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Updated: June 27, 2025
Imagination and mystery generally work their way together; and as there was a shade of mystery attached to Sir Everard's very ignorance of the person of one whom he admired and esteemed from report alone, imagination was not slow to improve the opportunity, and to endow the object with characteristics, which perhaps a more intimate knowledge of the party might have led him to qualify.
"What was it?" questioned Bernard. "Didn't he fall over a precipice?" "Yes," abruptly the younger man made answer. "It happened in Kashmir when they were on their honeymoon." "Ah! Poor girl! She must have suffered. What was his name? Was he a pal of yours?" "More or less." Everard's voice rang hard. "His name was Dacre." "Oh, to be sure.
And yet! good heavens! how royally beautiful she is!" "Alone, Kingsland?" exclaimed a voice at his elbow; and glancing around he saw Lord Carteret. "What do you think of our pretty Di Vernon? You don't often see a lady ride like that. Why don't you pay your respects? Don't know her, eh? Come alone; I'll present you." Sir Everard's heart gave a sudden plunge, quite unaccountably.
He had turned monk, and, during the recent pitiless times, it had frequently fallen to Sir Everard's lot to befriend him. He was at this time in hiding at no great distance from Crowleigh's estate, and the latter had sufficient confidence in his friend's willingness to come to promise Sir George Vernon that he would fetch him. The offer was gladly accepted.
Micklethwaite was a man of forty, bent in the shoulders, sallow, but not otherwise of unhealthy appearance; he had a merry countenance, a great deal of lank, disorderly hair, and a beard that reached to the middle of his waistcoat. Everard's acquaintance with him dated from ten years ago, when Micklethwaite had acted as his private tutor in mathematics.
We need scarcely state, Sir Everard's theories on this important subject were seldom reduced to practice; for, even long before the Indians had broken out into open acts of hostility, when such precautions were rendered indispensable, Colonel de Haldimar had never suffered either officer or man to linger on his pillow after the first faint dawn had appeared.
It seems to me hardly decent to be thinking about the disposal of the property while its late owner is still unburied." Lilias crept away, crying. She knew there was justice in Cousin Clare's scathing judgment, but she was sure the latter did not, could not, understand the extent of Everard's bitter disappointment.
But there was no overt act which an attainder could be founded on; and government, contented with suppressing the insurrection of 1715, felt it neither prudent nor safe to push their vengeance further than against those unfortunate gentlemen who actually took up arms. Nor did Sir Everard's apprehensions of personal consequences seem to correspond with the reports spread among his Whig neighbours.
She rigged out in a suit of Sir Everard's clothes, mimicked his voice, and did the deed. I saw her face when she pitched you over the rail as plain as I see your'n this minute, and I'm ready to swear to it through all the courts in Christendom.
"He wouldn't have you!" the three boys piped; even Tim, who plainly was talking of matters he could not understand, added his note to the chorus, but Darsie cocked her little head, and added eagerly "Couldn't you, really? What could you, do you think?" Clemence stared again, more rapt than ever. "Lancelot, perhaps," she opined, "or Sigismund. Everard's nice too, or Ronald or Guy " "Bah! Sugary.
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