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Updated: June 29, 2025
"I hope you like Jonas Pearson better than you used to do, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield said a day or two before he started to rejoin his troop. "I can't say I do, mother," he replied shortly. "The man is very civil to me now too civil, in fact; but I don't like him, and I don't believe he is honest.
I feel that I have a right to ask why!" demanded the Doge, in all the majesty of the moment when he faced John Wingfield, Sr. in the drawing-room. "Because of a lie and what it concealed. Because of reasons that may not be so vague to you as they are to me." "A lie! Yes, a lie that came home!" the Doge repeated, while he passed his hand back and forth over his eyes. The hand was trembling.
Then there rose strongly in John Wingfield, Sr.'s mind a suspicion that had been faintly signaled to his keen observation of everything that went on in the store. "Are any other employees going?" he demanded. "Yes, sir, I think there are; not immediately, but as soon as he finds a place for them." "How many?" "I don't think it is any secret. About fifty, sir." "Name some of them!"
"I will see about it, Vincent, and talk it over with him." And with that Vincent was satisfied. Mrs. Wingfield did talk the matter over with the overseer, and things went on in consequence more smoothly.
Harry, Harry, I know that you are what you are, a convict and an exile, to shield Catherine, to shield a granddaughter of mine, who should be in your place. Harry Wingfield, I know that Catherine Cavendish is guilty of the crime for which you are in punishment, and, woe is me, such is my pride, such is my wicked pride, that I have let you suffer and said never one word."
'Oh, it is that kind of thing! said she, in an altered tone, her cheeks glowing; 'it is very silly of him to get himself talked about; but of course it is all nothing. 'I wish I could think so, said Mr. Wingfield; 'but, indeed, Miss Martindale, for she was returning to the children, 'I am afraid it is a serious matter. The father is a designing person.
It chanced that I had sure tidings of the drowning of Thomas Wingfield many years ago, and this tale of Indians and princesses is wondrous strange, more like those that happen in romances than in this plain world. Have you no token of your good faith, sir? 'I have such a token, senora, but the light is too faint for you to see it. 'Then follow me to the house, there we will get light.
Wingfield was chosen. During the passage, he had been imprisoned on the extravagant charge of intending to murder the council, usurp the government, and make himself king of Virginia. Chalmer. The first indications of a permanent settlement in their country, seem to have excited the jealousy of the natives.
Then he looked significantly from the portrait of the ancestor to the portrait of the mother. "He was never yours to lose!" was the answer, without passion. John Wingfield, Sr. recoiled, avoiding a glance at the walls where the pictures hung. The Doge stepped to one side to leave the way clear. John Wingfield, Sr. went out unsteadily, with head bowed.
Wingfield had to draw upon her savings to keep up the house in its former state; while the great majority of the planters were utterly ruined. The negroes, however, for the most part remained steadily working on the estate.
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