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Updated: June 13, 2025
'If you spend your money as fast as you get it, Jervas, said he, 'no matter how ingenious or industrious you are, you will always be poor. Remember the good proverb that says, Industry is Fortune's right hand, and Frugality her left; a proverb which has been worth ten times more to me than all my little purse contained: so true it is, that those do not always give most who give money."
And then, because I could not bear to see him so pale and still and silent, I covered him with my cloak. I remember the tears wet upon Anthony's haggard face and my uncle George crouched in a chair, clenched fists beneath square chin, staring wide-eyed on vacancy. "Dead!" he exclaimed in an agonised half-whisper. "I mean to say he's dead, d'ye see. Jervas dead seems so impossible!
"But you you shoot reasonably well, of course?" "Very badly! This was why I was so anxious to do my shooting across a table " "But you you O Lord, Perry you are familiar with the weapon practised at the galleries occasionally?" "I have shot once or twice at a target to please my uncle Jervas, but never succeeded in hitting it that I remember." "Oh, damnation!"
"Only the name of one William Jervas," answered the guide; "a poor lad, who ran away from the mines a great long while ago." "Are you sure that he ran away?" said the gentleman. "Yes," answered the guide, "sure and certain I am of that."
"I have furthermore kept him segregated from all that could in any way vitiate or vulgarise; he has had the ablest tutors and been my constant companion, and to-day I am told all this is but his misfortune. Now and therefore. Sir Jervas Vereker, pray explain yourself." "Briefly and with joy, m'dear Julia," answered my uncle Jervas, smiling sleepily into my aunt's fierce black eyes.
I enquired, maintaining my rearward movement. "Dammit no!" answered uncle Jervas. "Word of honour!" cried uncle George. At this I halted and suffered them to approach nearer. "You do not meditate attempting the futility of force?" I demanded. "We do not!" said uncle Jervas. "Word of honour!" cried uncle George.
"Tush, boy!" murmured my uncle Jervas, lounging gracefully against the balustrade of the terrace again, "Tush and fiddle-de-dee! If you have done with these heroics, let us get to our several beds like common-sense beings," and he yawned behind a white and languid hand. His words stung me, I will own; but it was not so much these that wrought me to sudden, cold fury, as that contemptuous yawn.
"Great heaven!" I exclaimed, crumpling the document angrily. "It reads as if I were some pet animal!" "Precisely!" murmured my uncle Jervas. "As you seemed likely to become, nephew. None the less, the document evinces something of your aunt's desire for your return, and it is easy to imagine her gratitude when I shall restore you to her arms "
"I swear it, dear Peregrine. Come, drink " My uncle Jervas helped me carefully to the armchair by the open lattice and thereafter stood looking down at me with a certain bleak austerity of gaze. "And you still refuse to hold any communication with her, Peregrine?" "I do, sir." "Or to afford her the least explanation, notwithstanding her devouring grief and distress?"
Some years ago, a lad of the name of William Jervas, or, as he was called from his lameness, Lame Jervas, whose business it was to tend the horses in one of the Cornwall tin-mines, was missing.
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