The Argosy — page 310: what you’re looking at

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

204 Within their Gates. “To Craig’s Point—a long way off.” ‘ And that one?” “Will take you to the foot of the mountains, if you've a mind to go that way.” And this?” “To the nearest market town. It’s nine miles away.” The traveller looked down at his boots—thinking, perhaps, of the weary feet within them. Then he glanced at the fading glow on the western sky, and finally spoke abruptly : “‘Is there any house of entertainment near here where I could obtain food and shelter for the night ?” “There’s no regular house of entertainment nearer than the market town,” answered the farmer. The girl beside him gave his arm a slight touch at this juncture, but obtained no response of any kind. The arm remained stolidly unmoved, and the keen grey eyes remained fastened on the overcast face of the pedestrian. “Then I must try my luck across country—that’s all,” said the latter, stooping for his hat. ‘I am obliged for your information,” he added, after he had recovered’ this article, “and I am sorry to have detained you. I daresay I shall find some farmhouse or cottage homestead to take me in. Good evening.” “Stop a minute,” said the farmer, quietly, and with the deliberate ’ air of a man to whom time is of very small importance. “If you have no objection to mention your name and your occupation, I will offer you a night’s lodging in my house. It is near at hand; and you might, perhaps, go farther and fare worse.” “T prefer to go farther and fare worse, then,” answered the young man, haughtily. “TI give no account of myself at any man’s bidding ; and, with thanks for your offer, I have the honour to wish you again good evening.” He bowed as he spoke—it is doubtful whether honest David Owen ever received so superb a salutation before—and turning, strode quickly down one of the roads which lay before him, his agile, nervous figure passing soon out of sight in the blue shades of the gathering twilight. The two in the gig looked mutely after him, and a minute at least elapsed before either of them spoke. It was the girl: and her tone had an unconscious reproach in it, “Dear father, how could you!” . “You're a fool, Mary!” returned her father—not roughly, but good-naturedly. “I knew what you meant by your pushing and pinching my arm; but I suspected him somehow.” * Suspected what Pe “T don’t know. He’d not have been so peppery had. all. been comicbooks.com