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The force of the farmer's threats lay in their relation to a circumstance known at present only to herself: her lover was coming back to Weatherby in the course of the very next day or two. Troy had not returned to his distant barracks as Boldwood and others supposed, but had merely gone to visit some acquaintance in Bath, and had yet a week or more remaining to his furlough.
He lived only a few years, and it then passed into the hands of Lemuel Hamilton's grandfather, who had done little or nothing in the way of remodelling the buildings. Governor Weatherby had harbored no extraordinary ambition regarding architectural excellence, for he was not a rich man; he had simply built a large, comfortable Colonial house.
"There's one man, the chief engineer, Belding you met him at the head gates that I would like to be remembered should we do business," he concluded very thoughtfully. "Belding was my first employee. I picked him up in St. Marys and he has stuck to it nobly. I probably gave him far too much to do, but he never squealed; and there are other reasons." Weatherby looked up.
She herself had sunk to the level of a servant, but through it all Lila had remained "the lady," preserving an equable loveliness to which Jim Weatherby hardly dared lift his wistful gaze. As for the young man himself, he had a blithe, open look which Carraway found singularly attractive, the kind of look it warms one's heart to meet in the long road on a winter's day.
Once a day, most often after breakfast, Jim Weatherby appeared, smiling gaily beneath his powdering of snow; and sometimes, in defiance of Cynthia, he would take Lila for a sleigh-ride, from which she would return blossoming like a rose. Mrs.
It was yellow and worn, like the letters, and she unfolded it carefully. It was over thirty years old, and around a paragraph on the last page a faint line still lingered. It was an announcement of the marriage of Charles G. Winfield, captain of the schooner Mary, to Miss Abigail Weatherby. "Abigail Weatherby," she said aloud. The name had a sweet, old-fashioned sound.
I've visited the local police station and various other places. I am satisfied that Mr. Hathaway or Mr. Weatherby, as he calls himself is not in Dorfield and has never located here. Once again the man has baffled the entire force of our department.
Cynthia threw out her hands with a despairing grasp of the air, as if she were reaching for the broken remnants of the family pride. "To marry a Weatherby!" she gasped. "Oh, mother! mother! Lila, is it possible that you can be so selfish?" But Lila had won her freedom too dearly to surrender it to an appeal. "I want to be selfish," she said stubbornly.
Lila, do we still make it for the servants? If so, you might send Sarah Weatherby a bottle." "I'll see about it, mother. Aren't you tired? Shall I take Jim away?" "Not just yet, child. I am interested in seeing what a promising young man he has become. How old are you, Jim?" "Twenty-nine next February. There are two of us, you know I've a sister Molly.
"Maybe nobody there, but it will be cover " "You can find it?" Drew demanded. The Cherokee scout answered quickly. "Yes. You tell the lieutenant, and we'll go there." Kirby's hand rested on Drew's shoulder for a moment. "I'll track down Traggart. You and Weatherby here get the kid into that cover as quick as you can. This ain't no weather for an hombre with a cough to be out sackin' in the bush."
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