The Argosy — page 281: what you’re looking at

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

The Master of Greylands. 263 for voyagers. I might have put off my journey had I thought it would come. When I left my home, the warm spring sun was shining, the trees were budding.” ‘“We have had fine warm weather here, too,” said Mrs. Bent ; “it changed again a week ago to winter: not but what we had the sun out bright to-day. ‘This dear little thing seems delicate, ma’am.” ‘‘Not generally. But she is fatigued, you see, and has a touch of fever. We must make her some tisane.” “We'll soon get her right again,” said Mrs, Bent gently ; ; for with children, of whom she was very fond, she lost all her sharpness. ‘Poor little lamb! And so you’ve come from over the water, ma’am !—and the sea was rough !—and did this little one suffer ? ” ** Oh, pray do not talk of that terrible sea! I thought I must have died. To look at, nothing more beautiful ; but to be on it—ah, Ciel!” She shuddered and shrugged her shoulders with the recollection. There was something peculiarly soft and winning in the quiet tones of her voice; something attractive altogether in her features and their sad expression. ‘‘T never was on the sea, thank goodness,” said Mrs. Bent; “I have heard it’s very bad. We get plenty of it as far as the looks go: and that’s enough for us, ma’am.” She had sat down, the child on her lap, and was taking off its uebl woollen hood and warm woollen pelisse of fleecy grey cloth. The frock underneath was of fine black French merino. ‘The lady wore the same kind of black dress under her cloak : it was evident that both were in mourning. Happening to look up from the semi-sleeping child, Mrs. Bent caught the traveller’s eyes fixed attentively upon her, as if study- ing her face. ‘“‘ How do you call this village, I was about to ask. Grey p” “Greylands, ma’am. Stilborough is about three miles off. Are you going there P” “Not to stay,” said the lady hastily. ‘‘I am come to England to see a relative, but my progress is not in any hurry. I must think first of my child: and this air seems good.”’ ‘None so good for miles and miles,” returned Mrs. Bent. A week of it will make this little lady quite another thing. Pretty thing! What beautiful eyes!” The child had woke up again in her restlessness ; she was gazing up at her strange nurse with wide-open, dark-brown eyes. They were not her mother’s eyes, for those were blue. The hot little face was becom- ing paler. ‘‘T must make her some tisane,” repeated the lady; “or show you how to make it. You have herbs, I presume. We had better get her to bed. Nothing will do her so much good as rest and sleep. Will CORDIC OOOKS.G | Marie go to bed?” she said, addressing the little girl. — conn