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Updated: May 31, 2025
"When does thy leave expire?" "I am coming back," Roxholm answered, "but I shall not long live a soldier's life. 'Tis but part of what I wish to do." "His Grace of Marlborough misses thee, I warrant," said Tom. "'Tis often said he never loved a human thing on earth but John Churchill and his Duchess, but I swear he warmed to thee."
"You," he said to Roxholm one day at St. James, "begin the game with all the cards in your hand." "The game, my lord?" said the youthful Marquess, bowing. "You need not plan and strive for rank and fortune. You were born to them to those things which will aid a man to gain what he desires, if he is not a flippant idler and has brain enough to create ambitions for him.
"The little Roxholm," she said. "Yes, his mother was the beauty who " 'Twas as if she checked her speech. She made a quick, imperious movement with her head, and added: "He is all rumour said of him;" and she turned away with such abruptness that the child asked himself how he had vexed her, and wondered also at her manners, he being used only to grace and courtesy.
My Lord Dunstanwolde walked by the hurdle side, and as he did so, watching the boy closely, he was touched to see that though his beautiful young face was white as death and he lay with closed eyes, he uttered no sound and his lips wore a brave smile. "Is your pain great, Roxholm?" my Lord asked with tender sympathy. Roxholm opened his eyes and, still smiling, blushed faintly.
"Are you mad?" said Roxholm, sternly, "or only in some hysteric fury? Would you have your brains dashed out?" She flung out her arms, tearing at the earth still and grinding her teeth. "Yes dashed out!" she cried; "all likeness beaten from my face that none might know it again. For that I threw myself before you."
There was a subject of which these two talked often, and with great interest, it being one for which Roxholm had always felt a love, since the days when he had walked through the picture gallery with his nurse, looking up with childish delight at the ladies and gentlemen in the family portraits, asking to be told stories of their doings, and requiring that it be explained to him why they wore costumes which seemed strange to him.
But 'twas Nature crying out in me that I was a woman and could be naught else." Her love and tenderness for her sister, Mistress Anne, increased, it seemed, hour by hour. "At Camylott, at Marlowell, at Roxholm, at Paulyn, and at Mertoun," she had said when she was married, "we must have an apartment which is Anne's.
Most men must spend their youth in building the bridge which is to carry their dreams across to the shore which is their goal. Your bridge was built before you were born. You left Oxford with high honours, they tell me; you are not long of age, you come of a heroic race what do you think to do, my lord?" Roxholm met his scrutinizing gaze with that steadiness which ever marked his own.
He had remembered tenderly the stately beauty of his beloved Camylott, the bosky dells at Marlowell Dane, the quaint dignity of the Elizabethan manor at Paulyn Dorlocke, the soft hills near Mertounhurst, where myriads of harebells grew and swayed in the summer breeze as it swept them; and the clear lake in the park at Roxholm, where the deer came to drink, and as a boy he had lain in his boat and rocked among the lily-pads in the early morning, when the great white water-flowers spread their wax cups broad and seemed to hold the gold of the sun.
There was that about her that made Roxholm feel that she must exhale in breath and hair and garments the scent of gorse and heather and fern and summer rains. As one man gazed at her so did the others, though they were his elders and saw her often, while he was but twenty-eight and had beheld her but once before.
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