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Updated: July 13, 2025
"Nelly, what is love?" asked Courtland, suddenly, in the midst of the silence. "How do you know when you are in love?" Tennelly dropped his fountain-pen in his surprise, and had to crawl under the table after it. He and Bill Ward exchanged one lightning glance of relief as he emerged from the table. "Search me!" said Tennelly, as he sat down again. "Love's an illusion, they say.
But," she added, suddenly fixing her eyes on him, "how does it happen that yo' ain't walking with her instead of that Englishman? Yo' know that it's as plain as day that he took that land over there just to be near her, when he was no longer agent." But Courtland was always master of himself and quite at ease regarding Miss Sally when not in that lady's presence.
He half helped, half dragged, the now passive African to the solitary tree; as the bay of a single hound came nearer, the negro convulsively scrambled from Courtland's knee and shoulder to the fork of branches a dozen feet from the ground. Courtland drew his revolver, and, stepping back a few yards into the open, awaited the attack. It came unexpectedly from behind.
His uncle gave him several letters of introduction to old friends; among them one to Sir Peter Hales, and another to a Mr. Courtland. An incident that befell him on the London road revived to an extraordinary degree Walter's desire to ascertain the whereabouts of his long-lost father.
He spoke apologetically, as of a dear one who had lacked advantages. "But I do believe in prayer!" said Courtland, earnestly. "What you heard me say in class was before I understood." "Before you understood?" Wittemore looked puzzled. "Listen, Wittemore. Things are all different now. I've met Jesus Christ and I've got my eyes open.
Courtland will not feel hurt at what has occurred," said Phyllis doubtfully. "Mr. Courtland? Who is Mr. Courtland? What has Mr. Courtland to say to the matter? What business is it of his, I should like to know."
And with that she sank down at one end of the sofa, prettily drew aside a white billow of skirt so as to leave ample room for Courtland at the other, and clasping her fingers over her knees, looked demurely expectant. "But let me hope that I am not disturbing you unseasonably," said Courtland, catching sight of the fateful little slipper beneath her skirt, and remembering the window.
"It was dat sneakin' hound, Tom Higbee," he said huskily. Courtland looked at him sharply. "Then there was something more than WORDS passed between him and you, Cato. What happened? Come, speak out!" "He lashed me with his whip, and I gib him one right under the yeah, and drupped him," said Cato, recovering his courage with his anger at the recollection. "I had a right to defend myse'f, sah."
"But why should we talk about Mr. Courtland? Why should we talk about anybody to-night? Dearest Ella, let us talk about ourselves. You are of more interest to me than anyone in the world, and I know that I am of more interest to you than to anyone else. Let us talk about ourselves." "Certainly we shall talk about ourselves," said Ella.
I suppose you don't think much of my business capacity, colonel, and you wouldn't go much on my judgment especially now; but I've been here longer than you and" he lowered his voice slightly and dragged his chair nearer Courtland "I don't like the looks of things here. There's some devilment plotting among those rascals.
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