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When everything bitter that could be said at the expense of women had been ably expressed, Lord Lossiemouth withdrew. A month later, when he was making an angry walking tour in Hungary, he learned from an English paper, already many days old, of the two deaths which effected his great change of fortune.
He was rich, but not vulgarly so. He had a great position, and what his artistic nature valued even more, the possession of one of the most beautiful places in England. The Lossiemouth pictures and heirlooms, the historic house with its wonderful gardens all these were his. He had at first been quite dazed by the magnitude of his good fortune.
"No," said Michael. "No. I don't forget. Her goodness to me. How she tried to save me. Just so. Just so. I don't forget." "Won't you see her? She and Magdalen are driving over here this morning. You need not see Magdalen unless you like." "I should like. She is going to be married, too, isn't she? I feel as if I had heard someone say so." "Yes, to Lossiemouth.
With Charlotte Brontë the triumph over social conditions in Jane Eyre, and even in Shirley, is one of the things that makes the story glow and thrill; but the glow of the peerage has to be cast in Prisoners over the detestable Lossiemouth, that one may feel that after all the heroine has done well for herself from a social point of view.
And at the time she had hardly noticed their departure, as he was no longer there to miss them. Lord Lossiemouth had come determined to propose to Magdalen, his determination screwed "to the sticking point" by a deliberately recalled remembrance of the change the years had wrought in her. He had told himself he was prepared for that.
I promised her not to go back without you. Shall we drive on?" Alles vergängliche ist nur ein Gleichniss. Michael was dying. All night Magdalen and the Bishop, with nurse and doctor, fought for his life, vainly strove to stem the stream of blood with which his life was ebbing away. He had been found by Lord Lossiemouth and a servant lying unconscious at the foot of the staircase in the hall.
Aunt Mary's face became magenta colour. "To Lord Lossiemouth! Why should you think I was writing to him?" "Well, I could not help knowing don't you remember how you discussed the subject with me and dear Magdalen some weeks ago? that the subject of a judicious and dignified letter was in your mind." "I was careful not to mention the subject to Magdalen in your presence.
The biscuit dropped onto the road, with a general upheaval of crumbs from all parts of her agitated person. Lord Lossiemouth! Going in the direction of Priesthope! Her letter! She nearly swooned with joy and pride. Now Mary and Algernon, now everyone would believe in her. She raised herself from the heap of stones and with trembling legs hurried towards "The Towers." She must tell Mary at once.
Lord Lossiemouth pulled himself together, and came to her assistance. Together they held back the silence at arm's length. Yes, he was staying in the neighbourhood at Lostford in fact. House property near the river. Liable to floods. Did he mention the word floods? Yes. Floods at certain seasons of the year. Time to take measures now before the autumn, etc.
The neighbours remembered that there had been a youthful attachment, an early engagement broken off owing to lack of means. And now it seemed the moment he was rich he had come flying back to cast his faithful heart once more at her feet. It was a real romance. Magdalen was considered an extraordinarily fortunate woman by the whole countryside, but Lord Lossiemouth was placed on a pedestal.
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