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

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

Sir Cecil’s Rival. 311 suffering in silence, so he resorted to plainest protest. ‘‘ How could you go on with that detestable puppy in the manner you have been doing all the evening ?” ‘What have I done wrong?” asked Ethel, the sweet mouth beginning to droop, and the tears to gather in her dark eyes. The poor child was ignorant as to the nature of her offence, but it was not the less upon that account a cause of dismay. Sir Cecil was in part mollified by her penitence and her loveliness, as she stood there in her great beauty, looking up at him in meek appeal. ‘‘ Ethel, don’t you know that you belong to me?” demanded he, grasping her hand without any regard for the valuable flower- specimen, Ethel saw the passion in his face that was bent over hers, heard it in his thrilling tones, and she turned quickly away, but she was quivering under the infection of his excitement. Perhaps her trembling silence and swift averting of her counten- ance satisfied Thorpe better than any speech; for he drew her towards him whispering, ‘‘ My darling, do you loveme? AmI so blessed ?” x3 The next moment a sound close at hand startled therm. What smote upon their ears was the rustle of a woman’s dress advancing, and it was followed by a sharp and clear voice in peremptory: summons. ) ‘* Miss Spenser, are you coming ?” The foolish young people had but just time to start asundez when Miss Dudley made her appearance, rounding a pyramid of tall! plants. ‘“‘T came to seek you,” said that lady, with engaging candour, quite mastering the situation with those cold shrewd eyes of hers. ‘I think Mrs. Spenser is waiting for that flower, but I will carry it to her ; it would be a pity for you to shorten your botanical studies.” “As you like,” said Sir Cecil, fronting the intruder daringly, his handsome face flushed and triumphant. But Ethel had already flown off to the drawing-room. TT: THE course of Sir Cecil’s love had up to this time been of an even, prosperous character, one uncalculated to rob him of sleep or appetite; but upon the night following that brief scene in the conservatory, slumber was banished from his eyelids by the fever of passion that burned in hisveins. Giving speech and utterance to his love seemed to have awakened it to more conscious existence—an activity of life that would not allow to its subject repose orcalm. So with the dawn Thorpe arose; and at ten, having with difficulty restrained his ardour till that hour, he ordered his dogcart to drive into Briarford. The golden corn was waving in the fresh breeze ; the many-tinted woods and flashing river lay bathed in the glorious light of the morning sun; but it was of none of these things that Sir Cecil was thinking ; it was comicoookKks (SO)