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Updated: May 11, 2025
Darrell escaped into the house; Fairthorn sunk upon the ground, and resigned himself for some minutes to unmanly lamentations. Suddenly he started up; a thought came into his brain a hope into his breast.
Just then Joe and Jake Fairthorn, who had been dodging back and forth through the village, watching the roads, made their appearance with the announcement, "Hurray there's another comin' up from below, but it a'n't Gilbert. He's stuck full o' pistols, but he's a-foot, and you must git him a horse. I tell you, he looks like a real buster!" "Who can it be?" asked Barton.
The detestable Fairthorn emerges from between the buttresses, and shambles up to George, thirsting to hear his hopes confirmed, and turning his face back to smile congratulation, on the gloomy old house that he thinks he has saved from the lake. Sophy has at last convinced Waife that his senses do not deceive him, nor hers wander.
The next morning, neither Darrell nor Fairthorn appeared at breakfast; but as soon as Lionel had concluded that meal, Mr. Mills informed him, with customary politeness, that Mr. Darrell wished to speak with him in the study. Study, across the threshold of which Lionel had never yet set footstep! He entered it now with a sentiment of mingled curiosity and awe.
The Fairthorn farm was immediately north of Kennett Square. For the first mile towards Unionville, the rich rolling fields which any traveller may see, to this day, on either side of the road, belonged to it. The house stood on the right, in the hollow into which the road dips, on leaving the village.
SOPHY. "Which I what?" FAIRTHORN. "Don't, I say, don't don't tempt me. You had better not ask questions that's all. I shall tell you the truth; I know I shall; my tongue is itching to tell it. Please to walk on."
The Question of Questions, in which all Futurity is opened, has him on its rack. WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT? Let us see. Immunis aram si tetigit manus, Non sumptuosa blandior hostia, Mollivit aversas Penates, Farre pio et saliente mica. It is the grey of the evening. Fairthorn is sauntering somewhat sullenly along the banks of the lake.
Morley, not admitted into her husband's confidence in secrets that concerned others, though in all his own he was to her conjugal sight /pellucidior vitro/, was the chief talker; and being the best woman in the world, ever wishing to say something pleasant, she fell to praising the dear old family pictures that scowled at her from the wall, and informed Fairthorn that she had made great progress with her sketch of the old house as seen from the lake, and was in doubt whether she should introduce in the foreground some figures of the olden time, as in Nash's Views of Baronial Mansions.
This time it was Sally Fairthorn who spoke. "Five minutes will be enough for us, Mark," she said. "I'm not much acquainted with Fanny Falconer. So, Gilbert, hoist Martha into her saddle, and go for Roger." He opened the gate for them, and then climbed over the fence into the hill-field above his house.
You, who know more of my secrets than any other man, shall be the first to learn a decision that must bind you and me more together but not in these scenes, Dick. 'Ibimus ibimus! Supremum Carpere iter, comites, parati!" "What do you mean, sir?" asked Fairthorn. "My mind always misgives me when I hear you quoting Horace.
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