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The writer of this tale, both because it moves his own heart and he wishes it to move that of others, asks a favour of you, dear reader. Forgive him if he passes over a considerable space of time in a few words, and only tells you generally what therein happened.
"What is it, Mr Hamersley?" asks the Ranger Captain, who is close by his side. "My God!" exclaims the Kentuckian. "I'd forgotten. We must be off at once, or we shall be too late too late!" Saying this, he makes a dash for the door, hurtling his way through the crowd close standing between. The Rangers regard him with glances of astonishment, and doubts about his sanity.
If an Englishman asks a young lady after her sore throat, or her invalid grandmother, and throws into his voice that tone of eager interest or tender sympathy which a polite Frenchman would assume as a matter of course, he is at once suspected of matrimonial designs upon her.
Finally, for the benefit of the reader who asks how it happens that such incidents are not more generally known to the public, I will reprint the following, from pages 382-383 of "The Brass Check," dealing with the "New York Times," and its treatment of the writer's novel, "Jimmie Higgins": "In the last chapters. of this story an American soldier is represented as being tortured in an American military prison.
As the deep Cathedral-bell strikes the hour, a ripple of wind goes through these at their distance, like a ripple of the solemn sound that hums through tomb and tower, broken niche and defaced statue, in the pile close at hand. 'Is Mr. Jasper's nephew with him? the Dean asks. 'No, sir, replied the Verger, 'but expected.
Faraday has now got fairly entangled amid the chemical phenomena of the pile, and here his previous training under Davy must have been of the most important service to him. Why, he asks, should decomposition thus take place? what force is it that wrenches the locked constituents of these compounds asunder?
The hearts of the men and women of America to-day, are at once too bitter, too deep and too hopeful not to instantly lose interest in a Red Cross which asks them to help run it as a beautiful superficial ambulance to the evils people are doing to one another instead of as a machine to help them not to do them.
They knew nothing of the circumstances which had caused that letter to be written: they could not conjecture how it was that the ex-ambassador could be so precise in naming the day and hour when the enemy of France would be at the mercy of those whom he had outraged and flouted. Nevertheless Citizen Chauvelin asks for help, and help must not be denied him.
'Do you not know, the old knight asks him, 'what holy day this is, and that none now should come here bearing arms? The black knight only shakes his head. He sets his spear in the ground and kneels before it, taking off his helmet and gazing up at the point, from which the blood flows. The old knight looks at him and at the spear in wonder.
"What an excellent sister you are!" says Mrs. Bethune, with a slight laugh. "Why?" asks Miss Hescott slowly. "Because I was with him?" Her tone is a little dangerous. "Naturally," says Mrs. Bethune, saving herself promptly. "To be always with one's brother shows devotion indeed; but you forget your rôle, don't you? Where has he been for the past hour? You haven't told us that!
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