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Updated: May 17, 2025
This was on the second day of the change. Tynn received Mr. Bitterworth in the hall. "There's no hope, sir, I'm afraid," was Tynn's answer to his inquiries. "He's not in much pain of body, but he is dreadfully anxious and uneasy." "What about?" asked Mr. Bitterworth, who was a little man with a pimpled face. "Nobody knows, sir; he doesn't say.
Tynn was in the act of supplying his wants, when a movement and a noise in the distance came floating on the air. Tynn dashed the dish of custards on to the table, and ran like the rest. Everybody ran except Master Cheese. It was turning slowly into the grounds the blue and silver carriage of the Verners, its four horses prancing under their studded harness.
It's not likely you would," was the reply of Frederick Massingbird. "Everybody was not born heir to Verner's Pride." Lionel laughed pleasantly. They were pacing the terrace in the sunshine of a winter's afternoon, a crisp, cold, bright day in January. At that moment Tynn came out of the house and approached them.
Tynn seized the opportunity; his master was alone. Quite alone. He was leaning over the outer balustrade of the terrace, apparently looking forth in the night obscurity on his own lands, stretched out before him. "Master!" whispered Tynn, forgetting ceremony in the moment's absorbing agitation, in the terrible calamity that was about to fall, "I have had an awful secret made known to me to-night.
The side path was dirty, and she chose the middle of the road, Tynn walking a step behind her. Deborah was of an affable nature, Tynn a long-attached and valued servant, and she chatted with him familiarly. Deborah, in her simple good heart, could not have been brought to understand why she should not chat with him.
Apparently it satisfied him, and he resumed his close proximity to Tynn and his meaning whisper. "Can't you guess the riddle, Mr. Tynn?" "I can't in the least guess what you mean, or what you are driving at," was Tynn's response. "I think you must have been having a drop of drink, Roy. I ask what this is to my master, Mr. Verner?" "Drink be bothered!
"My master is up, sir, and would like the paper read to him," said he, addressing Frederick Massingbird. "Oh, bother, I can't stop now," broke from that gentleman involuntarily. "Tynn, you need not say that you found me here. I have an appointment, and I must hasten to keep it." Lionel Verner looked at his watch. "I can spare half an hour," he observed to himself; and he proceeded to Mr.
Lionel murmured some unintelligible answer, and turned away, a hot flush dyeing his brow. Meanwhile Sibylla was already up, but not down. Breakfast she would have carried up to her room, she told Mrs. Tynn. She stood at the window, looking forth; not so much at the extensive prospect that swept the horizon in the distance, as at the fair lands immediately around.
Sibylla rejected it. She wanted neither water nor anything else, were all the thanks Lionel received, querulously spoken. He laid the glass upon the table, and, sitting down by her side in all patience, he set himself to the work of soothing her, gently and lovingly as though she had been what she was showing herself a wayward child. Miss West and Tynn proceeded on their way.
And so here was the gathering, and Tynn had carried out his orders for the supply of plenty to eat and drink. They formed in groups, listening for the return of the carriage, which had gone in state to the railway station to receive them. All, save Master Cheese. He walked about somewhat disconsolately, thinking the proceedings rather slow.
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