Beautiful Rienzi; or, The secret vendetta — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

BEAUTIFUL RIENZI 99 had never seen was fixed by her upward glancing eyes, into solemn, almost wondering joy; and I studied it, even as it was studying my sister’s. It was a pale, high-bred, rather spare face, whose broad forehead caught the silver intensity of the moonbeam, leav- ing the bending eyes and mouth in shadow; those down-drop- ped eyes just touched the eyes of the woman, and seemed to pour the depth of a thousand souls into the glance; they ex- pressed melancholy, yet pride, and the firm mouth had something of a haughty curve, though now joy had swept away every other feeling. For the rest, a slightly aquiline nose, whose tense nostrils denoted more than all the rest, that sensitive pride, which lived though vailed in every feature; dark clustering hair, and a small, jetty mus- tache, which did not disguise the beauty of the short curved lip. | ‘Such was the picture which fate (so we call Providence) persisted in showing to me. Was it a portion of my sister’s past life that I had seen? that hidden life which was sealed in a book of mystery from us? Then who was this man who had told the “old, old tale,” and with such success? Was this ‘“‘I. J?” I should know that face, if ever my eyes encountered it; and I should look to meet that gracious, strong and true face, to the day of my death. | Had this man won her love, then left the flower to wither? I put away the painting, for my father to see it, and re- turned to my patient, my thoughts full of this important discovery. But when I looked at that white, moveless face on the pillow, I felt how vain my plans and dreams were like to be for her. The hours crept on with me, I scarce knew how; the utter silence gradually gave way to sounds in the street, soon fol- lowed by those in the house; steps fell on the stairs and halls, and the usual cleansing operations were guardedly gone through. With a curious intuition of what each sound betokened, I judged of the hours by the voices, without looking at the watch. Thus I inferred that it must be eight o’clock when I heard a startling peal of the door-bell, and the postman was at the door; but sounds followed which puzzled me, and caused me to hover anxiously over Isolina, lest she should be rudely wakened; strange voices and steps, CORNUCG OOO S (©)