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Updated: June 24, 2025
O God!" she sobbed, and flung from her the loathed hand she was fondling, "it's no use!" "No," said Lord Rokesle, rather sadly. "I am not Samson, nor are you Delilah to cajole me. It's of no use, Anastasia. I would have preferred that you came to me voluntarily, but since you cannot, I mean to take you unwilling.
"'Twere only kindness to warn Mr. Punshon there may be some disturbance shortly. A lamentation or so." At this Lord Rokesle clapped him upon the shoulder and heartily laughed. "That's the old Simon always on the alert. Whatever noises you may hear, you will pay no attention. Now go." He went toward Lady Allonby and took her hand. "Come, Anastasia!" said he. "Hold, she has really swooned!
As you very justly observe, country life invariably coarsens a man's tastes; and accordingly, as you may now recall, I actually declined a game of ecarte with you in order to indulge in these little forgeries. Decidedly, my dear, you must train your husband's imagination for superior flights when you are Lady Rokesle." She was staring at him as though he had been a portent. "I am alone," she said.
And besides, Rokesle can twist his sister about his little finger, as the phrase runs. And I find sentinels at the door! I don't like it, Anastasia. In his way Rokesle loves you; more than that, you are an ideal match to retrieve his battered fortunes; and the name of my worthy patron, I regret to say, is not likely ever to embellish the Calendar of Saints." Simon Orts paused with a short laugh.
And after a meaning glance toward Lady Allonby, a glance that said: "I, too, have a tongue," he was mounting the stairway to the upper corridor when Lord Rokesle called to him. "By my conscience! I forgot," said Lord Rokesle; "don't leave Stornoway without seeing me again, I shall want you by and by."
"Your honor's most devoted," she declared herself; "still, you need not boast of your affection as if falling in love with me were an uncommonly difficult achievement. That, too, is scarcely polite." "For the tenth time I ask you will you marry me?" said Lord Rokesle. "Is't only the tenth time? Dear me, it seems like the thousandth. Of course, I couldn't think of it.
Heavens, my Lord, how can you expect me to marry a man who glares at me like that? Positively you look as ferocious as the blackamoor in the tragedy, the fellow who smothered his wife because she misplaced a handkerchief, you remember." Lord Rokesle had risen, and he paced the hall, as if fighting down resentment.
"You have tricked me neatly," Lord Rokesle conceded, and his tone did not lack honest admiration. "By gad, I have even given them orders to pass you after you have murdered me! Exceedingly clever, Simon, but one thing you overlooked. You are very far from my match at fencing. So I shall presently kill you. And afterward, ceremony or no ceremony, the woman's mine."
Rokesle laughed, genially, for the notion amused him. "Wine is a mocker, Simon. But come, despatch, Parson Tosspot, and let's have no more of these lofty sentiments." "I cannot do it. I O my Lord, my Lord! You wouldn't kill an unarmed man!" Simon Orts whined, with a sudden alteration of tone; for Lord Rokesle had composedly drawn his sword, and its point was now not far from the Vicar's breast.
"So I am to thank you for blowing my trumpet, am I?" said Lord Rokesle. "Well, you are not a bad fellow, Simon, so long as you are sober. And now be off with you to Holles the rascal is dying, they tell me. My luck, Simon! He made up a cravat better than any one in the kingdom."
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