File:"My merry Rockhurst"; being some episodes inn the life of Viscount Rockhurst, a friend of King Charles the Second,and at one time constable of His Majesty's tower of London (1907) (14598547437).jpg

Identifier: mymerryrockhurst00cast (find matches)
Title: "My merry Rockhurst"; being some episodes inn the life of Viscount Rockhurst, a friend of King Charles the Second,and at one time constable of His Majesty's tower of London
Year: 1907 (1900s)
Authors: Castle, Agnes, d. 1922 Castle, Egerton, 1858-1920
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Publisher: New York : Macmillan Co.
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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joy ran like music in herveins: life, reality, seemed thrust as far away fromher as yonder flickering lights in the black distance.It seemed indeed a dream, and surely one may accepthappiness in a dream! Sighing, she had yieldedherself to it one moment — one moment — alas,even as she stirred, lo, it was hers no longer! Be-neath her hands was fine turf, in her nostrils the scentof fading roses; she knew where she was — some-where under the beeches of Chillingburgh Housegardens. She remembered, she understood. Hehad snatched her, unconscious, from the danger ofthe infected house. And as she moved, his clasprelaxed; he spoke to her, coldly enough, shethought:— You are better? It is well. . . . Then had begun their strange pilgrimagethrough the London streets, the long, long night.She went beside him, through the tangle of unknown,unlit ways; seeing him only ever and anon, paintedas it were against the darkness by the glare of thesmoky street fires in the more open spaces. In his
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The huddled figure in the great chair. The face of her that hadso stout a heart, conquered in death — but less piteous, less awfulsight than the living face of the French madam. Broken Sanctuary 315 white hand, the sword drawn, guarding her from theprowling thieves of the night. Inhuman wretches,to whom the stricken citys extremity was fortunesboon, slinking after them like pariah dogs . . . !They had spoken little: mostly words of bare need.But once he had told her she was brave; and oncethat she was strong indeed. . . . She had at onemoment noticed a great pity in his eyes.—Ah, heneed never have pitied her; she had been happy,being with him. She started from her heavy revery: some one wasknocking at the casement. Outside the window the lines of a mans head andshoulders, a man hatless, with disordered periwig,were silhouetted blackly against the morning light.She sprang to her feet, terror stifling the screamin her throat. She remembered the marauders thathad slunk after them in

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