The Argosy — page 282: what you’re looking at

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

The Missing Rubtes. 263 these days; she had money to spend and jewels to wear ; and what could a woman want more? As to Vordenberg, he, too, had few thoughts to bestow on the woman with the short auburn hair and dark eyes. His mind was eternally occupied with Beatrice and her sorrow. What that sorrow was he had not yet found out. He must wait patiently until he could hear her story from her own lips. And then—then, surely, he might find a way of proving his devotion. Since the evening of their last long talk, he had seen nothing of Michael. The poor fellow had divined, perhaps, that his friend was engrossed with matters that did not concern him in the least. At their last meeting Casimir had allowed his impatience to be plainly seen ; and although he had atoned for hasty words by plenty of kind ones, their memory lingered in the heart of Stavieski. For nearly a fortnight Beatrice remained, a petted prisoner, in the room at the top of the house. It was a great event when Harriet brought her downstairs, and once more established her on the sofa near the French window. ‘They had made a festival of her coming down. ‘The pretty sitting-room looked as if it were let for a flower show ; such wonderful masses of roses, geraniums and azaleas, had seldom gladdened Beatrice’s eyes before. Even the yard was blooming anew with fresh plants in pots and stands, and the ivy shone as if every leaf had been specially burnished for this joyful occasion. _ Weak as she still was, the girl took in all her pleasant surroundings with a quiet thankfulness. She was no longer as unhappy as she had been when she had first returned to Wimpole Street; but there was still the pain of a deep yearning in her heart. She missed Godwin more than any words could tell. They had been so constantly together before her banishment to Fairbridge. The long, quiet evenings, the bright Sunday walks, the endless interchange of thoughts, all had tended to their mutual good and happiness. And now they were severed ; each was treading a lonely path ; each was wearying for the ‘touch of a vanished hand”; each was realising what it was to walk desolate day by day. Beatrice, lying quietly on her sofa, with the flowers all round her, used to think a great deal about the unsuspected love-tragedies that are being daily enacted everywhere in the world. In these hours, tranquil, but sad beyond expression, shee sorrow of life itself seemed to overwhelm her spirit. How few ever walk side by side, for long years, with the chosen companion of the soul ! How few enjoy the simple, fresh, old-world love of Adam and Eve in their Eden, untroubled by prudent counsellors and meddling busy- bodies! Some one steps in, ruthlessly enough, and severs the clasped hands by main force. Or someone else, with the serpent’s own fiendish wisdom, whispers soft mischief into the ears that are drinking CORNICE LHO© cS (c©) An