The Argosy — page 249: what you’re looking at

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

230 MRS. CARR’S COMPANION, By Mary GRACE WIGHTWICK, AUTHOR OF ‘IN LANDS OF PALM.” _-—-—_ <9 —- CHAPTER XVI, THOROLD. OE hada fine morning in March, when trees were budding, and hedges sprouting, and birds beginning to sing again and make pretence at summer, a telegram was handed in at the Archdeacon’s door which put all the household in pleasant commotion. Miles was on his way home, had actually left camp and reached Natal, where, if all went well, he was to embark the following morning. Will Olive ever forget the day of the telegram’s arrival? She was returning from a long country walk to a farm-house, where she had been in search of new-laid eggs for her mother, when turning a corner into the Close, she was suddenly accosted by a familiar voice: “Olive! are you going to cut us?” Her uncle and John Thorold stood together beneath the great gateway, smiling at her sudden start as she recognised them. “You are just in time,” said the Archdeacon. ‘‘ Thorold, here, is leaving St. Brenda’s for good and all to-morrow morning, and wants to bid you good-bye. He has just been paying us a farewell yisit.” “T leave for Canada by the next mail,” Thorold explained, as Olive mechanically held out her hand. ‘I came back expressly to see my friends, and should indeed have been vexed to miss you.” ‘“Ves?p” Olive could not trust herself to utter another word. The blow had fallen so suddenly, so cruelly. She had not seen him since the evening of that terrible wedding-day, and now this, their first meeting, was also to be their last ! The Archdeacon began openly lamenting his protégé’s departure. He had taken a liking for Thorold, and was sincere in his regrets, to which the young man listened half-absently. One word from Olive would have been worth all the rest, but it did not come. She stood cold and silent, with lips firmly pressed together. But for her extreme paleness one might have thought she had not heard. ‘‘T was so sorry not to see Lady Mary,” Thorold said; “ will you bid her good-bye for me, and thank her for all her kindness ?” Olive silently accepted the commission. ‘She will be very sorry herself,” the Archdeacon struck in. “Lady Mary has a good memory for all her friends. Return whenever you will, she will have a welcome for you.” “And you,” Thorold said, diffidently approaching Olive, “ shall Gomicdbooks (E(@) m