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Updated: June 27, 2025
Arnot, in her pleasant, cordial voice, which made the simplest thing she said seem real and hearty, rather than conventional, introduced him: "Mr. Haldane, my niece, Miss Laura Romeyn. Laura, no doubt, can do far more than an old lady to make your evenings pass brightly." After a second glance of scrutiny, Haldane was so ungratefully forgetful of all Mrs.
He had been privileged to meet Laura Romeyn as her equal, at least in social estimation, and he might have made himself worthy of her esteem, and possibly of her affection.
"My intentions toward Miss Romeyn are entirely honorable, and there is no occasion for protection." Reassured by her uncle's presence, Laura's nervous apprehension began to give place to something like pity for the youth, who had assumed an attitude befitting high tragedy, and toward whom she felt that she had been a little harsh.
Growther, with the kindest intentions, was too old and decrepit to prove much of a nurse. In his hours of enforced idleness his imagination began to retouch the shadowy image of Laura Romeyn with an ideal beauty. In his pain and weakness her character of watcher in which her self-sacrificing devotion had been so great as to impair her health was peculiarly attractive.
"The time shall come it may not be so very far distant, Miss Romeyn when it will be no condescension on your part to speak to me," said Haldane loftily, ignoring all that related to Mrs. Arnot and his mother, even if he heard it. "I do not feel it to be condescension now," replied Laura, with almost the frank simplicity of a child.
The bark of it is as alarming as its bite an incredibly rapid rat-tat that makes men fall on their faces when they hear, like worshipers at the bell of the Transubstantiation. "She talks three hundred words to the minute," said Romeyn to me. "How are you coming?" I asked. "Great," he answered, "great stuff. Now, if only something happens."
"Ah, Egbert," she cried, joyously, "you have stood the test; for if you had shrunk, even in your thoughts, from poor, penniless Laura Romeyn, with her uncle in yonder prison, you might have tried in vain to win me." "God knows I did not shrink," he said eagerly, and reaching out his hand across the counter. "I know it too," she said shyly.
One of the men, taller by a head than his fellows, had a white rag bound round his head, where a bullet had clipped off a piece of his forehead the week before. His face was set and pale. Sitting on high, in the grim machine, with his bandage worn as a plume, he looked like the presiding spirit of the fracas. "It's worth the trip," muttered Romeyn, grinding away on his crank.
It is the work of Walter de Gray, archbishop from 1216 to 1265, who was buried under an arch of his own building, in a tomb which still remains the most beautiful, perhaps, in the minster. The north transept seems to have been begun as soon as the south was finished; it is said to have been the work of John Romeyn, or the Roman, an Italian, and the treasurer of York.
Like those of the nave and transepts, they are of wood, though of the same shape and design as a stone vault. The great central tower was erected between 1400 and 1423. Hitherto there had been the Early English tower of the elder John Romeyn, supported by Norman piers which, perhaps, had received a partial casing of Early English stonework.
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