The Argosy — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

60 Margaret's Grave. mistaken. And in a day or two’s time Margaret Grey showed an invitation that some friends had sent her, and went away again. “It was no loss,” said Mrs. Russell, “for she was sad enough to throw a gloom on the house.” And Richard Ensor married Miss Russell, and took her to his own home in England. It was at Guerre, a quaint little town in the south of France. Mr. and Mrs. Ensor, husband and wife for twelve months now, had halted at it. Fatigued with the London season, distracted with gaiety, they had gone forth on the continent, which he seemed to know so well, and travelled slowly and easily from place to place, just as whim or will prompted. They had not meant to stay at Guerre; it was but a stupid place at the best, Mr. Ensor told his wife; he had passed a short time at it once; but the breaking down of their travelling carriage compelled a halt at it. They did not favour the noisy and bustling railways, rather preferring to take their wanderings easily. Mr. Ensor, who appeared to chafe unaccountably at the delay, went to see after the damaged carriage, as soon as he had deposited his wife safely at the inn; a rural domicile, just outside the town, and standing in the midst of a lovely garden and still more lovely scenery. It turned out that the carriage had been damaged more than was supposed; two days would not more than suffice to mend it. “What a fool I was to shape our course through Guerre !” mentally uttered Mr. Ensor. ‘ And why did I? Only through some absurdly romantic wish of catching a glimpse of the old place again. But I meant to drive straight through it: not to stop. One would think Fate was at work. Fool, fool!” His wife meanwhile was standing on the balcony of their bedroom at the Pomme d’Or—as the inn was somewhat fancifully styled— gazing at the enchanting scenery, and listening for the return of her husband. He came in with a somewhat weary step and joined her on the balcony. She nestled close to him, leaning her pretty face upon his breast. “No one can disturb us now, Richard,” she said. ‘No balls, or dinners, or tiresome visitors are here. I could fancy that we were alone in the world. See how those beautiful vines shut us in, and surround us with a fragrance that is like a breath of Paradise.” In good truth they did seem alone as they stood. The clustering vines trailed thickly around the trellis-work of the balcony, shutting them in from the outer world. “The fellow says he cannot get the carriage done under two days,” cried Mr. Ensor, turning from the poetical to the practical. “ What on earth we shall do, I can’t tell.” : comliichooks.com