The Argosy — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

The Five Mr. Fyttons. 35 him as she had done with his brother Richard: and as she was beginning to do with his cousin James. This could not go on long unperceived. A fearful quarrel took place between the cousins. In a moment of frantic anger swords were drawn, and John Fytton fell by the hand of his own kinsman. His body, like his father’s, was laid upon the state bed, and at midnight a finger tapped upon the casement, a face was pressed upon the glass, and a voice said: “‘ Zhe Third Mr. fytton.” The end of the others is more mysterious. Hal, who at the death of his two elder brothers succeeded to the property, fell, as his brothers had fallen, head over ears in love with Evelyn O’Brien, though she was two years his senior. He simply lived at Velvet Hall; that is, whenever Evelyn did not drive him home—which she did in a fit of temper pretty often. Her father and mother so bowed to her will that her will was simply law with them. She ordered the world, and the world obeyed. Suitors she had many, and the scandal of the deaths of two brothers who had died for love of her only served to enhance her fascination. She was gay and happy always, as long as the sun was shining ; but bitterly depressed if anything that annoyed her crossed her path. Capable of bestowing the utmost of the affection that lay at her com- mand on the man or woman who gave her everything she wished for ; and as capable of withdrawing it, and supplying its place with the utmost indifference, if the amount of bodily comfort to which she had been accustomed fell short in the smallest degree. She liked Hal. He had money, a fine estate, a handsome person and a sweet, gentlemanly manner—but she wanted more. She was one of those women who only love those they fear. And fear poor Hal she did not. Amongst her other wooers was one who, though he seldom was in her company, seemed, when he did come to Velvet Hall, to exercise a certain amount of influence over this wilful beauty. Though he was but a delicate man, in appearance almost effeminate, there was something strangely masterful about him. ‘Talented and fascinating, he was yet extremely trying, owing to his variable and _ irritating temper. Never violent, he would at times say, with his slow smile that meant so much, the bitterest things to Evelyn in the presence of others, which, strange to say, she received with comparative equa- nimity. Had any other creature in the universe attempted to say one tithe of that he gave utterance to, the regret would have lasted to his dying day. His name was Lawrence Tanfield. Between him and Henry Fytton a strong intimacy existed, for things had not yet come to that pass when jealousy was likely to step in. Henry Fytton, in his open, boyish way, saw in his friend no rival, because he was his friend. What Tanfield thought, we know not; but I suspect, such was his belief in himself, and his quiet way of COMICHOOOKS.Cc© an) -