The Argosy — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

68 Poor Aunt Deb! unconsciousness, and I knew that if life was to be kept in her she must have proper nourishment at once. I then mixed her some arrowroot and wine from the store I had brought, and went round to the far side of the bed to lift her head. As I did so, I noticed very distinctly a red triangular mark upon her | throat; not freshly done, but evidently a life mark, but so clearly impressed upon the white skin, that it remained in my mind after many other details of her appearance had passed away. Lifting her head gently, I fed her with the restorative, spoonful by spoonful, till once more the mist seemed to clear from her eyes, and I knew that she was gazing quietly and steadily at me. Fearing to excite her, I asked no further questions, but only settled her more comfortably in the bed. Glancing once again at the still sleeping babe, I emptied my basket of its contents, and quietly drawing the woman outside the cabin door, told her I would return with my brother in the morning, and see what more we could do. ‘The woman looked at me very earnestly, and just said: “The Lord reward you, ma’am—good night,” and so we parted. She disappeared into the cabin; and I, marching on ahead of old Thomas on my homeward way, wondered who the girl could be, and determined to know all about it next day. I awoke early, with my mind filled with my strange acquaintances of the night before. Dressing hurriedly, I proceeded to look out of my travelling trunk what clothing I could spare, and made them up into a small package, not thinking it expedient to tell my maid too much about it till the matter was more fully explained. Ten o’clock struck, then half-past, then eleven, and still William did not come; so being able no longer to curb my impatience I started off again to the canal bank, with Marie carrying the bundle beside me. When I reached it—lo! zo barge was there—not a vestige of anything; save a trampled space on the bank, showing where the old horse had wandered as far as his tether would allow ; a few bits of refuse on the canal bank, and a deep indentation in the shelving edge of the grassy towing path ! Perfectly bewildered ; half fancying girl, baby, bargee and woman had all been a disordered dream ; I retraced my steps to the Rectory, and there poured the whole story into the ears of my returned and half sceptical brother. He was very kind and sympathetic, but I felt that he thought I had imaged the half of it, and that in reality the lovely girl was an ordinary bargee’s daughter, and the trouble one that overtakes them only too often. IT, Ir was the Exhibition year of ’51—a time when exhibitions were indeed marvels. ‘That beautiful glass house in Hyde Park was to many the realisation of a fairy story; and all who could do so flocked CORMIELIOOKS.(€©) m