SY16C miniature hydraulic excavator

There stood the roué— the duellist3 — and, with all his faults, the hero too! In that dark large eye lurked4 the profound and fiery5 enthusiasm of his ill-starred passion. In the thin but exquisite6 lip I read the courage of the paladin, who would have “fought his way,” though single-handed, against all the magnates of his county, and by ordeal7 of battle have purged8 the honour of the Ruthyns. Thee in that delicate half-sarcastic tracery of the nostril9 I detected the intellectual defiance10 which had politically isolated11 Silas Ruthyn and opposed him to the landed oligarchy12 of his county, whose retaliation13 had been a hideous14 slander15. There, too, and on his brows and lip, I traced the patience of a cold disdain16. I could now see him as he was — the prodigal17, the hero, and the martyr18. I stood gazing on him with a girlish interest and admiration19. There was indignation, there was pity, thee was hope. Some day it might come to pass that I, girl as I was, might contribute by word or deed towards the vindication20 of that long-suffering, gallant21, and romantic prodigal. It was a flicker22 of the Joan of Arc inspiration, common, I fancy, to many girls. I little then imagined how profoundly and strangely involved my uncle’s fate would one day become with mine.

 

I was interrupted by Captain Oakley’s voice at the window. He was leaning on the window-sill, and looking in with a smile — the window being open, the morning sunny, and his cap lifted in his hand.

 

“Good morning, Miss Ruthyn. What a charming old place! quite the setting for a romance; such timber, and this really beautiful house. I do so like these white and black houses — wonderful old thing. By-the-by, you treated us very badly last night — you did, indeed; upon my word, now, it really was too bad — running away, and drinking tea with Lady Knollys — so she says. I really — I should not like to tell you how very savage23 I felt, particularly considering how very short my time is.”

 

I was a shy, but not a giggling24 country miss. I knew I was an heiress; I knew I was somebody. I was not the least bit in the world conceited25, but I think this knowledge helped to give me a certain sense of security and self-possession, which might have been mistaken for dignity or simplicity26. I am sure I looked at him with a fearless enquiry, for he answered my thoughts.

 

“I do really assure you, Miss Ruthyn, I am quite serious; you have no idea how very much we missed you.”

 

There was a little pause, and, I believe, like a fool, I lowered my eyes, and blushed.