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Updated: May 15, 2025
And all that day he went about his business quite happily, her letter in his pocket; and that night, taking a new pen and pen holder, he laid out his very best letter-paper, and began the first letter he had ever written to Eileen Erroll. "DEAR EILEEN: I have your charming little note from Silverside reminding me that I had promised to write you. But I needed no reminder; you know that.
Thinking of these things now, he leaned heavily forward, elbows on the little table. And, suddenly unbidden, before his haunted eyes rose the white portico of Silverside, and the greensward glimmered, drenched in sunshine, and a slim figure in white stood there, arms bare, tennis-bat swinging in one tanned little hand.
Once I told you that you had been with me while you supposed yourself to be at Silverside. Do you remember?
And, without waiting for anything more, Elizabeth turned and ran up the street as fast as she dared in the comparative darkness. Streets were very rough in those days, and lanterns would not light far. Old Mistress Silverside lived in Tenant's Lane, which was further off than the mill.
Or have I lost a friend? Will you forgive my foolish boast? Can you still keep me first in your heart as you are in mine? And pardon in me all that I am not? Can you do these things because I ask you?" "Yes," he said. Gerald came to Silverside two or three times during the early summer, arriving usually on Friday and remaining until the following Monday morning.
So the boil of silverside and dumplings was discussed to the accompaniment of a casual conversation which was chiefly carried on by the Agent's sister. At length the two men found themselves alone, and their understanding of each other was exampled by the prompt inquiry of Parker. "Well?" he questioned. Seth settled himself in his chair and, from force of habit, spread his hands out to the fire.
"Have him away!" cried Sir John Kingston. "What need to question further so obstinate a man?" So they had him away not being able to answer him and Agnes Silverside was called in his stead. She was very calm, but as determined as Purcas. "Come hither, Mistress!" said Boswell, roughly.
And he read over the list. "Elizabeth Wood, Christian Hare, Rose Fletcher, Joan Kent, Agnes Stanley, Margaret Simson, Robert Purcas, Agnes Silverside, John Johnson, Elizabeth Foulkes." "Got 'em all save that last," said Wastborowe, "Who is she? I know not the name. By the same token, what didst with the babe? There were three of Johnson's children, and one in arms."
Selwyn had gone to New York with Gerald, "for a few days," as he expressed it; but it was now the first week in October, and he had not yet returned to Silverside.
The house and garden at Silverside seemed to be logical parts of a landscape, which included uplands, headlands, sky, and water a silvery harmonious ensemble, where the artificial portion was neither officiously intrusive nor, on the other hand, meagre and insignificant.
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