The Argosy — page 330: what you’re looking at

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

Lady Arabella. 311 She was looking back in thought over her life, so lonely and unsatis- factory, in spite of its splendour. Bitterly did she now regret the un- feminine spirit which had animated her in this contest with the Marquis de Cherville. She tried to shift the blame from her own shoulders, but it was impossible. It had been idiotic folly from the first: and it was now worse. Scandal had attacked her name, and would never leave her alone till she was dead. She had always relied on the purity of her motives and conduct to keep the coarsest tongue from assailing her name; but she realized at length that no human being who transgresses the set laws of society can escape. Her exalted rank would only make the tale more widely spread. Every man’s hand—or worse, every woman’s hand—would be against her. She cried a little: and then she took refuge in thoughts of the Mar- quis. She could not help fancying how pleasant such care and atten- tion as he had shown during the past months would be, if fate had not put it out of their power to be friends. The price of the filly, indeed ! —that had been poor silly Mocourt’s thought: se knew he only wanted to be friends with her. And then she grew angry with herself for such silly imaginings, wiped away her tears, and set off at a mad canter. She thought she heard a horse’s hoofs behind her, and rode the faster. Her fiery grey took fright at some object in the road, shied suddenly, stumbled, fell; and, for the first time in her life, Lady Ara- bella was thrown from the saddle. When she came to her senses, she was neither dead nor harmed. She had been moved to the road-side, where was a stone bench under an image of the Virgin—a fountain at a little distance. Somebody was standing beside her, who turned at a sound she uttered. She was face to face with the Marquis! ‘Don’t try to move,” said M.de Cherville. ‘‘ Let me give you some more water.” She had no intention of stirring ; simply because she could not stir. She leaned back helpless, faint. He looked so handsome in the soft twilight, standing bareheaded before her !—his dreamy eyes full of in- terest, his voice so gentle. “ {—I should hke to get back: I can ride now, I think,’ was the first remark she hazarded. | But she was informed that her horse had galloped back to Fiesole, and his had followedit. A ragged boy passed, and the Marquis ordered him to send ona carriage he would find waiting in the village square. ‘* [—I can’t thank you,” she murmured. “There is no need!” he replied. “I am very grateful that I was able to help you.” Was it possible that he did not recognize her in the dim light? If he remembered her, could he stand there and talk like that? She must make her identity known. His scorn and anger would be a little CoOnniiclooolks (CO) am