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Updated: June 3, 2025
He infused his own soul into the soul of the author, and brought out his deepest meanings. When he read poetry I sat like one entranced, bound by the double spell of genius and music. Mrs. Linwood could sew; Edith could sew or net, but I could do nothing but listen. I could feel the blood tingling to my finger ends, the veins throbbing in my temples, and the color coming and going in my cheek.
"This is a strange way of showing it," said the doctor, looking round him with a comical expression, "to deprive me of my companion, and leave me as lonely as Simon Stylites on the top of his pillar." Mrs. Linwood and Edith, who had seen our entrance, came forward and congratulated me on my convalescence.
She is an angel of goodness and sweetness, if all they say of her be true. I do not know her very well. She has a brother with whom I am slightly acquainted, and through him I have been introduced into the family. Mrs. Linwood is a noble, excellent woman, I wish you knew her. I wish you knew Edith, I wish you knew them all. They would appreciate you. I am sure they would." "I know them!"
"Give him the flowers, and leave the fruit to me," cried Dr. Harlowe, emphatically. "That the sick, the poor, and the afflicted may be benefited by the act," replied Mrs. Linwood. "Let it be so, Doctor, and may many a blessing which has once been mine, reward your just and generous distribution of the abounding riches of Grandison Place."
Linwood had witnessed the opening of spring at Grandison Place, and her faded spirits revived in the midst of its blooming splendor. She bad preferred its comparative retirement during the past winter, and, in spite of the solicitations of her friends, refused to go to the metropolis.
Every afternoon the carriage was sent to the depot, which was several miles from Grandison Place, to meet the traveller, and again and again it returned empty. "Let us go ourselves," said Mrs. Linwood, beginning to be restless and anxious. And they went she and Edith.
Whenever I went into society, I realized the distinction of being the wife of the rich and exclusive Ernest Linwood, the mistress of the oriental palace, as Mrs. Brahan called our dwelling-place. I always found myself flattered and caressed, and perhaps something was owing to personal attraction.
"Only cherish such feelings, my child," said Mrs. Linwood, warmly embracing me, "and you will be the daughter of my choice, as well as my adoption. My blessing, and the blessing of approving God, will be yours.
Linwood was in the front room, which was quite filled with guests and now illuminated for the night. "Not now," I heard Margaret whisper, drawing back a little; "wait a few moments." "Oh! it will be all over in a second," said he, taking her hand and leading her up to Mrs.
That feeble arm had been his safeguard and his shield; it had intercepted the bolt of death; it had barricaded, as it were, the gates of hell. Mrs. Linwood, who was standing by me, stooped down, kissed the scar, and drew the sleeve gently over it.
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