Edna Browning; $b or, the Leighton homestead. A novelHolmes, Mary Jane
General
Edna Browning; $b or, the Leighton homestead. A novel
Holmes, Mary Jane
American fiction -- 19th century
“Gone to her room,” was the reply, as had been anticipated, while the
stranger added: “Please hand her this—other bill,” and he held out a
sealed envelope, addressed to Miss Georgie Burton, adding, when the
servant asked if an answer was required: “Not to-night; to-morrow will
do as well.”
The next moment the stranger had disappeared under the dense shadow of
the trees; and the servant was on her way to Georgie’s room.
Georgie was very tired, and had signified to Maude her intention of
retiring early. The arrival of the Slosson bill had retarded her
movements somewhat, and she had just locked her door and let down her
long flowing hair, when a second knock interrupted her, and she looked
out a little impatiently to see what was wanted.
“Another bill, which the man said could wait till to-morrow,” was the
girl’s laconic remark, as she handed her mistress the note, and then
walked away.
“Another bill? I did not know there was another,” Georgie thought, as
she relocked her door, and went back beneath the gas to open the
envelope.
But what was it which made her turn so white, and reel like a drunken
creature, while her heart gave such violent bounds that she felt as if
it were forcing itself into her throat. There could be but one
handwriting like that, and she stood for a moment perfectly rigid, with
her eyes glued to the name, “Miss Georgie Burton;” then with fingers
from which all the blood had receded, leaving no feeling in them, she
tore open her letter and read:
“DEAR LU:
“If you wish to avoid exposure, meet me to-night at twelve o’clock in
the woodbine arbor at the foot of the garden. I have no desire to harm
you, or spoil the fun to-morrow, _but money I must have_, so bring
whatever you have about you, or if your purse chances to be empty, bring
jewelry. I saw you with some superb diamonds on one night at the opera
last winter. Don’t go into hysterics. You’ve nothing to fear from me if
you come down generous and do the fair thing. I reckon you are free from
me, as I’ve been gone more than seven years.
“Yours, H. M.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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