The Argosy — page 249: what you’re looking at

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

234 Wilful Margaret. earnestness. ‘‘ Poor fellow,” he cried to himself when left alone. ‘‘ He feels it pretty keenly. He’s not half a bad sort. It’s a pity Madge hadn’t the sense to accept him. He’s just the cool sort of fellow she ought to have for a husband. Egad! I’m not sure that I haven’t made an ass of myself. She’ll be the deuce of a trouble to manage.” So! ‘Those were Mr. George’s sentiments. While Madge had kept him at arm’s length he had felt all the exciting zest of pursuit; now that she had come and, of her own free will, consented to be his, the pleasure began to pall and he longed for a new face to stimu- late him to fresh exertion. And Madge—where is she? In her bedroom, ‘with no light save the dim grey of the approaching night. Her face is pale, and there are signs of scalding tears on her cheeks as she rises slowly from a pitiful attitude. A faded rose-bud, wet from the touch of her warm young lips, is in her hands. How little does Wilfrid Mas- singham deem that his offering is so carefully treasured! Opening her desk, Madge presses her lips again passionately to the withered bud and then places it beside that one other most dearly loved and prized of all her possessions—a lock of her mother’s hair—that dear mother whose memory is to her as a misty, half-forgotten dream. How often does she yearn for that one tender, sympathetic breast on which to pour out her joys and griefs: with a mother to guide and train her how different she would have been! ‘The little secret _ drawer is closed with a snap, and the two mementoes slumber side by side in a darkness as deep as that now closing around Madge’s wayward, untamed heart. Il. THE next morning Madge came down, prepared to ride Wild Sorrel. Buckle, waiting at breakfast, looked askance at his young Jady’s habit. ‘“She be main masterful this morning, miss,” said Thomas, the old head groom. “I hada sight of trouble to saddle her.” Wild Sorrel shook her glossy mane scornfully, as if she understood the complaint but felt utterly indifferent to it. ‘Hold her head, Thomas,” cried Madge, disdaining his warning as she prepared to mount. George Wilson was beside her. He stepped forward to assist her, but she motioned him back. “I do not need any help, thank you,” she exclaimed curtly, as she sprang lightly :to her seat. Wild Sorrel turned her eyes on her with a surprised look, as if wondering at her temerity in mounting her. Contrary, however, to Thomas’s expectation, she stood quite still and allowed Madge to soothingly pat her neck. Madge was a fearless rider and knew well how to manage a stubborn or restive horse; but the mare’s great strength and character for vice may well have aroused the groom's fears for their young mistress’s safety. COMMICMOOOKS GOK