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Updated: June 10, 2025
Lord Digby appeared at Dublin as a special agent from the King, to declare his consent to Glamorgan's original terms; but Ormond still insisted that he had no authority to go beyond the Thirty Articles. Charles himself wrote privately to Rinuccini, promising to confirm everything which Glamorgan had proposed, as soon as he should come into "the Nuncio's hands."
"That which applies to the use of your brains applies equally to the use of your fists. Do you comprehend me?" "Yes, sir; I do now." "In the time of your namesake, Sir Kenelm Digby, gentlemen wore swords, and they learned how to use them, because, in case of quarrel, they had to fight with them. Nobody, at least in England, fights with swords now.
With the countess came Helen Digby, of course; and Lady Lansmere, who had hitherto been so civilly cold to the wife elect of her son, had, ever since her interview with Harley at Knightsbridge, clung to Helen with almost a caressing fondness. The stern countess was tamed by fear; she felt that her own influence over Harley was gone; she trusted to the influence of Helen in case of what? ay, what?
Digby in the act of elevating his eyebrows at Mr. Devereaux, who signified his opinion by telegraphing back: "It is all over with them." "Hey, Somers," said the first; "what are you doing nowadays?" "Pretty much the same work that I always have on hand." "Do you mean to stick to Belem?" "No." "I thought so. But what has come over Des. lately? He is spoony."
I hate to think of his being shut up in that cell all by himself at Christmas with nobody to do anything for him." "What can we do?" said Miss Willmot. "I can't do anything, of course," said Digby, "but I thought you might." "I don't see what I can do." "Well, try," said Digby. "If you'd seen the poor fellow But you'll do something for him, won't you?"
If they had thought to look out, they would have seen that the moon held in check by a bank of cloud occupying half the heavens had suddenly burst its bounds and was sending long bars of revealing light into every uncurtained window. Florence Digby, in her short and sheltered life, had possibly never known any very great or deep emotion.
Rotting vegetables, apple-cores, scrapings of mud; there is quite sufficient of all that outside the windows without encouraging it to come in. Six long deal tables occupy the space of the room, and it is one of the few amusements which the children of Digby Street possess to gather at the railings and watch the inhabitants of Shamrock House being fed.
Perhaps the reader may think the world was not in the right; but if ever the world does judge rightly of the character of a man who does not live for the world nor talk of the world nor feel with the world, it will be centuries after the soul of Harley L'Estrange has done with this planet. Lord L'Estrange parted company with Mr. Digby at the entrance of Oxford Street.
Lord L'Estrange has just implied, in public, that I I who owe him so much, who have honoured him so truly, that even the just resentment I now feel half seems to me the ingratitude with which he charges me, has implied that ah! Miss Digby, I can scarcely command words to say what it so humiliates me to have heard.
"No, but Joanna used to read them by the hundred and tell me the stories; and I've heard father read aloud to you; and the older girls and the younger teachers used to discuss them at school; oh! I know a lot about life, as it is in books, and I'm just waiting to see if any of it really happens!" "Digby Popham is the only rich nobleman in sight for you, Nancy!" Kitty said teasingly.
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