Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

ome Mri ‘Helen Mallory. BB igi, ae ae Biec A NN | nae a a } ee eh: i VGA said. ‘Death—a more faithful. bri legroom py -you— fy aq claimed her sixteen years ago. You will find a ‘hada | of | i bones and ashes in Rockledge Cemetery, if you choose to eo 4 there and seek. But she was your wife—t. ank God for scala) SN “We turned ghastly white. Estella, full as 3 my he ea of horror and hatred of that man, I almost pitied hit + — €Nead! he said. ‘Dead! I feared iM. r a aha | Estella, my wife, my wife!’ © yo ill “<VYou murdered her,’ I. repeated, sipaiitee haat much as” be 5 though you had plunged a knife in her heart—-only hers was _ a a more lingering, a less merciful death. But she kept your — secret well—she was faithful to the end. I never knew she had the honor of being your wife, Monsieur Raoul, until i this moment.’ “<Spyare me,’ he said, in a broken ” voice. ag ce Goale ive my life to recall her, I would. I loved her, Helen Mallory, better than I ever loved earthly creature; but my accursed © pride and ambition were still stronger than my love. And — ~~ yet I never meant to desert her. I left her, L-know, in pov = 3 erty and loneliness, and went back to France: but, my for- — tunes retrieved, I wrote to her at once. I never received | an answer. I wrote again and again, but always with a like re-_ sult. I could not-return and seek for her, and so I—I gave her up. I took it for granted she had returned to her home, __ had told all, was safely sheltered here, and too indignant at my long silence to reply when I did write. , Heaven help me! ‘ and all the time my poor darling was dead. Ea es i “ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘your remorse and repentance, | aigeienn | - Raoul, come sixteen years too late. Let your pride and your ambition console you now if they can. Or, perhaps, mon- | sidur has wedded a fairer and wealthier bride—one he need — never desert or be ashamed of? Surely all these years he has not been faithful to the memory of the poor, little, love-struck — g2irl, who gave up all the world for sake of his handsome face, and whose heart he broke ? + “He looked at me, deadly pale, with eyes of ‘unuttorable: . reproach. B ee i: " ms — “You are merciless, > he aera Mh Watt aecaaentee it. Yes, a Miss Mallory, I have been faithful. No other love has" ever | ; supplanted your sister. Will you tell me how she died? — Will oh you try to forgive, as you hope to be forgiven, or must 8 leave you to find out for myself ? ° Rn py te ih : “°*T will tell you nothing,’ I answered, passionately. A wonder you dare ask it. She is dead. and at rest—let that | suffice. But her daughter lives, monsieur—her child anc Bean yours—render justice to her, if you like. J ustice to the ¢ ea is beyond even your reach.’ cit aie Re “And then, Estella, I told him of you~only k ng th > Nhe) Mia ih ig A : " = ‘ 7 “* : Ve ‘ hy N / . Vid ‘ i ify - , : Ay 1 | ® @ @ 6 , ' 1 ( ;