Weaker than a Woman — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

é or | = ore be TF ~ Si.” 2 eee, £PU a) ek >">. ">: . : . re, Pt -* > rip we ‘ ve ‘e Ps r= \ y : . ‘ ‘ > NG ae es bp ere aed ew i Ov. ye . eal —— ; = “ ‘s- WAL _ ~~ ._s* 3" v2 A sy " . . CAS | WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. shall bear it all. I shall remember these moments, and I shall bless the pain that brought me this happiness.” A few moments afterward she looked up and gave a lit- tle low laugh. ‘‘ How strange itis!” she said. “After all, you know I never quite promised.” Felix smiled. He was too happy just then to think se- riously of her words. ‘“T have given you the greatest love, Violet, that a man can give a woman. You will not give me ashes in return. I have no fear—my heart rests on you. The only thing that I deplore is that months must pass yet before I can call my darling my own; yet I shall wait and work in hope. All things come to him who knows how to wait; and you will come, my beautiful love, in time.” There was something pathetic in his deep love and his great trust. He left her that evening feeling happier than he had felt for some time. Violet loved him. She had never been so kind to him before. He forgot that he had asked her for the kindness—it had not been spontaneous. “There is a silver lining to every cloud,” he thought, as he walked home. “But for this trouble I should never have known how Violet loved me. She was so shy and reserved before, now she is kind and gracious. Sorrow has been my sun—it has brightened my love.” Felix kept his word. He worked hard and denied him- self much that makes life bright, but the labor was one of love. He could not see Violet so often as he had seen her —his days were entirely devoted to business—but he went to the Limes in the evening. On the part of Francis Haye there was a sort of armed neutrality. He watched the young lovers, he took care that they should not enjoy many tete-a-tetes, but he did not take any active proceedings. He was a worldly man, and after all Felix Lonsdale might accomplish something out in the world. The chances were, all things considered, in his favor. Felix had his consola- tions in the shape of little love-letters, inclosing violets, forget-me-nots, pretty leaves, or some rare flower—letters that in after years were like strains of half-forgotten music to him. They were very simple letters, but they were far more dear and precious to him than if they had contained gems of poetry and wonders of prose. The arrival of one of them brightened his whole day. How he read and re- read it, pondering each word in his mind, to see how much it conveyed, and then locking the letter away at night with (ee)