The Argosy — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

108 The Story of Dorothy Grape. “ Goodness bless my heart!” softly cried the Squire, gazing at her as if the news were too much for him. And then, starting up im- pulsively, he grasped her hand and gave it a hearty shake. A sob seemed to take her throat. ‘The Squire sat back again, and went on staring at her. ‘My father disappeared mysteriously on one of his JOUnIEy a ; you may remember us by that, sir.” “To be.sure, J remember it—Robert Grape!” assented the Squire. Had to do with the post-horse duty. Got as far as Bridgenorth, and was never heard of more. And it 1s really you—Dolly Grape! And you are living here! Ym afraid the world has not been over- kind to you.” She shook her head; the tears were running down her faded cheeks. ‘No, it has not, sir. I have had nothing but ups and downs in life since leaving Worcester: sad misfortunes : sometimes, I think, more than my share of them. Perhaps you heard that I married, sir—one Mr. Mapping ?” The Squire nodded slightly. He was too busy gazing at her to pay attention to much else. ‘‘T am looking at you to see if I can trace the old features of the old days,” he said; ‘‘and I do; they grow upon my memory ; though - you were but a slip of a girl when I used to see you. I wonder I did not recognise you at first.” “And I wonder that you can even recognise me now, sir,” she returned: “trouble and grief have so much altered me.~ I have been in this house nearly ten years now. I live by letting lodgings.” “Tt can’t be much of a living, once the rent and taxes are paid.” Mrs. Mapping’s mild blue eyes, that seemed to the Squire to be of a lighter tinge than of yore, took a passing sadness. Anybody able to read it correctly might have seen she had her struggles. “Are you a widow?” ‘“¢T—call myself one, sir,” she replied, with hesitation. “ Call yourself one!” retorted the Squire, for he liked people to be straightforward in their speech. ‘‘ My good woman, you are a widow, or you are not.” ‘“‘T pass for one, sir.” ‘““Now, what on earth do you meanr’” demanded he, “Is your husband—Mapping—not dead P” ‘““He was not dead when I last heard of him, sir; that’s a long while ago. But he is not my husband.” “Not your husband!” echoed the Squire, pushing up his spectacles again. ‘‘ Have you and he quarrelled and parted ?” Any countenance more pitifully sad than Mrs. Mapping’s was at that moment, ’'d not wish to see. She stood smoothing down*her black silk apron (which had a slit in it) with trembling fingers. “My history is a very painful one,” she said at last in a low voice. 7 will tell it if you wish ; but not this morning. I should like to EORMIE NOOO KS im