Beautiful Rienzi; or, The secret vendetta — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 159 now they cross the wooden bridge—in one-half minute they will be here.” ‘¢ How can you tell so well?” ‘“¢ Have I not watched? Come, come! We shall be late.’ ‘“Whom do you expect?” ‘«“No one—any one. Come!” I was wild with excitement. I dragged him close within the station, and hung gasping on his arm. “My darling, what can be the matter?” murmured Er- nest. ‘‘I don’t Ilke to feel you tremble like this. I am sure you are ill.” The boys under the butternut-tree ceased imitating the shriek of the coming engine with their fingers to their mouths, and began to chatter in would-be whispers. «She’s got another chap with her to-night.” «¢ Wonder where the horses have gone to?” ‘Grass, likely. Who do you think she watches for?” “Don’t know; she’s as regular here as old Jobson, the carrier, is at the post-office.” These remarks were intensely audible to me. Whether my lover heard them or not, I could not tell; he was look- ing anxiously down at me, and not at all interested in any- thing else. The evening train stopped; the few passengers stepped upon the platform and ran about clamoring for their lug- ALE. ° Few, indeed, there were to reward my curiosity. ‘T'wo farmers’ wives and a little girl dressed in calico, who were each saddled with a blue-spotted handkerchief bun- dle, and a hand-basket, and all seemed glad to see their native hills again. <A city exquisite, of blase appearance, cigar in teeth, cane in hand, with colored gloves, the accurate shade of two dogs which slouched at his heels— who honored us with a profuund stare, as he sauntered up to ** Old Sol.” «There is sno one else,” said I, in a depressed voice. ‘Come away.” “Yes, my love, the dew is falling, and my little girl is too long under it.” He gladly led me off the platform for, perhaps, twenty rods. Like Lot’s wife, I looked back, and became transfixed. “What has happened?” cried Ernest, seeing my rigid face. CONMIC DOO S (©)