Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 7, 2025
The house where the martyrologist John Fox first saw the light was replaced long ago by a famous old inn, pulled down in its turn; but the many and many Americans who visit Boston may still visit the house where Jean Ingelow was born. Whether they may see more than the outside of it I do not know from experiment or even inquiry.
Hugh Ingelow turned back to the window, his brows knit, his lips compressed, his eyes glowing with a deep, intense fire thinking. So he stood while the low, yellow gleams died out of the western sky, and the crystal stars swung in the azure arch thinking, thinking! That same brilliant sunburst that transfigured the artist's studio in Broadway blazed into the boudoir of Mrs.
"Did Mollie leave no word where she was going?" "There was no need; they knew. This was the way of it: a ragged urchin came for her in hot haste, told her Miriam was dying, and desired her presence at once, to reveal some secret of vital importance. Miss Dane departed at once. Mr. Ingelow chanced to be at the house, and he accompanied her. Neither of them has returned."
I am no daughter of yours for which I humbly thank God! no daughter of Mary Dane. I am Miriam's child; yours died in the work-house in its babyhood. I know my own story I know your hand is red with my father's blood. I don't forgive you, Mr. Walraven, but neither do I accuse you. I simply never will see you again. Mr. Ingelow will hand you this. He and I alone know the story. Mr.
With his countless millions and his ancestral castles, what does a little disparity of years signify?" "Miss Dane," asked Mr. Ingelow, very earnestly, "would you accept that old man if he asked you?" "My dear Mr. Ingelow, what a dreadfully point-blank question! So very embarrassing! I thought you knew better!" "I beg your pardon. But, Miss Dane, as a sincere friend, may I ask an answer?"
Browning, and Jean Ingelow were able to express in words such beautiful thoughts as could arise only from beautiful souls; but it is dearer yet to remember that women, whose numbers cannot be counted, are living those thoughts by daily acts.
A gentleman sat on her other hand a handsome young artist Mr. Hugh Ingelow, and he listened with an attentive face, while she held her own with the sarcastic Blanche, and rather got the best of the battle. "The little beauty is no dunce," thought Mr. Hugh Ingelow. "Miss Blanche has found a foe worthy of her best steel." And coming to this conclusion, Mr.
Ingelow took them down, and tenderly wrapped the long mantle about the slender, girlish figure. "Are you sure you will be warm enough, Mollie? I beg your pardon Miss Dane." "Ah, call me Mollie!" the eloquent glance once more. "How good you are to me, Mr. Ingelow!" Hugh Ingelow winced as if she had stabbed him. "I'm a wretch a brute a heartless monster!
Miss Dane danced no more that evening, and Sir Roger never left her side. She talked to him until his old eyes sparkled; she smiled upon him until his brain swam with delight. And that was but the beginning. The torments Mr. Hugh Ingelow suffered for the ensuing two weeks words are too weak to describe. To cap the climax, Dr.
Mollie hesitated. "What?" he said, in surprise. "Don't you want to go home?" "Very much, Mr. Ingelow. It isn't that." "Well, what is it, then?" "Mr. Ingelow, you'll think me very silly, I dare say; but I don't want to go up there in a matter-of-fact sort of way at day-break to-morrow morning, in this double buggy, with you and Mrs. Sharpe.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking