The Argosy — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

82 Anne Hereford. em ARCOSY. Even as Duff spoke, sounds of the approach stole on the air from the distance—the measured tread of feet that bear a burden. It came nearer and nearer; and Philip King, or what was left of him, was laid on the large table in the hall. As is the case in some country houses, the hall was furnished like a plain room. Duff, making ready, had pushed the table close to the window, between the wall and the en- trance-door, shutting me into a corner. I sank down on the matting, not daring to move. ‘Light the lamp,” said Mr. Edwin Barley. The news had spread; the servants crowded in; some of the women began to shriek. It became one indescribable scene of confusion, ex- clamations, and alarm. Mr. Edwin Barley turned round, in anger. ‘* Clear out, all of you!” he said, roughly. ‘“‘ What do you mean by making this uproar? You men can stay in the bam: you may be . wanted,” he added, to the out-door labourers. They crowded out at the hall-door; the servants disappeared through the opposite one. Mr. Edwin Barley was one who brooked no delay 1 in being obeyed. Miss Delves remained, and she drew near. ‘“‘ How did it happen?” she asked, in a low voice, that did not sound much like hers. ‘“‘Get me some brandy, and a tea-spoon!” was Mr. Edwin Barley’s rejoinder. ‘‘ He 1s certainly dead, as I believe; but we must try resto- ratives, for all that. Make haste ; bring it in a wine-glass.” She ran into the dining-room, and in the same moment Mrs. Edwin Barley came lightly down the stairs. She had on her dinner-dress, black silk trimmed with crape, but no ornaments, and her lovely light hair was hanging down. The noise, as it appeared, had disturbed her in the midst of dressing. ‘‘ What is all this disturbance?” she began, as she tripped across the ‘ hall, and it was the first intimation Mr. Edwin Barley had of her pre- sence. He might have arrested her, had there been time; but she was bending over the table too soon. Believing, as she said afterwards, that it was a load of game lying there, it must have been a great shock ; the grey-and-brown woollen plaid they had flung over him, from the neck downwards, looking not unlike the colour of partndge feathers im the dim light. There was no gas in the house; oil was burnt in the hall and passages—wax-candles in the sitting-rooms. | “Tt is Philip King!” she cried, with a sort of shnek. ‘‘ What is the matter? What is amiss with him ?” “Don’t you see what it is?” returned Mr. Edwin Barley, who was all this while chafing the poor cold hands. “He has been shot in the chest; marked out in the wood, and shot down like a dog.” A cry of dread—of fear—broke from her. She began to tremble vio- lently. ‘‘ How was it done, Edwin? Who did it?” You !” comicaocks (GO)