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Updated: May 9, 2025
His mouth was fresh as a child's, but on a scale of grandeur. Bedient found himself smiling with him. Then there was that irresistible folding about the eyes when he laughed, which is Irish as sin, and quite as attractive. Left to himself he fell to brooding, and his brow puzzled over some matter in the frank bored way of one pinned to a textbook. Bedient sat down at the other's table.
The trying part was that look in Beth Truba's eyes, which told him how bored she was by this sort of commonness. Then there was to-morrow and Sunday with her away. In her brown dress and hat, glorious and away. Bedient went away, too. Beth Truba hadn't the gift of talking about the things that hurt her.
"When Mary came to tell me of our visitors' arrival I was just putting away Sibbes's 'Soul's Conflict, and various other dreadful persons whom you would not let me burn; so I dumped them in Toots's arms, and ran off and left her. Being a ''bedient old soul, she is probably standing just where I left her. I will go "
His face was like morning upon a cloud. The natives vanished before him; Falk and Leadley shrank back, wondering what manner of drink he had found in the night. During the month that followed, Bedient wrote at length to all his friends in New York. Nightly he roamed the hills and rode his lands throughout the long forenoons. It was a season of sheer exaltation.
He always wrote of this half-humorously.... At last when Bedient was beginning his seventh year in the Punjab, there came a letter which held a plaint not to be put aside. Bedient was in his thirty-second year; and just at this time old Gobind left his body for a last time beneath the camphor-tree.
Yes, it was the artist that had faltered at the right moment the resolute creative force within her, weathered in suffering, not to be intimidated, slow, tragically slow to bow down.... A little Salvation band passed below: Joy to the world, The Lord is Come Eight notes of the descending scale sounded mightily from drum and cornet.... Bedient was coming this morning.
Cairns leaned back in his chair with a glass of moselle in his hand and told about the big lands in Equatoria, about the two Spaniards, Jaffier and Rey, trying to assassinate each other under the cover of courtesy; about the orchestrelle, the mines and the goats. Cleverly, at length, he drew Bedient into telling the typhoon adventure.
The Chinese did not return, nor did Framtree call that night. But even this slight development could not hold his thoughts.... Bedient wondered if the captive would ever die; and if he should die, would he not rise again at the memory of that first kiss in the June sunlight?... And so he sat, until the day. Then he noted another letter had been slipped under his door.
A careful résume of happy adjustments from Jaffier down to Monkhouse following the last sail of the Spaniard, would weary.... Three days after the spent and silent six rode up to the hacienda, Bedient was left with but two guests, Miss Mallory and Jim Framtree, who were awaiting the New York steamer.... In effect, the parable of the horses had been retold to Framtree.
It is not men alone who love to venture and venture to love!" Bedient was ascending Calle Real once more, when his cheek was flicked by a tiny wad of paper which fell at his feet. A carometa was toiling up the slope from the water-front. He observed Miss Mallory's profile in the seat.
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