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Updated: June 4, 2025
We had no father, Margray, or Effie, or Mary Strathsay, or I. He had brought his wife out from their home in Scotland to St. Anne's in the Provinces, and had died or ever I was born, and I was the last of the weans.
We're right careless." I had hung on tiptoe, accounting it no meanness, and I saw Margray stare. "Well," she murmured, "something may be done yet. 'T will go hard, if by hook or crook Mrs.
Margray was bending over my mother, with the hartshorn in her hands, and I think the Lord forgive her! she allowed her the whole benefit of its battery, for in a minute or two Mrs.
"You're ill-pleased, Effie," said Margray; for our little beauty, finding herself so suddenly the pet, had learned to toss her head in pretty saucy ways. "Not a speck!" Effie answered up. "'Twas high time, I was thinking." Margray laughed, and took her chin 'twixt thumb and finger, and tried to look under the wilful lids that drooped above the blue light in her eyes.
Then, while he still held me so, silent and tender, close-folding, there rose a great murmur through the rooms, and all the people surged up to one end, and Margray burst in upon us, calling him.
He said, I'll tell you what else he said, you're a kind, patient heart, and there's no need for you to fret, he said, as he'd done you such injury, were there even no other consideration, he should deem it his duty to repair it, so far as possible, both by the offer of his hand, and, should it be accepted, by tender faithfulness for life." "Oh, Margray! did Angus say that? Oh, how chanced he to?
"'Cuckoo! cuckoo! sweet voice of Spring, Without you sad the year had been, The vocal heavens your welcome ring, The hedge-rows ope and take you in, Cuckoo! cuckoo! "'Cuckoo! cuckoo! O viewless sprite, Your song enchants the sighing South, It wooes the wild-flower to the light, And curls the smile round my love's mouth, Cuckoo! cuckoo!" "Have done your claver, Mary!" cried Margray.
"Whisht now, child, your turn will come," said Margray, unfolding a little bodice of purple velvet, with its droop of snowy Mechlin. "One must cut the coat according to the cloth. That's for Effie, gayly my heart's beat under you," laying it down and patting it on one side, lovingly. "There, if white's the order of the day, white let it be, and let Mrs.
"No use, child," sighed my mother 'twixt her teeth, and not meaning for me to hear. "So would I, Ailie," said Mary Strathsay, quickly. "There's much in fine fibres and soft shades that gives one the womanly idea. You're the best shape among us all, my light lissomeness, and your gowns shall fit it rarely. Nay, Margray, let Alice have the pink." "Be still, Mary Strathsay!" said my mother.
And my mother beset her, I think she went on her knees to her, she led her a dreadful life," said Margray, shivering; "and the end of it all was, that Mary promised to give up Helmar, would my mother drop the suit of Seavern.
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