The Argosy — page 343: what you’re looking at

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

324 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. other choice ; and trembled as she had never trembled before. It was a woman: she could see that much now. ‘‘Won’t you please let me speak with you ?” cried a gentle voice, which somehow served to reassure Eliza. ‘‘ My patience !” cried she, anger bubbling up in the reaction of feeling, ‘‘ how came you to frighten me like that? I was thinking of - —of—all kinds of startling things. What do you want?” ‘You are one of the new maids at the Hall,” rejoined the figure, in low, beseeching accents, ‘‘ and I have been trying for weeks to get to speak to you.” ‘Who are you?—and what do you want with me?” demanded Eliza. ‘‘T am Susan Keen.” “Susan Keen,” repeated the servant, not remembering at the moment why the name should seem familiar to her. ‘‘ Well, I don’t know you, if you are.” ‘‘ My sister lived at the Hall, Miss Winter’s maid, and she dis- appeared in her bed-room one night last winter,” went on poor Susan, with a kindof sob. ‘‘ It was full of mystery. Even Mr. Kettle says that.” “Oh yes, to be sure,” cordially replied Eliza, her sympathies aroused now. ‘‘ Poor Katherine Keen! Yes. What dd become of nenr ? Susan shook her head. It was a question no one could answer. ‘*T want you to help me find out,” she whispered. | The avowal struck Eliza with a sortof alarm. ‘‘ Good gracious!” she cried. ‘‘T want you to help me find some traces of her—my poor lost sister,” continued Susan, ‘‘ some clue to the mystery of her fate " ‘But what could 7 do, even if I were willing?” interrupted the housemaid. ‘‘You are inside the house, I am outside,” replied Susan, with a sob. ‘*‘ Your chances are greater than mine. Oh, won’t you help me? At any moment, when least expected, some link might show itself ; the merest accident, as mother says, might put us on the right track. Have you no pity for her ?” ‘“‘T’ve a great deal of pity for her; I never heard so strange and pitiful a tale in all my life,” was the reply. ‘‘Phemie was told all about it when she went into Nullington. But, you know, she may not be dead.” ‘‘ She is dead,” shivered Susan. ‘‘ Oh, believe that. I am as sure of it as that we two are standing here. At first I didn’t believe she was dead; I couldn’t ; but now that the months have gone on, and on, I feel that there’s no hope. If she were alive she would not fail to let us know it to ease our sorrow—all this while! Katherine was more loving and thoughtful than you can tell.” ‘‘ It’s said she had no sweetheart: or else ———” Eliza was begin- ning. But the other went on, never hearing. COMME OOO KSA (ela