The Argosy — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

THE ARcosy. Anne Hereford. 97 many folds, raised across the hall, shutting out part of it from view. It seemed to strike me back with fear. Sarah was coming out of the dining-room with a duster in her hand. I caught hold of her gown. ‘‘ Sarah, what is behind there ?” ‘The same that was last night, miss,” she answered. ‘ Nothing is to be moved until the coroner has come.” ‘“‘ Have they taken Mr. Heneage?” ‘“‘ Not that I have heard of, miss. One of the police was in just now, and he told Miss Delves there was no news.” ‘T want to find Miss Delves. Where is she ?” ‘‘In master’s study. You can go in. Don’t you know which it is? It’s that room built out at the back, half-way up the first flight of stairs. You can see the door from here.” . In the study sat Mr. Barley and Mr. Edwin Barley at breakfast, Charlotte Delves serving them. I gave her my aunt’s message, but was nearly scared out of my senses at being laid hold of by Mr. Edwin Barley. ‘‘Go up at once, Charlotte, and see what it 1s,” he said. ‘ How do you say, little one—that her throat 1s bad ?” : “Yes, sir; she cannot speak well.” “No wonder; she has only herself to thank,” he muttered, as Charlotte Delves left the room. ‘The wonder would be if she were not ll.” “Why?” asked Mr. Barley, curiously, lifting his head. ‘Oh, she got frightened last night when poor Philip was brought in, and ran out in the fog after me with nothing on.” He released my arm, and Mr. Barley put a chair for me beside him, and gave me some breakfast. I had taken quite a liking to him, he was ' so simple and kind. He told me he had no little girls of his own, and his wife was always ill, unable to go out. ‘““Mrs. Edwin Barley appears exceedingly poorly,” said Charlotte Delves, when she returned. ‘Lowe said he should be here this mom- ing ; he shall see her when he comes. She must have taken cold.” Scarcely had she spoken when the surgeon arrived. Mr. Edwin Barley went up-stairs with him. Mr. Lowe came down alone, and I caught a moment to speak to him when no one was listening. “Will my aunt Selina get well, sir?” “I do not know, my dear,” he answered, turning upon me his grave face. ‘‘I fear she is going to be very ill.” Sunday passed and Monday came. Nothing could be heard of George Heneage. The police scoured the country; handbills were printed, offering a reward for his apprehension ; no effort was left untned, but he was not found. Opinions were freely bandied about: some said he must have escaped in the fog, and got off by the railway from Nettleby, or by the other line beyond Hallam ; others thought he was lying con- I GOHRMGIOO <S GO) e