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Updated: May 19, 2025
Souls, as well as bodies, are subject to malignant diseases, and to-night envy and jealousy were causing James Blackie more acute suffering than any attack of fever or contagion. A feeling of dislike towards young Donald McFarlane had taken possession of his heart; he lay awake to make a mental picture of the youth, and then he hated the picture he had made.
"May I come in?" she demanded, rather than asked, before her mother could protest. "I must see you." Wayland opened the door, and she entered, leaving her parents facing each other in mute helplessness. Mrs. McFarlane turned toward her husband with a face of despair. "She's ours no longer, Joe. Our time of bereavement has come." He took her in his arms. "There, there, mother. Don't cry.
Belden, the fourth member of the party, a middle-aged, rather flabby person, just being eased down from her horse, turned on Berrie with a battery of questions. "Good Lord! Berrie McFarlane, what are you doing over in this forsaken hole? Where's your dad? And where is Tony? If Cliff had known you was over here he'd have come, too." Berrie retained her self-possession.
McFarlane could not hope that her daughter would be spared especially by the Beldens, who would naturally feel that Clifford had been cheated. She sighed deeply. "Well, nothing can be done till Joe returns," she repeated. A long day's rest, a second night's sleep, set Wayland on his feet. He came to breakfast quite gay.
McFarlane had left his hat, and to the best of her belief his stick, in the hall. She had been awakened by the alarm of fire. Her poor, dear master had certainly been murdered. Had he any enemies? Well, every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himself very much to himself, and only met people in the way of business.
But if you keep him here in England and feed him badly and neglect my directions, I can't answer for his getting through another winter....Don't disturb yourself, I beg of you; don't, pray, give way to tears; there is really no occasion for it, my dear madam, no occasion for it at all, if you'll only do as I tell you....Quite right, thank you. Good morning. Next case, McFarlane. Good morning.
LATER. It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John Hector McFarlane has actually been arrested on the charge of the murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. It is at least certain that a warrant has been issued. There have been further and sinister developments in the investigation at Norwood.
Springing to him she cried, "O Preston, get my little book from Mr. McFarlane he won't give it to me." There began then a race of the most uproarious sort between the two young men springing, turning, darting round among the trees and bushes, shouting to and laughing at each other.
To Melbourne the Captain drove as fast as his horse's state of mind would permit. The drawing room was blazing with lights as usual, and full of talkers. "Hollo!" cried Gary McFarlane, as the Captain entered, "here he is. We had given you up for a fossil, Drummond and no idea of your turning up again for another thousand years.
She said you were not very well." Again Wayland protested that he was not a consumptive, only a student who needed mountain air; but he added: "It is very kind of Miss McFarlane to think of me." "Oh, she thinks of everybody," the young fellow declared. "She's one of the most unselfish creatures in the world."
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