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Updated: May 19, 2025
As the details of getting ready multiplied about him, Varney's interest in his novel undertaking imperceptibly grew. The thing had come upon him so unexpectedly that it had not yet by any means lost its strangeness. To the old friend of his mother's girlhood, Elbert Carstairs, he was sincerely devoted, though knowing him for an indulgent man whose indulgences were chiefly of himself.
Colonel Varney's army had been magnificently trained to meet just this kind of situation: some employed ridicule, others declared, in impassioned tones, that the good name of their state had been wantonly assailed, and pointed fervently to portraits on the walls of patriots of the past, sentiments that drew applause from the fickle gallery.
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.
Laurance the laboured breathing of her husband. Upon the profound silence broke the tramp of a horse's hoofs in the neighbouring courtyard, then Varney's whistle in imitation of the earl's signal when visiting the countess.
At just the moment when Varney was about to put another question, Peter opened his mouth and answered it. "However," he said, an irrepressible note of irritation creeping into his honest voice, "even that was not the strangest thing that happened that night. Not by a long shot." Varney's gaze fixed with sudden interest. "Higginson? You don't mean to say that he turned up?" "I do.
It is that night in the Academy box-office over again. Because I had to deceive you once not for my own sake you will not look at the plain facts. But in your heart just like that other night I know you believe me." Of course she could not let that pass now. "I do not!" she said. "I do not. I must ask you, please, not to keep me here any longer." Varney's face went a shade paler.
"So you attended Mr. Varney's uncle in his last illness. Did he suffer much?" "He was a poor creature at best," answered Martha; "but he gave me a deal of trouble afore he went. He was a scranny corpse when I strecked him out." Madame Dalibard shrank from the hands at that moment employed upon herself, and said, "It was not, then, the first corpse you have laid out for the grave?" "Not by many."
Colonel Varney's agate eyes sought those of Mr. Young, meaningly. "That's been tried, too," declared the Galesburg attorney. "Say, you can believe it or not, but we've never dug anything up so far. He's been too slick for us, I guess." "Well," exclaimed the Colonel, at length, "let him squeal and be d d! He can't do any more than make a noise.
Leicester's confession, for such it might be called, was wrenched from him piecemeal, yet was upon the whole accurate, excepting that he totally omitted to mention that he had, by implication or otherwise, assented to Varney's designs upon the life of his Countess.
It was like a miracle, they said to one another, that Mark Varney's lips should be opened to speak as he was speaking. It was like life from the dead to see him standing there, they said, as indeed it was. "And you must excuse me for saying so much about myself, because that is just what I came here to do.
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