The Argosy — page 334: what you’re looking at

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

The Ghost of ‘* Ours.” 313 but when de Barnac coolly repeated his statement, and Vandeleur con- firmed it, letting old Penderell extract the facts as reluctantly as possi- ble, ten he sank down, crushed and hopeless. I shall never forget the look he fixed on Vandeleur in his despair. “The affair had been made too public to hush up, and the Colonel was at his wits’ end what to do next, when the poor boy saved him all further trouble. That evening when we were at mess I saw Ormsby’s face at the window. He looked in on us all with his great, wild, hag- gard eyes,and disappeared. It was his farewell. His servant had caught him fooling with his pistols that afternoon and stuck to him like wax, but Ormsby was too quick for him. He made off down the back lanes to the river. You know the Yarn flows pretty deep and strong just below the Market Street Bridge, where there are wharves belonging to some disused factory buildings not far from here. ‘*‘ Before the man could come up with him he saw Ormsby toss his arms in the air, give a sort of a cry, and go in like astone. There were no boats about or any means of getting at him, and before the river police could be summoned, the body must have been far out at sea. ‘Tt was perhaps as well. An inquest would have been a nuisance to the family ; but still—if he had been decently buried: the service read, you know, and that sort of thing—perhaps we shouldn’t have had all these queer stories about now.” Loxdale concluded with a bothered look. I pondered over the little history awhile. “Then you think it was Vandeleur’s doing, or the Frenchman’s, with his connivance P ” ““T do—most certainly. He had his own reasons for wanting Ormsby out of the way. I don’t think he quite expected such an end, though.” “Ah! now I comprehend the case—who was She?” I enquired, with youthful cynicism. “Miss Barbara Dacre, a distant cousin, also brought up by old Penderell. Their marriage was to reconcile conflicting claims to the property. A majestic young creature, with a creamy skin and a fine au- burn mane of her own, who carried her chin in the air and looked at us through her black eyelashes as if no man alive was worth the trouble of lifting an eyelid. Harry always seemed devoted enough, but rather afraid of her and Vandeleur—well, as soon as I saw him look at her, I knew evil was brewing.—He gained nothing after all by Ormsby’s death; for she would never set eyes on one of us again; shut herself up and nursed the old man over there at Pen- derell. I suppose he is dead and gone by this time.” Loxdale’s story lasted far into the night, and left a queer, eerie feel- ing On me that hung about me for days. Of course I didn’t believe it: but the face at the window? The eyes haunted me with their haggard, wistful gaze. I became impatient of my own fancies and in VOL, XXXVII. x EONNIE OO KS (E() m