The Argosy — page 334: what you’re looking at

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

Her One Chance: and H1s. 313 «“ And made that fiasco in it before he died? Yes.” “Not his fault, though. John Maverick was honest as the day.” “His misfortune, then. I dare say it wasso. Well, what of him?” “This is his daughter.” “No!” exclaimed Mr. Sarmiento, in surprise. ‘“ Azs daughter— and teaching in a school!” “What would you?” quietly returned the host: ‘‘Maverick’s means died with him—and his wife died of grief soon afterwards. The poor girl had nothing left to live upon; so she remained in the school, where she was being educated, as music-mistress, and I fancy— as generai drudge.” Poor girl, indeed! She seems to me to deserve a happier fate,” concluded Mr. Sarmiento. It was Thursday, the sixth day of Mr. Sarmiento’s stay. Other visitors also had been coming and going. Most of the leisure time of that gentleman seemed to be devoted to Miss Maverick: when he was not obliged by courtesy to devote it to others. He certainly enjoyed talking with her, their conversation often turning on her late father and the years gone by. If she went on the beach, he would join her there; if she sat in the shady nooks of the garden, he would be sure to find her. At night she sang the songs he liked and asked for: and she sang very sweetly. Jeginald Lanster felt that he should like to drown Mr. Sarmiento. Reginald had fallen desperately in love with Katherine. He had been in love several times before, but was never, he thought, as much in earnest as now. He wandered about in atorment of mind incon- ceivable: partly caused by jealousy, partly by indeciston—for he could not quite decide whether to brave his mother and all the Lanster family, and offer Katherine his hand; or whether to let his love die away by-and-bye, as it had died for all his former flames. On this day, Thursday, watching Katherine, his aunt, and one or two more ladies, attended by Mr. Sarmiento, start off to walk to some ruins in the neighbourhood, the young man felt especially bitter. “Why don’t you come also, Reginald ?” called out Mr. Sarmiento, as he ran past him at the door to catch up the ladies ; not, however, waiting for any answer. “Hang him!” muttered Reginald, considering himself unreasonably ill-used. It was not altogether about Katherine, his grievance; it was on the score of neglect as well. Formerly he was all-in-all in the household ; now nothing was cared for but this old Sarmiento. In a frightful temper, he went off to the beach. Dora followed, slipping her hand, cousinly fashion, within his arm: all unconscious, poor child, that he no longer saw in her “the sweetest little girl in the world,” but an emissary of unkind fortune, whom he could not help showing temper to. It was hard upon her; altogether hard. Regy put it more strongly COMMICOAOOKS.€O