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Updated: June 4, 2025
M'Alister told me. My sister lived in Melbourne. Then you can tell me nothing else?" Rhoda hesitated a moment. Miss Merivale's voice had been cold and constrained, but there was a beseeching eagerness in her glance. She unclasped a little locket from her watch-chain and passed it across the table. "That and my little Bible is all I have. It must have been my mother's, I think."
We pass from our joy to our sorrow, as the night passes into the day, it is part and parcel of the mechanism of our daily lives, smiling and sighing, we spin and we weave till the twilight's gray dusk overtakes us then our tired hands are folded together, and the Master takes care of the rest. From Alice Merivale's wedding, I was called to Hortense de Beaumont's bedside.
Merivale's History of the Empire is able and instructive, but dry. Mr. Froude's sketch of Caesar is the most interesting I have read, but advocates imperialism. Niebuhr's Lectures on the History of Rome is also a standard work, as well as Curtius's History of Rome. Marcus Aurelius is immortal, not so much for what he did as for what he was.
She did not trouble to open it, but slipped it into the bosom of her dress and walked dreamily away. "Is it a Rubens, or is it not? That is the question," drawled Frank Parselle, as he dropped his eyeglass. On an easel in Lady Merivale's drawing-room, stood a picture, before which were grouped a small assembly of her friends, including one or two artists and connoisseurs.
"I did not quite understand your letter. You are not going to Devonshire?" "Oh no; I am going on with my work here," Rhoda said hastily. And after a pause she added, impelled by the yearning kindness in Miss Merivale's eyes, "Mr. Price wishes me to stay here. It is not as if I was his own niece, you see. And I am nearly twenty; I am quite able to earn my own living."
She gave him the letter to read, and he returned it to her without a word; but his heart must have relented towards his disobedient daughter at the last, for by a codicil to his will it was provided that at Miss Merivale's death Woodcote was to pass to Lydia, or, in the event of her not surviving her sister, to her daughter Rhoda. But poor Lydia never knew that her father had forgiven her.
"Of course not," said her ladyship mechanically; her mind was working rapidly, so that she hardly heard the rest of Jasper's purring speech; and that gentleman, highly pleased at the pain he had so evidently inflicted, made a parting epigram and left his poison to do its work in Lady Merivale's mind.
"I thought so," she remarked with an incisive smile, looking significantly at her cousin, then changing her tone to one of most provoking haughtiness, she drooped her white lids over a daintily plush satchel she held between her hands and drawled out a languid "How do you like her?" I felt that I was taking in Miss Merivale's tone and words and meaning with a wincing suspicious glance.
"By the way, is there any news of anything?" asked Harker of Harold March. "I see you've got an evening paper; one of those enterprising evening papers that come out in the morning." "The beginning of Lord Merivale's Birmingham speech," replied March, handing him the paper. "It's only a paragraph, but it seems to me rather good."
By Miss Merivale's orders she was shown into the library, a delightful room looking out on the garden at the back of the house. She had ample time to notice what a dear old garden it was, for Miss Merivale kept her waiting quite a quarter of an hour.
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