The Argosy — page 280: what you’re looking at

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

The White Witch. 255 left home ; it has grieved us greatly. We were all also much touched to hear how you went up to town before you were fit to travel, in your anxiety to fulfil Mr. Thornhill’s conditions. L£/speth esfectally ; who, as she may not write to you, has directed the envelope. Conis- ton is getting very cold and we shall probably return to Croxham sooner than we intended, and I hope we shall see you there before long. You need not trouble to answer this, as I dare say you are not well enough yet for much letter-writing. I hope you are taking good care of yourself, and that you are very temperate in your diet ; I know many doctors recommend stimulants, but I do not think they are sood things, as they tend to cause inflammation. As I do not know your address in town, I send this to the Abbey to be forwarded. ‘‘ With kind regards from all, yours very sincerely, “JANE R. THORNHILL,” Mrs. Penteith put it down and took off her glasses in silence. When Godfrey looked at her again, he was surprised at her expression of face. “Why, what’s the matter, Aunt Margaret P—you look so angry.” “That letter has put me rather out of temper, my dear.” “What, Mrs. Thornhill’s? I don’t see anything in it to be angry about. She has not any special gift for composition, certainly.” * But it is so cold and commonplace. Is Elspeth like that? If so ——” She stopped. re sor" “Tam not surprised—at anything. Are you still engaged to EI- speth, Godfrey ?” “JT don’t quite know,” said he, carelessly. ‘‘She has been away lately and I haven’t thought about her. The Vicar accused me of want of fervour; or, rather, I believe, of misdirected fervour, and suspended my engagement. JBut they seem satisfied now,” added he in a hard voice. There was a long silence. Godfrey got up from the table and walked with the help of a stick to the window. This short colloquy had roused the sleeping dogs of thought. His aunt watched him anxiously. When he came back, moody and miserable, to the fire- place, on one side of which she was sitting, his face relaxed a little, and he stretched himself on the hearthrug and laid his head on her lap like a boy. ‘My poor, poor boy,” said she tenderly, lifting his head with loving hands and looking anxiously into the face that had become worn and wan. ‘You need not pity me, aunt. It is all my own fault. I’ve been playing with the matches like a naughty boy, and burnt myself.” Mrs. Penteith said nothing ; only stroked his hair, and waited. “You know what has happened to me,” said he presently, looking shrewdly up into her face. ‘At least you know a good deal, and Gomichoo (E(@) m