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Michael Vanstone's address: I was also expected to find out how long he was likely to live there, and whether he had sold Combe-Raven or not. My next inquiries were to inform me of his ordinary habits of life; of what he did with his money; of who his intimate friends were; and of the sort of terms on which his son, Mr. Noel Vanstone, was now living with him.
Toward the afternoon the weather improved. At half-past one the sun was shining brightly; and the ladies left the house, accompanied by the dogs, to set forth on their walk. They crossed the stream, and ascended by the little rocky pass to the hills beyond; then diverged to the left, and returned by a cross-road which led through the village of Combe-Raven.
Accordingly, when Frank presented himself at Combe-Raven on the eventful morning, there stood Miss Garth, prepared in the interpolated character of Argus to accompany Lucy and Falkland to the scene of trial. The railway conveyed the three, in excellent time, to Evergreen Lodge; and at one o'clock the rehearsal began. "I HOPE Miss Vanstone knows her part?" whispered Mrs.
Her heart yearned over the two creatures as she patted and caressed them. It seemed only yesterday since she and the dogs at Combe-Raven had roamed the garden together, and had idled away the summer mornings luxuriously on the shady lawn. Old Mazey found his hat at last, and they started on their exploring expedition, with the dogs after them.
The horror of herself with which her own act had inspired her, had risen to its climax when the design of her marriage was achieved. She had never suffered in secret as she suffered when the Combe-Raven money was left to her in her husband's will. She had never felt the means taken to accomplish her end so unutterably degrading to herself, as she felt them on the day when the end was reached.
Michael Vanstone is now residing at German Place, Brighton, and likely to remain there, as he finds the air suits him. He reached London from Switzerland in September last; and sold the Combe-Raven property immediately on his arrival.
The cook, for all her violent temper, behaved very differently: she sent up a message to say that she would stop and help us to the last. The poor lad went out of the room crying. I wish him well; I hope he will find a kind master and a good place. "The long, quiet, rainy evening out-of-doors our last evening at Combe-Raven was a sad trial to us.
It is the amiable defect of the English public never to know when they have had enough of a good thing. They actually try to encore one of her characters an old north-country lady; modeled on that honored preceptress in the late Mr. Vanstone's family to whom I presented myself at Combe-Raven. This particular performance fairly amazes the people. I don't wonder at it.
Magdalen was struck, as her sister had been struck, by George Bartram's resemblance to her father judging by the portrait at Combe-Raven, which presented the likeness of Andrew Vanstone in his younger days.
Clare took his own characteristically opposite view. "These London men," said the philosopher, "are not to be tri fled with by louts. They ha ve got Frank by the scruff of the neck he can't wriggle himself free and he makes a merit of yielding to sheer necessity." The three months' interval of Frank's probation in London passed less cheerfully than usual in the household at Combe-Raven.
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