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Updated: June 22, 2025
We will talk the matter over to-morrow that is, if you are still kind enough to listen." She smiled. "Little doubt of that, I think." "Thank you! And now I will say good-night," observed Harold, rising. Ere he went, however, he looked down curiously into Olive's face. "You seem quite strong and well now, Miss Rothesay. You have been happy here?" "Happy oh, yes! quite happy."
While she pondered, there came a light knock to the door, and Captain Rothesay's voice was heard without his own voice, soothed down to its soft, gentleman-like tone; it was a rare emotion, indeed, could deprive it of that peculiarity. "Nurse, I wish to see Miss Olive Rothesay." It was the first time that formal appellation had ever been given to the little girl. Still it was a recognition.
The orphan appeared there under the character she so steadily sustained, as Miss Christal Manners, the child of illustrious parents lost at sea; and so she vanished altogether from the atmosphere of Woodford Cottage. Olive Rothesay was now straining every nerve towards the completion of her first exhibited picture a momentous crisis in every young artist's life.
It came to be a matter of saving his own life now saving it that he might live to carry the sad news home to Rothesay. So he turned round with the stream and swam towards a great flat rock in mid-current. As he neared it a strange sight met his eyes. On the rock was the dead stag. A stream of crimson blood trickled down from its broad chest, staining the white rock.
"Oh, indeed!" and Captain Rothesay made an attempt at departure. He hated gossiping, even of the most harmless kind. But his wife, pleased that he condescended to talk to her at all, tried to amuse him in her own easy way. "Poor Sara! I am glad that she is going to have a home of her own though she is young enough to marry.
David, Duke of Rothesay, was the first in the Scotch records who was ever raised to that rank nothing above the degree of Earl having been known in the north before the son and brother of the King, the latter by the fatal title of Albany, brought a new degree into the roll of nobility.
When I have said, good night for evermore, And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door, Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave is growing green: She'll be a better child to you than I have ever been. Here Harold paused; for, looking at Olive, he saw her tears falling fast; but Mrs. Rothesay, generally so easily touched, was now quite unmoved. On her face was a soft calm.
"I don't quite like her, Olive I don't like the tone of her voice; and yet there was something that struck me in the touch of her hand which is so different in different people." "Hers is a very pretty hand, mamma. It is quite classic in shape like poor papa's which I remember so well!" "There never was such a beautiful hand as your papa's. He said it descended in the Rothesay family.
Lyle put on his favourite sentimental air, and muttered something about "not liking gaiety, and never being happy away from Farnwood." "Miss Rothesay is scarcely of your opinion; at all events, she is going to try the experiment by leaving us for a while." "Miss Rothesay leaving us!" "It is indeed true, Lyle.
"Why, I am getting elderly myself; but I heed it not. One need mind nothing if one's heart does not grow old." "Does yours?" "I hope not. I would like to lead a life like Aunt Flora's a quiet stream that goes on singing to the end." "Look me in the face, Olive Rothesay," said Harold, abruptly.
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