Beautiful Rienzi; or, The secret vendetta — page 222: what you’re looking at

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

BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 217 about our foolish former marriage. But Victor, there’s no one in the cottage can bea witness; Miss Cranstown’s old groom would run for a policeman, and the lady’s maid is not to be thought of, and our old housekeeper would tell all about it to Louisa, and Belle, and Blanche, and Eleanor, and think she is recounting a love-match of twenty years back; oh, no, love, not Mrs. Halcombe.’ << *Wecan easily get a second witness,’ I exclaimed. ‘ But come, darling and get your hat, we have not long.’ <¢é What? this very minute?’ she said tur ning pale and carnation by turns. «© T'l] tell you, > I cried, heart-smitten at the sacrifice I demanded, ‘you shall not have to leave the cottage. I will bring a clergyman, and my friend, and be here in an hour. Mrs. Halcombe shall receive our adieus for the ladies who are absent, and no gossip can be raised.’ ‘“When I was twenty rods away, down the brook path, I turned back with anew fear. «« How old are you?’ I gasped. ‘ Are you under age?’ ‘« She crimsoned between surprise and amazement. <¢« How fortunate that you did not ask me ten days ago,’ she said. ‘I was twenty-one on the fifth day of July. Four years younger than my inquisitive Victor.’ ‘<’'This afforded me another sweet reason for clasping her in my arms. How did she know my age—witch? «She had heard Dr. Pemberton mention the date of my coming of age; could she ever forget anything that referred tome? No! nothing—nothing, since she first met my eyes. “‘ 1 tore myself trom her a second time, buoyant and tri- umphant. As soon as I presented myself to Pemberton, he shook hands with me furiously. ‘<¢Tt was yes,’ he cried, ‘let me congratulate you.’ ‘¢ He stared at me when I told him ail. «‘* Very imprudent, very? he said; ‘I wouldn’t advise you to do the poor young thing such an injustice—if only for the sake of her name. I once had a dear friend of that name—he’s dead long years ago, poor fellow; but this girl, [solina, [ve loved strangely, just because of her name. Don’t, my dear Victor, if you can’t trust to her heart, you needn’t trust to the wedding-ring either.’ ‘« <Tt’s no sacrifice for her,’ I cried, radiantly, ‘she’s wil- ling and what difference can it make? Only that imperti- CORNUCG OOO S (©)