The Argosy — page 253: what you’re looking at

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

230 In [Half an Hour. looked upon as a beautiful youth. Perhaps a tinge of unsuspected jealousy unwittingly heightened his curiosity. A sort of glow diffused itself over Missy’s face; her vision seemed to be lost in the dim recesses of the little chase ; her whole manner | seemed to bespeak a state of ecstatic feeling. , “The beautiful youth,” she said slowly and pensively, ‘is all glor- ious to behold, like the early sun in summer, or like the splendour of the apple-orchards when the fruit is ripe. He is a peerless knight clothed with dignity, and virtue, and truth, and a burning fire goes out of his heart, and consumes all iniquity as he passes by. He goes through the world like Sigurd, redressing every wrong, and the hearts of the people trust in him, and when he speaks, or even when he comes near, men and women are happier and better, and little children are gladder and holier. His locks are bright, as if the sun had kissed them, and his eyes are calm and pure, as if the stars sojourned within them. His hands are mighty, like the resistless north wind, and his feet are rapid, like the rushing of many rivers, and his heart is deep—deep like the unfathomed sea.” And ?” uttered the young man, breathlessly. He was amazed at Missy’s gush of poetic fervour, and he longed for her to continue. He knew well that in speech was danger. A word might break the spell—but a breath—a breath might compass his desire. ‘‘If I hung for it, I would kill the fellow who played her false!” he thought. “And one day,” Missy proceeded, dreamily, ‘one day he will come to find me. Perhaps he will come in the vernal sunshine, and thrushes and blackbirds will carol as he draws nigh, and pale shy primroses, and the fragrant cowslips, and the nodding violets, will spring around his feet as he moves, and great joy will be in his soul. Or perhaps he will come through the fields when the corn is golden, and clusters of nuts will garland his head, and rich purple plums will fill his hands, and poppies will spread a regal carpet for his feet, and gladness will be in his mien. Or perhaps he will come at dewy eve rowing over the tranquil mere, and pearls will drip from his oars, and lily-buds will follow in his wake, and he will come to shore where the forget-me-nots are bluest, and a tender peace will beupon him. And he will recognise me, and know that his destiny has arrived, and he will rejoice—rejoice. And we two shall link our hands together, and ¢ a thrill of sympathy will unite us for ever, and time will be lost in © the eternity of our bliss.” She ceased, and her chin drooped, till it rested on her folded hands. He remained silent; he was disappointed. He felt it was utterly prosaic to be a barrister—to be business-like and busy—to have briefs and clients—to be astute and practical. He could never attain the perfections of the beautiful youth. No sun would ever condescend to kiss his curly hair ; no star would ever vouchsafe to abide in his merry eyes ; no flowers would ever be induced to spring CORNICE OOOKS acon