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He had made no move, but had contented himself with staring around in confused and helpless surprise. But now Todar Rao, the sirdar, had sprung to his side and dragged the youth to his feet. "'O princes and people, this is your rightful king, cried the soldier in stentorian tones, 'crowned and proclaimed and accepted by your pledges of loyalty.
Don't torture me! I've had as much as I can stand to-night." She held out her hand to him with a gesture superbly simple. "My dear, I will marry you to-morrow if you will have me," she said. He stood for a long second staring at her. Then she saw his face change and harden. The ascetic look that she had noticed long ago came over it like a mask. "No!" he said. "No!" Again he turned from her.
As I was saying, secrecy is very important, and I can assure you that you will earn the gratitude of many by assisting me." "Do you wish to take this lady away at once?" "Heaven forbid! Her mother and sister shall come for her in half an hour." The surgeon thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood staring for a moment or two at the bodies of the Zouaves.
I must have got started wrong somehow. Money to spend, playing at soldiering, made to believe I'd have a pot of money and an estate, and then told one fine day that a son and heir, with health in form and feature, was come, and Esau must go. No profession, except soldiering, debt staring me in the face, and a nasty mess of it all round.
Rowland sat staring; though the sea was calm, it seemed to him that the ship gave a great dizzying lurch. But in a moment he contrived to answer coherently: "Engaged to Miss Garland! I never supposed I never imagined" "That I was in love with her?" Roderick interrupted. "Neither did I, until this last fortnight.
"Those people are going," said the Duke. "I must go down and say good-bye to them." And he rose and went out of the room. Guerchard stood staring, staring at the photograph. The Duke ran down the stairs, and said goodbye to the millionaire's guests. After they had gone, M. Gournay-Martin went quickly up the stairs; Germaine and the Duke followed more slowly.
It was slow, as if cast by an old man. The man was old and very stout, supporting one lopping side by a stick, who presently followed the herald of his shadow. He looked like a farmer. Stebbins rose as he approached; the two men stood staring at each other. "Who be you, neighbor?" inquired the newcomer. The voice essayed a roughness, but only achieved a tentative friendliness.
In the whole length of the single shoreside street, with its scattered board houses looking to the sea, its grateful shade of palms and green jungle of puraos, no moving figure could be seen. His eyes were open, staring down the bay.
And truth is truth, though he might lie with hands clinched across his brow to shut out the wraith of it that haunted him; though he might set his course by the faith that was in him, and put away the hope of the world whose hope is love the truth was there, staring, staring at him out of Eileen Erroll's dark-blue eyes. He had seen her seldom that winter.
She still sat just as at first, like a small graven image, with stiff little flaxen plaits sticking out from each side of her head, and staring straight before her, with unblinking pale blue eyes, at the log fire.
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