The Argosy — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

Christobel. I31 ‘Circumstances have placed me in possession of some facts con- cerning her which I am not at liberty to divulge. But this much I can tell you, that a nobler or a purer woman never breathed.” “TI don’t need to be assured of that,” replied Fortescue, with a eravity that spoke worlds for the depth of his feeling. ‘Can you tell me where she is ?” ‘“‘T am as much in the dark as yourself at present, but I shall, I believe, know in time.” ‘Then I must wait. Good-bye.” The thought of Christobel had dwelt constantly with Fortescue since they parted. ‘The desire to see her again, to learn the secret of her strange melancholy, and to win her love had been strengthened ir him by absence. Uncertainty as to his future at the time of his abrupt departure from Fernholme had prevented his coming to any resolution; but Christobel had grown to be the one ideal which ennobled and brightened his life. His own nature had changed through the necessity of work, and in the purer mental air to which his effort lifted him, her image—gracious, serious, solemnly sweet—seemed like an embodiment of all that was highest in his new-born aspirations. Through the loss of many illu- sions he had gained a truer insight anda holier faith ; and he felt that, be appearances against her what they might, he would never again meet a woman so pure and noble as this mysterious and unknown girl. Uncertainty as to her fate had intensified his longing to see her, and now that Godfrey’s words had given him fresh hope, he was lighter-hearted than he had been for weeks. The following day he went to see the studio he was to occupy. “Jt isn’t bad for London, you see,” said its actual tenant, Jack Vivian. ‘When it happens zo¢ to be foggy the light is very good. That open space at the back, dignified with the name of Cardigan Gardens, is not of an inviting aspect, but it affords a great deal of air, and those tall houses which flank one side, and are let out in flats, have something about them which, by a stretch of imagination, might be called Italian.” “The imagination then would require to be robust, and the stretch a very long one,” said Fortescue, laughing, as he glanced at the row of red-brick houses, built on the latest zesthetic principles. “You are unjust, my dear fellow. Look at that arched loggia on the top story. Last summer, when the weather was not too sneezy, an old Italian music-master was accustomed to come out there and smoke, and latterly an uncommonly pretty girl has appeared at times to feed some pigeons. By jove! there she is.” And Fortescue, glancing carelessly upwards, beheld Christobel Fane! ‘‘Tsn’t she lovely ?” continued Vivian, enthusiastically. ‘I haye been making frantic efforts to know her, but so far have only suc- ceeded in becoming acquainted with the old man, Mirandola. He CONnniclooolkxs (CO)