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"Let us pass them boldly," he muttered to Margaret; "I'll not turn my back on a brace of Spaniards," but he also laid his hand upon the hilt of the sword he wore beneath his cloak, and bade her get behind him. Thus, then, they came face to face. Now, the Spaniards, who were evil-looking fellows, bowed courteously enough, and asked if he were not Master Peter Brome.
A Brome"! and, gathering himself together, sprang straight at Morella as springs a starving wolf. The blue steel flickered in the sunlight, then down it fell, and lo! half the Spaniard's helm lay on the sand, while it was Morella's turn to reel backward and more, as he did so, he let fall his shield. "A stroke! a good stroke!" roared the crowd. "The Falcon! the Falcon!"
"I ain't, so ter say, narvish, bein' alone with 'er, and would as lief see the pore sufferin' critter draw her las' breath as not, but I hold 'tis dacent for man and wife to be together, come to th' finish; an' so I ha' sent for ye," Mrs Brome told him.
Of course, if one has land capable of irrigation he can grow forage plants, even the grasses which grow in moist climates, like the rye grasses, the brome grasses and the oat grasses, etc., which will do well if given a little moisture, but it will be a loss of money to break up the dryer lands with the idea of establishing perennial grasses upon them without irrigation.
The following morning, Sir Kenelm's son posted to London bearing the recipes, with a pistol in the pocket of his great coat against the crossing of Hounslow Heath. He went to a printer at the Star in Little Britain whose name was H. Brome. Shortly the book appeared. It was the son who wrote the preface: "There needs no Rhetoricating Floscules to set it off.
Though Peter Brome is not a merchant, at least by birth, he is high-born, and should be Sir Peter Brome if his father had not fought on the wrong side and sold his land. He is a soldier, and a very brave one, they say, as all might see last night." "No doubt, and perhaps would make a great captain, if he had the chance, with his stern face and silent tongue.
As he still stood, she went on, to avoid the awkward silence: "Those horrid industrials! I am sure Uncle Brome will lose everything in them. He's a born gambler. Mr. Carson has got him interested in these new things." "Is his picture still on exhibition?" Sommers inquired, with a faint smile. "I don't know. I haven't seen much of them lately."
There were hills with stags living in them, there were moors with purple heather and yellow brome and gorse; birds built their nests under the bushes and Donal's pony knew exactly where to step even in the roughest places. There were two boys and two girls at the Manse and they had a father and a mother. These things were enough for a new heaven and a new earth to form themselves around.
"With you, Cousin," and she glanced approvingly at his stalwart, soldier-like form, "I have nothing to fear from men, however rough, and I do greatly want to see the king close by, and so does Betty. Don't you, Betty?" and she turned to her companion. Betty Dene, whom she addressed, was also a cousin of Margaret, though only a distant connection of Peter Brome.
"Noble Governor, is it permitted that the Senor Bernaldez should send me some Christian clothes to wear, for I would not appear before your judges in this soiled heathen garb, nor, I think, would my father or the Senor Brome?" The governor laughed, and said he thought that might be arranged, and even allowed them another five minutes, while they talked of what these clothes should be.
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