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They could also hear Heriot calling to Rondeau to bring bottles and glasses, and vaguely they marvelled what Rondeau's attitude might be like at this moment. Was he brazening out the situation, or was he sick with terror? Suddenly Heriot's voice came out more distinctly. "Make yourselves at home, friends," he was saying; "here are cards, dominoes, and wine.
'Now I write to him no more; let him know it, my darling, she said, and the consequence of Heriot's ungrateful obstinacy was that we all beheld her, at the ceremony of the consecration of the new church, place her hand on Mr. Boddy's arm and allow him to lead her about. Heriot kept his eyes on them; his mouth was sharp, and his arms stiff by his sides.
'I hoped I should find her at the Grange in the morning, Harry. I slept on it, rather than startle the poor lamb in the night. I offered him to accompany him at once to Heriot's quarters. 'What! and let my wife know I doubted her fidelity. My girl shall never accuse me of that.
They whispered; I saw their faces close together, and Heriot's arms round her neck. 'Oh, Heriot, my darling, my Walter, she said, crying, I knew by the sound of her voice. 'Tell me you love me, said Heriot. 'I do, I do, only don't go, she answered. 'Will you love me faithfully? 'I will; I do. 'Say, "I love you, Walter." 'I love you, Walter. 'For ever. 'For ever. Oh! what a morning for me.
They whispered; I saw their faces close together, and Heriot's arms round her neck. 'Oh, Heriot, my darling, my Walter, she said, crying, I knew by the sound of her voice. 'Tell me you love me, said Heriot. 'I do, I do, only don't go, she answered. 'Will you love me faithfully? 'I will; I do. 'Say, "I love you, Walter." 'I love you, Walter. 'For ever. 'For ever. Oh! what a morning for me.
After a life spent in honourable and successful industry, George Heriot died in London, to which city he had followed his royal master, on the 12th February, 1624, at the age of sixty-one years. Historical and Descriptive Account of Heriot's Hospital, with a Memoir of the Founder, by Messrs James and John Johnstone. Edinburgh, 1827.
'Now I write to him no more; let him know it, my darling, she said, and the consequence of Heriot's ungrateful obstinacy was that we all beheld her, at the ceremony of the consecration of the new church, place her hand on Mr. Boddy's arm and allow him to lead her about. Heriot kept his eyes on them; his mouth was sharp, and his arms stiff by his sides.
'It's the work least able to wait, said Miss Levering. 'I don't agree with you, Mrs. Heriot bridled, 'and I happen to have spent a great deal of my life in works of charity. 'Ah, then, Miss Levering lifted her eyes from the map to Mrs. Heriot's face 'you'll be interested in the girl I saw dying in a tramp ward a little while ago.
Then suddenly up leapt the hat, cannoned from a lamp-post on to the railings of the Queen Street Gardens, from them across the pavement into the gutter, and there, getting nicely on edge, careered like a hoop, with the thud of Heriot's footsteps growing fainter behind. Down the next cross street came two acquaintances of the Writer to the Signet, and they stopped at the corner in amazement.
But a half century or more ago one could stand at the upper gate of Greyfriars kirkyard or Heriot's Hospital grounds and look down a slope dotted with semi-rustic houses, a village or two and water-mills, and then cultivated farms, all the way to a stone-bridged burn and a toll-bar at the bottom of the valley.
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