Rest Harrow

Rest Harrow

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Title: Rest Harrow A Comedy of Resolution
Author: Maurice Hewlett
Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8464] [Yes, we are more than one
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REST HARROW
A COMEDY OF RESOLUTION
BY
MAURICE HEWLETT
"Rest Harrow grows in any soil.... The seeds may be sown as soon as
ripe in warm, sheltered spots out of doors.... It is a British plant."
-WEATHERS
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRANK CRAIG

THI KANNICTHI

CONTENTS
BOOK I OF THE NATURE OF A PROLOGUE, DEALING WITH A
BRUISED PHILOSOPHER IN RETIREMENT
BOOK II SANCHIA AT WANLESS HALL
BOOK III INTERLUDE OF THE RECLUSE PHILOSOPHER
BOOK IV SANCHIA IN LONDON
BOOK V OF THE NATURE OF AN EPILOGUE, DEALING WITH
DESPOINA

ILLUSTRATIONS
Wrote deliberately to each of her sisters
The hum of cities, and buzz of dinner tables . . sound in his ears not at
all.
The housekeeper! This--person!

He had eloquence, he thought, as he watched her, he had won. But he
was anxious. She was such a deep one.
Ploughman in the vales would sometimes see his gaunt figure on the
sky- line.
"Well, Sanchia," he said, "here I am."
The great music went sobbing and chiding through her frame, like
wounded nightingales.
Senhouse came back to her bedside and put a little flower into her hand

[Illustration: Wrote deliberately to each of her sisters.]

BOOK I
OF THE NATURE OF A PROLOGUE, DEALING WITH A
BRUISED PHILOSOPHER IN RETIREMENT

I
An observant traveller, homing to England by the Ostend-Dover packet
in the April of some five years ago, relished the vagaries of a curious
couple who arrived by a later train, and proved to be both of his
acquaintance. He had happened to be early abroad, and saw them come
on. They were a lady of some personal attraction, comfortably furred,
who, descending from a first-class carriage, was met by a man from a
third- class, bare-headed, free in the neck, loosely clad in grey flannel
trousers which flapped about his thin legs in the sea-breeze, a white
sweater with a rolling collar, and a pair of sandals upon brown and
sinewy feet uncovered by socks: these two. The man's garniture was
extraordinary, but himself no less so. He had a lean and deeply bronzed
face, hatchet- shaped like a Hindoo's. You looked instinctively for rings
in his ears. His moustache was black and sinuous, outlining his mouth
rather than hiding it. His hair, densely black, was longish and perfectly
straight. His eyes were far-sighted and unblinking; he smiled always,
but furtively, as if the world at large amused him, but must never know
it. He seemed to observe everything, except the fact that everybody
observed himself.
To have once seen such a man must have provided for his recollection;
and yet our traveller, who was young and debonnaire, though not so

young as he seemed, first recognised the lady. "Mrs. Germain, by
George!" This to himself, but aloud, "Now, where's she been all this
time?" The frown which began to settle about his discerning eyes
speedily dissolved in wonder as they encountered the strange creature
in the lady's company. He stared, he gaped, then slapped his thigh.
"Jack Senhouse! That's the man. God of battles, what a start! Now,
what on earth is Jack Senhouse doing, playing courier to Mrs.
Germain?"
That was precisely the employment. His man had handed the lady out
of her compartment, entered it when she left it, and was possessing
himself of her littered vestiges while these speculations were afloat.
Dressing-case, tea-basket, umbrellas, rugs, and what not, he filled