The Argosy — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

Margaret's Grave. 59 But then, over and above every bitter feeling was the memory of the light kiss Leslie Russell had left on her lips in greeting. Her heart thrilled as she thought of it; her eyes ran over with tears. For if there was one quality Margaret possessed above all, it was that of tender affection. “No!” she exclaimed. “Mine shall not be the hand to dash down her cup of happiness. If I must live in silence, and carry these secrets to the grave with me, I will not make a hardship of the duty. Still, I think—I think he ought not to deceive her.” And brushing the waves of dark hair back from her brow, she tied on her pretty gypsy hat, and went down stairs and out, to gather her wild flowers. Coming back, she had séen Mr. Ensor. “ Richard ! ” He turned swiftly. “Not here, not now, Margaret. We may be seen from the windows.” “ But, Richard !” she murmured, half under her breath. “Do not speak here, dear Margaret, though I know you have every right. I will meet you early to-morrow morning when you go to the wood to gather your wild flowers. We can talk there without fear of interruption.” She bowed in assent. He opened the gate for her to pass through before him, and lifted his hat. And Leslie, watching from an upper window, had seen all this. A little spasm of jealousy stirred her heart-strings ; a shadow, light as a summer cloud, rested on her brow. “Of course, Richard had to open the gate for her ; he is always a gentleman,” she told herself. ‘“ But—they talked and looked as though they knew each other.” And on that first night, now just past, when Richard Ensor reached his hotel in the town hard by, he began pacing his chamber with restless steps, as though something called him. Curious thoughts were troubling his brain. “ How the old faces come back !—and how false those days were when I told myself I was halfforgetting! Poor Margaret: I am sorry for her; yet I am zof brave enough to tell Leslie the truth |” And flinging up the window, he sat down to think out his puzzle. Thoughts came fast thronging to his brain of the old, happy days in Europe; of these new, still happier days in America; and in all, this new-found happiness he had cherished no remembrance of poor lonely Margaret; no pity for her desolation. Mr. Ensor went forth on the appointed morning to his meeting with Margaret Grey. What passed between them was spoken of by neither. At Mrs, Russell’s there was no token given (that they_ had ever known each other: even Leslie thought she must have been comicbooks.com y