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Updated: May 13, 2025
And those in the surrounding groups saw a marvellous thing the same being that my Lady Dunstanwolde swayed as she turned, and falling, lay stretched, as if dead, in her white and silver and flashing jewels at the startled beholders' feet. She wore no radiant look when she went home that night.
"'Tis over! 'Twas but a stab of pain." And he refilled his glass with wine and drank it. "You live too studious a life, Ned," said Twemlow. "You have looked but poorly this month or two." "Do not let us speak of it," Lord Dunstanwolde answered, a little hurried, as before. "What what is it you think to do or have you yet no plan?"
Some strange emotion was in her countenance and rich colour mounted her cheek. "How was that, my lord?" she asked. "'Twas a strange story, as I have heard it and a sad one." "He was but fourteen," said Dunstanwolde, "yet its cruelty set his youthful blood on fire. Never shall I forget how his eyes flashed and he bit his boyish lip, crying out against the hardness of it.
'tis told that in the field in her woman's hat and hunting-coat she is handsomer than ever. Even my Lord Dunstanwolde has rode to the meet to behold her, and admires her as far as a sober elderly gentleman can." That my Lord Dunstanwolde admired her, Osmonde knew. His rare letters told a grave and dignified gentleman's version of the story and spoke of it with kindly courtesy and pleasure in it.
At a certain period of my Lord Twemlow's first story, the night he told it, both his Lordship of Dunstanwolde and the then Marquess of Roxholm had made unconscious movements as they heard this had happened when had been described the falling of the mantle of black hair and the little oaths with which Mistress Clorinda had sat on her hunter binding it up and at this point at this other picture of the audacious beauty and her broken glass each man almost started again my Lord Dunstanwolde indeed suddenly rising and taking a step across the hearth.
"Sir John Oxon has fled England to escape seeing and hearing it all," was said. "He has fled to escape something more painful than the spleen," others answered. "He had reached his rope's end, and finding that my Lady Dunstanwolde was not of a mind to lengthen it with her fortune, having taken a better man, and that his creditors would have no more patience, he showed them a light pair of heels."
As they rolled over the roads on their way homeward, in the darkness of their coach, my Lord Dunstanwolde spoke of his happiness and told its story. There was no approach to an old lover's exultant folly in his talk; his voice was full of noble feeling, and in his manner there was somewhat like to awe of the great joy which had befallen him.
Often as the years passed, my Lord Dunstanwolde looked back upon this December day and remembered how, as they walked to and fro, he had marked for the hundredth time how beautiful and picturesque a figure the boy made in his suit of rich-coloured brocade, his curling, warm brown hair falling on his shoulders in thick, natural curls such as no perruquier could imitate, the bloom of health and out-door life upon his cheek, his handsome, well-opened eye sparkling or melting in kindly warmth as he conversed.
As they came again into the apartment wherein the host and hostess received their guests, Anne felt her escort pause, and looked up at him to see the meaning of his sudden hesitation. He was gazing intently, not at Clorinda, but at the Earl of Dunstanwolde. "Madam," he said, "pardon me that I seem to detain you, but but I look at my kinsman.
There is no hatred, to a mind like his, such as is wakened by the sight of another's gifts and triumphs all the more horrible is it if they are borne with nobleness. To have lost all to see another possess with dignity that thing one has squandered! And for this frenzy there was more than one cause. Clo Wildairs! He could have cursed aloud. My Lady Dunstanwolde! He could have raved like a madman.
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