The Argosy — page 200: what you’re looking at

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

Lady Valera. 183 willing to assist you in bearing the inconvenience of this sudden call?” enquired Magrath, with a veiled purpose in the observation. ‘lor your own sake I recommend you not to make the experi- ment,” was the hasty answer. ‘‘Charles would not see the urgency— He would never agree to compromise. He would demand that the whole case should be carried into Court before he would listen to a single argument in your favour!” : ‘Well, for my own part, I should be far from objecting to that course,” Magrath observed, witha slight swagger. If he merely spoke with a sort of light, gay malignity to arouse Mr. Meynell he succeeded. Oliver turned furiously on him. ‘Dare to hint it. Dare to threaten to open your vile lips in public —to make her name a scandal in men’s mouths! Man! I would kill you sooner. Take my money—if it were my heart’s blood it should be poured out like water in her defence—but hold your peace, at your peril! If I am sinning in this, not on me—not on you be the curse, but on him—the idle, flattering scoundrel who came into her life to blast it in its girlhood. Oh! may the burden of the woe he has caused rest on his soul to all Eternity.” Magrath nodded assent. ‘ Bad luck to htm now and for ever by all means,” he murmured ; then, looking at Meynell with new respect as he turned away and buried his face in his hands: ‘ Poor devil,” he ejaculated in a tone of heart-felt pity, ‘‘he takes it hard. If it were my—dezng my mother, I like him for it. He won't get out of it at her expense, you see—” in an explanatory parenthesis to Eustace— “it’s a high-toned line to take that mightn’t have occurred to you or me.” The Vicar was too much absorbed watching his friend to dis- claim. He was witnessing an unexpected revelation of Oliver Meynell’s character, and was too full of intensest sympathy with the sacrifice being offered up before his eyes to attend to the other for the moment. “Poor devil,” repeated Magrath softly, and approaching Meynell laid his hand gently on his shoulder: ‘‘ Cheer up, Mate!” he said, in the first tones that Eustace recognised as natural. ‘*‘ The game’s not over at the first deal.” Meynell only motioned him away with his hand, and he retreated, studying him curiously with a sincere, half- contemptuous pity ; in which Eustace could detect no trace, however, of remorse or misgiving. ‘‘I suppose he was uncommonly fond of her. If I had guessed it would have gone with him like this » “You would doubtless have kept silence ? ” ‘ How do I know?” enquired the other, with his favourite medi- tative action of stroking and twisting the long, fine tip of his silken moustache toa point. “Who can speak for himself in advance? Yesterday I was Stephen Magrath. ‘To-day I am nameless. To- morrow I shall be—who ?” Here Oliver Meynell lifted his ghastly face and looked towards them. I spoke hastily and sinfully just now. I pray that my words COnniclboooks (CO)