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Updated: May 19, 2025
CRAVEN HOTEL, October, 1831. "Well, and are you not rejoiced?" said Lucretia, gazing surprised on Varney's sullen and unsympathizing face. "No! because time presses; because, even while discovering your son, you may fail in securing his heritage; because, in the midst of your triumph, I see Newgate opening to myself. Look you, I too have had my news, less pleasing than yours.
Between three and four years before this period, Varney's uncle, the painter, by one of those unexpected caprices of fortune which sometimes find heirs to a millionnaire at the weaver's loom or the labourer's plough, had suddenly, by the death of a very distant kinsman whom he had never seen, come into possession of a small estate, which he sold for 6,000 pounds.
I fear, however, that such a man as Varney is a dreadful enemy to encounter he is cool and unruffled and that gives him all the advantage in such affairs; but Henry's nerves are not bad, though shaken by these untowards events; but time will show I would it were all over." With these thoughts and feelings strangely intermixed, Mr. Chillingworth set forward for Sir Francis Varney's house.
But at that moment, the small window at the back of the room, which no one had thought to fasten, flew open and a man slipped nimbly through it a big, hard-breathing, iron-faced man, with perspiration streaming rivers down his sun-tanned cheeks. Mr. Stanhope, with a weak exclamation, moved so as to bring the table between himself and the intruder. Varney's eyes grew suddenly anxious.
"They tell me she sleeps," he said, in hoarse, muttered accents, before he saw the prostrate form at his very feet. But Varney's step, Varney's voice, had awakened Lucretia's reason to consciousness and the sense of peril. Rising, though with effort, she related hurriedly what had passed. "Fly, fly!" she gasped, as she concluded.
An interview with Tressilian and the recovery of a letter written by Amy at Cumnor revealed all Varney's villainy. Too late he acknowledged his marriage to the queen, and when the fury of Elizabeth's anger had somewhat subsided, she ordered Tressilian and Sir Walter Raleigh to repair at once to Cumnor, bring the countess to Kenilworth, and secure the body of Richard Varney, dead or alive.
Let go his arm there you bully! let him go!" The shock of that, curiously, surprised Peter into complying. He dropped Varney's arms, turned swiftly to the author and fixed him with a look for which, alone, another man would have cried for his blood. "Did I hear you aright?" he said in an oddly still voice. "Do I understand you to suggest that he be sent out there alone?" Mr.
He had a hope, too, that when they reached Sir Francis Varney's, finding him not within, as probably would be the case, as by that time he would have started to meet Henry Bannerworth on the ground, to fight the duel, he might induce the mob to return and forego their meditated violence.
There was a diabolical look of concentrated hatred upon Varney's face, as he now advanced two paces towards the beautiful Flora.
With the instinct of sound, sterling, weighty natures, he detected at once, and disliked heartily, that something of gaudy, false, exaggerated, and hollow which pervaded Gabriel Varney's talk and manner, even the trick of his walk and the cut of his dress. And Ardworth wanted that boyish and beautiful luxuriance of character which belonged to Percival St.
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