The Argosy — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

George Considine. 69 “He was still engaged, and had kept up a regular correspondence with Miss Laborde during those three years. Her last letter had brought him news of her mother’s death. ‘So I’m going home to be married, old fellow. She is left without a penny in the world,’ he said to me. ‘How on earth Mrs. Laborde contrived to live in the style she did, goodness only knows. But I have enough with Marston, and she shall never know what poverty is in the future, if I can help it,’ ‘¢ He asked me to be his best man at the wedding, and his last words, as we parted at Paddington—he was going straight down to Raeford—were, ‘I'll write and let you know all about it, Jack. Keep yourself in readiness to come and do your duty by me; you mustn’t fail me, you know.’ I answered him jokingly, and he ran off to his train. I went down to Paddington next morning to meet a servant—a lad they were sending up to me from Aldrum; and standing on the platform watching the Birmingham train draw up and empty itself, I caught sight of the back of a slight, familiar figure in a grey suit, getting out of a smoking carriage, and I ran up and laid my hand on Considine’s shoulder. ‘ Didn’t expect to see you back so soon, old fellow. Nothing wrong, I hope. Where are you going?’ ‘To the devil, I think,’ he said, under his breath, and trying to shake my hand off. I just glanced at him, and knew what was the matter. He had his portmanteau in his hand, and was striding off towards the cab-stand as he spoke. I followed him, and put my arm through his. ‘’Pon my word, Const- dine, I’m awfully sorry. Come home with me, will you? It will be better than going to the club; my rooms are quiet.’ ‘No,’ he answered, savagely, ‘hanged if I do!’ but he jumped into a cab, giving the fellow no answer when he asked where to drive ; so I gave him my address, and Considine muttered a ‘ Thanks, Kenyon,’ as I sat down beside him. He looked wretchedly ill and exhausted, and suspecting that he had not breakfasted, I made him have something when we reached home. Afterwards he said he was going down to his place at Marston, if I would go with him; they could easily get a couple of beds ready for us, and he thought there was some shooting, “‘T had nothing particular to keep me in town just then. I saw Considine really desired my company, so I consented to go with him. His father had been dead some eighteen months, and his mother was abroad at some German baths for her health; the house at Marston was shut up and left in the charge of the housekeeper and a couple of maidservants. We telegraphed, giving them about an hour’s notice, and then collected our traps and ran down by the four express. “Marston Magna is a small out-of-the-world village, hidden down among the miry lanes and deep clayey hollows of South Meadshire, and the Grange, Considine’s place, is little more than a shooting-box ; a quaint, many-gabled, grey stone house, standing on a little platform of green turf, and surrounded on three sides by a belt of Scotch firs, CONnRICHOOKS s.E® mn