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Updated: May 13, 2025
My Lord Dunstanwolde walked by the hurdle side, and as he did so, watching the boy closely, he was touched to see that though his beautiful young face was white as death and he lay with closed eyes, he uttered no sound and his lips wore a brave smile. "Is your pain great, Roxholm?" my Lord asked with tender sympathy. Roxholm opened his eyes and, still smiling, blushed faintly.
"Yes," he said, "'tis almost the same feeling, though then I was a child, and now I am a man. When I saw the girl at the hunt, and rode home afterwards with Dunstanwolde, listening to her story, there was gloom in the air. There is that in it to make a man's spirit heavy. I must not think of her." But Fate herself was against him.
"Tossed to the wolves," he said; "tossed to the pack to harry and to slaver over! God's mercy!" As they rode he heard the story, Lord Twemlow having related such incidents as he naturally knew to my Lord Dunstanwolde.
At times he strove to lure him into visits of greater familiarity; but though his kindness was never met coldly or repulsed, a further intimacy was in some gracious way avoided. "My lady must beguile you to be less formal with us," said Dunstanwolde.
"You are so generous and noble a lady to him." "He is so generous and noble a husband," my Lady Dunstanwolde answered. "He thinks I need but ask a favour to find it granted. 'Twas because he thinks so that he begged me to myself speak with you, to ask you to come to Warwickshire next week when we go there. I have asked you." "With most sweet graciousness," my lord Duke answered her.
'Tis a childish thing, no doubt, but perhaps perhaps " he broke his sentence again with a sigh which he changed to a smile. "You will be there," he said, "and you will understand the meaning of my weakness." On the night of this great assembly at Dunstanwolde House, Mr. Hammond, my lord Duke's confidential secretary, and the Comptroller of his household, sate late over his accounts.
"Is there mercy?" he said in a low voice, at length. "Is there justice, since a human thing can be so cast into the world and left alone?" Lord Dunstanwolde put his hand upon his shoulder. "All of us ask," he said. "None of us knows." My Lord Marquess Plunges into the Thames
He started forward, as all the company did for her ladyship of Dunstanwolde had risen to her full height with a strange movement and, standing a moment swaying, had fallen at Sir John Oxon's feet, white in a death-like swoon. Sir John Rides out of Town
And Roxholm, suddenly turning cold and pale himself, and seized upon by a horror of he knew not what, saw as in a dream my lord Dunstanwolde advancing towards him, his face ashen with woe, tears on his cheeks, his shaking hands outstretched as if in awful pity. "My poor Gerald," he broke forth, one hand grasping his, one laid on his shoulder.
A few days later came a letter from my Lord Dunstanwolde himself, who had not writ from England for some time, and in the midst of his epistle, which treated with a lettered man's thoughtful interest of the news of both town and country, of Court and State, playhouse and club, there was reference to Gloucestershire and Mistress Clorinda of Wildairs Hall.
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