The Argosy — page 289: what you’re looking at

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

270 The Mystery of Allan Grale. these callers as “‘ persons,” Mary Anne judged them to be some of the commercial travellers who were occasionally admitted to interviews with her father. The young lady did not yet feel any anxiety about her brother, but she did feel curious to know how this escapade of his was to end this time. When the last post came in, she looked over the letters with even more than her usual interest. None for herself. None for ian. Four ordinary looking business missives for papa. One for mamma, in an unfamiliar hand. Its post-mark was Southampton. She turned it over. It was sealed with the monogram B. M. ‘“‘ A valediction from that Miss Bella Matthewson,” decided Mary Anne. “It will do it no harm to wait till morning. I dare say mamma is really asleep for the night by this time. And if not, she is so fanciful, that it will only make her nervous, seeing that Alny has not come home yet. Of course, he is waiting for that until the house is quiet. But whether that was so or not, the house was not destined to be quiet in Mary Anne’s meaning of the word. Her father did not dismiss his callers till after she had gone to bed. ‘Then as he went heavily and slowly upstairs, he met his wife, wrapped in a dressing- gown and carrying a candle, stealing from the corridor into which her son’s bedroom opened. She had gone to see whether he had returned, having taken the precaution to unlock his door an hour or two earlier to facilitate his unnoticed entrance. She found everything as she had left it. So when she saw her husband, her already over- strained nerve gave way, and with a burst of tears, half piteous, half passionate, she told him the truth. He took it—O so quietly! On that other similar occasion, long ago, he had stormed and scolded loudly. ‘This time he did not say a word. He took his wife’s arm and led her back to their bed- chamber. And while he led her, it seemed as if he leaned on her. Once there, he drew up a chair in front of the fireplace, which still held no fire but its summer ornaments—and sitting down, buried his face in his hands. To see him take it like this, frightened her more than all. “Oh Dick, Dick,” she wailed, ‘“‘ what has befallen him? Where is he, and what is he doing ?” She had scarcely called her husband Dick since their courting days. (To be continued.) CORMIGEOOOKS eC)