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Updated: May 19, 2025
"And you won't have to worry about him, Miss Guion, when you're over there in England," he said, earnestly, as he summed up the advantages he had to offer, "because if he's ill, I'll look after him, and if he's very ill, I'll cable. I promise you I will on my solemn word." "You won't have to do that," she said, simply, "because I'm going, too." Again he almost jumped from his chair. "Going, too?
If the inner impulse working outward poised a neat, classic head too loftily, or shot from gray eyes, limpid and lovely in themselves, a regard that was occasionally too imperious, Olivia Guion was probably unaware of these effects.
For a few minutes it was as if he had never understood it, never thought of it, before. They were going to make him, Henry Guion, a prisoner, a criminal, a convict! They were going to clip his hair, and shave his beard, and dress him in a hideous garb, and shut him in a cell!
Guion wanted to pay me what I've lent him, I couldn't decline to accept it. Do you see?" In the dim light he noticed her head nodding slowly. "Oh, so that's the way it is? It would have to be done through papa?" "It would have to be done through him. And if he preferred to use Colonel Ashley's money rather than mine, I should have nothing at all to say."
As there was no possibility of running away now, he could only dodge, by pretending to misunderstand, what he feared Guion was trying to say. "So everything you undertook you pulled off successfully?" his host questioned, abruptly. "Not everything; some things. I lost money often; but on the whole I made it." "Good! With me it was always the other way."
On Sunday morning, the 8th of July, 1584, the Prince of Orange, having read the despatches before leaving his bed, caused the man who had brought them to be summoned, that he might give some particular details by word of mouth concerning the last illness of the Duke. The courier was accordingly admitted to the Prince's bed-chamber, and proved to be one Francis Guion, as he called himself.
"That you wanted to borrow half a million dollars. I've come in to to lend you that sum if you'll take it." For a few seconds Guion sat rigidly still, looking at this man. The import and bearing of the words were too much for him to grasp at once.
A most remarkable case of an iceberg collision is that of the Guion Liner, Arizona, in 1879. She was then the greyhound of the Atlantic, and the largest ship afloat 5750 tons except the Great Eastern. Leaving New York in November for Liverpool, with 509 souls aboard, she was coursing across the Banks, with fair weather but dark, when, near midnight, about 250 miles east of St.
Having taken these steps, with no small pride in his capacity for sacrifice, Guion set himself seriously to reconstruct his own fortune and to repair the inroads he had made on those in his trust. It was a matter in which he had but few misgivings as to his capacity. The making of money, he often said, was an easy thing, as could be proved by the intellectual grade of the men who made it.
You could hardly imagine Olivia Guion picking out any other kind especially as it's a kind that's as thick as blackberries in their army." Davenant corroborated this by a brief account of what Ashley proposed to do. Light gleamed in the old man's eyes and a smile broke the shaggy crevice between his beard and mustache as he listened. "Splendid!
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