The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 161: what you’re looking at

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

144 REYNOLDS’ WORKS and tender ministration of a devoted friend. In Christina had Zoe possessed such a friend, and as the sick lady wound her arms about our heroine’s neck, she murmuringly said, ‘Christina, dearest Christina, you have been to meas asister. Oh, you know not how I love you.” Let us suppose another fortnight passed. It was now verging toward the end of April, and on a bright, beautiful day, Zoe was reclining upon the sofa in the drawing-room, enveloped in a wrapper, still pale and feeble, but completely out of danger, and with every prospect, according to the- physician’s declaration, of a speedy convalescence. One of the casements was open, and the genial air, in which the freshness of spring mingled with the warmth of approaching summer, was waited into the room. Christina sat near the invalid; her cheeks were also pale, for she had not once issued from the dwelling since the return after the accident. Octavian was out, and the two young ladies were alone together. A newspaper lay upon the table, and during a pause in the conversation — for Zoe was prohibited from speaking too much — Christina took up the journal. It was more a mechanical action than a voluntary one, for her thoughts were preoccupied, and in that same listless, unintentional manner her eyes moved slowly over the columns of the front page. But all in a moment something appeared to rivet her gaze and concentrate her thoughts, for she gave a start like that of one who suddenly discovers an object which has been sought after. Then she appeared to be studying with pro- found attention the particular passage, paragraph, or what- ever it might be, which had thus so abruptly claimed her interest. Zos— who had her regards settled in plaintive and tender contemplation of Christina’s beautiful counte- nance — noticed that start, and observed likewise the deep study which followed it. A minute or two elapsed in con- tinued silence, and then Zoe said, in a soft, gentle voice, ‘“ What is it, dear Christina, that so interests you? ”’ Our heroine again started, as if aroused from a reverie, and she flung a half-timid, half-deprecating look upon Lady Octavian Meredith, as if she feared for a moment to give such explanation as the question required. But then suddenly re- covering her self-possession, she answered with a sweetness singularly blended with firmness, ‘‘ Here is an Hastern lady CONNIE NOOO KS m