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Updated: June 16, 2025
At the head of the glen, at which they soon arrived, was a beer-shop, screened by some huge elms from the winds that blew over the vast moor, which, except in the direction of Mardale, now extended as far as the eye could reach.
Mardale doubtfully, "to be sure! To be sure!" And though he went into the hall to welcome his visitor, it was not altogether without reluctance. Mr. Gibson Jerkley was a man of about thirty years.
A few minutes after the coach arrived at Mardale, Robbie was toiling along in the darkness over an unfamiliar road. That tiresome old headache was coming back to him, and he lifted a handful of snow now and again to cool his aching forehead. It was a weary, weary tramp, such as only young, strong limbs, and a stout heart could have sustained.
A voice answered quietly: "You had fallen asleep. I regret to have waked you." "I was not asleep, Mr. Mardale." There was a pause and Mr. Mardale continued. "I cannot sleep to-night, I came for a book." "I know. For the book I took back to Leamington to-day, before I went to visit Mrs. Ripley's grave." There was a yet longer pause before Mr. Mardale spoke again.
But Sir Charles had no opportunity at this moment to get any accurate knowledge of the house and its surroundings. For apart from the darkness, it was close upon supper-time and Miss Resilda Mardale must assuredly not be kept waiting.
Mardale to be an old and gentle person, a little touched in the head perhaps, who with money enough to surfeit every instinct of pleasure, had preferred to live a shy secluded life, busily engaged either in the collection of curiosities or the invention of toy-like futile machines.
"Yes." "How did you find out?" "I saw the grave. I noticed the remarkable height of the mound. I guessed." "Yes," said Mr. Mardale, and in a low voice he explained. "I found the book here one day, that he left by accident. On December 11th Mrs. Ripley was buried, and that night he left the house for the stables, yes, but he did not return from the stables.
There is no reason is there? why he and she should be kept apart?" It was not a question which Sir Charles could discuss. He said nothing, and was again left alone in the darkness, listening to the shuffling footsteps of Mr. Mardale as, for the last time, he mounted the stairs. It was in the kitchen of the inn at Framlingham that Mr.
Last night we saw a proof, a crazy proof if you will, but none the less a proof of his devotion to his daughter. To-day you give me as sure a one of his devotion to his dead wife," and almost before he had finished, Mr. Mardale was calling to him from the steps of the house. He spent all that morning in the great drawing-room on the first floor.
He gave the old gentleman no time to speak. "Mr. Mardale," said he, "I am a man of plethoric habits, and must needs take exercise. Can you lend me a horse?" Mr. Mardale was disappointed as his manner showed. He had perhaps at that very moment hit upon a new and most revolutionary invention.
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