. Denis Duval, Lovel the widower, The Wolves and the lamb, The second funeral of Napoleon ... with illustrations by the author and by Frederick Walker . n—if aman of mature age certainly, but who has a kind heartand four hundred a year of his own—were to say to you, Elizabeth! will you bid the flowers of a blighted life tobloom again?—Elizabeth! will you soothe a woundedheart?- Oh, Mr. Batchelor! she sighed, and then addedquickly, Please, dont take my hand. Heres Pop. And that dear child (bless him!) came up at the mo-ment, saying, Oh, Miss Prior, look here! Ive got sucha jolly big toadstool!
. Denis Duval, Lovel the widower, The Wolves and the lamb, The second funeral of Napoleon ... with illustrations by the author and by Frederick Walker . n—if aman of mature age certainly, but who has a kind heartand four hundred a year of his own—were to say to you, Elizabeth! will you bid the flowers of a blighted life tobloom again?—Elizabeth! will you soothe a woundedheart?- Oh, Mr. Batchelor! she sighed, and then addedquickly, Please, dont take my hand. Heres Pop. And that dear child (bless him!) came up at the mo-ment, saying, Oh, Miss Prior, look here! Ive got sucha jolly big toadstool! And next came Cissy, with a con-founded butterfly. O Richard the Third! Havent youbeen maligned because you smothered two little nui-sances in a Tower? What is to prove to me that youdid not serve the little brutes right, and that you werenta most humane man? Darling Cissy coming up, then,in her dear, charming way, says, You shant take hand, you shall take iriy hand! And shetosses up her little head, and walks with the instructressof her youth. Ces enfans ne comprennent guere le Fran^ais,says Miss Prior, speaking very Bessys Reflections A BLACK SHEEP 313 Apres lonche? I whisper. The fact is, I was soagitated I hardly knew what the French for lunch then our conversation dropped: and the beating ofmy own heart was all the sound I heard. Lunch came. I couldnt eat a bit: I should havechoked. Bessy ate plenty, and drank a glass of was her dinner, to be sure. Young Blacksheep didnot appear. We did not miss him. When Lady Bakerbegan to tell her story of George IV. at Slane Castle,I went into my own room. I took a book. Books? Psha!I went into the garden. I took out a cigar. But no, Iwould not smoke it. Perhaps she—many people dontlike smoking. I went into the garden. Come into the garden,IVIaud. I sat by a large lilac-bush. I waited. Per-haps she would come? The morning-roam windowswere wide open on the lawn. Will she never come ? Ah!wha
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