The Argosy — page 314: what you’re looking at

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

298 Within their Gates. was Shepard, and that he was travelling through the principality as agent to a mining company. But to this statement Mr. Owen shook his head when alone with his daughter. ‘“He’s a stranger within my gates, and I'll say nothing against him where curious ears can hear, or tattling tongues get hold of it,” he said, “ but I don’t mind telling you, Mary, that I do not believe a word of the account he gives of himself.” “But what do you believe, father?” she answered. ‘ What is it that you think ?” “I don’t know, lass. An instinct lies in my mind that he is not what he makes himself out to be. How is it he never writes to any- body ?—and has no letters?” , “ He has been too ill to write.” “Then he might dictate to us. Anyway, he is my guest, and as such shall be regarded; and I don’t know that anything else matters to us. But as to his being a common agent, travelling about to visit mines, he is nothing of the kind, rely upon it; he is too much of a gentleman for that.” Mr. Shepard gave no fuller account of himself. He only lay quiet and motionless as the fever left him, and the languor of convalescence began to come on—watching Mary with a steady, intent gaze which made her feel uncomfortable, as she brought him his food, or moved about his room. She had been his chief nurse throughout his illness, for her three younger sisters were heedless children, and her mother was dead ; and old Nanny had her house-work to do: but it was only now that he began to appreciate what an excellent nurse she was—so light of step, so deft of touch, so low of voice, so fair and pleasant to look upon. “How can I thank you enough for all that you have done for me?” he said one day, when she sat by him as he eat his dinner. “You have been—you are—so very kind to me.” “You have nothing to thank me for,” answered she, simply. “ You are sick and a stranger—it would be strange if we did not do all that we could for you, Is your dinner what you like? Can I get anything else for you ?” “Tt is excellent,” said he, regarding it with the hungry eyes of a convalescent. “But there is something else you can do for me, if you choose. You can come and sit with me a little while this afternoon. I am horribly lonesome, and these newspapers ”—pointing to some for which he had asked—“ are worse than my own society.” So, later in the afternoon—when she had finished her work, and arrayed herself in a fresh, clean muslin—Mary, with her sewing in her hand, presented herself in the invalid’s room, and sat down to make herself entertaining. This was not very difficult to accomplish, since she had only to answer the questions which her patient: immediately comicbooks.com