The Argosy — page 195: what you’re looking at

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

178 The Mystery of Allan Grale. ache, I see! We must not allow ourselves to be too much dis- turbed by this foolish blunder of Mr. Grale’s, you know. We must even remember that he is an elderly man and you are a very young one, and we must regard his surveillance and suspicion from this point of view.” “T know that I was only admitted to his counting-house by his special kindness,” admitted Charles. ‘‘I remembered that. But that does not make this more easy to bear.” . ‘Certainly not,” said the Doctor, sympathetically. ‘Only I am not sure whether we were wise not to show that roll of paper at once. Why not? It was that, I imagine, which chiefly angered him.” There was a moment’s silence. ‘Then Charles spoke in a strangely significant tone. ‘Have you read it through yet, yourself, sir ? ” | ‘No, Charles,” he said kindly. ‘‘I have been thinking more about the writer than about his writings. I only glanced at it enough to see that you had been trying your hand at a work of fiction.” Another pause. ‘Then in the same low voice, Charles remarked : “Tf it is shown to Mr. Grale, he may choose to read it carefully. I should like you to read it first, sir.” ‘Very well, my boy,” said the Doctor, “ Pll do as you wish. And, trust me, J won’t make any move without telling you first.” The young man’s face was turned towards the garden. “He did not respond to the Doctor’s promise by either word or glance. Dr. Palmer went back to his own chamber, feeling that he did not altogether understand the young man’s manner this morning. ‘The mysterious roll of papers which had so excited Mr. Grale, lay on the toilet table, where Dr. Palmer had put it the night before. It con- sisted of five or six sheets of common foolscap, closely written over. Its heading was simply :— ° ‘Mark Bedell.” The Doctor began to read it in rather an absent sort of way. But as he went on, the expression of his face changed ; it grew grave, and yet with that strange gravity in which a tear and a smile lie very near each other. It was a tale of silent and hapless love, and it ended at the hero’s grave. At one point, the Doctor dropped the paper, and spoke : ‘¢ Ah, the secret slips out plainly there! I wonder if he ever noticed that he actually wrote the real names—Charles Carr and Lettice Palmer? And Charlie tells his tale well. I have heard it said that every man can write one story !” And when the perusal was over, the Doctor slipped the sheets once more into their little elastic band, saying to himself :— ‘Poor fellow! poor fellow! And so this is the difficulty, is it? and this is his solution thereof. JI wonder if my lassie dreams any- thing of all this. I don’t believe it. And I suppose this is my fault —1if her mother had lived, she would have foreseen this and guarded EGOMIGIOOKS (E(@) m