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The door and windows of Mark's dwelling were flung wide and a pile of household goods lay by the steps. As she opened the gate a boy came from the house, stooped under the weight of a sofa, a woman behind him carding a large crayon portrait in a gilt frame. The boy, dropping the sofa to the ground, righted himself, wiping his dripping face on his sleeve.
They understood him, however, when he cautiously and lovingly drew the Testament from its hiding-place and gave it into Mark's hands. "What am I to do with it, my poor friend?" said Mark. "I know that you have no chance of retaining it, after the decree that has just been passed." "Keep 'im keep for me," said Mamba, anxiously. "I will do so, if I can, but it may not be possible," answered Mark.
So she was teaching one of Mark's crippled children? And Mark thought no doubt she would have done the like for anyone else with a charitable hobby? Perhaps she would, for her heart was a fount of pity. All the same, the man blind bat! understood nothing. No fault of his perhaps; but Lady Tonbridge felt a woman's angry sympathy with a form of waste so common and so costly.
If he had not taken that he might have fixd this Pat so he would be a witness to Mark's alibi. But according to the code he had been taught it would not be honorable to squeal on somebody whose money he had taken. It wasn't square. It wasn't honorable. It was yella, and yella, he would not be if the sky fell. It was all the religion he had as yet, not to be "yella."
"Why?" asked Morgan, as he walked slowly and painfully toward the opening. "Might have climbed a tree, sir, and got us a cocoa-nut." "I'll be content with some water, my lad," said Morgan; and then he turned so faint that he gladly took Mark's arm as he came up to help Bruff, who was limping along in a very pitiful way.
Then lines of quietly dressed worshippers stroll along the bordered walks, the children's hands fast in their mothers' the arched vestibule-door closing upon them. Most of these oases, like Trinity, St. Paul's, and St. Mark's, differ but little the same low-pitched church, the same slender spire, the same stretch of green with its scattered gravestones.
This slaughter was succeeded by pleasanter sights, such as the famous Vola, or flight of a boy from the bell-tower of Saint Mark's to a window of the palace, where he presented a nosegay to his Serenity and was caught up again to his airy vaulting-ground.
'But that was not Mark's fault, papa. He was junior, you know, and had no power over that Goodenough. 'He ought, then! Never sail with an unlucky captain. No, no, Mark's honourable lady would not let him take the agency when he might have had it, and I am not going to let them live upon me now that they have nothing of their own. 'Oh, papa, but you almost promised!
We mark the stern, dark picture drawn of the continued and brutal violence, as well as the flagrant unfaithfulness, of the tenants. Matthew's version gives emphasis to the increasing harshness of treatment of the owner's messengers, as does Mark's. First comes beating, then wounding, then murder. The interpretation is self-evident.
"She held his hand in one of hers," said Miss Ambient, "and in the other what do you think? the proof-sheets of Mark's new book! She was reading them there, intently: did you ever hear of anything so extraordinary? Such a very odd time to be reading an author whom she never could abide!"
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