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A party of five hundred horse appeared at Holdenby, conducted by one Joyce, who had once been a tailor by profession, but was now advanced to the rank of cornet, and was an active agitator in the army. Without being opposed by the guard, whose affections were all on their side, Joyce came into the king's presence, armed with pistols, and told him, that he must immediately go along with him.
Such," said the captain, shifting the camp-stool back again from his right hand to his left, in token that Joyce was done with for the time being; "such, my dear madam, is the Theory of Floating Vessels. Permit me to add, in conclusion, you are heartily welcome to it." "Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Lecount.
The house was by this time somewhat cleared of smoke, and we saw at a glance the price we had paid for victory. Hunter lay beside his loophole, stunned; Joyce by his, shot through the head, never to move again; while right in the centre, the squire was supporting the captain, one as pale as the other. "The captain's wounded," said Mr. Trelawney. "Have they run?" asked Mr. Smollett.
Quickly and deftly, with the ease of much practise, she polished the glasses to crystal clearness, laid the silver in shining rows in its allotted place, and put everything in spotless order. Joyce heard her go into the bath-room to wash her hands, and thought complacently of Mary's wonderful store of resources for her own entertainment, wondering what she would do next.
The little girl came downstairs, followed by the capable Miss Joyce, who was brushing out a fold in her white broadcloth coat and arranging a curl, and looked in at her mother's room, with a pretty little smile and a gesture of the fingers she had copied from some child. "All ready, mamma, shall we wait for you in the motor?"
Since his abandonment, he had become, under the name of Ben Joyce, the leader of the escaped convicts; and if he boldly maintained that the wreck had taken place on the east coast, and led Lord Glenarvan to proceed in that direction, it was that he hoped to separate him from his ship, seize the 'Duncan, and make the yacht a pirate in the Pacific." Here the stranger stopped for a moment.
"I told her the other day that she was just like one who had got some dreadful secret upon their mind." "It is really more like that than anything else," observed Mr. Carlyle. "But she is one of the close ones, is Joyce," continued Afy. "No fear that she'll give out a clue, if it does not suit her to do so. She told me, in answer, to mind my own business, and not to take absurd fancies in my head.
Poor Joyce, stretched out on a bed in the big closed motor-car the mother sitting by her head, the grandfather in his short grey beard and a bowler hat, sitting by her feet, thick, and implacable in his responsibility they rolled slowly away from Crockham, and from Egbert who stood there bareheaded and a little ignominious, left behind.
"Why, I know you. You are Mr. Bright's little girl, are you not? You are Eyebright! Why did I not recognize you before? Don't you recollect me at all? Don't you know who I am?" And, somehow, the words and the pleasant tone of voice, and the look which accompanied them made him look different, all at once, to the child, and natural, and Eyebright did know him. It was Mr. Joyce!
Joyce grouped the five candles on the floor and they sat down beside them, from time to time pulling out fresh volumes, reading aloud clever jokes to each other, and enjoying themselves immensely, utterly unconscious of the passing moments. At length they found they had skimmed through all the volumes of "Punch," the last of which was dated 1860, and had them piled up on the floor beside them.
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