Penny Dreadfuls, 1899 · page 98 of 295
Lady Evelyn — page 98: what you’re looking at
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OP RA Ua LY ALLEN TOT: aT Wie y ; Rae Pa RTS ir iy OC chy ae We" aH ( ian ye BA P wr ] ay phe ge ‘ ‘@ Je AD shea i <. -gee , TS i ik Ae oe P =, *.’ s , - 7. 2. 5, * rae tS oe el Powe. iy, be ae raehy j aE . = ee tS i ~ - 6a . < % > ¥ Gs a Oe t PS al) sts | ; i . iy e i A >. say ' , ping) grace all her own, the princely head haughtily upheld, a “queen of noble nature’s crowning.” “Confound the fellow!’ muttered the white-haired old © general; “he’s as obstinate as a pig and as stiff-necked as a Jew! If I thought this flying trip to France was only a ruse But no; I saw the telegram, and I know that Beauchamp’s been at death’s door for years.” It was no ruse; Vivian had really been sent for to Paris by a dying friend, and had really gone. ~ “Thank Heaven! I can dodge the yoke matrimonial without offending the governor,’ he thought, as. the “resonant steam eagle’ flew with him far from Royal Rest: “The Rose of Castile is a gorgeous flower, no doubt, but if one must pay for the plucking by life-long . slavery, why, the gorgeous Castilian Rose may pine on the stem until doomsday for me. No, my worthy parent. - When my fiftieth birthday and the gout set in, I may turn my thoughts hymeneal-ward. Sooner than that— excuse me!” The friend, Beauchamp, an English artist resident. in Paris, was very near his end when Vivian reached the modern Lutetia. He found him watched over by a hired nurse and a little, pale-faced daughter of nine or ten. “It is on her account I have sent for you, Vivian,” he said, grasping his friend’s hand and looking imploringly in his face with hollow, haggard eyes. “When I go she will be entirely alone in-the world. Vivian, by the mem- ory of our school-boy days, of our old, tried friendship, you will be her guardian, will you not? Take her from Paris; give her some quiet English home. I have but little to leave her, but that little will suffice until she is a woman, and some good man makes her his wife.” And Vivian Trevannance, to whom man, woman, or child never pleaded in vain, wrung his friend’s hand and promised. | “Her home shall be at Royal Rest,” he said; “her future shall be my care. Have no fears for her, dear old boy. Marian shall be my daughter.” - And the dying artist had gone out of life, his last words a “God bless you!” for his friend; and Vivian Trevan- nance, though he utterly repudiated a wife, found himself, willy-nilly saddled with a daughter—a pallid, desolate lit- Rather Romantic. = or tle sprite, wan and bloodless as a shadow, He wrote a MER SO ET Ee ha an Ne he a COTLG DOOKS 4 ‘ =) A : : - : - -” i ~ = 8 “4 , ; “ . tet a a." 4% pre tay ix “ a, ’ +9 «: ibe go SP ‘~e 7’ i Per aa AA P , » ; Aire ert **. 4 4. a oe ae, ah ee. “ i 7 . A oS J “ » a 8 wey .cO = Pare ey PG Par S » Tee oes 4k ted Tih CS