Beautiful Rienzi; or, The secret vendetta — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

60 BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. Here she grew white with passion, and wavered an instant> ‘‘but she only lured him on to destruction. I have no wisl. to keep you in ignorance of my intentions, Miss Rienzi; so I will frankly tell you that I intend to have your sister ar- rested for this murder. She shall be found and erougnt to justice, if my last dollar pays for it!” «You are too late in putting your intentions into execu- tion,” I responded. ‘*‘ Mrs. Beaumont, his mother, has been before you. There is a warrant against her alread y.” “And is the very solace of revenge to be denied me?” cried the girl, almost furiously. Her hard cruelty had no effect on my frozen stupor; I even studied her in her vindic- tive mood, and wondered that my first impressions of her had been so false. ‘“‘T have nothing against you, Miss Rienzi,” she said, glancing at me, as she rose to look out of the window; ‘but you must acknowledge that I have been basely treated by your sister; and I have a perfect right to join in the effort to avenge my dead lover. ‘There—I see the cab is waiting to take me to the station. Good-by, Miss Rienzi; I am truly sorry for you—I don’t think you could help it.” She reached out her cold hand to me, and I looked at her unfeeling ccuntenance wistfully. I felt that it was not right to let her go thus; yet I had no strength to meet the emergency, or to oppose anything. ‘* You will not go away, my friend?” I appealed. <‘See how desolate Lam. Stay and comfort me. She may be dead, too, dear one; and if she 3 is, you would never forgive yourself for your hard feelings.” But she tore her hand away from me, and went down stairs where her boxes appeared to have preceded her, and in five minutes I heard the entrance door shut. I crept spiritlessly to the dressing-room and sat down be- fore the blazing fire. Sophie was there with a bit of sewing in her hands, and she ran for a footstool, and put my feet on it. ‘©Oh, my dear miss,” cried the usually timid girl. “You should not have got up—no, indeed! You look dreadful.” ‘What is the time, Sophie?” “About twelve, Miss Iva. Dll run fora bit of breakfast. You sha’n’t go down to that great table all alone. Your pa’s not home, and J’ll bring it up nice and hot here.” “Yes,” I assented ; ‘* T suppose I must eat,” CORNUCG OOO S (©)