Roxy Hastings — page 225: what you’re looking at

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216 ROXY HASTINGS. — Charles sighed and said “of course.” “The loss of occupation would be enough to bring 1t on ; he wants continual rousing. This melancholy is partly constitutional with him.” ‘‘T dare say it is, for I’ve felt touches of it myself some- times.” So Roxy did not go home, and her mother when written to, said let her stay by all means, and she would come after her when she could not possibly stand it any longer. Thus affairs stood, when one afternoon Charles, who was in the library, awaiting dinner, was informed by a servant that there was a young lady in the parlor, who desired to see him. “Tell Miss Lee, Tom,” said the young man, scarcely look- ing up from his book, “it’s she that she wants to see proba- bly.” “Beg your pardon, sir,” said the man, “she certainly asked for Mr. Lee.” Charley went, book in hand, and was surprised to see that his visitor was an entire stranger—a pale, fair young woman of twenty-three or four years, with the dress and manners of a lady, and with a strange mingling of timidity and resolution upon her expressive features. ‘You are surprised at this visit, Mr. Lee—and you will be still more so at the object of it,” said Mary Blythe, after cea politely addressing her, had taken a seat near er. ‘‘Pleasantly surprised then, I hope,” said the young man, smiling, for he saw the growing embarrassment of the lady, and wanted to relieve her. “Yes, sir; I think I may safely promise that. And I must premise what I have to tell by saying that I was an intimate personal friend of Lucy Holden.” “Ah, indeed! That most unfortunate young lady.” “Most unfortunate, indeed, sir. And yet not in the sense in which you probably suppose.” ‘‘I referred to the manner of her death only, which we all know to have been very terrible.” “But let us suppose a possible mistake here, and that Miss Holden is still living.” ; “Living! Lucy Holden living! Impossible!” said Charles. “Why do you make such a conjecture ?” “Ido not wish to agitate you,” returned Miss Blythe, who was indeed grieved to see no greater agitation in her companion, for she thought she was talking to Alfred, ‘but this is not altogether conjecture.” Eomicbooks.co