The Argosy — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

66 Number Twenty-five. caution, and regain my own den before she entered the passage. When I next ventured out, the key was in the lock inside and all was still. I spent that afternoon hanging about the place, wondering what I ought to do. When, to my relief, I recognised the doctor’s neat brougham in waiting at the hotel door, I hurried down and begged a few moments’ attention. He listened to all I told him gravely, but with no surprise. “Tt is unfortunately the case that the pocr lady’s brain has not re- covered the shock of that night’s terror and exposure. She was allowed to get over-excited about something next day, and her husband attri- butes the distressing consequences to my treatment. I do not attempt to justify myself; I have no occasion to do so; and, personally, I rejoice that he has decided to put the case into other hands, though on the lady’ s account I feel grave anxiety as to the consequences of the journey.” I thanked him and returned to my painting, working with my door ajar—awaiting events. None befell. Loseby returned late. I avoided seeing him, and kept out of his way during the bustle of departure next morning. I saw Mrs. Loseby’s huge basket-trunks being piled on the private omnibus, in which a couch had been arranged for the invalid. Loseby and the maid ran up and down laden with air-cushions, railway wraps and foot warmers, and, at the last possible moment, poor Mrs. Loseby appeared, cloaked and veiled, and treading falteringly. They sup- ported her carefully to the carriage. I ventured to approach the door — and raise my hat in farewell. * You will find something for you in my room: go and get it,” she called out suddenly, sitting bolt upright, her eyes shining bright and eager. Loseby, who had turned to speak to the manager, heard her. “ My dearest /” he exclaimed, jumping into the carriage hastily. I saw her cower down in her corner as they drove off. I ran upto their rooms as fast as I could. No. 24, their sitting- room, was empty, with the song I had heard the poor lady sing (could it be only six days ago), lying forgotten on the piano. No. 25, the bed-room, was in the hands of the chambermaids, who had already stripped the bed and turned the place topsy-turvy. ‘Have you seen—a note—or a pencilled scrap—lying about any- where? ” I inquired. “No, sir. Nothing of the sort.” I gave alook into the empty grate and the dust-pan, with no result. My pencil lay on the toilet glass. ‘Poor lady, she meant that, I suppose,” J said, and pocketed it. Half an hour later, Losthaven and the Imperial lay some twenty miles behind me on the road to London. That little holiday left an uneasy feeling behind it : and I put away my sketches of the place. The season began. I found work enough to keep hands and brain Eomicbooksseo