The Argosy — page 220: what you’re looking at

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

The Tenant of The Cedars. 203 ‘‘Good heavens !—By whom ?” ‘That is a mystery to this hour. She was in the habit of sitting up rather late to practice her music, and that night Underwood, who was in bed, but not asleep, noticed that she broke off suddenly in the middle of a song. He thought it strange, and after waiting a few moments, threw on his clothes, and hurried downstairs. He found the poor young lady lying in a pool of her own blood—dead. She had been stabbed in the back as she sat at the piano. The window was open, and there were foot-prints in the garden, but the. murderer, whoever it was, had had time to get clear away, and has never been traced from that day to this.” ‘‘ What was supposed to be the motive of the crime P—robbery ?” ‘No, nothing was stolen ; that’s the mysterious part of it. You may think that Sir Philip was dreadfully shocked at such a thing happening on his estate. He himself offered a reward for inform- ation, but ——” ‘Was no one even at the time ?” I interrupted. My companion hesitated. ‘‘ Well—one person was, sir.’ “Who was that P” She pointed to the gardener. I looked at her incredulously. “Impossible!” I exclaimed. ‘‘Underwood—who was so devotedly attached to her!” “Many people think he has madness in his blood,” she whispered ; ‘‘and it’s well known that madmen often turn against the very person they love best when in their right senses. You see we have only his own account of what took place that night, for the house- keeper neither saw nor heard anything. ‘The foot-prints may have been a cunning device to avert suspicion. Heaven forbid that I should accuse him wrongfully,” she added in conclusion, ‘but everyone has noticed that since it happened, he has been like a man bewitched.” When she had left the room I stood for a moment, watching the gardener ; then opened the window, and crossed the lawn to his side. He stood in the same attitude, with a rapt, ecstatic look on his face, as if he were listening to the “music of the spheres.” He turned towards me as I approached, but did not appear to recognise me till I spoke. ‘“‘Day-dreaming again, Underwood?” I said. ‘It seems to bea habit of yours ?” He passed his hand over his forehead, as if to rouse himself, and pushed back his cap. ‘A very stupid one. I must try to cure myself of it,” he replied with a constrained smile. “What were you listening to just now?” I asked point-blank. He resumed his task, and made no reply. _* Why will you not tell me?” ‘“ Because, if I did, you would think me mad.” connicloooks (C(O)