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"The father of that merry may A thousand towns he made to pay, And lapp'd the world in fire!" He stood before them a handsome, smiling youth, with a crust of brine on his blue sea-cloak, and the light of the morning in his hair.
"Oh!" cried the impulsive Fanny, "there you are, laughing at me, as much as to say that you are not pretty! Affected!" "Oh, no," said Redbud. "Well, I don't say you are." "I don't like affectation." "Nor I," said Fanny; "but really, Reddy, I had no idea that yellow was so becoming to you." "Why?" asked Redbud, smiling. "You are blonde, you know." "Well."
As I came in she had risen and was standing in the window, with the intense blue darkness of the garden behind her and the light of the room on her face. She was smiling in a serene and candid joy. For one second I imagined that she had not read the name on the card and that she thought I was Jevons.
She was smiling a little now, for she had thought of a thing which would, perhaps, keep the man here in this lodge in the wilderness; but the time to speak of it was not yet. She must wait and see. Suddenly Mitiahwe got to her feet with a spring, and a light in her eyes.
She was dreamy, and when she was on these pilgrimages she quite forgot her family, and only when she got home again suddenly made the joyful discovery that she had a husband and daughter, and then would say, smiling and radiant: "God has sent me blessings!" What went on in the village worried her and seemed to her revolting.
"Both the last? or both the first?" said he smiling. "The last? " said Fleda. "I have had the honour of making such an attempt twice within the last ten days to my disappointment." "It was not by my fault then either, sir," Fleda said quietly. But he knew very well from the expression of her face a moment before where to put the emphasis her tongue would not make.
"We have never seen a poet like you," said the sentinels, doubtfully. "All the poets in the palace have smooth, smiling faces, and fine clothes, and white hands. Her Royal Highness is not accustomed to receiving any one so untidy as yourself."
"Not a word to a living soul, whoever it may be," he cautioned her, "and be careful not to show any hope you may be so optimistic as to feel," he added, smiling, "or you may ruin the whole thing. This is a very dark and dangerous affair, and the less it is spoken about, even between friends, the better." "Mayn't I even tell Lady Ruth?" she asked. "She is very anxious, I know."
"My dear girl," said Harold, smiling, "let your role of hostess sit lightly upon you. I do not want to be entertained. I am perfectly happy." "Of that I have no doubt. Nevertheless I want you to see the castle, particularly the picture-gallery, where all my ancestors be."
Meanwhile the writer was travelling in South Africa, not alone. Never to be alone again, she had promised him that not quite four years ago. And to-day he sat on a box beside the waggon-bed where she lay dead with her dead boy, and the only thing left to him that had the dear living fragrance and sweet warmth of her slept smiling on his knees their daughter.
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