Weaker than a Woman — page 220: what you’re looking at

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

4, >, fo. : “= as ‘; ‘. 7 heer Se, ee 2 ~—,’ 2 a <> FE ee ete : WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. hoe ALE _ Her voice died away in a low, sweet murmur that was like the love-plaint of’a bird, and they were silent for some minutes, none caring to break the spell. Then Felix looked at her. “IT remember those words,” he said; “they are taken from a poem called ‘Lost Alice,’ by Adelaide Anne Proc- ter. I gave you the book, I think, Lady Chevenix.” That was the first time he had ever alluded to the past; he had until now always treated her as a stranger—as a lady to whom he had been introduced for the first time by Sir Owen Chevenix. Her face brightened when she heard it; 1t seemed to her that the broken chain had been taken up in those simple words. “Yes, you gave it to me,” she acknowledged; “and I know every word of the poem by heart—I have read it so often.” He looked up in surprise. “Indeed!” he said. “I thought that you did nob care for poetry at all, Lady Chevenix.”’ “I fancied that I did not, but I was mistaken. During these later years I have learned to value and understand many things that were once like so many dead letters to me.” “IT wish,” said Marian Hethcote, “that we could under- stand everything at once. As itis, we learn little quickly ; it takes long years to teach us the simplest lessons, and by the time they are learned we must die. As my favorite poet says: , «We live—we love; and then Stone dead we lie. O Life, is all thy song Endure and die ?’ How much more pleasant it would be if we could master everything at once. What mistakes and blunders we make. I read the other day of a great and wise man who, when he came to die, said, ‘My life has been all a mistake.’ Mr. Lonsdale, | am growing quite sad; it is your turn to sing for us.” “I cannot sing, but I will repeat some verses that I think very beautiful, if you would like to hear them.” * 'W hose are they?” asked Lady Chevenix. “They are Miss Procter’s,” he replied, and he turned his face away from her while he recited them. It seemed to Lady Chevenix as though the wind fell and GOmicboo (E(0) m cS