The Argosy — page 351: what you’re looking at

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

328 Lady Grace. Great Whitton Rectory was already mortgaged, as it may be said, for money which had been lent upon it ; heavy liabilities were upon him, and he had no means of meeting them : he had put off and put off the evil day, only to make it all the worse, now that it had come to this. “Tl try to see Lord Avon in the morning ; he'll be back by that time,” remarked Mr. Fuller. ‘And only to find that he has gone off to Paris by to-night’s train,” said the Dean. ‘‘ He talked of going over this week.” Nothing could be done then; nothing whatever. The lawyer was unable to help, the banker would not do so, and the conference closed. Mr. Fuller promised to be there again in the morning. Dr. Baumgarten, upon thorns in more ways than one, went back to his wondering bishops, the comforting assurance that he must surrender the next morning playing havoc with his brain. ‘Oh, here’s the Dean at last. Lady Grace feared you must be taken ill.” ‘Never in better health in my life,” laughed the Dean, gaily. ‘I was summoned to the library on business: people will come at troublesome times. Your lordship is winning, I see; a knight and a castle already ; fair trophies ; but Lady Grace generally contrives to lose all before her, when she attempts chess.” The guests departed at the sober hour of eleven, and Lady Grace immediately prepared to go to her dressing-room. The Dean had been making up his mind to tell her while he talked to the bishops. ‘A glib tongue covers an aching heart”—how runs the proverb? In all the world perhaps there could not have been found that night a more aching heart than Ryle Baumgarten’s. The time had come when his wife must know, and the telling would be to him as a very bitter pill. ‘¢ Grace, don’t go up just yet. Good-night, Gertrude; run on, my dear.” “ Good-night, dear papa.” “Ryle!” uttered Lady Grace as the door closed; “you are not well. Iam sure of it. Something must be wrong. What were you doing when you were out of the room so long to-night ?” The Dean leaned against the wall by the side of the fireplace, all his assumed bravery gone out of him. When the spirits have been forced for hours, the revulsion is sometimes terrible. She went up to him in alarm, and placed her hands upon him. He took them in his own. “Ves, Grace, something is wrong. It seems,” he added, with a ghastly face, ‘‘ as if I should almost die in telling you of it.” Her lips turned whiter than his, and her voice sank to a dread whisper. ‘‘ Something has happened to Charles!” ‘No, no; the children are all safe; it has nothing to do with them. It has to do with myself alone: and—with you—in a degree —as part of myself.” CONNICLOOKS, EC)