[63780] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Enjoy Stunning Views and Tropical Weather on a Costa Rica Vacation
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Visit Costa Rica)
Wed Dec 9 07:51:25 2015
Date: Wed, 9 Dec 2015 13:51:24 00100
To: <mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu>
From: "Visit Costa Rica" <VisitCostaRica@newvcion.date>
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Enjoy Stunning Views and Tropical Weather on a Costa Rica Vacation
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I went to the table, and the books upon it were Jeremy Sparrow's: the minister's house, then, had been his home once more. Beside the books lay a packet, tied with silk, sealed, and addressed to me. Perhaps the Governor had given it, the day before, into Master Bucke's care,—I do not know; at any rate, there it lay. I looked at the "By the Esperance" upon the cover, and wondered dully who at home would care to write to me; then broke the seal and untied the silk. Within the cover there was a letter with the superscription, "To a Gentleman who has served me well." I read the letter through to the signature, which was that of his Grace of Buckingham, and then I laughed, who had never thought to laugh again, and threw the paper down. It mattered naught to me now that George Villiers should be grateful, or that James Stewart could deny a favorite nothing. "The King graciously sanctions the marriage of his sometime ward, the Lady Jocelyn Leigh, with Captain Ralph Percy; invites them home"— She was gone home, and I her husband, I who loved her, was left behind. How many years of pilgrimage… how long, how long, O Lord? The minister's great armchair was drawn before the cold and blackened hearth. How often she had sat there within its dark clasp, the firelight on her dress, her hands, her face! She had been fair to look upon; the pride, the daring, the willfulness, were but the thorns about the rose; behind those defenses was the flower, pure and lovely, with a heart of gold. I flung myself down beside the chair, and, putting my arms across it, hid my face upon them, and could weep at last. That passion spent itself, and I lay with my face against the wood and well-nigh slept. The battle was done; the field was lost; the storm and stress of life had sunk into this dull calm, as still as peace, as hopeless as the charred log and white ash upon the hearth, cold, never to be quickened again. Time passed, and at length I raised my head, roused sud- denly to the consciousness that for a while there had been no stillness. The air was full of sound, shouts, savage cries, the beating of a drum, the noise of musketry. I sprang to my feet
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<p align=3D"right" style=3D"font: 12px;">I went to the table, and the books=
upon it were Jeremy
Sparrow's: the minister's house, then, had been his home once
more. Beside the books lay a packet, tied with silk, sealed, and
addressed to me. Perhaps the Governor had given it, the day
before, into Master Bucke's care,=E2=80=94I do not know; at any rate,
there it lay. I looked at the "By the Esperance" upon the cover,
and wondered dully who at home would care to write to me;
then broke the seal and untied the silk. Within the cover there
was a letter with the superscription, "To a Gentleman who has
served me well."
I read the letter through to the signature, which was that of
his Grace of Buckingham, and then I laughed, who had never
thought to laugh again, and threw the paper down. It mattered
naught to me now that George Villiers should be grateful, or
that James Stewart could deny a favorite nothing. "The King
graciously sanctions the marriage of his sometime ward, the
Lady Jocelyn Leigh, with Captain Ralph Percy; invites them
home"=E2=80=94
She was gone home, and I her husband, I who loved her, was
left behind. How many years of pilgrimage=E2=80=A6 how long, how
long, O Lord?
The minister's great armchair was drawn before the cold and
blackened hearth. How often she had sat there within its dark
clasp, the firelight on her dress, her hands, her face! She had
been fair to look upon; the pride, the daring, the willfulness,
were but the thorns about the rose; behind those defenses was
the flower, pure and lovely, with a heart of gold. I flung myself
down beside the chair, and, putting my arms across it, hid my
face upon them, and could weep at last.
That passion spent itself, and I lay with my face against the
wood and well-nigh slept. The battle was done; the field was
lost; the storm and stress of life had sunk into this dull calm, as
still as peace, as hopeless as the charred log and white ash
upon the hearth, cold, never to be quickened again.
Time passed, and at length I raised my head, roused sud-
denly to the consciousness that for a while there had been no
stillness. The air was full of sound, shouts, savage cries, the
beating of a drum, the noise of musketry. I sprang to my feet</p>
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