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Updated: May 18, 2025
What did she know of his life, of his interests, of him, except that he said he loved her? Where had he gone? To Widrington, to some smart house-party, or even back to Scotland? The jealous feelings that had so besieged her at the bungalow when his letters ceased came again now with redoubled force.
"You shall know it," said Sir Thomas Widrington, "by your sentence." When the sentence was read, he attempted to speak, but was silenced. "I pray God," said Nayler, "that he may not lay this to your charge."
For the rest of the evening she went about in a state of dream, overcome sometimes by rushes of joy, which yet had in them exquisite elements of pain; hungering for the passage of the hours, for sleep that might cancel some of them; picturing the road to the Court and Widrington, along which the old postman had by now carried her letter the bands of moonlight and shade lying across it, the quiet of the budding woods, and the spot on the hillside where he had spoken to her in that glowing October.
Wharton, who is staying with us. He has gone on to a meeting at Widrington." Mary's face fell. "Charles says Mr. Wharton's influence in the village is very bad," she said quickly. "He makes everybody discontented; sets everybody by the ears; and, after all, what can he do for anybody?" "But that's just what he wants to do to make them discontented," cried Marcella.
He turned presently to ask her what she had been doing with her morning asking her with a certain precision, and observing her attentively. She replied that she had been showing Mr. Wharton the house, that he had walked down with her to the village, and was gone to a meeting at Widrington. Then she remarked that he was very good company, and very clever, but dreadfully sure of his own opinion.
The Home Secretary's official refusal to interfere with sentence sent to Widrington to-day. Accept my sorrow and sympathy." She crushed it in her hand, raising her head mechanically. Before her lay that same shallow cup of ploughed land stretching from her father's big wood to the downs, on the edge of which Hurd had plied his ferrets in the winter nights.
She remembered it like that, once in the park at Widrington, when he lost his temper with a pony and came galloping past her, sitting back, his curly hair stivered up like a little demon's. And she said sadly: "You can hardly expect me to like it for you, Bryan, even if she is what you say. And isn't there some story about "
She gathered together all the newspapers that were debating the case, and feverishly read every line; she wrote to Wharton, commenting on what she read, and on his letters; she attended the meetings of the Reprieve Committee which had been started at Widrington; and she passed hours of every day with Minta Hurd and her children.
She held out her hand: "I am grateful please." He bowed over it, laughing, again with that eighteenth-century air which might have become a Chevalier des Grieux. "May I exact a reward?" "Ask it." "Will you take me down with you to your village? I know you are going. I must walk on afterwards and catch a midday train to Widrington. I have an appointment there at two o'clock.
But, after sentence I know that man from Widrington, that solicitor told me if if strong influence is brought to bear if anybody whose word counts if Lord Maxwell and you, were to join the movement to save him There is sure to be a movement the Radicals will take it up. Will you do it will you promise me now for my sake?" He was silent.
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