Octavia's Pride; or, The Missing Witness — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

OCTAVIA’S PRIDE. 59 The high wall was flanked by rows of alternating English oaks and Cape pines on either side. The rear of the little square was formed by the house walls, on which ivy and training vines festooned a graceful curtain, and in front opened a fair prospect of dimpling water, with glimpses of sail and steamer flitting across the cove toward the great wharf on the other side. In the garden, commanding the best view of the cove, was an arbor, in which was set a tiny table and a single chair. Here Doctor Morley always found, on his return from the hospital rounds, a tray, with a steam- ing cup of fragrant coifee, and a plate of some little deli- cacy, now of ,one sort and again of another, according as his housekeeper had opportunity to prepare, and always on the table was a little wicker-basket containing the day’s mail, The housekeeper was this same quiet-eyed, healthful-faced young woman, Jane West by name—Jenny Wren, as the doctor called her—the nearest approach to a Jest that he was guilty of. Doctor Morley had neither wife nor daughter, mother nor sister. Jane West was his only female friend, for she was a friend, although she filled also a servant’s place. No other being in the wide world knew so much of Doctor Morley’s inner life, his true nature. With the subtle keenness of deep affection, Jane West could tell his moods by a single glance at his face. ‘T'o say that she loved her master, would but inadequately express the passionate devotion and rev- erence with which she looked upon him. ‘The very ground he trod, the merest trifle his hand touched, became hallowed in her eyes: and to insinuate that any other being in the wide world approached him in wisdom, professional attain- ment, or heroic self-abnegation, would have been sacrilege to the young woman’s creed. And yet Jenny Wren did not gain her name from any likeness to the thoughtless sportive- ness of the songster. If ever there was a sensible, matter- comicbooks 7 A ea fi, Abed Nl , PSO Ape ae a ef 7 . 7,