The Vicissitudes of Bessie Fairfax by [pseud.] Holme Lee
page 91 of 528 (17%)
page 91 of 528 (17%)
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a land of merry running waters, but little tranquil streams meander
hither and thither, making cool its shades. Three superb beeches laved their silken leaves in the shallow flood, and amongst their roots were rustic seats all sheltered from sun and wind. Here had Harry Musgrave and Bessie Fairfax sat many a summer afternoon, their heads over one poetry-book, reading, whispering, drawing--lovers in a way, though they never talked of love. "Shall we two ever walk together in this garden again, Harry?" said Bessie, breaking a sentimental silence with a sigh as she gazed at the sun-dimmed horizon. "Many a time, I hope. I'll tell you my ambition." Young Musgrave spoke with vivacity; his eyes sparkled. "Listen, Bessie, and don't be astonished. I mean some day to buy Brook, and come to live here. That is my ambition." Bessie was overawed. To buy Brook was a project too vast for her imagination. The traditions of its ancient glories still hung about it, and the proprietor, even in his poverty, was a power in the country. Harry proceeded with the confession of his day-dreams: "I shall pull down the house--if it does not fall down of itself before--and build it up again on the original plan, for I admire not all things new. With the garden replanted and the fine old trees left, it will be a paradise--as much of a paradise as any modern Adam can desire. And Bessie shall be my Eve." "You will see so many Eves between now and then, Harry, that you will have forgotten me," cried Bessie. |
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