Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. 2 (of 3)Scargill, William Pitt
General
Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. 2 (of 3)
Scargill, William Pitt
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
of conduct; nor, supposing such to be the case, will we minutely and
scrupulously weigh the value of that quality thus supported. It is very
well that there is in the world such a virtue as high principle; that
there exists in many minds that firm, obstinate, haughty independence,
which disdains aught that is morally base and mean. The existence
of such a principle is good; and we will not cavil at it, if it be
accompanied with a little pride, or even with a great deal. We are
indeed very much of opinion that a lack of pride is in many cases an
injury, or the cause of injury. But to proceed with our history.
Our observant readers will observe, that we have not said that Markham
had absolutely forgotten Clara, but only that he had not preserved a
romantic and passionate remembrance of her. As soon, however, as the
more important demands on his first thoughts and attentions had been
complied with, there came into his mind a recollection of Brigland and
its magnificent Abbey, and of the whimsical old John Martindale. A few
days, therefore, after his arrival home, he rode over to Brigland to
see his old friend, the rich cousin of the Earl of Trimmerstone.
When he came to Brigland, he found the magnificent building still
shining in all its splendor, and the broad expanse of water spreading
its smooth mirror to the fields and to the sky; but when he came to the
old gentleman's cottage, he found it desolate and deserted. There was
in it only one elderly female domestic, who had been left to take care
of it till she was quite tired of her task. Markham was hardly able to
gain admittance at all, but after much knocking and ringing this old
lady made her appearance. To the inquiry, whether Mr. Martindale was at
home, she only returned a short pettish answer, saying,
"At home! no; and never will be, I think. He is running about all over
the country, nobody knows where."
"Then you can't tell me," said Markham again, "where I can find him?"
"No, that I can't; but perhaps they can tell you at the Abbey: that
fellow Oliver knows all their movements, but they never condescend to
honor me with any information."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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