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From a series of experiments carefully conducted at Daramona, Ireland, with a delicate thermal balance, of the kind invented by Boys and designated a "radio-micrometer," Messrs. Wilson and Gray arrived in 1893, with the aid of Stefan's Law, at a photospheric temperature of 7,400° C., reduced by the first-named investigator in 1901 to 6,590°. Dr.
When she sank into the light sleep of fever, they roused her, or she slept on; hearing in their tones the great bell of St. Stefan's announcing the King's death. Bells, always bells. At the end of two days she was able to be up again. She moved languidly about her room, still too weak to plan.
"My name is Jensen. What can I do for you?" replied the man in a toneless voice. "You are Adolph's brother?" incredulously. At the name the gray face flushed pathetically. Jensen came forward, pressing his hands together, and peered into Stefan's face. "Yes, I am," he answered, "and you are Mr. Byrd that he wrote to me about. I'd hoped you weren't coming, after all.
"It is the business of servants and lackeys to mind horses." "But we have neither." "At least we are given no honorable service." "For my part, I do as I am told," said Stefan, "and you'll be wise to do the same. That young comrade of yours is capable of looking after himself." Anton looked at the soldier curiously for a moment, but Stefan's thoughts were always difficult to read.
You've told me nothing, but I am sure your marriage was a better thing than you think. As for this little lady " he shrugged his shoulders "I make nothing of this affair." Stefan's frown was moodier still. "Felicity is the most alluring woman I have ever known, and I believe she is fond of me. But she is affected, capricious, and a perfect mass of egotism."
There was music and laughter about him, and then a sudden pause, and darkness, and out of it a sharp crackling sound. "What was that?" Ellerey had started up only half awake. It was Stefan's sudden question which thoroughly aroused him. The dawn had come and a dim light was in the chamber, strangely dim and sombre after the light and movement in his dream.
She adored Mary's husband, but consistently disapproved of him. Try as she would, Mary failed to shake her friends' estimate of her share in the family success. It became the fashion to regard her as a muse, and she, who had felt oppressed by Stefan's lover-like deification, now found her friends, too, conspiring to place her on a pedestal.
The house broke into wild cheers. Men fell upon each other's shoulders; women sobbed. The singer was dumb, but the drums rolled on they were calling, calling. The folds of the flag dazzled Stefan's eyes. He burst into tears. The next morning Stefan Byrd and Adolph Jensen were enrolled in the Foreign Legion of France. It was spring once more.
The day closed with dinner at their beloved French hotel, and a bottle of Burgundy shared with Stefan's favorite waiters. During Christmas week Stefan worked hard at his interior, but about the fifth day began to show signs of restlessness. The following morning, after only half an hour's painting, he threw down his brush.
They found a not unlovely church, half stifled between tall buildings, and were married by a curate whose reading of the service was sufficiently reverent. For a wedding ring Mary had that of Stefan's mother, drawn from his little finger. By late afternoon they were in Shadeham, ensconced in a small wooden hotel facing a silent beach and low cliffs shaded with scrub-oak.
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