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Lynde, Francis, 1856-1930

"The Master of Appleby A Novel Tale Concerning Itself in Part with the Great Struggle in the Two Carolinas; but Chiefly with the Adventures Therein of Two Gentlemen Who Loved One and the Same Lady"

In the hall we
came upon old Anthony, putting on the chain of the outer door. Here my
lady drew apart from me.
"Is my Lord gone?" she asked.
"Yis, Missa. He say tell yo' he gwine tek it mighty hawd yo' no come ter
gib him de sti'up-cup."
"And my father?"
"Gone to de lib'ry to wait fo' Massa Pengarbin; yis, Missa."
She turned away, shuddering at this mention of the factor for whose
coming the master would wait long and in vain, and I heard her murmur:
"Oh, the horror of this night!" But in a moment she came back to me, and
was her cool, calm self again.
"For that I am here, alive and well, I thank you, Captain Ireton. Need I
say more?"
I can not tell you what was in the words to make me hot with anger, as I
had but now been hot with love. But the new wound in my shoulder was
bleeding freely, and I would not let her see I was hurt; and if aught
will stanch a wound, 'tis anger.
"You need not say so much," I retorted, bowing low. "You have spoken now
and then of certain duties binding upon those who are knotted up, ever
so loosely, in the marriage bond; I have my part in these as well as
you, Mistress Margery."
She bit her lip and was upon the edge of tears. I saw what I had done
and would curse the masterless tongue that must needs add its word-thong
to the night's whip of scourgings.
When she spoke again it was to say: "This is your own house, Captain
Ireton; what will you do?"
"One question first, is Richard Jennifer safe?"
"He is.


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