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Updated: May 20, 2025
Curtis turned livid, and his heart sank. "It's true, Curtis," said John Linden's hollow voice. "I have heard all. It was you who abducted my boy, and have made my life a lonely one all these years. Oh, man! man! how could you have the heart to do it?" Curtis stared at him with parched lips, unable to speak. "Not content with this, you drove from the house my dear niece, Florence.
He turned back and set off in the direction of Linden's house: although he was but a few yards from his own home, he decided not to go in because his wife would be sure to try to persuade him not to go out again. As he hurried along he presently noticed a small dark object on the doorstep of an untenanted house. He stopped to examine it more closely and perceived that it was a small black kitten.
With something of impatience, mingled with pleasure, the painter listened to all these details; nor was it to Linden's zeal nor to Talbot's generosity, but rather to the excess of his own merit, that he secretly attributed the brightening prospect offered him.
Yet he could moderate his voice so as to express tenderness and sympathy. He was the son of an elder sister of Mr. Linden, while Florence was the daughter of a younger brother. Both were orphans, and both formed a part of Mr. Linden's household, and owed everything to his bounty.
As she neared the altar of this grand cathedral, she noticed a little girl eight years of age, clad in black, who was kneeling there and praying fervently. Her eyes were riveted on her hands, tightly clasped before her, so she noticed nothing of Mrs. Linden's presence. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and her face had a look of sorrow and reverence. Mrs. Linden was at once moved to pity.
That girl loaded me with all sorts of things when she was gone, I couldn't get away. She held me with her blessed eye. I believe it was a glass one. 'Miss Linden's? or the glove girl's? 'The glove girl's. She sent me home a whole cartload of green ties, and declared I'd ordered them. I shall never forget that day. I've never been up the Arcade since, and never mean to.
Owen entered; the old man closed the door and led the way into the kitchen. At one side of the fire, Linden's wife, a frail-looking old lady with white hair, was seated in a large armchair, knitting. Linden sat down in a similar chair on the other side. The two grandchildren, a boy and girl about seven and eight years, respectively, were still seated at the table.
So he just wandered about the streets aimlessly, now and then meeting an old workmate who asked him to have a drink, but this was not often, for nearly all of them were out of work and penniless. The Soldier's Children During most of this time, Jack Linden's daughter-in-law had 'Plenty of Work', making blouses and pinafores for Sweater & Co.
So the next morning, after Curtis had, according to his custom, gone downtown, being in the invalid's sick chamber, she began to act in a mysterious manner. She tiptoed to the door, closed it and approached Mr. Linden's bedside with the air of one about to unfold a strange story. "Whist now," she said, with her finger on her lips. "What is the matter?" asked the invalid, rather alarmed.
Oh, I have it! they are the executors of a will under which young Linden's pretty bride, that is to be, inherits her fortune." "Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Flint, as he put down the paper, and looked me gravely in the face "I remember now; their names are in the list of bankrupts. A failure in the gambling corn-trade too. I hope they have not been speculating with the young woman's money."
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