The Argosy — page 195: what you’re looking at

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

178 Winifred Power. least not until you came,” added Mademoiselle Marthe, with her faint but patient and pleased little smile. Winifred, almost unconsciously, took her hand. ‘‘But now you will make friends among your own people. You will come to see us ?” she exclaimed, impetuously. ‘My own people? I have none,” replied Mademoiselle Marthe. ‘My kindred are the poor and suffering.” The words had a sudden ring of pain, and a new expression swept over the speaker’s face. It was not anger, still less resentment ; it could hardly even be called bitterness. But it was full of a fathom- less and blasting woe. ‘Two burning spots had come into the wrinkled cheeks, the lips quivered with an agitation made all the more painful by the strained look of the tearless eyes. She drew a little away from her visitor, with a movement that unwittingly said how she shrank from commonplace compassion. Winifred began to talk about herself, her aims, her friends, her pictures, and thus drew to the surface that unselfish sympathy, which was the key-note to the other’s reticent nature. In time, Winifred thought, she would van- quish the little woman’s reserved timidity, and end by bringing about a meeting between her and Mr. Russell. She ardently desired this: for, dimly yet strongly feeling that Mademoiselle Marthe had been in some way wronged, she believed that her kind and clever uncle might be able to learn the secret. But in this aim she failed. One day, indeed, Mademoiselle Marthe caught quickly at the name ‘ Russell,” which Winifred had for the first time mentioned. “Ts that your uncle’s name? And. Walter, did you say?” She turned rather pale, and seemed struggling to hide some emotion. “Yes. Did you ever know him?” was the surprised question. ‘Nay, there are many Russells in the world. And Walter Russells too.” But even while thus answering, Mademoiselle Marthe looked ~ strangely troubled. Winifred sat silent, expecting, hoping to be further questioned; but no interrogation came, and Mademoiselle Marthe began to talk of something else. Nevertheless her manner remained wistful: and as Winifred, on leaving, stooped to kiss her, she spoke in a trembling way. “ Does injustice make you angry, child? Could you be pitiful and loving even if the world reproached you for it ?” ‘Of course,” replied Winifred. To her surprise and consternation this answer provoked a burst of tears, the very first that she had seen in her friend. ‘Tears are akin to speech: was the veil of this anguished past, whatever it might be, to be finally lifted? No: Mademoiselle Marthe checked her emotion, almost as if ashamed of it, and dropped her head humbly. ‘It is so long since I have cried,” she said, in her simple, patient way ; and Wint- fred felt that the moment for questioning had not come. With characteristic loyalty, she abstained from following up the CORNICE OOO <Sp(eong)