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Updated: June 19, 2025
Indeed we will part here, unless you have further business in the house and I gather that your errand there is discharged. . . . One question Captain Vyell sent his message by a letter, which Miss Quiney no doubt will show to me. Did he further commission you with a verbal one?
Collins goes on, in his simple confiding way, to state that "one letter is by Abraham Sturley, afterwards an alderman of Stratford . . . " Pursuing the facts, we find that Sturley wrote in Latin to "Richard Quiney, Shakespeare's friend," who, if he could read Sturley's letter, could read Latin. Then YOUNG Richard Quiney, apparently aged eleven, wrote in Latin to his father.
Miss Quiney wishes to communicate to you some news I have had the honour to bring in a letter from Captain Vyell or, as we must now call him, Sir Oliver." "Sir Oliver?" echoed Ruth, not understanding at all.
"The best of women," ran a saying of Batty Langton's, "if you watch 'em, are always practising; even the youngest, as a kitten plays with a leaf." They stood in silence, waiting for the chair to overtake them. "Tatty, you are a heroine!" Miss Quiney, unwinding a shawl from her head under the hall-lamp, released herself from Ruth's embrace. Her nerve had been strained and needed a recoil.
Miss Quiney had used pious words; in Miss Quiney's talk everything even to sitting upright at table was mixed up with God and an all-seeing Eye; and his father with a child's deadly penetration Dicky felt sure of it was careless about God. This, by the way, had often puzzled and even frightened him.
He too wore a suit of blue with scarlet facings, and carried a short sword or hanger at his belt. He stood stiffly, awaiting command. The candle-light showed, beneath his right cheek bone, the cicatrix of a recent wound. But Captain Harry, slewing round to him, was for the moment bereft of speech. His gaze had happened, for the first time, on little Miss Quiney.
She passed between their lines into a vast entrance hall, and there, almost as her foot crossed its threshold, across the marbled floor little Miss Quiney came running a-flutter, inarticulate, with reaching hands. Ruth drew back, almost with a cry. But before she could resist, Tatty's arms were about her and Tatty's lips lifted, pressed against either cheek. She suffered the embrace.
Dicky did not see; but his eagerness jumped this gap in the argument. "Papa," he asked with a sudden flush, "did you ever stand up to a King on the poor people's side, and fight and all that?" "Well, you see" the Collector smiled "I was never called upon. But it's in the blood. Has Miss Quiney ever told you about Oliver Cromwell?" "Yes.
Dicky had slept like a top in spite of the strange bed; and awaking soon after daybreak, had lain cosily listening to the boom of the sea. To him this holiday was a glorious interlude in the regime of Miss Quiney.
This step had coincided with the relegation of Ruth and Miss Quiney to Sabines; but whether by chance or of purpose no one but the Collector could tell. Of his intentions toward the girl he said nothing, even to Batty Langton. Very likely they were not clear to himself.
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