The Argosy — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

144 THE, INVALEDSSoCORNEES A SKETCH. By J. E. PANTON. » Va eee the pine trees droop over the side of the cliff, and appear as if longing to plunge into the lovely stretch of sea before them, is a tiny nook that even in December is a regular sun-trap, and is known to everyone in Drayton as the Invalids’ Corner. It is a sad little corner, for here come those who have but a short time to remain among the living, while their nerveless fingers clutch nervously at the warm rugs that are wrapped round their knees, and whose large eyes gaze ever out to sea, as if they could catch a glimpse of the country inhabited by shadows, whither they are surely hastening. Most of the invalids have relations who come and sit by them, anxiously noting each change in the wind, or watching eagerly for the first signs of the disappearance of the sun, when they will hurry away their charges before the air has time to chill in the very least. But, perhaps, the hardest cases of all are the isolated invalids, who some- how or other seem left to die alone: poor old maids or bachelors who cling to an empty existence in the strangest manner, doubtless waiting for better days in the way we all, rich and poor, sick and well, are apt to do. Fortunately these cases are few and far between, and are so piteous that someone or other is generally ready to give their sympathy to the solitary invalid; and often the Invalids’ Corner is the scene of romances that sometimes end in a happier manner than one might expect from their sad surroundings. But Francis Priestly—returned invalided from India, and con- | demned, as he termed it, to six months’ solitary confinement on his back in a warmer spot than London—cared for nothing much, save his own discomfort. At first he had rebelled openly against his doctor’s fiat, and said he would rather die than go to Drayton. But on Doctor Parkyns saying that in that case he must get another medical man to attend him, for he would not, he gave in, and con- sented to try the proposed remedy. It would, Dr. Parkyns assured him, if he could only learn patience and quiet waiting, end in making him quite well. But patience was not known to Francis Priestly. All through his life he had suffered from his own precipitancy—he had invariably been in a hurry. Long ago, he had been engaged to the pretty daughter of the rector of the parish where his father’s park was situated. But she could not leave her father until her next sister was ready to take her place at the head of the big, motherless household; and Francis, COMNICOOOLKS EO)