The Argosy — page 250: what you’re looking at

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

Mrs. Cary’s Companion. 231 you also be glad to see me back again? if, indeed, I ever do come back !” “Of course.” With a last remaining effort at self-command she nerved herself to utter the words, though she dared not meet his gaze. He sighed as his eyes rested this once more upon the face that had grown so unutterably dear to him; yes, he would own it now—dearer than anything in this world besides. If things had been different, would it have been so difficult to win it to loving looks and tender smiles in place of that passionless calm? _ As It was—he recollected himself and held out his hand. ‘* Good-bye—Olive !” ‘* Good-bye.” That was all. A farewell hand-clasp, one glance, and she had passed on, out of his life. Blinded by tears that would no longer be kept back, Olive stumbled on, she scarcely knew whither, till suddenly seized by a dread of meeting someone she knew, she turned aside towards a spot in the cloisters where she had often sat sketching with Thorold. Peace, if not content, might be found where so many once restless hearts lay sleeping under the cold grey stones. Great waves of melodious sound surged into hearing now and again from the organ within the building close by. Olive’s sad heart echoed the De Profundis of the faintly-chanting voices. Suddenly, foot- steps sounded behind her, growing more and more distinct in pursuit, till they slackened at her side. How much one footstep differs from another! Olive would have known these among a thousand; her heart began to throb wildly, and her limbs to tremble. ‘‘ Miss Egerton, I came to ask—it cannot matter now that I am going away, perhaps for ever !—will you give me one of your sketches as a remembrance?—-What! Tears! Dare I believe that my going costs you one little pang of regret? Ah! if you would only give me the happiness of knowing that you will miss me when I am no longer here! You don’t know what it would be tome!” She had started guiltily at the sound of the voice which she had thought never to hear again, and struggled to control herself; but the traces of tears were only too evident in the face she raised to his ; and, when at last she managed to speak, her smile was a poor pretence. ¢ Are you so glad that I am sorry, John? ‘That is not like you!” The tender reproach, the half-admission, was enough. A mist seemed to clear away all in a moment. Thorold forgot all about ‘Lady Mary Egerton’s daughter,” and ‘‘the gulf,” and his pride, and what he had meant to do, and what he hadn’t. He only realised with a great gladness that his old playmate cared for him, and that he had found it out just in time. He dared to speak now in the brief, blunt words which told more than the highest flights of eloquence; and Olive listened to what she ECORnnICLOOOKS. EO