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Of a dusky pallor was Miss Lansdale when I first beheld her under the night of her hair. As the waning light showed me her, I thought of a blossomed young sloe tree in her own far valley of the Old Dominion. Closer to her I could note only that she was dark but fair, for observations of this character became, for some reason, impracticable in her immediate presence.
But I knew it had happened, for Miss Lansdale was so nearly human that I presently found myself thinking "Miss Kate" of her. She not only answered questions, but, what amazed me far more, she condescended to ask them now and then. To an observer we might have seemed to be holding speech of an actual friendliness speech of the water and the day; of herself and the dog and a little of me.
To go back to Lowbay, or forward to Lansdale, was plainly impossible, and neither guard nor driver thought they could be ploughed out under two days at the earliest. "And yet," concluded Acton, "we can't starve and freeze for two days. Look here, guard, isn't there a fell farm somewhere hereabouts? I begin to fancy " "There's one over the hills yonder, three or four miles away.
Elsie laid the letter down by her plate, and putting aside, for the present, her curiosity in regard to it, went on with her meal. "From whom can it have come?" she asked herself, while listening half absently to extracts from Mr. Allison's epistle; "not from him surely, the hand is so very unlike that of the one he sent me in Lansdale."
Step up, ladies and gentlemen' he concludes, with a rather pointed delicacy, 'and you will find him ready and willing to answer all proper questions." Miss Lansdale dropped her oars into the water, dully, I thought. I released the willow that had moored us, but I persisted. "And he always does answer all proper questions, just as the gentleman said he would.
Dinsmore's brother, Richard Allison, who, my readers may remember, had married Elsie's old friend, Lottie King, shortly after the close of the war of the rebellion, had taken up his abode in Lansdale years ago. Both he and his sister May's husband, Harry Duncan, had prospered greatly.
I should have known, without catching the glint of her eyes under the hat brim, that a Peavey spoke there. "If you could see the thing once, you'd understand," I said, an answer, of course, fit only for a Peavey. "At all events, you'll not keep it long." The words were Peavey enough, but the voice was rather curiously Lansdale.
She had described to him Egerton's character as he had made it appear to her, telling of their conversations on religious subjects, his supposed conversion, etc., etc.; thus unintentionally enabling Travilla to see clearly through the man's base designs. He silently resolved to stay in Lansdale and watch over her until her father's arrival. "You ride out daily?" he inquired. "Yes, sir."
And since none of the ladies, for one reason or another, had found a way to say those things that Mrs. Lansdale sorely needed to hear, it was agreed among them that the minister must say them. "The minister" in Little Arcady meant him of the Methodist church, the two other clergymen being so young and unimportant as to need identification by name.
"He's asleep," said Malcourt in a dull voice. "Louis! Are you telling me the truth?" "Yes.... I'd tell you if he were dead. He isn't. Lansdale thinks there is a slight change for the better. So I came to tell you." Every tense nerve and muscle in her body seemed to give way at the same instant as she dropped to the lounge.
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