Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 10, 2025
No, John, there is nothing to be done but to wait, and put our trust in Providence and in time." This was a sermon which Gilbert Fenton had occasion to preach very often in the slow weary days that followed John Saltram's recovery of his right senses. The sick man, tossing to and fro upon the bed he loathed with such an utter loathing, could not refrain from piteous bewailings of his helplessness.
The only thing would have been to carry him massively about, paid, caged, clipped; to turn him on for a particular occasion in a particular channel. Frank Saltram's channel, however, was essentially not calculable, and there was no knowing what disastrous floods might have ensued. In fine there was an instinctive apprehension that a clever young journalist commissioned to report on Mr.
Saltram's chambers, in order to obtain some more particular information as to her employer's movements, and after infinite difficulty succeeded in finding that industrious matron in the remote obscurity of a narrow court near the river. But the laundress could tell Mr. Fenton very little. She did not know whither Mr. Saltram had gone, or when he was likely to return.
If it was acted surprise which appeared upon his countenance at the sound of John Saltram's name, the acting was perfect. Gilbert could discover nothing from that broad stare of blank amazement. "In heaven's name, what can have put such a preposterous notion into your head?" Sir David asked coolly. "I cannot tell you. The conviction has grown upon me, against my own will.
Her reason for this was as distinct as her beauty: it was to make me explain what I had meant, on the occasion of our first meeting, by Mr. Saltram's want of dignity. It wasn't that she couldn't imagine, but she desired it there from my lips. What she really desired of course was to know whether there was worse about him than what she had found out for herself.
He knew that what he had to tell her must needs carry desolation to her heart knew that in the background of John Saltram's life there lurked even a deeper cause of grief for this gentle impressionable little soul. "You will not wonder that Mr. Saltram has not called upon you lately when you know the truth," he said gravely: "he has been very ill." Mrs.
I have every wish to set your mind at ease, believe me, Mrs. Branston, but in John Saltram's present state I am sure it would be ill-advised for you to see him." "Of course I cannot press the question if you say that," Adela answered despondently; "but I should have been so glad if you could have allowed me to see him.
The cruel wound closes at last, though the scar, and the bitter memory of the stroke, may remain for ever. There came a time some years after John Saltram's death when Gilbert Fenton had his reward.
As it was, the matron contented herself by making some rather snappish remarks upon the folly of going out to drive late on a January afternoon, and retired to administer poultices and cataplasms to herself in the solitude of her own apartment soon after dinner, leaving Adela Branston free to ponder upon John Saltram's cruelty.
Like the Kent Mulvilles I belonged to both fraternities, and even better than they I think I had sounded the abyss of Mrs. Saltram's wrongs. She bored me to extinction, and I knew but too well how she had bored her husband; but there were those who stood by her, the most efficient of whom were indeed the handful of poor Saltram's backers.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking