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Updated: June 10, 2025
His answer came by return of post: "EVERSLEY, May, 1856. "DEAR TOM, It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest; and don't cry stinking fish, neither don't hollow till you're out of the wood which you oughtn't to have called yourself Tom fool, and blasphemed the holy name thereby, till you knowed you was sich, which you wasn't, as appears by particulars.
"My what?" he said roughly. Then hastily, "I beg your pardon, Miss Eversley. But are you sure you understand it yourself?" "I am doing my best," she said, in a low voice. "But you are sorely disappointed, nevertheless," he said, in a more kindly tone. "You expected something different. Well, it can't be helped. I should leave Dick's convictions alone, if I were you.
Immediately afterwards Stephen, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Eversley and his father, took his wife home "to be educated," though what that process consisted of I never heard. Hans and I saw them off at the Point and our parting was rather sad, although Hans went back the richer by the £500 which Stephen had promised him.
Every time Browett's eyes meet mine he knows in his soul that I'm his master his ego prostrates itself before mine and yet that man" he concluded in a tone of distinguishable awe "is worth all the way from two to three hundred millions!" "Mrs. Eversley is an unlucky little woman, from what I hear," began Aunt Bell, once more with altruistic aims.
Eversley and Hope were mounted on the two donkeys; Brother John, whose hurt leg showed signs of renewed weakness, rode his white ox, which was now quite fat again; the wounded hero, Stephen, as I have said, was carried; and I walked, comparing notes with old Babemba on the Pongo, their manners, which I am bound to say were good, and their customs, that, as the saying goes, were "simply beastly."
I had been thinking and thinking, and at last I screwed up my courage to answer his letter. I had all but signed my name!" Rose Eversley began to laugh helplessly; heartlessly, her sister thought.
"What a pity now as you couldn't take up with young Mr. Eversley or that Mr. Preston over the way, or or any of them young gents with a bit of property as might be judged suitable!" Sylvia's laugh rang through the vinery, a gay, infectious laugh. "Oh, really, Jeffcott! You talk as if I had only got to drop my handkerchief for the whole countryside to rush to pick it up!
A most kind invitation had come from him, offering me "a bed and all hospitality in their plain country fashion." At four in the afternoon of a hot July day I started for Winchfield, which is the station on the London and Southampton Railway nearest to Eversley a journey of an hour and a half. I took a fly at Winchfield for Eversley, a distance of six miles.
Brother John, or to give him his right name, the Reverend John Eversley, was convinced that the white woman imprisoned in the mountain was none other than the lost wife for whom he had searched for twenty weary years, and that the second white woman of whom we had heard that night was, strange as it might seem, her daughter and his own. Perhaps he was right and perhaps he was wrong.
"It's a relief, sometimes, to know you can relax and let your whole weight absolutely down on to the broad earth!" he declared. "Mrs. Eversley?" suggested Aunt Bell. "Well, the short of it is, she told me her woes and begged me to give my sanction to her securing a divorce!" Nancy sat up from her pillows. "Oh and you did?" "Nancy!" It was low, but clear, quick-spoken, stern, and hurt.
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