Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

On Christmas Eve. an 131 ~ BD hopolcees but her heart was not quite broken, cai b ly never would be. 1e could sing still—one can hope so inchs from young _-:persons of sixteen. Helen was ill—an attack of nervous y | ead: ache that kept her confined to her room. ie: . Bartram was finishing his Christmas picture—a little 4 German scene of Kriss Kringle—a pot-boiler, such as he had to pane and sell now to appease his relentless creditors. _~ Norah, down in the kitchen, was immersed in her turkeys, ia mince pies, and plum pudding. ee te The day went—the day whose one event was to alter the pee whole future lives of Alwyn and Estella. | i Ba That event was the coming of the postman. It was already — é = ark—the short December day—when the sharp ring echoed — | Baling the house. Estella ran to the door. There were a half a dozen letters for Alwyn Bartram. Her light tap made- the artist drop his brush and open the door. How pretty she looked! His lamp was lit, and in its glow i he eould see the flushed cheeks, the sparkling eyes, the srt : i ing lips. How pretty she was! His artist’s eye lighted as he saw her. ) V Pie be os “Letters for you, Mr. Bartram.” : na oe She dropped them 1 in his extended hand, and was gone. The young man’s face darkened into an. impatient frown. Letters of late had been one of the most annoying events of ae his existence. _ “More duns,” he thought, angrily. “The harpies will have — e thei pound of flesh, do what I may. I. work like a galley- ie lave, but-I can not appease them.” ~- eek . He tore open the buff envelopes. Yes, duns—duns pathetic, ki juns eloquent, duns vituperative—five of them! eer To make the matter worse, they were debts contracted for faithless Leonie—the jeweler, the florist, the. bookseller, ete, He set his teeth hard, and flung them one by one into the fire. a “ . The sixth was ‘different—a gossiping letter from an artist > riend. He took it up with sullen indifference, but soon he 4 os pecame absorbed heart and soul. | “There is little news,” wrote his friend. “The city is quiet. ahs The festive season drags on slowly enough. The one event of - interest in our circle is the return of your old flame, the bril- hike Sent Leonie. I met them—Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford—last Me x ight, at the Lessom’s, and she was too beautiful and too magnificent to tell. ‘Some one spoke of you—mentioned you - d gone heiress-hunting to the Hub, now that Unele Wylder had evryritn you, and said we might look for a Mrs. Bartram— a t hree-bullion heiress—upon your return. You should have ‘ seen little Leonie’s insolent smile, the triumphant light in aud ag Me ie eke oN yes, as she slowly lisped: TRS YD D4 ON te Sach com C 900 (S.GO