Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

| I will only line t6 pete your every ge wi slave, your worshiper—my gold shall flow like water a bidding. Only say you will be my wife!” — SS ae His hot breath was on her cheek—his hateful | ac 5 touched her own. Leonie De Montreuil turned for ar SO tenis sick with ahs that her. pa ae ‘eet : = M ° > * . A & ere ~h a x > re & A iran fa evades | Aa PS “Sneak !””? the old man cea. dics one may y come. - Speaks | and tell me you consent. Promise to bemy wife” =~ — ; Some one was coming—Mrs, Manners. — Leonie found her g voice by an effort. | “You are very good,” she repeated, shebaltes coe a little as she said it, “and I promise. I with Kd Ieee wife.” eens " et? sn eV, & « . gee d ae —« . ry % . vi o, a ea OS Ne Sak PT Rp: | Q ; 3 ; | a : | 4 — iat a* 4 a ‘ a . £ As: ~ ‘ os a wg ~~ : “- ; dio 42 ss a . eievinne’* ¢ :*. = on . - coy . ° itt = * a ? ey Fram mare ake 5) ) > Saas ‘ Ve ne “ ay $F a My 5 om “OH, _MY Amy! MINE NO. MORE! BNR © ee ah a J Ce A sunless and gusty November day late i uy thé AeA the 4 dead leaves whirling in wild drifts before the chill wind, a threatening of snow in the leaden air. <A dull and cheerless _ November afternoon, the black sky, low-lying, a wail of -com- - a ing winter ‘in the sobbing blast, tearing through the trees. And on this desolate autumn alterna: all that. ‘was. mortal 2 : of Mr. Wylder, the wealthy stock- broker, was: laid ane its native clay. | sa a “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!”. The sleadpnian's teeth | chattered in his head as he rattled over the burial service, | and the group gathered around the grave, whilst the ‘sods clattered down, shivered in their great-coats. There were not many mourners—the miserly stock-broker had made but few — friends. Foremost among those few stood the dead man’s © nephew—the rejected heir, his handsome face very, pale and * grave, the wind blowing back his dark hair as he stood hats in hand. Disinherited.as he was, he was yet generous enough to be sincerely sorry for the old man, his sole living seul reed 4 and hitherto his kindest friend. “ Me hs See The funeral over, Mr. Bartram inte no. longer delay 3 in the Southern city. There was nothing now to detain him there, ‘ and he was feverishly impatient to get back to New Y ork, t to Jove, to Leonie. He had heard from her but once—the brief- ins est of brief notes, in answer to that first impassioned mage She was sorry for his ill-fortune; she hoped his bright a of future et a might be realized j ‘there wa ope dd fo 8 nele 7