Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

bs a Fee ee!) ee A Fe sy : PRD vat wiles ey, rr eAY iyi ~ te, “The Conquerin g Hero. Bo And you. ‘oats know the ‘Girl with the golden eyes? ” = Lawler said, in a disappointed tone. “Never saw her before, but I more than suspect that she is the elder lady’s niece. Shall I plead your cause, Lawlor? tell her it is the tenth case of love at first sight ‘with you within a week? Aw revotr until to-morrow. I ‘£0 to bask in the smiles of your goddess.” the tall, dark gentleman sauntered easily in. “Can IT really believe my eyes?” he said, holding out his hand. “Is this Miss Helen Mallory, the Recluse of Chelsea, or only an optical delusion? Please shake hands, and re- lieve me of doubt.” Five minutes later, and the door of the box opened, and Miss Mallory turned sharply around, and barely repressed | aery of delight. Her whole face Jit up with pleasure at the gsight-of the dark, handsome, smiling face. “You, Alwyn 2” she cried. “Oh, what a surprise this is! Sow last person on earth i should have dreamed of seeing eré |? “Rxactly what I have been saying to myself ever since I first set eyes on you.” “But I thought ran were in New York?” | “Did I not say I was coming about the middle of Septem- _ ber, and is not this the middle of September? I have but = ” just arrived, and dropped in here with some fellows to have a knocked me down with a feather when I lifted my eyes and beheld you.” “T eame on Essie’s account,” Helen said, sili “The stage lost its charms for me long ago. Estella, my dear, let look at Booth, on my way to Chelsea. Verily, you might have ae me present Mr. Alwyn Bartram, of New York. My niece, Alwyn, of whom I made mention in my letter.” i “7 thought as much,” Mr. Bartram said. “I knew it could eo be no other. And, then, she resembles you, Miss Helen. Miss _ Estella, we must be very good frinds, since we are both the _ property of ‘Aunt Helen.’ ” He shook hands gayly. And Estella? She knew Pious the teat moment it was he—her hero—her demi-god in the flesh! Was not that duskily handsome face pictured already indel-. _ bly on her sentimental little heart ? 7 Artist, author, poet, he stood before her, beautiful with “man’s best beauty”—a being for other men to envy, and ‘ _ women to adore. And they expected her to lift her daring eyes ‘to this modern Byron, to dare to talk to-this author of ted ~ “Lady Olaribel,” this writer of entrancing poems ? ry oS seemed to stand still with unutterable admiration and awe. am _ The foolish heart of the dreamer of sixteen actually (E(0) ge. od e a sigan aad unconscious of the havoe he Na Eomichbooks