The Argosy — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

BY RIGHT OF SWORD, ; 311 with a smile, and speaking as if there was some special significance in the fact, though what it could be I could not even guess, of course. The chief mark was on the lower part of the upper arm, just above the elbow, and when she-had kissed it, and had turned it round so that the front part of the forearm, where the muscles are broadest, was in full view, I felt her start violently, and heard her ome her breath quickly, as if with a gasp of surprise. She stared at it for fully a minute without raising her eyes, her only ges- ture being to pass her fingers across the muscles twice. When she raised her eyes and looked at me, there was an astounding change in her face. She was as white as death, and trembled so violently that even her face quivered, while her eyes were fixed on me with an expres- sion of wildness and mingled emotions such asI could not read or even guess at. ‘Are you ill?’’ I asked. She started again as I spoke, and her lips merely moved very slightly as she moistened them with her tongue. And all the time she kept the same staring, strained, frowning, question- ing look fixed on me. ‘‘ What’s the matter?’’ I cried again. ‘‘ Are you ill?” JI thought she was in for a fit of some kind. But all she did was to-stare with the same indescribable intensity, the heavy brows closing together as the frown deepened on her forehead. ‘“ My God !”’ The exclamation seemed to be wrung from her in pain of thought. She took hold of my arm again and examined the same place once -moré with briefer, but no less fierce scrutiny. Then looking up again into my face she let the arm fall. She then seemed to shrink from me as she drew in one long, deep, shivering breath that sounded between her teeth.. Next she turned away and sat down, pressing both her hands to her face. Kivery vestige of feeling and passion had passed, leaving only the close, concentrated, strained tension. The color had left her cheeks, and the round- ness and beauty of her face appeared to have been transformed in a moment into a veritable presentment of lean, haggard, vigilant doubt. Many minutes passed before either of us spoke. ‘Then she got up and again came quite close to me, and staring right into my eyes, asked in a voice all changed and unmusical—a sort of keen, piercing whisper, that seemed to send a chill through me—while she pointed to my arm: ‘‘ What does it mean? Who are you?” I returned the look steadily, but bit my lip nearly through as I guessed well enough the discovery she had made. I answered lightly : ‘“ Excellently acted. But what is it all about ?”’ ‘Who are you? That’ tells me who you are not.’’ She spoke in the same hard, discordant whisper, and pointed to my arm again. ‘“ Are you mad?’’ I cried sternly. ‘‘ What do you mean by this pre- tense ?”’ Eomichook (S@)