Penny Blood Serial Fiction — page 244: what you’re looking at

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

ELIZABETH’S REFLECTIONS 227 appearance of the Spaniard in the neighbourhood, and her own altered feelings toward him. The spot which she had appointed for the interview was about half a mile from the mansion, and in a somewhat secluded lane. Thither she proceeded at the hour specified; and now her beating heart, her throbbing temples, and the flushing which she felt upon her cheeks afforded additional evidences to those she had previously acquired that her feelings had indeed undergone an immense change in respect to Count Christoval. The moment she appeared in the lane, she beheld him hastening, almost flying, toward her. He approached with anxious looks of suspense, seeking to read upon her countenance the fiat of his destiny. Oh, love has a wondrous prescience,—— a marvellous power of penetration. An electric spark seems to fly from heart to heart, revealing in a moment as much as it would take minutes or hours for words to make known. Between two hearts that love, and though communicating thus by that mutual and mystic intuition, there is as rapid an exchange of thought as between the two extremities of the electric telegraph, thus outstrip- ping by an almost inexplicable agency all other means of reciprocal correspondence. ‘Heaven be thanked—I am happy, I am happy!”’ ejaculated the impassioned Christoval, the moment he was near enough to catch in warm transfusion the first glance of Elizabeth’s eyes; and with all the fervid rapture of his en- thusiastic nature, he seized her in his arms, he strained’ her to his wildly throbbing breast. Nor did she immediately disengage herself from that embrace. She allowed her form to remain enfolded by those arms thus fervidly flung around her; she received upon her lips the impassioned caresses of love; she caught the electric fire, and she gave those kisses back again. But this scene of tenderness — profound, glowing, ineffably delicious — lasted but a few moments, and then, gently withdrawing herself from the embrace of the enraptured Spaniard, Eliza- beth said, in earnest tones, ‘‘ Yes, I love thee — I love thee! ”’ Don Diego Christoval gave no immediate reply, — no words escaped his lips. The power of utterance was sus- pended, but his looks far more eloquently testified to the fervid, rapturous joy that filled his heart. Never had he COMMICLOOOKS. EO