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Updated: June 28, 2025
And she's not goin' away ag'in, never, never. There'll be nobody drivin' round in a gig lookin' after her nor nobody else as long as I kin help it. Now git up and come along; I'm that restless I can't sit still," and sliding the dog from her lap, she again resumed her walk toward Warehold.
If they would treat me so, who am innocent, what would they do to my poor Lucy?" These rumors never reached the doctor. No scandalmonger ever dared talk gossip to him. When he first began to practise among the people of Warehold, and some garrulous old dame would seek to enrich his visit by tittle-tattle about her neighbors, she had never tried it a second time.
More often those who should stamp out the burning brand stand idly by until the final collapse and then warm themselves at the blaze. Here in Warehold it began with some whispered talk: Bart Holt had disappeared; there was a woman in the case somewhere; Bart's exile had not been entirely caused by his love of cards and drink.
"You look troubled; what has happened?" "Nothing yet," she answered, leading him to the sofa, "It is about Lucy. She wants to go away for the winter." "Where to?" he asked. He had placed a cushion at her back and had settled himself beside her. "To Trenton, to visit her friend Miss Collins and study music. She says Warehold bores her." "And you don't want her to go?"
Cavendish this very afternoon." The selection of Mrs. Cavendish as first on her list only increased Jane's wonder. Rose Cottage lay some two miles from Warehold, near the upper end of the beach, and few of their other friends lived near it.
Here for a time would she bring up and educate her daughter. "To be once more at home, and in dear old Warehold, too!" she had said with upraised Madonna-like eyes and clasped hands to a group of women who were hanging on every word that dropped from her pretty lips. "Do you know what that is to me? There is hardly a day I have not longed for it.
The little outcast had come to her the day Lucy left Warehold for school, and the old nurse had always regarded him with a certain superstitious feeling, persuading herself that nothing would happen to her bairn as long as this miserable dog was well cared for. "Ye heard what Doctor John said about her bein' a woman, Meg?" she crooned, when she had caught her breath.
And the owner himself, in his whity-brown driving-coat with big pearl buttons, yellow gloves, and gray hat, looked every inch the person to hold the ribbons. Altogether it was a most fashionable equipage, owned and driven by a most fashionable man. As for the older residents of Warehold, they had only words of praise for the turnout.
She had surveyed the field that first night of their meeting and had discovered that the young man's personality offered the only material in Warehold available for her purpose. Without him many of her plans could not be carried out. And her victory over him had been an easy one.
Later on, as the fact became burned into her mind that Lucy would never willingly return to Warehold, she clung to him with that absorbing love and devotion which an unmarried woman often lavishes upon a child not her own. In his innocent eyes she saw the fulfilment of her promise to her father.
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