Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 162: what you’re looking at

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

f oly . ; + 23; ; sy ee Dar * : -* ~ yates - * = + : . ‘ * i SAgtty fei no 50) Aha Me ar : Pies + a a, LAN , ‘ ome 4. :" : x a haw, ‘rae = ; f ‘S _ ~~ wai Pe nf 8 3 sh alow “among ahs avai and her inne old song sounded sth ly as the last cadence of a funeral hymn: “a Bt awn, ean her out its store, = | Stil was seen the miller’s daughter, ae ae ‘But she smiled no more. Oi “For the summer grief had brought her, And the soldier false was he; On’ the banks of Allan water Saeco so sad as she.” ye “tg her face fell forward in her hands, with a sob. Alwyn Bartram, standing in the ‘doorway, never forgot that Paci scene—never forgot the pang of sharp remorse with which that shuddering sob fell upon his ears. __ xe “I promised Helen Mallory to love and cherish her, ” he > thou aght ; “and see how I keep my word.” He started forward. At the sound of his footsteps, she | wD ‘a, A ure. She stood still, incapable of sound or speech. “with a sudden pity that was near akin to love. aes dear little girl! my little wife! I have come at last!”’ BAS last!”—-her head fell forward on his shoulder, with won C _hever come again !” a ns Wi nat! thought so badly of me as that?” the young ‘man _ answered, with a very conscience-stricken laugh; “thought I Sod + >a No, _ no! Essie, our parting is over; I have come to carry you rom ‘dull Chelsea, as the prince carries off the Sleeping ae in your pet Tennyson’ s poem. Come, let me look at iyou—lift your face, Essie, and let me look at my wife!” D be oe! 3 ow—and smiled down in the Tadiant brown eyes, full of Q e oon glitter. cha My pretty, pale boaae my oid with: the golden eyes ! Where have your red cheeks gone tof You are as pale and Undine’ is finished and sent-in; we will see what 3 ye have not and, to tell the truth, I feel hungry.” — “Dinne l be ready mused A Estella answered, brightly. S fies voice, », faltering throughout, died away altogether, and ang to her feet—doubt, recognition, delight, in every fea- - “My poor little Essie! ’ He took her in his strong arms, | “am “ts hysterical sob—“at last! Oh, Alwyn, I thought you a had deserted my pretty bride in the heart of the honey-moon ! ¢ ’ He raised it up—oh, ‘such an inexpressibly happy face 3 an os a spirit—more like Undine than ever. By the by, anoisseurs say this time. And now, have you a °C ete pe ce. ‘ “com AIGK Roe CS: ar? ‘ eis ee ee,” by Ue ' “i ‘gta 1 Fe eee pea a rele)