Weaker than a Woman — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

40 ‘ «WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. of anxiety upon him was like a weight of lead. Those were days of strict economy in Vale House. There was no tempt- ing fruit for the feeble appetite, no generous wine to give ‘strength to the feeble frame. The best medicine that the’ in- valid had were the cheering kindly words of his wife, the love of his son. ‘That evening Felix came oni late from his office; he was tired owing to the hard work and ill fortune of the day. He fought nobly with misfortune, but he fought .in vain. His kind face brightened when he saw a letter for him. It must be from Violet. Who would write to him except Violet? And despite all his sorrows his heart glowed as he thought of her, his beautiful love. Oh, to es- cape, if only for-one hour, and sun himself in the ight of her presence! He saw her so seldom now. He was hard at work during the day, and the nights were too cold for walks and rambles. He occasionally went over to the Limes; but the welcome that he received there was not of the warmest, and he could not see Violet alone. He took up the letter with a smile, and read it. It was — ‘not from Violet, but from her father, Francis Haye, saying that the marriage must be deferred for at least a year, as he was quite sure that under the circumstances Felix could not hamper himself with a wife. ‘“ Violet was,” he said, “of the same opinion, as he would see,” and, indeed, there was a rose-tinted, sweet-scented note from Violet—just a few lines—-to the effect that she thought her father was right. He laid the notes down with a feeling of burning pain, a thrill of passionate anguish that frightened him, Nothing on earth, no power of man, should take her from him. She was his own, and he would hold her until hfe was ended. Then he owned to himself that Mr. Haye was right— cruelly right—that without money, with an invalid father, a failing business, he could not take a wife. It was right to defer it. He must be patient. After all, he had not lost. her, he reflected. She was still his own. There came to him a mad desire to see her, to caress the golden hair, to kiss the lovely lips that had on them the breath and fragrance of roses, to clasp the sweet white hands in his own, to hear the music of the voice that had no equal—a wild, mad longing. He read her note through again to see if he had overlooked some kindly word, to see if she had written “my love.” Then he thought to himself that the little note was written for her father to see—for his faith in her was great; he could not believe that her — ; } comicbooks. 7 fi Ag ee Ao .