The Argosy — page 349: what you’re looking at

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

328 A Platonic Attachment, him with a message to the effect that he need not read it until he reached home. He put it in his pocket, and, looking up at the castle as he rode out of the courtyard, saw a hand—which he knew well to be that of the Countess—wave a handkerchief from an upper window. ‘There is not much more to tell,” Mrs. Wilton continued after a slight pause, during which she seemed trying hard to subdue her emotion. ‘“ The hours went by, and he returned; but not riding blithely and singing as he went. A boy from the village came running first to tell me there had been an accident, that my master was ill, hurt, dying—I know not what. I ran down to the gate, and saw coming along the road a little crowd. Two men carried between them some hurdles on which a body lay. The face was covered, but when they came quite near, I saw the crushed and faded lily in the coat. I knew the doctor who was walking by the side: ‘Dead, quite dead when I found him lying in the road,’ he said, and pointed to the mare, who, led by a groom, formed one in the melancholy procession. Her knees bore marks on them as though she had been down. I took the faded flower from my master’s breast, and have it now. The face even in death was smiling. God only knows how the fatal accident happened, or whether he had read the letter. It was found in his pocket, and the seal was broken.” ‘* And the Countess P” ‘‘ Oh, she was very ill. I believe she felt it keenly. She had the cross put where he fell. But—‘ noblesse oblige’ they say,” she added, a little bitterly. . “ And—and you?” ‘‘T?” she cried, with asudden start and shiver, ‘I? Oh, do not think of me. I have lived fifteen years here now. Fifteen! But I have a brother in Australia. I go to him to-morrow. See! There are the lights shining in the castle windows. ‘The Countess is there. One of the gardeners was at the sale to-day and bought some of the best flowers; and a maid came, too, and bought some bits of china for her lady. What! are you going? Oh, I had forgotten! It is nearly dark, and you have a long walk before you. You took the wrong turn. Go back a hundred yards the way you came and you will find yourself on the right road to the village. Your sketch book is here.” While speaking in a rapid and excited manner, she walked with me to the gate and opened it. ‘“‘ Good-bye, my honey.” A lump rose in my throat ; I could not speak, but turning quickly, kissed her on the lips») A moment more, by the low rustic fence, I broke off a twig of sweetbriar as I passed, and kept it to recall the memory of that garden and the story told me in the porch. EK. M. Davy. GEoOmMmicbooks €or