United States or Mexico ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Craik's and bid him come to the Hall at once; so Mr. Seymour will be well looked after. By the way, Blodgett is dead. I had almost forgotten him. He evidently met and fought those fellows at the landing. We found him at the foot of the steps by the boat-landing with two bodies. That reminds me, one of them was alive when we came by. I told the men to bring all three of the bodies up.
He dropped a huge paw roughly on her shoulder, and her hard eyes softened as she looked at his face and splendid frame, for Ralph "Voles" was Rachel Craik's one weakness. "What's the trouble?" he went on, seeing that her lips were twitching. "You should have been here," she snapped. "Everything may be lost. A man is down here after Winifred, and I've caught her talking to him in secret."
His new book has the same agreeable qualities which marked its forerunners, maintaining an easy conversational level of scholarly gossip and reflection, the middle ground between learning and information for the million. Without great philological attainments, and without any pretence of such, he gives the results of much good reading. Mr. Craik's book is a compact and handy manual.
Sending for newspapers, he read of Rachel Craik's arrest. At last, when the light waned, he looked at his watch. Should he not face his fellow-members at the Four Hundred Club? Would it not betray weakness to shirk the ordeal of inquiry, of friendly scrutiny and half-spoken wonder that he, the irreproachable, should be mixed up in such a weird tragedy.
The novelist saw that she was probably interesting. As he had just stated, great women had sat in the same chair, and it was John Craik's impulse to save Eve from that same greatness. He had, since a brilliant youth at Oxford, been steeped, as it were, in literature. He had known all the great men and women, and he held strong views of his own.
The Count de Lloseta and John Craik were sitting together in the editorial room of the Commentator. It was a quiet room, with double windows and a permanent odour of tobacco smoke. An empty teacup stood on the table by John Craik's elbow. "Name of God!" Cipriani de Lloseta had ejaculated when he saw it. "At eleven o'clock in the morning!" "Must stir the brain up," was the reply.
I mak sma' doubt the captain'll tak ye hame wi' him, syne the mither an' sisters still be i' the cot i' Mr. Craik's croft." "Tell me, MacMuir," said I, "is not the captain in some trouble?" For I knew that something, whatever it was, hung heavy on John Paul's mind as we drew nearer Scotland. At times his brow would cloud and he would fall silent in the midst of a jest.
Round the churchyard pear-trees grew, and leaned their laden branches over its walls. Pear-trees, apple-trees, and cherries filled the valley and crowded one another up all the hills. Mr. Craik's voice, as he stood at the grave, also in white, was heard that quiet afternoon far and near.
As he extended his hand to say "Good-bye" there was a rap at the door. The discreet youth who told John Craik's falsehoods for him came in and handed his master a slip of paper with a name written thereon. Craik read the inscription, crumpled up the paper, and threw it into the waste-paper basket. "In one minute," he said, and the liar withdrew.
He tramped to and fro impatiently. His ankle had not yet forgotten the wrench it received on the Boston Post Road. Suddenly he banged a huge fist on a sideboard. "Gee!" he cried, "that should turn the trick! I'll marry her off to Fowle. If it wasn't for other considerations I'd be almost tempted " He paused. Even his fierce spirit quailed at the venom that gleamed from Rachel Craik's eyes.
Word Of The Day