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Updated: June 25, 2025
Julaper, strode along the passages, and was led by her into the old still-room, which had ceased to be used for its original purpose.
It was not pretty; it was his nature. Happen, poor fellow, he could not help it; but so it was." A maid came in and set the tea-things down; and Mrs. Julaper drew her sad guest over by the arm, and made him sit down, and she said: "What has a man to do, frettin' in that way? By Jen, I'm ashamed o' ye, Master Philip!
Julaper there can tell you more about it. She knows that it was certainly in no compliance with my wish that he left the house to-night: it was his own obstinate perversity, and perhaps I forgive him for it a wish in his unreasonable resentment to throw some blame upon this house, as having refused him shelter on such a night; than which imputation nothing can be more utterly false. Mrs.
"Sir," or "the Sir," is still used as the clergyman's title in the Northumbrian counties. "What sir?" "Sir Hugh Creswell, if you please, Sir Bale." "Ho! mad Creswell? O, the crazy parson. Well, tell Mrs. Julaper to let him have some supper and and to let him have a bed in some suitable place. That's what he wants. These mad fellows know what they are about."
Well, what should he do? He would send for Mrs. Julaper, and tell her vaguely that he had changed his mind about Feltram, and that he might continue to stay at Mardykes Hall as usual. That would suffice. She could speak to Feltram. He sent for her; and soon, in the lulls of the great uproar without, he could hear the jingle of Mrs. Julaper's keys and her light tread upon the lobby. "Mrs.
Julaper and the general whimpering of the humbler handmaids, the Doctor standing by the bed, with his knuckles on the coverlet, and a glance now and then on the dead face beside him, said by way of 'quieting men's minds, as the old tract-writers used to say a few words to the following effect: "Everything has been done here that the most experienced physician could have wished.
Would not it be better, Mrs. Julaper, to be dead? Wouldn't it be better, ma'am? I think so; I think it night and day. I'm always thinking the same thing. I don't care, I'll just tell him what I think, and have it off my mind. I'll tell him I can't live and bear it longer." "There now, don't you be frettin'; but just sip this, and remember you're not to judge a friend by a wry word.
Julaper had one Sunday evening when she drank tea at the Vicar's, told his good lady very mysteriously, and with many charges of secrecy, that Sir Bale was none the better of his late-found wealth; that he had a load upon his spirits, that he was afraid of Feltram, and so was every one else, more or less, in the house; that he was either mad or worse; and that it was an eerie dwelling, and strange company, and she should be glad herself of a change.
Julaper had grown weather-wise, living for so long among this noble and solitary scenery, where people must observe Nature or else nothing where signs of coming storm or change are almost local, and record themselves on particular cliffs and mountain-peaks, or in the mists, or in mirrored tints of the familiar lake, and are easily learned or remembered. At all events, her presage proved too true.
Julaper; and I know I'm to blame." "That's quite right, that's spoken like a wise lad; only I don't say you're to blame, nor no one; for folk can't help frettin' sometimes, no more than they can help a headache none but a mafflin would say that and I'll not deny but he has dowly ways when the fit's on him, and he frumps us all round, if such be his humour. But who is there hasn't his faults?
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