The Argosy — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

2 The White Witch. he gave vent to a harsh word of self-reproach for ever having let her know that he had doubted her. Godfrey turned back into the house, and went upstairs ; and met Mary, who had come out of her mother’s room, at the turn of the gallery. The traces of tears on her sweet wan face, the sad look in her soft dark eyes, set all Godfrey’s veins of pity passionately throbbing: and in the impulse of the moment he whispered a few comforting words, rather too warmly for his adopted réle of brother. Mary seemed to shrink into herself, and waited silently for him to allow her to pass, bending her head in acknowledgment of his words, but evidently not at all soothed by them. ““Is Mrs. Mayne’s foot better?” asked Godfrey. ‘‘I hope it is not seriously hurt ?” “Oh no, not seriously, I think. Only enough to confine her for a few days to the sofa in her room.” Mary went one way and Godfrey another. He turned into one of the many rooms, unoccupied, whose window looked upon the thickly- grown trees of the plantation. He stood watching the red glow, left by the sunset, between the dark boughs, until his reflections became too disagreeable to be borne. **T’ll take in the man’s sketch-book,” he said aloud: “‘it’s hardly time to dress yet.” He was passing through the hall to go out by the entrance near the refectory, when he again met Miss Dixon. She had been into the garden to gather some fresh mignonette for her mother. ‘Is that the sketch-book you spoke of ?” she said, noticing the book in his hand. ‘I should like to see it.” ‘ There’s nothing in it worth seeing,” answered Godfrey, as he put it on one of the hall tables and opened it for her. ‘* A sketch or two of parts of the Abbey, and what looks like a plan of it where it. joins the farm ; that’s all at present. The book is new.” ‘Why should he sketch parts of the Abbey >—Why should he take a plan of it: if it is a plane?” ‘“ Artists sketch anything—especially idle ones.” ** Here’s some writing.” It was but a word ortwo: “Garden,” and “south wall:” but Mary Dixon’s eyes devoured them as if they were illuminated characters of gold. As Godfrey stood regarding her, a shade of terror seemed to pass over her face. “What do you see in the words to alarm you, Miss Dixon?” “ Nothing in the words; nothing at all. But the hand- “writing,” she slowly added, “exactly resembles one that I—I—-—once saw in the days gone by.” “Some coincidence,” lightly spoke Godfrey. ‘ People write much alike now-a-days.” “Yes,” she answered ; and ran lightly upstairs with her handful of mignonette. Gomicbooks iGo m