The Argosy — page 194: what you’re looking at

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

A) 178 The Master of Greylands. by the appearance of Thomas Hill. He had just returned from his mission to the Turk’s Head. Apparently it had not been a pleasant mission: for his face was pale with what looked like fear, and he, waiving ceremony, had come straight up the stairs, asking for his master. “‘I must see him; I must see him instantly. I beg your pardon, dear Miss Castlemaine, but it is of the last importance.” Had Thomas Hill only waited a moment he would have heard that the banker was fastened in his room. They told him now. He gave one scared look around while taking in the words, and then bounded to the stairs. “Follow me,” he cried, turning his livid face on the men. “We must burst open the door. I know he is ill.” Mr. Blake-Gordon, the butler, and Stephens were up almost as soon as he. Mrs. Webb laid her detaining arm on the young lady. “You must stay here, my dear; you must. They will do better with- out you.” | : ‘* But what can it be, save sleep ?2’ asked Mary Ursula, not knowing whether there was cause for alarm or not. ‘When papa is very tired he sleeps heavily. On Sunday night he dropped asleep when I was at the organ ; and I could not at first awaken him.” “Of course ; I make no doubt he has fallen into a sound sleep ; nothing else: but it will not be seemly for you to go up there with them. Hark! the door has given way.” Sleep? Yes, at first they did think the banker was asleep. He lay on the sofa at full length, his head on the low pillow, his feet hanging down over the other end. A candle, which he must have carried up with him, stood on the drawers, and the wax candles in the dressing-glass had been previously lighted by the servants. Altogether there was a good deal of light. They looked at the banker’s face by it: and saw— that the sleep was the sleep of death. A gasping sob burst from Thomas Hill He fell on his knees, the tears rolling down his face. “My master! my dear master! Oh, my master, my master !” He saw what it was, perhaps felt somewhat prepared for it by the pre- vious events of the afternoon. ‘The others were for the moment some- what stunned : but they did not think it could be death. ‘‘Run for a doctor,” cried the butler to. Stephen. ‘‘ He’s in a faint. Run for your life.” The butler himself did not attempt to run ; he was too stout. Mr. Blake-Gordon and Stephen, both slender and light of limb, sped away without their hats. The butler raised his master’s head. ‘‘ Please to ring the bell, sir, for some brandy,” he said to Mr. Hill. ‘¢ The maids must bring up some hot flannels, too.” “Ts it possible that you can be deceived?” sobbed the clerk—*“ that you do not see that it is death! Oh, my poor master !” (C(O) mn —_) ECoOMmicloooks