Pierre knew him on sight.
With heart beating wildly, he remained a silent witness of the scene that ensued.
At first it beat bitterly, as he marked and misinterpreted the complaisant look with which Lena regarded his rival.
Ere long came a delightful change, as he listened to the dialogue—plainly overheard where he stood—and, when he heard the final speech, and saw the discomfited lover stride off towards the gate, he could scarce restrain himself from a shout of joy.
He was fain to have sprung across the creek, and once more enfolded that fair form in his passionate embrace. But he saw that mischief might spring from such imprudence; and, turning from the spot, he walked silently away—his heart now swelling with triumph, now subsiding into sweet contentment.
Story 1--Chapter XIX.
A Conclave of Scoundrels.
There was a time when “Slaughter’s Hotel” was the first and only house of its kind in the town of Helena. That was when Slaughter, senior, presided over its destinies. Now that he was no more, and his son walked rather slipshod in his shoes, it had sunk into a second-rate place of entertainment—an establishment more respectable, or, at all events, more pretentious, having swung out its sign.