Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 48: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

300 ers over the Welsh border, dressed in my russet coat and Roundhead accouterments! But the mystery of the other man in Roundhead dress remained. Who was that traitor? Where had he appeared from in that room? I could not make head or tail of him, - except that clearly he was a Royalist spy or some bedyguard of the king, wearing Parliamentary trooper attire to escape no- tice. Thinking preserfffy made my head ache. After a lite while I heard a slight rus- tling in the room and opened my eyes to see Mistress Joyce standing by the couch and looking down into my face with much concern. It occurred to me in that mo- ment that I was forever making demands upon her sympathy. Truly I am not the hero of this chronicle. . Seeing me conscious, she drew up a low stool, sat down beside me, and laid a cool hand on my brow. “ Well, Sir Knight-Errant?” she said with a wan smile. ‘“ You see? I begged you to. forget this house, and—” “ Tell me,” I interrupted. ‘ What hap- pened?” ‘You were shot,” she said quietly; “not seriously, thank God! The bullet only grazed your head, and—” Her eyes filled with a look of horror’s memory. “ What happened to old Falconer?” “Tt struck him. He is dead,” she barely whispered. “Who fired?” She did not answer at once; then, quickly: “What matters that—now? It would not recall poor Falconer to know. And you must not speak overmuch. The fever is still] high.” I lay with closed eyes for a few minutes, slowly turning over the matters in my mind. Presently I said: “Then there were two shots—at least. You could not have fired the ball that struck down Falconer, who was behind you and the king. Yet I thought I saw you shoot.” ‘“‘T do not understand,”’ she said, her eyes wide with wonder. “ But there—do. not speak. The fever has not left you.” “T thought you shot me,” I said. viatized by GOOle ARGOSY- ALLSTORY WEEKLY, She was silent. I opened my eyes and saw her face. It was wrought with amaze- ment and reproach. .‘“T—shoot you?” she said slowly. Then She smiled with a lovely wistfulness and shook her head. ‘‘ No—oh, no.” “Who did?” “T shall go away if you do not keep still,’ she said, laying her other hand on one of mine that lay limply on my breast. “Then I shall even be still,” I said, my senses drifting pleasantly. “Sleep,” she whispered. ‘“ Sleep, Master Brooke—Master Hallam Brooke. The king is gone. He is safe. No harm is done. I know what you strove to effect for my sake. And ’twas your duty also, Master Brooks. I know now. So sleep!.. Between you and me there is no cause for enmity now. So sleep, Master Brooke—Master Hallam Brooke—sleep—sleep—” Her voice, low and crooning, fell upon my senses like balm. -I sank into a con- tented, dreaming muse which was not sleep, rather too sweet for sleep. How long she remained beside me I cannot tell; only that the moment she left me I was. conscious of it. The spell went with her presence, and I was again tortured with half-delirious thoughts about my situation. I had failed in the sense that the king had escaped. I had succeeded in thet I had rid Joyce of his too-gallant presence. But I was left in a sad dilemma myself. The dawn had passed. The sun was up, shining through the little leaded panes where the ivy rustled in the tender June breeze. The camp was long since astir, and Trooper Brooke had not answered at mus- ter-call. I must return at ome. Empty-handed, I would have some difficulty explaining my absence without leave; but return I must ere I was rated deserter, if I was not so posted already. Some luck might enable me to reenter camp unobserved, and I be- lieved that Sergeant Okey and Captain’ Bombard, both of whom had shown them- selves not impartial to me, might deal light- ly with my defection. I might pretend to have fallen from grace and drunk myself senseless in some ale- house. My disheveled looks and broken Origine NCO) 1OO S C@