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Updated: June 1, 2025
Margit Salgo's father, a Hungarian Gypsy musician, had married Miss Carrington's sister, much against the desire of Miss Grace Gee Carrington herself. When the orphaned Margit found her way to Centerport she made such an impression upon her aunt's heart that the latter finally took the girl into her own home and adopted her as "Margaret Carrington."
It was lucky that this signaled the curtain's fall on the first act, or Jess Morse would have spoiled her own good work by the expression of her amazement. "Who is it?" "Can it be Margit Salgo?" "How very, very wonderful!" These were some of the ejaculations of the girls behind the scenes.
"I've got rather a long story to tell you and rather a strange story," he said, lifting his head and looking round, but not so impersonally that his mother did not know well enough to say to the Swedish serving-woman: "You needn't stay, Margit. I'll give Mr. Philip his breakfast. Well!" she added, when they were alone.
How d'you make that out?" He had a torturing desire to kiss her. "Yes, you are angry," she repeated; "I wait here for papa and Margit." Swithin also waited, wedged against the wall. Once or twice, for his sight was sharp, he saw her steal a look at him, a beseeching look, and hardened his heart with a kind of pleasure. After five minutes Boleskey, Margit, and Kasteliz appeared.
With a gesture of alarm, she put her hand to her cheek, and called, "Margit!" An older girl appeared, taller, with fine shoulders, large eyes, a pretty mouth, and what Swithin described to himself afterwards as a "pudding" nose. Both girls, with little cooing sounds, began attending to their father's face. Swithin turned his back to them. His arm pained him.
So far, Obed's services had been in little request: and I, too, had leisure to observe and wonder at a certain remarkable change that had come over Margit as it seemed to me, from the time of our entering the parallels above 50 degrees. Her usual calm bearing had given way to succeeding fits of restlessness and apathy.
The interpreter translated it: first the names "Margit Hansen to Nils Pedersen": and after them, this strange verse from the Song of Solomon strange, I mean, to find written in such a place "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine." The interpreter, Mr. Scammel, went upstairs, and she told him her story. She belonged to me and was called after me.
Swithin acknowledged the greetings with a stiff motion of his head; then seeing other people dropping into seats, he, too, sat down. Some one whispered his name Margit and Rozsi were just behind him. "Welcome!" said Margit; but Swithin was looking at Rozsi. Her face was so alive and quivering! 'What's the excitement all about? he thought.
Towards the end of June I made application to the Board: and left Vellingey in July, to sail for Bombay on board the Warren Hastings, in my old capacity of first mate. My abandoning the field to Obed would deserve some credit, had Margit ever by word or look given me the slightest reason to hope. But she had not; indeed I hoped that she had never guessed the state of my feelings.
For, whatever our feelings, Selina had set her face against the new-comer from the first. She started, no doubt, with the old woman's whiddle that no good ever comes of a person saved from the sea. But as time went on she picked up plenty of other reasons for dislike. Margit took charge from the day she came downstairs, and had a cold way of seeing that her orders were attended to.
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