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Updated: May 21, 2025
My Aunt Gainor had recovered from the remorse which, as usual with her, followed upon some futile attempt to improve the machinery of other folks' fates. In fact, although Darthea closed her doors upon Mistress Wynne and would on no account see her, my aunt was already beginning to be pleased with the abominable trap she had set, and was good enough to tell me as much.
Were the ducks still in the river! He said no more to me of Darthea, or of what I was to do for him, but he found a way at need, I am sure, to get letters to her, and that without difficulty. At last, as I have said, he was gone to join Sir Guy. I was not sorry. Mrs.
When I had done her sweet bidding, I said, "Darthea, let us forget all this. Wrong or right, I at least am pleased to have the thing at rest forever; and, wrong or right; I thank you. I was honest, Darthea, when I said so; and now good-night." At this she looked me in the eyes and went slowly out of the room, and, I fear, had no better slumbers than my Aunt Gainor.
She walked up and down, and at last upset a big mandarin, who came head down on the hearth. "I wish he were Mr. Gage!" said my aunt, contemplating the fragments. "I dare say he was a Tory," says Darthea, who feared no one. "And I am a Tory too, Miss Wynne, I would have you to know." "I dare say," said my aunt; "it doesn't matter much, what you think, or what you are.
"Is it the same, Darthea, and am I to go away with no more hope than the years have brought me?" "Why," she said, colouring, "do you make it so hard for me your friend?" "Do I make it hard?" "Yes. I used to say no to men, and think no more of the thing or of them, but I am troubled; and this awful war! I am grown older, and to hurt a man a man like you gives me pain as it did not use to do."
I still think pleasantly of all the pretty pictures of pale, fair-haired Jack in the hammock, with Darthea reading to him, and the Whig ladies with roses from their gardens, and peaches and what not, all for Jack, the hero, I being that summer but a small and altogether unimportant personage. When my Jack went home again, we began at once to talk over our plans for joining Mr.
"Do you want it, Hugh these Welsh lands?" asked Darthea. I thought she looked anxiously at the deed in her hand as she stood. "Not I, Darthea, and least of all now. Not I." "No," she went on; "you have taken the man's love from him I think he did love me, Hugh, in his way you could not take his estate; now could you, Hugh?" "No!" said I; "no!" "Darthea, are you mad?" said Aunt Wynne.
She, not seeing the joke, pranced about, and Miss Darthea was forced to hold to my waist for a minute. "The mare is ill broke," she cried. "Why does she not go along quietly?" "She hates dishonesty," said. "But I have not a penny." "Thou shouldst never run in debt if thon art without means.
Neither Jack nor I liked all this, and my friend took it sadly to heart, to my Aunt Gainor's amusement and Mrs. Ferguson's, who would have Dr. Rush set up a ward in the new hospital for the broken-hearted lovers of Darthea.
As concerns this thing, it is well I am going. What else is left for me? My duty has long been plain. "I did venture to ask Darthea of Mr. Arthur Wynne. She said quietly, 'I have had a letter to-day; and with this she looked at me in a sort of defiant way. I like the man not at all, and wonder that women fancy him so greatly.
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