Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 237: what you’re looking at

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

but mademoiselle had papier fled. “Conscience makes cowards of us all.” She Se not Secs: " i Be ( ‘ see! h much-injured cousin just then. ‘ ere and sleet lashing the winlies Estelle inal a iM e hidden in her hands, her heart throbbing tumultuously. hat a ae “At last,” that impassioned heart. cried —“at last the crow! n= ing hour of my life has come! He loves me as he never | joved her! At last, at last, he is mine!” CMe eae In another room near, equally luxurious, brillia ntly . the gorgeous widow walked up and down, nearly fran a. ut with | rage and jealousy, impotent love and despair. — fies Gee sere 2 na “I am no more to him than the commonest vagran mt tha t | ‘walks the streets; if I were dead to-morrow it ‘would no cause him one pang. He is all hers; he loves her as he 1 never loved me in his life. And I might have been his ha Dr ee fe to-day if I had so chosen—miserable, selfish fool 2 = at I have been.” Saher ee And in his room, ‘ATeoe Barer. gazed upon. a Massisn sa face—the beautiful face of his idol—as a devotee might 1 upon his patron saint, with a rapt, ecstatic gaze. oh “If the world were mine, I would lay it at oe: feet” h a thought. “Does earth hold another like her—so beauti a SO noble, so true? My peerless love, the crowning: madness of my life—when I tell you how devotedly IT worship ye 01 ria, must come very soon! My love is. too arene ae one heart — ved \ Tells } gir we un4 tie . ih pry . " i> 1 | 4 ne f ‘ ate Lt > Lo ee i ! ns ; ‘. we Fen VAL, a * ied - J 3 ty ; J 2) she or i ‘ : . heat SS , * rT ac a, 7 Mog xy ee J - ; * > ve ea “6 (i ay i Pa ie. a ae pated f , > ‘ T eh 70 pe OLA as 7 : - * 14 . a atl ol te RS Les vs a re s i) \ °A 1° vs ay a PN . « a - ‘ , . eit ey “ 7 * Md if a" > " Vey Os - trem od x % ; 4 7 eae ' yy, \' P 7 : > Pr) ar | ‘ a a are \ ‘Tl Danae ony 4 wil v a“ < Soar we? * ee Pat Ak Fbia Lay WY ~ ” ae 4 Sache Maher. * } At 5 ! \hdut ‘ ; 7 4 : ‘ t : . mE we ie me ie Ra val Td a er phe ve ie \ : a nr ys, % *\ ’ 5 | @- a wm o is ; "all wand, se F al yen © =o © ff ¥¢ c . ’ ' oer & > iy - ° Satie Os Tif aes “COME WHAT WILL, I HAVE BEEN BLESSED.’ “y fe Bre Alwyn Bartram had returned to New York: why , he co ld hardly have told you himself. The past ten. years had drifted — dreamily away in Italy, and he had won a name among pone immortals. His pictures were lauded to the skies, and h wrote his name high among the Academicians. ; But absence had not brought forgetfulness, 1 nor content. That chronic remorse for his past sae eeds | ha him still. Pea In the lone watches of the long: still sighed oe 16 proachful face of his wife rose out of the | ‘si lv eer moonlight, unspeakably pallid and sad—an ave en; He could not forget her; he could baru forg e i / miseral uncertainty that wrapped her end. vida ati ga rit o gt Va vine ath ry Ve - a ’ z » ' “ - e r ‘ : 4 q. PA 7 : , ” a ia sf