The Argosy — page 325: what you’re looking at

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

304 Margaret’s Tvenzy. Tyrol ; a pretty, restful nook with a deep lake walled in by cloud- high mountains, a half-ruined monastery, about which a few spectral monks still hovered, and an enticing maze of walks through heather and fragrant pine. A place for people not fiddle-ridden to enjoy every moment. Margaret was not in the mood to enjoy the beauties of nature. Evening after evening I sat alone on our little balcony, watching the icy crest of the Adlerberg flush an exquisite pink in the setting sun, and pale again to silvery white. I longed for my friend’s ear into which to pour my extravagant delight in this scene; but she was im the back room wrestling with a flageolet tone or some other in- tricacy she feared might escape her. I saw clearly that Margaret’s vacation was doing her no good, and I was uneasy for her health. The study of the violin was a great strain upon the strongest nerves, and Margaret had always been rather delicate. We had both fallen under a baleful, uncanny influence, and I devoutly wished that Professor Mohr and Herr Bratwurst might have played golden harps in Heaven before lashing Margaret into this fiddle-frenzy. While my rival absorbed the greater part of Margaret’s time, I was forced to shift for myself and make the most of whatever amusement fellin my way. A good-looking young fellow, with curly black hair standing straight up from his forehead, and the merriest blue eyes I ever saw, seemed to understand my hard lot, and did his best to ameliorate it. Our acquaintance began by my inadvertently stepping on him as he lay half asleep in the shadow of some hawthorn bushes. His name was Herbert Stacy. He was studying sculpture, and he too was taking a holiday restin the Tyrol. We happened to have some friends in common, so our acquaintance was quite proper, and I must con- fess that after it began I felt a little less preyed upon by the violin. Margaret smiled benignly enough on our insipient flirtation, but her thoughts soared above us, and she let us take frequent rambles alone. I knew that the Haidensee was a beautiful intense blue, and that the rhododendron covered the hard cheeks of the mountains with a rich lovely blush, but I did not seem half to appreciate these glories till Mr. Stacy pointed them out to me. One day he told me, with evident regret, that he was obliged to set out for Venice the next day. Queen Margherita’s birthday was approaching. There was to be a féte of unusual magnificence on the Grand Canal, and Mr. Stacy had promised some relatives of his to be with them during this celebration. It was an odd fancy going to Venice in the summer, but the journey was not very long, and their stay would be of brief duration. So our little idyl was to end abruptly, and I should be left alone again. We had quite an affecting parting; Mr. Stacy kissed my hand very tenderly, in Continental fashion, which I liked very much CORNICE OOO“KKS (EO) im) §