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"It will be news to you perhaps, that our uncle our lamented uncle, if you choose is dead these three weeks." "Rest his soul!" "Forgive me if I stop short of that pious hope." Alain hesitated, let his venom get the better of him, and spat out on his uncle's memory an obscene curse which only betrayed the essential weakness of the man.
The good people have no suspicion of how much a single line, a single expression, may cost its author. The wits used to say that Ropers, the poet once before referred to, old Samuel Ropers, author of the Pleasures of Memory and giver of famous breakfasts, was accustomed to have straw laid before the house whenever he had just given birth to a couplet.
"Certainly not," said Hardy. "I find that many have slipped from my own memory, but I have a most vivid recollection of you." Miss Nugent looked at him again, and an idea, strange and incredible, dawned slowly upon her. Childish impressions are lasting, and Jem Hardy had remained in her mind as a sort of youthful ogre.
She halted in the opening when she observed him; making a picture that was vivid in his memory for many days afterward for her eyes were alight with wonder, her cheeks were flushed, and she was breathing fast.
"Henriette, you talk of things you don't know." "Don't know! Why, there is no one in London knows more. I am always listening, and I always remember. De Malfort used to say I had a plaguey long memory, when I told him of things he had said a year ago."
"Don't be alarmed," said the physician, cheerfully; "she is not losing her mind, as I see you both fear; it is simply a failure of memory for the time being; she has been fearfully ill, and the mind at present partakes of the weakness of the body, but I hope ere long to see them both grow strong together.
Nothing but disgrace, the disgrace of the one nearest to her, could bring that look to her face. Scarcely had he thought this before a memory came to him. He started to his feet as it came back. Charlotte had said, "Before our wedding-day I will read my grandfather's will." Suppose she had done so, and her grandfather's will had been what?
The Museum of the Hotel Cluny is a curious receptacle of antiquities, many of which I looked at with interest; but they made no lasting impression, and have gone into the lumber-room of memory, from which accident may, from time to time, drag out some few of them.
But then his wish for a wound still holding out some hope of life may have fathered this thought, and even a false memory of his experience. Perhaps he is right, though, in one thing. If the body is lifted and carried, even up to the lodge, the blood may break out again. Leave him where he is till the doctor comes.
Though in such a different clime, the sight brought back the memory of winter evenings in boyish days at home. This Hindu doctor has practically parted with his religion. There are probably no objects of worship in his country home, except a Tulsi plant on a pedestal in the back compound.
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