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Updated: September 23, 2025
"Rank goes for nothing. But if it did make class distinctions, the witnesses about these documents are of great influence. There is Thornton of Holby, and Colonel Henry Despard at the Cape of Good Hope, with whom Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. have had correspondence. There are also others." "It's all a lie!" exclaimed Potts, in a voice which was a little tremulous.
Let me see; the lawyer who sent him was named Thornton." "Thornton!" said Brandon, as the name sank into his soul. "Yes; he lived at Holby." Brandon drew a long breath. "No, Sir; no friends came, whether he had any or not. They were all sick at the alms-house for weeks." "And I suppose they all died there?" said Brandon, in a strange, sweet voice. "No, Sir. They were not so happy."
The town of Holby is on the coast of Pembroke. It has a small harbour, with a light-house, and the town itself contains a few thousand people, most of them belonging to the poorer class. The chief house in the town stands on a rising ground a little outside, looking toward the water. Its size and situation render it the most conspicuous object in the neighborhood.
An examination of my desk shows that he has taken papers and bank bills to the amount of four thousand pounds with him. It was this, no doubt, that induced him to make this attempt against me. "I desire also hereby to appoint Henry Thornton, Sen., Esq., of Holby Pembroke, Solicitor, my executor and the guardian of my son Courtenay, to whom I bequeath a father's blessing and all that I possess.
The sea was on their left. "This is the last that we shall see of one another, Little Playmate," said Despard, after a long silence. "I have left Holby forever." "Left Holby! Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Thornton, anxiously. "To join the army." "The army!" "Little Playmate," said Despard, "even my discovery of my father's death has not changed me.
Baffled, but not daunted, Despard fell back for the present from his purpose, yet still cherished it and wrote to different quarters for information. Meantime he had to return to his life at Holby, and Mrs. Thornton was still ready to assist him. So the time went on, and the weeks passed, till one day in March Despard went up as usual. On entering the parlor he heard voices, and saw a stranger.
"I am never going back again to Holby." Brandon looked surprised. "To one like you," said Despard, "I do not object to tell my purpose. You know what it is to seek for vengeance. The only feeling that I have is that. Love, tenderness, affection, all are idle words with me. "There are three who pre-eminently were concerned in my father's death," continued Despard. "One was Cigole.
By-the-way, are you engaged for to- night?" "No; why?" "There is going to be a fete champetre. It is a ridiculous thing for the Holby people to do; but I have to go to play the patroness. Mr. Thornton does not want to go. Would you sacrifice yourself to my necessities, and allow me your escort?" "Would a thirsty man be willing to accept a cooling draught?" said Despard, eagerly.
A happy boyhood passed in the society of this sweet playmate, then a young girl of his own age; a happy boyhood here in Holby, where they had always been inseparable, wandering hand in hand along the shore or over the hills; a happy boyhood where she was the one and only companion whom he knew or cared for this was the sole legacy of his early life.
Great grief and extraordinary suffering and excitement had overtasked the brain, and it had given way. So Despard and Langhetti conjectured. At last they reached Holby. They drove at once to Thornton Grange. "What is this?" cried Mrs. Thornton, who had heard nothing from them, and ran out upon the piazza to meet them as she saw them coming.
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