The Argosy — page 277: what you’re looking at

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

258 The Mystery of Allan Grale. ‘Ts it the mother who writes all these particulars to you?” she asked. ‘Oh, no,” replied George. A slight constraint seemed to settle on him as he added: ‘Somebody I know is staying in—in the neigh- bourhood; that’s how I get my chief news.” Maria looked up with a vivid interest now. Her face asked the question she did not utter, and George replied to her glance. ‘““Nobody you know, Maria. It is somebody with whom I made acquaintance at Redbourne.” “Oh,” said Maria. “Is he an artist?’ ‘‘ An artist, yes,” replied George, briefly. “What is his name ?” asked Maria, innocently. “hey are called Forester,” said George. “They!” echoed Maria. ‘‘ Are there two? Is it a brother and sister 2” “Tt is a man and wife,” answered George. ‘‘ Forester P—Forester? JI seem to have heard that name before,” remarked Maria ; but unable at the moment to recall how and where she had heard it. ‘‘ Are they an old married couple, George? Have they any children ?” “No. An infant was born to Mrs. Forester prematurely : too pre- maturely to live. And now, Maria, I think I must rest a bit; I am tired,” said George, turning his face away from her to bury it in the sofa pillow. CHAPTER XXXIX. PO AT Mee So life at Dering Court settled down for days and weeks under con- ditions which would have once seemed to Maria Vivian unendurable ; but which, like much which seems so prospectively, she now endured very patiently, little hopeful of any change for the better. The relations between the family at Moorland House and Lady Laura Bond had grown very intimate indeed. Her ladyship was con- stantly paying visits to Mrs. Grale, listening with so much patience and sympathy to her garrulous narratives about her own young life and her “sister Marget,” that the bereaved woman did not restrain the last drop of bitterness in her lamentation over poor Alny’s sad end, but candidly bewailed that, after all her housewifely care and motherly pride, her boy had been done to death in a patched shirt, and carrying a common sixpenny handkerchief ! “One ought not to have an unkind thought of the dead,” she sobbed, “least of all, of those that are taken as he was; but it does seem hard that he had not more regard for the pains and trouble I always took—and there’s two dozen beautiful shirts left to waste now, and I could not count the handkerchiefs !” CORMICLIOO KS. (EC) m