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Updated: June 19, 2025
"It would go to your uncle," said Mr. Silk. "Now run along to the house and tell Miss Quiney that I have found the pair of you. She was getting anxious." Dicky hesitated. He knew that Ruth had a horror of his tutor. "Yes, run," she commanded, reading his glance. "We follow at once." The boy scrambled up the slope. Mr. Silk looked after him and chuckled.
Harry, Miss Quiney and he. The Captain was talking. . . . A servant brought word that two ladies Mr. Hanmer could not recall their names had called from Boston and desired to see Mrs. Vyell. "Surely," protested Mrs. Harry, "they must mean Lady Vyell?" The servant was positive: Mrs. Captain Vyell had been the name. "They are anxious to pay their respects," suggested Miss Quiney. "Anxious indeed!
"I have never mentioned it to a living soul before," said Miss Quiney, dismissing Manasseh with a wave of the hand and closing the door upon him; "but I had an eldest brother in the Massachusetts militia who, not to put too fine a point on it, was sadly addicted to the bottle. But he went astray.
He cut off King Charles's head. . . . I don't think Miss Quiney liked him for that, though she didn't say so." The Collector was still smiling. "He certainly helped to cut off King Charles's head, and right or wrong it's remembered against him. But he did any amount of great things too.
Philanthropists have won all by giving money, but who save Quiney has reaped immortality by asking for it! The inscription over Shakespeare's grave is an offer of reward if you do, and a threat of punishment if you don't, all in choice doggerel. Why did he not learn at the feet of Sir Thomas Lucy and write his own epitaph? But I rather guess I know why his grave was not marked with his name.
The lights moved to and fro, then they were quenched, and all was dark about him. But he heard Manasseh's voice, some way off, in the darkness, and the sound of it brought him to his bearings. He was in the coach, he remembered; and realising this, he was instantly glad for he was a plucky child that he had not called out to summon Miss Quiney. Had there been an accident?
He had heard a good deal about God from Miss Quiney, his governess; but this playfulness, as an attribute of the Almighty, was new to him and hitherto unsuspected. The beach, with here and there a break, extended for close upon twenty miles, still curving towards the headland; and the travellers covered more than two-thirds of the distance without espying a single living creature.
Josselin sits in an armchair, regarding the pattern of the carpet with a silly air of self-importance; Mrs. Strongtharm in a chair opposite. By the window Miss Quiney, pulling at her knuckles, stares out through the dark panes. A clock strikes. Four o'clock . . . nine hours. . . . Mrs. Strongtharm. More. The pains took her soon after six. . . . When her bell rang I looked at the clock. I remember.
"Have you seen but a bright Lillie grow Before rude hands have touch'd it?" but desisted at the noise and slewed her body half around, letting her fingers rest on the keys. "Who in the world at this hour?" demanded Miss Quiney. A serving-maid ushered in Manasseh.
There was a certain hill upon the way, and he would not have her pass it by daylight. He had returned that morning to Boston; Miss Quiney with him. Ruth's eyes were moist to leave these good folk. Farmer Cordery cleared his throat and blessed her in parting. She blessed them in return.
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