Thrice Lost, Thrice Won — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

32 In the Attic, sg your husband, and it’s a wife’s solemn duty to love, honor and obey her husband, if I know anything of my catechism and the marriage service. Come, Mrs. Darrell—come! You must yield, sooner or later—then why not yield at once?” For the third time he approached, and for the third time the girl’s frenzied screams echoed through the house. iven Roysten Darrell drew back, appalled. “The devil’s in it!” he muttered. “Who would think she would raise such a row? I believe in my soul she will go mad if I touch her. Fisher, she splits my ears—make her stop that infernal yelling.” Old Peter Fisher, his little eyes glaring with wrath, pede forward and seized her arm A a vicious grip. “You screaming hyena, if you don’t stop that noise this instant, ’ll choke you! Stop it, I say—stop it! Do you hear? Do you want to drive us deaf, you confounded, cross- grained little wild-cat ?”’ “Save me from that man!’ cee Estella, almost beside ee self; “save me from him, and I will do whatever | you say! Oh, Uncle Fisher, save me—save me! If you let him come - . near me, I shall die!” “Die, then!” exclaimed Wiele Fisher, giving her a vin- dictive shake—“the sooner the better! Of all the plagues of Egypt—of all the plagues that ever were heard of—there never was invented such a plague as girls! Stand there, you. screeching vixen, and listen to me! That man’s your hus- band—do you hear me, mistress? Your -husband—the mas- ter of your destiny—your owner for life. Vm not going to keep another man’s wife here. Drop that howling, and get ready to go with the man you have married.” “T never married him!” Estella wildly cried. “T would have died ten thousand deaths sooner! I thought it was Dick Derwent, and he knows it. I will never go with“him— T will never speak to him as long as he lives! If you let him lav one finger upon me, I will kill myself—I will, Uncle Fisher, and my blood will be on your head!” She ‘spoke and looked like one demented—her face ghastly pale, her eyes starting from their sockets, her brown hair all wild and disheveled about her. The old sinner recoiled, and stood staring at her in dismay. “T really believe you would, you little tigress!” he ex- claimed. “Darrell, what, in the name of all the fiends, ane we to do with this exasperating minx ?”’ Captain Darrell shrugged his broad shoulders, and lounged easily up against the chimney-piece, “She’s excited now, mon ami—she'll think better of it by and by. Didn’t I hear you speak about locking up Miss Mal- lory, upon bread and water, not long ago? ‘Try that cooling comic ReOKS co