The Argosy — page 276: what you’re looking at

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

The Missing Rubies. 259 He did not doubt the authenticity of any information which Wouriski had obtained. Poor and miserable as he was, Wouriski had his secret informants, and they were not often deceived. ‘There were times when he had thought uneasily about the close companion- ship of two such ill-used and passionate men as Wouriski and Stavieski. And yet, what harm could they do? ‘They were so poor, so broken, so powerless! And he had much faith in his own influence over those stormy spirits, and believed that he could soothe them into comparative patience and peace. The evening was rapidly wearing away; night was coming on. He rose and paced the dim room, quietly, and not with Michael’s heavy strides. The events of this day had made him restless. He had a strange presentiment that something more important— more startling than anything which had happened yet—was still to come. He had given so few thoughts to his fair fellow-lodger that he did not even know whether she kept late hours. Michael had seen her going out in evening dress; at what time would she be likely to return ? He was possessed with a strong desire to see her face that very night. The hours went by. Presently William came in to set a lighted lamp upon the table and draw down the blinds. The house was very quiet; Mrs. Milton had gone upstairs to Beatrice, and intended to pass the night on a sofa in the girl’s room. What a long, tedious night it would be to that weary young heart, crushed under its heavy load of anguish! ‘To Vordenberg, who had suffered so much, the face of sorrow was as familiar as that of an old friend. But to Beatrice, young, lovely, untried by the sharpest kind of anguish, this grief was terribly new and strange. He got some books from his shelves ; and tried to soothe himself with some favourite poems. But the sweetest verses, new or old, had no charm for him to-night. Why did poets all harp so cruelly on the old strings? Love, Change, Death—were there no other themes ? He closed the volume with a sigh of disgust, and took up the latest novel from Mudie’s. | But the novelist was as melancholy as the poet. It seemed as if the whole world had only one story to tell, a story of blossoms blighted in their first flush, of a sun that went down while it was yet day. Vordenberg thought of the girl upstairs, and flung the novel from him. : Seized with a sudden longing for the breath of the summer night, he lifted the sash, and leaned out. The air was balmy and still. The scent of the flowers from Madame Valerot’s balconies, floated up sweetly, and refreshed him unawares. Cabs and carriages were rattling up and down the street ; presently a brougham came driving up to the house. Vordenberg drew in his head, and quickly pulled the blind down again. GOMGIOO () an