Her Faithful Knight — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

The Wanderer’s Return. 37 Miss Knight was warming to her work. Her pen flew over her paper as she bent over her letter, a smile of amusement hovering about the corners of her mouth, the lamplight falling obliquely under a green shade upon her glossy hair. Lockhart Cottages after midnight were wonderfully quiet, save for nomads of the feline race and the faint rumble of passing vehicles in the main road. The charwoman, the lady who mangled at home, the shoemaker and the chimney sweep inhabiting the mean little terrace opposite were all sleeping off the libations which marked Saturday pay-day. And yet the girl in blue serge, sitting up to write her letter, could not rid herself of the conviction that somewhere near to her some one was feebly calling on her name. Rising suddenly, she went to the hall door and listened. She did not dare to open it, having a great fear of burg- lars, although there was little indeed in the house worth stealing. Hearing nothing, she crept upstairs and lis- tened outside Cresswell’s door to the heavy, regular breathing of the old servant within. Then, reassured by the consciousness of some one within call, she opened the back door and looked out into the garden. Through the broad leaves of the chestnuts she stared up at the moon sailing in a silver sea of cloud; it was a night for tenderness, for lovers’ meetings and faltering love-vows; but this girl with the changing hazel-gray eyes, supple form and shining hair, dared think of none of these things as she gazed into the peaceful sky above - her. Yet a sense of something wanting in her life made her heave a little sigh as she closed and fastened the door before returning to her letter. “T couldn’t very well send him away,” she wrote on, “for he was very kind, and a gentleman. I should like him for a friend, but I suppose that isn’t possible, for on Eomichoo cS (<()