The Argosy — page 351: what you’re looking at

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

330 The Mystery of Allan Grale. ‘“‘ Besides, the news that the papers put in was the finding of Allan’s body: whereas Morna McOrist’s delusion appears to be that someone is still buried within the depths of the pool.” “George, are you swuve you never wrote about it?” pursued Maria, who could not help thinking her idea must be correct. ‘‘ Otherwise the coincidence is almost too singular to be believed.” Her tone, though decided, was low and wondering. George had fallen into thought. Maria fancied he might be trying to recall what he had or had not written. It was not so, however; he was rapidly making up his mind to a confession. “No, Maria,” he said, looking up at her. ‘“ My letters to Rose never contained a word of the sort. If they had, it might have made her anxious and uneasy.” A moment’s wondering pause, and then Maria’s eyes fell over her work. Her face was turning almost as white as her brother’s. Rose! Who was Rose? She felt that he had spoken purposely and deliber- ately. She would not answer. ‘“‘ Maria,” said George again, wistfully, ‘‘ you do not ask who Rose is. Don’t you care to know ?” Maria hastily approached the sofa where he lay, and knelt down beside it. ‘‘Of course I care, my darling brother,” she whispered. ‘“¢ Only—do you care to tell me ?” ‘“‘T have been a foolish idiot,” George burst out with more energy than she could have believed he possessed. ‘‘I ought to have told you at the first, and let you do whatever you thought right in the matter, and to have stood my chance like a man! _ Rose is my wife! I have been married nearly a year !” Maria was so alarmed at her brother’s agitation in his weak state, that she did not feel all the shock which this announcement might otherwise have given her. ‘George, be calm,” she implored. ‘Tell me all quietly. Is she —Rose—staying with the Foresters ? ” ‘‘She is Mrs. Forester. I was the artist, Mr. Forester, at Red- bourne,” said George, with a wild kind of laugh. ‘‘ But I married her in my right name, though she heard it for the first time only the evening before the wedding. You will have to be patient with her, Maria. She is a good enough little thing—poor little soul !” What a pathetic commentary on the thoughtless Redbourne ro- mance ! ‘“T saw her at the Redbourne Inn—that was her only home,” he went on, forlornly. ‘I knew what my aunt and uncle would say to such a marriage. And she ran away, innocent little simpleton, and _ came to London after me.” | And then, pausing a few moments to recover calmness, George Vivian related the history of the past in detail. He had sent his wife to Ragan as a refuge and a hiding-place for her, until he saw his way clear to disclose all to the General. That time had not yet come, CONNIE OOOlKS (E()