The Argosy — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

Christobel. 59 slight, conscious smile of a man who all his life has secretly thought a great deal of himself. “ And this?” The American had glanced enquiringly towards an empty frame. It was a curiously tactless question, especially for him! Mr. Hillyer’s brow darkened, and his voice had a bitter ring as he answered: ‘‘ The picture that hung there has been removed.” There ensued a very awkward stillness, for everybody knew, or felt, that the portrait in question could be none but Harold Hillyer’s. The silence was broken in the most startling manner by Miss Millicent. “You might have let it stay,” she cried, vehemently, with such a tone of passion as electrified her hearers. Mr. Hillyer gave hera violent glance, but the habit of society and an Englishman’s horror of a scene restrained him. “You are ill, I think,” he said, coldly. ‘‘ We had better return to the drawing-room ; and you, Millicent, should go to bed. Jam sure you are ill.” At this hint Christobel—herself very pale and with set lips— came forward and touched her protectress gently on the arm. But Miss Millicent, trembling all over, with quivering: lips and out- stretched hands, turned again to Mr. Vandyken. “I have never forgotten him,” she said, wildly. ‘‘ I have prayed night and day for his return. I have banished from my life and from my thoughts every creature whom I knew, or fancied, still condemred him. From the hour that he left until yesterday my foot never crossed the threshold of this house, where his unnatural kindred dwell. For his sake I have led a lonely, well-nigh a hated life. I would have neither brother nor sister near me, neither husband nor child, for fear that with others to love me, my love for him might grow less. I , She broke off with a long shuddering wail, and wringing her beautiful old hands together, lifted them above her head with an action so tragic that it absolutely thrilled them all. There was something so unearthly in her anguish—something so heartrending in her agonised face, with its pathetic framing of grey hair, that her amazed hearers would hardly have had the force, even had they possessed the will, to interrupt her; but her brother, rousing himself at last, with an evident effort, cried angrily: “She is mad ! Geraldine—Miss Fane, don’t stand there like statues! Take her to her room, I tell you. Is such a scene to be borne ?” ““T am not mad,” said Miss Millicent. ‘‘ Madness, like death, like every solace, has been denied me.” | Her voice broke and she fell into a kind of hysterical sobbing, quite dry-eyed, however, and intolerably painful to listen to—it was so violent, and she looked so old! For a few moments silence again reigned ; during which interval Geraldine, vibrating in every nerve with pity, drew near to her aunt, but did not dare to touch her. Mr. Vandyken, to whom Miss Millicent had so strangely addressed herself, Comiclooolkks am