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Updated: June 18, 2025
He was sitting in front of a roaring fire, clasping his stick. He had a thick rug over his knees. On his lap there lay a beautiful pale yellow silk handkerchief. "It's Cyril, father," said Josephine shyly. And she took Cyril's hand and led him forward. "Good afternoon, grandfather," said Cyril, trying to take his hand out of Aunt Josephine's.
With four wild war-whoops or as near them as white children could be expected to go without any previous practice they rushed through the gate and struck four war-like attitudes in face of the line of Red Indians. These were all about the same height, and that height was Cyril's. "I hope to goodness they can talk English," said Cyril through his attitude.
His father had been in the diplomatic service, and had married a daughter, the only daughter, in fact, of old Lord Crediton, who became Cyril's guardian after the death of his parents. I don't think that Lord Crediton cared very much for Cyril. He had never really forgiven his daughter for marrying a man who had not a title.
Jernyngham's poignant sense of loss and regret for past harshness to his son had merged into an overwhelming desire for vengeance on the man whom he regarded as Cyril's murderer. He was left without an ally; the organized means of justice had signally broken down; but the man should not go unpunished. Tormented by his thoughts, he went out in search of Gertrude.
At the same time the writer of the letter, whoever he might be and Guy now believed he was sent down by Cyril, or in Cyril's interest the writer had found out the facts betimes, and had taken a passage for him in the name of Billington. Uncertain as he felt about the minor details, Guy was sure this interpretation must be right in the main.
The heat was terrific, but Cyril's helmet and breast-piece sheltered him somewhat; yet though he shielded his face with his arm, he felt that it would speedily become unbearable. His eye fell upon a coil of rope at his feet.
The Donatists pitted again fairly against the orthodox, to cut each other's throats in peace.... no more of Cyril's spying and tale-bearing to Constantinople.... Not such a baddish of fare.... But then-it would take so much trouble! With which words, Orestes went into his third warm bath for that day.
Cyril's handsome face flushed slightly before his brother's scrutinizing gaze; but he answered with a certain little ill-concealed embarrassment: "Oh, I didn't say so, didn't I? Well, she WAS a girl then, of course; a certain Miss Clifford. She got in at Chetwood. Her people live somewhere down there near Tilgate. At least, so I gathered from what she told me."
Constance overtook him at the door of Cyril's bedroom. Mr. Povey did not wait for her to speak. His eyes were blazing. "See here!" he admonished her cruelly. "You get away downstairs, mother!" And he disappeared into the bedroom with his vile and helpless victim. A moment later he popped his head out of the door. Constance was disobeying him.
She said she had been a wicked girl, having permitted herself to be accosted several times by a well-dressed gallant, who told her that he was the Earl of Harwich, who had professed great love for her, and urged her to marry him privately. "He was about to speak to her one day when she was out under Master Cyril's escort. The latter interfered, and there was well-nigh a fracas between them.
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