Beauchamp's Career -- Volume 7

oward Lydiard had been very like Cecilia Halkett's in favour of Mr. Austin; with something more to warm them on the part of the gentleman. He first had led her mind in the directio

with her, hardly flattered; he had done no more than kindle a young girl's imaginative liking. The pale flower of imagination, fed by dews, not by sunshine, was born drooping, and hung secret in her bosom, shy as a bell of the frail wood-sorrel. Yet there was pain for her in the perishing of a thing so poor and lowly. She had not o

d him too highly for the act. She had no longer anything to resent: she was obliged to weep. In truth, as the earl had

ld have ideas. He had repeated certain of her own which had been forgotten by her. His eyes were often on her with this that she thought humorous intentness. She smiled. She had assisted in raising him from his bed of sickness, whereof the memory affrighted her and

his visit, 'own that my uncle Everard is a true nobleman. He has to make the round to the right mark, but he comes to it. I could not move him- an

dom perching on his brains advised him to lie where he was and trouble not himself, since peace at least he could command, before he passed upon the black highroad men call our kingdom of peace: ay, he lay there. Now it chanced that this man had a mess to cook for his nourishment. And life said, Do it, and death said, To what end? He wrestled with the stark limbs of death, and cooked the mess; and that done he had no strength remaining to him to consume it, but crept to his bed like the toad into winter. Now, meanwhile a stea

expiring breath to sow seed of life. Lydiard shall put it into verse for a fable in song for our people. I say it is a go

? I mean, the virtue of impatience. But I like the fable and the moral; and I think it

the special. I spoke of seed sown. I spoke of the fruits of energy and resolution. Cared I for an apology? I took the blows as I take hail from the clouds-which apologize to you the

t be well wrapped if you must go,' said Jenny. 'And tell

send Killick, if they want to

numbers, our hearts are narrowed to them. The business of our modern world is to open heart and stretch out arms to numbers. In numbers we have our sinews; they are our iron and gold. Scatter them not; teach them the secret of cohesion.

m,' said

r on the doctor's heedless shoulders and throat,

proof of such supererogatory counsel

had da

Jenny to play to

meet a deputation, because your strength is not yet equal to it. Dr

hamp. 'When you play I seem to hear

es and set them on the pi

puppet-sh

some leaves, and struck

Beethoven, and m

Now read me your father'

te

ad it

e Ascent from

o 'Soul and Brute,' an

told her to read 'Fi

voice for love-poems,' Jenny

ad it,'

es. But it was worth while observing him. She saw him always as in a picture, remote from herself. His loftier social station

of him. Yes, he was one of the great men of his day! and it's a higher honour to be of his bl

' said Jenny. She described her fath

d with enthusiasm. 'So he was doubly great. I hold a good surgeon to be in the front rank of public benefactors-where they put rich br

London lawyer. She married without her father's

erjected: 'La

o my mother's household when

ogs with a bone!-instead of living, as Dr. Shrapnel prophecies, for and, with one another. It's war now, and money's the weapon of war. And we're the worst nation in Europe for tha

mp, you have nev

p by courtesy, in publ

have heard the na

u were v

oser to her

led for me? May I look at

trifle? There is the fainte

sh to

of the old Election missile on her fair arm, that, with a pardonable soft blush, to avoid

as fo

accident: no ha

s in my ca

ptain Beauc

we say i

wiser to say what c

honour to go in and sit with him. You are not to have your hand back: it is mine. Don't you remember, Jenny, how you gave me your arm on the road when I staggered; two days before the fever knocked me over? Shall I tell you what I thought then? I thought that he who could have you for a mate would have the bravest and hel

?' Jenny said quickly,

to the mark of the bruise

man-will you? He has been brooding over your loneliness here if you are unmarried, ever s

. if I may have my hand. You exaggerate comm

don't l

I shall be unable to support

llness with my eyes open. I must hav

ped a shiv

ong absent!

ased. Beauchamp i

en! He may be lyi

'why did I let him

tern; I'll go and se

not go out

old man may b

death to you

can stand the air

go,' sa

tected

all come

wom

little for me, be go

nd he's never late. Something must have h

It came to pass that she stretched her ha

weather, anything!' she said, in the despera

his arms round her. 'I'l

ded, broken and sobbing, se

uietly opening the hall door and

mp!' he

hamp, and loosened his cla

engaged

now I die

she 's mine by h

rror! what delusion! . . . Forget it. I will. Here are m

r husband, sweetheart! Ay, of all the earth! I go with a message for my old friend Harry Denham, to quicken him in the grave; f

p kissed

lf somewhere in the mid-thunder of her amazement, as though it were t

apology of Lord Rom