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Updated: June 22, 2025
Warming and caressing the poor infant, she managed by degrees to revive Lucy, and heard what had brought her to that situation. "Go to his father," said Mrs. Berry. "Ta-te-tiddle-te-heighty-O! Go, my love, and every horse in Raynham shall be out after 'm. This is what men brings us to! Heighty-oighty-iddlety-Ah! Or you take blessed baby, and I'll go." The baronet himself knocked at the door.
Of that I have been informed by her maid, who believed that she had left Raynham for good." "Strange!" exclaimed the magistrate. "If she is guilty, why does she remain here, where her guilt is known where she maybe suspected of a crime, and the most terrible of crimes?" "Of what crime?" "Of murder, Mr. Eversleigh.
"You insult me, and you insult the dead, Sir Reginald, by the tone in which you discuss these things," answered Lionel Dale. "I shall leave Raynham by this evening's coach, and there is little likelihood that Lady Eversleigh and I shall ever meet again. It is not for me to judge her sins, or penetrate the secrets of her heart. I believe that her grief to-day was thoroughly genuine.
Seldom a morning passed when he did not watch them leave the nest on their breakfast-flight, busy in the happy stillness of dawn. It seemed to him now that if he could be at Raynham to see them in to-morrow's dawn he would be compensated for his incalculable loss of to-night: he would forgive and love his father, London, the life, the world.
His father quietly helped him to soup, which he commenced gobbling with an eagerness that might pass for appetite. "All well at Raynham?" said the baronet. "Quite, sir." "Nothing new?" "Nothing, sir." "The same as when I left?" "No change whatever!" "I shall be glad to get back to the old place," said the baronet. "My stay in town has certainly been profitable.
"Ah, fifteen weeks, my dear, after sieh a man as that. He's a regular meteor, is Sir Austin Feverel, Raynham Abbey. Well, so hark you here. I says to myself, that knows him for I did think my babe was in his natural nest I says, the bar'net'll never write for you both to come up and beg forgiveness, so down I'll go and fetch you up.
He has you in town, and he does not see you: now you know that he and I are not in communication: we have likewise our differences: Well, he has you in town, and he holds aloof: he is trying you, my dear Richard. No: he is not at Raynham: I do not know where he is. He is trying you, child, and you must be patient. You must convince him that you do not care utterly for your own gratification.
One adventurous person betook herself to the Heralds' College, and there ascertained that a Griffin between two Wheatsheaves, which stood on the title-page of the book, formed the crest of Sir Austin Absworthy Bearne Feverel, Baronet, of Raynham Abbey, in a certain Western county folding Thames: a man of wealth and honour, and a somewhat lamentable history.
Such was Adrian Harley, another of Sir Austin's intellectual favourites, chosen from mankind to superintend the education of his son at Raynham. Adrian had been destined for the Church. He did not enter into Orders. He and the baronet had a conference together one day, and from that time Adrian became a fixture in the Abbey.
Sir Austin detained him, expostulated, contradicted himself, confounded his principles, made nonsense of all his theories. He could not induce his son to waver in his resolve. Ultimately, their good-night being interchanged, he understood that the happiness of Raynham depended on Lucy's mercy. He had no fears of her sweet heart, but it was a strange thing to have come to.
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