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It was a thing he rarely did; he left writing to his clerks, unless it was the writing of letters. By one o'clock the chief portion of the work was done, and Mr. Roland Yorke's spirits recovered their elasticity. He went home to dinner, as usual. Arthur preferred to remain at his post, and get on further, sending the housekeeper's little maid out for a twopenny roll, which he ate as he wrote.
A look of vague relief dawned on Yorke's haggard face. "Ay, so!" he murmured, and paused with brooding indecision. "That's absolved my conscience some, but not altogether." They remained silent awhile after this. Presently Yorke pulled himself together and spoke briskly and decisively. "Well, now! we'll have to get busy.
Constance Channing proceeded to her duties as usual at Lady Augusta Yorke's. She drew her veil over her face, only to traverse the very short way that conveyed her thither, for the sense of shame was strong upon her; not shame for Arthur, but for Hamish. It had half broken Constance's heart.
"Harper will dream of her to-night." "I thought Galloway would have gone into a fit, he laughed so," cried Arthur. "As for my sides, they'll ache for an hour." Roland Yorke's lip curled with an angry expression. "My opinion agrees with Harper's," he said. "I think Mad Nance ought to be punished. We are none of us safe from her, if this is to be her game."
One of these was written by Charles Yorke's brother, the second Lord Hardwicke, and dated nearly a year later, December 30, 1770; the other, dated October 20, 1772, by his widow Agneta Yorke; and the effect of them, to my mind, is not only to discredit the widely believed story of Charles Yorke's suicide, which is not even alluded to, but also to place his action from a public and political point of view in a more favourable light than that in which it is sometimes presented.
"I have kept your counsel about the surplice. Keep Arthur's in return, if you do know anything against him." I wish you could have witnessed the change in Gerald Yorke's countenance! A streak of scarlet crossed its pallor, his eyes blazed forth defiance, and a tremor, as of fear, momentarily shook him.
"Not much of one," he said, and his lips, as he bent towards William Yorke, assumed an expression of sarcastic severity. "He merely requested me, after he was in the train, to give his love to the Rev. William Yorke, as a parting legacy." Either the words or the tone, probably the latter, struck on the Rev. William Yorke's self-esteem, and flushed his cheek crimson.
Huntley's heart that he would fathom it, for private reasons of his own; and, in the impulse of the moment, he bent his steps there and then, towards the police-station, and demanded an interview with Roland Yorke's bete noire, Mr. Butterby. But the cathedral is not quite done with for the afternoon.
Lancaster was considerably older than the bride, and was regarded as one of the best, because one of the safest, matches to be found in society. Keith recalled Mr. Lancaster: dignified, cultivated, and coldly gracious. Then he recalled his gray hair, and found some satisfaction in it. He recalled, too, Mrs. Yorke's friendliness for him. This, then, was what it meant.
They did not offer to take him back again, when, five years later, he became a true believer in the faith of Mary Joanna Southcott and the coming of the young Shiloh. This lady, whose portrait, with that of her spiritual amanuensis, hung in Mrs. Yorke's sitting-room, had been her only rival in the affections of her husband.
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