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Updated: May 20, 2025
Why, cousin Landale, you that knew Cécile de Savenaye so well have you forgotten two babes that were born at your own house of Pulwick? I believe, 'tis true, I have somewhat altered since you saw me last." And again the old room echoed to the unwonted sound of a girl's laughter. Now was the hallucination clearing; but the reality evoked a new and almost as poignant tenderness.
"How?" cried Sir Adrian with a start, while the unwonted flush mounted to his forehead, "you, not welcome at Pulwick! Have they not welcomed a child of Cécile de Savenaye at Pulwick?... Thank God, then, for the accident that has sent you to me!" The girl looked at him with an inquisitive smile in her eyes; there was something on her lips which she restrained.
Life at Pulwick is monotonous. I have roaming blood in my veins: the adventure tempted, amused me, fascinated me and there you have the truth! Of course I could have given the letter to the men and sent them back to you with it it was not because of my promise that I did not do it.
Landale was quite determined to avail himself of his brother's sauvagerie not to let him know anything about us, on his side, but for me we might have remained at and departed from Pulwick unknown to the head of the house! And what a pity that would have been! Now, why did not Mr. Landale wish his brother to know? Or to one of them?
"You know that I love him," she said, with a terrible composure. A sudden whiteness spread round Sir Adrian's lips. "Poor child!" he said again beneath his breath. "Yes, I love him. I always wanted to see him. I was sick and tired of life at Pulwick, and that was why I went on board his ship. I went deliberately because I could not bear the dulness of it all.
"It grieves me to think," mused he after a pause, while René still bursting with ungratified curiosity, hung about the further end of the room, "of the terrible anxiety they must be in about you at Pulwick, and of our absolute inability to convey to them the good news of your safety." The girl gave a little laugh, with her lips over the cup, and shrugged her shoulders but said nothing.
The chain was consequently unbroken from the Elizabethan descendants of the first acquirers of ecclesiastical property at Pulwick, down to the present Light-keeper of Scarthey.
There was a good deal of correspondence going on at the time between Pulwick and Bunratty, if I remember aright, and you heard all about Adrian's divers attempts to land in England, about his fight with the King's men, his crack on the head and final impressment. At least you heard as much as we could gather ourselves. Adrian is not what one would call a garrulous person at the best of times.
Later in the day, as Madeleine bent her pretty ears, dutifully yet with wandering attention, to Molly's gay prognostications concerning Pulwick under her sway; whilst the servants in the hall, pantry and kitchen discussed the great news which, by some incomprehensible agency, spread with torrent-like swiftness through the whole estate; while Miss O'Donoghue was feverishly busy with the correspondence which was to disseminate far and wide the world's knowledge of the happy betrothal, Sir Adrian met his brother walking meditatively along the winding path of the garden, flicking with the loop of his crop the border of evergreens as he went.
Ah, Adrian, friend old hermit in your cell you have never known life, you who have never tasted a moment such as that! Then we started apart: there was a noise below, and she had only time to whisper that she was on her way to Pulwick to some relatives had only heard it that very day when steps came up the stairs, creaking. How could I have thought that baggage like my princess?
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