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Updated: October 13, 2025
Not even her little, pitiful, teary face that morning, when she crept from the car at her aunt's door, could deceive him again. "And you believe all that?" asked Courtland. He could not help it. His dearest friend was in peril. What else could he do? "I don't know!" said Tennelly, helplessly. There was silence in the room. Then Tennelly did realize a little!
He felt as if he were entering upon anything but a pleasant reunion, and half wished he had not come. Courtland ran his car up to the entrance and sprang out. He was glad to get inside, where a log fire was crackling. The warmth and the light dispelled his sadness. Things began to take on a cheerful aspect again. "I suppose you haven't many guests left," he said, pleasantly, as he registered.
Someone told me the other day I believe it was Herbert Courtland that it is the men who write books embodying a great and noble aim who make the closest bargains with their publishers. I heard of a great and good clergyman the other day who wrote a Life of Christ, and then complained in the papers of his publishers having only given him a miserable percentage on the profits.
"She talked about your mother, and your sister, and of the influence which they had had upon your life your career." "They are both dead," said he. "They did not live to see your triumph; that is what your tone suggests," said she. "That is what Mrs. Haddon said the tears were in her eyes last night, Mr. Courtland. I wish you could have heard her.
The great estates along the Hudson, owned by men like Van Rensselaer, a descendant of the old Dutch patroon, or Phillipse and Courtland and Livingston, who had profited by the lavish grants of early English governors, rivaled in extent the plantations of Virginia; and like the planters of South Carolina their owners were often engaged in commerce, and were connected, through business or marriage, with the wealthy merchant families of New York City the Van Dams, Crugers, Waltons, and Ludlows.
His mind was still grappling with the questions that his last two hours had flung at him to be answered. Pat sat up and put away his pipe. He made silent motions to Tennelly, and the two picked up the unresisting Courtland and laid him on the couch. Pat's face was unusually sober as he gently put a pillow under his friend's head. Courtland opened his eyes and smiled.
It seemed as if he and the Presence were there on a visit which neither of them enjoyed very much, and which they were enduring for the sake of his father, who seemed gratified to have his eldest son at home once more. But all the time Courtland was chafing at the delay. He felt there was something he ought to be about. There wasn't anything here.
"Yes, before we were engaged. She told me that she had asked you to give up preaching, that she could never bear to be a minister's wife. I had begun to realize what that would mean to you then. I respected your choice. It was great of you, Court! But you never really loved her, man, or you could not have given her up!" Courtland was silent for a moment, then he burst out: "Nelly! It was not that!
He fancied himself taking off the old elder on the other side of the aisle, and the intense young woman with the large mouth and the feather in her hat. Her voice was killing. He could make the fellows die laughing, singing as she did, in a high falsetto. He looked at Courtland to enjoy it with him, and lo!
My friend Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice, and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi's. I was to decide on the best of them. 'My dear Courtland, said I, immediately throwing them all into the fire, 'do not adopt either of them, but by all means build a cottage. And that I fancy, will be the end of it.
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