The Argosy — page 286: what you’re looking at

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

— 268 The Master of Greylanas. Molly saw how pale she looked, and felt prouder than any peacock of her own powers of narration. ‘But what became of him?” questioned the poor lady. “‘ Well, mum, that lies in doubt, you see. Some say he was spirited away by the Grey Monk.” Madame Guise shook her head. ‘That could not be,” she said slowly, and somewhat in hesitation. ‘I don’t like revenants myself— but that could not be.” ‘‘ And others think,” added Molly, dropping her voice, “that he was done away with by his uncle, Mr. Castlemaine. Master do for one.” ‘Done away with! How?” ‘“‘ Murdered,” said the girl, plunging the herbs into the saucepan of water. A shudder took Madame Guise from head to, foot. Molly looked round at her: she was like one seized with ague. “IT am cold and fatigued with my long journey,” she murmured, seeking to afford some plausible excuse to the round-eyed girl. “ And it always startles one to hear talk of murder.” “So it do, mum,” acquiesced Molly. ‘I dun’no which is worst to hear tell on, that or ghosts.” ‘‘ But—this Friar’s Keep that you talk of—it may be that he fell from it by accident into the sea.” ‘‘ Couldn’t,” shortly corrected Molly. ‘ There ain’t no way to fall— no opening. They be biling up beautiful, mum.” ‘“‘ And—was he never—never seen again since that night?” pursued Madame Guise, casting mechanically a glance on the steaming saucepan. ‘“‘ Never seen nor heard on,” protested Molly emphatically. ‘ His clothes and his portmantel and all his other things stayed on here; but he has never come back to ’em.”’ Madame Guise put her hands on her pallid face, as if to hide the terror there. Molly, her work done, and ubout to depart, was, sweeping the bits of stalks and herbs from the table into her check apron. ‘* Does the voisinage know all this?” asked Madame Guise, looking up. ‘Is it talked of openly? May I speak of it to monsieur and madame en bas—to the host and hostess, I would say ?” ‘Why bless you, mum, yes! There have been nothing else talked of since. Nobody hardly comes in here but what begins upon it.” Molly left with the last words. Madame Guise sat on, she knew not how long, her face buried in her hands, and the tisane was boiled too much. The little girl, soothed perhaps by the murmur of voices, had fallen fast asleep. By and by Mrs. Bent came up, to know when her guest would be ready for tea. ‘“‘T am ready now,” was the answer. ‘I will go down stairs with you. And I wish that you and your husband, madame, would ‘allow)me°to take the meal with you this one evening,” added Madame Guise, with CORNICLOO© SS (CO)