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Updated: June 10, 2025
It might have been called a coincidence, but I, who write the story of these little pilgrims, think it was more; for into Cecile's dark corner, unperceived by her, a man had come, and this man began to fill the great organ with wind, and then in a moment the whole church began to echo with sweet sounds, and in the midst of the music came a lull, and then one voice rose triumphant, joyful, and reassuring on the air.
There was a titter among the girls. Never had Jeanne looked prouder or handsomer, and Cecile's broad nose distended with anger while her lips were purple. She was larger but she did not dare attack Jeanne, for she knew the nature and the prowess of the tiger cat. "Let us go home; it gets late," cried one of the girls, turning her companion about.
Walking straight on, Cecile asked every policeman she met to direct them to Bloomsbury, but whether the police were careless and told them wrong, whether the distance was too great, or whether Cecile's little head was too young to remember, noon came, and noon passed, and they were still far, far away from the court where their father and stepmother had died.
His lips trembled: he stared at me blankly. "My God, my God, what have I done?" he muttered to himself, "Cécile's child Cécile's child!" I could have burst out sobbing. But seeing Rupert's face bent down towards his plate, demure and solemn, yet stamped, for all his cleverness, with an almost devilish triumph, my pride rose and my courage.
"Well, I never," said the servant-maid at last; "you three want a lodging in this yere house? A night's lodging she says, for her and the little un and the dog she says, and she wants it cheap, she says. Go further afield, missy, this house ain't for the likes of you," and then the door was slammed in Cecile's face.
The idea had darted into Cecile's head that Jesus might be there. She went to the dark corner; yes, it was very gloomy. Peer hard as she would, she could not see into all its recesses. Jesus might be there. No one had ever taught her to kneel, but instinctively she fell on her knees and clasped her hands. "Jesus," she said, "I think you're here.
Very glum she looked as she stepped quickly here and there, so much so that the dairymaid and the errand-boy chaffed her for her dull demeanor. Jane, however, hasty enough on most occasions, was too busy now with her own thoughts either to heed or answer them. Well she knew Lydia Purcell, equally well she knew that to tell Cecile's tale would be useless.
That was what dwelt in his eyes, a scheme which would bring, indeed did bring, unhappiness to that dear guest.... No wonder, now, that the unconscious realisation of it awoke all the man's blood in him. "No, Rupert," Sir Adrian found himself saying aloud, "I let you reign at Pulwick so long as you crossed not one jot of such pleasure and happiness that might belong to Cécile's child.
"But there's no use cajoling him," continued Pigoult. "Cecile's hand does not depend on either her father or her mother." "On whom, then?" "On my old patron, Monsieur Grevin. Even if Simon is elected deputy, the town is not won."
Sandy held out the barley-sugar, following it with wistful eyes. Louie beat down Cecile's grasping hand. 'You shan't spoil your tea you'll be sick with that stuff! she said imperiously. Hannah turned, and brought a slow venomous scrutiny to bear upon her niece on the slim tall figure in the elegant Parisian dress, the daintily curled and frizzled head, the wild angry eyes.
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