The Argosy — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

Winifred Power. Il “And you really think I can leave him with safety to-night ? ” asked a voice, whose tones rooted Martha to the ground with amaze- ment. “Indeed he is much better,” replied the doctor. ‘“ Not only can you leave him, but I have impressed upon Mrs. Howard the necessity of seeking rest herself. She will break down entirely, otherwise.” “My wife is unfortunately of an anxious temperament,” answered John: for John Hatherley it was who was leaning on the gate and saying these inconceivable things. His wife? Martha with difficulty suppressed an exclamation of surprise and dismay. Surprise that John should be secretly married ; dismay at the secrecy, and the consequent danger of detection. She shrank back into the shadow like a guilty thing, letting the doctor go_ past her unchallenged ; and waited in a kind of dream until John’s receding steps had died away upon the gravel walk. Then she darted forward with but one idea, that of escape, nor did she breathe freely until she was once more seated in the omnibus and jolting back to the station ; where she had to wait. The stupor of her recent discovery imprisoned her mind like a mould of lead, affecting her hardly less than if she had found John out in a crime. What kind of woman could he have married? And what would his father, what would everybody say, when discovery ensued? ‘To our simple-minded Martha, steeped in the habits of the Hatherleys and imbued with their traditions, a clandestine marriage in connection with one of them seemed nothing less than highly improper. And how was she to behave under the weight of this astounding mystery ? The thought of betraying John never presented itself to her. She was as loyal as she was loving; and in so far as silence could shield him, she was just as ready to stand by him now as in the old days, when he got into boyish scrapes, and her indulgent protection alone averted the birch. But surreptitious visits to the jam closet are one thing; a family hidden away in a remote suburb of London is another ; and Martha nearly groaned aloud as she realised that all she could do for John now, her dear cousin, was to suffer for him in agonised silence and suspense. Lest such feelings should seem exaggerated, it must be remem- bered that among the many believers in the Hatherley “legend,” the staunchest, the most fervent, the most unquestioning, was Martha. No single thing ought to threaten the foundations of that rock of respectability : yet a clandestine connection implies something dis- graceful. | She felt quite worn out with perplexity when she reached home at last, and was fairly past deriving any delight even from bestowing her £,10 upon Mary. “Where did you get it?” asked that young lady, surprise pre- dominating over every other sentiment. Martha, unable to fib, but blushing at the confession, ramblingly ECOnnicloooks (CO)