The Argosy — page 141: what you’re looking at

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

126 Mary Silver. own room and shut herself into it. For a long time she stayed there alone, while she faced and fought the first brunt of her trouble. After that, she went down, quiet and dry-eyed, to begin a new life. A life, as it seemed to her then, out of which all the sweetness and the hope had departed, and in which all the old landmarks were changed. No more going to the School. She could not bear even to visit it now. No more awaking in the morning to the feverish hope of what the day might bring forth for her; no more of the disappointment at night, and its dull, dark pain. Nothing was left her now but her dear old friend the organ at St. John’s church, and the monotonous duties in her old home, where she had lived and dreamed her dream of happiness, but which would never seem the same home to her again. And so the days go on. And the good old lady is as cheerful as ever, and her grand-daughter strives to be. She has a good many music pupils, and plenty of organ-playing to do; and she has taken to help with the parish work, and is not unhappy. Time, the great healer, is laying his hand upon her wound, and it is closing gently. Only her face is not so bright as of yore; the ready smile of former days is rare now; and she has lost her old habit of singing as she goes about the house. Sometimes in the evening, when her work is done, she sits pensively gazing into the fire ; and then her grandmother, who has her own fancies about matters, knows that she is thinking of the past. Once she spoke of Frank Templeton. It was to Miss Latimer. ‘“TIs he altered at all, Clara?” she said. ‘‘I know you see him sometimes.” . The guestion was put quite suddenly, following upon a silence, and no name was mentioned, but Clara knew at once. “He looks older and harder,” she replied. ‘‘ He is getting on splendidly in the profession ; but report says his marriage is a most unhappy one. His wife—but I’ll say nothing of her, and indeed I know nothing to say. She is not liked by anyone.” One day, when Mary had business in town, in walking along Brook Street towards Grosvenor Square, she saw Frank Templeton. They met face to face. A deep red flushed his countenance; Mary was conscious that she turned snow white. A cold, ceremonious bow was exchanged, and each passed on. And for the present that ends it; ends all that is left of Mary Silver’s heart life. She says and thinks she will never marry. Prob- ably she never will. But other girls who have suffered from man’s faithlessness, and have said the same and vowed it, have found them- selves persuaded to break their vow. CONMICLMOOKS. (Ee) m