Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 201: what you’re looking at

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

“A. girl’s hin ae was younes oe d silly, : you } Ri Tt was dull for her there. Peter Fisher w was a grim og ryrant ¥ —she and I quarreled—she was jealous of | ad little awe | oe be ess, Carlotta. She even ‘tried to poison me— mit tng, upon the Spake a a beneficent stomach pump yon 4 Tine to 4 save my precious life. nee little fiendess oe bupiew tene mat § speak the trath. ” Ree eee “Did Helen Mallory knoe all this re : vs ee } es ce os ahs q devas 't say; but I ‘think it sxirely likely. of ae do : bigs: re 4 so little Fissic choaght hareele a wise when xi reed Soar 7 wife. And now, Mr. Alwyn Bartram, you. have heard the | whole story, and when our little account is settled, the sur-_ vivor can take his rival’s widow with the happy conscious-— ness that she is all his own at last. -Good-evening to. you—a friend of mine will wait upon you presently. They say— ae | those others—the age of duelling is obsolete, but a Bartram never shows the white feather. Go to Essie, let her deny, if , she can, that she was my wife before she was yours.” i He was gone—his felt hat pulled over his eyes-—swagger ng _down the house steps. The friendly twilight and the broad brim of his hat hid that ugly gash between. his eyes. — ‘He | laughed, a wicked, demoniac laugh, as he gained the street. “Who is victor now, Alwyn Bartram? -Curled darling ‘of. ) the gods, who wins at last? I think our old boyish scenes” and grudges are likely to be cleanly wiped out this time. You have crowed it over Robert the Devil many a long Fear, my handsome artist cousin, but it is a long lane that hs no turning. We have got to the turn, and I take, your for- tune, your wife, and your life at one fell swoop. I hate you, my elegant Alwyn—I have hated you for many ety: ant if you leave our little rendezvous alive after th: . tween the eyes, then Robert Bartram’s good tight 1 hand. and ; steady eye will have lost their cunning for the fi st time.” ge oy Two hours after that, whilst yet Alwyn ‘Bante aI SE , alone in the darkened drawing-room with his $1 vi bitte sone: a Diss black-bearded isi nan, wi ch