The Argosy — page 178: what you’re looking at

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

162 The Master of Greylands. On the table lay a letter he had just written. Its seal of black wax stamped with the Castlemaine crest, and it was addressed to his native place, Gap, Dauphiné. Some shouting arose on the beach. A fishing-boat was preparing to put out; one of her men had not come down, and the two others and the shrill boy were raising their voices to make him hear. The laggard went dashing out of the Dolphin Inn, just under the view of Anthony. Anthony Castlemaine was in perplexity. He did not see his way any clearer before him than he had seen it when he first came. That Greylands’ Rest was legally his he now entertained very little doubt of; but, to prove it was another matter. Twice, since their first meeting, had he sought an interview with Mr. Castlemaine, and presented himself at Greylands’ Rest; but Mr. Castlemaine had been each time denied to him. The waves of the sea sparkled and rippled; the sun came out from behind a fleecy cloud and shone with renewed strength; a beautiful vessel in the distance was passing with all her sails set. ‘Tt is very strange behaviour,” mused Anthony. “If the estate belongs in truth to my Uncle James, why can he not show me that it does? Huis mot showing it almost proves of itself that it 1s mine. I must get to see him: I cannot stay in the dark like this.” Taking up the letter, he descended the stairs, went across to the little general shop near the beach, and dropped it into the letter-box. He was quite at home in Greylands now, had made acquaintance with its inhabitants, and was known and recognized as the grandson of old Anthony Castlemaine. In returning, he met one of the Grey Sisters. Lifting his hat, he bowed to her with deep respect: for he regarded the Grey Ladies as a religious order, and in his native land these female Communities are held in reverence. Little Sister Phoeby—she was very short and stout and middle-aged, and only one of the working sisters— bobbed down her grey head in return, giving him a kindly good- afternoon. ‘“ And John Bent thinks that Mr. Castlemaine derides these good ladies!” thought Anthony. ‘It must be fancy. John Dear me! here’s that most charming demoiselle again !” She was advancing swiftly, seemingly wishing to catch Sister Pheeby ; her pretty figure attired becomingly in a.light silk dress and short scarlet cloak, her strangely beautiful grey eyes cast on the sea with the same look of loving admiration that ‘Anthony’s own sometimes wore when gazing at it. He could have wished that this young lady was his sister, or really his cousin: for Anthony had not seen many faces in his life that he so believed in for truth and goodness and beauty as Ethel Reene'’s. They had nearly met before she observed him. He stopped and addressed some words to her in deprecation of his former fault, keeping ECORNICLOOO SS (CO) in —_)