The Argosy — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

Margaret's Grave. 63 straight to the cemetery with the violets. He was buying the roses at first, but he saw the violets accidentally, and I told him we kept them for the dear ones who were gone to be with the angels. He would buy some too, he said: and he put down the roses for the violets, and left a twenty-sous piece in my basket, never waiting for the change.” “Very odd,” thought Leslie. ‘“ Perhaps the coach-mender lives that way. I will take the roses, my child, she said, and I will give you a franc too.” The little girl’s eyes filled with tears. She had a sick mother; and she said—and felt—that the Bon Dieu must have sent this generous lady and gentleman in her way. Leslie stepped on to the side road which her husband had taken, and found that it led to the cemetery. But it seemed to lead to nothing else: no houses stood there, not even the coach-mender’s shed ; it was a long, straight road, with tall poplar trees growing on either side. Mr. Ensor was evidently bound for the cemetery; he was walking on quickly, and Leslie could but just discern him in the distance. She followed quickly also, in some curiosity. A quarter of an hour brought her to the graveyard; a sheltered spot, where the grass was green. It was very lonely, seeming to be filled solely with the graves of the dead, and the clustering shrubs and the trees that watched over them. Not a sign could Leslie see of any living person ; not even of her husband. All in a minute she saw him at a far-off grave ina corner. He had his back to her, and was standing bareheaded and quite silent, his face bent a little, as though he were praying. Leslie halted in very astonishment, and stood where she was. Suddenly his head was lifted. He undid the bunch of violets in his hand, and scattered them on the marble slab ; and then he was still again, his head bent. What feeling it was that induced Mrs. Ensor to step behind a high tombstone while he passed her, down the path, after quitting the grave, she could not have told. Some subtle instinct possibly. At any rate, it was what she did. And when Mr. Ensor was fairly launched on the highway between the poplars on his way back to Guerre, she walked up to look at the tomb and the scattered violets, and to read its inscription :— ** Sacred to the Memory of MARGARET VIOLA, the beloved Wife of RICHARD ENsor. Age 18.” To say that the present wife of Richard Ensor did not for a few moments credit her sight or her senses, that she was more bewildered than she had ever been in her whole life before, would be saying little. Staggering back against an opposite tombstone, Leslie strove to collect herself. | comicbooks.com =