Summary

Portrait of Susanna Moodie Susanna Moodie Flora Lyndsay; or, Passages in an Eventful Life…

The time is too short to prepare one to part with friends so dear. If it were not for my poor old father, I would go with you.”
“What a blessing it would be!” said Lyndsay.
“Oh! do go, dear Mary,” cried Flora, quite transported at the thought; and flinging her arms about her friend’s neck. “It would make us so happy.”
“It is impossible!” said the dear Mary, with a sigh. “I spoke without thinking. My heart will follow you across the Atlantic; but duty keeps me here. I will not, however, waste the time still left to us in useless regrets. Love is better shown by deeds than words.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Susanna Moodie Susanna Moodie Flora Lyndsay; or, Passages in an Eventful Life…

The effects of the stormy weather soon became very apparent among the passengers in the pilot-boat—sickness laid its leaden grasp upon all the fresh-water sailors. Even Lyndsay, a hardy Islander, and used to boats and boating all his life, yielded passively to the attacks of the relentless fiend of the salt waters, with rigid features, and a face pale as the faces of the dead. He sat with his head bowed between his hands, as motionless as if he had suddenly been frozen into stone. Flora often lifted the cape of the cloak which partially concealed his face, to ascertain that he was still alive.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Susanna Moodie Susanna Moodie Flora Lyndsay; or, Passages in an Eventful Life…

Lyndsay did not tell her positively she should not go without him; and unable to control her impatience, she gave him the slip, and set off with Jim, who was only too eager for the frolic, on her mountain climbing expedition.
Flora was a native of a rich pastoral country; very beautiful in running brooks, smooth meadows, and majestic parks; where the fat sleek cattle so celebrated in the London markets, graze knee-deep in luxuriant pastures, and the fallow deer browse and gambol beneath the shadow of majestic oaks through the long bright summer days.
Source: Gutenberg

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