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Then Fyles rode away, and, from the moment his horse began to move until it vanished down the cattle track, the muzzle of Charlie Bryant's gun was covering him. His impulse was homicidal. To bring this man down might be the best means of nullifying the effect of Pete's treachery.
"It was, of course, clear that Miss Heyburn was jealous of the girl, for she had written to her mother making threats against Miss Bryant's life. Therefore, the plot was that I should drink the fatal wine, and that Miss Gabrielle should be declared to be the murderess, she having intended the wine to be partaken of by the girl she hated with such deadly hatred.
But suddenly the bark gave way; she slipped, lost her balance, and pitched forward. Lee caught her in his arms. For an instant she rested there in his clasp, her surprised eyes gazing into his. A quiver passed over her form. Her lips were parted, but she had ceased to breathe. Likewise in Bryant's breast the breath had stopped.
But alas! it don't save you from being bored with letters, vide, for example, this, perhaps, which I am now writing. But, O excellent man! though you never bored me in talk, you have lately bored into me; I will tell you how. A month or two ago a book agent came to me, asking me to subscribe for "Bryant's Pictorial America." I was astonished, and said, "Do you mean to say that Mr.
In Kennard Bryant had said to McDonnell, "Give me a good man for this end, one who can work twenty hours a day." And the banker had given him such an one: a short, bow-legged clerk with a pugnacious jaw, who took the typewritten list of Bryant's immediate requirements, read it, jerked on his hat, and bolted out of the door.
It was evident that a native literature was dawning brightly; and as Bryant's productions now came into demand, and he had never liked the profession of law, he quitted it and went to New York in 1825, there to seek a living by his pen as "a literary adventurer." The adventure led to ultimate triumph, but not until after a long term of dark prospects and hard struggles.
You shall have it as soon as I get it." She looked up at him. "You've got to earn it?" she repeated. Her tone would have been more appropriate if Percival had said he must steal it. There was a pause: Mrs. Bryant's lean hand closed over the money. "I don't understand this, Mr. Thorne I don't understand it at all." "It is very simple," he replied.
Now I'll have to drive myself, and keep the wagon there, unless I can hire some one to bring it back, so Charlie can haul his last hay to-morrow." The policeman ran his eyes over the wagon. At the mention of Charlie Bryant's name, his manner seemed to freeze up. He recognized the vehicle at once. "It's Bryant's wagon?" he said shortly. Kate nodded. "Sure. He always lends it me when I want one.
The following are the names of a few of the books and the prices they brought: Nicholas Nickleby, with the author's autograph, $18; Bryant's little volume of poems entitled Thirty Poems, with the author's autograph, $11; Campbell's Poems, with Halleck's autograph, $8.50; Catalogue of the Strawberry Hill Collection, $16; Barnaby Rudge, presentation copy by the author to Halleck, $15; Coleridge's Poems, with a few notes by Halleck, $10; Fanny, a poem by Mr.
He could scarcely retain his rage; his body shook all over; his foot slipped twice when he sought to mount into his car. Leaning forward from his seat, he shook a finger in Bryant's face, exclaiming, "You'll get what's coming to you! Like your damned dog!" His face was entirely viperish. His finger came within an inch of the engineer's nose. His words carried a furious hiss.
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