Beautiful Rienzi; or, The secret vendetta — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

160 BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. | A woman had flitted cautiously out from the station. She stumbled over the ill-laid platform and dashed aside her thick crape vail. One moment the colorless face was turned to me, with a red glow of the vanished sun painting an unearthly scarlet upon, and streaming into two flaring, red-brown orbs. I have said I should know that face among a thousand; I looked upon it now. ‘‘Good Heaven!” muttered Ernest, throwing his arm around me, ‘‘how ghostly you are! Lean on me, and I will take you home.” | “Oh, don’t let her see me,” I moaned with chattering teeth; ‘‘ keep between us—oh, come away.” “What, that lady? She cannot harm you! Don’t be afraid.” We hastened on a few paces, I clinging to his arm, and scarcely able to pick my steps. Oh, what cruel fate had sent me here to face my enemy? But [rallied my senses with a mighty effort. ‘*Where is she, Ernest?” I asked. ‘‘'Thelady who came out of the station? She is ascending the steps of the hotel, and a man has just carried some lug- gage into the house.” I turned quickly. The woman was facing on the top steps of the balcony, a white hand shielding her eyes from the western light; again that female form struck horror to my heart; again I gasped convulsively, and my face grew white and hard. When we gained the beach-road which led up to Sil- verlea, and when the village was quite hidden behind the fir-trees, Ernest. seated me on a stone by the road-side, and stood before me with my hands gathered firmly in his. ‘““My love,” he said, gravely, ‘‘Icannot tell how your strange conduct through all this walk has alarmed me. Will you not explain 1t?” “Qh, Heaven! what shall I say?” I cried, bursting into hysterical tears; ‘‘ where shall I begin this dreadful story? It bristles with horror. That woman has found us. Alas, she is our enemy.” ‘‘My beloved girl, what is this?” said my lover, pressing me fondly in his arms. ‘“‘ You cannot mean that that per- son is Mrs. Beaumont, whom your father is in search of!” I hung on his breast speechless for a while; my self-mas- COMICOOO S (©)