Nothing New, Tales, by the Author of 'John Halifax, Gentleman'. (Paperback)

Nothing New, Tales, by the Author of 'John Halifax, Gentleman'. Book Description

General Books publication date: 2009 Original publication date: 1857 Notes: This is a black and white OCR reprint of the original. It has no illustrations and there may be typos or missing text. When you buy the General Books edition of this book you get free trial access to Million-Books.com where you can select from more than a million books for free. Excerpt: CHAPTER X. It was a November day -- November, yet so mild, so sunshiny, so heavenly calm, that but for the thinned trees, the brown heather, the withered fern, you would have thought it spring. Her pony's feet were up to the fetlock in dead beech-leaves, making a soft rustle as we climbed the hill after her. We -- that is, Miss Corrie, Hardy, Dr James, and I. The old Dr Corrie and his wife were a good way behind. They, too, had made a point of joining the triumphant procession which celebrated Miss Keir's return to the outer world; for everybody loved her -- everybody She seemed to know and feel it -- to sun herself in it almost as a child does. For, though thirty years old, there was still in her a great deal of the child. Trouble had passedover her, ripening, not blasting, and left her in the Indian summer of her days, a season almost as beautiful as spring. In that golden brightness, one of us at least lived, morning, noon, and eve, and half believed it was the return of May. "This day seems made on purpose for you, Miss Keir," said Austin, as he struggled up the hill, assisting Miss Jessie kindly and courteously (perhaps more kindly and courteously than ever since his manner had gradually sunk to that and nothing more). The lady looked cross, and complained of damp leaves. In her was nothing of the Indian summer, but an affectation of girlishness, a frantic clinging to a lost youth, which is at once the saddest and most hateful thing 5 know. " Eight hours since, when Hardy and I took our morning walk, this moor was all white with hoar frost. Are you quite sure you are not cold, Miss Keir?" ..".

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