Julia And Her Romeo: A Chronicle Of Castle Barfield / From Schwartz" by David Christie Murray"

prostrated by the dire reversal of all her hopes by Samson Mountain's ultimatum. Mrs. Mountain, with the aid of a fema

presence should call down his wrath upon her, she listened to the tramping and the muffled noises overhead unti

f sunlight saw her dressed and downstairs. She felt feverous and ill, and having brewed for herself a huge jorum of tansy tea, sat down over this inspiring beverage, and tried to pull her scattered wits together and think out some way of untangling the skein of difficul

y or two in Birmingham, and Julia be smuggled there and secretly married. It was no time for half measures, and whatever w

as hard and bitter as th' other, on'y quieter wi' it. Well, they shan't want while I'm alive, nor after my death neither, and Dick ud ma

rds from her door she met Ichabod Bubb, bound for his morning's work at Perry Hall Farm. Ichabod was bent and gnarled and twisted now, stiff in all

id, with a stiff-neck

Ichabod beamed at this sudden and unexpected

afoot ea

utiful morning; it's a shaame

he ancient one; 'not as it's a sin as I often com

done, Mr. Bubb,' said Mrs. Busker, '

now as I've got any, not to say rew

u to take this note to Mr. Richard. But mind, you must get

, missus,' res

show of despatch, and the old lady returned to her sitting-room to await the result of his message. It came in less than the appointed time, and disappointed her terribly. Ichabod had asc

off!' said the exasperated old woman. 'You might ha' cau

, likely, like a cow might ketch a race-hoss. I'm a gay fine f

ffer her reason as an antidote to unreason

th the whole masculine half of her sp

-room. But with beer to be gained by boldness, Ichabod was leonine in courage. He knocked, and the summons brought the old lady to the door again. Ichabod spoke no word

y; 'you'll find the maid there. It's all

retire

hee, Ichabod, her bark's a long sight wors

the pictures which decorated the walls. Among these latter was a work of her own hands, her masterpiece, a reproduction in coloured wool of a German engraving of the last scene of Romeo and Juliet. There was a pea-green Capulet paralytically embracing a sky-blue Montague in the foreground, with a dissolving

was a story

f Juliet an

an inspiration flashed into

lanes, and as she walked and walked, finding some little ease in the unusual and incessant exercise, she drew nearer and nearer to the Mountain Farm.

oman. 'I can go now. I dussent g

Mountain was voluble in condemnation of her husband's lack of wit in his announcement of the matrimonial scheme he had formed for the girl, and Mrs. Jenny was fluent and honest in sympathy. Might she see the girl? Julia was fond of her, and her counsels might bring some comfort. Mrs. Mountain yielded a ready assent, and t

take a bit o' heart. Things is rarely as bad as they seem; an' t

which this commonplace condolence was delivered than in the

ct accordin' when there's rayson for it. I've got a pl

and eager look encou

We shouldn't go as far as that. But I'll get the stuff, an' it'll send you to sleep, an' they'll think as you're dead, an' then I'll tell 'em how you an' Dick loved each other so's you couldn't bear to part wi' him, an' the fear of it's killed you. That'll soften their hard hearts, my dear. Old Reddy knows all about it-that'

a volubility which left no opportunity for detailed objection, was to fall

she continued, her brief anger fading at the sight of Julia's distress, 'have a bit o

ed by any such means, left the house in dudgeon, whereat poor Julia only cried the more. But Mrs. Rusker's confidence in her plan was unshaken, and her persistency unchecked. She woul

ity alone, and opened

Things were going poorly with him, the rising generation followed newer lights unevident in his

e, ma'am, such as it is,'

sleep-mek 'em sleep for a long time

how much more he could have done, and his disappointment at the facility of his t

id a sovereign

for that?'

at her. She was obviou

'is hard to find, and harde

ow, and at once,'

as only last wik as that young upstart, Doctor Hodges, comes an' threatens me with persecution as a rogue an' vagabond, a-obtainin' money under false pertences for practisin' my

id Mrs. Rusker. 'Who should I tell? Why, I should te

, missus,' repe

them as wull,' said Mrs. Jenny

'Theer's no call to be so uppish But if I tek

t wuth your while t

id the wizard. 'G

's the

ink as I can percure a precious h

an' I'll gie y

e was filled in by the astute wizard journeying to a neighbouring town and procuring from a chemist a sleeping draught, which he paid for out of Mrs. Busker's sovereign. He

doubtedly very ill, so ill that even Samson Mountain forbore to force her to descend to the parlour in which Mr. Tom Raybould nervously awaited her coming, and where, on Samson's return from his daughter's chamber, the pair sat and drank their beer together in miserable silence, broken by spasmodic attempts at conversation regarding crops and politics. The doctor had been called in, and, knowing nothing of the grief which w

last night. Nor him nayther, for the matter o' that, though he tried to desave me by snorin', whinever I spok

ndolence, and at last got t

, my dear?' she asked the patient 'Ai

f what was wrong with her than anybody else could guess, and only longed passio

on the table with a shaking hand. She poured out the wizard's potion, the phial clinking against the edge of the glass like a castanet, and her heart beating so that she almost feared Julia

bid 'em,' she said, as she re

te the same,' m

ed. As fall o' fancies as you can stick,' said M

thing. She stirred and sighed once or twice, but after a while lay so utterly still that the old lady ventured to approach the be

kin,' said