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Updated: May 23, 2025
His removal from the lord-wardenship of Scotland, in consequence of the wounds he had received at Dalkeith, opened a path to the elevation of Aymer de Valence.
Not infrequently the whole treasury went to the relief of already existing needs outside the garden railings, and he could be wildly extravagant. Aymer never questioned him. He sometimes laughed at him when he had wasted a whole week's money on some childish folly, and told him he was a silly baby, which Christopher did not like.
"Not exactly; but a boy brought up by an Aymer Aston the second." "That is sufficient luck for one boy to grab out of life." Peter Masters chuckled. "I take it, young man, you'd rather be fathered by Aymer than by me, eh?"
He and his father, Lord Dundaff, having crossed the south coast of Scotland on their way homeward, stopped to rest at Ayr. They arrived there the very day that Lord Aymer de Valence had entered it, a fugitive from Dumbarton Castle. Much as that earl wished to keep the success of Wallace a secret from the inhabitants of Ayr, he found it impossible.
"Permanent means lasting, going on. You ought to know that, Christopher." "But he isn't going on." "He could have done so." "Why didn't he? Didn't he like it?" "Yes, very much. He was trained for that kind of thing." "Did he get tired of writing letters, then?" "No." Aymer was apt to become monosyllabic when a certain train of thought was forced on him.
The words, you see, are as plain as you yourself may read 'The lady pardons poor Aymer de Valence, and willingly, for having been involved in a mistake, to which she herself led the way; she herself will at all times be happy to meet with him as an acquaintance, and never to think farther of these few days' history, except as matter of mirth and ridicule. So it is expressly written and set down."
It was some poor consolation to pay the penalty of a higher law than he was supposed to understand. He turned again to the door and got away before a storm of tears swamped his brave control. When Charles Aston returned that night he found Aymer in a very irritable mood. Nevil, in his gentle, patient way, had been doing his best to soothe him, but in vain.
Aymer suddenly remembered this and turned on a switch. The vague shadowy space was flooded with soft radiance. It was like magic to the small boy. He was first aware of a gorgeous glint of colouring in a rug flung across the sofa, and then of a man lying on a pile of dull-tinted pillows, a man with red hair and blue eyes, watching him eagerly.
Only, Christopher, remember Aston is my name, and I am only lending it to you, and you must take very great care of it." "Isn't it his name too?" The child edged a little nearer his friend, and looked at Aymer. "Yes, it's Aymer's name too.
I shouldn't let you come to see me any more." At that Miss Charlotte flung her arms round his neck, protesting she wasn't naughty and Uncle Aymer must love her. Peace was at last restored and Aymer drew pictures of innumerable mice carrying off golden pennies and only sent the children away when Christopher came in.
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