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Updated: June 7, 2025
It was beyond Merthyr's power of self-control to consent to be taken into a consultation on this matter, and he attempted to put it aside. "He may or he may not probably to-morrow." "No; to-day, in the afternoon," said Emilia, "be near me." "I have engagements." "Some word, say, that will seem to be you with me." "Some flattery, or you won't remember it." "Yes, I like flattery."
"I earnestly trust that this is a romantic folly of Merthyr's, and no more," thought Georgiana, who would have had that view concerning his love for Italy likewise, if recollection of her own share of adventure there had not softly interposed. Tracy, Georgiana, Merthyr, and Emilia were in the carriage, well muffled up, with one window open to the white mist.
Suddenly the fingers in his grasp twisted, and not being at once released, she turned round to him. "For God's sake, spare the girl!" Emilia stood in the doorway. A knock at Merthyr's chamber called him out while he sat writing to Marini on the national business. He heard Georgiana's voice begging him to come to her quickly. When he saw her face the stain of tears was there.
He thought of questioning Robert, the coachman, whether anyone had visited the carriage during his five minutes' absence from it: but Merthyr's peculiar Welsh delicacy kept him from doing that, hard as it was to remain in doubt and endure the little poisoned shafts of a suspicion. In the morning there was a letter from Marini on the breakfast-table. Merthyr glanced down the contents.
Laura did not directly speak of it, but shadowed it in allusive hints, much as if she had in her mind the image of an iron roller going over a field of flowers hateful, imminent, irresistible. She felt as a leaf that has been flying before the gale. Merthyr's wound was severe: Vittoria could not leave him.
She was praying before she knew what prayer was. A crucifix hung over Merthyr's head. She had looked on it many times, and looked on it still, without seeing more than the old sorrow. In the night it was dim. She found herself trying to read the features of the thorn-crowned Head in the solitary night. She and it were alone with a life that was faint above the engulphing darkness.
In Merthyr's present view, the idea of Wilfrid being in ranks opposed to him was so little provocative of intense dissatisfaction, that it was out of his power to believe that Emilia craved to see him simply to dissuade the man from the obnoxious step. "Ah, well! See him; see him, if you must," he said. "Arrange it with my sister."
She shrank with pathetic horror from the thought of Merthyr's rising from his couch to find her a married woman, and desired most earnestly that her marriage should be witnessed by him. Young women will know how to reconcile the opposition of the sentiment.
Laura did not directly speak of it, but shadowed it in allusive hints, much as if she had in her mind the image of an iron roller going over a field of flowers hateful, imminent, irresistible. She felt as a leaf that has been flying before the gale. Merthyr's wound was severe: Vittoria could not leave him.
Arabella spoke of Emilia likewise, but with a shade of the foregone tone of patronage. "She will always be our dear little sister." Adela continued silent, as with ears awake for the opening of a door. Was it in ever-thwarted anticipation of the coming of Sir Twickenham? Merthyr's inquiry after Wilfrid produced a momentary hesitation on Cornelia's Part "He has gone to Verona.
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