The Argosy — page 186: what you’re looking at

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

Divided. I7I hated her all the more deeply for her very beauty and the soft charm of manner that, to Yvonne’s impressionable imagination, was so vividly fascinating. Sometimes she could scarcely steel herself against Denise’s genial kindness, the irresistible captivation that had conquered less yulnerable hearts than that of the wild little Breton maid. At such times she would remind herself of what she considered Raoul’s be- trayal by this fair sorceress, who was charming away his heart with a deliberate delight in witnessing his sufferings under the process, and then she was able to hate her again. Some such thoughts were rushing through Yvonne’s brain as she knelt at her Prie-Dieu that night, after parting with Raoul. Perhaps she thought she was praying, for her eyes were fixed on the Beacon, her lips were moving, and once or twice she made the sign of the cross; but if so, it was to a God of Darkness rather than to a God of Light. So absorbed was she that she did not hear the door of her room open quietly, and a figure steal up behind her. It was Mademoiselle Mathilde, come to see if her niece was safely in bed—an office that, now and then, she thought it incumbent on her authority to assume. When she saw the girl kneeling there, in that passionate attitude of abandonment, she paused, looking at her in silence: a tall and spare figure in a straight dark gown, with a colourless, severe face, and narrow lips pressed together with a rigidity that gave something of cruelty to her expression. She glanced from Yvonne to the Beacon Tower, where a brightly-flashing light shone yellow in the moon- light. “ Dieu te garde,” prayed the girl half aloud. They were her last words every night, spoken with a firm, religious faith that they would keep the one she loved from evil. But, to- night she still remained on her knees for a few seconds, the soft tenderness in her eyes slowly changing to a revengeful anger. * Dieu te sauve,” she added swiftly through her trembling lips. “ Vvonne,” broke in Mademoiselle Mathilde; ‘Yvonne! What are you doing?” ‘Cannot you see? I was praying,” said Yvonne, springing from her knees. ‘‘ Cannot you leave me in peace even for that ?” Mademoiselle smiled her hard, cynical smile. ** Ma foi,” she said grimly ; ‘‘if that is how you look when you are praying, what would you be if you were cursing?” (To be continued. ) CORNICLOO <S (SO) mn