The Argosy — page 274: what you’re looking at

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

The White Witch. 249 and was taken into the waiting-room. Her heart ached for him, her heart yearned to comfort him; she could hardly help running to him there and then. Waiting yet a little while until he should be safely away, she began to think her time for escape had come. _ As yet she had not seen a sign of anybody else to dread. Most of the passengers had gone, with their luggage, and the bustle of the platform had nearly subsided. It was not late; not yet half past ten. Carrying her bag in her hand, Mary quietly left the carriage and was about to walk towards the cabs, when the young man who had been so attentive to Godfrey came up to her and raised his hat. *‘T’am here to look after you, you see,” said he cheerfully. She glanced round at the fair beardless face, at the bright hard smile on the thin lips, and, shuddering from head to foot, gave vent to an exclamation of terror, which was lost in the shriek of a moving engine, wen. | 1m © me) AT MRS, PENTEITH’S. AFTER the guard had gone off with his ticket, Godfrey Mayne lay back in the carriage, dazed and bewildered. Where was he? What had happened to him? It was with an effort that he recalled only an outline of the circumstances. Mary? Yes, Mary was in one of the carriages before him. He must find her as soon as they got in, and convey her to his aunt’s in Eaton Place. But how was it that he felt so drowsy ?—why could he not keep his eyes open? Then he remembered the draught the young doctor had given him, and looked round the carriage. But where was the doctor? He was gone. The mental effort to recall these facts was too much for Godfrey ; his head fell back, and he slept again. At the terminus, when the train stopped, there was the same difficulty in arousing him that the guard had experienced. The latter, called to by a porter, came to the carriage door. He was from Lancashire, and knew Godfrey. “Dead drunk,” pronounced the porter. “Get along with you!” cried the guard indignantly. ‘“ Drunk indeed! It is young Mr. Mayne of Croxham Abbey.” ‘Folks drink, if they’ve a mind to, whether they live in a Abbey or an hovel,” retorted the porter. “ He doesn't,” said the guard. ‘‘ He has had a bad illness: got shot in mistake for somebody else. I never was more surprised than when I saw him come to the train.” “I think I must have been drugged,” said Godfrey, when they Gomichoo (E(©) m