Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 253: what you’re looking at

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

248 “Post Tenebras Lux!” we may meet and laugh over our old folly. Cue faicds may — be silvered, our faces withered and old, but the time will : come.’ a “The time will never come.” He lifted his head, and his : strong, dark eyes met hers full and clear. “Never, and you ~ know it! I will do my duty by my wife, but you IT will never — forget! But with you it is different—young, and beautiful, ~ and free, the image of the man who so wretchedly lost you ~ need not blight your life. We may meet when you are a ~ happy wife—not. before.” “Then we will never meet,” she answered, quietly. “I am a De Montreuil, and I keep my word. Good- by, Alwyn Bar- tram,” she held out her white hand, “and forever! You go to Italy—I to France. We may never cross each other’s paths again; but let us remember there is still another land where all may meet, and where partings come no more. There, mon ami,” the white hand pointed upward, “is the true patrie. F arewell !” * ; She stopped, kissed Aes hand that lay cold and still in — hers, and flitted from the room. s A subtle odor of perfume lingering behind—the echo of ‘ the softest, sweetest voice woman ever owned—was all that ~ remained to him of the peerless Estelle. ; _ He stood still—motionless as the marble against which he 4 leaned—-his face bowed upon his arm. Very mournfully — fioated in the words of Leonie’s song: “Love not! love not!” ¥ Oh, warning vainly said! The silvery moonlight streamed ~ between the parted curtains—ethe house was very still. The — song Mrs. Rutherford plaintively sang was the only sound to disturb Alwyn Bartram. He stood there mute, motion- less ; and if ever human suffering atoned for human sin, then he, Estella’s husband, in that hour of supreme despair, had redeemed the pe. | i eee, CHAPTER XXXT1. “POST TENEBRAS Lux!” eee “Late in the afternoon of the second day, a carriage drew up before that shabby tenement house, where carriages were a dream and a myth, and Mr. Bartram sprang out. a “He ran up the stairs, and rapped at the door of his wife’s — room. There was no response. He rapped again—still si- @ lence. He turned the handle; the door was locked. ae “The lady’s gone.”’ i Tt was the voice of the woman who before had admitted ~ him. She came to the head of the stairs, and peered at him ~ curiously, ie ‘comicbooks.com |