The Argosy — page 224: what you’re looking at

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

The Tenant of The Cedars. 207 ‘She did, with her last breath, that fatal night, when I found her, lying in the moonlight, with her life ebbing away from the cruel wound. She saw in my face that I guessed who had struck the blow, and with all the strength that was left in her she implored —commanded me never to tell. It was her husband—for she was married, though the world did not know it. I have kept the secret so far, but I feel that if I don’t share it with someone, I shall go mad in earnest. It is eating my heart away. I dare not break my vow, but you shall know the truth.” “From whom? How shall I know it—and when ?” He rose and pushed back his chair, pointed over his shoulder, then bent his lips to my ear. ‘Watch with me in that room on the night of the first of September, and you shall learn the secret.” Before I could speak again, he was gone. ‘ii. THE last week of August was stormy and wet. Summer took flight hurriedly, scared by the wild gales and heavy rain which stripped the branches and laid the flowers low. ‘The green arcades of the park were dank and dripping; the sunny glades, forlorn; the avenues carpeted with fallen leaves, and the little river, transformed from a stream to a torrent, had overflowed its banks, inundating the lower end of the Cedars lawn, and carrying away the hand-rails, and some planks of the bridge. The tempestuous weather culminated on the first of September. From dawn till dark the wind blew and the rain fell ‘‘as they would never weary ;” but in spite of both, I was abroad all the afternoon, being in a restless, excited mood which would not allow me to remain between four walls. The light of a stormy sunset was fading into dusk when I returned through the park, tired and wet, after a long tramp through miry country lanes. As I emerged from the plantation which bordered the stream, I was surprised to see Sir Philip Ranstone, who was standing on the bank, near the bridge. Buttoned up in his ulster he leaned against a tree, smoking, in serene indifference to wind and rain, with a large black retriever at his feet. The dog started up as I approached, barking violently, and Sir Philip turned. | “Ah! good evening, Mr.—a—Wilford,” he said, coming towards me. ‘‘ Awful weather, isn’t it? But I see you defy the elements, like myself.” ‘I was tired of staying indoors,” I explained. ‘‘T should think so ; you must be bored to extinction in that dull! hole, with no company but your own.” GOMIINIGIOOKS (CO)