United States or Fiji ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Chater, the wife of that Serampore missionary whose expulsion had led to the first pioneering at Rangoon, and who had since worked in Ceylon. She was just forty-two, and died September 1st, 1845.
"So it seems," I said, nevertheless only half convinced that the Italian was telling me the truth. If it was really, as he had said, that the arrival of Chater and the flight was merely a "blind," then the mystery was again deepened. "Then who was the man who attacked Chater?" I asked. "Only Chater himself knows. It was one of the guests, that is quite evident."
Their adored Mary had restored confidence. They clung about her. "It was a pure accident," explained Mr. Bob Chater, gloomily watching this scene. "I'll buy you another to-morrow." "There!" Mary cried. "Think of that!" David reflected upon it without emotion. He regarded his big brother sullenly; sullenly said, "I don't want another." Mary cried brightly: "Rubbish!
I fed you, clothed you, cared for you, treated you as one of my own family; and this is my reward. There you stand, unable to say a word " "If you think, Mrs. Chater " "Don't speak! I won't hear you. Here have I day after day been entrusting my beloved lambs to your care, and heaven alone knows what risks they have run.
Chater and I drank wine of a brand which only a millionaire could keep in his cellar, while our host, apparently a most abstemious man, took only a glass of iced Cinciano water.
Certainly not! Mercy! Your head again! Go back, Bob!" The maddened, pain-racked Bob bellowed: "Oh, stop it! stop it! I shall go mad in a minute. She is entitled to her wages. Pay her." "I won't!" "Well, I will. Susan! Susan, come up here and take this money. How much is it?" "She is not to be paid," Mrs. Chater trumpeted. "She is to be paid," bawled her son.
Am I so distasteful to you that you can't bear me near you?" This was the personal note that of all her apprehensions had given Mary greatest alarm. "Surely you see that you are harming me I mean hurting me I mean, yes, getting me into trouble by staying like this with me. Mrs. Chater might have turned me off on Saturday " "I spoke for you." "Yes."
She sat, enormous, thunder-browed, bolt upright in a straight chair. I stood and quivered. In books the consciousness of virtue gives one complete self-possession in the face of any accusation, however terrible. In books it is the accuser of the innocent who is ill at ease. Oh, don't believe it! Mrs. Chater had the self-possession, I had the jim-jams.
I cannot forget it. I behaved very badly. I want to know that you forgive me." She told him: "Yes, then oh yes, yes." His persistence alarmed her, set her again to flight among her apprehensions. "Not when you say it like that." Her breath came in jerks, responsive to the unsteady flutters of her heart. She made an effort for control; for the first time turned to him: "Mr. Chater, please go."
Bob said very slowly, "You infernal little liar." Mrs. Chater glowered upon Mary with cruel eyes. "It was a fortunate thing," she said coldly, "that a headache brought me home. Go to your room, miss." We may hurry across the bridge. Excursions In Love. Saturday was the day immediately following this scene.
Word Of The Day