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Updated: May 6, 2025
His pale face with its heavy-lidded eyes stared, supremely contemptuous, into Brandon's suffused countenance. His composure was somehow disconcerting. "Suppose you get out," he suggested. "I can talk to you then in a language you will understand." "Curse you!" bawled Brandon. "Where's Fricker?" Caryl shrugged his shoulders. "You have seen him since I have. Are you going to get out?
However, Napoleon failed to see the matter in that wholesome light, and smiled a grim and unkind smile as he read Caryl Carne's report of those "left-handed and uncouth manoeuvres."
The motherliness of the night before had completely vanished. Doris was glad of it. She had to steel herself for the coming interview with Caryl; she had to face the result of her headlong actions with as firm a front as she could assume. She needed all her strength, and she could not have borne sympathy just then. She thanked Mrs. Maynard for her attentions and saw her withdraw with relief.
Maynard, faithful to the very heart of her, but she would not have been mortal had she not been intensely curious to know what were the circumstances that had led Vivian Caryl to bring to her door that shrinking, exhausted girl who still lay sleeping in the room above. When Doris awoke in response to her deferential knock, only the reticence of the trained servant greeted her.
"You see me in a melancholy attitude, and among melancholy surroundings." Caryl Carne offered his hand as he spoke, and Dan took it with great reverence. "The truth is, that anger at a gross injustice, which has just come to my knowledge, drove me from my books and sad family papers, in the room beneath the roof of our good Widow Shanks.
"I think that you are Caryl Carne," said the stranger, not unpleasantly, but as if it mattered very little who was Caryl Carne, or whether there was any such existence. Carne stared fiercely, for he was of touchy temper; but he might as well have stared at a bucket of water in the hope of deranging its tranquillity. "You know me.
"You will give me a little while to think it over?" "Why?" said Caryl. "Because I I can't possibly decide upon the spur of the moment," she said confusedly. Was he going to refuse her even this small request? It almost seemed that he was. "How long will it take you?" he asked. "Will you give me an answer to-night?" Her heart leapt to a sudden hope called to life by his words.
You are come to the wrong man for that; but the right one, I can tell you, for a bullet." "Caryl, it is I, your uncle Twemlow, or at any rate the husband of your aunt. Put up your pistol, and speak to me a minute. I have something important to say to you. And I never can find you at the castle." "Then be quick, sir, if you please;" Carne had never condescended to call this gentleman his uncle.
Well, they are going to fill these with something French wines, smuggled brandy, contraband goods of every kind you can think of, so long as high profit can be made of them. That is how your nephew Caryl means to redeem his patrimony. No wonder that he has been so dark and distant!
With a face of deep gravity, Caryl Carne put into Frank Darling's hand a copy of his own book, quite young, but already scored with many loving marks of admiration and keen sympathy. Frank took it, and reddened with warm delight. "You may not understand it at first," said the other; "though I beg your pardon for saying that.
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