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Updated: June 6, 2025
"I'm sure I shall die of fatigue, Maryon," she observed, coming round to his side to inspect the sketch. "Nonsense! I shall allow due intervals for rest and mental refreshment. What do you think of it?" "I look rather attractive" impertinently. "You do. Only I could suggest a substitute for the word 'rather." Her eyes defied him. "Could you? . . . What would it be?"
Belltott, that his sister, the beautiful unmarried young English lady, was Miss Maryon. The novelty was, that her christian-name was Marion too. Marion Maryon. Many a time I have run off those two names in my thoughts, like a bit of verse. Oh many, and many, and many a time! We saw out all the drink that was produced, like good men and true, and then took our leaves, and went down to the beach.
Then, to my astonishment, I saw Mr. Maryon enter. He carried a small night-lamp in his hand. Another glance satisfied me that he was walking in his sleep. He came straight to the round table, and set down the lamp. He seated himself in one of the high-backed chairs, his vacant eyes staring at the chair opposite; then his lips began to move quickly, as if he were addressing some one.
I ask you to regard those fears, and to give her to me, to love and cherish as my wife.” Mr. Maryon covered his face with his hands; and I could hear him murmur, “Too late—too late!” “No, not too late,” I echoed. “What is this Bludyer to you, that you should sacrifice your daughter to a man whose very look proclaims him a villain? Nothing can compel you to such a deed—not even a debt of honor!”
Miss Maryon sat on one side of him, and gave me a moment's look, as full of quiet courage, and pity, and confidence, as if it had been an hour long. On the other side of him was poor little Mrs. Fisher, weeping for her child and her mother.
Tom and he fought their way through another knot of them, and sent them flying, and came over to where I was beginning again to feel, with inexpressible joy, that I had got a sword in my hand. They had hardly come to us, when I heard, above all the other noises, a tremendous cry of women's voices. I also saw Miss Maryon, with quite a new face, suddenly clap her two hands over Mrs. Fisher's eyes.
"Oh, Maryon came over this morning, so I've been sitting to him." "All day? I don't like it too well." The look of displeasure deepened on his face. "People will talk. You know what country folks are like." Nan's eyes flashed. "Let them talk! I'm not going to regulate my conduct according to the villagers' standard of propriety," she replied indignantly.
She knew of one man who had taken no fighting part. Maryon Rooke's health was apparently more delicate than anyone had imagined, and his artistes hands were, so he explained, an asset to the country, not to be risked like hands made of commoner clay.
"Marry who is the blind lass?" "Her name is Maryon, Miss Hylda Maryon: and she has a great fortune. But within a month it is to be." "Thee remembers the woman of the cross-roads, her that our Davy " "Her the Egyptian kissed, and put his watch in her belt ay, Kate Heaver!" "She is now maid to her Lord Eglington will wed. She is to spend to-night with us."
A year afterward I married Agnes Maryon; and, if all that I had seen and heard upon that 3d of February was not merely the invention of a fevered brain, the debt of honor was at last discharged, for I, the nephew of the murdered Geoffrey Ringwood, became the owner of The Mere.
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