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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Plagued ill with the poetry Fellowes writes," said Branksome; "is that not true, Mistress Dearmer?" "I am no judge, since Mr. Fellowes has never made verses for me," answered the lady. "So facile a poet may remedy that on the instant," said Branksome. "Come, Master Rhymster, there's a kiss from the reddest lips I know waiting as payment for a stanza."
Some were taken off to this cottage and some to that, but the greater part came back to Branksome with us, where we gave them such dry clothes as we could lay our hands on, and served them with beef and beer by the kitchen fire.
He pushed his hand through the hole which I had made, and grasped mine in a solemn farewell, after which he walked back to the Hall with a firm and decided step, still followed by the crippled and sinister corporal. I walked back to Branksome much disturbed by this interview, and extremely puzzled as to what course I should pursue.
In a moment there was the sound of hurrying feet, the sudden opening of a door, and again a shaft of light cut through the hall. Men and women rushed in from the adjoining room with loud and eager inquiry. Then Sir John, closely followed by Lord Rosmore. "Quick! More lights!" he said. "Who is it screaming for help?" "Is it some serving-maid in distress?" cried Branksome.
Maybe his conscience is oot o' order." "His liver, more likely," said I. "He looks as if he had tried his constitution a bit. But it's blowing chill, Seth, my lad, and it's time both of us were indoors." I bade my companion good-night, and struck off across the moors for the cheery, ruddy light which marked the parlour windows of Branksome.
The quick, crisp rattle was changed suddenly to a dull, muffled murmur. He had reached the point where sand had been recently laid down for a hundred yards or so. In a few moments, however, he was back on hard ground again and his flying feet came nearer and ever nearer. He must, I reflected, be abreast of the head of the lane now. Would he hold on? Or would he turn down to Branksome?
I was walking down the lane lost in thought, and had got as far as the wicket gate which opens upon the Branksome lawn, when I was surprised to hear my father's voice raised in most animated and excited converse.
Easterling, of Stranraer, had strongly advised him to spend the few years which were left to him in some more genial climate. He had determined, therefore to set out for the South of Italy, and he begged that we should take up our residence at Branksome in his absence, and that my father should act as his land steward and agent at a salary which placed us above all fear of want.
In the spring of the year 1881 he was visiting his old school-fellow and client, George Liversedge, of Branksome, who, with the view of developing his pine-woods in the neighbourhood of Bournemouth, had placed the formation of the company necessary to the scheme in Soames's hands. Mrs. Liversedge, with a sense of the fitness of things, had given a musical tea in his honour.
If popery, then Monmouth and the Protestants claim us; if Protestantism, then must we die for King James and all the evil he meditates." "A fair abbess reminding us of our rules," said Branksome. "Would not the most wicked course be to do nothing, and then side with the victor?" "That madman seems to have spoken shrewdly when he said you did not like fighting," said a girl beside him.
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