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Beamish could no longer listen to young Mr. Camwell's fatiguing drone upon his one theme of the double-dealing of Chloe's betrothed. He became of her way of thinking, and treated the young gentleman almost as coldly as she. In time he was ready to guess of his own acuteness that the 'strange cavalier' could have been no other than Colonel Poltermore. When Caseldy hinted it, Mr.
The talk had drifted from men of the old frontier to border scouts, and then to the Kentucky mountaineers, whom Marny knows as thoroughly as he does the red men. "They are a great race, these mountaineers," he said to me, as he tossed the end of another cigarette on Aunt Chloe's now clean-swept floor. Marny spoke in crisp, detached sentences between the pats of his brush.
It was indeed a hard, hard trial to them both; yet neither uttered one angry or complaining word against Mr. Dinsmore. Fanny, one of the maids, brought up Elsie's dinner, but she could not eat. Chloe's appetite, too, had failed entirely; so they remained locked in each other's embrace until Jim came to the door to tell Chloe the carriage was waiting which was to convey her to her new home.
Therefore, reader, bear with me, despite my sable plumes and purple; and weep with me, though my prose be, like those verses which Mr. Beamish wrote over Chloe's grave, 'of a character to cool emotion. For indeed my anguish is very real.
She unclasped her arms from Chloe's neck, disengaging herself from her loving grasp, stood for a moment motionless and silent; then, suddenly sinking down upon her nurse's lap, again wound her arms about her neck, and hid her face on her bosom, sobbing wildly: "Oh, mammy, mammy! you shall not go! Stay with me, mammy! I've nobody to love me now but you, and my heart will break if you leave me.
"Ver' far," she repeated. "T'irty-two sleep I'm on de trail." "Alone!" "Alone," she assented. "I'm com' for learn de ways of de white women." Chloe motioned the girl closer, and then, seized by a sudden chill, shivered violently. The girl noticed the paroxysm, and, dropping to her knees by Chloe's side, spoke hurriedly. "You col'," she said. "You got no blanket. You los'."
We had sat in silence for a few minutes, when Julius suddenly ejaculated, "Uh huh! I knows w'y dis mare doan go. It des flash' 'cross my recommemb'ance." "Why is it, Julius?" I inquired. "'Ca'se she sees Chloe." "Where is Chloe?" I demanded. "Chloe's done be'n dead dese fo'ty years er mo'," the old man returned.
When the pangs of hunger and thirst got hold of them, they refused and were indeed entirely unable to work longer with the oars, so that, unless the wind was fair and the sail was set, they simply drifted on. One by one the sailors died. Waking from a troubled sleep of short duration, Katharine one day found Chloe's dead hand around her feet, her cold lips pressed upon them.
Just as she was fairly settled in her new quarters, the breakfast-bell rang, and her father left her in Chloe's care for a few moments, while he went down to take his meal. "I have brought you a visitor, Elsie," he said when he returned. She looked up, and, to her surprise, saw her grandfather standing near the door.
"This is your last chance to see the city, To see the city, Tom," said my father, as we swept round a bend of the river. I turned and looked. New Orleans was just a colorless mass of something in the distance, and the dome of the St. Charles Hotel, upon which the sun shimmered for a moment, was no bigger than the top of old Aunt Chloe's thimble. What do I remember next?
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