The Argosy — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

Winifred Power. 15 Martha made no immediate reply. Mary’s words had for her a ereater force than the speaker could guess. She had not, it is true, an idea of the nature of the letter or of the measure to which it could affect John; and, on the other hand, she dared not question. She feared by interrogation to excite suspicion and illuminate facts still wrapped up in darkness. “You cannot refuse me such a little favour, Patty,” began Mary once more, caressingly. ‘The coaxing tone went to her cousin’s heart. Still she could not yield at once. Mary entreated, repeating again and again that the letter must be withdrawn, ‘‘if not by Martha, then by somebody else.” “Tf I bring you the letter, what will you do with it ?” asked the yielding woman. “Tear it up,’ answered Mary with a light laugh, that yet was a little forced. ‘You promise,” questioned Martha, looking at her earnestly. ‘‘T promise,” replied the girl: though her glance flickered. Martha sighed. But love and anxiety. for those she loved com- bined to vanquish her; and Mary, triumphant, finally extracted from her the promise that she would go. | But the day came, and Miss Freake went, no letter was forthcom- ing. Mary, much disappointed, insisted on her promise to go again at the end of another few days. So one fine morning, when the air was balmy, although the trees were still leafless, and when crocuses and snowdrops had suddenly revealed themselves in all the gardens, Martha started off once more, the post-office her final destination. First she had many small errands of business and of charity to perform; some bills to pay, some bedridden crones to visit. Blither than usual, the cloud of humble depression that generally clung around her gentle spirit a_ little lifted, she trotted from place to place. Perhaps it was the soft, lovely weather that made her feel so bright; for Martha Freake was very sensitive to external impressions. Far more sensitive, indeed, than most people, looking carelessly at her crumpled little face under her dowdy bonnet, thought it worth while to guess. Poer simple, loving Martha! | At last she turned into the street where the post-office was; pre- sented herself before the clerk, and asked for a letter addressed “xX Y Z.” It was handed out to her. With a spasm of surprise, she recognised the handwriting of the address for John’s. Hastily thrust- ing the mysterious missive into her pocket, she turned and found herself face to face with a quiet-looking stranger. What he had to say to her, and what happened next, the curious reader will learn in the following chapter. , cComicbooks.c©