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Updated: June 6, 2025
But my subject was old Vernon. Yes, I pay for Crossjay, if Vernon consents to stay. I waive my own scheme for the lad, though I think it the better one. Now, then, to induce Vernon to stay.
"Yes; but in the morning she told me not to tell." "She was in a hurry. She has it on her conscience that you may have misunderstood her, and she wishes you never to be guilty of an untruth, least of all on her account." Crossjay committed an unspoken resolution to the air in a violent sigh: "Ah!" and said: "If I were sure!" "Do as she bids you, my boy." "But I don't know what it is she wants."
That she, of all on earth, should be encouraging Crossjay to truancy was incredible. Vernon had to fall back upon Greek and Latin aphoristic shots at the sex to believe it.
The opinion at the lodge was that Master Crossjay was unhappy. "He very properly received a wigging from Mr. Whitford, I have no doubt," said Colonel Do Craye. Mother and daughter supposed it to be the case, and considered Crossjay very wilful for not going straight home to the Hall to change his wet clothes; he was drenched. Do Craye drew out his watch. The time was ten minutes past eleven.
"You won't entrust me with the smallest word?" said he, and set her visibly thinking whether she could dispatch a word. She could not; she had no heart for messages. "I shall see her in a day or two, Colonel De Craye." "She will miss you severely." "We shall soon meet." "And poor Willoughby!" Laetitia coloured and stood silent. A butterfly of some rarity allured Crossjay.
Whitford so much," he said. "Something to tell him?" "I don't know what to do: I don't understand it!" The secret wriggled to his mouth. He swallowed it down. "Yes, I want to talk to Mr. Whitford." "He's another of Miss Middleton's friends." "I know he is. He's true steel." "We're all her friends, Crossjay. I flatter myself I'm a Toledo when I'm wanted.
"Crossjay!" she cried, hugging her love of the boy. "The secret was one not to be communicated to Miss Dale of all people." "He said that?" "As good as the very words. She informed me, too, that she couldn't induce him to face her straight." "Oh, that looks like it. And Crossjay was unhappy? Very unhappy?"
"Am I solemnly engaged?" she asked herself. She seemed to be awakening. She glanced at her bed, where she had passed the night of ineffectual moaning, and out on the high wave of grass, where Crossjay and his good friend had vanished. Was the struggle all to be gone over again? Little by little her intelligence of her actual position crept up to submerge her heart. "I am in his house!" she said.
Fearing seriously that he had sunk his pride too low in her consideration, and had been carried farther than he intended on the tide of pathos, he remarked: "We will speak about Crossjay to-morrow. His deceitfulness has been gross. As I said, I am grievously offended by deception. But you are tired. Good-night, my dear friend." "Good-night, Sir Willoughby." She was allowed to go forth.
He pressed them and said: "Dr Middleton is in the library. I see Vernon is at work with Crossjay in the West-room the boy has had sufficient for the day. Now, is it not like old Vernon to drive his books at a cracked head before it's half mended?" He signalled to young Crossjay, who was up and out through the folding windows in a twinkling.
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