The Argosy — page 198: what you’re looking at

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

Winifred Power. 181 to the occasion. Drawing herself up with stony dignity, she looked the little woman over from head to foot. Then she dropped a curtsey. “J think, madam, you must have mistaken me for some old acquaintance from Marleyford,” she said, and walked away. Her victim stood rooted on the sunlit path, still as a graven image, an image of Pain. She uttered no word, no sigh even, but her face turned so ashen grey that Winifred involuntarily cried aloud in alarm. “Come home, dear,” exclaimed the generous girl, quivering with indignation. ‘‘ Never mind what they say ; just come home with me.” The simple, ardent words fell upon unheeding ears. Mademoiselle Marthe mechanically allowed herself to be led away, but her awful silence remained unbroken. Only by a sign did she testify her wish to be taken to her own home instead of to Winifred’s. The latter, frightened at the unnatural calm, called a coach and put her into it. She went home with her ; took off her dress ; made her lie down; and petted her in womanly fashion. Then, not knowing what more to do, in avery passion of sympathy, she drew the trembling frame into her strong young arms, and kissed her friend in speechless pity. At the touch, Mademoiselle Marthe burst into a convulsion of tearless sobs, which seemed as if they would last for ever, Scared and powerless, Winifred sent in haste for a doctor. He adminis- tered a calming dose, and after a while the patient dropped asleep. But she awoke at the end of an hour or two, feverish and delirious. She began to rave incoherently about her own trial and the’ presence of Mary in the witness-box. This one vision returned again and again with singular vividness ; it was plain that of the many circumstances connected with her betrayal, the treachery of her cousin had burnt most deeply into Martha Freake’s memory.. The piteous prayer for truth, only the truth, reiterated every moment, seemed to tell its own tale; and Winifred, listening through the long watches of the night, registered a mental vow that if redress could be had she would obtain it. Her uncle and aunt came from Marleyford: from them it would be easy to learn the whole story. Mademoiselle Marthe recovered. That is to say, consciousness returned to her, and with it something of her usual manner. but her face wore a constant look of torture, and instinctively Winifred felt that to question her would be like probing a quivering wound. She consequently had no choice but to possess her soul in patience, and wait for some future chance of enlightenment. From her uncle and aunt she had failed to obtain information. Mr. - Russell was too unwell to write, and his wife was one of those unsatisfactory cor- respondents who never answer questions. Finding that Mrs. Russell passed over the subject of Mademoiselle Marthe in silence, Winifred could but conclude that she had nothing of real interest regarding it to relate. All this time events in the great world had been proceeding with Startling rapidity. Sédan had been fought, the empire had fallen, CORNICLOOL SS (CO)