The Argosy — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

Christobel. 53 Deprived by death of his wife and children, while still singularly hale and strong for his age, he found himself without a creature be- longing to him, in the land of his adoption. He had then bethought himself of his kin in the old world, and had astonished them by his sudden apparition. It had been said that Mr. Hillyer believed in strokes of luck; and thus it can easily be imagined what an object of interest his uncle became to him. As his only near relative (excepting Miss Millicent and the absent Harold), and the head of the family, he had he conceived a peculiar claim upon him, and he entertained secret hopes of his exhausted coffers being ultimately replenished out of Mr. Sherlock’s purse. The old man had so far remained a somewhat inscrutable indivi- dual : very silent ; hardly dignified enough to be described as reserved, and yet distinctly secretive. Whether his reticence came from depth of design, as Mr. Hillyer sometimes feared, or from mere lack of ideas, as Geraldine often suspected, it was impossible to guess. He occasionally looked criti- cally at his eldest grand-niece, and seemed pleased at any small attention which she showed him. Geraldine, on her side, underwent a constant struggle in regard to him ; for while her tender heart was touched by his loneliness, she was often revolted by her father’s im- _ perfectly concealed expectations, and shrank from the idea of appear- ing to share them. And now to our story. The butler announced dinner; but Mr. Sherlock had not yet appeared, and the whole party waited for him. Mrs. Chisholm was so hungry, and Major Fortescue, one of the latest arrivals among the guests, perhaps from the same cause, so dull, that the little widow’s temper was seriously impaired. What exasperated her still more was the discovery that the amber of Miss Fane’s gown was a better shade than her own, and she had an agonising suspicion that it might also be more becoming. Under such disastrous circumstances what could a bewitching little widow of the feline species do but look about for somebody par- ticularly sensitive to scratch? Her eyes fell on Geraldine. “Darling Geraldine! are you ill?” she exclaimed. ‘You are absolutely as white as a sheet.” This drew everybody’s attention to the victim, who crimsoned to. the roots of her hair. “I am only tired,” said the poor girl, hastily, tortured by the bare idea that Godfrey and Miss Fane might guess the real cause of her pallor. On meeting Christobel’s glance, her feelings did not im- prove, and she turned her head away with a movement, for her, almost pettish. Mrs. Chisholm, instinctively conscious of success, although the reason of it was unknown to her, pursued her advantage. ‘I am positive,” she said, plaintively, “that you fatigue yourself CoOmiclooolkKks (S©@)