Despard, the Spy: Or, The Fall of Montreal — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

14 DESPARD, THR SPY. others would be compromised by stich an act, whom it was important to shield. So it was concluded to let him run his full course of crime, and he was even now in Montreal, seck- ing in every way to gain the hand of Marie, the prize for which he had reddened his hand with the blood of her bro- ther. He hated Wilton because he was beloved by Marie, but the young American had escaped irom his hands. “You are not always unhappy, as I am,” said Despard, answering the last remark of Marie. “You do not sit, as I do, through the sad’ night, beside a desolate hearth, upon which the ashes lie, celd as the hopes of my sad heart.” She looked at him in surprise. She had always regarded him as a man devoid of feeling, save his hatred of France. For, though he lived among the French, and had been reared by a French family, he was in reality an Englishman, and hated the French with a fervor which was something won- derful. For years he had remained in Montreal, giving the English spies accurate information respecti:¢ the plans of the French, which information was of great importance to the former in carrying on their campaigns against the latter. “You speak sadly,” she said, noting that his hair was turn- ing gray, although he could not have been more than thirty- five years of age. “I Wish I could say something which would make you less so.” “You can do nothing,” he answered. “ Mine is an abiding sorrow, which will carry me to my grave long’ before the time allotted to man. 1 feel’ that I can not endure this nightly agony for many years. It was that which drove me out into the street to-night, for there I can best’ keep down the tumult which is going on in my heart. It is a terrible thing to sit alone forever, as IT must do. A curse upon France! I hate the country; I hate its laws.” “Why, what evil has she done you ?” “Sach a wrong as I can not name,” said he: “Such a wrong as turns a heart naturally gay to bitterness. One day I may tell you all. But, do not speak of it now. When Wilton comes, I promise to tell my story, and leave you to ‘judge whether I have any cause to love France. When did ‘you last hear from Wilton ?” “From Ticonderoga.” comicbOokSs.cO