The Argosy — page 316: what you’re looking at

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

300 Within their Gates. ‘But the property does not belong to him if somebody else comes forward and proves that it is theirs,” said Mary,demurely. ‘“ Some- body else may claim you. Perhaps if I looked in those newspapers there, I might find you advertised as strayed, missing, or stolen.” Never was a shaft more randomly sent; never did one strike home with more telling effect. Though the soi-disant mining agent had himself under tolerable control, his change of countenance at those words fairly startled Mary. As he knew very well, he was sof adver- tised in any of those papers, but still the allusion —— “I beg your pardon,” faltered the girl, who had spoken in mere sportive lightness. ‘I did not intend ——” He interrupted her with a slight laugh, though his face—even to the lips—was still curiously white. “It is I who should apologise,” he said. “ Your words made me realise, and rather painfully, that there is nobody in the world who cares whether I am dead or alive.” ‘Surely you must be mistaken,” said Mary, sympathetically. The handsome dark eyes looking at her began to touch her fancy— a thing easily touched at twenty, and which many a woman takes for her heart, to the ruin and misery of her life. But—was it quite sure that Mary's fancy had not been touched by this good-looking patient of hers before ? The pale lips curved into a smile, more significant than words, at her remark. “(I am not mistaken with regard to my friends,” said Mr. Shepard. ‘It is likely, however, that I may have a few enemies who are kind enough to take an interest in my affairs, and—my move- ments.” It is probable that the words were spoken recklessly—heedlessly. And, as if to cover the indiscretion, he changed the topic. “This Mr. Hale?—is he what people call a gentleman? Young fellows well-born take situations in schools sometimes.” “I don’t know that he is particularly well-born,” replied Mary. “He is to be a clergyman eventually.” “ He is poor, no doubt?” “ At present—yes.” Mary Owen remembered that incautious admission of the stranger, and pondered upon it. Had it any foundation, she secretly asked herself. Her interest in him, naturally enough, waxed greater from the mystery which surrounded him. He was far above the level of any of the men whom she had ever known, and yet he was thrown upon her father’s hospitality like the merest strolling vagabond. If, as her father had remarked, he had only had friends to inquire after him, or to write to! What to make of it puzzled her exceedingly, and she con- sidered the problem more than was good for her, and shook her pretty head over it. Other people shook their heads over it, too—to themselves + - her comicbooks.com