United States or Italy ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
How is the delight of all hearts?" "Still the Lord of Scotland," answered he; "the invincible dictator of her enemies! The puissant Edward has acknowledged the power of Sir William Wallace, and after being beaten on the plain of Stanmore, is now making the best of his way toward his own capital." Lady Mar again and again pressed the cold letter of Wallace to her burning bosom.
Certainly, sir; and you may depend on their being sent home in time. At your convenience, Mr. Stanmore. No hurry, sir. You can write me your cheque for the amount. Perhaps I'd better draw out a little memorandum. We shall make a mere nominal charge for cleaning."
With a rifle in his hand, a general knowledge of the surrounding forest, and a couple of gillies, give him the wind of a royal stag feeding amongst his hinds, and despite the feminine jealousy and instinctive vigilance of the latter, an hour's stalk would put the lord of the hills at the mercy of Dick Stanmore.
He accounted for it on the very natural supposition that she had met Dick Stanmore at the door, and pressed him into her service to act as convoy in some shopping expedition, before she sat down to her daily duty as a model for the Fairy Queen, now completed, all but a few folds of drapery, and a turn of the white hand.
To use her own expression, she was "horrified." She expected Dick Stanmore, and with a girlish playfulness sufficiently denoting the terms on which they stood, had been lying in wait at the top of the stairs, preparing to take a good shot, and drop the wreath, one of Simon's faded properties, on that head which she now loved better than all the world besides.
He took two small pieces of lint and rolled them up, poured a few drops of carbolic acid on to them, placed one in each orifice, put pads of lint over them, and passed a bandage twice round the body to keep them in place. "Thank you, Wilson, that will do for the present. Please pour a little strong brandy and water down his throat, Mrs. Stanmore. Now I will see to the next man. How are you hurt?
He grew rich whilst Charles Stanmore, with every passing week, grew poorer. And for twelve long months he persecuted me with his attentions. He never left me alone. I sometimes think he was crazy in his desire to marry me. He knew the whole of my wretched story, yet it made no difference. He swore to me in his mildly deliberate way that I should marry him.
Stanmore but once since I married, in Oxford Street, looking into a shop-window, and directly he caught sight of me, he got out of the way as if I had the plague! There's some mistake. Not a minute should be lost in setting it right. I wonder what we ought to do!" "And and you're not in love with Mr. Stanmore? and he isn't going to run away with you? Lady Bearwarden, are you quite sure?
Stanmore in the Park to bring it about." "If that don't fetch him," thought Tom, "he's not the man I take him for." It did fetch him. Dick started, and turned fiercely on the speaker. "The devil!" he exclaimed. "Two can play at that game, and perhaps he might come off the worst! Mr. Ryfe, you're a bold man to bring such a message to me.
Then the girl went on, wondering at the man's quickness of understanding. "I had not intended telling you. But it doesn't matter. Nothing seems to matter. Evidently my disguise is useless with you. No, my name is not Rest. My father was Charles Stanmore." The man made no reply. He did not move. His keen eyes were on the red-gold hair so neatly coiled about the girl's head.
Word Of The Day