“And you are the company, eh, Mr Derrick?”
“You have hit it,” responded the bearded man with the air of a
proprietor. “This here child is the _Co._ in question.”
CHAPTER VII. A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP.
|WEEKS and months have passed by at Mirk Abbey; the snow has thawed, and
the cold winds of March have done their worst, and the spring is
clothing nature's nakedness with garments of green. Yet all this time,
my Lady, who is so fond of outdoor exercise, even in rough weather, and
such a constant visitor of the poor, has never been seen beyond the Park
gates. To be sure, she has had more to keep her within than usual, for
the captain not only has got his leave prolonged at the beginning of the
year, but came home for three weeks very shortly after, and is at Mirk
again at the present time. Miss Rose Aynton, too, a very nice young
lady, and most attentive to her hostess, seems to have become quite a
resident at the Abbey, for, with the exception of a week's absence in
London, she has remained there since Christmas, her departure having
indeed been vaguely fixed more than once, but only to be as indefinitely
postponed. It is now understood that she will certainly stay over the
festivities attendant upon Sir Richard's coming of age in June. The
baronet himself, who, his detractors say, always prefers the country,
where he is somebody, to town, where baronets are plentiful, has
scarcely been away at all. He writes to inquiring friends in London,
most of whom happen to have marriageable daughters, that he is immersed
in business connected with the estate, and cannot leave Mirk at present.
Mr Rinkel, the agent, however, has seen no cause to relax his ordinary
exertions, in consequence of this new-born application of the young
gentleman to his own affairs; and Walter wickedly asserts that his
brother is in reality occupied with no other business whatever, save
that of keeping the man Derrick from trespassing upon the Abbey lands.
He is very glad, he says, that Richard has at last found an object in
life, and hopes that, like the French sportsman's woodcock, it will last
him for a good long time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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