The Argosy, Volume XXIV — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

24 Gabriel’s Appointment. Grace, here, with her sister in the middle of it, is as anxious as any- body—no wonder. Do sit down, and tell us all you know.” ‘Perhaps you would like to read Mr. Bruce’s letter, Miss Kerr > He says you will explain the beginning of it.” * Does he?” and Alice’s cheeks flushed with delight, as she took the letter, and began to read aloud. ‘* Lord Warden Hotel, Dover, April. ‘* Pends-toi, brave Crillon,’ &c. Ask Miss Kerr to tell you the test of the story, my dear Ironhand, and draw the mora] for your- self.” She stopped to look at him with a smile. « Don’t you know the story P” “How should I? It is in some book, I suppose.” “It is told in the history of France that Henri IV. had a brave general, Crillon, and the king wrote to him after a battle that he had only to hang himself, as they had been fighting without him.” “TI see. If hanging myself would make him safe I might be tempted to try. Can you tell me where that story is to be found, Miss Kerr?” “‘T daresay I could find it for you among Miss Strahan’s school books. “I will ask Mrs. Salisbury presently.” ‘Thank you,” said he, simply, as his eyes glanced at the well- filled shelves. ‘I wonder how long it would take to learn as much as you ladies know?” ‘You would not be long in getting to the bottom of my learning, I assure you. One picks up a certain amount of names and dates and odd stories, in a scrambling way—but I do not really know any- thing.” : He smiled—a rare, but pleasant smile, which illuminated his whole countenance. “I was told the other day that to know we know nothing is a sign of wisdom.” ‘But I am not wise enough to say that, exactly. I know some- thing about drawing. Do you ?” ‘Nothing whatever. I know a likeness when I see it.” ‘Then study Miss Strahan’s while I read this letter, for she will be down in a few minutes, and the fire must not be mentioned in her hearing. Anything of the kind excites her too much.” “Poor child!” muttered he, as he turned to Alice’s drawing-board, with the portrait in its half-finished stage—that bewitching period in water-colour drawing, when the imagination fills up what the brush has only suggested. It was already a remarkable likeness, and the strange effect of the old miserly keenness in the youthful face seemed to fascinate him strongly. As he stood musing over it, and the hight which Alice had artistically arranged fell partly on his bent head, partly on the old armour and dark wood-carvings behind him, she could not help thinking what a picture he would make in himself’ COmiclooks.COnn § OOO,