Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 2 — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

“Oh, no, no, no!” she cried in great terror. “‘ For my sake, dear Jack! Do ye not see, I would be to blame for bringing you, a Roundhead, into the sanctuary of this garden? ‘You must not do it, Jack— dear Jack! You wl not do it?” Hobgoblin appeared to ponder the nice peint, and seemed inclined to agree with her that his personal honor off duty was a thing outside his soldier honor on duty. As he still considered the point she began to draw him away from the summer-house and > toward the back gate. “ And now, fare thee well, Jack Bunyan,” she said. ‘‘ When times are happier }—t will send thee word, Jack, and gladly make thee welcome. And see, dear lad ’’—she pulled from her basem a little book which might have been twin to that other she had given him—‘ here is @ keepsake, Jack. Promise me ye will read it diligently. “Tis a means of grace and,” with a little laugh, “ T-de think ye ha’ need of some.” He took the volume from her hand. It was entitled, as I afterward knew, ‘‘ The Practice of Piety.” Jack kissed it, and made room for it in his capacious jackboot. She was still urging him toward the gate. He went willingly enough, but as he passed 225. under the tree he made a downward motion with his right hand which satished me that his willmgness had a double thought. Plainly that gesture said: ‘ Wait!” Un- suspected in the tree, what I might learn would the sooner develop if he took his departure. _ She saw him out through the gate, barred the latter after him, then came running back te the bower, out of which stepped Master Eveleigh. “Is the dolt gone?” fe asked, with a laugh. I did not hear what Ruth said. She curtsied deeply, her head lowered. “Then,” said Joyce’s uncle, ‘ bid your sweet mistress to the garden. Say I await her in the bower.” | As Ruth again curtsied and went hastily toward the house, Eveleigh reentered the bower, sat on the edge of the rustic table, and began to hum a lively air. I, in the tree, waited with great expec- tancy. Presently | was to see the vision again. And from the meeting of Joyce and her unele I hoped to learn something that would solve the mystery of Eveleigh Manor. I did not feel that | was spymg. My only theught was. to serve my lady. This stery will be continued in next week’s issue of the ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, the consolidated title under which both magazines will appear hereafter as ene. -ADAME DE STAEL was a clever woman—so clever that Napoleon sent her into exile. It was her habit toe make airy epigrams under which lurked the sting of truth. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said, “but I am afraid of them.” 6 Arcosy That was not the remark that drove her from Paris; medame coined phrases about the emperor which were: as much to the point and as easy to remember. Madame saw that irrationality characterized fear— an irrationality which scientists from Pliny to Mosso have tried to explain away. MICLOOOK C@