The Argosy — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

102 The Mystery of Allan Grale. “you are too sensitive. If you are thus affected by a little blow falling on the lives of friends, how. val you bear your own share of blows? ‘They come to each of us.’ “T know they do,” said Maria, almost passionately. “T donot say we ought not to feel for others’ pain as much as for our own,” continued Edgar; ‘‘ only while our own pain may make us weak, the pain of sympathy should rather make us strong—strong to help.” “Ah Edgar,” interrupted Maria, “you speak nothing but truth, and yet you may not know what you are talking about.” ‘‘T fear you are becoming nervous and morbid,” he went on. ‘I can see your life is a trying one, Maria. It lacks incident.” Maria’s lips moved, but she said nothing aloud. ‘They had turned homewards. ‘“‘ Edgar,” said Maria, suddenly, ‘‘ I should very much like to get a chance of speaking with Allan Grale.” ‘‘He may be at the Court this afternoon,” replied Edgar. “ At any rate, he has promised to send up something to me, and I fancy it is not at all unlikely he may bring it himself.” “Then,” pursued Maria, eagerly, ‘‘ you must contrive to let me see him alone.” “That will be easy enough,” said Edgar, ightly. ‘But rely upon it, Maria, Charlie Carr will find his own way out of the mess without your troubling yourself to laud him to Allan.” It was only four o’clock when they reached home; but Maria was surprised to find the General had not returned. Mrs. Vivian was not visible. Edgar went to the library to write letters. A maid brought Maria a cup of tea to the morning-room. Maria was feeling strangely nervous, partly at the news she had heard, partly lest she should miss Allan Grale if he came. She wished to see him and to have speech with him very particularly indeed. Restless and uneasy, she presently went up to dress for the evening, determined not to be out of the way if he did come. He might come perchance before going home to dinner. From the depths of her wardrobe Maria hastily drew a dress that she had not worn for some time; a dress of black silk and tulle. Soft white ruffles were already sewn in its open bosom and short wide sleeves, and these had evidently been worn before, for though not soiled, they were limp and flaccid with hanging by. For sole orna- ment she added a small cross of pearls, which she took from the very bottom of her jewel case. ‘Then she looked at herself in the mirror, with a strange: impersonal interest, as one might gaze at a picture. The geraniums taken from her morning dress lay on her toilet-tray. As her eye passed on to them, she said to herself, ‘¢T remember I wore ivy leaves on that evening !” And, so saying, she swept aside the white muslin window curtain, and putting her hand through the open casement, drew in a delicate spray of ivy and twined it at her breast, so that the white cross lay EOMIGIOOKS (E(©)