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Updated: June 23, 2025
"They were all drinking brandy when Hilton's wife come into the room. Her face was, mon Dieu! so innocent, so childlike. She stared at the men; and then I told them she was deaf and dumb, and I told her why they had come. Voila, it was beautiful like nothing you ever saw. She shook her head so innocent, and then told them like a child that they were wicked to chase a girl.
There was nothing, the other night, that could compare with her singing at our little supper here. Besides, her beauty, to be appreciated, must be seen close. There is not a fault in her face or form, I can assure you." Lord Hilton's face flushed angrily, then a slow whiteness crept over it again, and he bent his head, unable to speak.
Then Hilton's wife beckoned to us. We went inside. The girl was asleep. There was something in the touch of Hilton's wife like sleep itself like music. It was her voice that touch. She could not speak with her tongue, but her hands and face were words and music. Bien, there was the girl asleep, all clear of dust and stain; and that fine hand it lay loose on her breast, so quiet, so quiet.
Half an hour was passed without any observation from our party, as the room gradually filled with the volumes of smoke, which wreathed and curled in graceful lines, as they ascended in obedience to the unchangeable laws of nature. Hilton's pipe was first exhausted; he shook the ashes on the table. "A very melancholy business, indeed!" observed he, as he refilled.
All at once, when she saw Hilton's wife, a cry came from her and she reached out her hands. What would women of that sort do? They were both of a kind. They got into each other's arms. After that there was nothing for us men but to wait. All women are the same, and Hilton's wife was like the rest. She must get the secret first; then the men should know. We had to wait an hour.
"Come aft, Kingston!" called the third lieutenant to the nearest man in the bow, and the one indicated crawled aft with all the haste he could make. "Take Hilton's oar!" added Mr. Pennant, as with his right arm he drew the wounded man back into the stern sheets.
This had often happened before, nor had she seemed weaker than usual when they had gone forth to the field; but on their return, with merry voices, to fetch the dinner prepared for the haymakers, they found an unusual silence brooding over the house; no low voice called out gently to welcome them, and ask after the day's progress; and, on entering the little parlour, which was called Mrs Hilton's, and was sacred to her, they found her lying dead on her accustomed sofa.
He wheeled his horse in among the birches, and then sat still, with fingers that quivered a little on the carbine-stock, until a faint drumming rose from the prairie. "He's coming!" said the trooper. "Hilton's hanging on to him." Payne made no answer, and the sound that rang more loudly every moment through the grayness of the early daylight was not pleasant to hear.
"What?" roared the other, and it was hard to say whether rage or astonishment predominated in his voice. "Is that one of Hilton's dodges to get me into trouble?" "But you do own an Express rifle, which you keep in your sitting-room. Where is it now?" "In the place where it always is. Standing in a corner behind the bookcase." "When did you see it last, Mr. Fenley?" "How the deuce do I know?
Edwards, says I, 'you mustn't say that. You've got lots of friends. I'm your friend. Mr. Hilton's your friend. Yes, and there's another, the best friend of all. If it weren't for him, you'd have been turned out into the street long before this." Mrs. Phinney nodded. "I'm glad you told her!" she exclaimed. "She'd ought to know." "That's what I thought," said Simeon.
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