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Updated: June 19, 2025
But, of course, he must have seen them. He had left Kate with the intention of doing so, within this very hour; and how should he be coming up-stairs, unless from the execution of that purpose? His mind was busy with many projects. It would probably be thought that Mr. and Mrs. Pennroyal had left the country to escape creditors.
One cool, clear, gray afternoon Sir Archibald had his horse saddled, and mounting him, rode out upon his estate. In the course of an hour or so he found himself approaching the pond, which, as has been already stated, lay on the border-line between Malmaison and the lands of Richard Pennroyal. As he drew near the spot, he saw at a distance the figure of a woman, also on horseback. It was Kate Mrs.
Rollinson because the latter told him plainly that the bottle would be his coffin; and a few days later he did quarrel, and very violently too, with the Honorable Richard Pennroyal. This gentleman, it seems, had ridden over to Malmaison and stayed to dinner; and at dessert the conversation got round to the present melancholy condition of local affairs.
"Do not go yet! Let us talk a little, since we are met." "What has Sir Archibald Malmaison to say to me?" "You called me 'Archibald' just now." "You called me 'Mrs. Richard Pennroyal'!" "Well and so you are!" said he, between his teeth. "Do you think of me by that name?" she asked, turning her brown eyes on him for a moment, and then looking away. "Kate!"
Pennroyal. She was riding slowly in a direction nearly opposite to his own, so that if they kept on they would meet on the borders of the pond. Sir Archibald had not met this lady for many months; and when he recognized her, his first impulse was perhaps to draw rein. Then he looked to see whether that were her impulse likewise.
It was true that there had been no love lost of late between the houses of Malmaison and Pennroyal, but that was neither here nor there. The notion that the vanished persons had met with foul play was never seriously entertained, it being generally agreed that Mr. Pennroyal had ample reasons for not wishing to remain in a place where his credit and his welcome were alike worn out.
"No, she has not!" returned the baronet, getting angrier than ever. "She belongs to my Archibald; and if any scoundrel " "Really, you are intolerable, Sir Clarence," interrupted Pennroyal, still smiling, but not a pleasant smile.
Pennroyal has one claim upon our notice, and only one; seven years after her marriage, at the age of forty-two, she completely lost her memory, and became rather idiotic, and a few years later contrived to fall into an ornamental fish-pond, and drowned there before her attendants missed her. She was buried with much stateliness; but it is to be feared that few persons missed her even then.
Was it mocking him for fearing to come? Fearing? He was not afraid. He was a Pennroyal; he had noble blood in his veins; though he was now a bit old and shaky, and had, perhaps, been taking a little too much brandy of late. But afraid! not he. Why, he would follow the thing, if it came to that; follow it to....
"Everything's going to the dogs!" cried poor Sir Clarence, with an oath; "and no gentleman, by , ought to condescend to exist!" "Come, Malmaison," said Pennroyal, smiling and cracking filberts, "you're going too far. Things are not so bad. And there are compensations!" "Compensations? What compensations? What the devil do you mean?" "Ha, ha! Well, for instance, about the poor Colonel.
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