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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Now you are here, and when you are here for good, my love for good . . ." he fluttered away in loverliness, forgetful of Crossjay, whom he presently took up. "The boy recognizes his most sovereign lady, and will do your bidding, though you should order him to learn his lessons! Who would not obey? Your beauty alone commands.
Crossjay had informed her of a design he entertained to be off with a horde of boys nesting in high trees, and marking spots where wasps and hornets were to be attacked in Autumn: she thought it a dangerous business, and as the boy's dinner-bell had very little restraint over him when he was in the flush of a scheme of this description, she wished to make tolerably sure of him through the charm she not unreadily believed she could fling on lads of his age.
"Isn't it, sir? I thought they danced after dinner-parties, Mr. Whitford, have you ever seen her run?" Vernon pointed him to his task. They were silent for a lengthened period. "But does Miss Middleton mean me to speak out if Sir Willoughby asks me?" said Crossjay. "Certainly. You needn't make much of it. All's plain and simple." "But I'm positive, Mr.
"The laugh told me that," said Colonel De Craye. Laetitia and Vernon paced up and down the lawn. Colonel De Craye was talking with English sedateness to the ladies Eleanor and Isabel. Clara and young Crossjay strayed. "If I might advise, I would say, do not leave the Hall immediately, not yet," Laetitia said to Vernon. "You know, then?"
"And then they're dead," said Crossjay. Clara wished Sir Willoughby were confronting her: she could have spoken. She asked the boy where Mr. Whitford was. Crossjay pointed very secretly in the direction of the double-blossom wild-cherry.
And since you will not speak of Crossjay to-night, allow me to retire." "You know me, and therefore you know my contempt for verses, as a rule, Laetitia. But not for yours to me. Why should you call them foolish? They expressed your feelings hold them sacred. They are something religious to me, not mere poetry. Perhaps the third verse is my favourite . . ." "It will be more than I can bear!"
Crossjay came back to Clara heavier in looks than his limbs had been. She dropped her letter in the hall-box, and took his hand to have a private hug of him. When they were alone, she said: "Crossjay, my dear, my dear! you look unhappy." "Yes, and who wouldn't be, and you're not to marry Sir Willoughby!" his voice threatened a cry. "I know you're not, for Dr. Corney says you are going to leave."
If I am here, perhaps Crossjay would like a ride in the afternoon." "Oh, yes," cried the boy; "out over Bournden, through Mewsey up to Closharn Beacon, and down on Aspenwell, where there's a common for racing. And ford the stream!" "An inducement for you," De Craye said to her. She smiled and squeezed the boy's hand. "We won't go without you, Crossjay."
"You save a mile; you drop on the road by Combline's mill, and then there's another five-minutes' cut, and the rest's road." "Then, Crossjay, immediately after breakfast run round behind the pheasantry, and there I'll find you.
"In one of the cottages?" "Not in a cottage; but I was perfectly sheltered. Colonel De Craye passed a fly before he met me . . ." "Flitch again!" ejaculated the colonel. "Yes, you have luck, you have luck," Willoughby addressed him, still clutching Crossjay and treating his tugs to get loose as an invitation to caresses. But the foil barely concealed his livid perturbation.
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