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Updated: June 7, 2025
I am not presentable. Look at me; my hat is out of shape, my clothes dusty, and I dare say that my face needs washing." The Presence replied to this remarkable defense with laughter, laughter in which Maurice detected an undercurrent of bitterness. "Monsieur Carewe, you are not acquainted with affairs in Bleiberg, or you would know that I am a nobody.
"Oh, I heard you!" she said. Carewe came close to her, and gave her a long look from such bitter eyes that her own fell before them. "If you've been treacherous to me, Jane Tanberry," he said, "then God punish you! If they've met my daughter and that man while I was away, it is on your head. I don't ask you, because I believe if you knew anything you'd lie for her sake.
The note dropped from the small trembling fingers, yet those fingers did not shake as did the man's when, like a flash, Carewe seized upon the missive with his disengaged hand and saw what two names were on the envelope. "You were stealing, were you!" he cried, savagely. "I saw you sneak through my hedge!" "I didn't, either!" Mr. Carewe ground his teeth, "What were you doing there?" "Nothing!"
"I think I should much prefer not, myself," she returned, lifting her head to face him gravely. "I believe if I cared to dance more than once with one, I should like to dance all of them with him." Mr. Carewe frowned. "I trust that you discovered none last night whom you wished to honor with your entire programme?" "No," she laughed, "not last night."
And that's especially true when the father's like that mad brute of a Bob Carewe! Then, too, you're more or less the town model of virtue and popular hero, in spite of the Abolitionism, just as I am the town scamp. So I let it go on, and played a little at being you, saying the things that you only think that was all.
Tom knew where Elizabeth Carewe knelt each morning; he stepped softly through the shadowy silence to her place, knelt, and rested his head upon the rail of the bench before him. The figure at the altar raised itself after a time, and the old woman limped slowly up a side aisle, mumbling her formulas, courtesying to the painted saints, on her way out.
Carewe still standing immovable on the hurricane-deck, while, to the gaze of those on the steamer, the figure on the bay colt at the end of the wharf began to grow smaller and smaller.
"That has nothing to do with it," said Crailey, impatiently; and he was the more earnest because he remembered the dangerous geography of the Carewe house, which made it impossible for anyone to leave the cupola-room except by the long hall which passed certain doors. "I will not go, and what's more, I promised Fanchon I'd try to keep you out of it hereafter."
"Then there's Miss Carewe" he went on "you haf'ter cal'clate on feedin' several wives in one, with her. But say eleven mo' by her. That's thirty-seven mo'." Joe jumped up. "Is she willin'?" "Done seen her," said Jud; "she say come on." "Hold on," said Travis with feigned anger. "Hold on. Joe is fixin' to start a cotton-mill of his own. That'll interfere with the Acme. No no we must vote it down.
But when it was turned to him again, it bore the same amiable jocosity of mouth and eye, and nothing seemed to be the matter, except that those fingers still shook so wildly, too wildly, indeed, to restore the note to its envelope. "There," said Mr. Carewe, "put it back, laddie, put it back yourself. Take it to the gentleman who sent you.
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