The Argosy — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

70 George Considine. and a wide moat. Set in a dark background of trees, the place has a damp and somewhat dreary look. Passing through the line of white mist that rose on either hand from the weedy, stagnant water that autumn evening, gave one a curiously uncomfortable sensation, as of stepping into some undiscovered region of gloom. ‘At night, after we had dined together, and were smoking in sober silence by the fire, I looked up suddenly and saw the keen, quiet eyes fixed on me, Considine put down his cigar, and spoke. I should like to tell you all about it, Jack,’ he said, in his usual tone. ‘I’m afraid I made rather a fool of myself this morning and was rude to you.’—I interrupted him with a gesture of dissent.— ‘I beg your pardon, if I were so,’ he went on. ‘But I was in a cursed temper: it’s all over now; I only feel like a fellow awakened out of a pleasant dream a little too roughly.’ “He paused a moment or two; I thought I ought to speak, but I didn’t in the least know what to say. SoI held my tongue, and Considine began his story quietly, with his usual dry and composed manner. ‘“«T had no misgivings whatever when I started on my journey to Raeford last evening, though I had neither written nor telegraphed to—to—them to expect me; meaning, you know, to take them by surprise. I did not reach Raeford until rather late—it was getting dusk, in fact: you know the arrangement on that South East line— if you are ina hurry you had better get out and walk. The Hall is only half a mile from the station, and I left my portmanteau in the cloak-room and walkedup. Ofcourse no one at the house knew me, and I would not send in my name. I asked for Miss Laborde, and the fellow showed me into the library—I don’t think he knew who was there. There were two solitary candles burning on the table, and look- ing dim and yellow in the ruddy glow of the fire that went blazing up the wide chimney. I went towards it, not seeing that there was anyone in the room. She stood in that little west window, Jack, half hidden by the crimson curtain, and with her back to me; but there was the sleeve of a brown shooting coat round her waist, and both her white hands rested on his shoulders. I saw at a glance who it was—Tom Thornhill, the richest and most finished fool in all Blankshire. I suppose I must have made some exclamation, for they both turned round with a start—they had not heard me enter or cross the room, She, Mary, knew me, and gave a little, half-inaudible cry, covering her face with both hands. I believe she must have thought she saw my ghost for a moment; Thornhill stared stupidly, twisting the end of his moustache. ‘I am sorry to have intruded upon you, Miss Laborde; I see I was presuming too far on my welcome. I should have asked permission to come,” I said; rather brutally, I’m afraid. She raised her head. ‘You have not had my letter, George! oh, forgive me! but how could I know you had not had it ?”—‘‘T received no letter since that one you wrote in June,” ECOPMICDOO KS, (EC)