The Argosy — page 225: what you’re looking at

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

Recollections of a Governess. 209 ‘I’m very sorry, ma'am, but Coonach being the only dog about here, they never thought of no other, and there is but one thing to do with a dog that takes to sheep worrying, and that’s why James could not ‘bring him to you at breakfast, ma’am.” She put her hand on my arm, With quivering lips she said, ‘‘ What have they done? ask him.” “Yes, ma’am, poor fellow,” said Stevens, turning to me; “master would have given a good deal to have stopped it, but it was too late. Master said he was to be buried, and have a handsome stone put over him.” “T will not have him touched by any one of you ; I will doit myself. She was too much hurt, too angry to cry. So angry, so hurt, she appeared quite calm. She went upstairs,-put on her bonnet and cloak, and I did the same, and we went together to the stables. There lay poor Coonach—dead—hanged. James had laid him on a horse-rug, and closed the poor loving eyes, and' he almost looked as if asleep. “Ts he quite ’ she began, and then her tears fell fast. The men were all standing near, ashamed and distressed. The man who had done the deed, I believe, had slunk away. They all looked sorry for the pale quiet mistress, standing over her dead favourite. ** Oh, yes, ma’am,” James said, ‘‘quite dead, and I’m sure he was innocent.” ‘“‘Lift him up for me, please,” Helen said. ‘‘ There, thank you ; he’s not heavy now—no, I would rather take him myself,” and she carried him straight down to Cherry Court. I followed, but she would not let me help her. The two miles never seemed so long to me before, and she walked on, without a word, except declining my offers of assistance, her poor heart too full, too sore for any words. Straight to the old cherry-tree she went, and laid her burden down, and there the old gar- dener dug his grave, and poor Coonach was buried—just where she sat that May morning, with the white blossoms falling over her! ‘Oh, my Helen,” said her mother, putting her hand fondly on her shoulder, “ you told me you did not care for Guy Langton !” ‘¢T was angry and miserable, mother ; but truth will out sometimes.” And then my poor child burst into a flood of tears. I intended returning to Lady Dacre that day, but Helen entreated me not to leave her, and we went back to the Manor House together. Our dinner was very silent. Mr. Crayford spoke to me, and Helen spoke to me, but she originated no remark to him, and declined everything he offered her. I was not sure if I had not done harm by returning. In the drawing-room it was the same. I longed to tell Mr. Crayford to speak to her, to express his regret. Hers was a generous nature, though now pride and indignation and a keen’sense ‘of) ‘injury made ner s0 sent and frigid. At last he could bear it no longer . § rc had