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Updated: May 24, 2025
In order to calm my spirits I was endeavouring to direct my thoughts into some more pleasing channel, when I heard, or thought I heard, uttered, within a few yards of me, in an odd, half-sneering tone, the words, 'There is blood upon your ladyship's throat. So vivid was the impression that I started to my feet, and involuntarily placed my hand upon my neck.
"Not in the least odd!" reply I, brusquely. "Why should he? He is silent. "Do you mean without a wife?" he asks, with a half-sneering smile. "Yes I have that misfortune." "I was not thinking of a wife," say I, rather angrily. "It never occurred to me that you could have one! you are too young a great deal too young!"
He turned away to the sick man's bed, to see the beggar watching him with cold, passive eyes and a curious, half-sneering smile. He braced himself and met the passive, scrutinising looks firmly. The beggar said nothing, but motioned to him to lift the sick man upright, while he poured some tincture down his throat, and bound the head and neck about with saturated linen.
The dark figures of the horsemen, the grave, earnest bearing of the rustics as they knelt in prayer or leaned upon their rude weapons, the half-cowed, half-sneering expression of the captive dragoons, the line of white pain-drawn faces that peeped over the side of the waggon, and the chorus of groans, cries, and ejaculations which broke in upon the steady earnest voice of the pastor.
Yes, only twenty-five cents! Pray how much did you expect to get, Miss?" retorted the clothier, in a half-sneering, half-offended voice. "I don't know. But twenty-five cents is very little for a hard day's work." "Is it, indeed? I know enough who are thankful even for that. Enough who are at it early and late, and do not even earn as much.
A rather strained silence greeted the entrance of McNabb into the trading room. Jean and Murchison occupied the only two chairs the room boasted, and Wentworth leaned against the counter, a half-sneering smile on his lips. McNabb advanced to the group beneath the huge swinging lamp, and Sven Larsen lingered in the shadows near the door.
"Set a house on fire!" said Edward, in a half-sneering, half-censorious, tantalizing voice. "If you say that again, I'll knock you down!" fell sharply from the lips of Andrew, in whom his father's repulsive coldness was beginning to awaken bad feelings. "Set a house on fire!" repeated Edward, in a tone still more aggravating.
Eustace looked down at him, half-sneering, half-impressed. "What a mule you are, Stumpy! Come along then if you must! But you had better mind how you go. I'm in no mood for trifling." "Nor I," said Scott, with very unaccustomed bitterness. He kept his hand upon his brother's arm as they turned. He leaned slightly upon him as they ascended the stairs.
"But I should like to know whether the scullery door was open or not, when you came downstairs that night?" Rachel's glance fell. She blushed. The tears had ceased to drop from her eyes. She made no answer. "You see," said Louis, with a half-sneering triumph, "I knew jolly well it wasn't open. So did old Batchgrew know, too."
So much of thought, in his own quaint indefinite fashion, flitted like lightning through Arthur Berkeley's perturbed mind, as he stood gazing wistfully for one second out of his pretty latticed creeper-clad window. Then he remembered himself quickly with a short little sigh, and turned to answer Herbert Le Breton's last half-sneering innuendo.
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