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He went down into hell for us, and conquered hell and death, and the darkness of the unknown world, and rose again glorious from them, that He might teach us not to fear death and hell; that He might know how to comfort us in the hour of death: and in the day of judgment, when on our sick bed, or in some bitter shame and trouble, the lying devil is telling us that we are damned and lost, and forsaken by God, and every sin we ever did rises up and stares us in the face.
Helen Cumberly, ignoring the curious stares of the two remaining taxi-men, ran out from the shelter of the corner and jumped into the next cab, crying breathlessly: "Follow that cab! Don't let the man in it suspect, but follow, and don't lose sight of it!" They were off!
Strangest of all, the murderer himself, the doer of the fell deed, comes here, to the very spot where his victim lies stark and reproachful, and stares at it spellbound, fascinated, filled more with remorse, perchance, than fear at the risk he runs.
Vaura sat at a small table near the piano. Sir Dennis, with the sanguineness of his race, thought she was interested in his chit-chat and in a book of Italian views, but her thoughts were with Lionel, for she caught his eye, and "minds run in grooves," and he knew that she under stood, his silent farewell; she felt her heart ache, and would have risen and gone to him, but "men may suffer and women may weep," but the conventionalities must be attended to, or the mighty god, society, stares and frowns; and so Lionel sung parting words to the woman he loved, and to his friend; and surely Moore would have been moved to tears had he heard the depth of feeling thrown into his words.
Nothing abashed by the slightness of my bow, or the grave stares of my lordly companions, who never forgot the dignity of their birth, in spite of the vulgarity of their tastes, Thornton instantly and familiarly accosted me. "Told you so, Mr. Pelham silent sow, Sure I should have the pleasure of seeing you, though you kept it so snug. Well, will you bet now? No! Ah, you're a sly one.
One young girl has even a basket of strawberries, but she does not eat them. "Aren't they dear!" She stares at the tiny pointed fruits as if she were afraid of them. The Australian soldier laughs. "Here, go on, there's not more than a mouthful." But he doesn't want her to eat them, either. He likes to watch her little frightened face, and her puzzled eyes lifted to his: "Aren't they a price!"
Lindmeyer has taken up his lodgings at the cottage, but the upper rooms are kept just the same. Grandon leads the way and Violet stares at the boxes in the hall. Her room is in a lovely tumult of disorder. Bed and chairs are strewn with feminine belongings. "Oh," she says, uttering a soft, grateful cry. "They have come! But there is so much!" And she looks at him in amazement.
Mary's, along the river and beach, across miles of ocean. Ivy climbs the corner wall of the ruins and covers garden-wall and trees. Ruin everywhere stares you in the face: on every side are deserted fields and gardens fields that employed the labor of four hundred negroes; fields that were fertile and yielded large crops of the famous "Sea-Island cotton."
Cutter says that if she had softening of the brain she would behave very differently, and that if she had become feeble-minded the decay of her faculties would show in her face; but there is nothing of that observable in her. She has as much dignity and beauty as ever, and, excepting when she stares blankly at those who talk to her, her face is intelligent, though very sad." "Poor lady!" I said.
"The roast, sir," says the butler. "The deuce it is!" says Westy. "Do do I use a saw or dynamite?" And he stares across at Doris inquirin'. "Snee," says Doris, her upper lip trembling "you you may take it away." "Back to the kitchen, ma'am?" asks Cyril. "Ye-es," says Doris. "Certainly." "Very well, ma'am," says Cyril, sort of tragic and mysterious.
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