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Updated: July 25, 2025
Christal stayed almost wholly at Farnwood Hall; and in humble, happy, Farnwood Dell, Olive abode, devoted to her Art and to her mother. Weeks glided into months; and within the three-mile circle of the Hall, the Parsonage, and the Dell, was as pleasant a little society as could be found, anywhere.
There were few words spoken on the way to Farnwood, and those few were of ordinary things. Once Olive talked of Michael Vanbrugh and his misfortunes. "You call him unfortunate; how know you that?" said Harold, quickly. "He needed no human affection, and so, on its loss, suffered no pain; he had no desire save for fame; his pride was never humbled to find himself dependent on mere love.
Well, let that pass. Will you now return with me and spend the day? My mother is longing to see you." "I will come," said Olive, cheerfully. There was a little demur about Christars being left alone, but it was soon terminated by the incursion of a tribe of the young lady's "friends," whom she had made at Farnwood Hall. Soon Olive was walking with Mr. Gwynne along the well-known road.
Fludyer is a very nice chatty woman," observed the mother; "and she talked of her beautiful country-seat at Farnwood Hall. I think it would do me good to go there, Olive." "Well, you know she asked you, dear mamma." "Yes; but only for courtesy. She would scarcely be troubled with a guest so helpless as I," said Mrs. Rothesay, half sighing.
Then he wrung Olive's hand, looked at her a moment, as if to say something, but said it not, and quitted the house. The mother and daughter were alone. They clasped their arms round each other, and sat a little while listening to the wild March wind. "It is just such a night as that on which we came to Farnwood, is it not, darling?" "Yes, my child!
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