Summary

Portrait of T. S. Arthur T. S. Arthur The Allen House; Or, Twenty Years Ago and Now

It was no matter of wonder to me, as I said before, that Henry Wallingford should fall in love with Delia Floyd. But I did wonder, most profoundly, when I became fully assured, that she had, for a mere flash man, such as Ralph Dewey seemed to me, turned herself away from Henry Wallingford.
But women are enigmas to most of us—I don't include you, dear Constance!—and every now and then puzzle us by acts so strangely out of keeping with all that we had predicated of them, as to leave no explanation within our reach, save that of evil fascination, or temporary loss of reason.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of T. S. Arthur T. S. Arthur The Allen House; Or, Twenty Years Ago and Now

Death is not the crowning evil of our lives; but the door through which we pass, tranquilly, into that eternal world, which is our destined home. I hold in my thought a different picture of Death from that which affrighted me in childhood. The form is one of angelic beauty, and the countenance full of love. I know, that when I pass along the dark and narrow way that leads from this outer world of nature, to the inner world from which it has existence, that my hand will rest firmly in that of an angel, commissioned of God to guide my peaceful footsteps.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of T. S. Arthur T. S. Arthur The Allen House; Or, Twenty Years Ago and Now

The daughter looked at us steadily from her calm blue eyes, in which you saw a shade of sadness, as though already many hopes had failed. Her face was pale and placid, but touched you with its expression of half-concealed suffering, as if, young as she was, some lessons of pain and endurance had already been learned.
“Who are they?” asked Mrs. Wallingford.
Delia Floyd and her daughter,” said I.
No remark was made. If my ears did not deceive me, I heard a faint sigh pass the lips of Mr. Wallingford.
Source: Gutenberg

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