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Updated: June 10, 2025
Isn't London the place to get such things? he asked. But Gladys calmly ignored this speech. 'I have engaged Christina Balfour to remain at least all summer at Bourhill. She can be useful to Miss Peck in many ways, and she is devoted to the place. Poor Lizzie has fearfully disappointed me. What would you advise me to do about her? 'Nothing.
She is like a different creature, so much brighter and happier; and I am sure a week or two at Bourhill will do wonders for poor Lizzie Hepburn. If you saw her you would be quite sorry for her. She is such an interesting girl, so beautiful, and she has a great deal of character, quite different from Christina.
Fordyce allowed me to send her some money, not in charity, it was the payment of a just debt, and when she replied I knew by her letter that she was still very poor. I have always meant to have her come to me at Bourhill, but it will be delightful if she can come altogether. 'You have a good heart, Gladys; you will not forget those who have befriended you.
I so wished for Liz, she was so clever and shrewd; she could have told me just what to do. You can help me if you like; you must take her place. And at Bourhill you will have a rest nothing to do but eat and sleep, and walk in the country. You will lose that dreadful paleness, which has always haunted me whenever I thought of you.
'But I will not say I go without a pang. They remained silent as Gladys led the way through the shrubbery walk, and up the steep and somewhat rugged way to the birch wood crowning the little hill which sheltered Bourhill from the northern blast. It was a still and beautiful evening, with a lovely softness in the air, suggestive of a universal resting after the stress of the harvest.
From her seat by the fire Teen could see over the low white window-blind that George Fordyce sat in it alone. 'There's something up, said Mrs. Macintyre. 'D'ye see that? She held up a shining half-crown, which in his gracious mood the hopeful lover had bestowed upon the gatekeeper. 'I wonder if that's to be the Laird o' Bourhill? she said meditatively.
She has been there some weeks now, ever since I sold off, and likes it very much. It is better for me to go alone. 'I suppose so. Are you tired with your walk, Walter, or can you go on a little farther? It is a shame that you have never seen anything of Bourhill. Surely you will at least sleep here to-night? or must you run away again by the nine-fifteen?
'I've had a letter from Aunt Isabel, written at Bourhill last night; you can read it if you like. She took it from him eagerly, and perused it with intense interest. Like her son, she had really abandoned hope, and had accepted the silence of Gladys as her lover's final dismissal. 'This is extraordinary, George, she said excitedly.
'It is not late, half-past two only; but I want you to see Bourhill, where our forbears lived when we had them worth mentioning, he said grimly. 'Did your father never speak to you about Bourhill? 'No, never, Uncle Abel. I am quite sure I never heard the name until I read it to-day in the churchyard. 'I will tell you why.
We shall have to flee the country, and they will say I have abducted the heiress of Bourhill. 'Oh, do! Run off with me, as the Red Reiver and all these nice, interesting sort of people used to do long ago. Let us abscond, and not tell a single living soul, except the faithful Teen. But Walter shook his head. 'It is what I should like to do above everything, but I must resist the temptation.
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