Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

it is her mother’s face over again. No one ‘cou se ‘ fb ies, 4 “eNG J. [ \ ot ue tag i d af b) oy 7 = ‘ AY) ‘ ‘ yf ay f , |) oe ta : 5? : i ere t f e 9) iv q Apa yh Me he | oe h Fi rs xf vu a , P Cooma ihe Pe q | Bt Ps ft. e " - a a . ¢ + . “ oa pe eI Helen Mallory. Nay, deathly white—how aballe thin she is! ae 3 eo Ni , ya, « vm 8, ey, | ALE SG. > 7 _ at y é Le 4 ‘ ows Ph A i th és at ; fet aye = veal Fe : f “NE ¢ 4 a Estella’s child.” __ pees thy | The sick girl heard no more.. The deep alee of cor ava- lescence came over her and lulled her to blessed rest. — ays ie x ‘When she awoke the noonday sun was streaming inte d daz- zling chinks through the closed blinds. She lay very still, anc gazed dreamily around . sane It was a large, cool, Pleasan : nt a ae i room—and the ee white ed whereon she lay was the soft 7 Aaa and most luxurious she had ever reposed on. NE ne a ae The woman Norah sat in a rocking-chair, busily: kni it Re and a big gray cat nestled comfortably at her feet. TI ~~ yas such a pleasant picture of rest and peace that the tired 1 ne | ). wanderer could have lain and looked forever. = = Slowly, very slowly, memory began to drift baie Ww ei ere o was she? what room was this? who was that woman? > ee 4 a She lay and thought, still and motionless. It all” cam sia back, little by lttle—Peter Fisher—Roysten Dario: nk runaway marriage—that awtiul night in the attic—the ill- RA ness—Carlotta—the poisoned draught—the flight—the jour- a ney. And this was Helen Mallory’s, no doubt, and her dead mother’s sister had taken the lost waif to her heart and home. © “And Roysten Darrell—was he dead?:and did Helen Mal lory know? Would Mr. Fisher guess whither she had gone, __ and write the terrible story? Would they come in search of vi her here, and drag her forth to stand her trial for murder? — _ She turned her pale face to the wall, trembling from Raga? to foot with unutterable dread. Oh, what would become of es her if Roysten Darrell was dead ? K cen Gs The chamber- door opened softly—there was on istics rus-- a tle of a woman’s dress; some one crossed the room lightly, and — a bent above her. She ‘lay quite still—never moving, never rakes opening’ her eyes. ‘ he, “How is she, Norah?” a low voice asked. “She has: not | awoke ?” kes “No, miss; she sleeps as sound and: eT a as a yo Ok poor | lamb! She'll wake up, clear and reasonable to-day, the doc- | tor thinks. Poor little soul! what she must have come | through !” vs “Norah,” said the softer voice, “come here and look es shies 4 Look at that childish, innocent face, and tell me if s beige 3 like a married woman ?” ait. haa “A married what?” cried Norah, in shrill horror. i child married! Miss Helen, what do you meaneyim, \u “Or a would-be murderess?” continued the soft voice, in tones of suppressed excitement—“a wi ife who. has poison her husband? Tell me—does she look, - ~