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Updated: May 1, 2025
She used to look at him in church she had little other opportunity of observing him and would think in her childish innocent mind how handsome and noble he looked. He did not speak like the Barfield boys, or look like them, or walk like them. He was a young prince, heir to vast estates, and a royal title in fairyland.
To meet the celebrated gentleman-rider was a great event in their lives. But the conversation was confined to the Barfield horses; it was carried on by the merest allusion, and Journeyman wearied of it. He said he must be getting home; the others nodded, finished their glasses, and bade William good-night as they left.
"Well, well," said the host, contemplatively, "it's too late in life for both on 'em. Her's back again. Made us a visit yesterday. Her's took that little cottage o' Mother Duke's on the Barfield Road." "Bless my soul!" said Isaiah. "I seen her yesterday as I was takin' my walks abroad. But, Jabez, lad, her's as withered as a chip!
Peggy was Miss Margaret Barfield, a cousin, the daughter of a rich brewer. "If he brings in your letters in the morning he hands them to you just as if he knew whom they are from. Ugly little beast; it irritates me when he comes into the room." "He hates women, Miss; he never lets us near his pantry, and he keeps William there talking racing." "Ah, William is very different.
Barfield had laid by a few pounds during the winter; and the day that Jim cleared out the first piece of espalier trees she spent entirely in the garden, hardly able to take her eyes off him. But the pleasure of the day was in a measure spoilt for her by the knowledge that on that day her son was riding in the great steeplechase.
Barfield had gone to Southwick to make a call, and she heard from one of the boys that the Gaffer and Ginger had ridden over in the morning to Fendon Fair, and had not yet returned. It must have been Peggy who had rung the bell. Peggy? Suddenly she remembered something something that had been forgotten.
The lad who never tasted Paul's intoxication may make a worthy citizen, but he will never set the Thames afire. Paul went on writing, and thundered from the editorial pulpit weekly. He gave the Crusher a policy. Castle Barfield was to be a borough at the next redistribution of seats.
"Home, Arthur! this is your home. I can't bear to hear you speak of any other place as your home." "Well, mother, then I shall say that I'm going back to business to-morrow." Mrs. Barfield sighed. Days, weeks, months passed away, and the two women came to live more and more like friends and less like mistress and maid.
"No, the cook hasn't complained, but had I known this I don't think I should have engaged you. In the character which you showed me, Mrs. Barfield said that she believed you to be a thoroughly religious girl at heart." "And I hope I am that, ma'am. I'm truly sorry for my fault. I've suffered a great deal." "So you all say; but supposing it were to happen again, and in my house? Supposing "
Barfield wished to see her in the library. Esther turned a little pale, and the expression of her face altered; it seemed to her impossible to go before Mrs. Barfield and admit her shame. Margaret, who was standing near and saw what was passing in her mind, said "Pull yourself together, Esther. You know the Saint she's not a bad sort.
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