At a Girl's Mercy, or, The Fortunes of War — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

AT A GIRL’S MERCY. 97 silken lashes, as she arranged slowly and carefully the bouquet in her hands. Standing so, watching her, the man at the wicket almost hated her for this sweetness and grace which he could not win as he would win any other woman. He must work as though for some sacred thing to win her from her home and her soldier lover. She would scorn him, asking her as she sat in the tender light of the morning under the shade of the fragrant summer-house. There would be no smiling, blush- ing hesitation as she could give if she wished. He knew too well the scornful curve of the red lips so warm with life when she talked with him. He re- membered the flash of the eyes that could be so ten- derif they would. He hated her as he stood there and ground his teeth together with a muttered curse, as he vowed in his heart to win her by any means under the sun—by fair means, if they would win, by foul means, should these fail. As though she felt the evil influence of his pres- ence, her tender face darkened and she looked up, scarcely knowing what she expected, but conscious of some evil in her path, something not for her good - - around her. This also he noted, and there was an answering flash of the hate she felt for him-as he met her angry eyes. He bowed and opened the gate as though he had but just come up, his thin lips part- _ingin the smile that sent the girl’s blood running icily. He came up to her as though he knew he — would be welcome. Women liked men to be master- ful, he said inwardly. | ‘My fair neighbor is busy,’’ he said. His voice was low and almost tender, in its tone, but there was no familiarity in it. She should not have en- comicbooks:com — =. J