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Updated: June 20, 2025
But my mind is changing as to that." Mr. Touris sighed heavily. "I don't know what is the matter with the world.... One does one's best, but all goes wrong. All kinds of hopes and plans.... When I look back to when I was a young man, I wonder.... I set myself an aim in life, to lift me and mine from poverty. I saved for it, denied for it, was faithful. It came about and it's ashes in my mouth!
"It was surmised at Black Hill that you were helping on the event the great event, perhaps that has occurred. Indeed, in July, Mr. Touris, writing to me, mentioned that you had been seen beyond Inverness. But the Highlands are deep and you traveled rapidly.
Jardine, working upon the gold streak in a tulip, held her needle suspended and sat for a moment with unseeing gaze, then resumed the bright wreath. The tutor began to think again of Mother Binning, and, following this, of the stepping-stones at White Farm, and Elspeth and Gilian Barrow balanced above the stream of gold. Mr. Touris put up his snuff-box. "That's a fine youth!
Alison showed her roses to the wife of the East India man and to a kinsman, Mr. Munro Touris, from Inverness way. Mr. Touris addressed himself with his careful smile to Alexander. "Good day, Glenfernie! This, Mr. Goodworth, is a good neighbor of mine, Mr. Jardine of Glenfernie. Alexander, Mr. Goodworth is art and part of the East India. You have met Mr. Wotherspoon before, I think?
The boy James appeared, and with him the daughter of the house, Alice, a girl of twelve, bonny and merry. "Where is Alexander?" asked the laird. Strickland answered. "He is not in yet, sir. I fancy that he walked to the far moor. Bran is with him." "He's a wanderer!" said the laird. "But he ought to keep hours." "That's a fine youth!" quoth Mr. Touris, drinking tea.
The Pretender the Pretender and his son French aid French army that might be sent to Scotland position of defense rumors everywhere you go disaffected and Stewart-mad . Munro Touris had a biting word to say upon the Highland chiefs. The lawyer talked of certain Lowland lords and gentlemen. Mr. Touris vented a bitter gibe. He had a black look in his small, sunken eyes.
They walked up an avenue overarched by elms, to a house old but not so old, once half-ruinous, but now mended and being mended, enlarged, and decorated, the aim a spacious place alike venerable and modern. Workmen yet swarmed about it. The whole presented a busy, cheerful aspect a gracious one, also, for under a monster elm before the terrace was found the master and owner, Mr. Archibald Touris.
He greeted the youths with a manner meant to exhibit the expansive heart of a country gentleman. "You've found each other out, have you? Why, you look born to be friends! That's as it should be. And what, Alexander, do you think of Black Hill?" "It looks finely a rich man's place, sir." Mr. Touris laughed at his country bluntness, but did not take the tribute amiss.
He whistled again, loud and clear, and strode on happily. Ian and Ian and Ian! The House of Glenfernie and the House of Touris became friends. A round of country festivities, capped by a great party at Black Hill, wrought bonds of acquaintanceship for and with the Scots family returned after long abode in England. Archibald Touris spent money with a cautious freedom.
He was among the plotters and instigators. He broke prison. Impossible to show mercy!" Mr. Touris twitched again. "That's a phrase like a gravestone! If the Almighty uses it, then of course he can't be Almighty.... Well, the moral is that none named Ian Rullock can come again to Scotland or England." "Have you knowledge that he wishes to do so?" Mr. Touris moved again.
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