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Yet Gower by his own admission was a hard man. He had lived with a commercial sword in his hand. He knew what it was to fall by that weapon. He had been hard on the fishermen. He had exploited them mercilessly. Therein lay his weakness, whereby he had fallen, through which MacRae had beaten him. But had he beaten him? MacRae was not now so sure about that. But it was only a momentary doubt.
Those who styled themselves the independent electors of Westminster, being now incensed to an uncommon degree of turbulence by the interposition of ministerial influence, determined to use their utmost endeavours to baffle the designs of the court, and at the same time take vengeance on the family of earl Gower, who had entirely abandoned the opposition, of which he was formerly one of the most respected leaders.
With a smothered exclamation, Gower and Dicky Browne dash down the balcony steps to join him in his vain pursuit. Vain, indeed! At the lower end, by the long lawn, runs a river, small, but swift, and turbulent, that flows for two miles through park, and waving field, and glowing valley, to throw itself finally into the arms of the thirsty ocean. Towards this the horse is rushing madly.
"You are a horrid boy!" "She has gone to bed," says Tita, reappearing in the drawing-room just as the clock strikes nine on the following evening. "Thank goodness!" says Mrs. Chichester, sotto voce, at which Captain Marryatt laughs. "She is not very ill, I hope?" says Margaret. "Oh no! A mere headache." "Bile!" suggests Mr. Gower prettily. Tita looks angrily at him.
Always he was casting about for a course of action which would give him scope for two things upon which his mind was set: to get the title to that six hundred acres revested in the MacRae name, and, in Jack's own words to Dolores Ferrara, to take a fall out of Horace Gower that would jar the bones of his ancestors.
The simple sight of Priscilla Gower, with her calm, handsome face, and calm, handsome presence, set her so far away from him and she had seemed so near to him during the few last days she felt so poor and weak through the contrast. And Pamela was right. She was nothing to him he was nothing to her. This was his wife who had come to him now, and she what was she?
"Unconsciousness is merely natural reaction from shock, nerve strain, loss of blood. You can guess what sort of fight he must have made in those breakers. If you were a sawbones, Miss Gower, you wouldn't be uneasy. I'll stake my professional reputation on his injuries being superficial. Quite enough to knock a man out, I grant.
For four years he had been fed, clothed, directed, master of his own acts only in supreme moments. There was an unconscious reaction from that high pitch. Being his own man again and a trifle uncertain what to do, he did nothing at all for a time. He made one trip to Vancouver, to learn by just what legal processes the MacRae lands had passed into the Gower possession.
We then talked over all the old Norwich families, Gower, Taylors, Aldersons, Bathurst, &c. She said she thought my mother a much finer character than Mrs. Austin, and, she added, a fine understanding too. Her interest in all the events of the day the last spider discovered by Dr.
None but a Welsh-blooded girl, risking her good name to follow and nurse the man she considered a hero, would carry her head to look virgin eyes as she did. One could swear to them, Gower thought. Contact with her spirited him out of his mooniness. He had the Cymric and Celtic respect of character; which puts aside the person's environments to face the soul.
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