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Updated: June 10, 2025
Faulkner, was coming to Oakworthy, to look at an estate, which was for sale in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Lyddell was pleased, and questioned her son about Mr. Faulkner's thousands a-year; then turning to Marian, said, "Surely, Marian, you know him; I heard of your meeting him and Lady Julia at Lady Marchmont's." "Yes," said Marian, with her face of rigidity.
Marchmont's mansion, where, even in her peril, poor Alice Martell could picture Harcourt at Addie's side, and she forgotten. As the imagined scene rose vividly before her, the wild thought passed through her mind: "Since it must be so, perhaps I can find more rest beneath these waters than in my home yonder.
An intense curiosity then and there assailed her; she must know more of the man; she must launch a boat on this unexplored ocean for the Benyons had not navigated it, they only stood gaping on the beach. Here was scope for that unruly spirit of hers which Marchmont's culture and Marchmont's fascination could neither minister to nor assuage.
He uttered a laugh that testified more to the utter weariness of his soul than its bitterness. "Where are you staying?" said Crowther. "At Marchmont's. At least I've got a room there. I haven't any definite plans at present." "Unless you go round the world with me," said Crowther. Piers' eyes travelled upwards sharply. "No, old chap. I didn't mean it. I wouldn't have you if you'd come.
"I left the message, miss," said the coachman, "but they told me that Mr. Harcourt had a sudden business call to New York." Alice sought to draw the man out a little, and it was also her habit to speak kindly to those in her employ; so she said: "I fear, Burtis, you will be a little jealous of Mrs. Marchmont's coachman. If it had not been for him we could not have escaped, I think."
In my dress was a pocket; she fairly turned it inside out; she counted the money in my purse; she opened a little memorandum-book, coolly perused its contents, and took from between the leaves a small plaited lock of Miss Marchmont's gray hair.
Both knew, though neither said so, that it was not so much because it was a display and expense that Marian refused, as because it was the Faulkners' party. If it had been Lady Marchmont's, it would have been very different.
She had just been full dressed, and had come down stairs to wait for Lady Marchmont's carriage, when a step was heard approaching. She thought it was the servant, to announce it; it was the servant, but the announcement was not what she expected. It was "Mr. Arundel," and Edmund stood before her, browner, thinner, older, but still Edmund himself.
Marchmont's apartments were cosey and elegant, the supper was inviting, the ruddy wood-fire and easy chairs suggested luxurious comfort; and why should they not be comfortable, and quietly forget their dismal thoughts about God, and the self-denial of the Cross?
At times her countenance became so pensive, so touchingly sorrowful, that I could not help suspecting she nourished some secret and hidden cause of grief; and once on hinting this opinion to the king, who frequently in our familiar intercourse rallied me on my passion for Theresa, and questioned me as to the progress of my suit, he told me that Miss Marchmont's dejection was generally attributed to her regret, for the loss of Lady Wriothesly, the kind patroness who had first recommended her to his protection, and by whose death, immediately before my return from Holland, she had lost her only surviving friend.
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