The Argosy — page 268: what you’re looking at

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

On the River. 2149 It seems ages to him before the silence is broken. At last—‘ Did you always think me a dreadful flirt ?” He is startled and taken unawares by the appealing tone. Fain would he answer a re-assuring negative, but memories of the old days again rise before his mind—visions of the sweet little playmate grown suddenly into an exacting vain piece of womanhood—of poor Jack’s alternate rapture and despair in the days of his brief, ill- considered courtship—and truth, the guiding-star of Leslie Grahame’s nature, compels him to answer: “T don’t think you could help it—some women are formed to be the torment of every man who comes near them—it was your nature to be sweet and loveable.” “And now I am grown older and harder—and care only for admiration, so that I could stoop to pick up a heart that belongs of right to another woman. Oh, Leslie! you thought this!” ‘By Heaven, I did you injustice,” cries the Colonel, in a burst of self-reproach. ‘I’ve been insulting you all this time, and you have borne it like an angel: just as you used in the old days, when I was a big unmannerly boy, and tyrannised over you like the ruffian I was.” ‘And I liked you through it all.” This is spoken very softly. ‘ Nina, Nina, do not drive me mad. You can do it—you always could—I went away years ago because I knew you cared for Jack.” *You did?” “Was I not right? You would never have chosen me—the grave stern Scotchman, fifteen years your senior, in preference to that bright, sunny-hearted lad? And now, don’t think, dear, that I have come back to harass you. I would not have seen you to-day, but that I could not bear to leave youw*unwarned of the gossip afloat. But now that you know, your woman’s wit and your own brave little heart will prove your best defence. Good-bye, Nina. Say once that you forgive me—as you used long ago.” = Lesie !” It is well that the drooping branches of a weeping willow have made a little secluded bower of the landing-place; well, too, that the gardener, coming down to moor the boat, does not arrive a minute sooner, or his astonished eyes might have seen what Queenie after- wards mysteriously reports. ‘“‘ My mammie crying, and Colonel Grahame comforting her, as mammie does me when [ tumble down, holding her head on his shoulder and stroking her hair.” For Leslie Grahame’s long-repressed tale of love has been spoken at last, and the little playfellow of early days—the prize which he gave up in bitter self-denial to his boy friend—has whispered to him the “Yes” which, had he been more far-sighted, might have been spoken long ago, and have spared him years of self-inflicted exile. CoOnniclooolks (C(O)