The Argosy — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

The Story of Charles Strange. LOI man and the beautiful girl on his arm. Mr. Ravensworth spoke in a low tone. ‘¢ Are you quite sure, Blanche? Black hair turns grey, remember ; and he has a little travelling portmanteau under that cloak.” Even as he spoke, something in the stranger’s face struck upon Blanche Heriot’s memory. She disengaged herself and approached him, too agitated to weigh her words. “ Oh—I beg your pardon—are you not papaP” Major Carlen looked at her closely. ‘ Are you Blanche ?” ‘Ves, Iam Blanche. Oh, papa!” The Major tucked his step-daughter under his own arm ; and Mr. Ravensworth went on to give notice of the arrival. ‘¢ Papa, I never saw anyone so much altered !” “ Nor I,” interposed the Major. ‘I was wondering what deuced handsome girl was strolling towards me. You are beautiful, Blanche; more so than your mother was, and she was handsome.” Blanche, confused though she felt at the compliment, could not return it. “ Who is that young fellow?” resumed the Major. * Arnold Ravensworth ; Mr. Ravensworth’s nephew. He lives in London, and came down yesterday for a short visit.” * Oh. Does he come often?” ‘¢Pretty often. We wish it was oftener. We like him to be here.” ‘*‘ He seems presuming.” | “Dear papa! Presuming! He is not at all so. And he is very talented and clever. He took honours at Oxford, and “I see,” interrupted Major Carlen, displaying his large and regular teeth—a habit of his when not pleased. He had rapidly taken up an idea, and it angered him. “Is this the parson, Blanche? He looks very sanctimonious,” . “Oh, papa!” she returned, feeling ready to cry at his contemptuous tone. ‘“‘Heis the best man that ever lived. Everyone loves and respects him.” ‘* Hope it’s merited, my dear,” concluded the Major, as he met the hand of the Reverend John Ravensworth. Ere middle-day, the Major had scattered a small bombshell through the parsonage by announcing that he had come to take his daughter away. Blanche felt it bitterly. It was her home, and a happy one. To exchange it for the Major’s did not look now an inviting prospect. ‘Though she would not acknowledge it to her own heart, she was beginning to regard him with more awe than love. That the resolution must have been suddenly formed she knew, for he had not come down with any intention of removing her. ‘Papa, my things can never be ready,” was her last forlorn argu- ment, when others had failed. “Things?” said the Major. “Trunks, and clothes, and rattle- traps? They can be sent after you, Blanche.” VOL. XLV, © H cComicooolks (C(O) im