The Argosy — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

102 The Master of Greylands. “ And the future trouble also,” spoke Thomas Hill, catching at the straw of hope. ‘‘ Why, sir, that will bring in a mine of wealth.” ‘‘Yes. The only real want now istime. Time! time! I have said it before perhaps too sanguinely ; I can say it in all truth now.” ‘¢ And, sir—did you not show this to be the case to Mr. Fosbrook ?” “T did. But alas, I had to deny to him my other pressing liabilities —and he questioned sharply. Nevertheless, I shall tide it over, all of it, if I can only secure the time. That account of Merrit’s—we may as well go over it together now, Thomas. It will not take long.” They sat down to the table together. A thought was running through Thomas Hill’s mind, and he spoke it as he opened the ledgers. “With this good news in store, sir, making repayment certain—for if time be given you, you will now have plenty—don’t you think Mr. Castlemaine would advance you funds ?” ‘‘ I don’t know,” said the banker. ‘‘ James seems to be growing cautious. And this trouble that may be looming upon him, will make him more so.” “What trouble?” asked Thomas Hull ‘Some man, I hear, has made his appearance at Greylands, calling himself Anthony Castlemaine, and saying that he is a son of my brother Basil,” replied the banker confidentially. “Never!” cried the old man. ‘“ But, sir, if he be, how should that bring trouble on Mr. Castlemaine ? ” ‘“‘ Because the stranger says he wants to claim Greylands’ Rest.” “ He must be out of his mind,” said Thomas Hill. “ Greylands’ Rest is Mr. Castlemaine’s ; safe enough too, I presume.” ‘‘ But a man such as this may give trouble, don’t you see.” “No, sir, I don’t see it—with all deference to your opinion. Mr. Castlemaine has only to show him it is his ” A knock at the room door interrupted the sentence. The clerk rose to open it, and received a card anda message. His master looked rather startled as he read the name on it: Anthony Castlemaine. Somewhere about an hour before, young Anthony Castlemaine, after a late breakfast @ la fourchette, had turned out of the Dolphin Inn. Halting for a few seconds to gaze across beyond the beach, for he thought the sea the most beautiful object in nature, and believed he should never tire of looking at it, he went on up the hill, past the church, and was fairly on his road to Stilborough. It was a lonely road enough; never a dwelling to be seen all the way, save a farm homestead or two, lying away amid their buildings; but Anthony Castlemaine walked slowly, taking in all the points and features of his native land, that were so strange to him. He stood to read the milestones; he leaned on the fences; he admired the tall fine trees, leafless though they were; he critically surveyed the two or three carts and waggons that passed. The sky was blue, the sun bright, he enjoyed the walk and did ‘not ECORNICLOOO SS (C(O) —_) mm