The Argosy — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

80 How Lord Roland Met his Wife. ever, cut short for him. A voice from some interior region of the tower was suddenly heard calling, ‘‘ Margaret.” The girl rose. Roland was obliged to take his leave. ‘I must intrude no longer,” he said. ‘Believe me, I shall never forget Peepy—or his mistress.” The last words were added to himself, but something in his look perhaps expressed them ; for the girl’s face, as he bowed and turned to the descent, was rosier than the glow of sunset could explain. Roland went down the pathway with a picture in his eye and a sense of mystery in his mind. The picture was that of the most lovely girl whom he had ever seen, framed by the ivy-mantled window of her tower. And his sense of mystery concerned her also. How came she in a place so strange, and yet so charming? Who lived there with her? What was her station p—what her story ? These were questions which he could not answer. They may be answered here. Margaret Shelland’s father was a retired naval captain, a man of superior mind and education. He lived for the greater portion of the year at Valeford, a village some miles distant ; but during the heat of summer he was accustomed to take up his abode in the old tower on the cliff-side, together with his daughter and an ancient serving-man and his wife, Isaac and Jane Blow. He liked the wild and solitary dwelling, and Margaret shared his fancy. Their solitude exposed them to no dangers; for, although smugglers and such evil characters at times visited the coast, there was nothing to tempt them to molest the tower. Not only was there nothing worth the taking, but old Captain Shelland was a man of fiery humour, and well known to be extremely ready with his pistols. Accordingly, there the four lived undisturbed, and so it came to pass that Margaret’s pigeons built their nests among the crannies of the rocks with the wild gulls. Roland, absorbed in speculations, went down the rocky pathway. He had already reached the bottom, when on a sudden he was con- scious of a flutter of white wings, and there was Peepy once more on his shoulder. “What!” he said. ‘Is that you, my winged philosopher? You want another raisin, do your You shall have one.” He took out the bunch as he was speaking, and was about to break it when a thought occurred to him which changed his purpose. He put his hand up softly, caught the bird upon his shoulder, placed it snugly in the basket, shut down the lid and fastened it. Then he resumed his walk along the shore. There was an aspect of romance about the whole adventure which touched his fancy ; he resolved to keep it still. The bird, when he released it, would fly back to the tower; its mistress would receive it; it would light upon her shoulder; her hand would smooth its glossy wings. What if she espied a missive underthem? Wouldshe not start to see it, regard it with surprise, take it, open it, and read, SS (CO COnmicloooel