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Walter Murie had, after a frivolous youth, developed at the age of six-and-twenty into as sound, honest, and upright a young man as could be found beyond the Border.
She obtained permission for me to leave school and visit her for a few weeks." "I recollect perfectly," remarked her father in a low voice. "Well, there came many times to visit us an American girl named Bryant, who was studying art, and who lived somewhere off the Boulevard Michel, as well as a Frenchman named Felix Krail and an Englishman called Hamilton." "Hamilton!" echoed Murie.
Had it not been for the first objects happily in the route of the ball, it would have killed several men, as they were sitting in a crowd exactly before the muzzle. Dr. Murie, who had accompanied Mr. Petherick, very kindly paid the wounded men every attention, but he with the smashed hip died in a few hours, apparently without pain.
"Oh, father, what are you saying?" she cried in despair, bursting into tears. "I have not conspired." "I am saying the truth," went on the blind man. "You and your lover have formed another clever plot, eh? Because I have not sight to watch you, you will copy my business reports and send them to Walter Murie, who hopes to place them in a certain channel where he can receive payment.
The pair were, however, now separated. Krail, in pursuit of his diligent inquiries, had actually been in Woodnewton, and seen the lonely little figure, sad and dejected, taking long rambles accompanied only by a farmer's sheep-dog. Young Murie had not been there; nor did the pair now correspond. This much Krail had himself discovered.
No second glance was required to decide that Edgar Hamilton was a person who, having lived a long time on the Continent, had acquired the cosmopolitan manner both in gesture and in dress. "Well," exclaimed Murie at last, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips, "since we parted at Oxford I've been called to the Bar, as you see. As for practice well, I haven't any.
Nor were we long kept waiting, for Lieutenant James Murie, who marched out to Short Nose Creek with a party of scouts, was suddenly attacked by a large body of Sioux, and six of his men wounded.
"Then why did you write breaking off your engagement?" "He told you that?" she exclaimed in surprise. The truth was that Murie had told Flockart nothing. He had not even seen him. It was only a wild guess on Flockart's part. "Tell me," she urged anxiously, "what did he say concerning myself?" Flockart hesitated. His mind was instantly active in the concoction of a story.
"Well," exclaimed Murie, "what you tell me, old chap, is most extraordinary! Why, there is almost an exactly similar legend connected with Glencardine!" "Glencardine!" cried his friend. "Glencardine Castle, in Scotland! I've heard of that. Do you know the place?" "The estate marches with my father's, therefore I know it well.
Murie, who had come to see us off, and thus we started on our march in Central Africa on the 26th of March, 1863. THE country was park-like, but much parched by the dry weather. The ground was sandy, but firm, and interspersed with numerous villages, all of which were surrounded with a strong fence of euphorbia.
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