The Argosy — page 254: what you’re looking at

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

Wilful Margaret. 239 The crimsorw tide surged through Margaret’s veins, dyeing her bosom, her cheeks, and her brow with a bright, roseate flush, as she listened to the tender wistfulness in his voice. With a piteous little cry she pressed her hands before her burning face and sank on the soft rug on her knees before him. He leant forward eagerly. ‘‘ Margaret,” he cried, as he rested his strong hand on her shoulder with a soft, caressing touch, “tell me— what is this? Was my dream reality? Has an angel come to wipe out all the darkness from my past? I think it must beso. Come, rise, my love. Here—at my side; not there, at my feet.” “Yes, here—at your feet, Wilfrid,” she burst out passionately. ‘‘It is the fittest place for Wilful Madge when she surrenders her will— her faults, her everything—to her lord and master.” With gentle force he drew her to him; her head rested against his shoulder. One hand was held in his as he stooped and pressed his lips to her brow. ‘‘ No, not at my feet, dearest,” he murmured ; “but here—on my left—next my heart, with my right arm free to shield and protect thee. Wilful Madge!” ‘Not that name with you, Wilfrid,” she whispered meekly, as she raised her shy eyes, luminous with their newly-found light. ‘‘ Never wilful again with you.” “Be it so,” came the fond accents. ‘To me, Gentle Madge, my loving wife; to all the rest of the world, as of yore, an’ you will, still unconquered, Wilful Madge.” Conniclooolkks (SO)