Beadle's Dime Novels No. 127: Bald Eagle — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

48 | BALD BAGLE. “Miss De Witt, God forbid that I should cross your path in the least. There is not—there can be no sympathy between us !” Katrina’s fair brow reddened, and she even bit her lip ; but the tears gushed to her eyes a moment after. “Wendell, I dare say you are right. My sentiment of loyalty is as strong as yours that you call patriotism. TI like not this facility of change.” Montagnie would have replied—he would have answered to the tears rather than the words of Katrina; but at this moment the rough hand of the tory De Witt was laid upon her shoulder, who drew her into the house, pouring out at the same time a mixture of Dutch, French and English invective against herself and the “ renegade young rebel,” as he was wont to call Montagnie. Right glad was Wendell thus to have escaped the scrutiny of both mother and mistress, in regard to his destined mission. ‘Neither had conceived of the peril he was about to encounter, and now that nothing lay before him but his duty to his coun- try, he rode on with freer heart, losing his individual im- portance in the magnitude of the cause. Then he remem- bered the contempt of Katrina for this very cause, and again he felt himself a freer and’ stronger man, as he said to him- self: “Every thing is contemptible—every thing in life, in times like these, except the hopes of the freeman. I wil! forget her, as I do myself.” But the tear of Katrina glistened before his mind’s eye, and he put spurs to his horse that he might waste the undue sen- sibility which it engendered by action. Wheeling his horse round an angle of a street, he gave one last glance at the windows of old De Witt. There was the gleam of a white handkerchief from the window. The young man paused an instant, waved his hand in the air in return, and then rode on- ward with a flushed cheek and beating heart. That token of regard, the momentary flash of the white hand, had scattered his doubts to the wind. “ Trrascible fool that I am,” he muttered to himself; “ what right had T to take offense because she tuned her sweet lips to our patriotic air? How do I know that there was mockery in connicloooks.com