Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

a ae 9 «a SS .., 4 774 ¥ > * ag aS i Ts » * hy %" ty ~ me a 19 > d ag s ay 5 md ¢ ‘ ‘ . wer >> Ot ad vot ¢: "MOLE © teem A . sh, ii od , . Pas) 4 . nt wl oS ' - ar ee ra ae feo Miss De Montreuil Decides, 105 3 Tt oe thie room, but chill and Ben deets. and lit by a ae A wood fire burned dully on the hearth, a Be threadbare earpet covered the floor, cane-seated chairs stoad BO -primly round the walls, and in the centre of the floor was the — large, old-fashioned four-poster, whereon the sick man lay. _ A patch-work quilt covered it, a round table stood near, . “ ‘strewn with medicine vials, elasses, gruel bowls, and a slip- bed. Altogether, the chamber looked dreary, and comfortless, and eold, and impoverished, and betrayed, in every thread of its worn carpet, in every creaky, time-worn chair, that its 2. — occupant, if a rich man, was a miser. --«-He half-sat up in the bed now, supported by pillows. In the dim light the old face looked gaunt and pinched, with ~ gunken cheeks and hollow eyes. But the hollow eyes burned _- pressed. “So you have come,” he said, fixing those glittering © eyes sharply on the handsome face of his nephew ; “you have come, _ Alwyn Bartram, and in time. You see, the old‘man is down : Br at last, never to rise again. I knew you would be here, and in time for the death!” : a Vet us hope better things, eels ” the young artist said, Se ohtte, bending above him, and taking the cold, limp hand -man yet, and people do not die with every illness. Let us oS ae a few weeks will see you restored again.” 4 = _ “Sit down,” responded Mr. Wylder, harshly, “and don’t be an a hypocrite! : am going to die, and you know it, and you _ wish rtp Alwyn 2 drouncd his. hate: and recoiled as if he 3 gaat : a sit Sa ait eeat* Mr. Wylder said, testily, bu i sane “How touchy the boy is! Like his father . —proud and high-stomached. There! take a seat, -_ and don’ + let a sharp word from the old man mount you on your high horse. If you did wish for my death, it. would be as sothing unnatural—nothing out of the ordinary. course. The a ~ heir’s feet always ‘ache to stand in the dead man’s shoes.” - Uncele > Wylder,” Alwyn said, rather coldly. “Your generous te has amply sufficed for every want, and I am not a nbitions—in =. BB fof at = Live a score iS asi if pery, leathern-covered arm-chair stood beside it, close to the - keenly still, and the thin lips were firmly, obstinately com- ~ had heen cut with a whip. His dark face flushed BPER, angry — _t have never looked forward to your death or your wealth, Tying loosely on the counterpane. “You are far from an old.