Lady Evelyn — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

Pty s ¥ "9 a FS uu ds va Annes ans Ve oat * * * — 94 ; “The Crime of Cal ce qe that—and ne sprang erect and stood with the look in eyes } of a hunted stag at bay. “They shall never take me alive!’ he thought. ) The next instant he had sprung forward, with a word- less cry of delight, and grasped his kinsman’s hand. | “Gerald!” he cried, “who would have looked for such good fortune as this: ” “Ah! who, indeed?’ Gerald answered, with a bitter sneer. “The proverbial luck of the Desmonds has not } ‘deserted the last son of the house, I see. And so, Lord Rory, you have escaped Jack Ketch ?” “Gerald!” Only that one word. But he dropped the hand he had taken, and recoiled, and stood blankly staring. There was — that in the tone, that in the words, that in the devilish smile of the man before him, no one could see and doubt. — Gerald Desmond laughed aloud—a hard, bitter, sar- donic laugh. His falcon eye had measured the narrow margin on which they stood, and the black, boiling gulf yawning deadly below. He folded his arms, and looked with that diabolical sneer full in the pale, startled face of — the kinsman he hated. “My brilliant Rory! my beauteous Rory! how is it with you now? A condemned felon—a fugitive from justice—a hunted murderer! Why, your worst enemy might afford to pity you to-day! Do you hear, my kingly cousin! To pity you, as—I do!” “Gerald! he could just utter that one word, so intense was the shock, the wonder, the incredulity, “What is — this? Is it you or I that is going mad?” “Neither, my princely Rory; it is only that you are learning the truth at the eleventh hour; that I hate you!” “Hate me? You, Gerald—imy friend—my kinsman— my brother!” He paused, but the steadfast blue eyes that looked at him with such unutterable reproach stung to madness the last remnant of honor in the traitor’s breast. “Curse you!’’ he hissed, “with your woman’s face and your golden hair! What right had you to be born Lord of Clontarf instead of me? ‘The “same blood flows in oe our veins, and I’m the better man, by heaven, than you! : What right had you to be born with this glorious dower n caressed since a a ena ae has ict yous be PUN a d nicbook nee t i ab me Ty, + 7h Ma ewe Lie, Ce ns any ToS Ay Prius aay ‘ f eae, og ‘One 7 * Sie nl) ne) ee? Py ey ; ‘ : -* Pa os | T Ri" a ye ee PO ie Sao lie Pete er OT Die Et aS Oe | cpa he oa At PS nam oe we’ a . SY ri mae