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Updated: June 7, 2025
"I have only met Major Vickers at Government House," said Meekin. "I haven't yet had the pleasure of seeing his daughter." "A sad thing," said Mrs. Jellicoe. "Quite a romance, if it was not so sad, you know. His wife, poor Mrs. Vickers." "Indeed! What of her?" asked Meekin, bestowing a condescending bow on a passer-by. "Is she an invalid?" "She is dead, poor soul," returned jolly Mrs.
The bells were not set to ring as usual on Sunday morning; the ringers were thoughtful enough to refuse to ring; but Stephen was resolved to have a peal, and he and Meekin and the big boy who worked about the place, and one other whom they contrived to muster, had one peal on the Sunday, and several others on the Monday.
Meekin was accustomed to soften one indecent prohibition, lest its uncompromising plainness of speech might offend the delicate sensibilities of his female souls! He turned from the dangerous theme without an instant's pause, for wonder at the strange power accorded to Hobart Town "free" wives. "You have been reading?" "'Paul et Virginie'. I have read it before in English."
"His account of his adventures after he left Macquarie Harbour. I am going to send it to the Bishop." "Oh, I should like to see it," said Sylvia, with heightened colour. "The story of these unhappy men has a personal interest for me." "A forbidden subject, Poppet." "No, papa, not altogether forbidden; for it does not affect me now as it used to do. You must let me read it, Mr. Meekin."
Meekin, dabbing his nose with a dainty handkerchief. "A 'bolter' that's what we call an escaped prisoner, Mr. Meekin happened to be left behind, and he found them out, and insisted on sharing the provisions the wretch! Captain Frere was obliged to watch him constantly for fear he should murder them. Even in the boat he tried to run them out to sea and escape.
For as he fired and I fell, a woman sprang out of the bushes at his side, and a knife flashed, and then he too fell with a cry that was something between a groan and a scream and I saw that his assailant was the Irishwoman Nance Maguire, and I knew at once who it was that had killed Hollins. But she had not killed Meekin.
"The wretched creature was a Protestant," thought Meekin. "At least then his immortal soul was not endangered by belief in the damnable heresies of the Church of Rome."
"My dear Maurice," says Sylvia, going to the piano, as if in protest to the turn the conversation was taking, "how can you talk like that?" "I should much like to see it," said Meekin, still nibbling, "for Sir John was saying something about a chaplaincy there, and I understand that the climate is quite endurable."
Bowes, papa, though he is as blind as a beetle, and makes you so angry by bottling up his trumps as you call it." "My dear Sylvia," said Vickers, seriously, "Mr. Meekin is a clergyman, you know." "Oh, I know," said Sylvia, "but then, a clergyman can talk like a man, can't he? Why do they send such people here? I am sure they could do much better at home.
This he thought to do by writing to Blick, but when informed by Meekin of the fate of his letter, he adopted the to him less pleasant alternative of procuring it through Sarah Purfoy.
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