The Argosy — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

90° Anne Hereford. ee watch Selina and George Heneage ; there could be little doubt that he car- ried tales of his observation to Mr, Edwin Barley, which only incited Selina to persevere ; the whole thing amused her immensely. What passed between Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Barley in private about it, whether any- thing or nothing, was never known. At the moment of the accident he was exceedingly vexed with her; zacensed may be the proper word. And poor Philip King! Perhaps, after all, his death may have been | a mistake—if it was in truth George Heneage that it proceeded from. Circumstances, as they came out, seemed to say that he had not been ‘‘spying,” but only taking the short cut through the summer-house on his way home from shooting; an unusual route, it’s true, but not an impossible one. Seeing them on the other side when he entered it, he waited until they should proceed onwards; but Mrs. Barley’s sudden run up the steps sent him away. Not that he would avoid them; only make his escape without their’ seeing him, lest he should be accused of the very thing they did accuse him of—spying. But he was too late ; the creaking of the outer door betrayed him. At least this was the opinion taken up by Mr. Martin, later, when Selina told the whole truth to him, under the seal of secrecy. But Mrs. Edwin Barley was kneeling before the fire in the drawing- room, with her dripping hair; and I standing by her, looking on; and that first termble night was not over. ‘¢ Selina, why did you stay out in the wet fog?” ‘*T was looking for him, I tell you.” “But you had nothing on. You might have caught your death, Duff said.” ‘And what if I had?” she sharply interrupted. ‘‘I’d as soon die as live.” ks It was one of her customary random retorts, meaning nothing. Before more was said, strange footsteps and voices were heard on the stairs. Selina started up, and looked at herself in the glass. “TI can’t let them see me like this,” she muttered, clutching her drooping hair. ‘Wait here, Anne.” Darting to the side-door she had spoken of as leading to her bed- room, she pulled it open with a wrench, as if a bolt had given way, and disappeared, leaving me standing on the hearth-rug. — SN a a a a eT eae ET A AN [—— CHAPTER IV. VERY ILL. He who first entered the room was a gentleman of middle age and size. His complexion was healthy and ruddy; his; short, dark hair, sprinkled with gray, was combed down upon the forehead; his coun- tenance was good-natured and simple. This was Mr. Barley of the : conicbooks.co