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Updated: May 5, 2025
A man had stopped at the blacksmith's shed on his way from London, and brought the news that Archbishop Laud had been beheaded on Tower Hill the day before he left. Mistress Mabel was speechless with indignation for a few minutes, and her first act was to take the bright cherry-coloured bow off Bessie's hair.
And even if she had not completely mastered the art of keeping house, Thaddeus was confident that all would go well with them, for their waitress was a jewel, inherited from Bessie's mother, and the cook, though somewhat advanced in years, was beyond cavil, having been known to the family of Thaddeus for a longer period than Thaddeus himself had been.
"Poor dear! I am sure you are moped." "Oh, to death. It's dreadful!" sighed Elsie. "I feel things so acutely. If I only had a little of Bessie's stoicism!" "Yes, it's all very well; but you are made up of feeling," said the widow. "Change your dress, dear. Oh, you've made a conquest of a certain gentleman." "What, that Hawkins! He's a fearful idiot!" cried Elsie.
Every one else had gone to bed, except Ida, who sat at her window, looking out at the wild windy sky and the forest trees swaying in the gale. The day had been rainy and tempestuous, and the wind was still raging just such a wind as Ida remembered upon Bessie's birthday, the day of that terrible storm which had cost so many lives, and had made Reginald Palliser master of Wimperfield.
"I wish you would do something for me, John," for she called him John now. "Will you promise?" "How like a woman," he said, "to ask one to promise a thing without saying what it is." "I want you to promise for Bessie's sake, John." "Well, what is it, Jess?" "Not to go on this sortie. You know you can easily get out of it if you like." He laughed. "You little silly, why not?" "Oh, I don't know.
I am afraid there are many things that need explanation," said my lady austerely, and not another word until they reached home. But Bessie's heart was in perfect peace, and her countenance reflected nothing but the sunshine. That evening Bessie Fairfax was charming, she was so happy. She was good and gracious again to Mr. Cecil Burleigh, and she was never prettier.
Till Bessie's return he p aced the room irregularly, chewing the ends of his moustache. When it was announced to him that the parlour was ready he went down, the letter in his hand. At the half-open door came a soft knock. Jane entered. She showed signs of painful agitation. 'Will you sit down, Miss Snowdon?
Ashton's?" asked Fred Bradford of his sisters that day at the dinner table. "It is coming near Easter, you know, and you must have some idea by this time." "Why, Maggie, of course," answered Bessie, positively, for the question was not one which admitted of dispute to Bessie's mind. She gave no time for her sister to answer, and Maggie did not reply.
Since Bessie had been guilty of the enormity of suggesting a course of reading, Fay had made many sarcastic comments on Bessie's direful clothes. "I must advise her to take dress more seriously," said Magdalen absently. She was depressed by a faint misgiving about Bessie. Bessie was to have lunched to-day with congenial archæological friends, intelligent owners of interesting fossils.
What troubled him all through the last scene was the thought that now he should never know why she was so set against 'Bessie's 'avin it. It was, indeed, the general opinion in Clinton Magna that John Bolderfield or 'Borrofull, as the village pronounced it, took his sister-in-law's death too lightly. The women especially pronounced him a hard heart.
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