The Argosy — page 256: what you’re looking at

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

The Missing Rubies. | 239 everyday joy of loving and being beloved is set about so thickly with thorns, that the hand which would gather it can hardly escape a wound. But Beatrice was not right in calling herself a commonplace young ‘woman. She had stronger lights and deeper shades in her character than commonplace people ever have. When she looked at a fine picture, or read a noble poem, her face would be lit up with spiritual beauty ; certain strains of music interpreted the language of her heart; certain aspects of earth and sky would send her thoughts travelling into a glorious dreamland. As yet, however, the world was a very new world to her, and only her right instinct guided her to the true. By-and-bye the false would present itseif in its most attractive guise, but it had not reached her yet. She looked at everyone with confiding eyes that had never seen behind a fair mask, nor caught a glimpse of a cloven foot under a velvet slipper. All the bitter knowledge of life was still to come. After a little while she left off thinking of Vordenberg and began to recall the pictures that had pleased her best. She hoped Harriet would take her to see them a second time; or, it would be better still, if Mr. Earle would be her companion. But this idea was so wild that her cheeks grew hot when it came into her head, and she tried to drive it away. Beatrice spent a part of the afternoon in unpacking her belongings and arranging them in the wardrobe and drawers. Her room was quite large enough to hold everything that she possessed, and there was space for a small table and acomfortable arm-chair. That chair, soft and pillowy, invited her to rest; the afternoon sun was shining in upon the walls, filling the whole chamber with golden light, and enfolding her in a dreamy brightness that suggested repose. Her mind was still full of the pictures, and her eyes were tired with sight- seeing ; but it was a pleasant sort of weariness that was creeping over her fast. Sleep came on. her unawares ; her head sank gently back upon the chair, and she drifted away, then and there, into a very tranquil dreamland. She woke gently, without any startling return of consciousness ; and yet it seemed as if the music heard in dreams had followed her into the everyday world. ‘The door was open, and someone in the rooms below was singing and playing on the piano ; singing an unknown air, with a strange, subdued passion that thrilled her, and almost moved her to tears. Parting, pain unutterable, and hope that rose free and triumphant from the crushing weight of a mighty sorrow—all this, and more, was expressed in that wonderful song. Beatrice rose, her breast heaving, her cheeks flushed, and went out on the landing to listen. Then someone came running quickly up- stairs ; the music suddenly stopped; a door closed; and she was turning back, disappointed, to her room, when Mrs. Milton’s voice called her. ( To be continued. ) () Conn NOOKS (SO