Hetty Wesley

Hetty Wesley

Excerpt:

In the fall Wesley had most of his remaining breath thumped out of him; but this did not matter. He had saved the round.

The old gentleman nodded. "Well recovered: very pretty--very pretty indeed!" He turned to the lady. "I beg your pardon, madam--"

"I beg yours, sir." She withdrew her hand from his arm.

"If he can swallow that down, he may win yet."

"Please God!"

She stood almost a head taller than he, and he gazed up into a singularly noble face, proud and strong, somewhat pinched about the lips, but having such eyes and brows as belong to the few accustomed to confront great thoughts. It gave her the ineffable touch of greatness which more than redeemed her shabby black gown and antique bonnet; and, on an afterthought, the old gentleman decided that it must have been beautiful in its day. Just now it was pale, and one hand clutched the silk shawl crossed upon her bosom. He noted, too, that the hand was shapely, though roughened with housework where the mitten did not hid