The Argosy — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

90 Lhe Mysteries of f[feron Dyke. of hours—to fall in love with her then and there—to come racing down to this out-of-the-world spot, weeks afterwards, on the bare possibility of seeing her again—when she probably remembers no more of me than she does of any other indifferent stranger—what can that be but the act of a . Light footsteps were coming swiftly down the stone corridor. Conroy’s face flushed, and a strange eager light leapt into his eyes. There was a rustle of garments, then the heavy chain dropped, the door swung wide on its hinges, and Ella Winter stood revealed to Conroy’s happy gaze. His card was in her hand. She glanced from it to his face, and, a momentary blush mounting to her cheek, she advanced a step or two and held out her hand. ‘‘ Mr. Conroy,” she said, ‘‘ I have not forgotten your sketches. Or you either,” she added, as if by an after-thought, a smile playing round her lips by this time, coming and going like May sunshine. She led the way in, and he followed. The long, flagged corridor, with its dim light, struck him with a chill, after coming out of the bright air. Ella entered a small, oak-panelled room, plainly and heavily furnished, and invited Mr. Conroy to sit down. ‘We live mostly at the back of the house,” she observed. ‘‘ My uncle prefers the rooms to those in front.” ‘Tt is a grand old house,” answered Conroy. ‘‘ And what might it not be made!” he added to himself. ‘*’You received your portfolio of sketches back safely, Mr. Conroy, { hope. My aunt left them at your address that day when we went out for our drive.” ‘Did you indeed leave them! Were you so good?” ‘“‘ Sketches such as those are too valuable to be trusted to the chance of loss,” said Ella. ‘‘T was so very sorry not to call again on Mrs. Carlyon, as I had promised,” he continued, ‘‘but the next day but one I had to ieave town. I wonder what she thought of me ?” “T don’t think she thought at all,” replied Ella ingenuously— ‘‘though she would, I am sure, have been glad to see you. Aunt Gertrude was too full of her loss in those days to notice who visited her. On ‘the evening of the party she lost her jewels.” “Lost her jewels!” exclaimed Conroy. ‘‘ Do you mean those she wore?” ‘No, no. Her casket of jewels was stolen from her dressing- room. Some of them were very valuable. The case was left on her dressing-table, and it disappeared during the evening.” ‘‘ Was the case itself stolen ?” ‘“We thought so that night, but the next morning when the house- maids were sweeping her boudoir—the room in which we looked at your sketches, if you remember—they found the case on the floor, ingeniously hidden behind the window curtain.” ECORNICLOOKS, (E00)