The Argosy — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

70 The Devil in Dunchester. and triumph, pounced upon my prey, seized it by both ears, and bounded back into the lane before the poor woman had recovered the use of her lungs. In an instant more I was dashing wildly down, down I knew not whither, bounding from stone to stone with my voluminous cloak flying in the wind, and the shrieks of this last of Jim’s many victims ringing ever more and more faintly in my ears. Luckily for me, policemen in Dunchester, as in other provincial towns, were rare phenomena ; and ceasing to run as soon as all danger of immediate pursuit seemed over, I walked on for an uneasy mile or so, holding firmly on to the head, which I could not help fancying to be on the look out for another opportunity of doing me an ill turn. However, I reached my room without further misadventure, and retired to bed to’spend half an hour before I slept, in resolving not to imagine that any noises of any description emanated from the box into which I had thrown the head. By the morning, it is needless to say, I could laugh at my own folly, and pack up my prize with feelings of unalloyed satisfaction. But my escapade was not thus to pass into inglorious oblivion. Just as my host was starting to visit a serious case in the country, a boy arrived with a request that he would step round to see a woman 1n Bishop’s Alley, who had taken to her bed in consequence of having seen—the devil. The luxury of horror and mystery in which the soul of the small messenger was evidently revelling as he made this last important announcement, caused my friend much amuse- ment, but my own mirth had a hollow ring in it, for 1 seemed to recognise the name of the locality. As my friend could not foresee how long he would be detained in the country, I offered to attend this apparently slight case for him, and he gladly assented. The boy led the way. Once more I was treading, but now with what sober professional feet, those uneven steps down which but a few hours since I had urged my desperate and disreputable career. Il found my patient, a respectable, middle-aged widow, lying on her bed in a tearful condition, but with all the suppressed dignity of one who would not seem too much puffed up by the afflictions which had distinguished her. ‘Eh, doctor,” she said, groaning. ‘‘It’s little enough you can do for me, I reckon.” ‘¢ Ay, sir,” put in a consolatory neighbour. ‘“‘ Them as sees dead folks as plain as Mrs. Wilkins do, ain’t mostly long for this world.” ‘Tt ain’t that that’s on my mind,” returned the widow. “‘ I’m pre- pared, Iam. It’s the place as my old man’s in, which I never should ha’ thought it if I hadn’t been found worthy to see. You wouldn’t ha’ said that Tom was particular sinful when he warn’t on the spree, would you now, Mrs. Cox? But the Lord, He knows folks’ hearts better nor we do.” , Although I was bound to treat her story as the outcome of night- ECORNICLOOKS.E) m