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The tidings came to Marjorie as she leaned back in her chair in Mr. Biddell's parlour and listened to the last shoutings. She had been in town now three days. Ever since the capture she had been under guard in her own house till three days ago. Four men had been billeted upon her, not, indeed, by the orders of Mr. Audrey, since Mr.
"Ah, it has just come to me!" she exclaimed, her elbows on the table, looking dreamily into Elaine Biddell's face. "You were Xantippe. I knew I'd seen you somewhere." As for Enid, it seems that she was Charmian or Iris, Cleopatra can't be sure which; but the girl has come to me saying that, if Mrs.
Still, I had Brigit and Monny as bright spots in the tail; and my old dreams of Luxor had been empty of them. These ideas were in my mind, while on donkeys and in arabeahs we dashed as if our lives depended on speed, from the Temple of Karnak to the Temple of Luxor, along the dusty white road trimmed with sphinxes. This description was Enid Biddell's, she being happy and therefore frivolous.
This hint, however, fell flatter than a flounder; and all the way to Abydos, most sacred temple of ancient Egypt, I was persecuted with Enid Biddell's woes, when I should have been free to meditate upon the tragic history of Isis and Osiris.
Marjorie knew Derby well enough from the old days when she rode in sometimes with her father and slept at Mr. Biddell's; and, above all, she knew all that Derby had once been. In one place, outside the town, was St. Mary-in-Pratis, where the Benedictine nuns had lived; St. Leonard's had had a hospital for lepers; St. Helen's had had the Augustinian hospital for poor brothers and sisters; St.
"The fifteen minutes are up, and no signal yet for your famous surprise," called out Sir John Biddell's complaining voice, from the end of a dark passage. "Has anything gone wrong?" "Oh, I was going to give you a Bengal fire illumination of the temple, for a climax," I explained, coming suavely forward to meet him with my candle.
Miss Biddell's friend was writing a book about Egypt and was going to divide it in three parts like that. It was to be dedicated to her. Bless the dear creatures, how they kept the ball rolling to please themselves, and indirectly to sort out my stock of ideas! Harry Snell, the newspaper man, was not hard to persuade to his feet. He was studying the resemblance between Arabic and English words.
She was as pale as a ghost, but her eyes shone like stars. It was a couple of months after his leaving Chartley before he came at last to Booth's Edge. First he had had to bestow Mr. Arnold in Lancashire, for suspicion was abroad; and it was a letter from Marjorie herself, reaching him in Derby, at Mr. Biddell's house, that had told him of it, and bidden him go on with his friend.
"It was the very question I put to myself," said Robin. "And I took the liberty of seeing where they went. They went to Mr. Columbell's own house, and indoors of it. The serving-men held the horses at the door. I watched them awhile from Mr. Biddell's window; but they were still there when I came away at last." "What hour was that?" asked the old man. "That would be after dinner-time.
Topcliffe's men that all the refreshment which they had lately enjoyed, beyond that provided by their master, was at old Mr. Biddell's expense, though he did not know it, and that George Beaton, fool though he was, was a cleverer man than his employer.
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