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Updated: May 24, 2025
John Ardworth's shaggy brows were bent over his open volumes when his clerk entered noiselessly and placed on his table a letter which the twopenny-postman had just delivered. With an impatient shrug of the shoulders, Ardworth glanced towards the superscription; but his eye became earnest and his interest aroused as he recognized the hand. "Again!" he muttered. "What mystery is this?
Ardworth's story, and the fact of Beck's identity with Vincent Braddell, were also reserved for a later occasion. Evidently the poor lad had been already delirious; his story must be deemed the nightmare of his disordered reason. Varney insisted upon surgical examination as to the cause of his death.
You are a fine, manly, spirited fellow, sir; and you have an old man's good wishes, which are no bad beginning to a young man's good fortune." The colour rushed over Ardworth's forehead, and a tear sprang to his eyes. He felt a rising at his throat as he stammered out some not very audible reply.
Ardworth's story, and the fact of Beck's identity with Vincent Braddell, were also reserved for a later occasion. Evidently the poor lad had been already delirious; his story must be deemed the nightmare of his disordered reason. Varney insisted upon surgical examination as to the cause of his death.
Read, and see what claim you have to the honourable parentage so vaguely ascribed to you." As she spoke, Madame Dalibard opened a box on her table, drew forth a paper in Fielden's writing, and placed it in Ardworth's hand.
Go up to town; your business is done. And, as for your outfit, read this little book at your leisure." And Sir Miles thrust a pocketbook into Ardworth's hand. "But pardon me," said the young man, much bewildered. "What claim have I, Sir Miles, to such generosity? I know that my uncle offended you." "Sir, that's the claim!" said Sir Miles, gravely.
A look so bright that even by that dull lamplight the glow of the cheek, the brilliancy of the eye were visible, flashed over Ardworth's face. He felt at that moment what ambitious man must feel when the object he has seen dimly and afar is placed within his grasp; but his reason was proof even against that strong temptation.
He took a common degree, and made some debts, which were paid by Sir Miles without a murmur. A few letters then passed between the baronet and the clergyman as to Ardworth's future destiny; the latter owned that his pupil was not persevering enough for the Bar, nor steady enough for the Church. These were no great faults in Sir Miles's eyes.
Little indeed did Percival's imagination busy itself with the mysteries of Ardworth's correspondence. His mind scarcely took in the sense of the words over which his eye mechanically wandered. And the letter which narrated the visit of Madame Dalibard to the house thus solemnly interdicted to her step was on its way to his mother, nay, by this time would almost have reached her!
And as these last words were said, Madame Dalibard raised herself from her recumbent posture and gazed long upon Ardworth's face of power and front of thought. "You overfatigue yourself, my poor kinsman," she said, with a certain tenderness; "you look already too old for your young years." "That's no disadvantage at the Bar." "Is the Bar your means, or your end?"
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