The Argosy — page 346: what you’re looking at

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

A Platonic Attachment. 325 beside me. She sat down; her hands lay listless on her lap, and her eyes wore a far-away look that told of a world of sadness pent up in their depths. ‘‘What a beautiful garden that is at the side of the house,” I observed by way of interesting her. ‘‘ The late dweller here must have been a passionate lover of flowers.” “You'll be a stranger to these parts?” she asked. I mentioned that I came the previous day to the neighbouring village, and was leaving on the morrow. “Captain Carey,” she said, somewhat abruptly, ‘‘ lived here for many years—fifteen—I was his housekeeper, until r “Until he changed his residence ?”’ ‘* He’s dead,” she said, laconically. Presently she enquired : “Which way did you come?’ By Ashley Wood and over Threpton Common? Then you'd pass a stone cross just as you came off the common, with initials on it and a date?” ‘SYes.” “They were his initials, and it was there he died.” “‘T feel strangely interested,” I said. ‘‘ Will you tell me all there is to tell?” “Yes. Since you seem to mind. How better could I pass the time? It will nottakelongtotell. Fifteen years ago my dear master came here and engaged me as his housekeeper. He was forty-five years old. He had been in the Royal Navy, and people wondered that a sailor should choose this out-of-the-way inland country place ; but when they saw the pleasure he took in his garden, in the cultiva- tion of his flowers and shrubs, they thought they understood. But they were wrong. J found out his secret long before the country people had suspected there was anything particular that drew him to this spot. The attraction was a woman of about his own age, and that woman one of the greatest ladies in the land. Her husband— don’t fear ; there is nothing in the whole sad history, thank God, that will not bear the light of day. If there were, do you think I would speak of it when 4e was my dear master? The lady’s husband—as I was about to say—was Earl of Dayshire—king, as it were, of all this country—she, of course, was countess.” My eyes, following the direction of the speaker’s, rested on a castle, distant some two or three miles, which I had seen and made a sketch of in the afternoon. “Yes,” she answered in reply to my unspoken thoughts, “ when he was not minding his flowers, or walking or riding on the road that leads to the castle, he sat here where he could see the place she lived in, framed by the porch as though it were a picture. Ten years ago the Countess became a widow, and then I thought—no matter what I thought! Death is the only leveller it seems, not love. The Countess knew everyone to speak to for miles around. She would EONNIE OOO KS (E() m