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Delpha ran back to the oil-mill. She hoped the fire's smoke would not injure the oil. She was troubled as she dropped in the door. But she could do nothing. By and by she heard screams. She sprang up. Sara came running around the mill. Her dress was on fire! "Delpha! Delpha!" she screamed, "Delpha, help me!" She seemed crazed with fright. "Fazei bem aos que vos tem odio!"
Now then ego conjungo vos the devil, my friend, it is an awful sight!" "Cynic!" muttered Gouache, with a suppressed laugh. "There it is done now, and she is already thinking what it will be like to dine alone with him this evening, and several thousand evenings hereafter. Cynic, you say? There are no more cynics. They are all married, and must turn stoics if they can. Let us be off.
Then, when the troth had been plighted in the midst of a more passionate roaring of the wind, the priest, conquering a terrible inward reluctance that beset him despite his endeavour to feel detached and formal, merely a priest engaged in a ceremony that it was his office to carry out, but in which he had no personal interest, spoke the fateful words: "Ego conjungo vos in matrimonium in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
Vell, by-and-by a hackney-coach comes up to the door, and there, sure enough, was the young lady, wrapped up in a hopera-cloak, as it might be, and all alone. I opened the gate that night, so I went up when the coach come, and he vos a waitin’ at the parlour door—and wasn’t he a trembling, neither?
In the first "Chant," the first section opens: Seigneurs, faites silence; et que tout bruit cesse, Si vous voulez entendre une glorieuse chanson. Aucun jongleur ne vous en dira une meilleure. Then some vaguely prelusive lines. But the audience is clearly not quite ready yet, for the second section begins: Barons, écoutez-moi, et cessez vos querelles! Je vous dirai une très-belle chanson.
Truxton King had been in a resentful frame of mind for nearly forty-eight hours. In the first place, he had not had so much as a single glimpse of the girl he now worshipped with all his heart. In the second place, he had learned, with unpleasant promptness, that Count Vos Engo was the officer in command of the House Guard, a position as gravely responsible as it was honourable.
And a world which would submit to be so treated, what could he do but despise? To the animals utterly below ourselves, external to our own species, we hold ourselves bound by no law. We say to them, vos non vobis, without any uneasy misgivings. We rob the bees of their honey, the cattle of their lives, the horse and the ass of their liberty.
Frankly, Count, I have made the gratifying discovery that you are a damned cur." Count Vos Engo went very white. He drew his dapper figure up to its full height, swelled his Robin Redbreast coat to the bursting point, and allowed his right hand to fly to his sword. Then, as suddenly, he folded his arms and glared at Truxton. "As you say, there is another and a better time.
Vos remarks that he remembers a case he had when dressing for Mr. Holden at St. Bartholomew's Hospital: "A man who had been intemperate was rolling a sod of grass, and got some grit into his left palm. It inflamed; he put on hot cow-dung poultices by the advice of some country friends. He was admitted with a dreadfully swollen hand.
Of the death of Brother John Vos of Huesden, who was the second Prior at Windesem. In the year of the Lord 1424, on the Saturday following the Feast of St. Andrew, being the second of December, the venerable Father John Huesden, who was the second Prior of Windesem, died in the sixty-first year of his age.
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