Penny Blood Serial Fiction — page 352: what you’re looking at

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

HAWKSHAW HALL 330 Frank heaved a profound sigh, for he could not help en- vying Mr. Hawkshaw the mingled confidence, satisfaction, and pride with which he was enabled — or at least thought himself enabled — to speak of the object of his affection. “ Yes,’”’ said the youth, “‘ you have discovered the true key to the reading of my unhappiness. I have loved where I ought not to have loved. But permit me to give you some few words of explanation. And first of all, start not when I tell you that but very recently I was in a menial capacity, though having been well educated and properly brought up. However, such was the case. I was a menial, wearing the badge of servitude, an obscure and humble individual, more than half-suspecting that my parentage was good, and yet without any certainty upon the subject. Indeed, I had not the remotest idea who my father might be, though, as I have already hinted, I had some reason to imagine my mother was a lady of rank. Well, Mr. Hawkshaw, it was my good fortune — as I thought at the time, but my mis- fortune as I now discover it to be — to become the object of what I took to be love on the part of a young lady of marvellous beauty. I will not mention her name; I will not even give you the slightest idea of her portraiture. God forbid that, having loved her as I have done, I should do her an injury by proclaiming her secret! Suffice it to say that I saw she loved me. I loved her in return. Yes, ardently, fondly, adorinegly did I love her! She was to me the object of a worship; her image sat enshrined in my heart like an idol in a temple. I would have laid down my life for her; there was no sacrifice possible to make that I was not prepared to make if called upon, and if such sacrifice on the part of so humble an individual as I was then would have benefited her. Methought that she loved me as fondly and as well. Mr. Hawkshaw, inasmuch as I have not men- tioned her name, — as I shall not mention it, and as not a syllable will pass my lips to furnish an idea of her identity, should you ever meet her in the world, — there can be no harm in confessing that she gave me the utmost proof which woman could give of her attachment.”’ Francis Paton stopped short. He wished he could have recalled the statement he had just made; he was fearful | he had gone too far. It now struck him that Mr. Hawkshaw had casually mentioned, a few hours back, at the time of EORVICLOOO Ss (C(O)