Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 20, 2025
The Robertsons, a Gaelic race, though bearing a Saxon name, gave in at this conjuncture their adhesion to the cause of the exiled king. Their chief Alexander, who took his appellation from his lordship of Struan, was a very young man and a student at the University of Saint Andrew's. He had there acquired a smattering of letters, and had been initiated much more deeply into Tory politics.
"Who says I may not speak to you? Who else is to speak to you if I don't? How can you bear yourself and speak nothing? Is it natural?" He seemed on the point of angry tears; with a gesture infinitely kind she bore with him. Her hand just touched his arm. "Dear Struan," she said, "I know how nice you mean to be to me; I am very grateful to you. Of course I am going away.
"By what he knew of me already," said Sanchia with spirit. Lady Maria twinkled; but her scrutiny was keen. "I don't think you have explained the gardener," she told her. Sanchia blushed. "He's a boy," was her suggestion: but Lady Maria's comment on that was, "And a bruiser it seems." Sanchia smiled gently. "Poor Struan! He was very difficult. He made me furiously angry. What he did was outrageous.
"Do! what do ye think I did? I remonstrated wi' a' the vehemence that a Struan Robertson in anger is capable o'. But the vehemence o' the Lord himsel' couldna bring the beer back." "Why didn't you fight, man? Why didn't you knock the bully down?" I asked, pitying his wobegone appearance.
She put her hand on his shoulder, and though he shook it off, put it there again. "You hurt me, Struan, really. If you are my friend, you shouldn't doubt me. I don't feel about it as you do, you know." He lifted his head at the challenge. "Then you should," he said. "Dog that he is. He's insulting you. He had better have died than do as he does. Damn him, he shall pay for it."
"Then I love them all the better," she told him; and put in a word for Struan. "Be kind to him when you see him again please do." Mr. Menzies became far-sighted. He had very blue eyes. "Ahem!" he said, in his Scotch fashion. "He'll not be here again, I doubt. He'll be away, the headstrong young man." But he warmed to it. "Ay," he said, "ay, Miss Percival.
He was not appeased, "Menzies will do it," he said. She laughed. "You know what Menzies will say 'Pelargoniums for the hall, Miss Percival, and some nice maidenhair. He's not inventive, poor Menzies." "He's an old fool," said Struan. "He takes flowers for spangles in a circus." Miss Percival again laughed softly, and held out her hand. "Good-night," she said. "I'm going."
He's never tired." "Nor's a tiger," the cook snapped. "Nor's a tom-cat." Miss Percival looked pitifully at her and smiled. "Poor Struan you don't like him. I'll see him to-night. I have an influence, I think." Mrs. Benson touched the hand that lay within her reach, which had lately been upon her shoulder. "Don't, my dear, don't," she said. "Why not?" asked the lady with her lifted brows.
Mrs. Wilmot smiled. Mr. Chevenix, going a-fishing, saw, as he had intended to see, Sanchia in the rose-garden, talking to Struan Glyde, who was tying ramblers. "Morning, Sanchia morning, Glyde!" Each greeted him, but the youth grimly. He talked at large. "I'm for murder. I must flesh my steel. It's too good a day to lose. Clouds scurry, sun is shy; air's balmy: a trout must die.
In each a main luxury cut off: beef, driven under cloud of night from Lowland pastures, denied to the meat-loving Highlander; long-pig, pirated from the next village, to the man- eating Kanaka. The grumbling, the secret ferment, the fears and resentments, the alarms and sudden councils of Marquesan chiefs, reminded me continually of the days of Lovat and Struan.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking