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As a safeguard, he fixed his mind upon Sidwell, recalled her features and her voice as clearly as possible, stamped into his heart the conviction that she half loved him. When he was alone again, he of a sudden determined to go to Exeter. He could no longer endure uncertainty as to the contents of Marcella's letter.
Blair, let me know," he said, proffering his address. "I am at your service at any time." Ben had reached the walk, but he turned. For a moment wherein Florence held her breath he looked steadily at the city man. "We Western men, Mr. Sidwell," he said at last slowly, "are more or less solitaries. We take our recreation as we do our work, alone.
Sylvia's eyes winked as she laughed, a peculiarity which enhanced the charm of her frank mirth. Her dark, pure complexion, strongly-marked eyebrows, subtle lips, were shadowed beneath a great garden hat, and a loose white gown, with no oppressive moulding at the waist, made her a refreshing picture in the glare of mid-summer. 'The phrase is ridiculous enough, assented Sidwell.
Sidwell held up his hand deprecatingly. "To return to the illustration, Elise was originally from the country." "And to repeat once more," exclaimed Hough, "there's again no similarity. Elise and I have been married eight years. We met at college, and grew together normally. We were both young and adaptable. Besides, at the risk of being tedious, I reiterate that you and I are totally unlike.
I know nothing better than humour as a protection against the kind of mistake he is always committing. The application of this was not clear to Sidwell. 'Has something happened to depress him? she asked. 'Not that I know of. I spoke only of his general tendency to intemperate zeal. That is enough to account for intervals of reaction.
His brain was not yet normal, but it was clearing rapidly. He saw this was no ordinary man he had to deal with, no ordinary circumstance; and his plan of campaign was unevolved. "I fail to see why," he continued. "Do you?" said Ben, quietly. Sidwell lit a cigar nonchalantly and smoked for a moment in silence. "Yes," he reiterated. "I fail to see why.
For what advantage was he playing the hypocrite? Would he, after all, be satisfied with some such wife as the average curate may hope to marry? A hundred times he reviewed the broad question, by the light of his six months' experience. Was Sidwell Warricombe his ideal woman, absolutely speaking? Why, no; not with all his glow of feeling could he persuade himself to declare her that.
The speaker's face was mottled, and she stood panting, a hand pressed against her side. 'How very, very imprudent we have been! How wrong of father not to have made inquiries! To think that such a man should have sat at our table! 'Sit down, mother; don't be so distressed, said Sidwell, calmly. 'It will all very soon be settled. 'Of course not a word must be said to anyone.
With a little catch of the breath she remembered that last night, when that man had done what he did it was not of what her father or Clarence Sidwell would think, if either of them knew, but of what Ben Blair would think, what he would do, that she most cared.
Sidwell, a lady murdered in the eighth century at a well near Exeter by a blow from a scythe at the instigation of her stepmother, who coveted her property. The cathedral is rich in monumental relics, and it has recently been thoroughly restored. Little remains of the ancient convent-buildings beyond the chapter-house, which adjoins the south transept.
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