The Argosy — page 222: what you’re looking at

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

208 How it Happened. steeple, and yet this stranger was actually addressing me. He spoke in clear and well modulated tones. “I take a great liberty in troubling you thus,” he began. “I believe, however, that you have a regard for that poor young man who has lost the money. My sympathies have been much awakened on his behalf. I would serve him if I could, but I know not how. Perhaps your husband could look after him. He is certainly not in a fit state to be left to himself You may not be aware that he spends the greater part of every night now upon the old bridge.” With a low bow this strange new acquaintance of mine went his way, and from that day to this I have never seen him, to recognise him, again. I hurried home full of renewed anxieties. I was intending to send John off at once in search of our unhappy friend, but when I reached the College I recollected that he was out, and would not be back until very late. He taught a class of young working men one evening in each week, and this night he was thus employed. J thought then of setting forth myself to call at the house occupied by Louis, but when I went indoors first, to inquire for Frances, I found she was worse, and had been asking forme. I could not leave her. Even had I been free the weather would now have interfered to hinder me from going out again. The sky had suddenly become overcast with clouds; rain had already begun to fall, and the wind was rising. There was every appearance of a coming storm. I sat by Frances for an hour. She had been very weak and faint, but I hoped she was now sleeping. Her hand lay quietly in mine, and her eyes were closed. I was suddenly undeceived, however. She looked up and said, “I have been thinking of Mr. Carter. Do you believe that he really cares much for me?” “T know he does,” I answered. And then I told her what he had asked me concerning her at our last meeting. ‘Ts there any news of the lost money yet ?” she inquired, feebly. “There is not,” I said, with a heavy sigh. We were silent for a while, and then she asked me if I would write a note for her. “I don’t think I could manage to do it for myself, now,” she added, looking wistfully at her white, transparent hands. “You may dictate a dozen letters to me to-morrow, if you will, I replied, with rash impulsiveness, ‘but to-night you must sleep.” “‘T cannot rest until this one note is written,” she said, wearily and at last I humoured her, and got writing materials together. Her short epistle ran as follows :— “ Dear Mr. Carter,—I am very ill, but when I get better I hope you will come and see me; and I hope also that next year you will send me another valentine, because I did not know that the one you sent this year was intended for me. comicbooks.com