The Argosy — page 169: what you’re looking at

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

154 The Last Elm of the Avenue. ‘Don’t ask me—enough to ruin my life, and make it little worth having from henceforward. Hullo! It’s seven o’clock. Do you dine at mess to-night ?” and he left me to dress. Still I got no nearer to any explanation of the occurrence on the first night of our meeting. He always avoided the Westwood road I noticed, and another peculiar fact which struck me was the way in which his servant Alistor—his foster-brother he told me—kept us constantly in sight. It was as if he expected me to do his master a mischief. Wherever we went Alistor’s red head and foxy eyes appeared at unexpected moments. One day MacLeish came into my room in great distress. An accident had happened in the town—a scaffold had fallen, and Alistor, who was passing at the moment, had been knocked down and injured—some iron-work had struck his head, and it was feared had destroyed the sight of one eye. ‘He must go up to town as soon as he can travel. Everything that the best man there can do for him shall be done. J’ll trust him to no one here. My poor Alistor !” I was able to assist in making arrangements for his stay in town, and both master and man were inordinately grateful. I went with MacLeish to see him off at Westwood. ‘There had been an agonizing scene when he heard that the oculist would require him to be at least a month under treatment. He refused to go— wept, expostulated, implored MacLeish on his knees not to send him away—at least, so I guessed, for the conversation was carried on in Gaelic. MacLeish promised to go up and see him every week— argued, coaxed, jested, and at last ordered him sternly to be silent and obey, and the poor fellow submitted. Tears were in his one visible eye when we said good-bye at the station, and he poured out what seemed to be a flood of impassioned warning. MacLeish answered good-humouredly, saying in English, ‘You will find me safe enough, you foolish fellow. Don’t youthink Mr. Jones here can take as good care of meas you?” Alistor turned suddenly upon me, scanning my face with his sharp eye. ‘Are you in truth his faithful friend ? ” I was too amazed to reply. ‘Let all who wish well to Caolchairn stand by him now, /or Aes dark hour ts at hand.” MacLeish hurried him into the train and I saw no more of him. We walked back together down the memorable Westwood road. “Can you guess what he means?” asked MacLeish, after long silence. ‘“‘ Not in the least,” I replied. ‘* Do you remember the night we came? ” ‘‘ Perfectly,” I answered. We turned a corner as I spoke, and the broad white road to Cinqhaven sloped down the hill at our feet— with the milestone standing out white and distinct against the dark hedge. MacLeish stopped. GEomichbooksnGo m