The Argosy — page 224: what you’re looking at

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

212 Anu Every-Day Story. months, than years had made her. The heart’s awakening had brought to her a wider and graver experience than she had learnt in all the motherly and housekeeping cares that had been hers since her mother died. Calm now, she went in out of the darkness, passing by the study door, where she heard a sharp voice she knew, preferring rather to join her brothers than to enccunter its owner. But she caught a word of the tale it was telling: that arrested her. Presently Mrs. Dale took her leave, and went out, ignorant of the pale, drooping figure in the passage. Then she rose up, and entered the room where her motherless boys were wrangling over their lessons, soothed them with her quiet authonty, and sat down by the open window, cold and white, to wait for the blow to come. She heard her father’s uncertain step in the hall, his gentle voice calling her name, and she went to him without a word and followed him into his study ; but the air of the room struck a chill to her heart as her feet crossed its threshold. Mr. Halcroft was tremulous and agitated—he was a mild, nervous man, who hated a scene, and dreaded the part he had to play in the present one. He fumbled over the books on the table, hesitated long for the proper words, and finally broke down altogether, as he caught sight of her mother’s picture, so like—just above her head. ‘* My daughter,” he faltered. She sat before him, cold and stern as he had never seen her—waiting. ‘‘My child,” he stammered, ‘‘ I have just received a great blow. I fear there is one also for you, 1f—if my information is correct. It is— a severe shock to me, and I have but one course to take, however painful.” She made a gesture of impatience and tried to speak, but failed. What right had Mrs. Dale to come and make mischief about her ? “I don’t blame you, I can't blame you, my darling,” said the clergy- man. ‘You are young and motherless; I have been absorbed and neglectful—I deeply repent it. You were a child, Rosalie, and knew not what you did; your disobedience is your father’s fault more than yours. Forgive him, my dear: he cannot forgive himself.” Rosalie’s head drooped, and her breast heaved. She had not thought before, absorbed in her heart’s sweet secret, her mind's fever, how neglectful she had been of a child’s first duty towards him—her only parent—how wanting in confidence and love. “Heaven knows I have no right to be proud—a poor, obscure country clergyman, I dared hope for no exalted lot for you, Rosalie, lovely as you are—the image of your lovely mother. But—Mr. Payne is mot your equal : and there are other and worse reasons why he cannot aspire to you.” ‘‘ Tell me all, papa,” she gasped. ECOMMICOOOKS.ECOr _