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He went upstairs, paused a moment outside the Marquess's door, then went on to his own dressing-room. He listened at the door leading to the bedroom; but there was no sound. He touched the handle of the door; but he could not open it, though he knew that Miriam was in the room, and that he ought to go to her. He could not.
She smothered the Marquess's protests about the awkwardness, the ludicrousness of such a flight. "What will the waiter think?" he asked, being afraid of a waiter, though of no one else. Kedzie did not care what the waiter thought, so long as he did not know whom he thought it of. Strathdene gave the headwaiter a bill and followed Kedzie out. He was hungry, angry, and puzzled.
"I am an old friend of Lord Sutcombe's; and I have come down to inquire after him, to see him if it is possible." "Certainly, sir," said the butler; and he led the way to the drawing-room. But Celia drew Mr. Clendon into the library. "Stay with me here," she begged him. "I will go up to the Marquess's room and see if he is well enough to be told that you are here.
An instant later, they were sending wild cries of joy through the château, and people were rushing toward them from all quarters. The trim white thing that glided across the harbour, graceful as a bird, was the Marquess's yacht! It is needless to describe the joyous gale that swept the château into a maelstrom of emotions.
Why, sir, I think I know him very well; he is even rumoured to be a brother of Don Lelio Trescorre's, and I believe the Duke has lately given him to the Marquess of Cerveno, for I saw him not long since in the Marquess's livery at Pontesordo." "Pontesordo?" cried Odo. "It was there I lived." "Did you indeed, cavaliere?
After the Marquess's death he had lived for a while from hand to mouth, copying music, writing poetry for weddings and funerals, doing pen-and-ink portraits at a scudo apiece, and putting his hand to any honest job that came his way.
Miriam shook her head listlessly, and gazed out of the window; then she turned her eyes again slowly to Celia, and said, in a toneless voice, "Is it true, what the servants are saying, that the Marquess's elder brother has been discovered, and that the Marquess, our Marquess, is no longer the master here?
Jacobs standing before the portrait of the Marquess's brother. "Fine picture that, Miss Grant," he said. "He must have been a splendid fellow: great pity he died. Oh, yes, I know who it is," he went on, answering the question in Celia's eyes.
These annals were locked in the archives, under Don Gervaso's care; but Odo learned from the old servant that some of the great Marquess's books had lain for years on an upper shelf in the vestry off the chapel; and here one day, with Bruno's aid, the little boy dislodged from a corner behind the missals and altar-books certain sheepskin volumes clasped in blackened silver.
Do you think I'm not trying not to give way; that I'm not trying to keep sane? Go! Go!" Celia went back to the Marquess's room. Mrs. Dexter and the doctor were bending over the bed; Heyton was standing at a little distance, watching them and gnawing his nails. Mrs. Dexter looked round as Celia entered. "I want you, my dear," she said. "I want you to help me.
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