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Updated: June 25, 2025
Farquaharson paced the frosty path of the woods where they were talking. His face was dark and his movements nervous so Conscience would not let herself look at him. She had something difficult to say and of late she had not felt strong enough to spend vitality with wastefulness. "You say I'm wrecking both our lives...." she went on resolutely.
Although Conscience had not, in fact, read the paper and knew nothing whatever of Stuart Farquaharson's presence in Providence, it must be confessed that, to a suspicious mind the circumstances built consistently to that conclusion. In due time Eben wrote and mailed a brief note to Mr. Stuart Farquaharson at the Garrick Theater, Providence. It said: "My Dear Mr.
She tossed it back, then she moved a few steps nearer and rested both arms on the top rail of the fence. In them she buried her cheeks and began to cry softly. Stuart Farquaharson could almost have touched her but he was quite invisible. He felt himself an eavesdropper, but he could not escape without being seen. The case was different with Cardinal Richelieu.
Farquaharson was a friend of Conscience's and I have no doubt he still is. I don't think either of us knows anything about him that gives us the right to criticize him. Have you read his book?" "Why, no. Of course, I didn't mean to say anything " "Well, I advise you to read that book." Stuart's champion tossed her head with the positiveness of conviction.
Something in the air, subtle yet powerful, was working upon them its influence. "Eben seems to be in a sentimental mood this evening," suggested Farquaharson at last, bringing himself with something of a wrench out of his abstraction and speaking in a matter-of-fact voice. He remembered belatedly that his cigar had gone out and as he relighted it there was a slight trembling of his fingers.
The invalid had learned from Tollman that Farquaharson had gone away after a quarrel, and he piously told himself that his prayers were answered and his daughter had been snatched as a brand from the burning. But for once an instinct of mercy tinged his dealings with the frailities of humanity. He refrained from talking of Stuart and from the pointing of morals. That would come later.
"No, I didn't fancy it ... I knew it ... I've known it ever since." As Stuart Farquaharson remained silent in the amazement of these declarations, Marian turned her face again upon him.
When war has been declared comradeships between enemies have to end." "You are both very fair and very unfair, Conscience," suggested Stuart Farquaharson thoughtfully. "I said some wild things out there in the moonlight with my senses all electrified by the discovery of your love and yet "
At this bruised cynicism an older man would have smiled, but to Stuart it was poignantly real. He had lost the prize which to him seemed the only guerdon worth striving for, while every other recognition had come easily almost without effort. The success of his novel had been so extraordinary that Farquaharson fell to reviewing his literary experience with a somewhat impersonal amusement.
Stuart Farquaharson had tempered a dignified strength with a gracious fortitude. He had endured slanderous charges and stood with the steadiness of a reef-light when Conscience was steering a storm ridden course, but the constant pressure on the dykes of his self-command had strained them until they might break at any moment and let the flood of passion swirl through with destructive power.
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