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The brigands still hung about the pass, watching the castle, but keeping out of range. It did not appear that they had any intention of attacking it. As they stood together looking down upon their enemies, Ellerey told Stefan what had happened and the details of their escape. "Surely those are our fellows, Captain."
He began to pity her. She looked so weak, so helpless, in spite of the anger she had shown. "There there are no ladies," he said, lamely, "except Mrs. Papineau and Mrs. Carew. They're first-rate women, both of 'em. And of course Mrs. Papineau is your only resource till to-morrow, unless Stefan is coming back for you." "He isn't," she declared. "I said nothing about going back."
In the first days of their housekeeping she made several additions, and Stefan contributed a large second-hand easel, a stool, and a piece of strangely colored drapery for the divan. This he discovered during a walk with Mary, in the window of an old furniture dealer, and instantly fell a victim to.
"Good Lord, McEwan, can't you speak English?" exclaimed Byrd, with quick exasperation. "I hae to speak the New York lingo when I get back there, ye ken," replied the Scot with imperturbable good humor, "so I like to use a wee bit o' the guid Scotch while I hae the chance." "A wee bit!" snorted Stefan, and "Good morning, Mr. McEwan, isn't it beautiful up here?" interposed Miss Elliston, pleasantly.
Love, feeling its fusion threatened, ever makes a supreme effort for reunity. In the days that followed, Stefan enthusiastically sought to rebuild his image of Mary round the central fact of her maternity. He became inspired with the idea of painting her as a Madonna, and recalled all the famous artists of the past who had so glorified their hearts' mistresses.
Maybe she ain't so much use for it like you haf for yours, to stick into oder people's pusinesses." Stefan continued to shave off curly bits from his plug, while the laughter turned against the engineer. Carcajou, like a good many other places, commonly favored the top-dog when it came to betting. The answering grin in Pat's face was a rather sour one.
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.
"I'm very sorry, my dear, but it simply doesn't register." "Do you remember Stefan Androvitch?" A sudden light came into Dr. Bird's face. "Yes," he exclaimed, "I do. He used to work for me in the Bureau some time ago. I had to let him go under peculiar circumstances. Is he related to you?" "He was my twin brother. The peculiar circumstances you refer to were that you caught him stealing platinum.
"Vhen you stays in dis coontry for a vhiles den you can eat like a goot feller and not like a little bird," Stefan assured her, comfortingly. "Den you get nice and fat, and red on de cheeks, and strong." Mrs. Olsen was still smiling at her, as she sat with plump hands folded on an ample stomach. The two children had become used to her and came near. A seat was given to her near the stove.
For some time after the night of Constance's reception, Stefan had shown every evidence of contentment, but as the winter dragged into a cold and slushy March he began to have recurrent moods of his restless irritability. By this time Mary was moving heavily; she could no longer keep brisk pace with him in his tramps up the Avenue, but walked more slowly and for shorter distances.
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