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Updated: June 15, 2025


Whatever may have happened, you are still the Madge Faringfield I I loved from the first; nothing can make you another woman to me: and though you chose to be no longer my wife, 'tis impossible that while I live I can cease to be your husband." The corners of her lips twitched, but she recovered herself with a disconsolate sigh. "Chose to be no longer your wife," she repeated.

Her face showed but a languid interest in the tragedy which made all the others look so grave. "You've heard the news, of course?" said Mr. Faringfield to us as we entered, curiously searching Philip's face while he spoke. "Yes, sir; we were the first in the town to hear it, I think," replied Phil. "Tis a miracle if we do not have war," said Mr. Faringfield.

"I had a letter for him," he said, presently, looking again across the street at me and Madge, for the curious Miss Faringfield had walked down from her gateway to my side, that she might view the stranger better. And now she spoke, in her fearless, good-humoured, somewhat forward way: "If you will give the letter to me, my father will send it to Mr. Aitken in London."

I told him the next day, in our garden, how matters stood with Fanny and me, and that Captain Falconer had sailed for England with the royal army. "I don't think Mr. Faringfield will hold out for ever," said Philip, alluding to my hopes of Fanny. "'Faith, he ought to welcome the certainty of happiness for at least one of his children. Maybe I can put the matter to him in that light."

Faringfield and my mother, Margaret and Fanny, Tom and myself. We had just received the greeting of our handsome hostess, and were passing up the hall, when my eyes alighted upon the figure of an officer who stood alone, in an attitude of pensive negligence, beside the mantelpiece.

Faringfield read the letters, which I had taken over at once, Fanny and Mr. Cornelius started running for the wharves. But when they got there, the Phoebe wasn't in sight. It had sailed immediately their trunks were aboard, I suppose. Oh, to think of pretty Madge what will become of her in that great, bad London?"

Margaret was in the parlour, reading; and she laid down her book to ask us pleasantly what kind of an evening we had had. She was the only one of the family up to receive us, Mr. Faringfield having retired hours ago, and Tom having come in and gone to bed without an explanation.

And so, with a heart elated beyond my power of expression, he leaped finally into the rear garden of the Faringfield mansion, and strode, as if on air, toward the veranda. He had guessed that the family would be in the smaller parlour, or the library, and so he was not surprised to see all the lower windows dark that were visible from the direction of his approach.

Tom and I, though we only looked our thoughts, saw more than accident in this. The officer occupied the large parlour, which he divided by curtains into two apartments, sitting-room and sleeping-chamber. By his courtesy and vivacity, he speedily won the regard of the family, even of Mr. Faringfield and the Rev. Mr. Cornelius. "Damn the fellow!" said Tom to me. "I can't help liking him."

"Indeed, sir," began Mr. Cornelius softly, rising and taking a step toward Mr. Faringfield. But the latter cut his good intention short, by a mandatory gesture and the harshly spoken words: "No protests, sir; no intercessions. I am aware of what I do." "But at midnight, sir. Think of it. Where can she find shelter at this hour?"

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