The Argosy — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

70 Poor Aunt Deb ! The drawing-room seemed crowded when I entered, so I sat down near to the door till my niece came round to me bringing an elderly, grave-looking man to be introduced. When we were fairly settled down in our allotted places at dinner, I began to look about the table, and presently bethought me of the beauty. But there were so many épergnes and flowers between our vs-d-vés and ourselves, that for a time I could see little but the crowns of the men’s heads, and the elaborate head-gear of the ladies. The menu slowly dragged itself through, and then in a space made by the re-arrangement of one of the large dishes so much in vogue in the year of which I speak, I saw a face. A face that in one instant brought back to my mind with startling distinctness that night scene on the Lincolnshire canal—the dreary coal barge, the sick girl, and the dying babe. There was the self-same golden curly hair, the deep sparkling eyes, the lovely delicate skin, the broad brow. And yet, how could it be the same woman? I thought of the simple cotton garment she wore, the miserable bed in which she lay, and then glanced again at the elegant attire of my opposite neighbour. The pale blue crape dress, the delicate bertha of French lace caught on the shoulder and breast with sprays of pink apple blossom. Round her neck a broad black velvet band, with a glittering pendant of opals and diamonds. My brain seemed to reel with the intensity of my bewilderment. And while I looked, as though my cup of wonder should be filled, I saw her raise her hand, and, evidently a relief from the heat of the crowded room, she lifted the velvet band around her throat, and then with perfect distinctness I noticed the triangular red mark. I suppose I must have attracted her attention by my earnest gaze, for I saw her grow restless and look at me again and again. Then as 1f a curtain had been raised from the past, I saw too, in one instant, that she was present with me in that long-past scene. At last the weary meal drew to a close, and as I crossed the hall, I heard a voice say very gently: ‘‘ May I speak to you somewhere ?” Not trusting myself to answer, I led the way to my own room, and there, by the light of the small fire that was burning on the hearth, despite its being May-time, we looked at one another in perfect silence, till at last she spoke. ‘You remember me?” she said. “Yes,” I answered simply. She was so fair to look at and so good looking, in the highest meaning of the word, that I could not suspect her of evil ; and yet what could I say? “That page in my life’s history has become to me a dream,” she went on; ‘fa dream from which I thought there was no awakening this side the grave. Why! oh, why should it not remain so? ‘There are none now living, I believe, who know it but you and me. It seems as though I should live through all that misery again in telling it to anyone.” COMIC OOOKS. COM