A Heart's Bitterness — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

A HEART’S BITTERNESS, Sanaa ** It was all their talk,” cried Violet, defiantly. <‘Unele Henry was always telling of the dangers of an heiress, and aunt always giving me my way, openly, because of my money. I grew to fear and hate it. I felt like a fine-plumed bird, sure to be shot for its feathers. Wretched little chippy birds are far better off, I think. I hate money.” Tut!’ said Leigh. ‘Come down to real facts, and money is the great solid good, after all. Now you are married, ~ you might as well drop all that nonsense and take things easy, and we'll get on very well. Seems to me you are very much of a child. You lack experience.” He recognized something of her sweet, subtle fascina- tion, but he felt that though grown to woman’s height, she Meg only a child, sweet, but timid, reserved, passionless as ilies are. CHAPTER XI. ‘fOUR LIVES HAVE BEEN RUINED BY A LIB.” After a few days Violet lost her terror lest Keith should come to her again and reproach her, echoing the ceaseless reproaches of her own heart. And, as she neither saw nor heard anything of him, she began to wonder where he was, and if he was very miserable. She thought she would like to ask his pardon, to console him, to touch his hand in kind- ness, and say they would part as friends. There is a beautiful painting, representing a little dain- tily dressed child standing gazing at a mummy case, where- in a dead Pharoah had slept for two thousand years. A ~ similar bringing together of the living and the dead, of the warm life of the nineteenth century, and that which has been death and silence for ages, might have been seen on a June morning in Pere la Chaise cemetery. Violet Leigh was standing beside the great, dark tomb of Abelard and Heloise. Never had Violet looked more girl- ish, more guileless, more sweet, than in that shadow of the tomb of the long dead lovers. Her little hand, in its pale kid glove, rested on the dark ~ stone, her delicate lace hat, with its clustered tea-roses, was bowed near those grim images of death. Nota bird was Eomicbooks. co