inde-- a ; 7 ee Sin & 4. eA - ; MN Ts Se _comicbooks co