A Silver Brand — page 223: what you’re looking at

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

A SILVER BRAND. | O15 Serena. “Lina, dear, we will try to reconcile ourselves to the circumstances. My worst fears are quieted. We shall not be molested, only confined hére to await the ran- som he expects for you.” “Now that’s asensible girl!” cried Robinson, admir- ingly ; ; just take her advice, my little heiress, and you may have a nice little time here.” “And this gentleman,” said Serena, suddenly. “This noble innocent man who came to rescue two unknown women in their trouble, what is to be done with him ?” “Confound his interference,” growled Jack. “I wish bad enough that he had kept away. Is he dead yet?” “No,” answered Serena, gently; ‘‘and if you want to save your soul from the dreadful remorse such a crime must bring to it, dne time or another, you will let me nurse him back to life, however long’ it may take. He will be likely to have a brain-fever, will be helpless and unconscious many days, but perhaps his life may be spared.” Robinson stood in silence for a few moments, looking down upon the motionless figure in uncertainty and per- plexity. “Tt’s acursed pity he meddled. It’s a chap that was ~ getting birds stuffed at that Nat’s. I wonder if there’ll be a hue and cry over him, too?” “Let me take care of him. You will never be sorry for it,” persuaded Serena. |. °* He looked up at the clear, innocent, steady athe and smiled. “Vou’re a brave girl, and a good one. Ill give you “credit for that. Yes, you shall have your way about it. Mike shall bring a cot-bed in here, and there’s a few fix- ings in the closet. You’re welcome to anything you find. There’s an old medicine chest that came out of the schooner somewhere in the closet.” And then he shuffled off out-of the room, drawing his sleeve across his eye ‘while he muttered : “What in the world ails me? There’s something about her that makes me think of my little sister that went among the angels, if ever anybody did. It won’t do for me to let her talk tome much. She’ll coax everything out of me. And she makes me feel as if—as if—there wasn’t a spot in my soul clean enough for her to touch her white finger-tip to. Blastit! what a soft old fool I am. I’d rather she’d spit and fire up like a young kitten, as the t?other one does, What in the world should set me to comicbooks (Ele)