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Updated: May 19, 2025
I went once more to visit Madame Blandin, who poured out upon me a whole stream of reproaches against Christal." "'She was un petit diable always; and now, though she has been my own pupil for years, I would rather turn her out to starve than keep her in my house for another day. "'But, said I, 'you might at least find her some other situation.
Nor did Christal observe Olive until she had approached quite close. Then she gave a wild start, the old angry flush mounted to her temples, and sank. "Why did you come here?" she said hoarsely; "I sent you word I wished to see no one that I was utterly dead to the world." "But not to me oh, not to me, my sister!"
I only remember that Christal, recognising me, cried out in piteous reproach, 'You should have let me die! you should have let me die! But she is saved Olive, be sure that she is saved. Her right spirit will come into her again. It is coming even now, for she is with kind Lady Arundale, a woman almost like yourself.
... "Christal saw me to-day. Her eye was almost demoniacal in its threatening. Perhaps the pity she must have read in mine only kindled hers with wrath the more. I do not think she will come to the chapel again." ... "My dear Miss Rothesay, I do not like playing this underhand game it almost makes me despise myself. Yet it is with a good intent; and I would do anything from my friendship for you.
"Ma mie is asleep; don't wake her or she'll scold," said Christal jumping down from the window, and interposing between Miss Vanbrugh and the woman who was called Mrs. Manners. She was indeed a very beautiful woman, though her beauty was on a grand scale. She had flung herself, half-dressed, upon what seemed a heap of straw, with a blanket thrown over.
"They do not. Christal writes now and then from Brighton, and Lyle Derwent indulges me with a long letter every week," said Olive, trying to smile. She did not mention Harold. She had hardly expected him to write; yet his silence grieved her. It felt like a mist of cold estrangement rising up between them. Yet as sometimes she tried to think perhaps it was best so!
For the future, we will not have quite such serious conversations as this. Good-night!" Olive went away, heavy at heart. She had long been unaccustomed to wrestle with an angry spirit. Indeed, she lived in an atmosphere so pure and full of love, that on it never gloomed one domestic storm. She almost wished that Christal had not come with them to Farnwood.
"Tell Christal I long to see her," she said. "To-morrow I shall be quite strong, I think, and then I will go to her room myself, and never quit her until we are reconciled." But Christal declared no power should induce her to meet Olive more.
Barbauld to Charles Danvers. While I was with George Dyer one morning last week, Mary Hayes and Miss Christal entered, and the ceremony of introduction followed. Mary Hayes writes in the New Monthly Magazine, under the signature of M. H., and sometimes writes nonsense there about Helvetius. She has lately published a novel, 'Emma Courtney, a book much praised and much abused.
"Olive Olive!" the tone was more affectionate than usual. "Are you never coming? I am quite tired of being alone. Do let me into the studio!" Olive sprang to her desk and hid the letter therein. Then, without speaking she had no power to speak she mechanically unlocked the door. "Well, I am glad to get at you at last," cried Christal, merrily. "I thought you were going to spend the night here.
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