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Updated: May 26, 2025
Already all Buckeye had considered this a mere preliminary to taking another wife, after a decent probation, as the relations of housekeeper and landlord were confidential and delicate, and Bilson was a man, and not above female influence. There was, however, some change of opinion on that point when Miss Euphemia Trotter was engaged for that position.
For, with some obscure purpose of living up to her self-imposed indispensability, Miss Bilson was distinctly dressy at this period, wearing her best summer gown on every possible occasion and tucking a bunch of roses or carnations archly in her waist-belt. "Do you think it kind to insist so much on my passing forgetfulness?" she quavered.
"But you do not apprehend anything serious?" Theresa said stiffly "Merely a slight chill?" "With a temperature dancing up and down like a mad thing between a hundred and one and a hundred and three? I'm dashed if I like the looks of her at all, at all, Miss Bilson; and I am well acquainted with her constitution and her temperament.
For once Soames did not 'change'; it was, perhaps, the first time in his life that he had sat down to dinner with soiled cuffs, and, not even noticing them, he brooded long over his wine. He sent Bilson to light a fire in his picture-room, and presently went up there himself.
It contained simply Mr. Bilson, her employer; his explanation was glaringly embarrassed and unreal! Miss Trotter affected obliviousness, but was silent; perhaps she thought her employer was better able to take care of himself than Mr. Calton. A week later this tension terminated by the return of Calton to Roanoke Ledge, a convalescent man.
"P'r'aps you don't read it? No more do I. But Joe Bilson sez to me yesterday: 'Bill, sez he, 'they're goin' for ye in the "Guardian." 'Wot's that? sez I. 'Hark to this, sez he, and reads out that bit that you'll find there." I had opened the paper, and he pointed to a paragraph. "There it is. Pooty, ain't it?" I read with amazement as follows:
The book was lent unto me, whence I copied that one; but I say not of whom it was lent unto me." "You shall say it, and soon too!" was the reply. "This matter must not be let drop it passeth into the hands of holy Abbot Bilson. I will seek him presently." And so saying, Lord Marnell strode out of the room, leaving Margery in a condition of intense terror.
"Faircloth? Of course, his name is Faircloth." he repeated absently. "Yes, of course." But whatever the nature of the weakness assailing him, it soon, apparently, passed. He stood upright, his face, perhaps, a shade more colourless and lean, but in expression fully as arrogant and formidably calm as before. "Very well, Miss Bilson," he began.
What she expected to see there, possibly she could not have explained; what she actually saw after a moment's waiting were the figures of Frida and Mr. Bilson issuing from the shade! Her respected employer wore an air of somewhat ostentatious importance mingled with rustic gallantry.
On the 16th of September, 1400, Lord Marnell was just quitting Margery's cell, when the jailer admitted Abbot Bilson, who courteously greeted Lord Marnell, and replied rather more coldly to the salutation of his prisoner. "Good morrow, my Lord. Have you induced this wretched girl to see the error of her ways?" "I assayed it not," said Lord Marnell, somewhat sulkily.
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