The Argosy — page 102: what you’re looking at

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

In the Dead of Night. »- 85 of her hair had no shade deeper than that of chestnuts in autumn. The tints of the wild-rose dwelt in her cheeks. About her there was a freshness, a sweetness, and a delicate grace, like that of a breezy morn- ing in spring, when flowers are growing, and birds are singing, and all nature seems glad at heart. “ You are in mourning, Lionel,” said Edith, suddenly. “Ves ; I have just lost my uncle, Mr. St. George, of Park N ewton.” ‘¢T never remember to have heard you speak of him.” “Probably not. I never even saw him, never had any communication with him whatever. Nevertheless, it is to him that I owe my fortune “Tt has come to you unexpectedly ?” “Entirely so. Three days ago I should have laughed at the idea of being my uncle’s heir: now they tell me that I am worth eleven thousand a year.” “Tt sounds like a fairy tale,” cried Edith. ‘“‘ What a strange man your uncle must have been!” “When the will was read,” returned Lionel, “ my first thought was of you. I said to myself: ‘Has Edith forgotten me? Has she given me up? Am [too late?’ I trembled to think what the answer might be. Now I tremble no longer.” ‘“‘ Tt is sweet, Lionel, to have you here, and to know that you are my own again,” replied Edith. ‘ But how much sweeter it would have been if you had come to me when you were poor, and had trusted everything to my love!” A week passed away, each day of which saw Lionel Dering a visitor in Roehampton Terrace. Edith and he were much together. It was the happiest time they had ever known. All the freshness of their recent meeting was still upon them ; besides which, their long separa- tion had taught them to value each other more, perhaps, than they would have done had everything gone smoothly with them from the first. ‘The weather, for an English winter, was brilliant, and they rode out every morning into the country. Of an evening, Edith, Lionel and Mrs. Garside had the drawing-room all to themselves; and although an “exposition of sleep” generally came over the elder lady after dinner, the young people never seemed to miss her society, nor were they ever heard to complain that the time hung heavily on their hands They were very happy. They had so much to tell each other about the past—so many golden day-dreams to weave of what they would do in the future! Edith could never hear enough about Lionel’s life at Gatehouse Farm, and about his adventure with Tom Bristow; while Lionel found himself evincing a quite novel interest in the well-being of sundry ragged-schools, homes for destitute children, and other philanthropic schemes of whose very existence he had been in utter ignorance only a few days before. CoOmiclooolkks am