The Argosy — page 331: what you’re looking at

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

312 Sir Cecil’s Rival. none of the comelinesses of Nature that brought the light into the young man’s eye, and the smile about his mouth. As he was being swiftly borne through that fair scene Thorpe’s mind was centred entirely upon the coming meeting with Ethel Spenser: he was picturing her shy consent to be his wife, and planning how he would extort from her sweet lips a confession of love—the confession that her soft eyes had made many times. Just as Sir Cecil Thorpe reached the Vicarage door it was thrown open from within, disclosing Mr. Spenser, who was preparing to issue forth. That gentleman would not have permitted a prince of the blood to delay him in a parochial duty, far fess a young man who was constituting himself into a regular member of the household; so now he only paused to fling wide the door of the morning-room, and excuse himself briefly. “How do youdo? Walk in; perhaps you will excuse me as I am going out on a matter of urgency.” Sir Cecil would have excused him for all time with the most absolute content: the estimable clergyman was not the person whom he wanted. But, glancing round the room into which he had been so summarily shown, Sir Cecil found it also empty of his divinity. The apartment was quite vacant, an unusual circumstance, for it was the ordinary family sitting-room at that period of the day. One of the French windows which opened into the verandah stood ajar, and Thorpe advanced to look if Ethel had stepped out into the garden, as she would often take occasion to do if her attention were attracted by a specially-alluring rose, or a flower in need of tying up; anything in fact that would furnish a plea for straying forth into the early sunshine. But Miss Spenser was nowhere in sight, and Thorpe was turning again within doors to wait, with what patience he might, when his glance fell upon the davenport, which had been very evidently” drawn up to the window that the writer thereat might enjoy the morning alr. Miss Spenser had apparently been interrupted in the midst of epistolary labours. There was a pen laid down; a carnation tied together with a fern-leaf:—seeing the little bunch the young man’ smiled to himself, he could so well picture Ethel placing such between the folds of her innocent notes,—on the blotting-pad was a letter just commenced, and beside it one that had come through the post, the empty envelope of which had fallen to the ground, the superscription being like the handwriting of the note bold and dashing. Peculiarly so. ‘“‘ That fellow must have a small tree felled when he wants a new pen,” said Sir Cecil to himself with a light-hearted laugh, as he picked up the envelope from the carpet and put it back in its place on the desk. The next moment Sir Cecil’s face had turned of a ghastly hue, and a word of bitter meaning and emphasis burst from his lips. Gomicbooks. Go - *