The Argosy — page 152: what you’re looking at

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

Christobel. $37 voices—men’s voices in the hall. Concetta, with a scared look, threw open the door, and the httle room seemed filled with strangers. Marianna gave a startled cry. Christobel sprang up, witha set, pallid face, but an inexplicable gleam of exultation and defiance in her eyes. ‘Your business ?” asked Fortescue curtly, of the intruders. One ef them stepped forward and produced a slip of paper. ‘“ Our business is to arrest George Vandyken—alias Fane—alias Harold Fane Hillyer,” he said. With a swift movement, Christobel traversed the room, and the narrow passage beyond, then paused at a closed door. “Come!” she said, and her tone was so commanding that they all obeyed in silence. As they reached the door she threw it open and signed to them to enter. They followed her as she approached the bed, then stood amazed and awed, when she drew down the sheet that covered the face of a corpse. ‘“‘ You cannot touch him,” she said, with tragic triumph. ‘‘ You have cometoo late. And now, will you leave me alone with him. He was my father.” She sank on her knees beside the body and laid her arms across it, as though she would still protect him dead whom her limitless devo- tion had shielded living. They did her behest, and left her alone with her dead. Later, when the men of. law had left the house, Marianna sent Fortescue a to her, saying sadly: ‘Take her away from there if you can.” She rose at once when he spoke to her, and stood quietly listening to his words. But there was so heart-breaking a stillness about her that his own anguish was too strong, and he cried passionately, ‘‘ My dear, do not look at me with those eyes!. Be brave! Your task is ended. Can you not now be at peace ?” He stretched his arms out towards her, but she evaded his embrace. ‘““ It is ended, but not the shame of it,” she answered in a low voice of intensest pain. ‘“‘ You are kind, but even you are too happy to comprehend me, for disgrace has never touched you.” “But why dwell on such thoughts?” urged Fortescue. ‘‘ The disgrace was not yours. Why should you seek to expiate it?” | “Do not try to console me now,” she said. “I can think of no- thing except that nobody will regret him.” And with one of the simple pathetic movements habitual to her, she laid her hand upon her dead father’s brow, as if seeking by the unconscious sanctity of her own pure touch to cancel the infamy which branded that dishonoured head! In silence Fortescue quitted her presence. Yet he would have given his life to comfort her. The next morning a note came for him from Verschoyle, asking him to go to the Hillyers. Guessing that the purpose of it had some reference to Christobel, he went there at once. He found Mr. Hillyer pacing the room in some excitement. Mr. Sherlock, Godfrey, Geraldine and Mrs. Chisholm were present. ‘You have heard the news ?” said Verschoyle. ‘* Harold Hillyer CONIIClOO© (CO)