The Wreck of the South Pole and Other Strange Tales — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

166 Written in Water. His life in the last five years had been a quiet one, for, besides a young giant who served him, his household was restricted to an elder sister and her little girl. And now, this day of which I write, the quiet life was to be interrupted by the advent of the fair young girl. A month before, Gerald had received a letter from an elderly friend to whom he was bound by many ties, and in it were these words: “I am dying, Gerald, dying; but I know that you will give a home to my motherless Gracie.” For Victor Shirlaw to make this request was the same to Leslie as if he had promised to look after his friend’s child, and he accepted the trust with a purpose which was | as solemn as a vow, and would be as religiously fulfilled. The day was wet and disagreeable, and as Leslie’s servant entered to announce that it was time to drive to the station for Miss Shirlaw, the former shivered in the raw air that came in by the open door and looked with but ill-concealed envy at the burly form before him. A man so strong and firm, so perfect in health, the em- bodiment of good nature, a man able to stem the storms and make his way in the world, while he, Gerald, shud- dered at the faintest draught of chill air! And yet this man was unlettered, could read neither Greek nor He- brew, knew nothing of philosophy, nay, even so little of his own language that he could not have legibly copied a page of the philosopher’s researches. And yet Leslie looked upon him with ill-concealed jealousy. “You must not go, Mr. Leslie, indeed, you must not,” said the brawny man as Gerald made a feint of rising. GOmicbdooks (E(0)