[Waterworks-devel] D stood, her eyes ablaze with fierce, consuming fir

[Cazeault M. <den...@sh...>]

 Hunsden, I dare say," he thought, "proud as
Lucifer, and when he

discovered that about her mother, despised and ill-treated her." The
penitent wife of Captain Hunsden did not long survive to enjoy her
new home.

Two weeks after their arrival she

lay upon her death-bed. Nothing could save her. She had been doomed
for months--life gave way when the excitement that had buoyed her up
was gone. By night and day Harriet watched by her bedside, and the
repentant Magdalen's last hours were

the most blessed she had ever known. "I do not deserve to die like
this," she said. "Oh, my darling, your love makes my death-bed very
sweet!" They laid her in Greenwood, and once more Harriet's
desolation seemed renewed. "I am doomed to lose all I love," she
thought, despairingly--"father, husband, mother--all!" She drooped
day by day, despite the tenderest
care. No smile ever lighted her pale face,
no happy light ever shone from the mournful dark eyes. "Her heart is
broken," said Uncle Hugh; "she will die by inches before our very
eyes!" And Uncle Hugh's prediction
might have
been fulfilled had not a new excitement arisen to stimulate
her to renewed life and send her back to England. CHAPTER XXXIV. MR.
PARMALEE
TURNS UP TRUMPS. Mr. G. W. Parmalee went down to Dobbsville, Maine,
and reposed again in the bosom of his family. He went to work on the
paternal acres

for awhile, gave that

up in disgust, set up once more a picture-gallery, and took the
portraits
of the ladies and gentlemen of Dobbsville at fifty cents a head. Mr.
Parmalee was fast becoming a misanthrope. His speculation had failed,
his love was lost; nothing lay before him but a long and dreary
existence spent in immortalizing in tin-types the belles and beaus of
Dobbsville. Sometimes a fit of penitence overtook him when his
thoughts reverted to the desolate young creature, worse than widowed,
dragging out life in New York. "I'd ought to tell her," Mr. Parmalee
thought. "It ain't right to let her keep on thinking that her husband
murdered her. But then it goes awfully against a feller's grain to
peach on the