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Updated: June 5, 2025
"It wants but five days to Christmas Day," he said. "Come then. You can spare him, ma'am?" to Mrs. Langrishe. "I have had to spare him for less happy things," the mother responded cheerfully. There was no happier old soldier in all his Majesty's dominions than was Sir Denis Drummond on his homeward journey.
His father's Letter to Sir Hercules Langrishe remains an admirable monument of wise statesmanship, a singular interlude of calm and solid reasoning in the midst of a fiery whirlwind of intense passion.
Captain Langrishe could hardly yet be considered out of danger, but he lived; he had been sent down in a litter to the nearest station, where there were appliances and comforts and white people all about him, outside the sights and sounds of war, beyond the danger of recapture by the enemy. Nelly bore the better news well: she had been prepared for it, she said. Seeing her so quiet, Mrs.
Rooke brought out a scrap of blue ribbon cut through and blood-stained. It was in a little case which had been hacked through by knives. It had been sent home to her at the first when there was no hope, when, practically, Godfrey Langrishe was a dead man. "It is not mine, my dear," she said to Nelly, "and I think it must be yours. I did not dare show it to you before." Nelly went pale and red.
I daresay you won't want to cut your visit short?" "You really mean it, Sir Denis?" "Mean it, my lad? I've meant it for a long time. I've watched your career, Langrishe. I know pretty well all about you. You'd never give me credit for half the cunning I've got." The General rubbed his hands softly together and tried to look Machiavellian, failing ludicrously in the attempt.
I take it as uncommonly kind of you to bring 'the boys' past my house. I assure you I quite look forward to it I quite look forward to it." Langrishe stammered something about the regiment delighting to do honour to its old General, growing redder and redder as he did so. His confusion became him in the General's eyes.
She was not going to see Bunny and his mother again, not for a long time at least. Her gaze came back to the window, pausing ever so slightly on its way to glance at a portrait of Langrishe which hung on the wall, a portrait painted in the days when he had been his uncle's heir, by a great painter.
He helped her into the hansom, got in himself and placed her little bag at their feet. The hansom turned up the hill. She waited for him to speak. "Nelly has found out that she made a mistake," he said quietly. "Her heart was not given to me, but to a Captain Langrishe of her father's old regiment.
And, after all, his plotting seemed to have come to naught. He had gone so far as to invite young Langrishe to dinner for a specific occasion, without result. The young man had written to say that he had effected his exchange into the th Madras Light Infantry, and would be so very much occupied up to the time of his departure that he feared dining out was out of the question.
If I kept his danger from you, it was only that I hoped to keep you from suffering like those other poor women." She did not notice the haggardness of his face, nor the repetition of "Poor Langrishe." She was too much absorbed in getting to the root of things. She was determined to know everything. "What happened when you went to Tilbury?" Was this young inquisitor his Nell? "I didn't see him.
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