The Argosy — page 313: what you’re looking at

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

Within their Gates. 207 tance: and in sheer distress he applied to David Owen. Mr. Owen demurred at first: he had never been accustomed to anything of the kind. But upon its being suggested to him by the master of the school (who had no accommodation in his own house) that it might prove of benefit to David and Tom to have their tutor in the house, and to be accompanied by him often to and fro, Mr. Owen con- sented. This young man, Alfred Hale, hoped to be a clergyman some time, but he had to work his way on to it. So here he was, living at the farmer's house, almost as one of themselves. The boys did not care for him: they thought him sullen. Certainly he was a very silent, self-contained man. Mary Owen hardly knew whether she liked him or not. She did of like him in the way he would have wished : for it was very evident, at any rate to her, that he had learnt to love her deeply. She was not sure in her own mind that she never should love him: but she never, by word or look, gave him the slightest encouragement to think so. II. The stranger whom David Owen thus received within his doors was not destined to leave them for some time. Fatigue and unwonted exposure had done their work. He tossed through the night aching in every limb and burning with fever, and when morning came was ina condition which made movement impossible. It was evident that he had caught a chill, probably from sleeping on the grass, damp with the night-dews. Ill though he was, however, he was able to prescribe for himself, to refuse peremptorily to see a doctor, and to assure his host —who came in and looked gravely at him—that he should “ pull through” in a few days. These few days proved of considerable duration. He was at no time in a critical condition, but he was certainly very ill, and only the native strength of a good constitution, and perhaps the good nursing and the pure air of the rural spot, brought him safely through the fever which attacked the foundation of life. He gave Mary Owen and Nanny, the old servant, plenty of occupation; and the former plenty of food for thought, too, during the golden days ‘and balmy nights of the two or three weeks following his arrival. Who was he ? —what was he ?—where did he come from? On all these points— even in the delirium which sometimes attacked him—he was mute, and left his entertainers room for the widest possible conjecture. Some- times, when he was not himself, he would seem to be adding up in- cessant columns of figures; and would mutter about bonds, stocks, securities ; so that Mary fancied he must be a banker. But his own words, when he grew better, did not bear this idea out. One day when Mr. Owen was sitting in his room he’ told him his‘ ‘name comicbooks.com