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Updated: May 31, 2025
"And one day a girl who hated me laughed outright as I passed though I strove to bear myself so straightly and I heard her mock me. 'Pride cometh first, she said, 'and then the fall. She hath fallen far." She looked so young and piteous that Roxholm felt a mist pass before his eyes. "Poor child!" he said; "poor child!" "I was proud," she cried. "It was my sin.
'Twas only Roxholm who was not overcome, the story not seeming so comical to him as to the others, and yet there were points at which he himself could not help but laugh. "'Damn thy fat head," shrieked Tom Tantillion, "'If that is thy way to convert women, this is mine to convert men. Oh, Lord! I think I see the parson!"
"I spoke to you of marriage once before," he remarked. "You bring it back to me. Do you care for women?" bluntly. Roxholm met his eye with his own straight, cool gaze. "Yes, my Lord," he answered with some grimness, and said no more. "The one you wait for has not yet come to Court, as I said that day," his Grace went on, and now he was grave again, and had even fallen into a speculative tone.
Wilford does it and he is but a Viscount, and for all his straight nose and fine eyes but five feet ten. Good Lord! he looks down on us who did not pass well at the University, like a cock on a dunghill." The Marquess laughed out heartily, having in his mind a lively picture of my Lord Wilford, whose magnificence of bearing he knew well. "Art coming back, Roxholm?" asked Tom next.
"Such a day brings back to a man the gloomiest things he knows," said Lord Dunstanwolde after a few moments' silent gazing upon the scene. "I no sooner paused here to look forth at the greyness than there came back to me a hard tale I heard before I left Gloucestershire. 'Twas another tale of Wildairs, Gerald." "Of Sir Jeoffry?" said Roxholm, with interest.
He was a sad-faced gentleman with delicately cut features, and eyes which looked as if they had beheld sorrow, there being deep lines about them, and also about his mouth. This nobleman had for Roxholm a great attraction his voice, his bearing, and his gentle gravity all seemed to convey a thing which reached the boy's heart.
The man looked at him slyly. "'Twould pay me to keep it hid here and exhibit it for a fee," he said. "The gentlemen who were here yesterday will tell others, and they will come and ask to look at it, and then " "Show it to us, sir," said Roxholm, breaking in suddenly in his deeper voice and taking a step forward.
But a few months after their Graces' visit to the Cow at Wickben, young John, who was heir and Marquess of Roxholm, had been born; following each other his two brothers, and later the child Daphne and her sister Anne; last, the little Lord Cuthbert, who was told as he grew older that he was to be the hero of his house in memory of Cuthbert de Mertoun, who had lived centuries ago; and in the five villages 'twas sworn that each son her Grace bore her husband was a finer creature than the last, and that her girl children outbloomed their brothers all.
But here the fragile "Willow Wand" shrieked and fell into her first fit, not having strength to support herself under the prospect of hearing the story again with further and more special detail. "I hear too much of her," Roxholm said to himself at last. "She is in the air a man breathes, and seems to get into his veins and fly to his brain."
And forthwith Roxholm must sit down and hear the letter read and listen to their comments thereupon, and their shouts of boyish laughter.
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