Richard Forrest, Bachelor — page 254: what you’re looking at

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

A LIVING SAINT. 245 Then he recollected Tim Perry’s words. What, all this beauty to be shut up from the world, to be hidden away where no admiring glance could ever fall upon it? To be entombed alive, where it might bloom, possibly, for a short while, and then slowly fade away, with no one to care, no one to feel one single pang of regret? The reflection was too outrageous—too appalling. It should never be if he could prevent it. Whata lucky chance it was that led him here at this momentous hour! A week. hence he might have been too late. He felt himself growing rest- less with impatience. Would this wretched ride never end? They were going at a snail’s pace; he was sure the horses were barely crawling along. | He vaguely wondered if their situation might not be- come critical should this weather continue. Each blast of wind, as it swept by, seemed to seize them more violently —to shriek more fiercely as it rattled the glass in the win- dows and shook the whole body of the coach. At the end of another half-hour it was several degrees colder and the candle was a mere stub. The old priest, wrapped in his rug, was sleeping with his head dropped back against Miss Delmar’s muff, which she had placed behind his neck. But she was awake and as concerned as Dick himself, though she kept perfectly quiet. On entering she had cast one inquiring glance in his di- rection, but failing to recognize him, had paid him no fur- ther attention. The old man dozed uninterruptedly for an hour, and then he raised his head. ‘(Where are we, Rose?’’ he inquired, ‘‘This ride seems interminable, ”’ EONNIELOOO KS, (EC) im