At a Girl's Mercy, or, The Fortunes of War — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

“= 112 AT A GIRLS MERCY. grand old spirit, but her heart was aching dully with dread in spite of its brave championship. She arose from the table with quiet grace and the fears crowded down in her heart, and went up, as was her custom—although not alone—to her mother’s door. The nurse knew of her habit, and now came out with kindly interest. She smiled with reassuring brightness as she laid her hand on Nan’s arm. “Your mother is sleeping as sweetly as a baby,”’ she said, softly. ‘‘You may rest easy to-night, Miss Courtland, for I think by to-morrow she will be as nearly herself as she could bein her weak state, But she will recover her strength when once she is started on the right road. Iam so very glad for you. I knew you would wish to know, and would sleep so much better yourself for being assured of this.’’ Nan smiled the little slow, pathetic smile that had somehow settled upon her lips within the last hour. She met the kindly eyes of the nurse with her brave _ blue eyes, as she thanked her gently for this thought- fulness. Then she turned away and passed down the staircase again, into the quiet study, where the lights were lowered, and the shadows had the cor- ners to themselves and their fantastic imaging. She did not turn up the lights. The shadows were better suited to her present state of depression. She sat down in her father’s chair, sinking among the cush- ions like a child, her golden head warmly pressed upon the crimson plush that_had so many times shel- tered her father’s aching head. She curled among the cushions like a child, an arm close clasping the cushions upon which her head lay, her other, with the loose sleeve falling back, revealing the perfect roundness of its outline, lying loosely along the arm of the chair. She closed her big wistful eyes, and ‘¢omicbooks.co > - ig