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Updated: May 20, 2025
Menzies about it to-morrow, and of course I'll talk to Struan. He is difficult it's very tiresome of him. I saw him this afternoon but had no notion of all this. I can't think how it is. Nerves, I suppose. He's a human creature, you see, as well as a gardener." Mrs. Benson was incapable of seeing such a possible combination: her explanation was simpler. Human! She scorned him.
In the meantime the house of Rinrorie having been deserted by the family, the lady, with her children and maidens, had fled to Lude or Struan, Mackay ordered a party to take possession of it, and to post themselves at the windows which look up the hill.
Her gauntlets were on, an apron covered her; she was flushed with the exercise of the hoe. Struan Glyde, silent and intent, worked abreast of her. He had just muttered something or another which had given her pause. She had her chin on her hands, her hands on her hoe, while she considered her reply. Then Chevenix heard her slow, "Yes, I suppose so.
Raised against them in authority? Then where's authority? Where are Principalities and Powers? Much as she contemned Ingram, she was on his side against Struan any day. On the other hand, Sanchia was, in a manner, her guest, and could not be spoken to plainly about it. She could only shake her head. "He's better alone, Miss Percival, alone with his devil.
Thus the world might read of "The Squire of Wanless, every inch a soldier," in one journal, and of "Nevile Ingram, Esquire, of Wanless Hall," in another. There are no politics in police reports, but broadcloth is respectable. The prisoner was described as "Struan Glyde, 23, a sickly-looking young man, who exhibited symptoms of nervousness."
In the carriage drive she told Mrs. Benson of her immediate intention. "I must say good-bye to Struan. We will stop at his cottage on the way. There's plenty of time." Mrs. Benson was strongly against it, but rather showed her mind than declared it. Mischief enough had been done through that youth and in him, she doubted. Better let him alone. Are you to countenance violent hands?
She displayed them proudly, she counted them, made him check her counting. She glowed over them, fascinated by their virile pride. Struan watched her more than her treasures. He was pale still, and bit his lip; had nothing to say. She knelt and took one of the great stalks tenderly in her hand. A kind of rapture, was upon her, a mystic's ecstasy.
"But I want to know." This seemed to her sufficing reason. But he was dogged. "Then I can't help you. You cannot be told." "But perhaps I ought to be told. Do you think I ought?" "Indeed, I don't know." "Well, will you tell me?" "I will not, indeed. That is, I cannot." "It's very extraordinary." He made no answer. "Struan," said Miss Percival, after a while, "you are angry." He turned quickly.
And as she entered the place a figure seated there, with elbows on knees and chin between his palms, looked up, listening, watching intently, then rose and waited. "Struan," said Miss Percival comfortably, "are you there?" "I'm here," she was answered. Thereupon she came easily forward and stood near him.
He's very casual, I must say." Here she paused. Struan said suddenly, "Miss Percival, I'm going." She turned with interest, and asked, with not too much interest, "Oh! Why?" He said, "You know why." She lowered her voice by a tone, but no more. "I hope you won't. It would be a pity. There's no real reason for it. I'll speak to Menzies to-morrow. He doesn't mean any harm to you.
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