Weaker than a Woman — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

fs ale bn ¥ M- 4 5 , <) = @i* *% «‘* . ba ..%7.-* WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 137 — sit there sketching forever. Once she was disturbed ; she fancied that from the long western glade on the other side | - of her there came the sound of reckless running footsteps, and then of a heavy fall, but after a moment or two she concluded that it was only the rabbits. “They are having a steeplechase,” she said, and laughed at the idea; then the pencil trembled in her fingers, for surely she heard the sound of terrible sobbing, great pas- sionate, bitter sobs. She could not be mistaken—they grew more bitter and deep, and then all was still. She tried to go on with her drawing, but her hand trembled—she could not persuade herself that what she had heard was fancy. Something must have made the noise—she would go and see. She was one of the most fearless of maidens; all the high courage and undaunted bravery of her race lived 1n her. She put her drawing materials aside, and went toward the place whence the sound had proceeded. Her heart beat fast when she saw before her the prostrate figure of a man. There was no sobbing now, only a death-like silence, and the man lay with his face downward. She did not faint, or scream, or run away, but she listened for his breathing, this dainty daughter of a noble race. Was he dead? Had he swooned? Was he hurt? She grew pale, and trembled when, on the cool green grass, she detected stains of blood. Once, twice she spoke to him, and then she raised his head, and looked into his face. How hand- some it was—just such a face as she had seen given to a Greek god—such a face as she had seen in marble in the dim light of old Roman galleries. Then she saw that on the temple, so white, so rounded, so full of ideality, there was a terrible wound. A moment’s reflection showed her what the wound was. Just above him was the branch of a tree. He must have been running in hot haste, and, not seeing the branch with its sharp, jagged edge, had run against it. He had fallen there, and had swooned, proba- bly because the blow had stunned him. What a handsome face it was, but how terribly marked with pain! What did all those great lines mean on the fair brow and round, beautiful mouth? Warm pity and tender compassion rose in her heart for him. She laid the help- less head on the grass again, and went and dipped her handkerchief in the brook. She laid it on his brow; she bound up the cruel, gaping wound, and she looked like an angel of compassion bending over him. Suddenly, to ae great relief, he opened his eyes and gazed at her._ Gomiecbooks (E(0) Le