The Argosy — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

12 The Village Blacksmith. the same time he was very curious ; and his curiosity to know what this nun’s business could be with his wife—for he didn’t for a moment suppose she had asked for him—caused him to admit her into his sanctum. A slight figure, rather over the average height, and clad in the white serge habit of a Dominican nun, now entered the room, and addressed him in fluent French. The voice seemed familiar to him ; but he did not recognise the face, which, indeed, was partly hidden by a pair of large blue spectacles, and a hood and veil. Mr. Ryot Tempest prided himself on his French, bad as it was, so he was pleased to enter into a short conversation with his visitor, who informed him she came from a convent at Avranches, and, knowing that Madame was a Catholic, and frequently visited Avranches during the summer, she had called to ask for a sub- scription to the new chapel they were building. The interview ended in Mr. Ryot Tempest giving the nun a sovereign; and, thanking him profusely, she departed. Shortly after, Mr. Ryot Tempest heard shouts of laughter in the room overhead, and, guessing he had been made the victim of an exceedingly ill-timed joke, he went upstairs to see if the sus- picion that had just dawned upon him were correct. The room he now entered was his wife’s sitting-room, in which she usually sat. It commanded a beautiful view of the valley, similar to that obtained from Reuben Foreman’s cottage. In the window stood a large embroidery-frame, and, as Mrs. Tempest sat at her work, she could gaze on the convent, in the chapel of which she heard mass almost every day of her life. Just now she was not looking either at the convent or the altar-cloth she was embroidering, but at her daughter, who, dis- guised as a Dominican nun, was sitting in a rocking-chair, laugh- ing as if life were one long joke, and no such thing as care or trouble ever darkened it. Peal after peal of joyous laughter, as silvery as it was genuine, the girl sent forth as her father opened the door. She had taken off the glasses and her hood and veil, but she still had on the white flannel habit, scapular and leather girdle. Her hair had come down, and was hanging in rippling masses of tawny gold over her shoulders; her great, dark eyes sparkled with fun and merriment; her gleaming, pearly-white teeth, her dimpled cheeks, all told how intensely the girl was enjoying her joke ; whilst the heavy habit, meant to conceal rather than to reveal the wearer’s form, could not altogether hide the grace and beauty of that almost perfect girlish figure. “Vera! Vera! this is not right,” said the gentle mother; but it the words were reproving, the look which accompaniéd them was a mixture of maternal pride, love and admiration. ‘‘What is all this noise about? Vera, leave the room directly, and take off that dress. I wonder your mother should allow you conniclooolkks CO