The Argosy — page 215: what you’re looking at

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

198 Up on the Moor. the outer apartment, and with the dexterity acquired by long prac- tice in evil ways the intruder groped his way forward. Near the pallet he paused to cast a look of keenest scrutiny on the sleeper, while his fingers closed more firmly on the short iron bar he carried. Satisfied that the occupant of the bed was indeed unconscious of his presence, the man proceeded to the corner where Aleck had placed his gun, and noiselessly seized the weapon, which he conveyed with the same caution into the outer room. ‘Then he returned and felt about with fingers which seemed almost to have eyes in their tips, until he discovered the cartridge belt Aleck had worn on the pre- ceding day. This was removed in the same stealthy fashion; and then came the last and most delicate stage of the opera- tions. With the iron bar firmly grasped in his right hand, the left hand of thenocturnal visitor was by imperceptible degrees slipped under the hard pillow, and as slowly withdrawn, together with the watch and pocket-book deposited there for safety. Just then there was a slight movement on the sleeper’s part, and as quick as thought the heavy bar was raised above his head. Fortunately for Mr. Fairburn his slumbers were deep and sound that night, and though the eyelids quivered they did not unclose. Silently the bar sank again, and in a few moments more the door was closed as quietly as it had opened, and Aleck was again alone. When he awoke next morning the sun was shining brightly through the single pane of greenish glass which lighted his sleeping apart- ment. As ablutions were evidently, owing to force of circumstances, out of the question for the present, almost the first act of his toilet was to call aloud to his entertainer for the outer garments of which she had so hospitably taken charge the previous night. No answer was returned to his appeal, however, and Mr. Fairburn called still louder. Still silence, and he got impatient. ‘TI say, guidwife, where are you? Don’t you hear me call? J— want—my—clothes !” But not even an echo answered. ‘*Confound that old idiot! She’s gone off for water or something, and forgotten all about my things. I must just go and get them my- self, I suppose.” 50 wrapping himself in the faded patch work quilt which had adorned his couch, Mr. Fairburn flung open the door of the other room and proceeded on a tour of investigation. What was his surprise when, crouched in the self-same corner from which she had been extricated the previous evening, her hands clasped in mute entreaty, and an agony of terror depicted on her wrinkled face, he found his missing hostess ! ‘‘Poor old thing! She’s evidently a little wrong in the head,” said the young laird to himself. ‘I must try and humour her a bit.” COUN ©) (¢(0) NOOO KS