The Price He Paid — page 298: what you’re looking at

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

REJOICING AT MAX’S HOME. 989 by the morning splendor. Its walls and towers gleamed in the rosy flood, and its windows flashed swift ightning greetings over to the valley beneath. Arno’s eyes were fixed intently on one spot; his last look was. for the “sunbeam” which even now sent a bright message to him from thence. In an- other moment the picture paled, the shining vision receded farther and farther from view. Dark shad- ows gathered about the dying man. Before his dimmed eyes came as the eddy of cool water closing in upon him, and he was drawn down, down into mysterious, glimmering depths where all earthly sounds were hushed, where all the striving and the strife, the happiness and sorrow of life, died away into one long continuous dream; while, interming- ling with this dream, there ran ever an unvarying far-off murmur, the low spirit-singing of a spring borne faintly below from some immeasurable dis- tance. Brunnow laid the dead man gently down. He himself would have risen, but his strength aban- doned him, and he sank unconscious to the ground beside the lifeless body of the comrade, the friend of his youth. CHAPTER XXIII. REJOICING AT MAX’S HOME. A new era had dawned upon the land. The last four years had wrought many changes, and had left but little remaining of the old regime. The once persecuted and oppressed liberal party now stood at the head of affairs, and with this complete reversal of the situation a revolution of opinion had come about in every sphere of official activity. Tendencies which had once been combated and repressed were now free to develop themselves in the broad- light of day, and these altered circum- stances had naturally introduced a new set of men into the arena. ik | Among those whom the political current of the day had swiftly raised to a prominent position was Eomichboo cS (E(@)