The Price He Paid — page 171: what you’re looking at

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

162 HIS FIRST LOVE. telligence of what was going on had found its way thither; for, the servants had, once for all, received instructions not to leave the castle in the event of any such occurrence, and none of the officials who had their residence there cared to venture into the tumult. The baron’s study was already lighted up. The clear flame from the lamp suspended from its ceil- ing illuminated every corner of the room, which yet maintained its grave and somber aspect. One spot only, the deep recess of the great bay window, lay in shadow; and there, half-hidden by the heavy curtains, stood Gabrielie. The girl could not en- dure to-day to remain in her mother’s apartments, which lay on the other side of the house. She had never hitherto entered her guardian’s study with- out special permission or summons from him: but now she sought it, remembering that its window commanded a fine view of the city below. Very unlike the Gabrielle von Harder of the old days, truly, this pale, mute maiden, leaning against the window-frame with hands convulsively clasped, and gazing out as ough her eager eyes must penetrate the growing darkness. This anxious, despairing vigil consummated the silent work of the last few weeks. It took from her, once and forever, the old childish dream, destroyed the il- lusion by which she had so long deceived herself and- others. In and about her all had been sun- shine, until the moment when a single glance had discovered to her the depths of a passion new to her experience. The second hour was creeping by. Half of it had already passed, and still no sign, no news of the governor. Gabrielle had opened the window, hop- ing to bear the sound of the carriage which, as she expected, would bring him; but the road lay soli- tary and deserted, and the flame of the gaslights flickered uneasily, and sometimes almost died out beneath the fierce gusts of wind, which was rising to a hurricane. At last the longed for sound was heard; not the - roll of carriage wheels, certainly, but the voices, (E(0) Gomicbooks