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Updated: June 28, 2025
The aunt invited her to Almouth. She stayed two months. Still, not a word. Her papa grew impatient, ordered her home. The next day she came to the breakfast-table with red eyes, and announced her departure. The boxes were packed; she went to take a last look at the dear garden. Reckage followed, Fate accompanied him. He spoke. She sent a telegram to her papa: 'Detained. Important.
He turned several times to gaze back at her picturesque figure, dim, but to him lovely in the gathering dusk. Robert, after his interview with the priest, returned to his old lodgings in a top floor of Vigo Street for he had left Almouth House, where Reckage's hospitality, kind as it was, suited neither his pride nor his mood.
The tragi-comic labour of walking too much and riding too much, working and smoking too much, thinking and sleeping too little the whole dreary business, in fact, of stifling any absorbing idea or ruling passion, would be no more. When he returned to Almouth House, Reckage was already dressed for his official duties as "best man." He felt an unwonted and genuine excitement about Robert's marriage.
And if you are ever tired, or discouraged, or unhappy, or lonely, and you want me, I shall come to you." "But you will be with me now always." "Yes," she answered. "Yes, Robert, always." They had now reached Almouth House. Her little foot, with its arched instep, seemed too slight and delicate for the pavement. Robert knew that her arm rested upon his, because he felt it trembling.
The dinner, in the ordering of which the host had expended all his gastronomical knowledge and much anxiety, seemed long. Orange found himself opposite the famous portrait of "Edwyn, Lord Reckage of Almouth," which represents that nobleman elaborately dressed, reclining on a grassy bank by a spring of water, with a wooded landscape, a sunrise, and a squire holding two horses in the distance.
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