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I am the wife of Nahoon I belong to Nahoon; therefore, I cannot look on any other man while Nahoon lives. It is not our custom, Inkoos, for we are not as the white women, but ignorant and simple, and when we vow ourselves to a man, we abide by that vow till death." "Indeed," said Hadden; "and so now you go to tell Nahoon that I have offered to make you my wife."
I would like to succeed in making you divine this, as you follow out the simple history itself. "Just in time!" cried Jeannie Hadden, running up into Leslie's room at mid-afternoon that day. "There's a stage over from Littleton, and your trunk is being brought up this minute."
Her mother told her what Rosamond had said of who were coming, the Hobarts and Helen; the rest were not then asked. Olivia did not like it very well, that reply of Leslie's. She showed it to Jeannie Hadden; that was how we came to know of it. "Please forgive me," the note ran, "if I accept Rosamond's invitation for the very reason that might seem to oblige me to decline it.
"We're sure to get the better of Graywacke, and why not anticipate?" "Graywacke?" said Jeannie Hadden. "Is that a name? It sounds like the side of a mountain." "And acts like one," rejoined Sin Saxon. "Won't budge. But it isn't her name, exactly, only Saxon for Craydocke; suggestive of obstinacy and the Old Silurian, an ancient maiden who infests our half the wing.
"The gun-room steward will tell you what to do when he comes on board. And remember, Martin, I shall depend on you to show Hadden everything he ought to know, and all about the ship." "Ay, ay, sir," said Tom, pulling a lock of his hair, as of course he held his hat in his hand. Then he gave Ben a nudge, to signify that he was to come away with him.
Into this forest there ran a river which drained the swamp, placidly enough upon the level. But it was not always level, for within three hundred yards of them it dashed suddenly over a precipice, of no great height but very steep, falling into a boiling rock-bound pool that the light of the sun never seemed to reach. "What is the name of that forest, Nahoon?" asked Hadden.
At the date of our introduction to him, Philip Hadden was a transport-rider and trader in "the Zulu." Still on the right side of forty, in appearance he was singularly handsome; tall, dark, upright, with keen eyes, short-pointed beard, curling hair and clear-cut features. His life had been varied, and there were passages in it which he did not narrate even to his most intimate friends.
"You wicked villain," he gasped, whereat the chief smiled in a sickly fashion, and turned away. Then they were marched along the banks of the stream till they reached the waterfall that fell into the Pool of Doom. Hadden was a brave man after his fashion, but his heart quailed as he gazed into that abyss. "Are you going to throw me in there?" he asked of the Zulu captain in a thick voice.
The collar that Elinor Hadden had lent Leslie was not very becoming, the sleeves had enormous wristbands, and were made for double sleeve-buttons, while her own were single; moreover, the brown silk net, which she had supposed thoroughly trustworthy, had given way all at once into a great hole under the waterfall, and the soft hair would fret itself through and threaten to stray untidily.
So it befell that Norris during what remained to him of arduous days in Sydney, saw not again the face of his legal adviser; and he was already at sea, and land was out of sight, when Hadden brought him a Sydney paper, over which he had been dozing in the shadow of the galley, and showed him an advertisement. "Mr.
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