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The air was crisp and invigorating, for the September heat had just been broken by copious showers. Todd Stewart stood in the doorway of Jacobs' store, watching the doctor's approach. "Good morning, Doctor," he called. "Somebody dying or a highwayman chasing after you for your pocketbook, that you drive so furiously?" "Good morning, Stewart. No, nobody is in danger.
He heard a sound of voices at the front of the house, and sprang to his balconied window to listen. Captain Stewart and O'Hara were walking upon the brick-paved terrace and chatting calmly over their cigars.
Arriving there, the crowd massed in front of it, some of the boldest pressing in at the gate and spreading over the circle of lawn enclosed by the driveway. They began to shout hoarsely, with what voices they had left, for Mr. Stewart to come out, calling him names not to be spoken, and swearing they would show him how traitors were to be served.
Let 'em in on the joke! Gentlemen, get ready for a laugh!" Stewart set an example for them by a suggestive chuckle. "Your arrival in the State House seems to have been attended by considerable of a demonstration," commented Senator Corson, recovering himself sufficiently to indulge in his animosity.
And so he took his leave with a venomous glance, and a parting threat to bring the matter to the King's ears, upon which Galliard slammed the door before he had finished. There was a curious smile on Crispin's face as he walked slowly to the table, and resumed his seat. "Master Stewart," he whispered, as he spread his cards anew, "the comedy is not yet played out.
"As plain as I see your lordship, though not so near hand." "You know him?" "I should know him again." "In your pursuit you were not so fortunate, then, as to overtake him?" "I was not." "Was he alone?" "He was alone." "There was no one else in that neighbourhood?" "Alan Breck Stewart was not far off, in a piece of a wood." The Advocate laid his pen down.
And many fine ceremonies there was of the Heralds leading up people before him, and bowing; and my Lord of Albemarle's going to the kitchin and eat a bit of the first dish that was to go to the King's table. And a Herald proclaims "That if any dare deny Charles Stewart to be lawful King of England, here was a Champion that would fight with him;"
Perhaps because it was coming in like a lion it would go out like a lamb. It is nearly a year since we first saw Peggy Stewart seated in the crotch of the snake-fence talking with Shashai and Tzaritza, and in that year her whole outlook upon life has changed. True it was then later in the month and spring filled the air, but a few weeks make vast changes in a Maryland springtide.
Through her mind flitted what she knew of Nels, of Monty, of Nick Steele; and she experienced a sensation that left her somewhat chilled and sick. Then she thought of the dark-browed, fire-eyed Stewart. She felt a thrill drive away the cold nausea. And her excitement augmented. Waiting, listening increased all her emotions. Nothing appeared to be happening.
"The head's worth two hundred pounds, Robin," said Stewart. "Gosh, that'll no be Alan Breck?" cried the clerk. "Just Alan," said his master. "Weary winds! that's sayrious," cried Robin. "I'll try Andie then; Andie'll be the best." "It seems it's quite a big business," I observed. "Mr. Balfour, there's no end to it," said Stewart. "There was a name your clerk mentioned," I went on: "Hoseason.
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