Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: August 6, 2024
Saxham's laugh is ugly to hear. "Do you think that Lord Beauvayse would wind up as top-dog if it came to a struggle between us?" "It must not come to a struggle, Saxham," says the Chaplain, very pale. "We we are under Martial Law. He is your superior officer."
Nothing was left now but his loyalty to the friend who believed in him. If that man had not stood between Saxham and his despair, Gueldersdorp would have got back her Dop Doctor that night. For the Hospital stores included a cherished case or two of Martell and Kinahan, and all these things were under Saxham's hand. The heavy footsteps crashed out of hearing.
She laughed ruefully, recalling the row of pictorially-illustrated nursery rhymes that adorned the brown-paper dado of Saxham's third-floor bedroom, the previous tenant having been a family man. " Little Miss Muffet and Georgy Porgy; the Four-and-Twenty Blackbirds, and the Cow that jumped over the Moon. How can you endure them?"
"Lady Hannah and the Major left the choice to me," she said, with a little touch of girlish importance, "so I telephoned to Nickalls in Bond Street for a box at The Leicester. He had not got one; he sent me three stalls for 'The Chiffon Girl' at The Variety instead. It is a revival. I don't quite know what that means," she added, rather puzzled by Saxham's silence and the grimness of his face.
Well, the letter was a blind; the bearer an agent of the firm of Huysmans and Eybel, sent to make certain of our weakest points before they put in the attack on the Barala town; and that's the man who committed the murder!" "The man who committed the murder?" Saxham's vivid eyes were intent upon the Major's face.
And Saxham's face darkened with angry blood, and his strong, supple surgeon's hand clenched with the savage impulse to dash itself in the face of this ragged, seedy, out-at-elbows Millionaire who flaunted riches in the face of his own beggary. Never, never would a woman's eyes kindle with that sweet fire in answer to the challenge of his own!
She lay there prone, and wept as though all the tears pent up in her since that numbing double stroke of the Death Angel's sword were flowing from her now. And Sister Tobias, glancing doubtfully up at Saxham's face, saw it transfigured and irradiated with a great and speechless joy.
But as though the rod of Moses had touched the rock in Horeb, one slow tear oozed from between Saxham's black fringed, close-sealed eyelids, and hung there, a burnished, trembling point of steely light.
Only the bâton was a well-worn staghorn-handled crop, Squire Saxham's gift, together with a hunter, to his boy Owen, at seventeen. It was one of the few relics of home that had stayed by Saxham during his wanderings. He reined up now, saluting the Mother-Superior with marked respect. "Good-morning, ma'am. All well with you and yours?"
The modern kind, you find by employin' the Divinin' Rod" the large narrator bestowed a wink on Saxham and added "on the backs of the fellows who buried the guns. Never fails used in that way. And as it chances I have a communication to make to you." "A communication a message from the Chief to me?" Saxham's face changed, and softened, and brightened curiously and pleasantly.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking