“O, Eugene, Eugene,” she sobbed to herself, “why would you go away, when everybody wanted you, and I most of all?” Then she put the things back into the knapsack, all but the sheet of paper, which she carried away, and thrust into the bosom of her dress, as she saw Miss Du Plessis approaching. In common with the other ladies of the house, they retired to their rooms and to bed, leaving the gentlemen to tell stories and smoke, and otherwise prepare themselves for an unsatisfactory breakfast and a general disinclination for work in the morning. In the back of the house, geographical studies continued to flourish, the corporal and Maguffin contending with the ladies for educational honours, now being lifted up to the seventh heaven of success, and, now, depressed beneath the load of many adverse books. All the time, a little bird was singing in Miss Carmichael’s sleeping ear, or rather in that which really does the hearing, certain words like, “My life, my love, my Marjorie,” and then again “I’ll love thee false, I’ll love thee fair, world without end, unceasingly.” When she awoke in the morning, the girls told her she had been crying in her sleep, and saying “O Eugene!” which she indignantly denied, and forbade them to repeat.
The Glory Departed—The
Mail—Coristine’s Letters to Miss
Carmichael, Mrs. Carruthers and the Dominie—Sylvanus to
Tryphena—Burying Muggins—A Dull Week—A Letter From Coristine and
Four to Him—Marjorie’s Letter and Book—Telegram—Mr. Douglas and
Miss Graves—Reception Parties—The Colonel and Marjorie.
After breakfast on Saturday morning, Mr. Bangs departed, riding his own horse, while Rufus bestrode that of his late friend Nash. As the colonel had no need for the services of Maguffin, that gentleman drove the constable and his prisoner in a cart between these two mounted guards. The clergymen went home to look over their sermons for the morrow, and to make good resolutions for pastoral duty in the week to come, not that either of them was disposed to be negligent in the discharge of such duty, but a week of almost unavoidable arrears had to be overtaken. The Squire was busy all day looking after his farm hands, and laying out work to be commenced on Monday morning; and Mr. Terry went the rounds with him. The colonel’s time was spent largely in conversation, divided between his dear Farquhar and his dearer Teresa. When not engaged in helping the hostess and her sister in-law in the press of Saturday’s household work, the young ladies were in consultation over the new engagement, the ring, the day, the bridesmaids, the trousseau, and other like matters of great importance. Marjorie took her young cousins botanizing in honour of Eugene, and crawfishing in memory of Mr. Biggles; then she formed them into a Sunday school class, and instructed them feelingly in the vanity of human wishes,