The Argosy — page 212: what you’re looking at

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

A Tragedy. Ig5 ladies came into view at the end of the street. Oliver threw the reins to his friend, got out in a trice and met them. No need to say that one of them was Emma Paul. “IT beg your pardon,” said Oliver to her, lifting his hat from his suddenly flushed face, as he shook hands with both of them. ‘I left two books at your house yesterday: did you get them? ‘The servant said you were out.” “Oh, yes, I had them; and I thank you very much,” answered Emma, with a charming smile: while Mary MacEveril went away to feast her eyes at the milliner’s window. “I have begun one of them already.” ‘Jane said you would like to read them; and so—I—lI left them,” returned Oliver, with the hesitating shyness of true love. “It is very kind of you, Mr. Oliver, to bring them over, and I am sorry I was not at home,” said Emma. ‘ When are you and Jane coming to see me?” With her dimpled face all smiles, her blue eyes beaming upon him, her ready handshake still tingling in his pulses, her cordial tones telling of pleasure, how could that fascinated young man do otherwise than believe in her? ‘The world might talk of her love for Tom Chandler: he did not and would not believe it held a grain of truth. Oh, if he could but know that she loved Zzm/ Mary MacEveril turned. “Hmma, are you not coming? We have that silk to match, you know.” With another handshake, another sweet smile, she went away with Mary. Oliver said adieu, his heart on his lips. All his weariness was gone, lost in a flood of sunshine. Mr. Preen was seen, coming along. Scott got out of the gig, and Oliver got into it. Preen took his seat and the reins, and drove off. Mr. Paul went home to dinner at the usual hour that evening, but the clerks remained beyond the time for closing. Work had been hindered, and had to be done. Batley was the first to leave; the other two lingered behind, talking of the loss. “It is the most surprising thing that has happened for a long while,” remarked Hanborough. He had locked his desk and had his hat and gloves athis elbow. ‘‘ That letter has been stolen, Mr. Chandler ; it has not been accidentally lost.” “Ay,” assented Tom. ‘‘Stolen—lI fear—from here. From this very room that you and I are standing in, Hanborough.” ‘‘ My suspicions, sir, were directed to the Islip post-office.” ‘TI wish mine were,” said Tom. ‘‘I don’t think—think, mind, for we cannot be sure—that the post-office is the right quarter to look to. You see the letters were left here on your desk, while we were occupied with Mr. Paul in his room. About two minutes I suppose, we stayed with him; perhaps, three. Did anyone come in during that time, Hanborough, and take the letter?” CORnniclboooks (SO) im