The Argosy — page 361: what you’re looking at

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

340 Lady Valeria. Beltran enquired, in her level, indifferent tone, with scarce a shade of emphasis. ‘‘ Don’t you see the worth of all that? Can you not see, silly one, how they will pet and patronise you willingly as long as you are content to stay, sickly and humble, well out of their way? Eh? But begin a little to know your own value. Dare to live for yourself ; then see Miss Archdale look disgusted, and snub you, and put you back into your place again.” “Oh, don’t!” pleaded Elsie, with great eyes of horror. “It makes me feel wicked to agree with you. They have all been so good, so good to me.” ‘Have they? How long have you known Mrs. Damien?” «‘ Since October; nearly eight months. “And what has she done for you in that time? Petted you, lectured you on patience and resignation, given you a handful out of her wealth in alms, amused herself with your devotion.” Mrs. Beltran was sitting upright by this time, her dusky hands gesticulating eloquently, though her voice was still low and level. ‘And I? How many days is it since you came to me?” ‘Four days ago.” Elsie hung her head and spoke under her breath. ‘ Four days ago! Is it only that since you crept here to me to remind me of my promise. You brought me your dead flower. You were faint and sick with crying over it—crying for your lost chance, perhaps—crying for your wasted youth—for your share of the world’s happiness—how do I know! I gave you my help unques- tioningly, and I will do it again. It would have been an easier task to make the dead blossom live again. Ah, now you open your eyes in foolish wonder, while you think nothing of greater things.” Mrs. Beltran rose with a swift, sudden movement and stood before Elsie, holding out to her the little box, in which lay a few yellow shrivelled leaves and a bare stalk. A wooden bucket of water stood by the stove. She lifted it to where Elsie could see into it. On the corner shelf above stood a large calabash, fancifully engraved, which she set afloat on the water like a tiny boat, and then shook the dead fiower into it. She covered the top of the bucket with the large silk handkerchief which she had worn knotted round her throat, glancing as she did so at Elsie’s face, all alive with devouring curiosity. ‘You must have patience,” she said. ‘Four days!” she went on, ‘‘and scarcely as many hours in those as Mrs. Damien has had weeks. Would I keep you humble, weak, and dependent on me for your poor little morsels of enjoyment? No!” She was pacing the room now with her graceful, velvet tread, her glowing robe trailing behind her, and the cat walking step for step at her side, his great tail erect and stiff, only the point waving gently. ‘No, a thousand times no! [I have given you your youth again ; health and strength ; beauty—look for yourself in that glass. And I say to you ‘Go and take for yourself of the good things that life holds ECORNICLOOKS (F(©) m