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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Osborn," said Marie, looking up at him, "we we're going to have a baby." "The deuce we are!" Osborn exclaimed abruptly, and he sat back and looked down at her sparkling face incredulously. "You're glad?" she asked. Osborn pulled himself sharply together. He said to Rokeby afterwards: "I believe it's the biggest shock of a chap's life. Awful good news and all that, of course."
The Bridal of Triermain was published in 1813, not long after Rokeby, and, like that poem, drew its scenery from the North of England; but in circumstances, scale, and other ways it forms a pair with Harold the Dauntless, and they had best be noticed together. The Lord of the Isles, the last of the great quintet, appeared in December 1814.
"Is it?" said Rokeby, with a very charming smile which but few women knew. She hurried on: "Yes, it is. You see, I didn't want you to come in and spoil it all, prevent Marie from asking her husband for the perambulator." "You were awf'ly thoughtful, and I'm sure I didn't want to chip in at the wrong moment; but, I say, would it have mattered so much?
"Marmion" seeks to combine the chivalrous romance with the metrical chronicle. "The Lady of the Lake" is a kind of romantic pastoral, and "Rokeby" is a Waverley novel in verse.
Her handsome face was grim beneath her veil and her eyes snapped. As she pulled up short and stood in Rokeby's path, she expressed to him the idea of a very determined obstacle. "How nice to meet you!" he cried goodhumouredly. "I'm glad I've met you," she replied. Rokeby surveyed her quizzically. "What an admission," he said, "from an arch-enemy! You are the enemy of us all, aren't you?
She was much pleased at being helped to do what she felt to be right and kind, though hitherto she had hardly known how to set about it, and had been puzzled and perplexed by Rachel's disapproval, and semi-contempt of "scratching the surface" by the commonplace Sunday-school system. "What could presumptuous hope inspire." Rokeby.
Then they became rather like the eyes of Marie looking at her wedding gown. Osborn took Marie's head between his hands, and kissed her eyes and mouth. "That's for good night," he whispered; "Rokeby and I are going home. You are the sweetest thing, and I shall dream of you all night. Promise to dream of me." "It's a certainty." "It is?" said the young man rapturously. "I am simply too happy, then."
If a girl's got to choose one or the other, she'd better drive." "That's awf'ly sound," said Rokeby. They neared a taxicab rank, and the first driver watched their approach with inquiring signal. "Cab!" Rokeby sang out, and the man started his engine. "Where are we going?" Julia asked. "Where you like," Desmond answered, "only let's start there."
A night-light gave enough glimmer to see the warm faces lying peacefully on the three pillows. The women crept in and looked down upon a scene which will always make women's hearts sing, or ache; and Rokeby followed.
You two you've just been everything to me this year, after the children. You don't know how lonely you're making me feel." "But soon Osborn " "Osborn's coming home next week." "Oh, great!" Rokeby cried; and Mrs. Rokeby added: "I am glad. Now you won't be lonely any more." "I don't know," Marie said quietly. She took Julia's bare left hand from her muff and looked at the rings and stroked it.
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