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Updated: June 21, 2025
'To the rescue! cried bold King Richard, and on rushed the crusaders to Aymer's help; when lo! and suddenly the ranks severed, and the black steed emerged! Aymer still on the selle, but motionless, and his helm battered and plumeless, his brand broken, his arm drooping. On came man and horse, on, charging on, not against Infidel but Christian.
"It would be a pity for them to be ill-treated, of course," he agreed gravely. Christopher shuffled across the floor to the side of the big sofa. "It's rather a happy home here, you know," he remarked suggestively, touching Aymer's arm tentatively with one finger. "I am glad you think so. Do you consider the atmosphere equally suitable for guinea-pigs?" "I should like them."
The afternoon wore on and she fell into a lethargy with no desire to escape it, and did not hear Christopher's motor arrive. Christopher for once paused in the hall, instead of going straight to Aymer's room, as was the invariable rule, after even a day's absence. "Where is Mrs. Aston?" he asked the footman, who replied vaguely, when Renata herself appeared.
"It's no business of mine, of course, but the boy looks sharp. Pity to spoil him. Ha, Ha. I don't spoil mine." He got up yawning and sauntered over to the fireplace and so did not see Aymer's rigid face go white and then red. "I've got a boy I think it's a boy somewhere. Daresay you've forgotten. You weren't very sociable, poor old chap, when it happened. About a year after your accident.
The Law of Consequence he dimly realised worked from the centre of Aymer's being and not from the ill-trained centre of his, Christopher's, individuality.
"It's just as nice here," she maintained stoutly, "he planned how it was to be done, and Nevil saw to it. I like this best." Christopher was too polite or too shy to insist, but he felt doubtful and became impatient to see for himself, so they went indoors to find Patricia's hopes were justified. Tea was served in "Mr. Aymer's" room.
"Christopher, come to me," called Aymer quietly. At that he turned and walked mechanically to the sofa, seating himself, again with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes absently fixed on the carpet. "Did you know this before, Cæsar?" Aymer's face twitched. "Yes, always." "Did he know?" "Yes, apparently." "You did not tell him?" "No."
The squire's employment at this time was the servile task of cleaning Sir Aymer's arms, which was conveniently performed by heating, upon the projection already specified, the pieces of steel armour for the usual thin coating of varnish. He could not, therefore, if he should be discovered, be considered as guilty of any thing insolent or disrespectful.
His sense of proprietorship in Aymer and of Aymer's in him was undeniably stronger in town than in the country, and this not entirely because Nevil was to all intents master of Marden, but rather that there Aymer himself was less isolated, merged more into the general family life, and became again part of the usages and traditions of his own race. Mr.
He rubbed his cheek caressingly on Aymer's hand. "May I, Cæsar?" "Not to keep in your bedroom as you did the bantam." "But in the garden or yard. Please, dear Cæsar." "You ridiculous baby, yes. If you make a house for them yourself."
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