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"But observe," cried d'Artagnan, "that there is a woman in the affair a woman carried off, a woman who is doubtless threatened, tortured perhaps, and all because she is faithful to her mistress." "Beware, d'Artagnan, beware," said Aramis. "You grow a little too warm, in my opinion, about the fate of Madame Bonacieux.
Such has been their fate under the Spanish conquerors, who took no care to enforce the admirable system for their preservation adopted by the Incas.
"No touch of love, no hint of fame, no hours of ease lie for you across the knees of fate," exclaims Miss Mary Robinson, who has chronicled this existence, in a fine outburst of sorrow. And truly, viewed from without, what life could be more dreary and colourless, more futile and icily cold, than that of Emily Bronte?
"Nay," answered Gombei, "but we have brought a coffin for his dead body, as he bade us." When the retainers heard this, they marvelled at the courage of Chôbei, who had thus wittingly come to meet his fate. So Chôbei's corpse was placed in the burying-tub, and handed over to his apprentices, who swore to avenge his death. Far and wide, the poor and friendless mourned for this good man.
True, her heart was sore, true, she was perplexed and miserable, but sleep and rest had long since effaced from her healthy, youthful, and elastic frame all traces left by that fearful day of flight; and fate, which often means best by us when it shows us a hostile face, had sent her a minor anxiety to divert her from her graver cares.
Each time he had beheld her since that night he had felt this burn more deeply in his soul. He was too high and fine in all his thoughts to say to himself that in her he saw for the first time the woman who was his peer; but this was very truth or might have been, if Fate had set her youth elsewhere, and a lady who was noble and her own mother had trained and guarded her.
I have made up my mind to live and die in the Canadian woods, considering it my wayward fate that all 'my sweetness should be wasted on the desert air." "Repining is useless, if not sinful," observed Mary Percival.
It was from Marya, and she told me that she was now in the house of Chvabrine, who threatened to kill her or hand her over to the robber camp if she did not marry him, and that she had but three days left before her fate would be sealed. Death would be easier, she said, than to be the wife of a man like Chvabrine.
That may wait; and, what is more, shall wait till Strike their swords down, Raleigh, Mackworth! Strike their swords down! We shall proceed to deliberate on your fate." "I trust, my lord," said Amyas, "that you will spare this braggart's life, at least for a day or two.
It was just as well, perhaps, she should not be there to see him suffer. He had never a bitter thought in his mind about any person or thing, nor did he dream of bemoaning the cruel fate which left him now at his death, as at his birth, deserted. What he did think of were the many kind people who would have been only too glad to come to his assistance had they but known his need.
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