The Argosy — page 174: what you’re looking at

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

The Last Elin of the Avenue. 159 We removed all traces of the struggle, replaced the tools, and hurried home in utter silence. MacLeish held out his hand without speaking as he stopped at his own door. I took it without hesitation. I am glad to remember that. He fixed his wild woeful eyes on me for a moment and then hurried away. I was too excited and horror-stricken to ¢hzzk, and I lay down, dreading the hours that had to pass before morning. Strange to say, I slept quietly and dreamlessly far into the next day, and when I awoke I could not realise the tragedy in which I had taken part. “‘T’ve dreamed it all,” I kept saying to myself; “and a dream is soon forgotten. I’ll go and have a swim and then see if the Pryse- Davies girls are out on the Parade. It must be all a nightmare.” Still, persuade myself as I might, there were two things I could not do: pass down the Avenue, or face MacLeish. Where was he, I asked his servant. Gone to the ranges. I would go and meet the party returning. It would be best to get the first meeting over in public. I walked quietly along the pretty country lane, listening for the well-known crack of the rifles. All was silent. Then, at a turn of the road, I came suddenly upon a dozen figures or so walking slowly and silently. Four of them bore a hurdle, on which lay something with an officer’s cloak thrown over it. “What is it?” I asked; though I knew beforehand what the very words of the reply were going to be, somehow. *“ Poor MacLeish! He was in the butts, and came out to look at the target; they had ceased firing at it. We were shooting at long range, and someone—I don’t know who—fired at the wrong target. Shot through the heart—he dropped without a cry—stone dead.” I left Cinghaven that night, and will never set foot there again as long as I live. Conniclooolks (C(O)