The Argosy — page 259: what you’re looking at

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

242 ‘The Fabric of a Vision. had settled that point, and I was determined to make use of this delay which had been forced upon us, walk through and round the place, in the effort to find out something. So out I went. At the door Edward overtook me. ‘T don’t like your walking alone, Mary,” he said. ‘We ought to keep together.” ‘“* You went out alone the last time we were here,” I replied, trying to force a laugh, ‘*‘ but I’ve no objection to your coming with me.” So we walked down the High Street silently, and a little apart. ‘Where are you wandering ?” he asked by-and-by. ‘““T want to see the waterfall by the wooden bridge,” I answered, almost involuntarily, looking down as I spoke. ‘How do you know there’s a wooden bridge here at all?” Didn’t you tell me soP” “No —’ very curtly. “Ah!” with a fine affectation of indifference. ‘‘ I suppose I must have dreamt it " ‘Did you dream the way there as well?” “No, but Dll ask it of this man,” and I went up to a passing labourer. ‘‘Can you tell me whether there is a wooden bridge over the river, near a waterfall ?” I had felt irresistibly impelled to ask the question, but I was hardly prepared for the answer. “Oh, yes, ma’am. Go straight through the town, and then turn over the stile into the Meads, and follow the path. You can’t miss it.” We walked on. ‘The silence presently became unbearable, and we plunged into such talk as goes on between mere acquaintances ; talk characterised by a terrible politeness. |My heart was aching at it all. What was in Azs heart? I would not let myself wonder. We found the Meads, and over the stile we went. In amoment I knew that the scene, at least, of my dream was, real, for the whole picture was before me exactly as I had seenit. ‘Then I stopped short, and turned to my husband. “Come,” I said, ‘‘and stand by the bridge at that corner.” My mind was made up. Even if eternal parting were to follow, I would tell him now what was in my mind. I would say—Here are all as I saw them before—bridge, wood, path, water—and you: where is the girl? | “Come, Edward,” I repeated, ‘‘ and stand as [I tell you.” ‘What nonsense,” he said; “‘ have you gone mad, Mary?” ‘Heaven knows: perhaps I have; but stand there you must.” « Anything to humour you,” he answered. His face was white and set; his lips were closed tightly. In his eyes was a sort of bewildered misery, the look of one who receives a blow from a hand he loves, and cannot either understand or resent it. Suddenly, before I could begin my tale or ask my question, his whole face changed—grew glad—the look of misery vanished—fied EOMIGIOOKS (E() m